Jesus and Paul: Global Perspectives in Honor of James D. G. Dunn for his 70th Birthday 9780567660831, 9780567629531

Citation preview

List AB ABD ABR ABRL ANF ANRW ATANT ATR BDAG BDB BDF BECNT BETL Bib BJRL BO BTB B-thS/BthS BTNC BZNW CBQ CC CCSL CNT CTM EKKNT ESV ExpT

of

Abbreviations

Anchor Bible commentary series Anchor Bible Dictionary. D. N. Freedman, ed. New York: Doubleday. 6 vols. 1992 Australian Biblical Review Anchor Bible Reference Library Ante-Nicene Fathers Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt: Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments Anglican Theological Review Danker, F. W., W. Bauer, W. F. Arndt and F. W. Gingrich. Greek–English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature. Brown, F., S. R. Driver and C. A. Briggs. A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament. Blass, F., A. Debrunner and R. W. Funk. A Greek Grammar of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature. Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaneinsium Biblica Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester Berit Olam commentary series Biblical Theology Bulletin Biblisch-theologische Studien Black’s New Testament Commentary Beihefte zur Zeischrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Catholic Biblical Quarterly Continental Commentaries Corpus Christianorum: Series Latina Commentaire du Nouveau Testament Currents in Theology and Mission Evangelisch-katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament English Standard Version Expository Times

viii FC FRLANT ftn. GW  HBS Herm HTKNT  HTR HvTSt HZNT IB ICC Int ITC IVPNTCS JBL JCH JES JGRChJ JJS JSJ JSNT JSNTSup JSOT JSOTSup JTS LNTS LSJ LXX mg MSS MT NA27 NAC NCB NewDocs Neot NIB NICNT NIGTC NIV

Abbreviations Fathers of the Church Forschungen zur Religion und Literature des Alten und Neuen Testaments footnote Gesammelte Werke Herder Biblische Studien Hermeneia commentary series Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Harvard Theological Review Hervormde teologiese studies Handbuch zum Neuen Testament Interpreter’s Bible International Critical Commentary Interpretation International Theological Commentary Intervarsity Press New Testament Commentary Series Journal of Biblical Literature Jewish and Christian Heritage Journal of Ecumenical Studies Journal of Greco-Roman Christianity and Judaism Journal of Jewish Studies Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Periods Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series Journal of Theological Studies Library of New Testament Studies Liddell, H. G., R. Scott, H. S. Jones. A Greek–English Lexicon Septuagint margin manuscripts Masoretic Text Novum Testamentum Graece, Nestle-Aland, 27th ed. New American Commentary New Century Bible New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity Neotestamentica New Interpreter’s Bible New International Commentary on the New Testament New International Greek Testament Commentary New International Version

NovTSup NPNF NRSV NTP NTS NTTh OTL OTP PaCNT PG PGM PL  PRSt  QD RB RGRW RSV SBL SBLMS SBLSCS SBLSP SBT SEÅ SNTS SNTSMS ST StrB TCIH TDNT TDOT THKNT THNTC ThWAT TJ/TrinJ TNTC TRE

Abbreviations

ix

Supplements to Novum Testamentum Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers New Revised Standard Version Novum Testamentum Patristicum New Testament Studies New Testament Theology Old Testament Library Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. J. H. Charlesworth, ed. New York: Doubleday. 2 vols. 1983 Paideia Commentaries on the New Testament Patrologia Graeca Papri Graecae magicae: Die griechishcen Zauberpapyri. K. Preisendanz, ed. Patrologia Latina Perspectives in Religious Studies Quaestiones Disputatae Revue Biblique Religions in the Greco-Roman World Revised Standard Version Society of Biblical Literature Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series Society of Biblical Literature Septuagint and Cognate Studies Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers Studies in Biblical Theology Svensk Exegetisk Årsbok Society of New Testament Studies Society of New Testament Studies Monograph Series Studia theologica Strack, H. L. and P. Billerbeck, Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrash. Munich. 6 vols. 1922–1961 Transformation of the Classical Heritage Theological Dictionary of the New Testament. G. Kittel and G. Friedrich, eds. G. W. Bromiley, tr. 10 vols. 1964–76. Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament. G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren, eds. J. T. Willis, G. W. Bromiley, and D. E. Green, eds. Theologischer Handkommentar zum Neuen Testament Two Horizons New Testament Commentary Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament. G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringren, eds. Trinity Journal Tyndale New Testament Commentaries Theologische Realenzyklopädie. G. Krause and G. Müller, eds.

x TynBul USFIS WBC WC WMANT WUNT ZAW ZNW

Abbreviations Tyndale Bulletin University of South Florida International Studies in Formative Christianity and Judaism Word Biblical Commentary Westminster Commentaries Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft

Foreword

by

N. T. Wright

When C. S. Lewis described the friends who had had a major impact on his life and thought, he categorized them into two types. The first is the type who sees the world exactly as you do. The joy of suddenly-discovered companionship, of an unexpected alter ego, is hard to beat. But there is the second type, whom Lewis found in Owen Barfield: The Second Friend is the man who disagrees with you about everything. He is not so much the alter ego as the anti-self. Of course he shares your interests; otherwise he would not become your friend at all. But he has approached them all at a different angle. He has read all the right books but has got the wrong thing out of every one. It is as if he spoke your language but mispronounced it. How can he be so nearly right and yet, invariably, just not right? . . . When you set out to correct his heresies, you find that he forsooth has decided to correct yours! And then you go at it, hammer and tongs . . . each learning the weight of the other’s punches, and often more like mutually respectful enemies than friends . . . Out of this perpetual dog-fight a community of mind and a deep affection emerge.1

Now obviously not all of that applies directly to the friendship of over thirty years that I have enjoyed with Jimmy Dunn. (Though I’m sure Jimmy the Scot would say that it is I who, speaking the same language as him, mispronounce it!) For a start, we did not begin on an equal footing: he, ten years my senior, was already a published scholar and university lecturer while I was still several years off completing my doctorate. Worse, when I did complete it I found he had been appointed as my external examiner. Granted that his writings on Paul to that point had been among the most stimulating I had read and yet among the most frustrating for what they either did not quite say or (to my mind) presented upside down and inside out. It was a scary moment. Had I known that Jimmy was about to produce Christology in the Making, arguing the exact opposite about Paul’s Christology to what I had argued in one of my foundational chapters, I should have been more scared still. As Bertrand Russell says in his autobiography about one of his former wives, she still thinks she was right and I still think I was right. (No nominal puns, please: Jimmy himself has too much of a monopoly on such things.) Ironically, I had already changed my mind by then on one of the things about which, when I first heard Jimmy lecture, I was most excitedly in agreement with him. I had been arguing for some time, against the majority,

1. C. S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy: The Shape of my Early Life (London: Fontana, 1959 [1955]), 161.

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that the ‘wretched man’ in Romans 7 was Paul the Christian; here was a scholar senior to me, and a very lively thinker and lecturer, who set out the case as energetically as I had ever heard it, in his own Tyndale lecture of that year.2 Alas, by the time I completed my thesis I had come to see things very differently: not that I ever agreed with the normal ‘majority’ reading then prevalent particularly in Germany, but that I had tried to develop a different way again, taking into account what seemed to me then, and still seem, fatal objections to the ‘Christian’ reading. Jimmy and I have not revisited that subject for many years now, but I still recall the amused frustration I felt on realizing that one of the things I thought I actually agreed with him on had now become yet another disagreement.3 Jimmy has graciously acknowledged, in his recent massive collection of articles entitled, The New Perspective on Paul,4 that I was myself ‘the first to recognise the significance of Sanders’ work and to offer “a new way of looking at Paul . . . (and) a new perspective on . . . Pauline problems.”’ That is a quotation from my Tyndale Lecture, ‘The Paul of History and the Apostle of Faith,’ which I gave in Tyndale House in 1978, three years after that first meeting. What Jimmy does not say in that reference is that he was sitting in the front row, and that I was very conscious of sketching something new before a potentially hostile audience of broadly evangelical scholars. But by the time, two years later, when Jimmy read my dense and over-ambitious thesis, in which I argued the case more fully, he was ready not only to make it his own but to put his own unique stamp on it. I am delighted to acknowledge that, throughout my thesis, I had been puzzled by what to make of the phrase erga nomou, ‘works of the law.’ No less a scholar and pastor than the late Bishop Stephen Neill, in conversation some months before my doctorate was finished, had queried me on this point and I had not had a good answer to give him. When Jimmy published his reading of erga nomou, it closed a circle. It made complete sense, and still does. In case that sounds as though I am moving Jimmy out of the ‘second friend’ category and closer to the ‘first friend,’ who now agrees with me on everything, I hasten to add that, in addition to Christology and Romans 7, we have still found plenty to disagree about. Another Tyndale lecture5 gave me the opportunity to interact further with Unity and Diversity in the New Testament. I had already taken a pot-shot at it in the earlier lecture. The book, enormously stimulating of course, had absolutely convinced me, as hearing Jimmy lecture on ‘Luke, Enthusiast And Early Catholic’ had done, that categories like those, and the similar ones which were then so fashionable in the Lutheran-influenced world of New Testament studies (particularly 2. This was at a Tyndale Fellowship conference in Cambridge in 1975. 3. The last time I worked through the issues again was when writing my commentary on Romans for the New Interpreters Bible, when of course I made Jimmy’s own commentary one of my key conversation partners. 4. (Rev. ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 7. 5. This one was never published; I was moving to Canada and did not have the time to work it up.



Foreword by N. T. Wright

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‘Jewish Christian’ and ‘Gentile Christian’), were wildly inappropriate. Jimmy says in the book that the fact one can fit Luke into two supposedly opposing categories means that the categories may not be quite as helpful as might have been imagined, but that they are still serviceable. I said that that was like suggesting one could play squash with a tennis racket. In fact, I suggested, the categories were thoroughly misleading: more like playing squash with a golf club. Anyway, in my subsequent lecture I moved into a different point: that sketching the unity and diversity within the New Testament leaves unaddressed the question of authority, and this remains something I would like to take up with Jimmy. He is standing, in that book, near the fault line which Robert Morgan wrote about in his introduction to Wrede and Schlatter:6 how to move between a descriptive account of early Christian faith and practice (for which the New Testament, faute de mieux, provides 99% of the evidence), and an evaluative account which declares that this early faith is the normative faith. Jimmy did not then seem to me to have fully taken on board the problem that plenty of the ‘early Christian experience’ for which evidence could be found in the New Testament (the ‘experience,’ for instance, of the Galatian agitators or the super-apostles in Corinth) was undoubtedly very early and claimed to be Christian – but was also firmly opposed by the New Testament writers themselves. In other words, part of the point of the New Testament was not so much to bear witness to a normative early Christian experience but to direct a critical spotlight onto it, to distinguish appropriate and faithful early Christian experience from inappropriate and unfaithful varieties. The history of early Christian experience is enormously important, but it is only a first step towards the evaluative task, and cannot itself provide the vital clue to it. We have both written on this kind of issue since then, but have not, I think, debated it face to face. Perhaps we should. Then, of course, there is the pistis Christou debate. I was sitting at Richard Hays’s left hand, waiting for him to make his enemies his footstool, in the famous encounter with Jimmy at the SBL meeting in Kansas in 1991. This was another occasion where, having earlier on taken the same line as Jimmy, I found it undermined on all sides by the theological exegesis of Romans 3 in particular. A cynic might say – perhaps Jimmy himself might be tempted to say – that I was taking the other side deliberately in order to maintain my critical distance from him, but that doesn’t work: again, I remember how, lecturing on Romans in Oxford in the late 1980s, I came to the point where I saw that the problem in Romans 3:1–9 is that God is committed to working the world’s salvation through Israel, but that Israel has been unfaithful. How is God going to remain faithful to that plan and purpose? Answer: through a faithful Israelite, the faithful Israelite, the Messiah. Yes, replies Paul, and that is exactly what God, in his covenant faithfulness, has provided: Romans 3.21–22. I cannot resist recalling that at the end of that splendid Hays/Dunn debate, one or two in the massive crowd called for a vote to see who had 6.

The Nature of New Testament Theology (London: SCM, 1973).

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won. Lee Keck, in the chair, got the best laugh of the day. ‘Nope,’ he said, ‘this ain’t the Jesus Seminar.’ And so to other, more recent concerns. Whenever I have heard that Jimmy is to review a book of mine I experience a strange mixture of pleasure and anxiety: I know he will give it a very thorough reading, I know he will approve of quite a lot that I have done, and I know he will take issue on precisely those points which I regard as central but of which he remains unconvinced. A case in point: I have still not been able to persuade him (though his ‘new perspective’ self ought to find it congenial!) that most Jews of the second-temple period regarded ‘the exile,’ in its deepest sense, as still continuing. I look forward to engaging with his new magnum opus, and now that he is well and truly retired I know that he will give us plenty to think about in the days to come. But the great joy of recent years has been coming to Durham and reconnecting with Jimmy and Meta at other levels. Jimmy was the first person outside the Anglican fold to discover that I was to be bishop of Durham; he bumped into me, along with Stephen Sykes who was to introduce the meeting, as we were on the way into the Leech Hall at St. John’s College where the announcement was to be made. Stephen told him the news. Several quite different emotions flashed across Jimmy’s face in a second, and with wonderful Methodist irony he fell on one knee and kissed my then non-existent ring. As all bishops discover, those who are most outwardly expressive of respect for your position are always the ones who are most ready to take you on in debate . . . It meant a great deal to me when he then dedicated, The New Perspective on Paul to me, describing me in Greek as ‘friend, fellow worker, fellow soldier, bishop.’ I was glad to be able to return the compliment with my recent book on justification.7 Jimmy and Meta are broad-minded enough to attend Durham Cathedral from time to time. Anglican bishops always like it when they see staunch free-churchmen in the congregation, even though they know they can expect friendly and shrewd sermon-criticism afterwards. And it has been good to experience Jimmy in his double role of academic statesman around the university and ecumenical statesman around the city. These things are important as part of the wider context for his ongoing work as a scholar and teacher. As I have found in my own work, playing an active role in Christian leadership within a real local community highlights all kinds of things in the New Testament which sitting peacefully in a study might not have revealed. Jimmy’s work bears the marks of that multiple engagement, and is all the better for it. We have, of course, continued to debate – once, memorably, giving a whole evening to a to-and-fro on Jesus and Paul, and another time providing a kind of double act in an ecumenical event on Paul hosted by our Roman Catholic friends at Ushaw College. I hope we shall continue to do this kind of thing, 7. Justification: God’s Plan and Paul’s Vision (London: SPCK; Downers Grove, Illinois: Inter-Varsity Press, 2009).



Foreword by N. T. Wright

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wherever the Dunns end up in the next phase of their retirement. After all, what’s the point of establishing that kind of a sparring-partner friendship if you can’t go on developing and enjoying it? ‘A community of mind and a deep affection,’ said C. S. Lewis. Deep affection, certainly. We are still working on the community of mind. But it has been a lot of fun. N. T. Wright Bishop of Durham 7 August 2009

This page intentionally left blank

Foreword

by

N. T. Wright

When C. S. Lewis described the friends who had had a major impact on his life and thought, he categorized them into two types. The first is the type who sees the world exactly as you do. The joy of suddenly-discovered companionship, of an unexpected alter ego, is hard to beat. But there is the second type, whom Lewis found in Owen Barfield: The Second Friend is the man who disagrees with you about everything. He is not so much the alter ego as the anti-self. Of course he shares your interests; otherwise he would not become your friend at all. But he has approached them all at a different angle. He has read all the right books but has got the wrong thing out of every one. It is as if he spoke your language but mispronounced it. How can he be so nearly right and yet, invariably, just not right? . . . When you set out to correct his heresies, you find that he forsooth has decided to correct yours! And then you go at it, hammer and tongs . . . each learning the weight of the other’s punches, and often more like mutually respectful enemies than friends . . . Out of this perpetual dog-fight a community of mind and a deep affection emerge.1

Now obviously not all of that applies directly to the friendship of over thirty years that I have enjoyed with Jimmy Dunn. (Though I’m sure Jimmy the Scot would say that it is I who, speaking the same language as him, mispronounce it!) For a start, we did not begin on an equal footing: he, ten years my senior, was already a published scholar and university lecturer while I was still several years off completing my doctorate. Worse, when I did complete it I found he had been appointed as my external examiner. Granted that his writings on Paul to that point had been among the most stimulating I had read and yet among the most frustrating for what they either did not quite say or (to my mind) presented upside down and inside out. It was a scary moment. Had I known that Jimmy was about to produce Christology in the Making, arguing the exact opposite about Paul’s Christology to what I had argued in one of my foundational chapters, I should have been more scared still. As Bertrand Russell says in his autobiography about one of his former wives, she still thinks she was right and I still think I was right. (No nominal puns, please: Jimmy himself has too much of a monopoly on such things.) Ironically, I had already changed my mind by then on one of the things about which, when I first heard Jimmy lecture, I was most excitedly in agreement with him. I had been arguing for some time, against the majority,

1. C. S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy: The Shape of my Early Life (London: Fontana, 1959 [1955]), 161.

xvi

Foreword by N. T. Wright

that the ‘wretched man’ in Romans 7 was Paul the Christian; here was a scholar senior to me, and a very lively thinker and lecturer, who set out the case as energetically as I had ever heard it, in his own Tyndale lecture of that year.2 Alas, by the time I completed my thesis I had come to see things very differently: not that I ever agreed with the normal ‘majority’ reading then prevalent particularly in Germany, but that I had tried to develop a different way again, taking into account what seemed to me then, and still seem, fatal objections to the ‘Christian’ reading. Jimmy and I have not revisited that subject for many years now, but I still recall the amused frustration I felt on realizing that one of the things I thought I actually agreed with him on had now become yet another disagreement.3 Jimmy has graciously acknowledged, in his recent massive collection of articles entitled, The New Perspective on Paul,4 that I was myself ‘the first to recognise the significance of Sanders’ work and to offer “a new way of looking at Paul . . . (and) a new perspective on . . . Pauline problems.”’ That is a quotation from my Tyndale Lecture, ‘The Paul of History and the Apostle of Faith,’ which I gave in Tyndale House in 1978, three years after that first meeting. What Jimmy does not say in that reference is that he was sitting in the front row, and that I was very conscious of sketching something new before a potentially hostile audience of broadly evangelical scholars. But by the time, two years later, when Jimmy read my dense and over-ambitious thesis, in which I argued the case more fully, he was ready not only to make it his own but to put his own unique stamp on it. I am delighted to acknowledge that, throughout my thesis, I had been puzzled by what to make of the phrase erga nomou, ‘works of the law.’ No less a scholar and pastor than the late Bishop Stephen Neill, in conversation some months before my doctorate was finished, had queried me on this point and I had not had a good answer to give him. When Jimmy published his reading of erga nomou, it closed a circle. It made complete sense, and still does. In case that sounds as though I am moving Jimmy out of the ‘second friend’ category and closer to the ‘first friend,’ who now agrees with me on everything, I hasten to add that, in addition to Christology and Romans 7, we have still found plenty to disagree about. Another Tyndale lecture5 gave me the opportunity to interact further with Unity and Diversity in the New Testament. I had already taken a pot-shot at it in the earlier lecture. The book, enormously stimulating of course, had absolutely convinced me, as hearing Jimmy lecture on ‘Luke, Enthusiast And Early Catholic’ had done, that categories like those, and the similar ones which were then so fashionable in the Lutheran-influenced world of New Testament studies (particularly 2. This was at a Tyndale Fellowship conference in Cambridge in 1975. 3. The last time I worked through the issues again was when writing my commentary on Romans for the New Interpreters Bible, when of course I made Jimmy’s own commentary one of my key conversation partners. 4. (Rev. ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 7. 5. This one was never published; I was moving to Canada and did not have the time to work it up.



Foreword by N. T. Wright

xvii

‘Jewish Christian’ and ‘Gentile Christian’), were wildly inappropriate. Jimmy says in the book that the fact one can fit Luke into two supposedly opposing categories means that the categories may not be quite as helpful as might have been imagined, but that they are still serviceable. I said that that was like suggesting one could play squash with a tennis racket. In fact, I suggested, the categories were thoroughly misleading: more like playing squash with a golf club. Anyway, in my subsequent lecture I moved into a different point: that sketching the unity and diversity within the New Testament leaves unaddressed the question of authority, and this remains something I would like to take up with Jimmy. He is standing, in that book, near the fault line which Robert Morgan wrote about in his introduction to Wrede and Schlatter:6 how to move between a descriptive account of early Christian faith and practice (for which the New Testament, faute de mieux, provides 99% of the evidence), and an evaluative account which declares that this early faith is the normative faith. Jimmy did not then seem to me to have fully taken on board the problem that plenty of the ‘early Christian experience’ for which evidence could be found in the New Testament (the ‘experience,’ for instance, of the Galatian agitators or the super-apostles in Corinth) was undoubtedly very early and claimed to be Christian – but was also firmly opposed by the New Testament writers themselves. In other words, part of the point of the New Testament was not so much to bear witness to a normative early Christian experience but to direct a critical spotlight onto it, to distinguish appropriate and faithful early Christian experience from inappropriate and unfaithful varieties. The history of early Christian experience is enormously important, but it is only a first step towards the evaluative task, and cannot itself provide the vital clue to it. We have both written on this kind of issue since then, but have not, I think, debated it face to face. Perhaps we should. Then, of course, there is the pistis Christou debate. I was sitting at Richard Hays’s left hand, waiting for him to make his enemies his footstool, in the famous encounter with Jimmy at the SBL meeting in Kansas in 1991. This was another occasion where, having earlier on taken the same line as Jimmy, I found it undermined on all sides by the theological exegesis of Romans 3 in particular. A cynic might say – perhaps Jimmy himself might be tempted to say – that I was taking the other side deliberately in order to maintain my critical distance from him, but that doesn’t work: again, I remember how, lecturing on Romans in Oxford in the late 1980s, I came to the point where I saw that the problem in Romans 3:1–9 is that God is committed to working the world’s salvation through Israel, but that Israel has been unfaithful. How is God going to remain faithful to that plan and purpose? Answer: through a faithful Israelite, the faithful Israelite, the Messiah. Yes, replies Paul, and that is exactly what God, in his covenant faithfulness, has provided: Romans 3.21–22. I cannot resist recalling that at the end of that splendid Hays/Dunn debate, one or two in the massive crowd called for a vote to see who had 6.

The Nature of New Testament Theology (London: SCM, 1973).

xviii

Foreword by N. T. Wright

won. Lee Keck, in the chair, got the best laugh of the day. ‘Nope,’ he said, ‘this ain’t the Jesus Seminar.’ And so to other, more recent concerns. Whenever I have heard that Jimmy is to review a book of mine I experience a strange mixture of pleasure and anxiety: I know he will give it a very thorough reading, I know he will approve of quite a lot that I have done, and I know he will take issue on precisely those points which I regard as central but of which he remains unconvinced. A case in point: I have still not been able to persuade him (though his ‘new perspective’ self ought to find it congenial!) that most Jews of the second-temple period regarded ‘the exile,’ in its deepest sense, as still continuing. I look forward to engaging with his new magnum opus, and now that he is well and truly retired I know that he will give us plenty to think about in the days to come. But the great joy of recent years has been coming to Durham and reconnecting with Jimmy and Meta at other levels. Jimmy was the first person outside the Anglican fold to discover that I was to be bishop of Durham; he bumped into me, along with Stephen Sykes who was to introduce the meeting, as we were on the way into the Leech Hall at St. John’s College where the announcement was to be made. Stephen told him the news. Several quite different emotions flashed across Jimmy’s face in a second, and with wonderful Methodist irony he fell on one knee and kissed my then non-existent ring. As all bishops discover, those who are most outwardly expressive of respect for your position are always the ones who are most ready to take you on in debate . . . It meant a great deal to me when he then dedicated, The New Perspective on Paul to me, describing me in Greek as ‘friend, fellow worker, fellow soldier, bishop.’ I was glad to be able to return the compliment with my recent book on justification.7 Jimmy and Meta are broad-minded enough to attend Durham Cathedral from time to time. Anglican bishops always like it when they see staunch free-churchmen in the congregation, even though they know they can expect friendly and shrewd sermon-criticism afterwards. And it has been good to experience Jimmy in his double role of academic statesman around the university and ecumenical statesman around the city. These things are important as part of the wider context for his ongoing work as a scholar and teacher. As I have found in my own work, playing an active role in Christian leadership within a real local community highlights all kinds of things in the New Testament which sitting peacefully in a study might not have revealed. Jimmy’s work bears the marks of that multiple engagement, and is all the better for it. We have, of course, continued to debate – once, memorably, giving a whole evening to a to-and-fro on Jesus and Paul, and another time providing a kind of double act in an ecumenical event on Paul hosted by our Roman Catholic friends at Ushaw College. I hope we shall continue to do this kind of thing, 7. Justification: God’s Plan and Paul’s Vision (London: SPCK; Downers Grove, Illinois: Inter-Varsity Press, 2009).



Foreword by N. T. Wright

xix

wherever the Dunns end up in the next phase of their retirement. After all, what’s the point of establishing that kind of a sparring-partner friendship if you can’t go on developing and enjoying it? ‘A community of mind and a deep affection,’ said C. S. Lewis. Deep affection, certainly. We are still working on the community of mind. But it has been a lot of fun. N. T. Wright Bishop of Durham 7 August 2009

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Editors’ Preface Future eras of biblical scholarship, when looking back at this time in history, will confirm what is already clearly evident – that James D. G. Dunn was among the foremost scholars of the New Testament during the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. Dunn, affectionately known as Jimmy to his friends and colleagues, has now influenced a generation of scholarship in numerous areas, including Christian origins, early Jewish and Christian relationships, christology, pneumatology, unity and diversity in the New Testament, the New Perspective on Paul, and more recently, the New Perspective on Jesus. Born and raised in Scotland, he earned his M.A. and B.D. from the University of Glasgow, and then later a Ph.D. and D.D. from Cambridge University, studying under renowned scholar C. F. D. Moule. Jimmy’s own notable career began at the University of Nottingham, where he was a Lecturer and Reader from 1970–1982. From there he moved to the University of Durham, where he taught as Professor of Divinity from 1982–1990, and since 1990 until his retirement in September 2003 held the J. B. Lightfoot Chair of Divinity, following in the footsteps of his illustrious predecessor, C. K. Barrett. In his years of teaching, Jimmy supervised over thirty Ph.D. candidates, was a founder of the British New Testament Society, as well as treasurer of the Studiorum Novi Testamenti Societas (1982–1992), and president of Studiorum Novi Testamenti Societas (2002–2003). Since the 1970 publication of Baptism in the Holy Spirit, he has authored numerous books, articles, and reviews, including the recent multi-volume work, Christianity in the Making. We recognize that this is not the only festschrift that has been published in honor of Jimmy. This year 2004 saw the publication of The Holy Spirit and Christian Origins: Essays in Honor of James D. G. Dunn (Eerdmans), edited by Graham N. Stanton, Bruce W. Longenecker, and Stephen C. Barton. This work featured a number of original articles exploring the topic of the Holy Spirit, complementary to Jimmy’s early publications in this area of research. Apart from the few contributions that came from early doctoral students, the great majority of contributions came instead from Jimmy’s academic peers. Another festschrift contemporaneous with our work and edited by two of his former students, Scot McKnight and Terence C. Mournet, is entitled Jesus in Early Christian Memory: Essays in Honour of James D. G. Dunn (T. & T. Clark). Their monograph collects essays not primarily from former students, but from scholars who have dialogued with Jimmy in the areas of memory, oral performance, and the historical Jesus. The most distinctive feature of our compilation is that all the contributors are former students of Jimmy’s who went on to publish in the academic world and maintain either a professorship or leadership position in their respective

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fields, whether in Great Britain, mainland Europe, North America, or Asia. The essays they have contributed here explore New Testament passages and topics relevant to Jesus and Paul, two persons whom Jimmy’s own studies have frequented time and time again: James McGrath explores the possibility of an extensive oral tradition existing alongside the written texts that evangelists like Matthew and Luke drew on in writing their own gospels. Advocating a both/and approach to the question of oral versus written history, he suggests that early Christian literature itself provides one of the best opportunities to study written remnants of a vibrant oral tradition. Stephen Wright focuses on Matthew’s parables of the Unforgiving Servant (18:23–35), the Laborers in the Vineyard (20:1–16), and the Ten Virgins (25:1–13), considering both the possibilities and problems of hearing the ‘voice’ of Jesus in these texts. Addressing recent research by scholars such as Luise Schottroff and Klyne Snodgrass, Wright highlights and explores the interpretive influence of the evangelist. Jey Kanagaraj revisits the eschatological tension of present and future dimensions of Jesus’ messages on the Kingdom of God in the Synoptic gospels. Of special interest are passages related to the arrival/nearness of the kingdom (Mark 1:15), the kingdom as a present possession (Matt. 12:28; Luke 11:20), the kingdom as imminent (Mark 9:1), and the kingdom as a future hope in the Lord’s Prayer (Matt. 6:10; Luke 11:2). Ellen Christiansen discusses boundaries between righteous persons and sinners by examining Luke 7:36–50 in which a woman who is considered a ‘public’ sinner in the text anoints Jesus’ feet. The focus here is on the change of status and identity from sinner to righteous one resulting from an act of love suggesting that in God’s kingdom the old, familiar boundaries are no longer valid. Graham Twelftree examines the ways in which Luke defines magic and distinguishes it from the miracle-working ministry of Jesus. Drawing on the stories of Simon Magus, Elymas, the possessed slave girl, and the seven sons of Sceva, it is argued that Luke connects these characters’ power with false prophecy and then establishes a contrasting portrait of Jesus grounded in the ‘Word of the Lord.’ Helen Bond considers the enigmatic character of Barabbas, using ‘snapshots’ from the four Gospels to illustrate the different ways in which Barabbas is remembered by the late first-century church, which sought to make sense of the Messiah and his death by drawing on and transforming an historical character who is loosely connected with Jesus’ last hours. Arie Zwiep compares the portrayal of Judas Iscariot in the Synoptics with descriptions in John’s Gospel and later Church Fathers, especially Jerome and Augustine, to trace the development of Anti-Semitism and the misguided notion that Judas represents the Jewish people. Zwiep highlights the importance of implementing a Wirkungsgeschichte to the study of Judas and the Scriptures. Martin Scott reappraises the negative references to ‘the Jews’ in John’s Gospel in terms of inter- and inner-group struggle, the marking out of



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boundaries typical of incipient sect division. To better understand the proposed situation of the first-century Johannine community, Martin draws a parallel with a later model from the history of the church, namely the birth of Methodism in relation to Anglicanism. Simon Gathercole characterizes some of the distinctive features of British research in New Testament christology since the time of Charles Moule’s landmark The Origins of Christology. Special areas of theological focus here include pre-existent christology, Adam christology, questions of the divinity and worship of Christ, and atonement. Gathercole ends his Study by offering specific recommendations for the future. Ken Schenck studies the worship of Jesus among early Christians by examining Christology in the Epistle to the Hebrews. Such worship is said to be directly related to the enthronement of the Christ as king. Christ’s exaltation as Son and seating at God’s right hand takes place after his death and resurrection (Heb. 1). Schenck contends that worship of Jesus need not violate conventional Jewish monotheism, for Jesus as Lord was seen as a mediator of Divine sovereignty, and devotion to Jesus was done ultimately to the glory of the one God. C. K. Robertson looks at a seemingly insignificant detail in the account of Stephen’s martyrdom in Acts 7:58 and asks if Luke’s introduction of Saul/Paul in this verse has greater implications about his understanding of apostleship than is usually acknowledged. Indeed, the importance of Jesus’ description of the apostolic mission and its parameters in Acts 1:8, along with Paul’s eventual fulfillment of that commission, is explored in light of the Old Testament story of the imparting of Elijah’s spirit onto Elisha. B. J. Oropeza posits that scholarship frequently misinterprets Paul’s running metaphors, especially in Galatians 2:2 where Paul expresses concern before meeting with the apostles in Jerusalem that his ‘running’ might be in vain. It is argued here that Paul uses prophetic rather than athletic language to support his commission to the Gentiles. His words in Galatians are influenced by Habakkuk 2:2–4, and Paul sees himself as a runner in the sense of a missionary traveler and courier of the prophetic message. Doug Mohrmann considers the New Perspective championed by Jimmy Dunn and addresses some of the critiques that have been leveled against it. The approach used here is quite particular focusing on the text of Leviticus 18:5 in light of early Judaism and Paul, especially Galatians 3:12 and Romans 10:5. Don Garlington spotlights a largely unexamined backdrop to Romans 1:5 by drawing on several passages from the Hebrew Scriptures that anticipate a king/son who would take the peoples in captive obedience to himself and showing how these passages provided Paul with both an eschatological and a christological understanding of Jesus and the gospel. Lung-kwong Lo explores the modern concept ‘glocalization’ in relation to Paul. He considers how the apostle’s gospel of universality does not necessarily imply the removal or abrogation of particularities of ethnicity, but rather it allows for the distinctions between Jews and Gentiles in their living contexts while remaining in solidarity in Christ.

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Allan Bevere looks at the Colossian situation and interprets the meaning of the hand-written document in Colossians 2:14 as referring explicitly to the Mosaic Law and implicitly relevant to the notions of a certificate of debt and heavenly book of deeds. He connects the term with Ephesians 2:15 to support his reading. Completing the survey, John Byron examines the brief letter to Philemon as a window into Paul’s practice of pastoral ministry on a personal level. By considering what is known about Philemon and Onesimus, and their social situation, Byron suggests it is possible to observe Paul’s strategy as a pastor and see how he repairs a broken relationship within the context of the church. Not one, but two forewords are presented here, each by scholars who are peers, not former students like the contributors. Their own contributions to New Testament scholarship are remarkable, and their enthusiastic participation in this volume bears testimony to the esteem and affection in which they hold the dedicatee. Indeed, we speak for all who have participated in this work in expressing how immensely grateful we are for the many ways in which Jimmy has enriched our lives through his teachings, writings, mentorship, and personal friendship. None of us will forget the special evenings when he and his wife Meta – a treasure in her own right! – would welcome us into their home for conversation, fellowship, food, and Jimmy’s hot fruit punch! It is a pleasure and a privilege for us, his students from around the globe, to dedicate this monograph to our Doktorvater, Professor James D. G. Dunn, in commemoration of his seventieth birthday. The Editors

Select Bibliography of Publications by James D. G. Dunn Baptism in the Holy Spirit: A Re-Examination of the New Testament Teaching on the Gift of the Spirit. London: SCM, 1970. Jesus and the Spirit: A Study of the Religious and Charismatic Experience of Jesus and the First Christians as Reflected in the New Testament. London: SCM, 1975. Unity and Diversity in the New Testament: An Inquiry into the Character of Earliest Christianity. London: SCM, 1977. Christology in the Making: A New Testament Inquiry into the Origins of the Doctrine of the Incarnation. London: SCM, 1980. ‘Paul and the New Perspective.’ BJRL 65 (1983): 95–122. The Evidence for Jesus. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1985. Romans 1–8, 9–16. Two Volumes. Word Biblical Commentary. Waco: Word Books, 1988. Jesus, Paul, and the Law: Studies in Mark and Galatians. London: SCM/Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1990. The Partings of the Ways between Christianity and Judaism and their Significance for the Character of Christianity. London: SCM Press, 1991. The Epistle to the Galatians. Black’s New Testament Commentary. Peabody: Hendrickson, 1993. The Theology of Paul’s Letter to the Galatians. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. The Epistles to the Colossians and to Philemon: A Commentary on the Greek Text. New International Greek Testament Commentary. Cambridge/Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996. The Theology of Paul the Apostle. Cambridge/Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998. The Christ and the Spirit: Vol. 1 Christology: The Collected Essays of James D. G. Dunn Cambridge/Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998. The Christ and the Spirit: Vol. 2 Pneumatology: The Collected Essays of James D. G. Dunn Cambridge/Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998. Editor. The Cambridge Companion to St. Paul. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Jesus Remembered: Christianity in the Making Volume 1. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003. The New Perspective on Paul: Collected Essays. WUNT 2/185. Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2005. A New Perspective on Jesus: What the Quest for the Historical Jesus Missed. London: SPCK/Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005. Beginning from Jerusalem: Volume 2 Christianity in the Making. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009.

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Select Bibliography of Publications by James D. G. Dunn Bibliography of Publications by James D. G. Dunn since 20041

‘On Faith and History, and Living Tradition in Response to Robert Morgan and Andrew Gregory.’ ExpT 116 (October 2004): 13–19. ‘On History, Memory and Eyewitnesses: In Response to Bengt Holmberg and Samuel Byrskog.’ JSNT 26 (2004): 473–87. ‘The Problem of “Biblical Theology.”’ Pages 172–84 in Out of Egypt: Biblical Theology and Biblical Interpretation. Edited by Craig G. Bartholomew, Elaine Botha. Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2004. General editor (with John W. Rogerson, ed. of the Old Testament and Apocrypha). Eerdmans Commentary on the Bible. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004. Ivan Z. Dimitrov, James D. G. Dunn, Ulrich Luz, Karl Wilhelm Niebuh. Das Alte Testament als christliche Bibel in orthodoxer und westlicher Sicht: Zweite europäische orthodoxwestliche Exegetenkonferenz im Rilakloster vom 8.–15. September 2001. WUNT 1/174. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004. Dunn, James D. G. and Scot McKnight. The Historical Jesus in Recent Research. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2005. A New Perspective on Jesus: What the Quest for the Historical Jesus Missed. London: SPCK/ Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005. ‘The Dialogue Progresses.’ Pages 389–430 in Lutherische und Neue Paulusperspective: Beiträge zu einem Schlüsselproblem der gegenwärtigen exegetischen Diskussion. Edited by Michael Bachmann, Johannes Woyke. WUNT 2/182. Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2005. ‘Q1 as Oral Tradition.’ In The Written Gospel. Edited by Markus N. A. Bockmuehl, Donald A. Hagner. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. The New Perspective on Paul: Collected Essays. WUNT 2/185. Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2005/Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008. ‘When Was Jesus First Worshipped? In Dialogue with Larry Hurtado’s Lord Jesus Christ: Devotion to Jesus in Earliest Christianity.’ ExpT 116 (March 2005): 193–96. Christian Liberty: A New Testament Perspective. Digital Edition. Carlisle: Paternoster, 2006. ‘Did Jesus Attend the Synagogue?’ Pages 206–22 in Jesus and Archaeology. Edited by James H. Charlesworth. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006. Foreword in Holy Spirit and Religious Experience in Christian Literature ca. AD 90–200. By J. E. Morgan-Wynne. Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2006. ‘Living Tradition.’ In What Is It That the Scripture Says? Essays In Biblical Interpretation, Translation, and Reception in Honour of Henry Wansbrough, OSB. Edited by Philip McCosker and Henrey Wansbrough. London: T&T Clark, 2006. The Partings of the Ways between Christianity and Judaism and Their Significance for the Character of Christianity. Revised Edition. London: SCM, 2006. The Theology of Paul the Apostle. First Paperback Edition. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006. ‘Towards the Spirit of Christ: The Emergence of the Distinctive Features of Christian Pneumatology.’ Pages 3–26 in Work of the Spirit: Pneumatology and Pentecostalism. Edited by Michael Welker. Cambridge/Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006. Unity and Diversity in the New Testament: An Inquiry into the Character of Earliest Christianity. Third Edition. London: SCM, 2006. 1. The list above is compiled from ATLA and WorldCat databases, and does not include book reviews or non-English editions/translations of Dunn’s work. A list of Dunn’s publications up to 2004 is available in Graham N. Stanton, Bruce W. Longenecker, and Stephen C. Barton, editors, The Holy Spirit and Christian Origins: Essays in Honor of James D. G. Dunn (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004).



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Foreword in The Voice of Jesus: Studies in the Interpretation of Six Gospel Parables. By Stephen Wright. Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2007. ‘Not so Much “New Testament Theology” as “New Testament Theologizing.”’ Pages 225–246 in Aufgabe und Durchführung einer Theologie des Neuen Testaments. Edited by Cilliers Breytenbach and Jörg Frey. WUNT 2/205. Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2007. Romans. Daily Bible Commentary. Peabody: Hendrickson, 2007. ‘Romans in the Middle Ages: Some Responses to the Essays of H. Lawrence Bond, Ian Christopher Levy, and Thomas F. Ryan.’ Pages 153–57 in Medieval Readings of Romans. Edited by William S. Campbell, Peter S. Hawkins, Brenda Deen Schildgen. New York: T&T Clark, 2007. ‘Social Memory and the Oral Jesus Tradition.’ Pages 179–94 in Memory in the Bible and Antiquity: The Fifth Durham-Tübingen Research Symposium (Durham, September 2004). Edited by Stephen C. Barton, Loren T. Stuckenbruck, Benjamin G. Wold. WUNT 2/212. Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2007. ‘When Did the Understanding of Jesus’ Death as an Atoning Sacrifice First Emerge?’ In Israel’s God and Rebecca’s Children: Christology and Community in Early Judaism and Christianity: Essays in Honor of Larry W. Hurtado and Alan F. Segal. Edited by David B. Capes, April D. DeConick, Helen K. Bond, T. A. Miller. Waco: Baylor University Press, 2007. ‘One Church–Many Churches.’ In Einheit der Kirche im Neuen Testament: Dritte europäische orthodox-westliche Exegetenkonferenz in Sankt Petersburg, 24–31. August 2005. Edited by Anatoly Alexeev, Christos Karakolis, Ulrich Luz. Tübingen: MohrSiebeck, 2008. Foreword in The Pauline Concept of Supernatural Powers: A Reading from the African Worldview. By Albert Kabiro Wa Gatumu. Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2008. ‘EK PISTEŌS: A Key to the Meaning of PISTIS CHRISTOU.’ Pages 351–66 in The Word Leaps the Gap: Essays on Scripture and Theology in Honor of Richard B. Hays. Edited by J. Ross Wagner, Christopher Kavin Rowe, and A. Kathrine Grieb. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008. Beginning from Jerusalem: Volume 2 Christianity in the Making. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009. The Living Word. Second Edition. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009. New Testament Theology. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2009.

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Chapter 1

Written Islands in an Oral Stream: Gospel and Oral Traditions James F. McGrath A significant part of Jimmy Dunn’s most recent research has focused on the ways in which Jesus was remembered, and stories about him were passed on orally, in the period between the crucifixion and the writing of the earliest Gospels. Interest in oral traditions that may stem from Jesus of Nazareth has existed since the early days of Christianity, when various early Church Fathers made mention of sayings still circulating by word of mouth in their time. Scholarship on the subject began as soon as academic interest in folk tradition developed.1 Recent scholarship approaches oral tradition in connection with the historical Jesus in a number of different ways. Some ignore it, and understandably so, since no purely oral tradition about Jesus can be said to exist today. All we have are written documents which may or may not bear some relation to earlier non-written information. Although few if any would argue that there was no oral tradition, many are understandably happy to bracket out the topic as asking unanswerable questions and seeking to answer them in the absence of evidence.2 More recent scholarship has turned away from earlier form-critical approaches, drawing instead on the work of the Parry-Lord school on Homer and Yugoslav folk songs. The oral-formulaic approach suggests that certain set phrases and key terms were kept ready to hand by troubadours and folk singers for composing their tales based on earlier renditions. From this has come the emphasis in Dunn’s recent work on the lack of any ‘original’ form, and on the uniqueness of each ‘performance.’3

1. On Johann Gottfried Herder’s role see Terence C. Mournet, Oral Tradition and Literary Dependency (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 3; James D. G. Dunn, Jesus Remembered (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 192–93 2. Howard M. Teeple, ‘The Oral Tradition That Never Existed’ JBL 89 (1970) 56–68, denies that the Gospels give us access to authentic oral tradition stemming from the person and words of Jesus. 3. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 223; James D. G. Dunn, A New Perspective on Jesus (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005), 43–56.

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Profound differences in genre raise difficulties in the application of studies of folksongs to the New Testament literature. Although there is good reason to believe that many sayings of Jesus had a poetic character, particularly in their original Aramaic form,4 there is no reason to think that the whole story of Jesus was told in poetic meter or set to music. The rhythmic and other constraints of singing, combined with the usefulness of rhythm and melody in assisting recall of lyrics, makes the dynamics involved in folksong transmission significantly different from the transmission of stories without musical accompaniment. The folktale is potentially more relevant to New Testament studies. Alan Dundes argues against the common perception that there is a dichotomy between folklore and anything that may come to be put in writing.5 In actual fact, there are well-documented cases in which written accounts of a story were made, but the story also continued to be told and retold, appearing in oral folklore in later times. Individual proverbs have managed to survive more or less intact for millennia, even transcending linguistic and geographic divides in the process. A written account that is read regularly may influence the ongoing flow of oral tradition with its specific wording through repetition. Thus, if a written version is circulated, it can certainly come to dominate and eventually surpass the influence of other variants circulating orally alongside it. But in the case of the New Testament documents, there is no possibility that, by such an early stage and in such a short period of time, the written versions could have totally overwhelmed the oral traditions. Of course, unless some author wrote down a version of an oral tradition, it is lost to us. But the fact that the later New Testament authors (as well as early Church Fathers and other sources outside the canon) in some cases demonstrably had access to earlier writings need not mean that they do not bear witness to independent oral tradition in spite of this fact. What is needed is an approach that can do justice to the nature of our sources, as having a demonstrable literary interconnectedness, while simultaneously being connected to a wider flow of oral tradition around them. Study of the transmission of information (whether true or false) about real persons and events found its way into New Testament studies in the 1970s, when two articles published in the Journal of Religion (by E. T. Abel and John G. Gager) drew attention to work on the psychology of rumor which has clear relevance for New Testament scholars.6 Unfortunately, these insights from another discipline failed to play a major part in subsequent discussions of oral tradition in early Christianity. Provided we take seriously the fact that the ‘rumors’ that we are dealing with were important in communities for 4. See for instance the classic study by C. F. Burney, The Poetry of our Lord (Oxford, 1925). 5. Alan Dundes, Holy Writ as Oral Lit (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 1999), 9–11. 6. E. T. Abel, ‘The Psychology of Memory and Rumor Transmission and their Bearing on Theories of Oral Transmission in Early Christianity’ Journal of Religion 51 (1971), 270– 81; John G. Gager, ‘The Gospels and Jesus: Some Doubts about Method’ Journal of Religion 54 (1974), 244–72.



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defining their identity, this research opens up important avenues of inquiry that are crucial to the study of early Christian oral traditions.7 In order to move forward in the study of oral tradition and the historical Jesus, certain false dichotomies and false antitheses need to be addressed. The first is the debate over whether the sources of various New Testament documents were oral or written. The overwhelmingly probable answer is ‘Yes, of course they were both.’ As Dunn has recently pointed out, in all but a few cases it is a priori likely that a later New Testament author would have heard a story before ever encountering it in a written text.8 The obvious corollary is that later authors such as Matthew and Luke would frequently have had more than two sources for a given saying, story, or other piece of information. Mark and Q were available as written sources, but so was the oral telling and retelling within their Christian community, which is unlikely to have been limited to the reading of Mark or Q.9 As we try to envisage an author such as the person who wrote the Gospel of Matthew undertaking his work, each time he read a portion of Mark’s Gospel, there would be at least five major possibilities: (1) Matthew had not heard the story in question before. (2) Matthew had heard the story in essentially the same form in which it is found in the Gospel of Mark. (3) Matthew had heard the story in a more primitive form than that included in Mark’s Gospel, i.e. a version which had been preserved and transmitted orally in a form that reflected an earlier stage in its development. (4) Matthew had heard the story in a form that represented a further development of the saying or story preserved in a more primitive form in Mark. (5) Matthew and Mark included sayings or stories that each derived from, and independently elaborated, an earlier saying or story. In case number 2 we might expect that Matthew would simply reproduce the story that was corroborated by Mark, but this might not always have been the case. In situations 3 and 4 we might once have spoken in an overly facile manner about Matthew’s redaction of Mark. But the situation is in fact more complex. There certainly will be instances in which Matthew found something in Mark and consciously changed it. In scenarios 3, 4, and 7. It might be argued that jokes and rumors, the sorts of stories that tend to circulate orally today, are rather different from what we encounter in the New Testament. Yet there are important similarities. Certainly key sayings of Jesus and in particular parables may usefully be compared to jokes. For the role that a rumor can have in assisting a group’s identity maintenance, we may perhaps usefully think of the rumor of Darwin’s deathbed recantation of his theory of evolution, which in spite of numerous publications debunking it, continues to circulate and be believed in fundamentalist Christian circles even today. 8. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 222–23. 9. This possibility is raised, without being pursued, in Birger Gerhardsson, The Reliability of the Gospel Tradition (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2001), 130.

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5, however, Matthew would have been confronted with a choice between a version that he already knew and the one found in the text of his earlier source. It is probably misleading to refer to Matthew’s ‘redaction’ in these instances, if Matthew substitutes another form he already knew. Of course, it will often be impossible to distinguish between instances of creative Matthean redaction and instances of substitution of independently known information. Nevertheless, the latter will remain the more likely scenario in those places where the version Matthew provides appears to show no knowledge of the earlier written source, even though the author must have had such knowledge, as well as those instances when a change seems to serve no particular purpose and connects to no authorial agenda or emphasis. The implications of these considerations for Synoptic studies and for historical Jesus research are significant. In the case of any given saying or story, we cannot simply assume that the direction of development in the tradition is from the earlier author to the later. One can imagine Mark knowing a saying and yet, for whatever reason, writing in his Gospel something other than the saying as he knew it. Matthew, on finding this altered version in his source, might well revert it to the form he had always heard, which in this instance was an earlier, more original form of the saying. This will obviously not be the case in all instances. Every saying and story will need to be evaluated individually. But it is enough for the present to indicate how, in theory, the chronology of authorship could proceed from Mark to Matthew, and yet the earlier form of a saying could nevertheless be found in Matthew rather than Mark. Moreover, once texts are written, their presence will potentially leave a mark (if the pun may be excused) on subsequent oral tradition. In other words, as stories continue to be told and retold, some of those who are telling and retelling them will have read written sources (or heard them read aloud), and their subsequent retellings may be influenced by texts. And so it may be that, for example, when Matthew encounters in the oral tradition a more developed version of a story found in Mark, it may not be an independent development of the oral tradition known to Mark, but a development within the oral tradition on the basis of Mark. As Martin S. Jaffee has written about oral tradition in Rabbinic sources, Written representations of orally grounded literary tradition are normally transmitted in multiple textual versions and commonly preserve stylistic residues of oralperformative settings. Moreover, in their role as mnemonic aids, written texts commonly shape further performances within the tradition, producing an oral tradition deeply imprinted by written forms. Finally, it is increasingly acknowledged that even scribal copies of texts from manuscript retain intertextual signs of orally mastered versions of the text.10

10. Martin S. Jaffee, ‘The Oral-Cultural Context of the Talmud Yerushalmi: GrecoRoman Rhetorical Paideia, Discipleship, and the Concept of Oral Torah’ in Transmitting Jewish Traditions: Orality, Textuality, and Cultural Diffusion (eds. Yaakov Elman, Israel Gershoni; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), 28.



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In the helpful study by Terence Mournet on oral tradition and the Synoptic Gospels, it is proposed that by comparing the renditions in Matthew and Luke of material found in their Markan source, we can thereby assess these authors’ willingness to transform earlier texts, providing a benchmark for evaluating whether the differences with respect to the Q material more likely reflect use of a text or of an oral tradition.11 Unfortunately, as promising as this method initially appears, we simply cannot assume that the story in Mark was the only version of a story that an author had encountered. These authors would frequently have had to choose between a version heard previously and remembered (whether vaguely or precisely), and the written form in Mark. If the story encountered aurally was connected with a source the author considered reliable, it might be given priority over the written text. Mournet seems to be aware of the need for an approach that does justice to precisely this muddy situation, when he writes: ‘Despite the understandable desire to reconstruct an elegant model of Gospel interrelationships, which a strictly literary paradigm enables one to do, we must begin a shift away from an exclusively literary model of Synoptic relationships toward an understanding of the Jesus tradition that is able to take account of the highly oral milieu that existed during the time of Gospel compositions.’12 It is advantageous that a method for dealing with such complex relationships has already been developed in the field of textual criticism.13 In comparing New Testament manuscripts, the working assumption is that all other things being equal the earlier manuscript can be assumed to preserve the more original form. However, text critics know that all things are often not equal, and frequently it is clear that a later manuscript knew an earlier text that pre-dated, and preserved a more original form than, our earliest surviving manuscript. The situation in early Christian literature (and not merely in the Gospels or canonical texts) is highly analogous. Matthew’s Gospel can with adequate certainty be determined to be later than and dependent on Mark. It cannot simply be assumed, however, that the information Matthew chooses to include is either derived from Mark or is a redactional alteration of Mark. In some instances we may be unable to reach a clear conclusion. In scenario 2 above, for example, Matthew would presumably simply repeat the information found in Mark, and thus historians will never be able to demonstrate that Mark and Matthew had multiple independent attestation. All a historian can do in each instance is seek to determine when, if ever, there is sufficient evidence to conclude that Matthew provides independent information. The same applies, of course, to the Gospels of Luke, John, Thomas, Peter, and so on, as well as writings of the Church Fathers and perhaps even the early manuscript tradition itself. Both transmission in writing and transmission by word of mouth face similar (albeit not identical) 11. Mournet, Oral Tradition, 194–213. 12. Mournet, 293. 13. J. A. Loubser notes similarities between oral and manuscript transmission and communication in Oral and Manuscript Culture in the Bible (Stellenbosch: Sun Press, 2007), 134–35.

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potential and pitfalls. Both can be shown to preserve information for long periods, and both can be shown to suffer corruption. In short, even though we may be seeking to trace the transmission of information through two different media, both can to a large extent be studied using a single method, in the sense of using common or similar criteria to evaluate matters like age and authenticity. Yet even if certain principles from the domain of textual criticism are applicable to the study of oral tradition’s impact on early Christian literature, it must be noted that the tendencies and trajectories of oral tradition are not necessarily identical to those of textual transmission, whether in the use of written sources or in the copying of manuscripts. E. T. Abel in fact criticized form criticism for making this very assumption, and noted that on the contrary ‘studies of rumor transmission indicate that as information is transmitted, the general form or outline of a story remains intact, but fewer words and fewer original details are preserved.’14 Unfortunately, neither Abel nor Gager explicitly acknowledged the important point made in the study The Psychology of Rumor which they both cite, namely that the tendencies in rumor transmission can differ from culture to culture.15 Nevertheless, at the very least these studies rightly warn against assuming without sufficient evidence that there was a tendency towards elaboration.16 It seems fairly certain that it was the least common denominator, the basic outline, that circulated most effectively and was most widely disseminated.17 Those studying oral traditions in contemporary oral cultures have likewise found principles well-known in historical criticism of the Bible to be readily applicable to their work. Vansina notes that it is sometimes possible to demonstrate the unlikelihood that a tradition has been falsified, for example ‘where a tradition contains features which are not in accord with the purpose for which it is used.’18 Vansina then defines a principle that is essentially the same as the criterion of embarrassment used by historians investigating the historical Jesus. The converse principle is also affirmed, namely that ‘facts which do not help to maintain the institution which transmits the tradition are often omitted or falsified.’19 Although it is frequent to meet sweeping 14. Abel, ‘Psychology of Memory and Rumor Transmission,’ pp. 275–76, emphasis original. Contrast the criticism of the form-critical approach by Joanna Dewey, on the basis of the study of oral formulaic composition and of folklore, claiming that isolated incidents would tend to coalesce into lengthier narratives: ‘The Survival of Mark’s Gospel: A Good Story?’ JBL 123 (2004), 499–501. 15. Gordon W. Allport and Leo Postman, The Psychology of Rumor (New York: Henry Holt & Co., 1947), 154–55. 16. Certain kinds of elaboration, such as the connection of a story with famous people, were indeed evidenced in the examples of rumor transmission studied. See Allport and Postman, The Psychology of Rumor, 156. 17. See for example the statement of Jan Vansina, Oral Tradition: A Study in Historical Methodology (Chicago: Aldine, 1961), 52 that ‘If the informant is a group and the testimony a group testimony, it will only be a minimum version, although a version that has been authenticated by the group as a whole.’ 18. Vansina, 83. 19. Vansina, 84.



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assertions about both the unreliability of oral testimony, and the allegedly astounding ability of oral cultures to preserve traditions over generations, neither corresponds entirely to the actual situation, and both have an element of truth. Certainly there is no doubt that stories can be transmitted across multiple generations and have key details survive intact. Neither is there doubt that it is possible to obscure the truth and deflect its transmission with a well-timed rumor. In making greater use of studies of oral tradition as a broader phenomenon, we confront the question of reliability every bit as much as historians do when dealing with written sources, if not indeed more so. If there is a difference, it is only that we now have independent confirmation from those studying other oral traditions that the same mixture of accuracy and falsification is inherent in all instances of oral transmission, as indeed in history more generally. The fact of the matter is that writing down a tradition may obscure just as much as preserve a tradition, and may do both more effectively than oral transmission alone. Details that were part of a vibrant oral tradition and yet were omitted from the first written account may as a result be pared from the oral tradition and lost. Information that was unreliable may take on an aura of authenticity through its inclusion in the written text. This is yet another reason why we need to treat the Gospels as written texts produced out of and within an ongoing stream of oral tradition. We must take seriously the possibility that texts from a later time, even significantly later, may have known stories that were not shaped by the earlier written Gospels, or at least not wholly shaped by them, and thus preserve information that is useful to the historian. Particularly important in conjunction with this topic is Vansina’s observation that official traditions tend to be preserved much more precisely over longer periods of time with a higher degree of accuracy than stories preserved by private individuals.20 On the other hand, official traditions are also far more likely to have been fabricated or at least falsified to reflect an official viewpoint. For this reason, the fact that a tradition can be demonstrated to have been passed on faithfully for several decades does not immediately indicate the historical reliability of the information. Indeed, it may in at least some instances suggest the opposite. Examples can be found outside the biblical literature in which a story was significantly modified very early, and then transmitted faithfully in its modified form for many decades, if not longer.21 The antiquity of a tradition, whether oral or written, cannot 20. Vansina, Oral Tradition, 85–86. 21. Kenneth Bailey, in his article ‘Informal Controlled Oral Tradition and the Synoptic Gospels,’ Themelios 20 (1995) 4–11 (available online at http://www.biblicalstudies.org.uk/ article_tradition_bailey.html) refers to the example of John Hogg, a Scottish missionary in Egypt in the nineteenth century, about whom stories continue to circulate among Egyptian Christians until the present. Yet it also appears that the tradition which was passed on so faithfully for decades may well not have been historical. See Theodore J. Weeden’s review at http://academic.shu.edu/btb/vol36/08%20Book%20Reviews.pdf and the biography of John Hogg written by his daughter, Rena Hogg, A Master-Builder on the Nile (Pittsburgh: United Presbyterian Board of Publication, 1914), available online at http://www.archive.org.

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on its own be taken to safeguard the historical accuracy of the tradition in question. As an example, we may seek to apply the ‘both/and’ approach we are advocating to the relationship between Mark 7:14–23 and Matthew 15:10– 20.22 If we actually take a Greek copy of Mark’s Gospel, open it to this point, and imagine ourselves to be working from that original on the composition of Matthew’s Gospel, a number of details will immediately indicate the unlikelihood of word-for-word copying with occasional deliberate changes being made to the wording and content.23 Perhaps most notable is the list of those things which issue forth from a human being, making a person unclean. In what follows, key verbatim or near-verbatim agreements are placed in bold, while key differences are underlined. Matthew 15:16–20 ’Aκμη\ν καì υ9μεĩς α0συ/νετοί ε0στε; ου0 ~ν τò εı0σπορευóμενον νοεĩτε ο3τι πα εı0ς τò στóμα εı0ς τη\ν κοιλίαν χωρεĩ ~ να ε0κβάλλεται; τα\ δε\ καì εı0ς α0φεδρω ε0κπορευóμενα ε0κ του~ στóματος ε0κ ~ς καρδίας ε0ξέρχεται, κα0κεĩνα κοινοĩ τη ~ς καρδíας τòν α!νθρωπον. ε0κ γα\ρ τη ε0ξέρχονται διαλογισμοì πονηροí, φóνοι, μοιχεĩαι, πορνεĩαι, κλοπαí, ψευδομαρτυρíαι, βλασφημíαι. ταυ~τά ε0στιν τα\ κοινου~ντα τòν α!νθρωπον, τò δε\ α0νíπτοις χερσìν φαγεĩν ου0 κοινοĩ τòν α!νθρωπον.

Mark 7:18–23 Ου3τως καì υ9μεĩς α0συ/νετοί ε0στε; ου0 ~ν τò εı0σπορευóμενον νοεĩτε ο3τι πα εı0ς τòν α!νθρωπον ου0 δυ΄ναται αυ0τòν ~ σαι, ο3τι ου0κ εı0σπορευ΄εται αυ0του ~ κοινω εı0ς τη\ν καρδíαν α0λλ' εı0ς τη\ν κοιλίαν, ~ να ε0κπορευ/εται; καì εı0ς τòν α0φεδρω καθαρíζων πάντα τα\ βρω΄ματα. ε λ! εγεν δε\ ο3τι Τò ε0κ του~ α0νθρώπου ε0κπορευóμενον ε0κεĩνο κοινοĩ τòν ~ς καρδίας ανθρωπον: ε σ! ωθεν γα\ρ ε0κ τη τω˜ν α0νθρώπων οι9 διαλογισμοì οι9 κακοì ε0κπορεύονται, πορνεĩαι, κλοπαí, φóνοι, μοιχεĩαι, πλεονεξíαι, πονηρíαι, δóλος, α0σε΄λγεια, ο0φθαλμòς πονηρóς, βλασφημíα, υ9περηφανíα, α0φροσύνη: πάντα ταυ~τα τα\ πονηρα\ ε σ! ωθεν ε0κπορεύεται καì κοινοĩ τòν α!νθρωπον.

Matthew’s list of vices is closer to the Decalogue, and given his interest in interpreting this story in a way that shows Jesus upholding rather than abrogating the Law, this could be explained as a redactional feature. The same list is found, however, in the Didache, in precisely the same order, and since lists of this sort became conventional, another plausible explanation 22. See Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 573–76; also idem, ‘Matthew’s Awareness of Markan Redaction’ in The Four Gospels 1992 vol. 2 (eds. F. van Segbroeck et al.; Leuven University Press, 1992), 1353; idem, Jesus, Paul and the Law (London: SPCK, 1990), 43. We will not consider Gospel of Thomas 14 in the present context, since the difference of language makes it more difficult to speak of verbatim agreement. 23. If we reflect for a moment on the processes of research even today, most professors are all too familiar with the results of writing done with a source open on the screen, and words merely being changed here and there. In some places, the relationship between Gospels may indeed resemble such a scenario. In others, however, it does not.



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is that Matthew substituted a conventional list of vices rather than copying Mark’s. In essence, Matthew’s version may be viewed as an example of early Christian oral-formulaic composition. Even when he has a text in front of him or close at hand that tells the story, Matthew puts his own Gospel together using traditional blocks of orally transmitted material. And as the tradition circulated, there may well have been a tendency for a well-known generic list of vices to be substituted. If nothing else, it was one less detail that had to be recalled. But surely if we were to imagine Matthew working with Mark’s Gospel open in front of him, we should expect more detailed agreement – not, to be sure, the agreement we expect from a copyist making a new copy of the Gospel, but still more than we find here. The greater amount of agreement at the beginning could well be taken to imply that the author of Matthew did indeed read the passage from Mark, but having begun, drew upon his prior familiarity with the incident as he had heard it narrated before.24 Matthew’s omission of the words ‘declaring all foods clean,’ taken on its own, could be plausibly explained in terms of Matthew’s emphases and redactional activity. But as Dunn has shown, there are a significant number of instances of Matthew omitting details and phrases that are widely regarded as Markan additions to the tradition, including this one.25 In such instances, would it be fair for a historian to speak of Matthew providing independent attestation to the traditions in question? For this reason, questions about oral tradition are of great importance not only for redaction criticism, but for historical study more generally. Nevertheless, in this particular instance at least, it may prove impossible to distinguish between prior familiarity through independent oral tradition and prior familiarity through reading of Mark’s Gospel. While there is much room for insights from the study of other literature and oral cultures to shed light on early Christianity, it is not to be overlooked that early Christian literature itself provides one of the best opportunities to study written remnants of a vibrant oral tradition, with samples being taken in various geographical locales over the course of decades and centuries. It is important to include extracanonical writings when considering this topic. A text like the Infancy Gospel of Thomas provides an opportunity to see where storytelling had taken the material known from the canonical Gospels after the passing of about another century. There is significant development, but primarily in supplementing rather than replacing the information found in 24. As Dunn has pointed out, and as Mournet, Oral Tradition and Literary Dependency, 292 has confirmed through his own detailed study of what part of a story matches another written source verbatim is important. It is often the ‘punch line’ to a joke that gets preserved precisely in oral retellings, with more variation possible in the story that leads there. Short proverbs, particularly ones that rhyme, are also reproducible from memory verbatim. Further research is also needed on the methods used by authors when utilizing sources, in particular whether this normally involved having another work open somewhere in the room, or perhaps an assistant who could read out parts of the source. On different possible methods of composition see Loubser, Oral and Manuscript Culture in the Bible, 135–38. 25. Dunn, ‘Matthew’s Awareness of Markan Redaction,’ 1352–54.

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Matthew and Luke. It must also be asked whether the preservation of details from Matthew and Luke reflects first-hand familiarity with these Gospels, or knowledge of their contents by some other means. This particular instance also allows for exploration of an interesting thought experiment: if we only had the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, but not Matthew and Luke, would we be able to reconstruct, or at least discern the existence of, these earlier Gospels’ infancy narratives on that basis? Can we evaluate our skills at reconstructing hypothetical sources by utilizing the opportunities provided by texts such as these? Robert H. Stein expresses succinctly the main point we have been seeking to make in this chapter: It would be foolish to think that the only materials available to the Evangelists were one or two written sources. It would even be wrong to think that they possessed only a specified number of written sources. Since we know that the Gospel traditions continued to be passed on in oral form for many years after our Gospels were written, we should not think that Matthew and Luke had only written sources before them. On the contrary, they had along with these written sources an even more extensive oral tradition, which possessed a fairly established form. No doubt there was a great deal of overlapping between these various sources, and at times the Evangelists may have preferred the form of the oral tradition over their written source or sources.26

Scholars are on the whole well aware of the relevance of orality as a consideration. What remains a challenge is finding ways to consistently do justice to the complexity of the situation, and incorporate the insights of the broader scholarly investigation of orality into our understanding of the New Testament Gospels. In practice, it is all too easy to discuss two or more written texts we have available and the relationship between them and them alone, since in that case we are dealing with extant, tangible realities. But in actual fact, a serious treatment of the types of interconnectedness between these islands of literature cannot ignore the river of oral tradition that flowed into and around them. We do not have any way of studying the river itself, but the islands that have remained cannot be studied without taking seriously the effects the river has had on them.

26. Robert H. Stein, The Synoptic Problem: An Introduction (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1987), 126.

Chapter 2

Debtors, Laborers and Virgins: The Voice of Jesus and the Voice of Matthew in Three Parables Stephen I. Wright This chapter focuses on three parables peculiar to Matthew’s gospel: The Unforgiving Servant (18:23–35), The Laborers in the Vineyard (20:1–16), and The Ten Virgins (25:1–13), and on the possibilities and problems associated with the notion of seeking to hear the ‘voice’ of Jesus in the texts.1 This study draws on James Dunn’s recent work on the oral transmission of the Jesus tradition, summarized in A New Perspective on Jesus: What the Quest for the Historical Jesus Missed.2 Dunn invites us to discern in the Gospels not only patterns of textual dependence but, equally, continuing oral tradition. It was through Jesus’ impact on his disciples, from their early contact onwards, and their desire that others should feel that impact too, that the tradition was preserved. The fact that it took written form by no means caused the oral tradition to cease.3 The Gospels themselves were triggers for oral performances: the great majority of those who experienced them in the early centuries did so as hearers rather than as readers. Particularly telling is Dunn’s reference to J. M. Foley’s argument that ‘the ‘metonymic reference’ of a performance enables the performer to use a whole sequence of allusions to the community’s store of tradition and enables the community thus to recognize the consistency of

1. It was my great privilege to work with the dedicatee of this volume as supervisor of my doctoral project on the parables of Jesus from 1994–1997, later published as The Voice of Jesus: Studies in the Interpretation of Six Gospel Parables (Carlisle: Paternoster, 2000). The choice here of studying three longer narratives peculiar to Matthew is analogous to my choice of six longer narratives peculiar to Luke in Voice. I have discussed these three along with the other major parables in Tales Jesus Told: An Introduction to the Narrative Parables of Jesus (Carlisle: Paternoster, 2003, misprinted as 2002). 2. James D. G. Dunn, A New Perspective on Jesus: What the Quest for the Historical Jesus Missed (London: SPCK, 2005). Dunn’s study has many resonances with my own work, and will enable me to put forward certain positions with greater sharpness. 3. Dunn, 24f.

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the performance with the whole.’4 Oral traditions thrive on linguistic echoes and evocations, and we should be ready to hear these in the Gospel texts as well as imagine them in the ministry of Jesus. This means that the quest for an ‘original form’ of a repeatedly ‘performed’ parable is misguided.5 We will not get very near ‘the characteristic Jesus’ by stripping away supposed literary ‘layers,’ but rather by seeking to detect throughout all the Gospel material before us those patterns of thought, speech, and behavior that seem to evoke him.6 In turn, this implies that we should be much less dismissive of the Gospels as ‘sources’ for Jesus than has often been fashionable. If all the tradition of Jesus is faith-tradition, handed on from the time of his ministry (not only after the resurrection), then it is misguided to draw a wedge between the Gospels as products of ‘faith,’ and authentic Jesustradition as (supposedly) neutral memory. We can expect to hear ‘the voice of Jesus’ in the parable texts before us as much as we can expect to hear the impact of that voice on his followers and their own reproduction of it for their time and place. Equally, we must be much more reticent than in the past to claim knowledge of how to distinguish between them.7 What follows are brief comments on possible resonances of the three parables in the oral contexts of both Jesus’ teaching and the Gospel’s performance, taking into account especially two recent interpreters. Luise Schottroff takes very seriously the social evocations of the parables, which leads her to sharply non-traditional interpretations.8 A great strength of 4. Dunn, 48. I had not come across Foley’s work when I published my thesis, but in that work I also applied the figure of ‘metonymy,’ in a subtly different way. I was seeking to name the figurative function of individual parables in embodying and evoking the Gospel message being delivered by the Evangelist (cf. Wright, Voice, 30–61). Dunn’s emphasis on the Gospels’ oral qualities has helped me to see the essential connection between this analysis and what Foley is saying: just as a single oral ‘performance’ can embody and evoke a community’s tradition (Foley), so, presumably, a single section of an oral ‘performance’ (like a parable within a Gospel) can embody and evoke overarching themes from that performance. In this light I would now draw a slightly less sharp distinction between the written nature of the Gospel parables and their oral nature in Jesus’ ministry than I did, following Werner Kelber, in Voice, 247, though even there I qualified it with reference to the continuing oral tradition. On the vital distinction between metaphor (entailing comparison with another sphere) and metonymy (entailing an example from the same sphere), see Ruth Etchells, A Reading of the Parables of Jesus (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1998), 3–9, drawing on David Lodge, The Models of Modern Writing (Leeds: Arnold, 1977). 5. Cf. Dunn, New Perspective, 50. 6. Dunn, 57–78. 7. For further thoughts on this theme, see Stephen I. Wright, ‘Reading Luke, Hearing Jesus and Understanding God: Reflections on Some Hermeneutical Issues: A Response to John Nolland,’ in Reading Luke: Interpretation, Reflection, Formation (eds. Craig Bartholomew, Joel B. Green and Anthony Thiselton; Scripture and Hermeneutics Series 6; Bletchley/Grand Rapids: Paternoster/Zondervan, 2005), 210–28. 8. Luise Schottroff, The Parables of Jesus (tr. Linda M. Moloney; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006). This builds partly on the work of William R. Herzog II, Parables as Subversive Speech: Jesus as Pedagogue of the Oppressed (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1994), on which I drew in my Voice.



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this approach is that in oral settings, the hearers of parables are much more likely to make associations with their everyday surroundings than with ancient texts over which modern scholars pore (though they may, of course, make associations with the more frequently rehearsed elements of the oral tradition passed on to them: hearing social echoes by no means excludes hearing echoes of Israel’s Scriptures). Schottroff’s work also resonates with Dunn’s emphasis on the continuity between Jesus and the Gospels: ‘I prefer to apply the thought model of a Jewish liberation movement within the Pax Romana to all levels of the Jesus tradition in the New Testament, including the Gospels.’9 Klyne R. Snodgrass takes a more traditional approach, finding key points of analogical correspondence with the kingdom of God as with another sphere of reality, while resisting the pressing of details in allegorical fashion.10 The Unforgiving Servant (Mt. 18:23–35) The main recent bone of contention in reading Matthew 18:23–35 is the appropriateness (or otherwise) of the king in the parable as a picture of God.11 Schottroff points out that the king is a poor example of the unlimited forgiveness enjoined in verse 22, reversing his absolution and sending the servant to be tortured (with consequences, as Schottroff points out, for the second servant too, who is probably subcontracted to the first one).12 She sets the parable in the context of a ruthless, high-debt culture where slavery and near-slavery were brutal facts and frightening power lay in the hands

9. Schottroff, Parables, 107. Compare also Warren Carter’s emphasis on the continuities between Matthew’s social setting and that of Jesus in Matthew and the Margins: A Sociopolitical and Religious Reading (New York: Orbis, 2001). 10. Klyne R. Snodgrass, Stories with Intent: A Comprehensive Guide to the Parables of Jesus (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008). 11. Interestingly, Dunn Jesus Remembered, 544 finds Mt. 5:35 (Jerusalem as the ‘city of the great King’) to be the only reference by Jesus in the Gospels to God as King, apart from this parable and two others (Mt. 22:1–14 and Lk. 19:11–27), where, I would argue, along with Schottroff, the immediate allusion is to human despotic rulers. Dunn sees the king in Mt. 18:23–35 to be a straightforward depiction of the judging God (545). The absence of other such references to God by Jesus seems to strengthen the case for the human allusion being stronger than the divine one, notwithstanding the regular use of ‘King’ for God in Israel’s Scriptures. The identification of a king with God in the Rabbinic parables is often taken to be evidence that Jesus’ hearers would have made this identification too (e.g. Snodgrass, Stories, 71), but I propose that the realism of his stories would have overridden this, or rather stood in ironic tension with it. Cf. Schottroff, Parables, passim, but especially 87f., 101f. 12. Schottroff, Parables, 198f. Interestingly, R. T. France, The Gospel of Matthew (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 701 points to the unusual juxtaposition a1nqrwpoj basileu/j (18:23) as a signal of contrast between the situation of the parable and the basilei/a tw~n ou0ranw~n – Matthew wants to stress that this is a human king. France goes on, however, to offer a traditional analogical reading of the parable.

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of a small élite. In this light she sees it as an ‘antithetical God-parable,’13 teaching the importance of mutual human forgiveness but also calling the hearers to consider ‘the difference between God and the experience we have of domination and violence.’14 But it is hard to imagine how a parable that purports to compare the kingdom of God to a situation of a ruthless king and his debtors could have been either meant or heard as a straight contrast between the kingdom and that situation. Like Snodgrass,15 I am unconvinced by Schottroff’s reading of ou3twj in v. 35 as a question: ‘How is this, then, to be compared to the kingdom of God?’16 We are still left with the impression that the question expects the answer ‘God will send you to the torturers if you don’t forgive each other,’ not really overcome by Schottroff’s softening translation for the second half of the verse: ‘My heavenly father will call you to account if you do not forgive all your sisters and brothers with your whole heart.’17 However, Snodgrass’ answer that the king in the parable is surely to be taken as representing God, and that we must simply ignore his ultimate ruthlessness and the vivid imagery of torture chambers, really does not address the problem.18 If the rhetorical imagery of Jesus’ parables draws any power at all from its realism, we cannot expect either Jesus’ hearers or Matthew’s to ignore it when the subject is so sensitive. Both Schottroff and Snodgrass end up hoist on the petard of a parable that seems to speak of God, and yet also seems not to. The solution is to be found in imagining the creative tension in Matthew’s oral performance. The ‘king’ would have struck a hearer, at the beginning of the parable and still more at the end, as resonating far more with human authority figures in the Gospel initiating or complicit in unjust violence such as Herod the Great (2:1–18, implicitly contrasted with the saving Messiah introduced in ch. 1), Herod Antipas (14:1–12), the rulers of the Gentiles (20:25), the Pharisees (23:29–36), the chief priests and elders (27:1,2), and Pilate (27:11–31), than with God. In this way Matthew allows us to hear what in Jesus’ setting would essentially have been a wisdom tale, warning of the consequences of not catching on to the spirit of forgiveness wherever it is to be found (cf. the conversely encouraging example of Lk. 16:1–9).19 Matthew, however, sets this in the context of teaching about Jesus’ heavenly ‘Father’ (vv. 19, 35). Schottroff points out that in Matthew, God’s ‘Father’ title is especially connected to ‘eschatological reconciliation’ and ‘expresses hope for the healing of the world.’20 The Father who is generous to all calls people to be perfect as he is (5:43–48), and in this the difference between 13. Schottroff, Parables, 203. 14. Schottroff, 203. 15. Snodgrass, Stories, 70. 16. Schottroff, Parables, 196. 17. Schottroff, 202 (cf. 196). 18. Snodgrass, Stories, 70f. 19. See my reading in Wright, Tales, 100–09, which is fuller but without scholarly apparatus. 20. Schottroff, Parables, 201.



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him and human fathers must be recognized (7:11; 23:9). In other words, Matthew’s hearers would readily have picked up the resonance between the Father’s desire that his children forgive each other in 18:35, and the way the Father is characterized elsewhere in the Gospel. So what would they have made of the clash between the generous Father and the despotic king? Surely a parable that gives as a (supposed) model for forgiveness a person seemingly opposite in character to the true Father-King they know of from other parts of the Gospel will have little motivating power. Is there any way round the uncomfortably comparative words w(moiw/qh (v. 23) and ou3twj (v. 35)? A typical older answer would be that Matthew has lifted a parable from an original setting now lost to us, and applied it clumsily to mutual Christian forgiveness. Some awkwardness of transition is certainly natural in the weaving together of oral stories – especially when many early aspects of oral performance (such as tone of voice) are lost to us. However, I would resist this solution, because in an oral setting, to include such a parable in one’s performance of the Gospel might be worse than pointless if it appears to contradict one of one’s main themes. Rather than seeing ou3twj in verse 35 and w(moiw/qh as expressing antithesis (with Schottroff), or simile (i.e. signaling selective analogy, with Snodgrass), I suggest they are loose, oral ways in which Matthew signals metonymy.21 In other words, the force of his performance of the parable is neither ‘the kingdom of God is the opposite of this situation (but you can learn something from it all the same)’ nor ‘the kingdom of God is like this situation (but be careful to note the differences, too).’ Rather, Matthew is saying: ‘The glorious kingdom Jesus announced is present right in the midst of a cruelly oppressive situation like this, demanding a wise response.’22 This seems to fit extremely well with Matthew’s picture in the parables of 13:24–50 of a kingdom paradoxically hidden in the present. In an oral performance we can imagine this being felt not so much as a baffling contradiction but with an ironic yet hopeful frisson of tension. This irony is further sustained via other echoes with Matthew’s wider performance, including the ‘compassion’ of the king (18:27; cf. 9:36; 14:14; 15:32; 20:34) 21. See above, note 4. 22. BDAG 707 suggests for Mk. 4:30 a ‘combination of two thoughts … how shall I portray God’s reign? and to what shall I compare God’s reign?’ The idea of ‘portraying’ God’s reign comes to ‘metonymy.’ Dunn, Jesus Remembered, comments that ‘Jesus was evidently remembered as using parables to illustrate or illumine what he had in mind when he spoke of the kingdom … but Matthew’s much more extensive use of the motif (‘the kingdom of heaven is like …’) may indicate the technique of the story-teller retelling the parables as much as Jesus’ own characteristic style’ (385). See also Snodgrass’s comment (referring to an article of D. A. Carson) that ‘Matthew’s use of homio¯the¯ … probably is a marker for the presence of the kingdom. The forgiveness is already being dispensed in Jesus’ ministry because the kingdom is present’ (Snodgrass, Stories, 71). This, too, suggests that the parable is meant somehow as an embodiment of the kingdom, not a mere illustration, comparison or analogy. In Wright, Voice, 182–226, I argue that on the lips of Jesus the parables function as synecdoches (part for whole) but that this is not very different in tone from the metonymic way they function in the Gospels (247). Both tropes work by example or embodiment rather than comparison.

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and the ‘mercy’ he required of his servant (18:33; cf. 5:7),23 so far short of God’s, yet revealing his kingdom’s presence despite themselves. Matthew 18:35 then stands in paradoxical relationship to the parable. It emphasizes, like 6:14–15 which it echoes,24 the absolute necessity of releasing others if we are to be released ourselves. For Matthew this is not a matter of earning our way into God’s good books. It expresses the simple reality of a heart hardened to others and being incapable of receiving God’s forgiveness. This is the judgment that hangs over the unforgiving. Schottroff is right to warn against downplaying the theme of judgment in the teaching of Jesus,25 but also to set in the context of his message (and the Evangelists’) of a Father who is ready and willing to forgive (cf. Mt. 5:44–45; 6:12; 18:14). Matthew’s oral performance guards the parable against misinterpretation as a reflection of God’s ways by the echoes he sets up with the truth of the continually merciful Father announced elsewhere in his performance. Note finally that realistic associations with literal, financial debt, which would surely have been picked up by Jesus’ hearers, persist in Matthew’s performance, even as they are also given wider application. The theme of Jubilee informs the proclamation of the Evangelists as it informed the proclamation of Jesus.26 It is a mistake to drive a wedge between Jesus the social prophet and Matthew the ecclesially minded Evangelist; both told specific warning stories with vast and looming suggestivity, both metonymic and ironic, concerning the presence of a gracious kingdom. The Laborers in the Vineyard (Mt. 20:1–15) Schottroff reads Matthew 20:1–15 as a realistic picture of the actions of a despotic landowner, whose unpredictable ‘kindness’ is no ‘justice,’ but part of mere political calculation.27 Snodgrass acknowledges some realism (such as the fact that the landowner is ‘charitable,’ rather than unusually ‘generous’) but nonetheless sees it as an analogical picture that encourages lack of envy on the basis of God’s goodness.28 Again, I suggest that both readings are unsatisfactory insofar as they fail fully to imagine the parable’s rhetorical force. To say that this is an ‘antithetical parable,’ with Schottroff,29 does not adequately envisage how Jesus’ hearers might have picked it up. On the other 23. Cf. France, Matthew, 706–707 for the references, but not the ‘ironic tension.’ 24. Cf. Schottroff, Parables, 202. 25. Schottroff, 33. 26. See Sylvia C. Keesmaat, ‘Strange Neighbours and Risky Care (Mt. 18:21–35; Lk. 14:7–14; Lk. 10:25–37),’ in The Challenge of Jesus’ Parables (ed. Richard N. Longenecker; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 263–85. Note especially Matthew’s use of the words ‘debts’ and ‘debtors’ in the Lord’s Prayer (Mt. 6:12): not limiting forgiveness to the financial sphere, but not divorcing it from that sphere either. 27. Schottroff, Parables, 210–11, following Herzog, Parables, 79–97. 28. Snodgrass, Stories, 362–79; esp. 377. 29. Schottroff, Parables, 211.



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hand, to say that it is analogical, with Snodgrass, does not explain how and why the hearers are expected to regard so much detail as irrelevant to the main point about God’s generosity. The solution, I propose, is to be found once more in imagining the transitions from one oral setting to another, culminating in the oral performance of Matthew. In the ministry of Jesus, the parable could have functioned as an implied warning against responding resentfully to a landowner or, by extension, others in positions of power.30 The main difference here from the story of The Unmerciful Servant is that the landowner makes no response to the workers’ grumbles. Might we hazard that after the ferocity of the king’s response in chapter 18, Matthew did not need to spell out the possible consequences of rebellion? Maybe Jesus himself did not need to – or maybe a closing section from his telling has not been preserved? The similarity in structure, though, is clear enough, and as interpreters often recognize, the parable concludes with an implied question, inviting the hearers’ judgment: is it good or wise to grumble like these folk did? Again, when Matthew says that the kingdom of heaven is ‘like’ this (w(moi/a, 20:1), this may signal metonymy rather than simile or antithesis. Hearers are invited to see the real presence and demand of God’s kingdom in the midst of oppression, but to see it in ironic tension with the wonderfully contrasting vision of the kingdom in its totality that Matthew presents through his overall Gospel performance.31 Matthew allows us to hear this message, but also as Schottroff suggests, links the parable to Jesus’ wider, fundamental concern for justice via the sayings of 19:30 and 20:16 about the reversal of first and last. The order of the laborers’ payment (vv. 8–12) is a picturesque link in the parable itself to this motif; the sayings show that the deeper issue is not order of reward or payment, but the fact that justice will be done (each laborer gets a living wage for the day). Matthew and his hearers, therefore, hear the parable not as a misleading comparison between God and a landowner, but within the context of the prophetic hope of provision for the life of all.32 This chimes with Jesus’ words to the rich man in 19:21, calling for a generosity far exceeding that of the landowner in the parable, and significantly followed by his words about how difficult it will be for a rich person to enter God’s kingdom (19:24: so has the landowner merely taken a first tentative step?). Similarly, the connection between Jesus’ words ‘There is only one who is good’ (19:17) and the landowner’s words ‘Are you envious because I am good’ [NRSV ‘generous’] (20:15) is taken by Snodgrass to be confirmation that the landowner stands for God,33 and by Schottroff to be confirmation that the landowner is contrasted to God (i.e. his self-description is erroneous and arrogant).34 Would it not be better than either to say that the verbal link 30. 31. 32. 33. 34.

Cf. Wright, Tales, 110–17. Cf. Schottroff, Parables, 214–16. Schottroff, 215. Snodgrass, Stories, 372f. Schottroff, Parables, 216.

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(a0gaqo/j) would indeed have been picked up by Matthew’s hearers, but that rather than hearing the juxtaposition as an implied statement – either ‘God is like this landowner’ or ‘God is not like this landowner’ – they would have heard it as an ironic resonance, suggesting: of course God is very different from this landowner, who is fairly typical of all the other landowners we know; yet strangely enough, signs of God’s kingdom are to be found and responded to even in the middle of the iniquitous society where these landowners hold power. By placing Peter’s question about what the disciples will receive for leaving everything and following Jesus (19:27–30), Matthew underlines the fact that this message needs to be heeded by disciples. Jesus assures them that the life of the age to come has arrived: what greater reward could be sought than that? They must not grumble. The conjunction of this pericope and the parable makes understandable the old allegorical identification of the workers as those called at different stages of salvation history or individual life; it also makes understandable the modern suggestion that Matthew himself is responsible for ‘imposing’ an allegorical correspondence on an original parable in which the correspondences were much more restrained. But ‘allegory’ is surely a misleading way to speak of these connections. It is much better to see them as the reverberations of key words and themes within an oral performance. Connections are not pedantically drawn out, or turned into precise equivalents, but made suggestively and often ironically. We can therefore hear in the story the practical warning and injunction to respond aright in the midst of the old order, even as we hear via the surrounding sayings the hope of that order coming to an end. The action of the landowner, flawed and thoroughly ‘worldly’ though it is, becomes a sign that the ages are turning, and people are called to recognize that and respond in hopeful, self-giving generosity. The Ten Virgins (Mt. 25:1–13) This parable is also explicitly connected to the kingdom of heaven (25:1).35 Schottroff depicts it, again, as realistic, and antithetical to the kingdom. The virgins are young marriageable women presenting themselves, on the occasion of a wedding, as ‘available on the marriage market.’36 Their ‘performance’ as attendants at the wedding is to be seen as a test of their ‘wisdom’ as defined, for instance, in Proverbs 10:4, 5; 31:18; and Sirach 22:4.37 She points out that the story leaves us with uncomfortable questions: ‘Why are the clever women so unsolidary? Why is a comparatively small mistake on the part of the naïve women, namely that they have no oil with them, so consequential?’38 She 35. On this parable’s incorporation into the Gospel traditions of Jesus’ sayings about the crisis of the kingdom, see Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 428–31. 36. Schottroff, Parables, 29. 37. Schottroff, 30. 38. Schottroff, 30.



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suggests that the parable is intended to evoke protest,39 and that whereas the tradition has consistently seen the wise virgins as the exemplary characters representing watchful disciples, hearers are in fact invited to make a judgment on a system which propels women into such demeaning, selfish, and unsisterly behavior. Snodgrass offers a traditional reading in which ‘the parable is not about ethics but about wisdom and foolishness with regard to being prepared.’40 This wisdom is specifically that ‘needed in view of the eschaton.’41 This again depends on an analogical interpretation which identifies specific points of correspondence (the bridegroom as God, though not excluding a Messianic allusion; the action of the wise virgins as exemplary for humans; the bridegroom’s final words as indicating the reality of judgment) while firmly excluding other details (such as the refusal of the wise virgins to share their oil) as having significance. We may find a similar pathway through these options to that taken with the previous two parables.42 Schottroff’s portrayal of the social resonance of the parable is convincing, but is its force simply the evocation of protest? Is it not rather a warning of Jesus, preserved by Matthew, about the danger of carelessly going against social demands? Schottroff is right, I think, that the wise virgins are not to be seen as exemplary; they are acting of habit, playing along with systemic patterns of injustice – like the servant in 18:28–30 or the grumblers in 20:10–12. But the main accent of the parable is the warning to the foolish virgins: they are indeed foolish, and in an unjust system there is no merit or advantage in folly. The warning issued explicitly in 18:23–35 and implicitly in 20:1–15 is here also: Don’t expect clemency from your social superiors if you don’t play the system. Yet this, too, is far from being mere homely advice. It is heard in Matthew within the overarching atmosphere of Jesus’ announcement of God’s kingdom’s presence. It suggests that a right response to the kingdom is trustful and life-affirming, not rebellious and self-destructive.43 Because the kingdom is here and soon to be fulfilled, says Matthew (echoing Jesus), one must find the wise way to live within the system: especially when even in the midst of the system one finds debts being remitted, a decent wage being paid, and a significant social occasion in which one could participate. Such wisdom will be the sign of faith that God himself is bringing the old order to an end. Schottroff is insightful concerning the Matthean context. Pointing out the frequency in Matthew 24–25 of the word to/te (seventeen times), she distinguishes between those uses that refer to the time of the ‘end’ (e.g.

39. Schottroff, 34. 40. Snodgrass, Stories, 517. 41. Snodgrass, 517. 42. Cf. Wright, Tales, 137–41, though in view of Schottroff’s evidence, the realistic scene is not, I think, as light in mood as I suggested there. 43. One is reminded of Jeremiah’s purchase of a field as a sign of hope in the shadow of impending disaster and judgment: Jer. 32:6–44.

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24:14, 30) and those that refer to the ‘the beginning of the birth pangs’ (e.g. 24:8–9). She locates the to/te of 25:1 with the latter: an event such as the parable narrates is typical of the birth pangs of the new age, rather than its culmination. ‘The injustice itself is a sign of the end, a sign of the nearness of the kingdom of God.’44 Thus she envisages how the full social resonance and warning may be heard in Matthew’s telling as much as in Jesus’ telling. My suggestion above (18:33) also applies here (25:1): it may signal an embodiment of the choices imposed by the kingdom, rather than either a comparison or a contrast. Is the closing scene of the parable ‘transparent on to the reality’ to which the event of the parable is analogous, as Snodgrass thinks?45 Is this, in other words, thinly veiled judgment language in which the ‘lord’ (ku/rioj) is beseeched, in vain, to allow entry to the heavenly banquet? Certainly ‘I do not know you’ (25:12) echoes the ‘I never knew you’ of 7:15, in which the Lord who speaks is undoubtedly Jesus. The bridegroom may echo 9:15, though Snodgrass himself is interestingly cautious about finding a Messianic allusion in the bridegroom-figure.46 Certainly, the story alludes to Matthew’s reference to a Messianic banquet, in which there are some surprising guests and absentees (8:11–12). However, these echoes are precisely that: they do not require an allegorical understanding of the parable by Matthew, nor even the limited analogical interpretation offered by Snodgrass. They set up a resonance concerning the reality of the kingdom’s presence, with joy to be had and judgment to be avoided, without any imposition of another grid of meaning upon a realistic story. The ironic tension between the human scene and the awesome reality of God’s kingdom that comes with both joy and judgment is like that in the other parables. If Snodgrass is right that ‘I do not know you’ may be a ban formula ‘by which a disciple is forbidden access to a teacher,’47 Matthew’s audience may hear and enjoy a double irony – that of the difference between a harsh bridegroom and a divine compassionate judge on the one hand, and that of the difference between a harsh bridegroom and those awesomely called to exercise Jesus’ judgment as his followers, in the spirit of his compassion (cf. 9:7; 16:19; 18:1–22). Schottroff believes that the harsh treatment of late-arriving guests is indeed unusual, but is nevertheless realistic in a more symbolic way, representing ‘the ugly face, the hard reality of a society that defines women in terms of their accommodation, subjection, and marriage.’48 I would go still further. Is our unwillingness to believe that such behavior by the host of a great event is ‘unusual’ a sign of our selective blindness to the harshness of many social

44. Schottroff, Parables, 36. Contrast France, Matthew, 948, who sees to/te as referring to the time of the parousia. 45. Snodgrass, Stories, 509. 46. Perhaps the saying of 9:15 (about the wedding guests not mourning when the bridegroom is with them) is more realistic than allegorical too. 47. Snodgrass, Stories, 509. 48. Schottroff, Parables, 31.



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facts both then and now, and deeply influenced by allegorical interpretations of the ‘bridegroom?’ The awkwardness of the saying, ‘Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour’ (25:13) in relation to the parable is often noted (cf. the awkward relationship between 20:16 and 20:1–15). The problem was not that the foolish bridesmaids were not ‘watching’ like the wise ones, just that they had not brought enough oil. But rather than seeing this as a sign of rough literary editing, we should see it as another signal by Matthew of the wider context in which the parable is to be heard. It is, like most of the eschatological discourse, fundamentally a call to readiness. Here Schottroff and Snodgrass are in close agreement. It is hard to imagine Snodgrass disagreeing with Schottroff’s comment on this verse: ‘This eschatology does not speculate about who, at the judgment, will stand before closed doors or who will be saved. It opens up the present and transforms it into a time of hearing and acting.’49 But whereas Snodgrass would see this as a sign that one should not take the details of the parable too seriously, I would see it as a sign that Matthew knows how seriously the details of the parable have been taken and need to be taken. That is why he both allows us to hear the full parable and crystallizes the message of readiness in a single verse. Conclusion I have tried to show how, by taking the narrative rhetoric of these stories seriously, we can detect their oral force against Jesus’ social background even more sharply than Schottroff does. We can hear them not just as antitheses to God’s kingdom, but as examples of situations in which that kingdom’s warnings and invitations actually come to people in the present. Matthew’s performances allow us both to feel this impact of an earlier telling, and to hear the surrounding, interpretative echoes of the Gospel message, announcing God’s kingdom of judgment and joy. There is a contrast between the situations portrayed in the parables and the glorious reality of the kingdom, but this contrast is heard not as perplexing, so much as ironic and thought-provoking. The new age is breaking into the present one in the most surprising of places, and Matthew’s hearers, like those of Jesus, must go on being alert to that surprise.

49.

Schottroff, 37.

Chapter 3

Jesus’ Message of the Kingdom of God: Present and Future Tensions Revisited Jey J. Kanagaraj One of the most significant areas of New Testament studies are the constant quests for the historical Jesus. James Dunn, to whom this work is affectionately dedicated, criticizes previous studies on this subject by arguing that Jesus should be approached historically through the faith impact he made on his disciples during his association with them and that such an impact must have been expressed in the first disciples’ earliest shared talks.1 Thus the Jesus tradition must have sprung out of the overall impressions that Jesus had left on his disciples.2 Among the groups of Jesus’ sayings cherished by his disciples are the ones about the kingdom of God. Dunn, in his monumental work, Jesus Remembered, undertakes a broad study of the theme ‘kingdom of God,’3 and is convinced that this theme functions as the central element in Jesus’ preaching. Jesus was remembered as preaching about the kingdom of God, and this message was retained in the Jesus tradition because of the impact it made on his disciples.4 Such influence is clear from the frequent use of the phrase ‘kingdom of God’ in Mark, Q, and in material unique to Matthew and Luke. Moreover Jesus’ teaching on the end-times was centered on the theme ‘kingdom of God.’ An extensive study of the ‘kingdom of God’ must deal with several questions: Is it used in the Synoptic Gospels as a metaphor, symbol, concept, or something else? What message did Jesus seek to communicate by proclaiming the kingdom of God? How did his audience understand that proclamation? Whom did Jesus intend his message to reach? Does the kingdom of God denote primarily a present experience or future hope? Dealing with all these issues is a mountain of task. We will confine ourselves only to the dual picture of the kingdom motif in terms of present and future.

1. J. D. G. Dunn, New Perspective on Jesus: What the Quest for the Historical Jesus Missed (London: SPCK, 2005), esp. 57–58. 2. Dunn, New Perspective, 12–13. 3. J. D. G. Dunn, Jesus Remembered (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 383–611. 4. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 383–387; idem, New Perspective, 72–73.



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The task at hand is to study selected sayings of Jesus by focusing mainly on the question of whether the kingdom of God has already come or is yet to come, and if evidence is found for both, how to understand the dual dimension. This study follows the scholarly consensus that Jesus’ ‘kingdom of God’ means primarily the reign of God as king and the realm in which he reigns. The Jews of Jesus’ time were expecting the kingdom of God to come, and the idea that God is the king of Israel and that he would establish his reign among the people of Israel was kept in conjunction with Jewish belief in a messiah.5 In Jewish understanding, the temporal sense of God’s kingdom seems to dominate over its spatial sense – God’s reign is more concerned with the active rule of God than with a geographical location. However, there is evidence from Israel’s scriptures to show that God’s sovereign rule is exercised in a realm, that is, among the people of Israel with whom he has a special relationship as king.6 God’s kingly rule is universal, including all human beings and natural environment; it is also national, involving the people of Israel. Jesus uses the phrase ‘kingdom of God’ regularly in his sayings recorded in the Synoptic Gospels.7 Matthew mentions ‘kingdom of God’ four times (Matt. 12:28; 19:24; 21:31, 43), but mainly uses basilei&a tw~n ou)ranw~n with ‘heaven’ as a euphemism to denote God’s name, as commonly used by early Judaism. The complementing verses Matthew 19:23 (‘kingdom of heaven’) and 24 (‘kingdom of God’) show that there is no essential difference between these two expressions. Matthew also speaks of basilei&a tou= patro&j twice (Matt. 13:43; 26:29), and in two places it is implied (cf. Matt. 6:9–10; 25:34). Luke likewise alludes to the Father’s kingdom in the saying of Jesus recorded uniquely by him (Lk. 12:32). What is true of basilei&a tou~ qeou~ is also true of both basilei&a tw~n ou)ranw~n and basilei&a tou= patro&j.8 Kingdom of God in the Mark 1:15: A Present Experience or Imminent? Mark presents the kingdom of God as the content of Jesus’ preaching (Mk. 1:15). He probably formulated 1:15, but the core announcement of 5. This is why in later Judaism the thought of the messiah was always the expression of a hope for the end times. 6. For evidence see further, Dale Patrick ‘The Kingdom of God in the Old Testament,’ in The Kingdom of God in 20th Century Interpretation (ed. Wendell Willis; Peabody: Hendrickson, 1987), 67–79; Graham N. Stanton, The Gospels and Jesus (2nd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 203–207; Henning Graf Reventlow, ed. Eschatology in the Bible and in Jewish and Christian Tradition (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997); N. T. Wright, ‘Jesus’ Announcement of the Kingdom’ Stimulus 4 (1996), 17–23. For understanding ‘the context of expectation’ in which Jesus preached about the kingdom God, see Dunn Jesus Remembered, 387–396. 7. For references see Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 384 ftn.8. 8. Cf. K. L. Schmidt, TDNT 1.582.

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the good news that the kingdom of God was at hand is generally accepted as authentically part of the Jesus tradition.9 It throws light on Jesus’ understanding of the kingdom. For Mark, Jesus’ message of the kingdom is the eu)agge&lion tou~ qeou~ or eu)agge&lion th=j basilei&aj tou~ qeou~, as some manuscripts have it (Mk. 1:14).10 By quoting Isaiah 9:1–2, Matthew’s parallel identifies the geographical location of Jesus’ preaching as the ‘Galilee of the Gentiles’ (Matt. 4:15–17), a region occupied by peasants, fishermen, and people burdened with debts, family feuds, and exploitation from wealthy landlords.11 Jesus preached the message of the kingdom to poor, marginalized, and disadvantaged people (cf. Lk. 9:11). The message of the kingdom of God is introduced by the statement, ‘The time is fulfilled’ (Mk. 1:15a). Two perfect-tense verbs, peplh&rwtai and h!ggiken, appear together in the Markan version and thus they link together the fulfillment of time and nearness of the kingdom (cf. Ezek. 7:12). The verb peplh&rwtai, as Cranfield suggests, indicates ‘the completion of a fixed period of time and at its completion a particular event will take place.’12 It is the fulfillment of the kairo&j. What time is referred to? Kairo&j here mostly relates to the Septuagint meaning ‘end’ (cf. the term kairo&j used in Lam. 4:18LXX is rendered as ‘end’ in the RSV and NIV). It is the kairo&j of the end, that is, the end of history and the end of the days on earth (Dan. 12:4, 9, 13; cf. Mk. 13:8,13,20,33; Eph. 1:10). The divine passive peplh&rwtai means that it is God who has brought about the fulfillment of the time.13 Hence, Mark 1:15 refers to the eschatological time fixed by God to bring his kingdom into human history. There is an inseparable link between the statement peplh&rwtai o( kairo&j and kai_ h!ggiken h( basilei&a tou~ qeou~. The time, appointed by God and expected by his people, has reached its end, and in its effect, God’s kingdom has drawn near. The verb h!ggiken is variously translated as ‘is at hand’ (RSV, NRSVmg, ESV), ‘has come near’ (NRSV), and ‘is near’ (NIV); and it appears in connection with the kingdom of God in Markan and Q traditions (Mk. 1:15; Matt. 3:2; 4:17; 10:7; Lk. 10:9,11), pointing to the approaching of that kingdom. The perfect tense indicates that the reign of God, which was expected by the Jews to come at the end-time, has already arrived. Thus the meaning that the kingdom has already come among human beings cannot be ruled out. At the same time the nearness of the arrival of the kingdom also cannot be ruled out. The literal meaning of e)ggi&zein and e)ggu&j denotes 9. Cf. Amos Nevin Wilder, foreword to Kingdom of God by Willis, viii–x. 10. For the latter see e.g., manuscripts A, D, W, Majority text, Latin texts, Peshitta, Bohairic. 11. See further Frederick Dale Bruner, Matthew: A Commentary Vol. 1: The Christ Book, Matthew 1–12 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 136; Dunn, New Perspective, 71; idem, Jesus Remembered, 489–541. 12. C. E. B. Cranfield, The Gospel according to St. Mark (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, reprint 1997), 63. 13. See Robert H. Gundry, Mark: A Commentary on His Apology for the Cross (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), 65.



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nearness in space. Hence, e)ggi&zein indicates that something or someone has come nearer to a place than before, but has not yet reached it (see Mk. 11:1; Lk. 19:11; cf. Mk. 14:42 and 14:43; Lk. 18:35; 19:1). But ‘nearness’ enables one to see immediately the ‘arrival’; in fact, e)ggi&zein bears the sense of actual arrival (Lk. 15:1; 22:47; 24:15; cf. Act. 21:33).14 How can we reconcile both the ‘already’ and the ‘nearness’? If the ‘nearness’ should be emphasized, then one should ask: how nearer is it? Some scholars rightly bring out the twin force of h!ggiken by saying that this verb speaks of a future that enters the present while always remaining future. God’s kingdom is to be understood in the sense of its ‘intrusive imminence’ – more specifically, ‘“intruding” captures the kingdom’s presence; ‘imminence’ its futurity.’15 The word h!ggiken, then, holds uniquely both the present and future coming of God’s kingdom together. If the rule of God has already arrived, then why is it still considered ‘near’? In what way is it present and in what sense does it denote the future? Grammatically the perfect h!ggiken in Mark 1:15 combines in itself the present and the aorist in that it denotes the ‘continuance of completed action.’16 The perfect with certain verbs has wholly the sense of a present, as in classical Greek, and hence such verbs are called present perfects. This is the case with peplh&rwtai in Luke 4:21;17 and the same meaning is applicable to the peplh&rwtai and h!ggiken of Mark 1:15. The crux of Jesus’ message, then, is that the reign of God, divine sovereign activity, has already come and it continues to be operative in this world (cf. Matt. 12:28; Lk. 11:20). Because of the implied present significance of God’s rule, C. H. Dodd understood the meaning of h!ggiken as ‘is present’ and argued for a realized eschatology.18 The present effect of the reign of God is reinforced by the present imperatives that follow: metanoei=te and pisteu&ete appeal to the hearers to repent and believe in the gospel right now. Jesus’ announcement of the kingdom calls for a decision on the part of the listeners to completely turn around from their present ways and thoughts and to acknowledge by faith the nearness of God’s rule, which is the ‘good news.’ Nevertheless, some scholars understand the meaning of e)ggi&zein as ‘to come near’ in the sense that the rule of God is only imminent and at the point of arriving. Kümmel, for example, argues against the meaning ‘has come’ by saying that in the Septuagint, e)ggi&zein often bears the meaning ‘coming near’ or

14. As supported by W. G. Kümmel, Promise and Fulfilment: The Eschatological Message of Jesus (Neperville, Ill.: Alec R. Allenson, 1957), 19. 15. Bruner, Matthew 1–12, 140, who refers to Craig S. Keener, A Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 149. The latter coins the phrase ‘intrusive imminence.’ 16. BDF 175 §340. 17. BDF 176 §341. 18. C. H. Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom (London: Nisbet, 1935), 44–51; see also Gundry, Mark, 64–65 for arguments in favor of ‘arrival that has taken place.’

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‘approaching to.’ He concludes that the saying of Jesus in Mark 1:15 could only mean that the kingdom of God had come near.19 Perhaps we could understand the meaning of h!ggiken better by setting it in its context. We need to notice that h!ggiken h( basilei&a tou~ qeou~ occurs in parallel to the phrase peplh&rwtai o( kairo&j in Mark 1:15. The perfect tenses, peplh&rwtai and h!ggiken, which carry the ‘Present Perfect’ sense, convey the nearness in consequence of an arrival. This meaning suits the context better than the anticipation of an imminent coming. Moreover, the content of Jesus’ preaching is known as the eu)aggelion of God. If the message is only about the imminence of God’s reign, then what is the inherent ‘good news’? Obviously it is the arrival that could be treated more pointedly as the ‘good news’ rather than the imminence. It is in the arrival of the kingdom that human beings are confronted to make their choice, and the appeal to ‘repent and believe’ in the gospel becomes more meaningful as such. N. T. Wright argues that the presence of the kingdom of God, as Jesus preached, is visible in four significant moves: Jesus’ invitation, his welcome to sinners, his challenge, and his summons to both practice and propagate kingdom values.20 Jesus’ kingdom message, which brings such a great challenge to his hearers, would seem to be impractical if God’s sovereign rule had not yet arrived, but remained imminent. Cranfield prefers to translate h!ggiken as ‘has come near,’ but adds that this does not mean that it carries the sense of being imminent. He concludes that the kingdom of God has come close to human beings in the person of Jesus and that in his person it actually confronts them (cf. Mk. 12:34).21 This is the probable interpretation of h!ggiken in Mark 1:15, which attests to our earlier observation that h!ggiken uniquely holds together both the arrival and the nearness. We must still answer the question: how is it possible to read the present and future together? Broadly speaking, the sovereign rule of God, which is expected to come at the end-time, arrived in the person and work of Jesus. But strictly speaking, God’s reign is going to remain only near to humans as long as they do not repent and yield themselves to the divine reign that has already come upon them. That the kingdom of God has come near means that it is now visible and accessible to human beings more than ever. It is the responsibility of the hearers of the gospel, however, to receive and experience life in the kingdom by repentance and faith (cf. Rom. 10:8–10). Only then can one claim that the kingdom of God is a present experience; otherwise it will only remain imminent.

19. 20. 21.

Kümmel, Promise, 22–25. Wright, ‘Jesus’ Announcement,’ 17–23, esp. 20–21. Cranfield, St. Mark, 67–68.



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Matthew 12:28 and Luke 11:20: Kingdom as a Present Possession There are several texts which confirm that Jesus did teach about the arrival of God’s kingdom. The Pharisees (Matt 12:24; ‘some’ of the people in Lk. 11:15; ‘scribes’ in Mk. 3:22) accuse Jesus of casting out demons by Beelzebul, the prince of demons. Jesus defends himself by claiming that he is casting out demons by the Spirit of God (Q has ‘the finger of God’) and that this is the evidence that the kingdom of God has come upon them (Matt. 12:28; Lk. 11:20).22 Kümmel identifies this as a detached saying used by Matthew and Luke in the context of Jesus’ claim that he is the stronger man who can bind the ‘strong man,’ the Satan, and take possession of those who were being kept in the latter’s domain by sickness and other oppressions.23 In Jewish traditions the Spirit of God is often treated as an end-time gift (e.g., 1QS 4.20–22; cf. Joel 2:28–29; Act. 2:16–21), and the rule of God is linked with the coming of the messiah (cf. Ps. Sol. 17; 11QMelch; 4Q246). Accordingly, for Matthew, Jesus’ exorcism proves that he has triumphed over evil powers that enslave human beings (cf. Matt. 12:29), and in him the end-time rule of God with its expected messiah has dawned (cf. Matt. 11:2–6; Lk. 7:18–23). That the kingdom of God is already under attack by hostile forces (Matt. 11:12–13; Lk. 16:16) shows that Jesus considers his presence to be the means by which the kingdom is also present. Jesus’ victory over evil powers signals the triumph of God’s kingdom over Satan’s.24 The aorist e!fqasen, which is translated ‘has come,’ may be understood here as ‘has arrived, has reached’ (cf. 1 Thes. 2:16; 2 Cor. 10:14; Rom. 9:31; Phil. 3:16). Kümmel argues that although fqa&nein has the meaning ‘to be on the point of reaching,’ in past tense (which is the case in Matthew 12:28) it refers to the entry of an event in which the consequences are already felt; therefore, e!fqasen cannot be treated as entirely synonymous with h!ggiken.25 Kümmel’s argument seems to support more the entry of God’s rule and its present consequences than simply its nearness. Undoubtedly, belief that the kingdom of God has come upon human beings belongs to Q, a tradition which is earlier than Mark. It is clear that the earlier Gospel tradition considers Jesus’ exorcisms as the sign of the presence of God’s reign, and thus it signals the arrival of the end-time.26 In response to the question raised by the Pharisees concerning when the kingdom of God was coming, Jesus answers that God’s kingdom is ‘in the midst of you’ (e)nto_j u(mw~n e)stin: Lk. 17:20–21), and thereby he means that 22. Luke, who emphasizes pneumatology, would not have used ‘finger’ if the original source had ‘Spirit’: so D.A. Hagner, Matthew 1–13 (WBC; Dallas: Word Book Publisher, 1993), 343. 23. Kümmel, Promise, 105–106. 24. Cf. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 457,460. 25. Kümmel, Promise, 106–107. 26. Jesus’ saying in Matthew 12:28 could be authentic, because the end-time interpretation of Jesus’ exorcisms lacks parallels both in magical exorcism texts and in Jewish messianic and end-time expectation. See further, Keener, Matthew, 364.

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the rule of God is already operating among them through his own life and ministry. By this, Jesus does not deny the future coming of God’s kingdom; he only says that future cannot be taken as a matter of calculation.27 In other words, the Pharisees cannot calculate the exact time of the kingdom’s arrival, but they should realize that it is already present among humans through Jesus. Matthew 6:10 and Luke 11:2: Kingdom as a Future Hope Although we claim that the kingdom of God, the activity of God’s royal dominion, has already come – and that the choice of those who hear the gospel is what matters in order to enter into it – we can hardly ignore the numerous references in the Jesus tradition that exclusively refer to the future coming of the kingdom. We have already noticed that the ancient Jews were expecting God’s kingdom to come in the future. The question raised by the Pharisees as to when the kingdom of God will come attest to this (Lk. 17:20; cf. Lk. 19:11; Act. 1:6). What is the significance, however, of the second petition in the Lord’s prayer, ‘Your kingdom come’ (Matt. 6:10; Lk. 11:2)?28 It is not difficult to see a parallelism between the first two petitions in Lord’s prayer (Matt. 6:9–10a) and a portion of the Jewish Qaddish prayer: ‘May He establish His kingdom in your lifetime and in your days, and in the lifetime of the whole household of Israel, speedily and at a near time. And say, Amen.’29 In both prayers, the petition for the sanctification of God’s name precedes anticipation for the coming of God’s kingdom. It is highly probable that Jesus knew the Qaddish and adapted some of its thoughts in his prayer.30 The petition, ‘Your kingdom come,’ is easily paraphrased as ‘Bring your eschatological kingdom,’ implying the coming of the endtime rule of God expected and longed for by the Jews.31 Both the Qaddish and the Lord’s prayer express a hope for the future and God as king. The futuristic coming of the kingdom, however, does not imply a denial of the present experience of God’s kingly rule.32 We should not miss the inherent 27. See Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 444. 28. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 409–10, shows that the Lord’s prayer about the kingdom ‘coming’ was remembered as taught by Jesus to be his disciples’ distinctive prayer and is thus distinctive of the Jesus tradition. 29. Jacob J. Petuchowski and Michael Brocke, The Lord’s Prayer and Jewish Liturgy (New York: Seabury, 1978), 37; cited in Hagner, Matthew 1–13, 147. 30. Norman Perrin, Jesus and the Language of the Kingdom: Symbol and Metaphor in New Testament Interpretation (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1976), 28, sees Jesus’ prayer as a deliberate modification of the Qaddish prayer which gives hope for the Jews living in 63 bce–66 ce for a dramatic irruption of God into human history. 31. Cf. Hagner, Matthew 1–13, 148. 32. Contrast Johannes Weiss, Jesus’ Proclamation of the Kingdom of God (tr. Richard Hyde Hiers and David Larrimore Holland; London: SCM Press, rep. 1971), 73–74, who suggested that for Jesus and the disciples, the kingdom is not yet here, not even in its beginning stages.



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difference between the Qaddish and Jesus’ prayer: the Qaddish is prayed by an assembly that stands in the darkness of the present age and asks for the age’s consummation, whereas the Lord’s prayer is uttered by a congregation that knows the turning point has arrived already in the saving work of God, and it awaits the full revelation of what has already been granted.33 The other petitions in Jesus’ prayer are in fact governed by the petition for the kingdom to come.34 That is, the hope for the future operates effectively now in the daily experience of God as king.35 The petition for bread, for instance, is a prayer for one’s daily food as well as for the eschatological benefits, particularly the messianic banquet, which is the fulfillment of all human needs. The fifth petition, ‘Forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors’ (Matt. 6:12; cf. Lk. 11:4a), implies God’s forgiveness to those who forgive others at the future judgment (cf. Matt. 6:14–15). At the same time the forgiveness available in the eschatological rule of God is experienced in the present, as God’s rule is operative now, enabling us to forgive others in our daily affairs.36 In view of the eschatological tone of the Lord’s prayer, the sixth petition, ‘Lead us not into temptation’ (Matt. 6:13; Lk. 11:4b), could very well imply not only deliverance from the trials faced by the petitioner in every day life, but also freedom from the final tribulation that will precede the arrival of the end.37 It is obvious that Jesus taught his prayer to the disciples in eschatological terms yet without ignoring the present experience of God’s rule in the daily living of the petitioners. The petitions are concerned about meeting the spiritual, physical, social, and emotional needs of those who address God as ‘our Father,’ and equally they look forward to the end times when God will reign over all creation. Both the ‘already’ and ‘not yet’ aspects are thus intertwined in Jesus’ proclamation of God’s kingdom. That Jesus expected God’s kingdom to come in the future is known from his vow at the Lord’s Supper that he will not taste again the fruit of the vine until he drinks it anew in the kingdom of God (Mk. 14:25).38 Luke’s version uses the phrase, ‘until the kingdom of God comes,’ unveiling fully the future aspect of the kingdom (Lk. 22:18). A similar picture of the messianic banquet pointing to future life in the kingdom emerges from Jesus’ saying that many from the east and west will come to dine in the kingdom (Matt. 8:11; Lk. 13:29).

33. Cf. Joachim Jeremias, The Sermon on the Mount, the Lord’s Prayer, the Problem of the Historical Jesus (Bangalore: Theological Publication in India, n.d., [1961]), 86–87. 34. See further, Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 410–12; Hagner, Matthew 1–13, 149–51. 35. Cf. Perrin, Language of the Kingdom, 47–48. 36. Cf. Hagner, Matthew 1–13, 150. 37. Nuanced differently, Jeremias, Sermon on the Mount, 93 understands peirasmo&j as denoting the trial which Jesus’ disciples will face at the end-time through pseudo-prophets and false saviors. 38. Cranfield, Mark, 427–28 holds that Jesus’ saying in Mark 14:25 is authentic because of its Semitic flavor.

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Another relevant saying of Jesus remembered by the disciples is found in Mark 9:1: ‘Truly, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see that the kingdom of God has come with power.’ Luke 9:27 generally parallels Mark 9:1 but significantly omits ‘has come with power.’ The saying most likely belongs to the Jesus tradition – Kümmel rightly comments on the fact that because this prediction was not realized, it must have caused such serious difficulties that it would hardly have been created by the disciples or later Christians.39 Mark 9:1 is often studied in comparison with Mark 13:26, which depicts the coming of the Son of man in the clouds with great power and glory at the end-time (cf. Mk. 13:30; Matt. 10:23; 16:28). In 9:1 the future ou) mh_ geu&swntai qana/tou and the following time clause e3wj a2n i!dwsin th_n basilei&an tou~ qeou~ e)lhluqui~an e)n duna&mei can only be understood in terms of futurum exactum, implying that some of Jesus’ audience will not die until they see the powerful manifestation of the kingdom of God.40 For Jesus, the coming of God’s kingdom e)n duna&mei still lies in the future. Dodd’s argument that Mark 9:1 does not indicate the future coming of the kingdom but only the recognition that the kingdom has come is unconvincing;41 in that case the addition of e)n duna&mei in Mark would seem to be needless. Nevertheless, the promise of the end-times that is marked by the glorious coming of the Son of Man has not been fulfilled. What could Jesus have really meant? Cranfield argues that Jesus’ promise in Mark 9:1 is in some sense fulfilled by his transfiguration when he powerfully manifested his glory after six days, and that the tinej may indicate the three disciples who saw Jesus transfigured. He sees the transfiguration being carried forward to the time of Jesus’ resurrection and finally to that of the parousia.42 This does not seem to be fully correct, for it is quite implausible to say that Jesus expected many of his bystanders to die within six days of time.43 Donald Hagner suggests that Jesus predicted the destruction of Jerusalem that would happen within that generation – an event which is closely linked with end-time scenarios and the parousia of the Son of Man.44 But this interpretation does not suit the Markan context, and both the interpretations do not do justice to the phrase e)n duna&mei. The sayings of Jesus such as Mark 9:1, 13:30, Luke 9:27, and Matthew 10:23 seem to suggest that Jesus expected his return within the lifetime of 39. Kümmel, Promise, 27. 40. Kümmel, 26. 41. Dodd, Parables, 42, 53–54. 42. Cranfield, Mark, 287–88. Similarly R. T. France, The Gospel according to Matthew: An Introduction and Commentary (Leicester: InterVarsity Press, 1987), 261 comments that the coming of Jesus’ kingdom cannot be seen in a single event. 43. A point raised by G. R. Beasley-Murray, Jesus and the Future (New York: St. Martin’s, 1954), 185. 44. D. A. Hagner, Matthew 14–28 (Dallas, TX: Word Books, 1995), 486–487.



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his own generation. Does this mean that Jesus expected the full coming of the kingdom of God in his own life-time on earth, as Schweitzer suggests?45 This does not appear to be the case. Jesus restricted the experience of seeing the kingdom of God in the future to only some of the bystanders, and this shows that Jesus could not have expected the kingdom to come with power within a very short period.46 However, that some would not die before they saw the kingdom does not mean that others would die before that time. The others may also be alive when it happens, but they will not have the privilege of seeing or experiencing the powerful manifestation of the kingdom.47 The statement of Jesus certainly looks to the coming of God’s kingdom in the distant future, but not too distant, because there are some who will be alive to see it come. Therefore, Mark 9:1 probably refers to the imminence of the kingdom; that is, the powerful manifestation of the kingdom of God lies in the future, but not as distant a future as the coming of the Son of Man in the clouds. Within the implied amount of time it is difficult for us to interpret Jesus’ saying as denoting the parousia because the promise remains yet unfulfilled. What event, then, did Jesus intend by his saying in Mark 9:1? The plausible interpretation is that, for Jesus, the kingdom of God will be powerfully manifested here on earth within a reasonably short time via the life and witness of the church empowered by the Holy Spirit. In both Mark 9:1 and the parallel in Luke 9:27, the context agrees with this interpretation, for in both Gospels this saying of Jesus appears in the context of selfdenial and confession (Mk. 8:34–9:1; Lk. 9:23–27). Although there is in the previous verse a reference to the parousia (Mk. 8:38; cf. Lk. 9:26), the emphasis actually rests on discipleship and boldness publicly to confess Jesus and his words. The self-denial and witness of his disciples is, for Jesus, the evidence of the presence of God’s kingdom with power. For Mark, Jesus’ act of casting out demons is the manifestation of the power of the Holy Spirit (Mk. 3:20–30); and Matthew, as we have seen, identifies this act as denoting the presence of the kingdom of God (Matt. 12:28). This is likewise the same thing Luke calls the witness of the church (the community of Jesus’ disciples), which happens as a result of the Spirit’s power. Indeed, for Luke, the restoration of the kingdom of God is inevitably linked with the du&namij of the Holy Spirit (Act. 1:6, 8; cf. Lk. 24:49 and also see above). Definitely it is in the parousia that the fullness of the rule of God is to be manifested, but the power of God’s rule is to be seen in the manifestation of the Spirit’s power in the life of the church as exemplified by self-sacrifice and outward confession of Jesus. Thus, the enigmatic saying in Mark 9:1 seems to indicate that Jesus expected the coming of the kingdom of God with power in the future, but not in the distant future, and such a manifestation is to be seen 45. Albert Schweitzer, The Quest of the Historical Jesus (London: A & C Black, 1922), esp. 357. 46. See Kümmel, Promise, 28–29. 47. In this case e3wj a2n grammatically should be read with the subjunctive i!dwsin.

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in the life and witness of the church born in the power of the Holy Spirit. Due to the prominence of this theme in Luke-Acts, Luke 9:27 would also seem to agree with this meaning even though e)n duna&mei is missing from the verse. In this sense the kingdom is imminent, within human reach now more than ever. At the same time, the kingly rule of God in its full glory will arrive in the future at the coming of the Son of Man with his angels. The coming of the kingdom of God with power is not the same as the coming of the kingdom of God in its full glory. Conclusion It is obvious that the content of Jesus’ message of the coming rule of God has two dimensions, present and future, pinned together. Any attempt to understand one aspect without the other may prove futile. The key passage of Mark 1:15 confirms not only that the kingdom of God was at the core of Jesus’ message, but also that God’s kingly rule will come in the near future, so near that one can claim his rule has already arrived. In fact the powerful display of Jesus’ life and ministry clearly demonstrates the presence of the kingdom and the consequent overthrow of the power of evil spirits. Regarding the question of whether the kingdom of God has already come (a present experience) or is to come (a future hope), one must answer that for Jesus it is imminent, so imminent that it confronts human beings in the ‘now,’ and even calls them to repent and believe in the good news that the rule of God has come. In the imminence of God’s kingdom both present and future aspects converge without nullifying the future coming of Jesus, the Son of man. The future aspect is not without implications for the present, and the present is not without carrying the kingdom experience to the future. The power of God’s kingdom is manifested in the church’s self-denial and its public confession of Jesus and his words. This confession is made in the power of the Holy Spirit, just as this same power was revealed in the life and ministry of Jesus. Such a potent display of God’s kingdom is nevertheless only a foretaste of its future coming. It is in the coming of the Son of man in the glory of his Father that the fullness of God’s reign is going to be manifested. That will be the age of salvation, the age of the messiah, when the present age will reach its consummation and God’s people, upon whom came the kingdom, will have table fellowship with Christ. It is in this messianic banquet that Jesus will drink again the fruit of the vine. The exact time of the future coming, however, is beyond human calculation and is indeed the mystery preserved in Jesus’ message of the kingdom come.

Chapter 4

Sinner According to Words of the Law, Righteous by Works of Love: Boundary Challenges in Relation to the Woman Who Anoints Jesus (Luke 7:36–50) Ellen Juhl Christiansen James D. G. Dunn has on several occasions shown that the Law functions as identity and boundary markers for Jews.1 This chapter, which is dedicated to him with appreciation, will thus appropriately focus on ‘boundaries being challenged.’ When we look at Jesus from within Judaism he is often engaged in a debate about boundaries related to the Law. I have chosen Luke 7:36–50 as a test case to show how Jesus, according to Luke, challenges boundaries by accepting a sinner. The boundary between those who keep the Law and those who break it may be defined as one between righteous and sinners.2 Boundary drawing is related to the overarching idea, taken from the social sciences, of a ‘symbolic universe.’3 In this universe, according to Jerome Neyrey, ‘there was a clear perception by Jews in the first century of what it meant to be an observant Israelite, which was reflected in the social importance of certain customs, rituals, places and persons.’4 Within that universe, how and where to draw boundaries are matters of interpreting the Law; hence, they are part of an ongoing debate among Jews because various groups within Judaism would disagree on where boundaries should be drawn. Viewed from one perspective, Gentiles are outside the boundary of Israel while Jews are inside; from another perspective Jews who break the Law are ‘unclean’ sinners while those who keep the Law are ‘clean’ or righteous. Some Jews regarded sinners not only as outcasts, but also as situated beyond the grace of God.5 In such 1. See for instance James D. G. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 532. In this chapter I wish to thank Dr. N. H. Taylor for polishing my English. 2. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 532. 3. Jerome H. Neyrey, ‘The Symbolic Universe of Luke-Acts “They Turn the World Upside Down’’,’ in The Social World of Luke-Acts. Models for Interpretation (Peabody: Hendrickson. 1991), 271–304, esp. 272. 4. Neyrey, 272. 5. Cf. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 532.

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cases the boundary is drawn within Judaism, between sinners and righteous. As a corollary to this, distinctive groups were particularly concerned about boundaries related to meals: With whom does one eat? What does one eat, and when and where?6 The story about the woman anointing Jesus (Luke 7:36–50) may be characterized in terms of both a meal and quest story.7 Luke places this story in Jesus’ Galilean ministry (4:14–9:50).8 He introduces three characters that will require some brief comments. From a social-scientific point of view the first century world would perceive persons primarily as group-oriented rather than as individuals.9 Group-oriented persons define themselves in terms of the group to which they belong.10 First-century people would thus characterize themselves and others in basically two ways: in terms of origin (nation, region, family, and kinship) and in terms of voluntary social group adherence (profession [such as tax collectors and scribes] and faction [such as Pharisees or Sadducees]). This dyadic relationship is fundamental to understanding first-century texts. Since a person is what others perceive him or her to be, it follows that dyadic persons need to have their status confirmed by others. In Luke’s story both Jesus and the other characters must be understood as dyadic persons whose status depends on what other people say and think. The three main characters of the story are the host, the guest, and an uninvited woman. In addition to these a group of guests appear. The host is ‘one of the Pharisees,’ later named Simon; the guest is Jesus; and the woman is an unnamed ‘sinner’ who anoints Jesus’ feet during the meal. She is also the object of the discussion between Jesus and Simon. Each of the three characters has a specific identity, and in their meeting each other, boundaries are challenged. We find another triangle when Jesus tells a parable about a creditor and two debtors: one owing a small amount of money, the other 6. See e.g., Jerome H. Neyrey, ‘Ceremonies in Luke-Acts: The Case of Meals and Table Fellowship,’ in Social World of Luke-Acts, 361–87; Halvor Moxnes, ‘Meals and the New Community in Luke,’ SEÅ (1986–87), 51–52, 158–67. 7. For the former, see Raymond F. Collins, ‘The Man who Came to Dinner,’ in Luke and His Readers: Festschrift A. Denaux (eds. Gilbert van Belle, Adelbert Denaux, Reimund Bieringer, Jozef Verheyden; Leiden: University Press, 2005), 151–72; for the latter, Robert C. Tannehill, The Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts. A Literary Interpretation. 1: The Gospel of Luke (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1991), 111–127. 8. If Luke used Mark, he changed the order and moved the story forward to give it a programmatic position with a theological purpose. See Eric Franklin, Luke: Interpreter of Paul, Critic of Matthew (JSNTSS 92; Sheffield: Academic Press, 1994), 288–91. Birgit Taylor, Outrageous Women: A Comparison of Five Passages Within the Canonical Passion and Empty Tomb Narratives Emphasizing the Role of Women (MA dissertation; University of Cape Town, 2004), esp. 16–65, argues that Luke’s version probably predates the other Synoptic versions. 9. For this and the following, see Bruce F. Malina and Jerome H. Neyrey, ‘FirstCentury Personality: Dyadic, not Individual,’ Social World of Luke-Acts, 67–96. 10. From today’s point of view, this entails speaking of a person in terms of stereotypes.



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a larger amount, and a creditor who releases them from their debts. This parable functions, we will see, as a key to the whole passage and to the Lukan message of the story with its triad of love, faith, and hope. My interpretation of Luke 7:36–50 aims at challenging the traditional interpretations that identify Simon as a self-righteous Pharisee and the woman as a prostitute. These suppositions are not very helpful inasmuch as the former position is based on the assumption that because some Pharisees are self-righteous, all Pharisees are self-righteous, which tends to lead to antiJudaism. The latter position tends at best to infer that sinner equals prostitute because prostitution is sin; such logic is flawed. Instead I propose to look at the three characters, their status in society, their relation to each other, and their change of status when Jesus, prompted by the woman’s action, challenges boundaries. Jesus as Prophet of God’s Kingdom and Friend of Sinners In Luke’s gospel there is a special emphasis on Jesus being a prophet. When Jesus’ ministry begins in Nazareth (Luke 4:14–30), Jesus, ‘filled with the power of the Spirit,’ delivers a paradigmatic speech in which he reveals to whom his ministry is intended. The focal point of his message is on his power to ‘proclaim release to the captives,’ to heal, to ‘let the oppressed go free’ (4:18), and ‘to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.’11 By means of mixing prophecies from Isaiah 61:1–2 and 58:6, Jesus announces a fulfillment ‘today.’ Of note is the allusion to the Jubilee Year which involves suspension of debts (cf. Lev. 25).12 The listeners are amazed (4:22) applying the good news to themselves. However, when Jesus continues and refers to Elijah and Elisha and their ministry to the Gentiles, the crowd reacts with rejection (4:29), since (by implication) they hear the claim that God’s saving grace is for those outside the boundaries (Gentiles).13 The episode functions as a programmatic statement for Jesus’ prophetic ministry, which Luke repeats in 4:43 as preaching ‘the good news of the kingdom.’14 The kingdom of God, when realized, will subvert the values of power. It will be based on love and justice, and will result in reversed roles, new social and economic structures, remission of debts/sins, and a fair distribution of goods. Thus Luke’s Jesus challenges the present boundaries and identity markers in anticipation of a coming kingdom based on different and universal values.

11. Translation used in this article is NRSV. 12. Notice the combination of Lev. 25:13, Deut. 15:2, Isa. 52:7 and an allusion to Isa. 61:1 in 11QMelch in relation to the kingdom of God. See George J. Brooke, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the New Testament. Essays in Mutual Illumination (London: SPCK. 1995), 82–84. 13. Cf. Joel Green, The Gospel of Luke (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 211–212. 14. For other summaries, see Luke 7:22; 8:1.

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The following chapters of Luke’s Gospel focus on Jesus as a prophet of the kingdom. Boundaries are also the issue in some of these stories, which like the episode in chapter 4, point forward to 7:36–50.15 When Jesus heals the centurion’s servant in 7:1–10, he heals at the request of a Gentile. Even if the servant is a Jew, the request comes from a Gentile who, as his master, defines his dyadic identity, and is the one who approaches Jesus. This story echoes Elisha’s healing of Naaman (2 Kings 7:1–14). Jesus does not actually enter Gentile space; he rather heals at a distance on the recommendation of Jewish elders. The centurion, on his part, respects the boundary between Jews and Gentiles. The story is an example of Jesus’ healing a slave belonging to a Gentile, and praising the centurion’s faith, while only to some extent disregarding the boundary separating Jews from Gentiles. The message of the story reveals that salvation is offered to all in need, inasmuch as Jesus views himself as sent to the excluded. In the story following this one, Jesus raises a widow’s son in Nain (7:11– 15). This miracle echoes Elijah’s raising the widow’s son in Zarephath (1 Kings 17:20–24). As a result of this miracle, the crowds regard Jesus as a great prophet (7:16), and news about him travels around the country (7:17).16 Jesus’ identity as a prophet is now known and publicly recognized. The readers will consequently understand Jesus’ answer to John the Baptist (7:22) and know that he is a prophet. Here lies both a hidden motive for Simon’s inviting Jesus and an explanation for the skeptical remark in 7:39: ‘If this man were a prophet!’ The remark in 7:34, describing Jesus as ‘a friend of tax collectors and sinners,’ likewise points forward to 7:36–50, thus functioning as an illustration of this reply. It will become clear that Jesus as ‘a friend of sinners’ is a prophet of God’s kingdom, which may be understood as a threat by certain Jews. In a Pharisaic purity system based on the Law, a prophet would be the guardian of the Jewish boundaries, would follow the commandments of the Law, and protest when the Law was transgressed. However, instead of Jesus’ being a guardian of the traditional Jewish boundaries of the Law, Luke portrays him as a prophet of the kingdom, offering a sign of hope in the proclamation of a different set of values, hence a challenge of present boundaries. The Pharisees in Luke 5–7 The Pharisees appear in several quest stories in Luke. First, in 5:17–26 the Pharisees watch the healing of a paralytic. Luke reports that some ‘Pharisees

15. See D. A. S. Ravens, ‘The Setting of Luke’s Account of the Anointing: Luke 7.2– 8.3,’ NTS 34 (1988), 282–292, esp. 287. 16. The identity of Jesus is also an issue in 8:1–9:50: cf. Elna Mouton, ‘The Reorienting Potential of Biblical Narrative for Christian Ethos, with Special Reference to Luke 7:36–50,’ in Character Ethics and the New Testament. Moral Dimensions of Scripture (ed. Robert L. Brawley: Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007), 35–55, esp. 42.



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and teachers of the law’ who had come ‘from every village of Galilee and Judea and from Jerusalem,’ criticized Jesus for offering forgiveness of sins. Since Jesus not only heals the paralytic man but also pronounces that his sins are forgiven, the implication is that the paralytic is considered a sinner, that is, an outsider in relation to the society. The Pharisees consequently charge Jesus with blasphemy, because forgiveness of sins is God’s prerogative. The story ends with, ‘amazement seized all of them, and they glorified God and were filled with awe’ (5:26). In spite of some misgivings, there is no mention of Pharisees not taking part in the glorification.17 Secondly, in 5:29–32 the ‘Pharisees and their scribes’ complain about Jesus when he takes part in a feast in the house of Levi, a tax collector whom Jesus calls to become a disciple. The Pharisees and their scribes object to the fact that Jesus eats and drinks with tax collectors and sinners (5:30), because Jesus’ different values challenge their boundaries. As Halvor Moxnes formulates it: ‘Thus he (Jesus) threatened the sanctity of Jewish society as the people of God, breaking taboos by including unclean people, outsiders, in the meal fellowship.’18 Thirdly, in 6:2, ‘some of the Pharisees’ accuse Jesus’ disciples of breaking the Sabbath by plucking grain. The Pharisees, wanting to find grounds for an accusation against him, observe Jesus (6:3). Hostility is implied in 6:11 where they contemplate what to do about Jesus. No action is taken, however. Fourthly, when Luke 7:30 states that ‘the Pharisees and the lawyers rejected God’s purpose for themselves’ by not accepting John’s baptism, it is noteworthy that this statement is not made by Jesus or any other character in the narrative. It is best taken as a remark by Luke (as redactor) to highlight two different types of response to God’s plan: Pharisees as rejecters set over against those (including tax collectors) who ‘acknowledged the justice of God’ (7:29).19 Although Luke’s words can be understood as a general remark about all Pharisees, indicating that they as a group are enemies of God,20 a better interpretation is offered by Joel Green, who sees the remark as serving ‘to encourage Luke’s audience to join those who ‘justify God’ and to distance themselves from those who reject God’s purpose.’21 In sum, while these episodes provide some information about the Pharisees – their concern for Sabbath, fasting, and ritual purity – and thus refer to a discussion of boundaries related to interpretation of the Law, the overall picture is of a group which is sometimes unfriendly, but other times openminded. This ambiguity is important to note when we consider 7:36–50 and its portrait of Simon.

17. Cf. Green, Luke, 243. 18. See Moxnes, ‘Meals,’ 161. 19. See Luke Timothy Johnson, The Gospel of Luke (Sacra Pagina; Collegeville, Minnesota: Liturgical, 1991), 125. 20. See e.g. David A. Neale, None but the Sinners. Religious Categories in the Gospel of Luke (JSNTSup 58; Sheffield: Academic, 1991), 136–37. 21. See Green, Luke, 301.

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Jesus and Paul The Woman as a Public Sinner

The third character is a woman, a sinner. By adding ‘in the city’ (7:37) Luke emphasizes that she is ‘publicly’ known as a sinner.22 This may mean that she is an outsider of low status, perhaps living among outcasts, thus not respected by the society.23 She could simply be a local woman branded as ‘sinner’; Luke does not tell what her sins are. She is often taken to be a prostitute. In the Western churches there is a long history of interpreting her as prostitute, going back at least as far as Augustine.24 In line with this interpretation, today’s commentators often identify her from ‘undoubtedly a prostitute’25 to ‘probably.’26 Others argue that the text is open-ended on this matter.27 It is noteworthy that the word ‘sinner,’ when used elsewhere by Luke, does not have that particular connotation (5:30, 32; 6:32–34; 13:2; 15:1–2, 7, 10; 18:13; 19:7; cf. 5:8; 24:7): ‘sinner’ is either a self-designation (e.g., 5:8; 18:13) or a designation for a group used in the plural along with tax-collectors or on its own (e.g., 5:30; 6:32).. If Luke wanted to make the point that the woman was a prostitute, he could have used the word po/rnh (15:30).28 More importantly, her silence is worth considering because, according to J. Patrick Mullen, her silence is a clear sign that she was not a prostitute, since a prostitute was expected to entertain by means of words, at least from the point of view of a Hellenistic reader.29 Whether the woman was a prostitute or not is irrelevant. As Luke tells the story the ‘sinner’ is placed in a Jewish context; hence, he may intend to depict her as one who disregards the Law, be it Sabbath rules, food laws, contracting impurity through trading with Gentiles, having married a Gentile, or some other matter. The woman’s status is meant to contrast with that of the respected Pharisee, the two belonging to different strata of society. Primarily Luke tells a story about forgiveness emphasizing that Jesus is a prophet who can forgive sins. If purity is an issue it is secondary. 22. See John Nolland, Luke 1–9:20 (WBC; Dallas: Word, 1989), 353. She is considered a ‘deviant,’ according to F. Scott Spencer, Dancing Girls, Loose Ladies and Women of the Cloth (New York: Continuum, 2004), 111. 23. See Stuart L. Love, ‘Women and Men at Hellenistic Symposia Meals in Luke,’ in Modelling Early Christianity. Social-Scientific Studies of the New Testament in its Context (ed. Philip F. Esler; London: Routledge. 1995), 198–210, esp. 205. 24. E.g., Augustine, Sermo ad Populum, PL 37, col. 1820. 25. See for instance, I. Howard Marshall, The Gospel of Luke. A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Paternoster. 1978), 308; Walter Grundmann, Das Evangelium nach Lukas (THNT; Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt. 1981), 170; François Bovon, Das Evangelium nach Lukas (Lk 1,1–9,50) (EKK, Zürich: Benziger, 1989), 390. 26. Green, Luke, 309. Nolland, Luke, 360, sees ‘sinner’ as a euphemism for ‘prostitute’ or ‘courtesan.’ 27. Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke I–IX (AB; New York: Doubleday, 1981), 689; Johnson, Luke, 127. 28. On this verse see further, Spencer, Dancing Girls, 111. 29. J. Patrick Mullen, Dining with the Pharisees: Interfaces (Collegeville, Minnesota: Liturgical, 2004), 113–14.



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Concerning boundaries, the question is this: Are boundaries defined by the Law or redefined according to other principles? Jesus Dining with a Pharisee Luke writes in the introduction of this pericope: ‘one of the Pharisees asked Jesus to dine with him’ (7:36). The location is not given, but we may assume (at the level of the narrative) that Jesus is still in Nain (cf. 7:11). Likewise the time or occasion for the invitation is not given, but it may well be a meal to honor Jesus.30 Perhaps the invitation is to a Sabbath feast,31 or it could be a meal to mark the end of the Sabbath.32 If it were a Sabbath invitation, the implication is that the special Sabbath rules are to be kept by the Pharisaic host. When Simon invites Jesus for the meal, the story would seem inconsistent if he were hostile to Jesus. A better explanation for the invitation is that Simon has a positive attitude toward Jesus. Since Luke is the only New Testament author to record that Jesus dines with Pharisees, it may be Luke’s special literary construction.33 Possibly Luke is not well informed about the norms and practices of the actual (historical) Pharisees. He might even have an unclear picture on the degree of diversity among Jewish groups at the time of Jesus. With his readers in view, perhaps he chooses the Hellenistic symposium as the model for the dinner setting. Further, it is conceivable that he includes Pharisees because they still existed at the time of his writing. If Luke has in mind that the audience of the Gospel would hear the story against their own Hellenistic background, we can understand the ambiguous portrait of the Pharisees.34 Because Luke needs a character epitomizing a highly respected person in society to serve as a foil to the ‘woman of the city,’ he makes Simon a Pharisee, rich enough to host a banquet, and a member of the elite.35 In the house of the Pharisee, Jesus is placed at the table, lying down. Reclining at tables was customary at Hellenistic formal meals as well as in

30. A normal feature at a Symposium: see Collins ‘The Man,’ 165–66. 31. See Joachim Jeremias, Die Gleichnisse Jesu (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 1962), 126; Friedrich Hauck, Das Evangelium des Lukas (THNT, Leipzig, 1914), 102. 32. It is noteworthy that in the parallel text in John 12:1–8 the anointing takes place at the end of the Sabbath (Saturday evening), though there could be theological reasons rather than historical facts behind this. See Peter F. Ellis, The Genius of John. A CompositionCritical Commentary on the Fourth Gospel (Collegeville, Minnesota: Liturgical Press, 1984), 189; C. K. Barrett, The Gospel according to St John. An Introduction with Commentary and Notes on the Greek Text (London: SPCK, 1962), 342. 33. This is also featured in 11:37 and 14:1: cf. Collins, ‘The Man,’ 160–63. 34. See Mullen, Dining, 105–109. 35. In the parallel stories in Mark 14:3–9 and Matt 26:6–13, Jesus is ‘in the house of Simon, the leper.’

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some Jewish milieus at that time.36 This custom denotes that the meal is an occasion out of the ordinary, a feast as in Luke 5:29, or a banquet as in Luke 14:8. It means that Jesus is treated as a special guest and that Simon makes a special effort for Jesus’ sake. As a Pharisee Simon would have a reputation as one who follows the words of the Law, especially with regard to the Sabbath, food laws, tithing, and purity, as well as someone judging others by his own standards. So when Jesus is invited into the house of the Pharisee, he is apparently regarded as a person whom a Pharisee would trust to share a meal.37 Besides, Jesus is acknowledged as being Torah observant and ritually pure. The first impression is that Jesus and Simon have an equal social status. When the woman (7:37–38) enters the place of dining Simon does nothing; the woman does three things. First, she weeps over Jesus’ feet and dries them with her hair. Secondly, she kisses his feet, and thirdly she anoints them. Jesus neither prevents these acts from happening, nor does he comment on them. The woman’s motivation is not revealed at this point, but it could be either remorse or joy. By performing these acts she takes the role of a servant.38 Her use of myrrh, contained in an alabaster flask, indicates her being a woman of sufficient means to be extravagant. Luke does not make any comment on her use of oil, neither in terms of cost or theologically.39 The significance of the anointing is not stated, but may be implied. Perhaps, as D. A. S. Ravens suggests, Luke alludes to Isaiah 52:7, in which case the anointing can be seen as ‘a preparation for the mission of Jesus as a prophet.’40 Luke wants to stress Jesus’ mission as a prophet preaching the good news of the kingdom, and hence, Luke includes the account of the anointing as a preparation for Jesus’ prophetic mission. Even if the allusion is not as clear as Ravens suggests, the point is well made, since even without the allusion the issue of Jesus as a prophet permeates the text. In what way are boundaries challenged? When the woman touches Jesus, Simon is offended by this, and because Jesus does not react as he would expect. Clearly Simon thinks that the boundaries of acceptable conduct have been violated. According to his norms (the Law) sinners are to be avoided. On the one hand, Simon shares the general view of the woman as a sinner even though he does not specify of what she is guilty. One the other hand, the woman’s acts provide the occasion for Simon to doubt that Jesus really is a prophet; albeit, the doubt is articulated as an internal remark: ‘If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman

36. See Joachim Jeremias, The Eucharistic Words of Jesus (London: SCM, 1982), 48–49; Love, ‘Women,’ 201–202. 37. Cf. Green, Luke, 308. 38. Some scholars see sexual overtones in these acts; e.g., Green, Luke, 310; Spencer, Dancing Girls, 115–20. 39. Contrast Mark 14:3–8 where the price of the oil is an issue of contention and the anointing of Jesus’ head is in preparation for his burial. 40. Ravens, ‘The Setting,’ 291.



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this is who is touching him – that she is a sinner’ (7:39). Simon both voices the public opinion of the woman and doubts about what he has heard of Jesus. Jesus now addresses Simon by name (7:40). From the readers’ point of view they are now invited to consider Simon as an individual, not merely as ‘one of the Pharisees.’41 Simon thus functions as an identification figure for the readers. He is not condemned; Jesus is rather trying to persuade Simon to think in different terms, and to this end he makes use of a parable on forgiveness. Simultaneously he reveals to Simon that he knows his thoughts. Jesus’ address to Simon is delivered as a parable that is succinct, clear, and to the point.42 The brief parable about a creditor and two debtors is, according to James Sanders, a story ‘about what a truly charitable creditor might do when the Jubilee Year came around.’43 Luke’s point is therefore that Jesus came to announce the arrival of God’s Jubilee (cf. 4:16–30; 7:21–22). Moreover the purpose is to tell that ‘God’s kingdom of love, faith, salvation, peace, and forgiveness (7:50)’ has arrived.44 This means that Jesus could offer forgiveness as an act of grace on behalf of God. So when Jesus asks Simon, ‘Which of them will love him more?’ Simon answers correctly: ‘The one to whom he forgave more.’ Since release of debts is parallel to forgiveness of sins, both being the cause of gratitude, the issue is now forgiveness and gratitude or love. Jesus tries to make Simon understand that the woman’s status is no longer ‘sinner’ but forgiven, since her acts of love reveal this. Hence, when Luke has Jesus repeating the words of forgiveness in 7:47, the point is to make a public announcement that her status is no longer defined by her previous reputation as sinner according to the Law, but rather as forgiven, as righteous. Although there is a certain criticism of Simon’s behavior when Jesus says, ‘I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet … you gave me no kiss … you did not anoint my head with oil’ (7:44–46), there is no condemnation of Simon, nor is he accused of being impolite. Commentators differ on how to interpret the remark. It is often taken as a sign of Simon neglecting generally accepted rules of hospitality.45 From this, some conclude that Simon is self-righteousness, not deserving forgiveness, and lacks love.46 41. Robert C. Tannehill, ‘Should We Love Simon the Pharisee? Hermeneutical Reflections on the Pharisees in Luke,’ CTM 21 (1994), 424–33, esp. 432. 42. The message of the parable is similar to the parable in Matt. 18:23–35, but the settings and uses are different. 43. See James A. Sanders, ‘Sins, Debts, and the Jubilee Release,’ in Luke and Scripture. The Function of Sacred Tradition in Luke-Acts (eds. Craig A. Evans and James A. Sanders; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 84–92, esp. 85. 44. Cf. Sanders, ‘Sins, Debts,’ 90. 45. E.g., Johnson, Luke, 127; Green, Luke, 312–13. 46. E.g. Heinz Schürmann, Das Lukasevangelium (HTKNT; Freiburg: Herder, 1982), 434; Bovon, Lukas, 394. For Anni Personen, ‘The Weeping Sinner: A Short Story by Luke?’ Neotestamentica 34 (2000), 87–102, Simon is ‘cold,’ has ‘false ideas of what God is like,’ and ‘is left out of all … forgiveness and love’ (95–96). Note also the statement of John J. Kilgallen, ‘Forgiveness of Sins (Luke 7:36–50),’ NT 40 (1998), 105–116: ‘Simon is the figure little forgiven, if at all’ (112).

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Others point out that to provide water for a guest’s feet is not normally done, to greet with a kiss is not obligatory, and to anoint with oil is not expected to be done by a host.47 Although these acts are out of the ordinary, Simon might have performed such signs to show his gratitude. Why did he not do these? I suggest that the answer is related to Simon’s practice of the Law. Perhaps for him keeping the Sabbath took precedence over rules for hospitality.48 Given the Pharisaic concern for purity related to meals, it would be normal to provide water for hand-washing, but not water for the feet. To wash the feet of a guest was the duty of a servant, as ordered by the host. As for greeting with a kiss, there is not enough evidence to show whether it was a normal form of greeting,49 or whether it was considered by Pharisees to be improper or illegal.50 With regard to the use of oil, it is noticeable that The Damascus Document contains a rule stating that oil is a carrier of contamination (CD 12:15–17).51 Did the Pharisees (or Simon) hold the same strict view that oil was to be avoided for purity reasons? If so, it would explain Simon’s behavior as a Law-abiding Pharisee. Be that as it may, the point of Jesus’ remark is that Simon did not perform anything out of the ordinary, which would have been works of love comparable to the woman’s acts. Luke does not tell his readers how Simon reacted to Jesus’ address or to the woman’s being forgiven. One possible interpretation is to suggest that he rejected both the message (cf. 7:40–41) and the changed status of the woman (cf. 7:49).52 However, 7:49 is ambiguous. It is not clear whether Simon is included with ‘those who were at the table with him’ or not. The remark, ‘Who is this, who even forgives sins?’ could express either disapproval or just surprise.53 Another reading is therefore possible: that Simon did indeed learn a lesson, not only on forgiveness, but also on changed identity and boundaries. If so, there is hope for Simon.54 When Luke chooses to end the story in an ambiguous way, he perhaps wanted his readers to understand that, when identifying with Simon, they too had hope. Mullen rightly affirms that Luke’s message contains several points: ‘the nature of forgiveness and love, the reality of Jesus’ prophetic role, the risk of hasty judgments, and the superabundance of forgiveness available for those who are able to acknowledge their many sins.’55 Moreover, even those who are regarded as 47. See Nolland, Luke, 357; Marshall, Luke, 312. 48. Notice also the conflict in the parable of the Good Samaritan (10:25–42). 49. Cf. Spencer, Dancing Girls, 127. 50. Cf. StrB, 1, 995–96. 51. See Joseph M. Baumgarten, ‘The Essene Avoidance of Oil and the Laws of Purity,’ in Studies in Qumran Law (Leiden: Brill, 1977), 88–97. 52. See e.g., Kilgallen, ‘Forgiveness,’ 112; Johnson, Luke, 129; Tannehill, Narrative Unity, 117. 53. So Tannehill, ‘Should We Love,’ 432. 54. Cf. Evelyn R. Thibeaux, ‘“Known to be a Sinner”: The Narrative Rhetoric of Luke 7:36–50,’ BTB 23 (1993), 154; Tannehill, ‘Should We Love,’ 432; Mouton, ‘Reorienting,’ 46. 55. Mullen, Dining, 122.



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righteous by their following the Law are sinners in the eyes of God, and it does not matter to God whether others regard one as a sinner. Jesus sends the woman away with the assurance that she is forgiven (7:48). This assurance follows the public announcement: ‘why I [am able to] tell you that her many sins are forgiven is the fact that she is showing so much love’ (cf. 7:47).56 In addition she is assured that her faith has saved her (7:50). In spite of her many sins, her works of love have revealed her new status to all. She is sent away in peace, and we hear no more of her. Not only has she challenged Jesus, who for his part accepts her, but she has also functioned as a lesson to Simon and the other guests, who may have learnt from her actions that the love of God is visible in works of love. She is a lesson to Luke’s readers for the same reason. Conclusion: Luke’s Message The portrayal of Jesus in Luke 7:36–50 highlights his identity as a prophet. When he accepts the invitation to dine with Simon he demonstrates this identity by accepting a woman who is reputed to be a sinner. The Lukan portrait of Simon makes him a contrasting figure to the woman. By being identified as one of the Pharisees, he belongs to the respected class and has a reputation of following the words of the Law, which in the eyes of his equals would be equivalent to being righteous. Simon’s silent misgivings about Jesus are openly addressed. By means of the parable about free remission of debts, Jesus illustrates how forgiveness becomes the cause and effect of much love. Although the woman’s sin is not disclosed, she is labelled a sinner and regarded as such by all. When she appears at Simon’s banquet, she is an intruder in a space where she does not belong. When she anoints Jesus’ feet, she confirms her status as sinner in the eyes of the guests, and simultaneously she challenges Simon’s boundaries. Nevertheless, in the eyes of Jesus her acts are signs of her great love. He declares that her status is changed from sinner to righteous, indicating to Simon that his boundaries are no longer valid in view of the announcement of the kingdom of God. God’s kingdom promises forgiveness, is based on other values and has different boundaries than the social norms of that time. Thus Luke’s Jesus has come to challenge boundaries and declare a new status, a changed identity: for sinners to become righteous, for the righteous to be like sinners. The message directed at the readers is to have faith in Jesus like the woman, to show works of love like the woman, and with Simon to hope for God’s forgiveness, and to accept changed boundaries.

56. Quotation from C. F. D. Moule, ‘“… As we forgive …”: A Note on the Distinction between Deserts and Capacity in the Understanding of Forgiveness,’ in Essays in New Testament Interpretation (Cambridge: University, 1982), 278–86, esp. 283–84. This rendering of v. 47 is in line with the content of the parable.

Chapter 5

Jesus and Magic in Luke-Acts Graham H. Twelftree That Luke’s readers were faced with distinguishing between magicians and legitimate miracle workers seems highly probable in light of a number of stories in Acts (8:9–24; 13:4–12; 16:16–24; 19:13–17).1 However, as James Dunn noted years ago, Luke’s treatment of miracles, at least initially, gives the impression of being naive and lacking in discrimination in that he does not seem to see the need to demonstrate the distinctiveness of the power active in Christian miracles.2 Indeed, it has been said that Luke is a ‘tradition penetrated by magic.’3 Yet, taking a lead from Dunn, we are able to show that Luke carefully defines magic, distinguishes between it and what is acceptable among Christians, and, in turn, carefully and stringently defends Jesus against any charge of magic. Although, as we will see, in Luke’s gospel there is evidence that aspects of the narrative are cast in relation to concerns about the relation between Jesus and magic, our approach will be to begin in Acts at those points where Luke most obviously discusses and defines magic. Then, in the light of these stories, which turn out to be of borderline clashes between magic and miracle, we will ask how Luke’s readers are likely to have interpreted his portrait of Jesus. We will also take into account other points in Luke’s portrait of Jesus where he and his readers are likely to understand that the problem of Jesus and magic is in view.

1. Even if we have no evidence earlier than the second century that Luke and Acts were read as a literary unit, their author appears to have intended them to be read together (e.g. Acts 1:1). Andrew Gregory, ‘The Reception of Luke and Acts and the Unity of LukeActs,’ JSNT 29 (2007), 459–72, esp. 470. 2. James D. G. Dunn, Jesus and the Spirit (London: SCM, 1975), 167–70. This chapter is dedicated to Jimmy not only in gratitude for taking me on as his first Ph.D. student and for his and Meta’s friendship, but also in deep appreciation for his many contributions to New Testament scholarship and to the church. I also record my thanks to Alicia Eichmann, David Frankfurter, Michael Labahn and Kimberly Stratton for their careful and critical reading of an earlier draft of this chapter. 3. John M. Hull, Hellenistic Magic and the Synoptic Tradition (SBT 28; London: SCM, 1974), chapter 6.



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Luke: Magic Discussed The new orthodoxy in defining magic is to take it as a socially constructed label identifying opponents and their ideas and activities.4 Yet, for example, in The Alexander Romance (1.3), attributed to Callisthenes (d. 327 bce), Nectanebo II of Egypt readily claims to be a prophet and magus (ma/gov);5 and Plutarch writes positively of the practice of magic (magei/a) as part of the education of a prince.6 As an author can determine whether or not magic is acceptable,7 and as ideas related to magic can only be understood by close attention to their context,8 a more sure-footed way forward for us will be to examine what Luke has to say about magic and associated ideas. We have four stories in Acts that are most useful in gaining access to Luke’s understanding of magic. Simon Magus (Acts 8:9–24)9 Twice Simon is said to have practiced magic.10 Nevertheless, first to be noted is that, in narrating a competition between Simon and Philip, not only is Philip conducting ‘signs and great wonders’ (8:13) and causing amazement, but Simon is also said to ‘amaze’ (e(ci/sthmi) the people of Samaria (8:9), a term often used in Acts the response to a miracle (cf. Acts 2:7, 12; 8:13; 9:21; 10:45; 12:16). From this readers are likely to conclude not only that

4. Andy M. Reimer, Miracle and Magic (JSNTSS 235; London: Sheffield Academic, 2002), 8 ftn.25. On the definition of magic see Alan F. Segal, ‘Hellenistic Magic: Some Questions of Definition,’ in his The Other Judaisms of Late Antiquity (Brown Judaic Studies 127; Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1987), 79–108; David Frankfurter, ‘Dynamics of Ritual Expertise in Antiquity and Beyond: Towards a New Taxonomy of “Magicians”,’ in Magic and Ritual in the Ancient World (RGRW 141; ed. Paul Mirecki, Marvin Meyer; Leiden: Brill, 2002), 158–78. 5. Wilhelm Kroll, Historia Alexandri Magni (Berlin: Apud Weidmannos, 1958), 5; D. J. A. Ross, ‘Olympias and the Serpent: The Interpretation of a Baalbek Mosaic and the Date of the Illustrated Pseudo-Callisthenes’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 26 (1963), 1–21, esp. 17. 6. Plutarch, Art. 3.3; cf. 6.3; Ep. Apoll. 16. 7. Daniel Marguerat, ‘Magic and Miracle in the Acts of the Apostles,’ in Magic in the Biblical World (ed. Todd Klutz; London: T.&T. Clark, 2003), 100–124, esp. 115–16. 8. Richard Gordon, ‘Imagining Greek and Roman Magic,’ in Witchcraft and Magic in Europe (ed. Bengt Ankarloo and Stuart Clark; Philadelphia, Pa.: University of Pennsylvania Press, and London: Athlone, 1999), 159–275. 9. Access to the considerable amount of literature on the traditions about Simon can be gained in Richard I. Pervo, Acts (Hermeneia; Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress, 2009), 206 ftn.27 and 207 ftn.31. See also Susan R. Garrett, The Demise of the Devil (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress, 1989), 71–74. 10. The verb mageu/w is used in Acts 8:9 and the noun magei/a appears in 8:11, their only appearance in the New Testament. The noun, ‘magician’ (ma/gov) is found in the New Testament at Acts 13:6, 8 and Matt 2:1, 7, 16.

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the work of a miracle worker and a magician are deceptively similar, but also that miracle working itself did not draw the charge of magic. Secondly, Simon the magician is described as ‘saying that he was someone great’ (le/gwn ei]nai tina e(auto~n me/gan, Acts 8:9). Luke uses almost the same phrase in his disparaging description of Theudas – perhaps otherwise known to readers as a false prophet (cf. Josephus, Ant. 20.97)11 – who is said to be ‘claiming to be somebody’ (le/gwn ei]nai tina e9auto/n, 5:36). This is a parallel that a number of manuscripts recognized and sought to strengthen through adding me/gan to the note about Theudas.12 In the description of Simon readers are likely to note a number of things. On the one hand, in contrast to Philip’s ministry being about proclaiming the word, the Christ, the good news, the kingdom of God, and the name of Jesus (8:4, 5, 12), Simon’s ministry simply draws attention to himself (8:9). In line with this, while the profile of Philip is perceptively reduced in the description of his ministry (8:6), in response to the ministry of Simon, Luke has the crowd attracted to Simon, listening to him and praising him (8:10). On the other hand, Luke not only portrays his main characters in Acts as modest (Acts 10:26), including their directing attention to the divine origin of the miracles (Acts 3:12, 16; 4:7–8; 14:15a), he also portrays Philip preaching about a humble and humiliated Jesus (8:32–33). This is a theme we will see that Luke draws attention to in his gospel. Exceptionally, the gaoler is said to ‘fall’ at the feet of Paul and Silas. However, as prospi/ptw rather than proskune/w is used, and as the address to them as ku/rioi (‘Sirs’ or ‘Lords’) need be taken as no more than a polite address, it is probably not intended as a gesture of worship (16:29). In any case, although Paul survives the snake bite on the island of Malta (Acts 28:1–6), and Luke says the inhabitants ‘began to say that he was a god’ (28:6), in the story of praying for and laying hands on the father of Publius, Luke immediately goes on to provide a story that corrects and reinforces the readers’ views of Paul as serving, not being, God.13 Moreover, Paul has already been securely established as eschewing divine honors (14:8–18).14 Thirdly, from the echo of the description of Theudas (especially if they are independently aware of Theudas as a false prophet), Luke’s readers probably concluded that Simon the magician was a false prophet. In line with this, Luke has Peter reproach Simon for misleading or perverting (diastre/fw) the way of the Lord (Acts 13:10), the same charge brought against false prophets in Israel’s scriptures (LXX: Num 15:39; 32:7; Ezek 13:18, 22;

11. On identifying and dating Theudas see C. K. Barrett, Acts (ICC; Edinburgh: T.&T. Clark, 1994, 1998), 1.294–96. 12. D (s Ac E 36. 614 pc gig h vgmss; Cyr) sy p mae; Cyr Or.; Barrett, Acts, 1.293–94. 13. Michael Labahn, ‘Paulus – ein homo honestus et iustus: Das lukanische Paulusportrait von Act 27–28 im Lichte ausgewählter antiker Parallelen’, in Das Ende des Paulus. Historische, theologische und literaturgeschichtliche Aspekte (BZNW 106; ed. Friedrich Wilhelm Horn; Berlin–New York: de Gruyter 2001), 75–106 (91). 14. Reimer, Miracle, 119–23.



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14:5[A]; 16:34). The likelihood that Luke is wanting to equate magic and false prophecy is increased in light of what we will see in Luke’s story of Elymas (Acts 13:4–12). Against the background of these early descriptions of Simon, Luke goes on to relate his conversion so that, by mid-way through the narrative, the magician appears as a member of the Christian community. He believes, is baptized, is constantly with Philip, and is appropriately amazed at great miracles taking place (Acts 8:13). Luke, however, takes his readers by surprise and uses this description to draw attention to, and heighten an aspect of, his portrait of this magician. That is, fourthly, on seeing ‘the Spirit was given through the laying on of the apostles’ hands’ (Acts 8:18), Simon is said to offer money so that anyone on whom he laid hands might receive the Holy Spirit (8:19). Even though Simon is not pictured as receiving money, the premise of his request is the assumption that ministry involved financial gains (see below on 16:16–24). Not only because Peter and John, two of Luke’s key figures, are portrayed as having ‘no silver or gold’ (3:6; cf. Luke 9:3; 10:4; Lucian, Fug. 20), but also because it was widely considered that magicians and false prophets were avaricious,15 readers would take this surprising turn in the narrative as an unavoidable signal that, though he had become a member of the Christian community, Simon remained a magician. In turn, fifthly, whatever repentance readers might have assumed was involved in Simon’s baptism (Acts 8:13; cf. 2:38), Luke shows it does not extend to his being a magician. For, as the story closes, though having been cursed,16 Simon is not portrayed as repenting from his errors, but attempting to manipulate the apostles to gain a pardon (8:20–23).17 In the description of Simon as a member of the community while still remaining a magician (8:13), readers can see that a magician is not defined simply in terms of being set against the community. The charge of magic is not ruled out by a person being a follower of Jesus or a member of the Christian community. Luke will make this clearer in the next story to be discussed. Sixth and finally, in that Acts 8:25 is in the plural – ‘Now after they (oi9 me_n ou]n) had testified and spoken the word of the Lord’ – Luke probably has in mind Peter and John, and intends this to be the climax and conclusion to this story. Thus, a point that will become obvious in another of these stories, 15. See, e.g. Plato, Resp. 2.364; Sophocles, Ant. 1055; Cicero, Div. 1.58; Ascen. Isa. 3.28; Did. 11.6, 12; Herm. Mand. 43[XI].12; Josephus, Ant. 6.48; 18.65–80; Juvenal, Sat. 6.542–47; Lucian, Alex. 39, 41–42; Fug. 20; Peregra. 16; Acts Thom. 79; Apuleius, Metam. 2.13; 8.24–31; Maximus of Tyre, Oration 13.3; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.18.4; Praep. ev. 4.2b; Theodoret, Quæstiones in librum I Regnorum 368–69; cf. Lucian, Demon. 37, Aulus Gellius, Noct. att. 14.1.1–3; C. K. Barrett, ‘Light on the Holy Spirit from Simon Magus (Acts 8,4–25),’ in Actes des Apôtres (ed. Jacob Kremer; Louvain: Leuven University Press, 1979), 281–95 (286–88); J. Reiling, Hermas and Christian Prophecy (NovTSup 37; Leiden: Brill, 1973), 53–54, 70–71. 16. Cf. Acts 8:23; Deut 29:18; 1 QS II.11–19. 17. Marguerat, ‘Magic,’ 120.

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magic is being defined over against ‘the word of the Lord’ (Acts 8:25),18 which is probably to be taken as a shorthand definition of the church and its mission.19 Elymas or Bar-Jesus (Acts 13:4–12)20 The view that a magician is also a false prophet, adumbrated in the last story, is specified here in the description of Elymas as ‘a magician, a false prophet’ (ma/gon yeudoprofh/thn, 13:6).21 Luke’s evidence is this man’s opposition against Barnabas and Saul, and his attempting to ‘mislead’ (diastre/yai) or turn Sergius Paulus away from the faith (13:8). Readers might have taken Elymas ‘being with the proconsul’ as part of Luke’s negative assessment of magicians. ‘Being with’ (su_n) is likely to mean that he was ‘in the service of’ Sergius Paulus, for there are many other examples of prophets or diviners, including Jews,22 acting for political leaders and being in their court.23 While in classical Greece wanderers were often regarded as deceivers,24 by Roman times detachment from societal obligations, including having traveled, contributed to the reputation of their spirituality and power.25 Yet, in Luke’s story, over against this and his portrait of the Christian missionaries as travelers and outsiders of society,26 nothing is said of the

18. Also see Acts 13:44, 48, (49); 15:35–36; 16:32; 19:10 cf. v.20. Further 8:25; 13:44, 48; and 16:32 where some texts (e.g., B pc) have qeou. 19. Jerome Kodell, ‘“The Word of God Grew”: The Ecclessial Tendency of lo/gov in Acts 1.7; 12, 24; 19,20,’ Bib 55 (1974), 505–19, esp. 511–12. 20. Cf. Garrett, Demise, 79–87; Susan R. Garrett, ‘Light on a Dark Subject and Vice Versa: Magic and Magicians in the New Testament,’ in Religion, Science and Magic: In Concert and in Conflict (ed. Jacob Neusner, Ernest S. Frerichs and Paul Virgil McCracken Flesher; New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 142–65. 21. Garrett, Demise, 13–17; Garrett, ‘Light,’ 154–56. 22. See Josephus, Ant. 17.345–48/J.W. 2.111–13; Ant. 15.373–79; J.W. 1.78–80; cf. 2.159. 23. On court prophets see, e.g. Suetonius, Tib. 14.4; Nero 36.1; Otho 4.1; 6.1; Dom. 15.3; Arthur Darby Nock, ‘Paul and the Magus,’ in his, Essays on Religion and the Ancient World, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972), I.308–30 (326); David S. Potter, Prophets and Emperors (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1994), 157–70. 24. Cf., e.g. Homer, Od. 8.28–29; 14.122–27, 360–64; 17.483–87; Il. 24.532–33; Plato, Meno 80.b.6; Euripides, Bacch. 233–38; Silvia Montiglio, ‘Wandering Philosophers in Classical Greece,’ JHS 120 (2000), 86–105. 25. See, e.g. Aulus Gellius, Noct. Att. 12.11.1; Lucian Peregr. 17–19; Alex. 6–7, 9; Philops. 33–34, 38; Cassius Dio, Roman History 79.18.1–3; Graham Anderson, Sage, Saint, and Sophist (London and New York: Routledge, 1994), esp. 146, 167–77. 26. See the discussion by Reimer, Miracle, 72–74 and the review by Kimberly B. Stratton, ‘Miracle and Magic: A Study in the Acts of the Apostles and the Life of Apollonius of Tyana,’ JBL 122 (2003), 767–71, esp. 769.



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history of Elymas that suggests he may have traveled; he is only portrayed as having a sedentary life.27 Luke has Paul describe the magician as a ‘son of the devil’ and ‘enemy of righteousness’ (Acts 13:10). The irony of this, and the resultant sharp opposition that Luke is portraying between the legitimate missionaries and a magician, would not be lost on the readers. Elymas is introduced with the name of Bar-Jesus.28 Thus, despite his deceptively acceptable name, he is an opponent in the highest order of the gospel. This point will be particularly important when we consider Luke’s portrait of Jesus in relation to magic (cf. Luke 11:14–23). The story ends with the miraculous blinding of Elymas. Luke writes, ‘When the proconsul saw what had happened, he believed, for he was astonished at the teaching about the Lord’ (13:12). It is not that Luke is marginalizing the miraculous.29 Rather, the teaching, in association with the miracles, has proved victorious over the influence of the magician or false prophet. To these two stories, where magic is most obviously defined, two others need our attention, one more briefly. A Slave Girl with a Spirit (Acts 16:16–24)30 That this story would also help readers understand Luke’s perspective on magic is seen by noting that money was being made from the girl who was ‘soothsaying’ or ‘fortune-telling’ (manteuome/nh, Acts 16:16). Manteu/omai, only here in the New Testament, had long been used for pagan divination and prophetic activity,31 and in the Septuagint was related to false prophets.32 This would also help clarify for Luke’s readers that magic or false prophecy is demonic or evilly inspired, as does the girl’s description as ‘having a spirit’ also points to the demonic.33 Thus, like the demoniac of the gospel who also

27. Hans-Josef Klauck, ‘With Paul in Paphos and Lystra: Magic and Paganism in the Acts of the Apostles’ Neot 28 (1994), 93–108 (96–97); Reimer, Miracle, 77. 28. On the problems associated with this transliteration see L. Yaure, ‘ElymasNehelamite-Pethor,’ JBL 79 (1960), 297–314; Ernst Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles (Oxford: Blackwell, 1971), 397 ftn.3. 29. Marguerat, ‘Magic,’ 122. 30. See further Graham H. Twelftree, In the Name of Jesus (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker, 2007), 145–48. 31. E.g. Aeschylus, Eum. 715–16; Pindar, Ol. 7.31; Herodotus, Hist. 1.46; 4.67, 172; 5.114; Euripides, Ion 373, 346, 431; Aristophenes, Av. 593; Vesp. 159; Plato, Apol. 21a; Phileb. 64a; Plutarch, Alex. 75.1; Arrian, Indica 11.1–8; Lucian, Alex. 19; Dial. mort. 10.1; 23.1; PGM V. 50; VII. 545–550. 32. Mantei~a (‘oracle’): Num 22:7; Prov 16:10; Ezek 21:22–27; manteu~omai (‘divinize’): Deut 18:10; 1 Sam 28:8; 2 Kgs 17:17; Jer 34:9; Ezek 12:24; 13:6, 23; 21:26, 28, 34; Mic 3:11; ma~ntij (‘diviner’ or ‘seer’ or ‘prophet’): Josh 13:22; 1 Sam 6:2; Jer 36:8; Mic 3:7; Zech 10:2. 33. Acts 16:16 (e1xousan pneu~ma); cf. Luke 13:11 (pneu~ma e1xousa).

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used the term ‘the Most High God’ (Luke 8:28), this girl is also exorcized (Acts 16:18; cf. Ps. Clem. Hom. 9:16:3). Notwithstanding, that Luke sees unclear contours between Christianity and magic is apparent in the ambiguity of the girl’s oracle and, perhaps, Paul’s delayed response to her. She says that Paul, and those with him, proclaimed ‘a way,’ exceptionally not using the article with ‘way’ (o9do/j),34 implying that their proclamation is one among many possibilities for salvation. The Seven Sons of Sceva (Acts 19:13–17)35 None of the usual vocabulary associated with magic appears and, initially, there does not appear to be anything untoward about the ministry of the seven sons of Sceva. They are itinerant, as are Luke’s approved characters, and their method of healing appears to be legitimate: they tried to exorcize using ‘the name of the Lord Jesus’ or ‘the Jesus whom Paul preaches’ (19:13). Yet, in their public humiliation, they are condemned in Luke’s narrative. We begin to see Luke’s perspective when we take into account that this story is the second of three in a single paragraph (19:11–20). In the first story (Acts 19:11–12), Luke gives a portrait of Paul in which, ‘handkerchiefs or aprons were carried away from his body to the sick, and diseases left them and the evil spirits came out of them.’ It was widely known in this period that material objects, including a person’s clothing, which was thought to carry the wearer’s authority and power,36 could transmit spiritual power.37 However, Luke gives no criticism of Paul’s apparent involuntary release and transfer of healing power to clothing, perhaps to be placed on people.38 Indeed, he says that it was God performing the ‘powers’ (duna/meij, Acts 19:11).39 Also, in saying that ‘some itinerant Jewish exorcists tried to use the name of the Lord Jesus over those who had evil spirits, saying, “I adjure you by the Jesus whom Paul proclaims’’’ (Acts 19:13), Luke is probably implying that they are modeling Paul.40 Hence, again, it is not this aspect of the exorcists’ methodology that the readers are to see as questionable. 34. In Acts 2:28 the article is absent in a citation of Ps. 15:11LXX. 35. Cf. Garrett, Demise, 89–101; Twelftree, Name, 148–53. 36. E.g., Gen. 35:2; Num. 20:25–26; 1 Sam. 18:4; 1 Kgs 19:19–20; (cf. Josephus, Ant. 8.353–54); 2 Kgs 2:8; Ezek. 44:19; Hag. 2:12–14; Luke 8:43–48. 37. Graham H. Twelftree, ‘Jesus the Exorcist and Ancient Magic,’ in A Kind of Magic (LNTS/JSNTS 306; ed. Michael Labahn and Bert Jan Lietaert Peerbolte; London and New York: Sheffield Academic, 2006), 57–86, esp. 77, 84–85; Mark 5:28–29; PGM V. 159–71; XII. 266, 301–306. 38. Note Luke 8:44. H.-J. Klauck, Magic and Paganism in Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 2000), 98–99. 39. Luke uses duna/meij to designate the miracles of Jesus at Luke 10:13; 19:37; for the miracles of Philip see Acts 8:13. 40. W. A. Strange, ‘The Sons of Sceva and the Text of Acts 19: 14’, JTS 38 (1987), 97–106 (97).



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Luke’s view emerges in noting that, in the parallel statement by the demon, ‘Jesus I know, and Paul I know,’ Jesus and Paul are united. They are set over against the sons of Sceva in the demon saying, ‘But (de~41), who are you?’ (Acts 19:15). This may help account for Luke repeatedly drawing attention to the exorcists as Jews (19:13, 14; cf. 17).42 This would not have been meant in any anti-Semitic sense, for all Luke’s major characters are Jews. Instead, Luke is probably indicating that they are not Christians; they are not empowered by God or God’s Spirit.43 In turn, this is probably the reason Luke depicts God as working directly through Paul (19:11), while the sons of Sceva are said to rely on a third-hand source of power-authority: ‘Jesus whom Paul proclaims’ (19:15).44 Luke’s view that is emerging comes into sharper focus when we note that he says the sons of Sceva were ‘overpowered’ (i1sxusen) – perhaps we could say ‘strong armed’ – by the man with the evil spirit (Acts 19:16). This is important for our project because, in contrast to Jesus saying that Satan as the ‘strong man’ is defeated by his exorcisms (o9 i0sxuro/j, Luke 11:21), here it is the sons of Sceva who are i1sxusen or mastered by the evil spirit. In other words, readers are likely to infer that Satan was the source of powerauthority for the sons of Sceva in that Satan’s activities have been divided and brought about his own defeat.45 Luke gives additional insight into his perspective on the sons of Sceva in the following note about book burning (Acts 19:18–20). Not only in juxtaposing the two stories, but also in using te46 to connect the stories closely, he intends the book-burning incident to be an interpretive coda to that of the sons of Sceva. Those involved were ‘those who had become believers’ (tw~n pepisteuko/twn h1rxonto). Despite protests from some interpreters,47 the force of the perfect participle suggests that Luke has Christians in mind. Indeed, there are sufficient cases where the tense of the participle is important in what Luke is saying.48 The perfect participle 41. It is likely that the men of the men … de construction (see NA27) is secondary. Barrett, Acts, 2:910. 42. Todd Klutz, ‘Naked and Wounded: Foregrounding, Relevance and Situation in Acts 19.13–20,’ in Discourse Analysis and the New Testament (JSNTSup 170; ed. Stanley E. Porter and Jeffrey T. Reed; Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic, 1999), 258–79 (259–60). 43. Bernd Kollmann, Jesus und die Christen als Wundertäter (FRLANT 170; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996), 151–53, understands Acts 19:13–16 as securing the o9rki/zw u9ma~j to_n  I)nseou~n against non-Christian misuse. 44. Cf. Robert C. Tannehill, The Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress, 1990), 237. 45. Cf. Garrett, Demise, 93, 98. 46. BDF §443.1–3. 47. E.g., Garrett, Demise, 95–96. 48. Twelftree, Name, 152 n. 151: Luke uses the participle of pisteu~ein at Luke 1:45; 8:12; Acts 2:44; 4:32; 5:14; 9:26; 10:43; 11:17, 21; 13:39; 15:5; 16:34; 18:27; 19:2, 18; 21:20, 25; 22:19 and 24:14. Luke probably invests particular significance to the nuances in the tense at, e.g., Acts 2:44 (present) and 4:32 (aorist), which are both similar parts of cameos of the early Jerusalem church; also cf. 11:17 (aorist) and 13:39 (present) where tense is significant for meaning, as it is in 22:19 (present).

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here should probably be taken to mean that it is believers who are depicted confessing and disclosing ‘their practices’ (ta~j pra~xeij au0tw~n, 19:18). Although pra~xeij can describe any actions (cf. Luke 23:51), the context here (note peri~ergoj in 19:19)49 suggests Luke would have in mind the (magical) practices he is about to mention. Peri~erga would likely have been taken to be a semi-technical term for magic as something that ought not to be meddled with.50 In any case, in the story of Simon we have already come across a member of the community, damnably, remaining a magician. The import of the story is that the defeat of the sons of Sceva exposes similar practices among Christians. Luke mentions and passes judgment on two aspects of those practices: he mentions books and the great value of those books (Acts 19:19; cf. Isocrates, Aeginet. 5–6). Even if the sons of Sceva are not portrayed as using books, their defeat is used by Luke to rule out healing practices that were text based or depended on what was said and done.51 Instead, from what Luke has just said about Paul (Acts 19:11–12), readers will know that Luke sanctions Christian healing that depends on the Spirit or imbibed power of God in his servants. In mentioning the great value of the books burnt, Luke is probably drawing attention to the financial aspects of magic and, once again, condemning those aspects. Luke: Magic Defined From the similarities in these stories between ministries that are the work of magicians and those that are not, it becomes clear that Luke has not defined magic in terms of the presence or absence or kind of miracles. Both Luke’s heroes and his heretics conduct miracles and exorcisms. Nor is the use of artifacts taken as an indication of a practitioner’s association with magic. Also, Luke does not see any magical associations with the involuntary transfer of spiritual power for healing from the healer to the healed. Rather, what emerges foremost from these passages is that (1) magic is defined as – indeed is equated with – false prophecy, that which is over against and not the apostolic word,52 but ‘the word of the Lord’ or the mission of Jesus and his followers. This was clearest in the case of Elymas, though probably also the case with Simon. In turn, (2) one of the strongest appellatives Luke uses for a magician is ‘son of the devil’ (Acts 13:10), indicating that a magician is seen in complete opposition to God, his Messiah, and his messengers. Not surprisingly, then, (3) the Spirit-identity of the person determines whether or not magic is involved. In line with this, the episode concerning Christians burning books shows (4) magic to involve dependence on texts, what is said and done, rather than on the powerful presence of the 49. 50. 51. 52.

Cf., e.g., PGM I. 1; IV. 1227; XII. 1, 15; ND 1.12.4. Barrett, Acts, 2:912–13. Twelftree, Name, §2. Cf. Pseudo-Phocylides, 149. So Marguerat, ‘Magic and Miracle,’ 101.



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Spirit. That Christians confess these practices and that Simon had joined the community shows that (5) Luke sees magic not only as a description of outsiders operating against the gospel, but also of insiders whose allegiance is not to God. Concomitantly, (6) magic is associated with a ministry that is not Spirit-empowered but self-centered and self-aggrandizing, and that seeks financial gain; the most infamous example is Simon, whose name has been given to simony. In other words, magic is described as functionally displacing the work of God and his Messiah with attention on the human, and on the assumption that the supernatural – in particular, the Holy Spirit – can be bought and sold for personal gain. Yet (7) readers would have noted that Luke portrays the gospel and its messengers as more powerful than magic and the magicians. Jesus and Magic in Luke From these stories in Acts we can see how Luke’s readers are likely to have read his story about Jesus in relation to magic. On the one hand, the readers would not have thought that power coming involuntarily from Jesus to cause healing (Luke 6:19; 8:46; cf. 5:17) had anything to do with magic.53 Nor are the particular healing methods the Lukan Jesus uses likely to associate him with magic. Even though there are close parallels to these methods in what we call magical literature,54 Luke offers no criticism of them. On the other hand, as Luke holds that magic and false prophecy are one and the same (Acts 13:6), it is likely that Jesus’ statement, ‘Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets’ (Luke 6:26), would contribute to the readers’ understanding of Jesus in relation to magic. For the implication is that the attacks on Jesus (cf. 4:29) prove he is neither false prophet nor magician. Moreover, Luke has Jesus go on to tell his followers to give to everyone who begs (6:30), the exact antithesis of how false prophets or magicians would behave. A part of Luke’s portrait of Jesus in relation to magic is the Beelzebul Controversy (Luke 11:14–23) where the issue centers on Jesus’ source of power, or his relationship to God. Jesus defends himself against his opponents’ charge that he is exorcizing by Beelzebul, the prince of demons or Satan. That this would have been read as a defense against an aspect of magic is very likely in view of Luke going on to have Paul, who is designated as full of the Holy Spirit (Acts 13:9), call Elymas not only a magician and false prophet, but also a ‘son of the devil’ and an enemy of righteousness (13:6, 10). Moreover, the association of being a magician with being empowered by Satan is also found in the second century with Justin and Celsus.55 53. Contrast the implication by Hull, Hellenistic Magic, 106–107. 54. Twelftree, ‘Ancient Magic,’ 83 n. 124. 55. Graham N. Stanton, ‘Jesus of Nazareth: A Magician and a False Prophet Who Deceived God’s People?,’ Jesus of Nazareth (ed. Joel B. Green and Max Turner; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans and Carlisle, UK: Paternoster, 1994), 164–80 (174).

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As a response, Luke has Jesus say, among other things, that the charge is a logical impossibility: Satan would be casting out Satan (Luke 11:17–18) and, as Luke illustrates in the story of the seven sons of Sceva, bring about selfdestruction. Also, Luke has Jesus say, ‘But if in God’s finger (daktu/lw| qeou~) I cast out demons, then has come upon you the kingdom of God’ (11:20), which may be intended as an allusion to Exodus 8:19 (8:15LXX), where the Egyptian magicians take their defeat to be the finger of God (da\ktuloj qeou~).56 In these two responses Luke is portraying Jesus, not as a magician empowered by Satan, but as unmistakably the servant or instrument of God. This is a piece with his portrayal of Jesus as full of the Holy Spirit (4:1), as ministering in the power of the Spirit (4:14; cf. 8:39/Mark 5:20), of being endowed by the Spirit (4:18), and of rejoicing in the Spirit (10:21). Then, before Pilate, the crowd is said to accuse Jesus, not only of ‘perverting’ (a(postre/fw: Luke 23:14) the people, a word used of apostasy in Israel’s scriptures,57 but also of ‘misleading (diastre/fw) our nation’ (23:2). This charge is precisely the accusation we saw Paul bring against Elymas (Acts 13:8). We can expect, then, that if readers had not already detected it, on reflection, they would see that Jesus was being associated with magic and, in Pilate’s ‘not guilty’ verdict (Luke 23:14), resoundingly exonerated by Luke. As well as these more specific points, where readers would be able to see that Luke was quite directly defending Jesus against charges of magic, in the light of Luke’s second volume, readers would be able to look back and recall positive aspects of Luke’s portrayal of Jesus that they could take as securing him against any magic-related charge. First, over against magicians being defined primarily as false prophets, and Jesus being defended against the charge of being one, readers could hardly miss the close attention Luke gives to portraying Jesus as a prophet bringing God’s authentic voice (Exod. 4:15–16; cf. Luke 4:32; Acts 10:36). The first three chapters of the gospel are nothing short of an eruption of the prophetic Spirit, culminating in the Spirit descending on Jesus (Luke 3:21–22). Being a prophet is the first description Jesus gives of himself in the synagogue at Nazareth (4:24), where he also compares himself to Elijah and Elisha (4:25– 27; cf. 9:8), causing the crowd to drive him out of town as the prophets had been in the past (4:29; 6:26). Only Luke has the raising of the widow’s son at Nain and the crowd acclaiming Jesus as ‘a great prophet’ (7:16; cf. 9:7–9, 18–19). Also unique to Luke is the story of the walk to Emmaus in which Jesus is acclaimed as ‘a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and

56. See Michael Labahn, ‘Jesu Exorzismen (Q 11,19–20) und die Erkenntnis der ägyptischen Magier (Ex 8,15): Q 11,20 als bewahrtes Beispiel für Schrift-Rezeption Jesu nach der Logienquelle’, in The Sayings Source Q and the Historical Jesus (BETL 153; ed. Andreas Lindemann, Leuven: Peeters 2001), 617–33 (619, 629–30). 57. See Num. 32:15; Deut. 31:18[B]; Josh. 22:16, 18, 29; 23:12; Judges 2:19; 8:33[A]; 3 Kings 9:6; 4 Kings 17:3; 2 Chron. 7:19; 29:6.



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all the people’ (24:19). In Acts, it is not that Jesus ceases to be a prophet.58 Not only is his prophetic role maintained and still commanding attention (Acts 3:22–23), but he is now portrayed as the eschatological Moses-prophet (Acts 3:22–23; cf. 7:37; Deut. 18:15–18), hinted at by the divine voice in the transfiguration (Luke 9:35). It is this figure, anything but a false prophet or magician, who remains active through the ministry of his followers in Acts (Acts 1:1; cf. 9:5). Second, we have already noted that, in Acts, magic is defined over against ‘the word of the Lord’ (Acts 8:25). Notably for our enquiries, not only is this phrase and its equivalent, ‘the word of God,’59 significant as the shorthand definition of the Christian mission in Acts, but Luke also uses the phrase to characterize Jesus’ message (Luke 5:1; 8:11, 21; 11:28). In other words, this would probably cause readers to conclude that Jesus and his message are to be understood over against the magic and magicians. Third, Luke’s portrait of Simon as the self-aggrandizing magician sets in relief, and draws attention to, his depiction of Jesus. Luke gives special attention to Jesus not only as teaching the importance of humility60 and applauding humility in others (Luke 7:1–10), but also being humble (22:27). Fourth, the sharp contrast between Jesus and magic is also played out for Luke’s readers through the theme of wealth and poverty. In contrast to Luke’s aversion to ministry being a source of wealth, and his associating magicians with avarice, Jesus turns out to be anything but a magician. The picture that emerges of Jesus in this gospel is of one who is materially poor. Mention of the newly born Jesus being laid in a manger (Luke 2:7, 12, 16), and his parents making the offering of two birds when they present him at the temple (2:24), may be intended to indicate that he was born in poverty. In contrast to the settled and comfortable life of Elymas the magician, Jesus is constantly on the move (esp. 9:51–20:1), and has nowhere to lay his head (9:58). In his ministry, said to be to the poor (e.g., 4:18; 7:22), Jesus has to rely on the material support of others (8:1–3). Then, Jesus teaches not only about the cost of wealth (6:24; 12:13, 15, 23), but also about the material price of being one of his followers (18:29), the rewards being eternal rather than in this life (18:30).

58. So J. S. Croatto, ‘Jesus, Prophet Like Elijah, and Prophet-Teacher Like Moses in Luke-Acts,’ JBL 124 (2005), 451–65 (454). 59. Acts 4:31; 6:2, 7; 8:14; 11:1; 12:24; 13:5, 7, 46; 17:13; 18:11. At 12:24 and 13:5 some texts have ku~rioj, on which see NA27. Also to be considered is Luke’s plain use of o0 lo~goj for the message of Jesus at, for example Luke 1:2; 4:32, 36; 6:47; 8:12, 13, 15; 9:26, 28, 44; 10:39; 21:33; 24:19, 44. For o0 lo~goj as the message of the early Chrurch see Acts 2:41; 4:4, 29; 6:4; 8:4, 21; 10:36, 44; 1:19; 13:26 (th~j swthri/aj); 14:3 (th~j xa/ritoj), 25; 15:7 (tou~ eu0anggeli/ou); 16:6; 17:11; 18:5; 20:7, 32 (th~j xa/ritoj). 60. Luke 14:7–14; 18:9–14 (both passages unique to Luke); 18:15–17; 22:24–27.

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Luke is anything but naive in the treatment of the topic of magic. The apparent lack of discrimination in distinguishing between legitimate and illegitimate power turns out to be an expression of Luke’s view of the deceptive similarity between what is acceptable and unacceptable, of the often blurred contours between early Christianity and magic. Indeed, damnably, the magician can be found in the Christian community as well as outside it. We have also seen that although Luke describes Jesus in ways (and with methods) familiar among those we might categorize as magicians, this ought not lead us to conclude that Luke thought Jesus was a magician. These factors were not relevant to Luke’s understanding of magic or Jesus’ relation to magic, and it would be misleading for us to suggest that Luke’s tradition was permeated with magic. Instead, we can see that Luke’s readers would have noted certain clear lines in his portrait of Jesus that would have marked Jesus off from magic. Over against what Luke establishes as magic’s most essential feature, false prophecy, he goes to considerable lengths to describe Jesus as a true prophet, even having Pilate exonerate him of the charge of misleading the people or of false prophecy. Further, instead of being sponsored by the Satan-inspired power of magicians, Jesus is repeatedly shown to be filled and empowered by the Holy Spirit – the Spirit of prophecy. This point is made unavoidably clear through portraying Jesus engaged with his detractors in a dialogue that establishes specifically that he is not empowered by Satan. Commensurate with being shown to be a true prophet, rather than as a false prophet or magician, Jesus is depicted as humble, materially poor, and dependent on the resources of others. He also teaches the benefits of poverty and the cost of wealth. ‘The word of the Lord’ – short-hand for the ministry of Jesus, as well as his followers – is shown to be more powerful than any aspect of magic Luke’s readers may encounter.

Chapter 6

Barabbas Remembered Helen K. Bond It is frustratingly difficult to assess the historical value of the Barabbas episode, not least since the name is uncannily akin to that of Jesus . . . and the custom of releasing a prisoner at Passover . . . is otherwise unknown.1

Barabbas is undoubtedly one of the most enigmatic characters in the whole gospel tradition. He appears fleetingly in all four gospels, playing a cameo role in the Roman interrogation of Jesus (Mark 15:5–15 par., John 18:38– 40), then exits as quickly as he entered, to be noted only once more in Acts 3:14. But who was Barnabbas? More importantly, why did early Christians remember him? This study aims to explore these questions, in dedication to my wonderful and gracious Doktorvater, Jimmy Dunn, under whose inspiring guidance I took my first tentative steps in the controversial yet fascinating puzzle that is the Roman trial of Jesus. Who was Barabbas? There is little scholarly agreement over Barabbas. Researchers take their place on a spectrum with those who accept the gospel record broadly as it stands at one end, and those who accept the story as a legendary development at the other. Upholders of the historicity of the biblical text argue that Barabbas was a freedom-fighter, and brigand chief. Mustering a raft of similar customs from the ancient world,2 they claim that a Passover amnesty might well have

1. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 775, ftn.67. I would like to thank the Edinburgh Biblical Studies Research Seminar and my research student, Max Aplin, for several helpful comments on this study. 2. On the proposed parallels in Assyria, Babylonia, Greece, Rome, Egypt, and the Talmud, see discussions in R. L. Merritt, ‘Jesus Barabbas and the Paschal Pardon,’ JBL 104 (1985), 57–68, esp. 62–7; Raymond E. Brown, The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsemane to the Grave (New York: Doubleday, 1994), 1.814–20; Charles B. Chavel, ‘The Releasing of a Prisoner on the Eve of Passover in Ancient Jerusalem,’ JBL 60 (1941), 273–8; J. Merkel, ‘Die Begnadigung am Passahfeste,’ ZNW 6 (1905), 293–316.

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existed, and that it is the kind of thing that a Roman governor could have inaugurated or continued as a gesture of goodwill, a special concession, or a safety valve for public opinion at festival time.3 The difficulty with this view, however, is that it does not pay enough attention to the profound historical problems encountered within the scene. Paramount is the complete lack of evidence for a regular amnesty in Judaea at this (or indeed any) period. This is not simply an argument from silence: Josephus was particularly keen to highlight Roman concessions to his compatriots; if he had known of a yearly custom, it is virtually certain that he would have mentioned it. Furthermore, it seems highly improbable that any Roman governor would allow himself to be compelled by a regular amnesty to release a prisoner of the crowd’s choosing at the tense and politically volatile feast of Passover.4 Less crucial, though indicative of the difficulties involved, are the discrepancies between the four gospels over the nature of the release and Barabbas’ crime.5 At the other end of the spectrum, Barabbas is seen by other scholars as the creation of the evangelists. There are a number of alternative theories. On the basis of his name, probably a Greek rendering of the Aramaic ‘Son of the Father,’ and some Matthean manuscripts that give his personal name as Jesus,6 Rigg and Maccoby independently conclude that Barabbas is none other than Jesus of Nazareth – his presence in the trial narrative being either the result of Christian confusion (so Rigg) or deliberate distortion (so Maccoby).7 Others have looked to Jewish history or to the Scriptures for 3. See e.g., David Flusser with R. Steven Notley, The Sage from Galilee (4th ed.: Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 153–55; Craig S. Keener, A Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 668–70; Ernst Bammel, ‘The Trial before Pilate,’ in Jesus and the Politics of His Day (eds. Ernst Bammel and C. F. D. Moule; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 426–8; Alois Bajsic, ‘Pilatus, Jesus und Barabbas,’ Bib 48 (1967), 7–28; Josef Blinzler, The Trial of Jesus (Cork: Mercier Press, 1959), 205–21. 4. So also Simon Légasse, The Trial of Jesus (London: SCM, 1997), 68; Morna D. Hooker, A Commentary on the Gospel according to St Mark (BNTC; London: A. & C. Black, 1991), 368; S. G. F. Brandon, The Trial of Jesus of Nazareth (London: Batsford, 1968), 101. John D. Crossan, Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography (San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, 1994), 140–43 cites Philo, Against Flaccus 81–4 who notes that a governor might postpone an execution until after a festival, or even allow a criminal’s family to bury his body. But there is no hint that a governor might order a reprieve, let alone a regular amnesty. 5. See the discussion in Brown, Death, 793–803, 807–14. 6. The extant MS evidence is actually quite weak, but Origen’s assumption is that the many MSS in his day (c. 240 ce) omitted the name because no sinner in the whole of scripture bore the same name as Jesus (In Matt. 122). This provides a good reason why the name was deleted. See discussion in Bruce M. Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament (United Bible Society, 1971), 67–68. The name Barabbas is well-attested for the first century: cf. I. Abrahams, Studies in Pharisaism and the Gospels. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1924), 2.101–2. 7. Horace Abram Rigg, ‘Barabbas,’ JBL 64 (1965), 417–56; Hyam Z. Maccoby, ‘Jesus and Barabbas,’ NTS 16 (1970), 55–60. See also Stevan L. Davies, ‘Who is Called Bar Abbas?’ NTS 27 (1981), 260–62.



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the background to Barabbas. Loisy famously suggested that the episode was modelled on Agrippa I’s visit to Alexandria in 38 when anti-Jewish citizens dressed up a lunatic named Karabas in mock regalia in order to ridicule the Jewish prince.8 Crossan argues that Mark created the Barabbas incident as a symbolic dramatization of the fate of Jerusalem during the revolt of 66–70, when the city chose to accept the insurrectionary Zealots over the unarmed Saviour, Jesus.9 Aus suggests that the Barabbas story was created by early Jewish Christians as a haggadic interpretation of the popular Esther story.10 Most recently, drawing on Greco-Roman curative exit rites, Berenson Maclean claims that the episode grows out of the scapegoat ritual of Leviticus 16, with Barabbas functioning as a literary scapegoat and foil to Jesus.11 Again, all of these theories are problematic. While Crossan and Berenson Maclean capture something of the role of Barabbas in individual gospels, the fundamental problem with Barabbas as a literary creation is the fact that the scene is found in all four gospels. New Testament scholars generally agree that the framework of the Passion Narrative was put together remarkably early. Although there are clearly quite far-reaching differences in detail and emphases between various retellings of the story, the invention of a new character at such an early date (well within the lifetime of eyewitnesses) seems unlikely.12 Mark’s slightly awkward ‘the one called Barabbas’ suggests a well-known figure, as perhaps too does Matt. 27:16.13 Furthermore, the differences between the various gospels in their presentations of Barabbas below will suggest a relatively long period of reflection and development. In view of these difficulties, most scholars find themselves somewhere between the two extremes and accept some degree of historicity. 14 Perhaps there was some confusion over which ‘Jesus’ was to be brought to trial, and the prefect needed to seek clarification.15 Or perhaps Pilate

8. Alfred Firmin Loisy, Les Évangiles Synoptiques (Ceffonds: Prés Montier-en-Der, 1908), 2.644. Cf. Philo, In Flacc. 36–38. 9. John D. Crossan, The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1991), 390; Revolutionary Biography, 141–3. 10. Roger D. Aus, ‘The Release of Barabbas (Mark 15:6–15; cf. John 18:39–40), and Judaic Traditions on the Book of Esther’ in Barabbas, Esther and Other Studies in the Judaic Illumination of Earliest Christianity (USFIS 4; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992), 1–27; and idem, Caught in the Act, Walking on the Sea, and the Release of Barabbas Revisited (USFIS 157; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998). 11. Jennifer K. Berenson Maclean, ‘Barabbas, the Scapegoat Ritual, and the Development of the Passion Narrative,’ HTR 100 (2007), 309–34. 12. See also Brown, Death, 1.812. 13. So Gerd Theissen, The Gospels in Context (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992), 182. 14. So Brandon, Trial of Jesus, 93–103; Ulrich Luz, Matthew 21–28: A Commentary (Herm.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005), 498. 15. So Paul Winter, On the Trial of Jesus (2nd ed.: rev. and ed. T. A. Burkill and Geza Vermes: Berlin: de Gruyter, 1974), 134–5; A. E. J. Rawlinson, The Gospel according to St Mark (WC; London: Methuen, 1925), 227–28.

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granted a one-off amnesty to a prisoner, and the evangelists, removed from a Palestinian context, simply assumed that it was an annual event. Alternatively, Barabbas may have been arrested after some kind of a disturbance and then released at about the same time Jesus was sentenced. Christians may have reflected on the apparent injustice of Jesus’ execution and Barabbas’ release, with the two events becoming conflated in Christian consciousness.16 This would have been all the easier if the earliest Aramaic speaking Christians noted a certain irony in the patronymic Barabbas, a name which could so easily have also described Jesus of Nazareth. Was there an appeal to Pilate by the Jewish authorities? Did they know an innocent man had been apprehended, and did they use their influence to have him released? Barabbas might well have been an historical person, but the precise details surrounding him are elusive. Is this, then, where we must leave Barabbas and his story? Is he nothing more than a shadowy historical figure? What is most significant about Barabbas, I propose, is not so much the man who found himself in front of Pilate’s tribunal in roughly 30 ce, but the four subtly different literary Barabbases of the gospels. Jimmy’s work on Jesus may offer a more fruitful way forward in analyzing not so much the Barabbas of history but Barabbas remembered. Barabbas Remembered One of the most impressive, and undoubtedly far-reaching, aspects of Jimmy Dunn’s Jesus Remembered is his insistence that we cannot piece together an ‘objective’ account of the ‘historical Jesus.’ From the very beginning, disciples’ stories bear witness to the impact their encounter with Jesus had on their lives. Thus tradition is, from the start, a creation of faith. It provides us not so much with an account of ‘the Jesus of Nazareth who walked the hills of Galilee,’17 as it does with the Jesus who was remembered by his followers. Jimmy puts great stress on orality: he argues that some of the variants within the gospels may be due not simply to literary redaction, but the incorporation of oral versions of some stories as they were known in their own churches. The gospels, then, bear witness to the lively retellings of the Jesus story within the earliest congregations.18 16. So Joachim Gnilka, ‘Der Prozess Jesu nach den Berichten des Markus und Matthäus’ in Der Prozess gegen Jesus. Historische Rückfrage und theologische Deutung. (ed. Karl Kertelge; QD 112; Freiburg: Herder, 1988), 11–40; Légasse, Trial, 69; Brown, Death 1.819–20; W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to St Matthew (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1997), 3.583; Helen K. Bond, Pontius Pilate in History and Interpretation (SNTSMS 100; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 199–200. 17. Dunn, Jesus Remembered, 126. 18. See Dunn, 125–36, 173–254; idem, ‘Altering the Default Setting: Re-envisaging the Early Transmission of the Jesus Tradition,’ NTS 49 (2003), 139–75.



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Much of this can also be applied to Barabbas. As we saw above, the search for the ‘real’ Barabbas does not get us very far. What we do have, though, are Christian memories of Barabbas – memories retained not because of what they told the earliest churches about a Jerusalem criminal, but because of what those stories said about Jesus. Alterations in the stories are due in part to literary editing, but also presumably bear witness to a long tradition of oral performance in which, though the bare bones of the story were constant, the details of Barabbas’ crime, the Passover amnesty, and the contrast between the two men, ebbed and flowed with the particular concerns of various Christian groups. The remainder of this chapter is an examination of Barabbas as he was remembered – as his story was retold – by the four evangelists. Barabbas in Mark How did Mark, or the tradition he inherited, remember Barabbas? A striking feature of Mark’s narrative is the parallelism between the Jewish and Roman trials (Mk. 14:53, 55–65; 15:1–15). Both involve two charges, one general and one specific. In both scenes Jesus counters the general charge with silence (14:60–61; 15:5) but answers the specific question regarding his identity (14:62, 15:2). Both trials also culminate in mockery appropriate to each setting so that Jesus is ridiculed as a prophet after the Jewish trial (14:65) and as king after the Roman (15:16–20).19 Finally, both involve a contrast between Jesus and another person: Peter in the Jewish trial, Barabbas in the Roman. Both contrasts revolve around three questions (14:67, 69, 70; 15:9, 12, 14), a common storytelling technique, and both are devoid of scriptural parallels, suggesting that themes other than scriptural fulfillment are uppermost at this point.20 Adela Yarbro Collins is surely correct in her assertion that both are examples of rhetorical sunkrisis, or comparison, cast in narrative form.21 The contrasts teach Mark’s readers something about Jesus and their own response. In the Jewish trial, Jesus is the model to follow, openly accepting his messiahship even before the high priest, while outside in the courtyard Peter frantically denies everything to a mere servant girl and her companions, 19. See Gnilka, ‘Prozess,’ 12–13; Ched Myers, Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark’s Story of Jesus (New York: Orbis, 1988), 369–71; Helen K. Bond, Caiaphas: Judge of Jesus and Friend of Rome? (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2004), 102–103. 20. Neither Douglas J. Moo, The Old Testament in the Gospel Passion Narratives (Sheffield: Almond Press, 1983), nor Joel Marcus, ‘The Old Testament in the Death of Jesus: The Role of Scripture in the Passion Narratives’ in The Death of Jesus in Early Christianity (eds. John T. Carroll, Joel B. Green; Massachussets: Hendrickson, 1995), 205–33, list any parallels for these sections in Mark. 21. Adela Yarbro Collins, Mark: A Commentary (Herm.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 721. The most famous practitioner of this was Plutarch in his Lives.

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even to the point of cursing Jesus’ name. If Mark’s readers were themselves experiencing persecution, as is often supposed, then the contrast between the behavior of Jesus and Peter would be very clear and relevant to their own situation.22 But what of Barabbas? The relatively lengthy scene dominates the Roman trial (ten verses as opposed to the five verses dedicated to Jesus’ initial interrogation). Remarkably, in a gospel which constantly redefines what it means to be Messiah, chapter 15 is saturated with references to kingship (15:2, 9, 12, 18, 26, 32). Mark appropriately makes use of the Roman setting to contrast Jesus, the ‘king of the Jews,’ with those dedicated to bringing about God’s rule in a much more political manner. Jesus is held up against one ‘bound’ with the rebels or ‘insurrectionaries’ (stasiastw=n) who committed murder in the insurrection (15:7). The reference to binding immediately links Barabbas to Jesus, who was also ‘bound’ in 15:1.23 While this rather awkward formulation lends a certain ambiguity to his guilt, Barabbas is certainly tarred with an insurrectionary brush.24 To Mark’s readers, the differences between the two men would be clear. Moreover, Jesus specifically contrasts himself with another revolutionary figure at his arrest: ‘Have you come out as against a robber (lh|sth/v), with swords and clubs to capture me?’ (14:48). He also hangs on the cross between two lh|stai (15:27). The word lh|sth/v is commonly used for bandits; the activities of such men litter the pages of Josephus, especially in relation to the Jewish War of 66–70 ce (e.g., J.W. 1.204, 311; 2.253–4, 585).25 Jesus’ answer to the tribute question (Mark 12:13–17) and insistence on voluntary suffering (8:34–38), however, make it quite clear that he is no political activist. The two men embody different ideas of what it means to be Messiah or king of the Jews: one a political aspirant, the other a suffering servant. Hearing this story around the time of the Jewish revolt, Mark’s audience could not possibly miss the heavy irony in the choice of Barabbas. Rather than accept the teachings of Jesus, the majority of Jews put their trust in rebels and bandits, with disastrous results. The Jesus/Barabbas contrast

22. G. W. H. Lampe, ‘St Peter’s Denial,’ BJRL 55 (1973), 346–68, esp. 352–54, argues that the three-fold question here echoes that of Christian martyrs in Pliny, Ep. 10.96.3 and Mart. Pol. 9–10. 23. So Robert H. Gundry, Mark: A Commentary on his Apology for the Cross (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), 923. Both verbs stem from de/w. 24. The preposition meta/ (15:7) is used both when someone is physically with others but not part of the group (Luke 22:37, 24.51) and when someone is part of the group (Mark 14:67). On the basis of the odd wording, Winter, Trial, 138–40, argues for Barabbas’ innocence. The ambiguity regarding his guilt, however, may be to allow Pilate to release him without losing credibility: cf. Bond, Pilate, 109–16. 25. On the use of word as bandits/insurrectionaries, see Ramsey MacMullen, Enemies of the Roman Order: Treason, Unrest, and Alienation in the Empire (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1967), 255–68; Richard A. Horsley and John S. Hanson, Bandits, Prophets and Messiahs: Popular Movements in the Time of Jesus (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1988), 48–87.



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shows that their allegiance should not be to transitory revolutionaries and political rebels – the people who got the Jews into so much trouble, and perhaps still plague Mark’s hearers (13:21–22) – but to the true king of the Jews. Peter and Barabbas, then, each in their own way, form a contrast to Jesus that speaks to the situation of Mark’s audience. Peter is a sympathetic character, however, who despite his betrayal is finally reinstated (16:7); Barabbas is an irredeemably negative example. He stands for those who have led God’s people into revolution and bloody civil war, whose desire for power and self-aggrandizement (even if couched in nationalistic terms) can only lead to destruction. Barabbas in Matthew While Matthew follows Mark’s Jewish trial closely, altering the story only slightly to highlight the culpability of the Jewish leaders,26 he rearranges the Roman trial quite considerably, making a number of unique additions. Running throughout the narrative is the haunting question of guilt – who is responsible for the death of Jesus? Each actor attempts to absolve himself from guilt: Judas confesses his sin and hangs himself (Matt. 27:3–10); Pilate washes his hands and declares his own innocence (27:24); finally ‘all the people’ accept responsibility (27:25). Rome is not absolved of complicity, but it is clear that for Matthew the prime movers in the execution of Jesus are his own people and their leaders.27 The story of Barabbas, too, exhibits a number of alterations from the Markan telling. Most strikingly, the two men have been de-politicized. Jesus is offered to the crowd not as the politically explosive ‘king of the Jews,’ but simply as Christ or Messiah (27:17, 22). Barabbas is no longer tinged with insurrectionary activity, but is only a well-known or ‘famous’ prisoner (27:16); as Ulrich Luz notes, attempts to give the word e0pi/shmov a negative connotation, such as ‘infamous’ or ‘notorious,’ depart from its common meaning.28 Of course, it might be argued that Matthew’s hearers would be familiar with the Markan telling of this story, and the fact that Barabbas is in Roman custody clearly identifies him as a criminal, but the neutral way in which Matthew mentions him is quite striking. In fact, what is remarkable here are the similarities between the two men. Not only could the phrase ‘famous prisoner’ (de/smion e0pi/shmon) also be applied to Jesus, but the name

26. See Bond, Caiaphas, 125–27. 27. The passage doubtless links Jewish retribution to the fall of Jerusalem: cf. Brown, Death, 831–39. 28. Luz, Matthew, 491.

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of the second prisoner was quite possibly Jesus Barabbas.29 Matthew shows a particular interest in the etymologies of names (cf. 1:21, 23; 16:18); and although he does not explain Barabbas’ name here, it seems unlikely that the irony of the name and its application to both prisoners would have been lost on him. A final redaction emphasizes the element of choice: (1) Pilate’s initial question is recast as ‘Whom do you want me to release for you, Jesus Barabbas or Jesus who is called Christ?’ (27:17); (2) the evangelist adds another dramatic question (27:21): ‘Which of the two do you want me to release for you?’; and (3) the chief priests keep both men in view as they ‘persuaded the people to ask for Barabbas and destroy Jesus’ (27:20). The overall effect of these alterations is that the Jewish crowd are given a choice between two famous prisoners: Jesus called Barabbas, or Jesus who is called Christ. On one level, Matthew’s presentation makes sure that extraneous details concerning Barabbas do not interfere with the people’s decision.30 They ‘gather’ together (27:17; cf. 26:3; 26:57) and persuaded by their chief priests, present their choice clearly and unambiguously. The passive imperative staurwqh/tw in 27:22 (‘Let him be crucified’) gives the impression that the crowd itself is passing judgement. There can be no excuses: no suggestion that they preferred a freedom fighter, or that they were caught off-guard by Pilate’s repeated use of the provocative title ‘King of the Jews’ (both impressions which could be derived from Mark). Influenced by their leaders, the Jewish people reject their Messiah – as presumably Jews known to Matthew’s hearers continued to do in their own day.31 The focus is not on the one chosen, but on the one rejected, the Christ. On another level, however, the narrative in Matthew echoes motifs and images from the Temple and its ritual, elements which would have been familiar to the evangelist and his Jewish-Christian audience.32 Reading Matthew’s Barabbas scene, it is difficult not to hear echoes of the Day of Atonement (Lev. 16:7–10, 21–2).33 Later accounts make it clear that the two 29. See note 6 above. Did the evangelist add the name specifically to heighten the similarity between the two men? So Daniel Stökl Ben Ezra, The Impact of Yom Kippur on Early Christianity: The Day of Atonement from Second Temple Judaism to the Fifth Century (WUNT 2/163; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2003), 168, ftn.109; Berenson MacLean, ‘Barabbas,’ 325. It is certainly a Matthean trait to add names (cf. 9:9, 26:3, 57). Or did a later redactor, noting the similarities between the two prisoners, heighten them all the more by adding the name ‘Jesus’ to Barabbas? 30. In agreement with Luz, Matthew, 496, ftn.38. 31. So Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3.586. 32. The preservation of Matt. 5:23 evinces that Matthew’s congregation maintained some connection with the Temple. Stökl Ben Ezra, Yom Kippur, 213–27 notes the remarkable conservativeness of communities regarding their rituals. 33. Lester L. Grabbe ‘The Scapegoat Tradition: A Study in Early Jewish Interpretation’ JSJ 18 (1987), 152–67; see also D. Stökl Ben Ezra, Yom Kippur, 147–171 finds connections with Lev. 16 in a range of late Jewish and Christian literature, though he does not discuss Matthew.



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goats were to be as similar as possible. Mishnah Yoma 6.1 states: ‘The two goats of the Day of Atonement – the religious requirement concerning them is that the two of them be equivalent in appearance, height, and value, and that they be purchased simultaneously.’34 Barnabas 7:10a claims, ‘the goats shall be alike, beautiful and equal.’35 As Lester Grabbe notes, the most likely explanation why so many ancient authors mention details not in Leviticus 16 is that they draw on details of the actual ceremony as it was carried out at the end of the Second Temple Period.36 The similarity of the two prisoners, then, corresponding to halakhic ruling regarding the goats, coupled with the element of choice (evoking themes from election and casting lots) may well recall Yom Kippur. This is all the more likely given Matthew’s general framework: 1:21 contains a prophecy that Jesus ‘will save his people from their sin,’ and 26:28 makes it clear that Jesus himself is the sacrifice which is poured out for the forgiveness of sin.37 Jesus’ death, in effect, takes the place of the ritual of Yom Kippur. After Jesus was seen as the one who effected atonement, both goats, the scapegoat and the immolated goat, could be seen as figures for Christ.38 A long tradition of church fathers read Matthew this way, some linking Jesus with the sacrificial goat (cf. Matt. 26:28; Heb. 9:11–14), others equating him with the scapegoat, and most linking him in some way or another with both goats.39 Barabbas, then, as a distinctive character has virtually disappeared from Matthew’s retelling. He serves a double function within this story. On one level, he allows the Jewish people a choice for or against their Messiah; on another level, he almost mirrors Jesus, symbolically evoking the rite of Leviticus 16, and so surrounds Jesus’ death with profoundly cultic significance.

34. Jacob Neusner, The Mishnah: A New Translation (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1988), 274. 35. Noted by Crossan, Revolutionary, 143–52. On Barnabas see James Carleton Paget, The Epistle of Barnabas: Outlook and Background (WUNT 2/63; Tübingen: MohrSiebeck, 1994), esp. 136–40. See also Justin, Dial. 40.4; Tertullian, Marc. 3.7.7–8; Adv. Jud.14.9–10. 36. Grabbe, ‘Scapegoat,’ 164. 37. See Warren Carter, Matthew: Storyteller, Interpreter, Evangelist (Rev.ed., Massachusetts: Hendrickson, 2004), 586. 38. This development may have occurred quite early: cf. James D. G. Dunn, ‘When Did the Understanding of Jesus’ Death as an Atoning Sacrifice First Emerge?’ in Israel’s God and Rebecca’s Children: Christology and Community in Early Christianity (eds. David B. Capes, April D. DeConick, Helen K. Bond and T. A. Miller; Waco: Baylor, 2007), 169–81. 39. See Stökl Ben Ezra, 155–61; Berenson Maclean, ‘Barabbas,’ 317–21. Helmut Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels (London: SCM, 1990), 225–26 notes that the cloak in Matt. 27:28 is scarlet, which he suggests may be an allusion to the scarlet wool tied around the scapegoat. This would then equate Jesus with both goats.

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Luke changes Mark’s narrative considerably, transforming the two trials into one uniform process involving four scenes: an early morning gathering of chief priests (Luke 23:66–71); a preliminary hearing in front of Pilate (23:1–6); an interrogation before Herod Antipas (23:7–12); and a return to Pilate for sentencing (23:13–25).40 The narrative has two overriding concerns: (1) to show Jesus’ innocence; and (2) to minimize Roman involvement in Jesus’ execution while stressing the complicity of the Jewish people and their leaders (Luke 24:20, Acts 2:23, 36, 4:10, 13:28).41 In pursuit of (1), Luke lists the charges against Jesus in 23:2 – charges which the earlier narrative show to be false (he also uses both Pilate and Antipas as high status witnesses to Jesus’ innocence) – Pilate explicitly three times (23:4, 14, 22), and Antipas implicitly by returning the prisoner (23:15). Together they provide the witnesses required by Deuteronomy 19:15. The fact that the earlier narrative stresses the harshness of both men (3:19–20, 9:7–9, 13:31; 13:1–3) makes their judgment regarding Jesus all the more significant. In pursuit of (2), the driving forces behind Jesus’ execution are the Jewish people and their leaders. Three times Pilate declares Jesus innocent (23:4, 15, 22), and three times he tries to release him (23:16, 20, 22), but the chief priests (23:5), later allied with the people (23:18), refuse to accept his verdict. Finally, Pilate weakly bows to public pressure rather than risk a riot, and gives sentence that the demands of the people be granted (23:24). Both these apologetic aims have a bearing on Luke’s Barabbas. Jesus has been sent back from Antipas, and Pilate summons the chief priests, rulers, and people, telling them that he intends to chastise Jesus before letting him go. The audience, however, refuse to accept the prefect’s verdict: ‘Away with this man, and release to us Barabbas,’ they cry (23:18). Luke’s retelling of the story strikingly omits any mention of a Passover amnesty.42 Did Luke deliberately omit it or did the story with which he was familiar not include it? Whichever the case, the spontaneous call for Barabbas incriminates the Jewish crowd as fully as possible. There was no need to link the fate of Jesus with that of anyone else. Pilate judged the case, declared him innocent, and intended to release him. The Jewish call for the release of Barabbas is completely unwarranted. Furthermore, whereas the Markan crowd could

40. I consider it highly unlikely that Luke made use of another written account of the trial in addition to Mark. See also Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke x–xxiv (AB; New York: Doubleday, 1985), 1487–88. 41. Luke’s presentation of Jesus as a prophet demands that he be rejected by his own people, though they quickly become uneasy at what has been done (23:27–31, 35). In Acts the door is still open to those who repent. See Bond, Caiaphas, 109–11. 42. Luke 23:17 is regarded by virtually all scholars as a later addition; most think it was added by a scribe wishing to harmonize Luke with Mark 15:6 and Matt 27:15. See Metzger, Textual, 179–80.



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claim that they were stirred up to shout for Barabbas by their priestly leaders (Mark 15:11), this element is missing from Luke. The crowd quite spontaneously and inexplicably shout for another prisoner named Barabbas – a man involved in an insurrection and murder (23:19, 25; Acts 3:14). This is clearly derived from Mark, but Luke tidies up his source’s ambiguities and brings the threat closer to home with the detail that the insurrection started ‘in the city’ (23:19). Jesus is indeed ‘numbered with transgressors’ as he himself predicted before his arrest (Luke 22:37; cf. Isa. 53:12). Luke’s Barabbas, then, is a violent criminal who forms a stark contrast with Jesus. Ironically, the Jewish choice of an insurrectionary exposes their own nationalistic hopes and gives the lie to their charges against Jesus in 23:2. Luke’s repetition of Barabbas’ crimes in 23:25 underlines once again, and with great dramatic effect, the crowd’s incomprehensible choice of a dangerous criminal, an insurgent, and murderer, rather than Jesus, the innocent martyr. With the demand of Barabbas, injustice has surely triumphed in the governor’s court. Barabbas in John John’s trial narrative is very different to those of the Synoptics. After the briefest of Jewish interrogations, Jesus is brought before Pilate for the start of a seven-scene trial in which the chief priests remain outside the praetorium, Jesus is taken inside, and the prefect is forced to move between the two. Like Mark, with which it shares a number of motifs,43 John’s Roman trial is inundated with references to kingship (John 18:33, 37, 39; 19:3, 12, 14–15; 18:36; cf. 1:49, 6:15, 12:13–15), suggesting that an exploration of Jesus’ kingship will be an important component of the narrative. In contrast to the Synoptics, the Barabbas scene in John is very much scaled down. While it accounts for two-thirds of the Markan narrative, it is pared down to only two and a half verses in John (18:38b–40), leaving some to suggest that John incorporates it because it is traditional.44 This view, however, misses the fact that John scatters material associated with the Barabbas episode throughout a number of scenes. Hence, for example, while the Barabbas scene itself focuses on the choice between the two prisoners (neither of whom are present), the cry of the Jewish leaders for Jesus’ crucifixion occurs two scenes later, after Jesus is scourged (19:4–7); and they repeat these cries again in the highly explosive final scene where their demands for crucifixion are accompanied by the blasphemous acceptance of Caesar’s kingship (19:12–15). The Barabbas motif, then, is 43. C. K. Barrett, The Gospel according to John (2nd ed.; London: SPCK, 1978), 530–46 assumes that John knew Mark. According to Brown, Death, 86–92, there is possibly a shared oral tradition between John and Luke. 44. E.g., Barnabas Lindars, The Gospel of John (NCBC; London: Oliphants, 1972), 561.

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still important to the Fourth Gospel, though the evangelist’s literary artistry means that the character himself has been limited to one short scene. Once Barabbas serves his purpose he disappears from the narrative, and John does not even tell us whether Pilate releases him. The scene opens with Pilate who, after declaring Jesus innocent (18:38), reminds the Jewish leaders of the Passover amnesty, a custom which he identifies as their own (18:39). Perhaps the evangelist wanted to show that, even at this late stage, the Jewish leaders could show clemency. But Pilate’s question, ‘Will you have me release for you the king of the Jews?’ (18:39) can hardly be taken seriously; these are the same men who handed Jesus over for execution (18:28–32),45 and the reference to ‘king of the Jews’ on the Roman’s lips can only be contemptuous and mocking.46 The reader can hardly be surprised when ‘the Jews’ reject his offer, calling instead for the release of a previously unknown prisoner, Barabbas, whom John identifies dramatically in the very last word of the scene as a lh|sth/v. What exactly does John mean by this? Most scholars, drawing on the use of the word by Josephus and Barabbas’ crimes in the Synoptics, assume once more that Barabbas is an insurrectionary, social bandit, or guerrilla.47 There is certainly a contrast between Jesus’ divine kingship and a worldlier, nationalistic concept of kingship in the trial narrative (18:36, 19:11). Indeed, the narrative goes so far as to make comparisons between Jesus and the Emperor – Jesus is mocked as an imperial, purple-clad figure (19:1–4), and the Jewish threat reminds Pilate that the actual ‘king of the Jews’ is none other than Caesar (19:12). It is quite possible, then, to read lh|sth/v as a political insurrectionary, and perhaps on one level this is what John intends. Yet, curiously, lh|sth/v has its more usual meaning of ‘robber’ the only other time it is used in this gospel (10:1, 8). It literally means ‘one who takes booty’ and is used in these verses of a violent robber; one who comes to steal, kill, and destroy (10:10). These verses are significantly found in the Good Shepherd discourse (10:1–18), a passage having great relevance for John’s presentation of the Passion (cf. 11:51–2, 15:13, 18:37, 20:16). There Jesus contrasts himself, the Good Shepherd, with thieves and robbers, hirelings who do not own the sheep and have no concern for their welfare (10:10–13). Given the strong scriptural connection between shepherds and 45. A number of commentators think that the leaders are joined by a crowd, though there is no evidence for this in the text. E.g., D. A. Carson, The Gospel according to John (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), 595; G. R. Beasley-Murray, John (WBC; 2nd ed.; Nashville: Nelson, 1999), 332. 46. See David Rensberger, Overcoming the World: Politics and Community in the Gospel of John (London: SPCK, 1989), 92–95; Andrew T. Lincoln, The Gospel according to Saint John (BNTC; London: Continuum, 2005), 464; Bond, Pilate, 180–82. 47. E.g., Rudolf Bultmann, The Gospel of John: A Commentary (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1971), 657, ftn.5; Barrett, Gospel, 539; Beasley-Murray, John, 333; Lincoln, Gospel, 563; Craig S. Keener, The Gospel of John: A Commentary (Massachusetts: Hendrickson, 2003), 2.1117.



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rulers (2 Sam. 7:7–8, Isa. 40:11, Jer. 31:10, Ezek. 34:11–16), the discourse points to Jesus as the true ruler of his people in contrast to the Jewish leadership who have led the people astray. If this discourse rests behind the Barabbas scene, then the use of the word may serve a double function. The Jewish leadership prefer a violent criminal to their true king while simultaneously aligning themselves with ‘thieves and robbers,’ underlining once again their lack of true leadership. Conclusion The evangelists were fundamentally uninterested in the person of Barabbas. He is remembered only insofar as he can be used to say something about Jesus, the central character of all the narratives. The way in which he can be adapted and shaped by the story shows how fluid the traditions surrounding him were, even at a time when written records were beginning to take shape. For Mark he was an insurrectionary, for Matthew a ‘famous prisoner’ remarkably similar to Jesus, for Luke a murderer and rabblerouser whose obvious guilt threw Jesus’ innocence into sharp relief, and for John a violent criminal. These different pictures of Barabbas probably derive from lively oral traditions, seeking to make sense of the Messiah and his death, drawing on and transforming an historical character who was loosely connected with Jesus’ last hours. The four gospels provide snapshots of the different ways in which Barabbas was remembered by the late first-century church. Modern ‘rememberings’ of Barabbas, transposed in time and context from the gospels, might see him symbolically as first of ‘the many’ whose lives were ransomed by Jesus.48 Such developments, while not explicitly authorized by the evangelists, testify to the vitality of biblical characters and their afterlives, and the power of memory continually to readapt and recreate.

48. See Bastiaan M. F. van Iersel, Reading Mark (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1989), 180–81; Larry W. Hurtado, Mark (NIBC; Peabody: Hendrickson, 1989), 259; Darrell L. Bock, Luke 9:51–24.53 (BECNT; Grand Rapids: Baker, 1996), 1833–34. This view is not out of keeping with Mark 10:45; 14:24.

Chapter 7

Judas and the Jews: Anti-Semitic Interpretation of Judas Iscariot, Past and Present Arie W. Zwiep On 13 March 2005, notably a Sunday in church liturgy known as Sunday Iudica, a minister of the Protestant Church in the Netherlands preached a sermon on Judas Iscariot and the Jews. A quotation from what soon afterwards in the public media became known as ‘The Anti-Semitic Sermon of Rev. Mos’ may suffice to illustrate its tenor and make understandable the public indignation it almost immediately aroused: Behind Judas in the New Testament we find the Jews. This is already clear from the name: Judas, Judah, Jews. But it is even clearer from the way in which his story is being told. Everything he says and does is Jewish through and through. The biblical story does not hide that in any way. On the contrary, it seems that this is precisely the reason that the story of Judas is told so elaborately, to show: this is the way Jews are … Thus Judas reveals what sin is, what the Bible calls Jew … The Bible says: ‘The Jew in us is our worst adversary.’

He continues, ‘Sixty years after the Second World War, we are slowly recognizing that Hitler was more at home in the Bible than we like to believe. And that Hitler in fact did no more than drive this biblical thought to its end. For Hitler said: the Jew, then, must disappear …’1 The sermon’s line of interpretation is not a novelty; anti-Judaism and anti-Semitism have been steady companions of Christian theology from early days, and in our global age one can only hope that utterances such as these are just relics of the distant past.2 The case raises some important 1. Translation from Dutch is my own. See in Arie W. Zwiep, Judas en de joden: Een onderzoek naar antisemitische interpretaties van Judas Iskariot (Onderzoeksverslag in opdracht van het Openbaar Ministerie n.a.v. de preek van ds. N.C. Mos, gehouden op zondag 13 maart 2005 in de Messiaskerk te Wassenaar; februari 2007). 2. Attempts to define the terms ‘anti-Semitism’ and ‘anti-Judaism’ are many but with no scholarly consensus. I understand anti-Semitism as a hostile attitude toward Jews because of their Jewishness. Attempts to be more specific tend to complicate matters unduly for my present concern.



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issues about Judas, and now that his name has sparked renewed interest among biblical scholars via the Gospel of Judas, the relationship between Judas and anti-Semitism needs to be charted with clarity. Judas between Fact and Fiction In popular perception Judas Iscariot features as the disciple and arch-traitor of Jesus who betrayed his mentor for thirty pieces of silver (Matt. 26:15; 27:3), handing him over to the authorities and thus directly initiating the process of Jesus’ eventual execution. Disappointed about what Jesus had accomplished, and afflicted with an insatiable love for money (John 12:6), Judas informed the Jewish leaders about the place where they could find Jesus and arrest him inconspicuously. When the time arrived, he identified his master by a kiss and thus handed him over to the authorities. When he saw that the Jewish leaders surrendered Jesus to the Romans to be crucified, Judas felt remorse, returned the silver, and committed suicide by hanging himself (Matt. 27:3–5). A plot of land in the vicinity of Jerusalem, the so-called Field of Blood (in Hebrew/Aramaic Akeldama), bought with the blood money of Judas, is a constant reminder of his most reprehensible deed. In this storyline, uncritical and harmonizing forces are heavily at work. Although contemporary Judas scholars warn against a one-sided perspective, the traditional portrayal of Judas remains dominant in our culture. When the gospel stories are read separately and in historical order, however, the picture of Judas turns out to be astoundingly diverse. In the Gospel of Mark, the oldest account, Judas plays an ambiguous role in the arrest of Jesus, and nothing is said about his drives and motives. His deed is described as handing over (paradido/nai) Jesus to the authorities, and there is much room to speculate about the exact nature of this act. William Klassen, for example, presents Judas as a whistleblower who hoped for a positive outcome of a rendezvous between Jesus and the Temple hierarchy.3 In this Gospel, at any rate, it is not made clear to the narrative characters at the Last Supper that Jesus designates Judas as the opponent. Remarkably three or four decades after these events, when Mark was written, there is no story about the aftermath to Judas’ career or death. Judas is a rather colorless figure whose action is not to be applauded, but who has not yet grown into the dehumanized and diabolic figure that subsequent history has made of him. In the gospels that build on Mark, a sharper profile emerges. In Matthew, the words of Judas are reported in direct speech, which seems to indicate that he has become a more self-conscious and accountable person (Matt. 26:15, 25; 27:4). The author hastens to add texts from Israel’s scriptures 3. 1996).

William Klassen, Judas: Betrayer or Friend of Jesus? (Minneapolis: Fortress,

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to make clear that everything follows a predicted course of events, so as to alleviate Jesus from the charge of having made a wrong choice of Judas as one of his disciples; it was all in the plan, so to speak (e.g., 27:9–10). In Matthew, Judas is designated explicitly as the one who hands over Jesus (Matt. 26:25; contrast Mark 14:21f.), and he asks the money for himself rather than having it offered to him (Matt. 26:15; contrast Mark 14:10). There is also a legend about the end of Judas – as an act of remorse, he stages his own execution by hanging himself (Matt. 27:3–10). Similarly, the Gospel of Luke uses stark colors in its portrayal of Judas, explicitly calling him a traitor (prodo/thj: Luke 6:16). The author of this gospel claims that ‘Satan entered into Judas’ (22:3), not so much as to excuse Judas for his actions as to indicate that what is happening ‘behind the scenes’ discloses an outright conflict between good and evil of cosmic proportions. Like Matthew, Luke has a story about the end of Judas, but it is strikingly different: Judas dies with no sign of remorse, and he falls tragically as an outright act of divine revenge (Acts 1:16–20).4 In the Fourth Gospel, finally, we find the most pronounced image of Judas in the New Testament. In its first reference to Judas he is called a devil (John 6:70–71) and, as in Luke, his act is attributed to the immediate influence of Satan (13:2, 27). Judas is unambiguously identified as the one who would deliver Jesus to his enemies (13:26), he is called a thief (12:6) and ‘the son of perdition’ (17:12), an ominous title that applies to the mysterious end-time opponent of the apocalyptic Christ (2 Thess. 2:3). Even from a cursory view it is clear that the classic image of Judas as a traitor and notorious sinner requires substantial qualification. In the gospels we find a fragmentary picture, and the lay perception of Judas comes closest to the black-and-white perspective of the Fourth Gospel, but that evidently reflects a developed stage. Surprisingly, outside the four gospels there are no clear references to Judas in the New Testament. The divergent and conflictive interpretations are indicative of much ambiguity about Judas in the early community. For some scholars this is clear proof that Judas was an invention of the early Christians, a fictional character created out of the need to have a scapegoat in the drama of divine salvation.5 For others, the relative silence about Judas is a matter of sheer coincidence, an indication of the early community’s disinterest in or lack of knowledge about the historical Judas.6 I have suggested that the silence about Judas 4. See Arie W. Zwiep, Judas and the Choice of Matthias: A Study on Context and Concern of Acts 1:15–26 (WUNT 2/187; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004); idem, ‘De raadselachtige dood van Judas: Een Shakespeareaans drama’, Interpretatie 12.1 (2004), 27–30. 5. For the hypothesis that Judas is an invention, see the discussion in Kurt Lüthi, Judas Iskarioth in der Geschichte der Auslegung von der Reformation bis zur Gegenwart (Zürich: Zwingli, 1955), 121–27. More recently the historicity of Judas is denied by e.g., John S. Spong, Liberating the Gospels: Reading the Bible with Jewish Eyes. Freeing Jesus from 2000 Years of Misunderstanding (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1996), 257–76. 6. So Kim Paffenroth, Judas: Images of the Lost Disciple (Louisville, London: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 14–15.



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may be explained in terms of a Freudian theory of massive repression of the community’s collective memory.7 One thing, however, stands out – there is a clear development of the Judas figure from a somewhat obscure person in the company of Jesus with a questionable role in the arrest of Jesus (a flat character) into a full-blown opponent of Jesus, inspired by Satan, who consciously sets out to obstruct the divine mission of Jesus (a rounded character and hard-core antagonist). The scarcity of historical information in the various portraits provide, in part, an explanation of the wide divergences in the effective history or Wirkungsgeschichte of the Judas figure and should alert interpreters that Judas-Forschung is to a large extent a matter of filling in blanks. As a result the image of Judas oscillates between an outright incarnation of evil (the devil personified) and a great hero, the only disciple who truly understood the concerns of Jesus (as, for example, in some medieval Jewish sources). Between these two poles there is a perplexing variety of Judas interpretations.8 Judas as Incarnation of Evil: A Rhetoric of Defamation Especially in the early Christian and medieval legend formation Judas assumes mythic proportions that transcend the historical context of the Gospels. On one of these trajectories, Judas becomes scapegoat for all evil, guilt, and fear.9 He is pictured as a perverted individual under satanic influence from the day of his birth. The Arabic Infancy Gospel (fifth century), for example, tells a legend about the common childhood of Judas and Jesus. Judas features here as someone possessed by Satan from the very beginning: Another woman was living in the same place, whose son was tormented by Satan. He, Judas by name, as often as Satan seized him, used to bite all who came near him; and if he found no one near him, he used to bite his own hands and other limbs . . . . And the demoniac Judas came up, and sat down at Jesus’ right hand: then, being attacked by Satan in the same manner as usual, he wished to bite the Lord Jesus, but was not able; nevertheless he struck Jesus on the right side, whereupon He began to weep. And immediately Satan went forth out of that boy, fleeing like a mad dog. And this boy who struck Jesus, and out of whom Satan went forth in the shape of a dog, was Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Him to the Jews; and that same side on which Judas struck Him, the Jews transfixed with a lance (Inf. Gos. 35).10 7. Zwiep, Judas, 47–8, 53. 8. On the interpretative history of Judas see e.g., Hans-Josef Klauck, Judas: Ein Jünger des Herrn (QD 111; Freiburg: Herder, 1987), 17–32; Paffenroth, Judas; Anthony Cane, The Place of Judas Iscariot in Christology (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006); Bert Aalbers, ‘Judas, één van de twaalf: Een exegetisch-hermeneutische studie over Judas Iskariot met speciale aandacht voor het fenomeen beeldvorming’ (Ph.D. diss., Theologische Universiteit Kampen, 2001), 2 vols. 9. Cf. Bernard Dieckmann, Judas als Sündenbock: Eine verhängnisvolle Geschichte von Angst und Vergeltung (Munich: Kösel, 1991). 10. Tr. ANF 8.412.

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The tendency to demonize Judas is likewise characteristic of many medieval stories about him and finds classic expression in the sermons of the popular seventeenth-century Roman-Catholic court preacher at Vienna, Abraham a Sancta Clara (1644–1709).11 Inspired by The Golden Legend of Jacobus de Voragine, a famous medieval compilation of Christian legends and folklore, he preached about Judas for ten years and commented upon every thinkable and unthinkable detail of Judas’ life, including his physical appearance, mental capacities, and moral vices.12 He sternly warned his audience against this extreme example of wickedness. The treachery of Judas was not an unfortunate mishap in an otherwise blameless career but clear evidence that he had been evil from the start. Judas, a natural sinner, was supposedly born from the same tribe as the Antichrist.13 He had red hair, a bad sign in itself, and his mother had been an arch-gossiper. Like Oedipus, Judas had killed his father and married his own mother. He was a persistent thief, an arch-liar, extremely lazy, and someone who embodies all evil. Naturally, his remorse for treachery came too late and that is why he now lies eternally damned in the lowest parts of hell.14 The work of Sancta Clara exemplifies not only defamation of Judas but also of the Jewish people. In his work the Jews are a popular subject of slander, insinuations, and stereotyping. In his later publications he supported the exile and persecution of the Jews from Vienna. The tendency to stigmatize Judas was part of a larger program in which other people, ‘Jews, women, Turks and other villains,’ were subject to heavy stigmatization.15 Sancta Clara seems to be representative of an ancient tradition in which Judas becomes a prototype of the Jewish people, and the fate of Judas is directly linked to that of the Jews. Such defamation was not exceptional. In the sermons of the nineteenthcentury Protestant preacher Carl Daub (1765–1836), to mention another example, Judas is depicted as an incarnation of evil along much the same lines as Sancta Clara’s. For Daub the Judas figure served as a homiletical mirror with which he could confront his audience of their own sinful condition. 16

11. Franz M. Eybl, Abraham a Sancta Clara: Vom Prediger zum Schriftsteller (Frühe Neuzeit 6; Tübingen: Max Niemeyer, 1992). 12. Abraham a Sancta Clara (pseudonym of Hans-Ulrich Megerle), Judas, ErtzSchelm: Für ehrliche Leuth (4 vols.; Salzburg: Melchior Haan, 1686–1695/Berlin, Stuttgart: W. Spemann, 1884). 13. Donatus Haugg, Judas Iskarioth in den neutestamentlichen Berichten (Freiburg: Herder, 1930), 24. 14. Already in Dante, Judas is placed in the centre of hell next to Satan continuously being gnawed by one of Satan’s three mouths (Dante Divina Comedia 132; Inferno 34.55–63). 15. Eybl, Abraham, 318–19; cf. 317, 323–4. 16. Carl Daub, Judas Ischariot oder das Böse in Verhältniss zum Guten (2 vols.; Heidelberg: Mohr und Winter, 1816–1818); see further Lüthi, Judas, 89–93.



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Judas as Prototype of the Jews: A Rhetoric of Anti-Semitism The connection between Judas and the Jews is made very early in the history of Christendom.17 The Church Father Ambrose of Milan (339–397), in a commentary on Psalm 40, wrote that Judas represented the unfaithful Jewish people involved in buying or selling Christ, a practice familiar with those following after money more than religion (Enarrat. Ps. 34; Opera 2.147). John Chrysostom (350–407), seeing that Christians in Antioch were going to the synagogue, composed eight anti-Jewish pamphlets (Adv. Jud. 1–8).18 He also wrote a tract about the betrayal of Judas, in which he fulminated against the Jews (Prod. Jud. 1–2). In it he informs his audience more than once that what he says about Judas he says to Jews (Prod. Jud. 1.5). In a homily on Acts 1:15–22, he makes a straightforward connection between the death of Judas at Akeldama and the destruction of Jerusalem: ‘This desolation was the prelude to that of the Jews … For indeed they destroyed themselves by famine, and killed many, and the city became a burial-place of strangers, of soldiers, for as to those, they would not even have let them be buried, for in fact they were not deemed worthy of sepulchre’ (Hom. Act. 3).19 Jerome (347–420), frustrated by Jewish unwillingness to convert to Christianity, offers a full-blown typological relecture of Psalm 108 (109 MT; cf. Acts 1:20) to interpret the death of Judas in relation to the Jews: ‘Judas betrayed Me [Jesus], the Jews persecuted and crucified Me . . . . In My compassion I want to save him, and I respond to his kiss of greeting, but he persists in his treachery and betrays Me,’ to which Jerome adds: ‘In particular this is the story of Judas, in general it is that of the Jews . . .’ (Tract. Ps. 108 [Hom. 35]).20 Commenting on the words ‘may his children be orphans, and his wife a widow’ (Ps. 108:9), he argues that since Scripture does not indicate that Judas had either wife or children, the words must have a spiritual meaning: ‘Whom do you suppose are the sons of Judas? The Jews (Iudaeos). The Jews take their name, not from that Juda who was a holy man [i.e., the son of Jacob], but from the betrayer. From the former, we are spiritual Jews; from the traitor came the carnal Jews.’21 On the words ‘may strangers plunder the fruits of his toil’ (108:11) he says: ‘This holds whether we understand in general of all the Jews that were ravaged by the 17. See, e.g., Hans Jansen, Christelijke theologie na Auschwitz (3 vols.; Gravenhage: Boekencentrum, 1981–1985); Nicolas R. M. de Lange, Clemens Thoma et al., ‘Antisemitismus I–VIII,’ TRE 3 (1978), 113–68. 18. See further Robert L. Wilken, John Chrysostom and the Jews: Rhetoric and Reality in the Late Fourth Century (TClH 4; Berkeley, London: University of California, 2003); Marcel Simon, Verus Israel: Étude sur les relations entre chrétiens et juifs dans l’empire romain (135–425) (2nd ed.; Paris: E. de Boccard, 1964), 256–63. 19. Tr. NPNF 11.21. 20. M. L. Ewald, tr., Jerome, Homilies (FC 48; Washington: Catholic University of America, 1964), 1.255 (Jerome, Tract. Ps. 108, henceforth). 21. Ewald, 1.259.

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Romans, or whether, more properly Judas, in particular, was torn asunder by demons – and the people as well … Judas is cursed, that in Judas the Jews may be accursed.’22 Augustine of Hippo (354–430) wrote In Answer to the Jews where he addresses and blames Jews for the death of Jesus: ‘In your parents you killed Christ’ (Adv. Jud. 8.11).23 Like Jerome he connects the fate of Judas to that of the Jews: That this psalm [108] contains a prophecy of Christ, acknowledges everyone who faithfully (fideliter) reads the Acts of the Apostles. There it evidently appears that what is written here, ‘let his days be few, and let another take his office,’ is prophesied of Judas, the betrayer of Christ, when Matthias was ordained in Judas’ place and added to the number of the twelve apostles. But if we try to understand all bad things said here of this one man, the logic of the argument is not entirely clear or only so with force. However, when it applies to this particular group of wicked people, that is the enemies of Christ, the ungrateful Jews, everything seems to appear much clearer to me … Judas represents those Jews who were enemies of Christ, who both then hated Christ, and now, in their line of succession this species of wickedness continuing (per successionem perseverante genere ipsius impietatis), hate Him. Of these men and of this people, not only may what we read more openly in this Psalm be conveniently understood, but also those things which are more expressly stated concerning Judas himself, as I already recalled: ‘Let his days be few, and let another take his office’ (Enarrat. Ps. 108:18).24

By a typological reading of the text Augustine transfers traits of Judas to the Jews, not only to the Jews of the time of Jesus (already overstepping a boundary!), but to his own contemporaries. The application of the words ‘may his days be few’ shifts from a curse on the opponent of the Son of David (cf. Acts 1:20) to a malediction on the Jewish people as a whole. Further on in Augustine’s commentary, he writes: The Psalm then continues: His delight was in cursing, and it shall happen to him (v. 17). Although Judas loved cursing, both in stealing from the money bag, and selling and betraying the Lord: nevertheless, that people more openly loved cursing when they said: ‘His blood be on us, and on our children.’ ‘He loved not blessing, therefore it shall be far from him.’ Such was Judas indeed, since he did not love 22. Ewald, 1.261–62. On a number of websites Jerome is quoted as having said that the Jews ‘are serpents, haters of all men. Their image is Judas. Their psalms and prayers are but the braying of donkeys’ (e.g., L.W. Cable, ‘The Source of Christian Anti-Semitism,’ [Online] http://www.innu.net/skeptic/anitsem.html [accessed June 2007]). However, when I checked the quotations against the original, I could not trace their provenance. Virtually all authors quote these words without mentioning the exact source. It seems that this is an example of a fake quotation that is running a life of its own. I suspect the same is true of a few anti-Semitic quotations mentioning Judas and attributed to Augustine that I was unable to trace. This is not to say that Jerome and Augustine did not articulate antiSemitic sentiments, but such allegations need to be corroborated by meticulous research and sound evidence, especially so in cases with such wide-ranging implications. 23. Tr. PL 42.60. 24. Translation mine; cf. CCSL 40.1585; NPNF 8.536.



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Christ, in whom is everlasting blessing; but the Jewish people still more decidedly refused blessing, to whom he who had been enlightened by the Lord said, ‘Will you also be His disciples?’ ‘He clothed himself with cursing, like as with a raiment’: either Judas, or that people (Enarrat. Ps. 108.20).25

This list is far from complete.26 The main point, however, has been sufficiently made: there is a clear tendency to identify Judas with the Jews. The identification of Judas with the Jews is not only made in literature, but also in painting, music and drama.27 Infamous are the late medieval passion plays, dramatic re-enactments of the trial and death of Jesus that were performed each year on Good Friday or other special occasions.28 From an early point in church history there is a deep-rooted anti-Jewish and antiSemitic tradition in which the Judas figure is taken as a representative of the Jewish people and in which negative features are transferred from Judas to the Jews and vice versa, an evil communicatio idiomatum. Judas, the Jews, and the Devil in the Fourth Gospel – An Explosive Triad The identification of Judas with the Jews has at least in popular perception been fueled by the fact that both Judas and the Jewish people refused to accept the Christian Messiah. Once on this track, it was thought that the name similarity between Judas, Judah, and Jew was not a coincidence. How soon the name Judas was understood as pars pro toto for the Jews is difficult to determine. The first explicit statement comes from the time of Jerome in the fourth century.29 Generally speaking, this association does not seem to be the case in the New Testament. Contrary to the figure of Adam, who for Paul serves as a type of ‘fallen humanity’ in general (Rom. 5:12–21), the Synoptic Gospels treat Judas as an historical individual with no clear indication that he represents a larger entity.30 Similarly, Papias (c. 60–130) is said to consider Judas as ‘a striking example of ungodliness’ (me/ga a)sebei/aj u(po/deigma) and

25. Cf. CCSL 40.1595–6; my version slightly adapted from NPNF 8.539. 26. E.g., see further examples of connecting Judas with the Jews in Gregory of Nazianzus (Oratio IV: Contra Julianum imperatorem 1.68), Pope Leo the Great (Tract. 52.5), and Martin Luther, Vom Schem Hamphoras (cf. Gerhard Falk, The Jew in Christian Theology: Martin Luther’s Vom Schem Hamphoras, Previously Unpublished in English, and Other Milestones in Church Doctrine Concerning Judaism; Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1992). Aalbers, ‘Judas,’ 2.4–7 gives a brief survey of authors between 1833 and 1939 who took Judas as an anti-Jewish symbol. 27. E.g., see Hyam Maccoby, Judas Iscariot and the Myth of Jewish Evil (New York: Free Press, 1992), thirteen pictures between 86 and 87. 28. See Paffenroth, Judas, 39–44; Jansen, Christelijke Theologie, 1.137–9; Dieckmann, Judas, 229–31. 29. Cf. Maccoby, Jewish Myth, 81. 30. So Dieckmann, Judas, 261.

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ascribes all kinds of evil to him, but notably without referring his fate to that of the Jewish people.31 Nevertheless the Fourth Gospel not only displays rhetoric of defamation regarding Judas but also speaks in generalizing and stereotypical terms of ‘the Jews.’ Exactly who the discussion partners are, and whether the gospel can be labelled anti-Jewish or anti-Semitic, remains a matter of debate. Likewise unsettled is whether the Johannine I)oudai~oj should be rendered ‘Judean’ or ‘Jew.’ Participants of the Louvain Colloquium on Anti-Semitism in the Fourth Gospel, at any rate, did not arrive at a consensus on these matters.32 In John’s Gospel, Judas is explicitly associated with the devil (John 6:69–70; 13:2, 27; cf. 17:12), and the opponents of Jesus, ‘the Jews,’ are associated with the devil as well. In a debate between Jesus and his Jewish opponents about their spiritual parenthood, the Johannine Jesus argues that they are not children of Abraham but children of the devil (John 8:44). The opposing ‘Jews’ (8:48) then accuse him of being a Samaritan and being possessed by a demon (8:48, 52).33 The combination of texts in which Judas and the Jews are associated with the devil is suggestive and has evoked the idea that the Fourth Gospel contains anti-Jewish, not to mention antiSemitic, tendencies as well as served to promote the understanding of Judas as a type of the Jews. Whatever the original author intended, the effect of his words has been disastrous. Even so, there are nuances that may be appropriate here. Apart from the observation that divine and human love form a red thread in the Fourth Gospel (e.g., John 3:16; 13:34–35) and that the demonizing texts play a marginal role in the plot of this gospel, the exegetical interpreter is left to conclude that these texts are firmly anchored in a specific historical situation of polemics between various parties – whether between Christians and Jews, Christian Jews and non-Christian Jews, or orthodox and sectarian Christians.34 The conflict, in any case, is one within an historical 31. For a critical analysis and reconstruction of the texts from Papias, preserved by Apollonaris of Laodicea (c. 390) see Zwiep, Judas, 110–21. Maccoby, Jewish Myth, 84 takes the fragments of Papias as evidence of the early association of Judas and the Jewish people, suggesting that the notions of the terrible stench, the rotting of genitals, the worms disease, and so on, that Papias attributes to Judas, ‘were fantasies that clustered round the Judas figure [that] were always liable to be transferred to the Jews as a whole.’ However, there is no evidence that Papias intended his portrayal of Judas to affect the Jewish people; he invests Judas with the standard punishments found in Greek-Hellenistic tradition of divine revenge of wicked individuals (see Zwiep, 63–72). 32. See various contributions in Reimund Bieringer, Didier Pollefeyt, and F. Vandecasteele-Vanneuville, eds., Anti-Judaism and the Fourth Gospel: Papers of the Leuven Colloquium 2000 (JCH 1; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2001). Also consult David Rensberger, ‘Anti-Judaism and the Gospel of John,’ in William R. Farmer, ed., Anti-Judaism and the Gospels (Harrisburg: Trinity, 1999), 120–157. 33. For a possible background of the accusation, see Rudolf Schnackenburg, Das Johannesevangelium (HThKNT 4; Freiburg, Basle, Vienna: Herder, 1971), 2.292–3. 34. Various options are discussed in Bieringer et al., Anti-Judaism.



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setting, probably from a minority position that wrangles with verbal violence: the ‘pious’ parties involved do not shrink from bedevilling one another in the most literal sense of the word. This seems to be a culturally conditioned convention of vilification deeply rooted in both ancient Jewish and Grecian worlds of the time, as Luke Timothy Johnson has argued quite perceptively.35 But even if we arrive at the conclusion that the Johannine texts do speak in generalizing and stigmatizing terms about the Jewish people, the debate remains one with obvious historical constraints that do not allow a wider application, not to all Jews at the time, let alone to contemporary Judaism. Concluding Remarks The tension between biblical scholarship and theological interests comes into sharp focus with the figure of Judas Iscariot: ‘Tell me what you think of Judas and I will tell you what your exegetical method and your theological convictions are.’ While homilists try to make as much as possible from very little data for the sake of effective communication (often with disastrous results), biblical scholars usually assume the role of o( kate/xwn by stressing the fragmentary and one-sided nature of the available sources, and so issue a warning against over­inter­pretation. It is not enough, however, merely to describe the few facts we have: they need to be explained in a larger frame of reference,36 especially when they come from texts having many gaps and open ends, such as the ones about Judas, where the need to fill in the blanks is unavoidable if the interpreter is to do responsible reconstruction. It is a sad legacy that biblical texts such as the Johannine narrative’s association of Satan with Judas and ‘the Jews’ have played a role in the historical process of vilification. To argue that such never intended to convey anti-Jewish and anti-Semitic sentiments does not seem to help very much. Ever since Hans-Georg Gadamer put the notion of effective history (Wirkungs­geschichte) as a constituent part of the interpretative process on the agenda, biblical scholars must be aware of latent relativity when appealing to the intentio auctoris.37 If anything, research into authorial intent reveals something about the very first performance or reading of the drama in question and this may or may not help to constrain the number of legitimate interpretations. Every subsequent performance is a new one that 35. Luke Timothy Johnson, ‘The New Testament’s Anti-Jewish Slander and the Conventions of Ancient Polemic,’ JBL 108 (1989), 419–41. See also Urban C. von Wahlde, ‘“You Are of Your Father the Devil” in its Context: Stereotyped Apocalyptic Polemic in John 8:38–47,’ in Bieringer et al., Anti-Judaism, 418–44. 36. Cf. Johan S. Vos, ‘Theologie als Rhetorik,’ in Aufgabe und Durchführung einer Theologie des Neuen Testaments (eds. Cilliers Breytenbach, Jörg Frey; WUNT 2/205; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 247–71. 37. Hans-Georg Gadamer, Wahrheit und Methode: Grundzüge einer philosophischen Hermeneutik (GW 1; 5th ed.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1990).

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requires an evaluation of its own, especially so in the case of texts of which the origins are obscure, as in the case of Judas. This is why the study of Wirkungsgeschichte is essential to the historical exegete’s task and why such individuals need an ethic of interpretation.38 If the problematic connection between Judas and the Jews were taken more seriously in this regard, then perhaps there would be less sermons like the one at the beginning of this chapter.

38. See Gadamer, Wahrheit, 401; Charles W. Hedrick, ‘Toward a Code of Ethics for New Testament Scholars. ‘“Heavenly Labials in a World of Gutterals”’, PRSt 17 (1990), 101–15; and Anthony C. Thiselton, ‘Academic Freedom, Religious Tradition and the Morality of Christian Scholarship (1982),’ in idem, Thiselton on Hermeneutics: The Collected Works and New Essays of Anthony Thiselton (Ashgate Contemporary Thinkers on Religion; Ashgate: Aldershot, 2006), 685–700.

Chapter 8

Jews or Christians? The Opponents of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel J. Martin C. Scott One of the enduring mysteries of Johannine Christology remains Jesus’ relationship with his main opponents in the Gospel, the ‘Jews.’ Writing towards the end of the first century of the Common Era, to whom does the author draw attention by using the designation ‘Jews’ as the commonest way of delineating the opponents of Jesus? Given the distance between the Gospel and the actual events of Jesus’ ministry and the obvious symbolism which pervades so much of the narrative, should the ‘Jews’ be seen as historical reminiscence or as symbolic presence? The way in which we approach such questions has a direct bearing on our understanding of the Gospel as a whole. The Johannine tradition has been the one most exploited by anti-Semites, precisely because of its apparent identification of the ‘Jews’ as children of the Devil. An unbroken line exists from the invective of John 8, through medieval woodcuts of demonic Jews, to Nazi propaganda of the twentieth century.1 Such open anti-Semitism depends upon reading the Fourth Gospel as an historical picture of an omniscient Jesus, foreseeing his coming fate, stepping outside of his own culture and tradition to condemn his opponents in advance. However obvious the anachronism of this picture, it has fueled the fires (all too often literally) of anti-Semites. The fact remains that the Fourth Evangelist chose to portray Jesus speaking of his own people in the harshest of terms, for the most part as though he was not one of them. If this is not an accurate historical reminiscence of Jesus – and as such it is scarcely credible – what does the Evangelist hope to achieve through employing this motif? If, however, the ‘Jews’ represent a group or groups contemporary with the Johannine community, against whom the Gospel writer wants to inveigh using symbolism, what hope do we have of recovering the identity of that group?

1. Cf. Richard Lowry, ‘The Rejected-Suitor Syndrome: Human Sources of New Testament Anti-Semitism,’ JES 14 (1977), 219–32.

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It would appear that two main methods have been employed in attempting to answer these questions. For the most part scholars have examined the material from a historical-critical perspective, identifying the Sitz im Leben of the Johannine community as one dominated by the split between Church and Synagogue. From this stems the conclusion that the ‘Jews’ are to be understood as the Jewish authorities in the time of Jesus,2 now symbolic of the contemporary Jewish leaders responsible for the expulsion of Jewish Christians from the synagogue. This viewpoint, represented typically by Raymond Brown,3 has found a large following, albeit with variations.4 More recently some scholars have begun to look at the text from a literary perspective.5 In adopting such a technique, Mark Stibbe has aimed at what he calls an ‘ethical reading’ of the text which does not merely consider the ‘Jews’ allegorically, but which tries to interpret their significance, particularly in John 8:31–59, as characters functioning within a specific literary genre, namely ‘informal satire.’6 Following Martyn’s proposal of a ‘two-level’ drama in the Fourth Gospel,7 Stibbe sees the material in John 8 as ‘reflecting both an incident in the ministry of the historical Jesus, and the Sitz im Leben of the persecuted Johannine community.’8 The subject of the controversy, however, is that of the apostasy of supposed followers of Jesus: Jews in his lifetime; Jewish Christians in the life of the community. It is against such apostasy which the satire is directed, rather than against Judaism itself. Essentially, then, the historical and the literary-historical approaches have come to quite similar judgments with regard to the identity of the Johannine ‘Jews,’ but differed in their interpretation of what they might be taken to symbolize for the Johannine community. When the ‘Jews’ are seen to be hostile and in conflict with Jesus, they represent those hostile to Jesus in his own lifetime, in particular the religious authorities whose rejection of Jesus is also noted in the Synoptics.9 For the historical critics and some 2. This conclusion is reached by the majority of commentators, even when no speculation is made as to any symbolic meaning for the Johannine community. Cf. e.g., Geoffrey J. Cuming, ‘The Jews in the Fourth Gospel,’ ExT 60 (1949), 290–292; Urban C. von Wahlde, ‘The Johannine Jews: A Critical Survey,’ NTS 28 (1982), 33–60. 3. Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel according to John (1966), 1.lxx–lxxv. Cf. James D. G. Dunn, ‘The Embarrassment of History: Reflections on the Problem of Anti-Judaism in the Fourth Gospel,’ in Anti-Judaism and the Fourth Gospel: Papers of the Leuven Colloquium 2000 (eds. Reimund Bieringer, Didier Pollefeyt, F. Vandecasteele-Vanneuville; JCH 1; Louisville: Westminster/JKP, 2001), 41–60. 4. See von Wahlde, ‘Johannine Jews,’ 33–41 for a detailed survey of the material and further bibliography. 5. E.g., R. Alan Culpepper, ‘The Gospel of John and the Jews,’ Review & Expositor 84 (1987), 273–88; Mark Stibbe, John’s Gospel (1994), 107–31. 6. Stibbe, John’s Gospel, 115. 7. Cf. J. Louis Martyn, History and Theology in the Fourth Gospel (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1979). 8. Stibbe, John’s Gospel, 128. 9. There is wide recognition that the term 0Ioudai=ov is used in a number of different ways in the Fourth Gospel and not merely to denote those hostile to Jesus.



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more literary-centred approaches,10 this is seen to mirror the controversy between Jewish Christians and the authorities who have expelled them from the synagogue. Under Stibbe’s literary approach, however, it reflects those Jewish Christians whose apostasy under pressure from the Jewish authorities threatens the stability of the Christian community. But do these conclusions, even if seen as complementary, do full justice to the complexity and variety of the material related to the ‘Jews’ in the Fourth Gospel? If we take seriously the general consensus of scholars that the Gospel was written towards the end of the first century ce,11 was the split between church and synagogue really still as dominant an issue as has been supposed? The judgment of this matter depends very much on discussion of the relevance of the issuing of the birkath ha-minim. Apparently stemming from the period around 85 ce, it is often taken as representing the beginning of a campaign against Jewish Christians still worshipping in the synagogue. There are, however, many difficulties with this viewpoint. Not only is the dating uncertain, but a direct connection with Christianity is also far from secure. At best it may allude to the formalizing of a process already well established a long time before its codification. The expulsion of Johannine Christians from the synagogue was probably an experience many years (30 ce) in the past, if it ever formally took place at all. Hengel remarks: The ‘expulsion’ of Christians from the synagogue took place . . . in a lengthy and painful process which began even before Paul with the martyrdom of Stephen. I would suppose that the ‘Hellenists’ in Acts 6–8 were already driven out of Jerusalem as aposynagogoi by the members of the Greek-speaking synagogues there. The foundation of the Pauline mission communities was often associated with an actual expulsion from the synagogue community; the fivefold flogging by the Jewish authorities mentioned in II Cor. 11.24 demonstrates the violence of these controversies.12

Certainly the evidence of the Johannine epistles suggests that other matters were weighing heavily upon the mind of the community in the period immediately following the completion of the Gospel.13 This difference 10. Culpepper, ‘Gospel,’ 282, concludes that the ‘Jews’ are stereotyped in this way because of the split between church and synagogue and the fact that ‘the Jews of the synagogue were persecuting the Christian community.’ 11. For arguments supporting the late 90s, see Brown, John 1.lxxx–lxxxvi. For an alternative date (early–mid 1980s), see Klaus Wengst, Bedrängte Gemeinde und verherrlichter Christus (B-thS 5; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1981), 52–61, 94–96. 12. Martin Hengel, The Johannine Question (Philadelphia: Trinity, 1989), 114–115. 13. This presupposes that the Epistles were written after the completion of the Gospel. For further evidence and discussion see Raymond E. Brown, The Epistles of John (London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1982), 14–35; Ruth B. Edwards, The Johannine Epistles (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 47–56. Judith M. Lieu, The Theology of the Johannine Epistles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 98–107 argues for independent development of the Gospel and Epistles based on common community materials. This could leave open the possibility that Gospel and Epistles were written concurrently, but the evidence is far from conclusive.

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between Gospel and epistles comes to clearest expression precisely in the matter of opponents. As Witherington summarizes, Even authors who maintain that the three epistles weren’t all written by the same person allow that 1 John and the Gospel seem to have a common source. Yet there are differences, notably a time difference, for in the first epistle we hear of abiding in the now solidified old teaching. Also the opponents now are not the Jews, or the world, but the false teachers, labeled antichrists.14

If Witherington is correct, then we are faced with the distinct possibility that there is no necessary direct symbolic correlation between the ‘Jews’ in the Gospel and Jewish opponents (either authorities or apostates) of the Johannine community. In seeking to play down the polemical nature of the Johannine epistles, Ruth Edwards makes this point clearly in response to those who see Jews or Jewish Christians as the subject of abuse in 1 John: ‘It is most unlikely that practising religious Jews would have been members, or former members, of a fully Christian community as the “opponents” must be. Nor can the “opponents” be “Judaizers” . . . for there is no polemic against the Law, or circumcision, or other observances, such as one finds in other New Testament Epistles.’15 If this is the case for the Johannine epistles, is there any good reason to suppose it is not so for the Gospel writer? If not, then we must look for another explanation of the symbolic significance of the ‘Jews’ for the community of the Fourth Gospel. If they are not necessarily Jews, are they perhaps Christians? There are methodological problems in attempting to offer even a provisional answer to this question. From a historical point of view, it is ultimately impossible to answer with any degree of certainty. The problem of a purely historical approach to understanding the identity of the Johannine ‘Jews’ is apparent from the mere fact that the Johannine Jesus never hides his own Jewish identity. The clearest example of this is John 4, where Jesus is first of all identified as a Jew by his interlocutor, the Samaritan Woman (4:9). As the dialogue unfolds, Jesus goes on to speak of salvation as coming from the ‘Jews’ (4:22), a group to which he attaches himself through the immediately preceding plural: ‘You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews.’ What this usage points to is that the more common application of ‘Jews’ to those opposing Jesus is to a group within a group. The ‘neutral’ use of 0Ioudai=ov of Judea, or Jewish customs (e.g., 3:22; 2:6, 13),16 taken with its positive use in John 4:9, 22 shows that a fairly disparate group is encompassed by the total Gospel picture. Even if the group primarily addressed is one which shows hostility to the point of murderous intent towards Jesus, it is nevertheless still seen as belonging within a wider group, some of whom 14. Ben Witherington, John’s Wisdom (Cambridge: Lutterworth Press, 1995), 28. 15. Edwards, Johannine Epistles, 60 16. von Wahlde, ‘Johannine Jews,’ 46–47 lists numerous so-called ‘neutral’ references under five different classifications.



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are viewed either neutrally, or even positively. To this wider group, Jesus himself belongs. He is happy to be identified as such by a known ‘outsider,’ a Samaritan. What we are dealing with is a case of inter- and inner-group struggle: the marking out of boundaries typical of incipient sect division. If it were possible to read the mind of the real author of the Fourth Gospel, we could discover the historical identity of the warring groups addressed, but such a recovery is clearly quite impossible. At this point a purely historical search ends in imaginative speculation, interesting, but far from providing the certainty which some commentators have assumed. The other approach, a purely literary one, is not without its own problems. The question may be posed in this way: what does the ideal author assume the ideal reader to understand by the term ‘Jews’? What knowledge does the text assume of its ideal reader? Are there enough hints to allow us to step into the reader’s shoes and deconstruct the term? Attempts have been made to identify the ideal author/reader within the text, but the variety of conclusions here simply mirrors the complexity of the material.17 While literary readings may provide different models for hearing the text today against the grain of anti-Semitic interpretation, the fact of the impact of such misappropriation demands a better solution. We can neither read the mind of the real author of the Fourth Gospel nor with certainty outline the situation of the original community to which it was addressed. We can, however, allow our (albeit selective and scanty) knowledge of the historical setting of the early church to inform our attempt to occupy the shoes of the ideal reader. At this point a narrative approach may allow us to take a step forward over against the end-product of historical criticism. We can at least attempt to develop a coherent reading of the text, which may also make historical sense when read back into what knowledge we have of the late first century. The dangers of a ‘reading-back’ method are clear. As Jimmy Dunn once succinctly put it, ‘the Fourth Gospel has not been heard in its own terms, John has not been allowed to be John.’18 This is certainly true if, for example, we attempt to judge the authorial intention behind the Christology of John by the interpretation which it received in the creeds of the later church. It is scarcely possible to construct an ideal reader of the Fourth Gospel who would come up with the Chalcedonian formula! Yet the irony is that John was read in a particular contextual way in the centuries which followed its 17. E.g, Jeffrey L. Staley, The Print’s First Kiss: Rhetorical Investigation of the Implied Reader in the Fourth Gospel (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988); Francis J. Moloney, ‘Who is ‘the Reader’ in/of the Fourth Gospel,’ ABR 40 (1992), 20–33; Margaret Davies, Rhetoric and Reference in the Fourth Gospel (JSNTSS 69; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), 350–75; Richard Bauckham, ‘The Beloved Disciple as Ideal Author,’ JSNT 49 (1993), 21–44. 18. James D. G. Dunn, ‘Let John be John: A Gospel for its Time,’ in Das Evangelium und die Evangelien (ed. Peter Stuhlmacher; WUNT 28; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1983), 309–39, here 311.

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writing, and that reading has formed the dominant understanding to the present day. Our own task of contextual re-reading has no less risk attached to it. Our approach has four steps. Firstly, we shall identify a model from the history of the church against which to try and sketch a possible background for the late first-century setting in which the Fourth Gospel emerged. Secondly, this model will be examined as a parallel to the proposed situation of the Johannine community. Thirdly, we use the fruits of that parallel to inform our attempt to step into the shoes of the ideal reader, who understands the references to the ‘Jews’. Lastly, we shall check out some sample texts to see how plausible such a reading might be. A Model from Church History In the history of the post-reformation church, there are few better examples of the journey from reform movement to independent institution than that of the Methodist Church in Britain. That Methodism soon moved from being a unified Connexion into a multitude of splinter groups around a solid core of Wesleyanism further elevates its suitability as a model against which to play off the history of the late first-century church. John Wesley returned from his visits to America to begin a new ministry of evangelical preaching in 1738. His zeal was directed towards the reform of the Anglican church, within which he was an ordained priest. Around him gathered a host of lay preachers, who followed up his evangelical ministry with their own preaching, and this group met regularly on an annual basis from 1744 onwards as a ‘connexion’ of like-minded preachers. The gradual alienation of these leaders from their parent group is well documented, leading to the constitution of the Methodist Connexion.19 It is hard to date the beginning of Methodism as a separate denomination, but the connexion of lay preachers at least was formalized through the Deed of Declaration in 1784. What started as a reform movement had, within some forty years, become a radically separate entity, shunned by its root organization, even if never formally expelled from it. Wesley continued to insist on maintaining the basic doctrines and attending the regular worship of the Church of England. In 1797, six years after his death, however, the Methodist New Connexion broke away from its parent body over issues of church government. By 1810, the Primitive Methodists had been expelled from the mainstream of Wesleyanism over their own form of evangelical zeal, though this probably also reflected a sociological rather than a theological division. By 1815 the Bible Christians (Bryanites) had separated over the intensity of their missionary zeal and strong biblicism. 19. On Methodist roots see further, Barrie Tabraham, The Making of Methodism (London: Epworth, 1995), 15–52; John M. Turner, Conflict and Reconciliation: Studies in Methodism and Ecumenism in England 1740–1982 (London: Epworth, 1985), 9–29.



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In 1827, the Protestant Methodists split over the issue of the installation of an organ in a church in Leeds. Later controversies concerning the training of clergy led to the secession of the Wesleyan Methodist Association in 1835, before the Wesleyan Reformers came into being with the expulsion of some ministers from the Connexion in 1749, following what was seen as a ‘subversive’ leaflet campaign against the hierarchy.20 These are but a few of the subdivisions of Methodism which had come into being within a hundred years of Wesley’s first reform efforts. Some of these groups soon found themselves too small to survive, with the result that a number came together in the United Methodist Free Church in 1857. By 1907 this group was ready to merge with the New Connexion to form the United Methodist Church, and by 1932 the most independent group of all, the Primitives, was finally drawn into the fold again to form what we know today as the Methodist Church. Needless to say, nearly all of these groups have left their own remnants that refused to compromise and join in with other groups to form a ‘great church.’ It would be foolish to imagine that the Methodist Church today has merely returned to the form of Wesleyanism which existed at the death of its founder. Its theological outlook and politics owe much to all the diverse groups who have (gone and) come together over the years to form again a single structure. Testing the Model Against the Early Church If this story of Methodist origins and struggles is placed alongside the story of the emergence of early Christian communities, some interesting parallels may be noted. To begin with, there is little to support the idea that the historical Jesus had any other intention than to reform within Judaism. The disciple groups that accompanied Jesus at various points of his ministry are scarcely recognizable as ‘anything that could be properly called a community.’21 What began as informal and fluid groupings around a shared agenda only became separate identity groups at a later stage. Those nascent Christian groups formed initially around the expressed belief that Jesus, who had been crucified, was alive and present as the risen Christ. The earliest of these groups still saw themselves as messianic Jews. However skeptical we may be about the precise historicity of Acts 11:26, the report that the term ‘Christian’ was only later applied to such groups is undoubtedly correct. Growing isolation from Jewish roots happened over an extended period of time, as the mission spread to include those other than ethnic Jews. Paul’s arguments in Galatians, together with the Acts account of the Jerusalem Council, are sufficient evidence that outlooks soon began to polarize between ethnic Jewish Christians and Gentile Christians. Within 20. See further, Tabraham, Methodism, 63–74. 21. James D. G. Dunn, Unity and Diversity in the New Testament (London: SCM, 1977), 105.

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less than twenty years we have clear evidence of splinter groups of more traditional Jewish Christians and other non-ethnically defined groups (cf. Gal. 2; Acts 6, 15). Gradually, Christian groups began to splinter over issues other than ethnic identity: sociological, ecclesiological, and doctrinal issues caused schism. The difficulties arising from the sociological stratification of groups in the area around Corinth have been well documented.22 The differing understandings of ecclesial authority present in writings such as Matthew, the Pastoral Epistles, and the Johannine corpus make it scarcely credible that all lived together in perfect harmony! The variety of Christological models, understandings of the role of women in the community, and attitudes toward the Jewish law (to name but a few) indicate that divergent groups were ripe for conflict and radical separation. To this point the experience of the early church and that of early Methodism run fairly well in parallel. It may also inform some of the discussion about the expulsion of Christians from the synagogue. In the case of Wesley, there never was a formal ‘expulsion,’ but by his deliberate action he placed himself increasingly outside the discipline of the Church of England. There was no need for a formal expulsion, since the parting of the ways was made inevitable by the new sense of identity amongst Methodists. While matters may have come to a quasi-codified head after the Jamnia ‘council’ in the pronouncement of the birkath ha-minim, the drift apart must already have been well under way. Horbury points to the likelihood that this ‘benediction’ did nothing more than reinforce an already strong form of expulsion already in force long before 85 ce.23 It could hardly have come as a surprise to a community like the Johannine one, whose portrayal of Jesus emerged in a picture utterly blasphemous to even the most liberal Jewish mind. As Dunn puts it: ‘The question which cannot be ducked is whether the Jesus of the Fourth Gospel was intended as a historical portrayal, whether Jesus of Nazareth actually spoke in the terms used by the Fourth Gospel. Were the Christological claims of John’s Gospel already in place from the beginning of Christianity? It is hardly likely.’24 The new sense of identity forged by developing Christological images implied radical sociological change. The distinctive ethnic signifiers of Judaism (circumcision, food laws, Torah observance) were ever less important for the emergent church. Like Wesley’s ordination of Thomas Coke,25 the decision to abandon the ethnic markers of Judaism was taken with a clear knowledge 22. Cf. Gerd Theissen, The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1982). 23. William Horbury, ‘The Benediction of the Minim and Early Jewish-Christian Controversy,’ JTS 33 (1982), 19–61. For a summary of the discussion of the significance of the birkath ha-minim, see D. A. Carson, The Gospel according to John (Leicester: Apollos, 1991), 369–72. 24. James D. G. Dunn, The Partings of the Ways (London: SCM, 1991), 176. 25. Charles Wesley is reported to have warned his brother that ‘ordination was separation’: cf. Rupert E. Davies, Methodism (Harmondsworth: Pelican, 1963), 129.



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of the consequences. Formal expulsion was unnecessary, even if it may have happened. In terms of ‘reuniting’ divergent groups, the Methodist experience may also illustrate some of the dangers of easy assumptions. So-called splinter groups, which may initially not have sought to fracture, but were effectively frozen out, have often been treated as though they simply died out, or at best saw the error of their ways and were readmitted to the mainstream. Although the dominant historical records may point to such a picture, recent reassessments of history should cause us to beware of such simplicity. The influence of ideas from groups no longer in existence was a strong feature in the emergence of what we know today as Methodism. We might argue similarly with regard to early Christianity. Just because elements of Johannine Christology heavily pepper later mainstream theology they may say nothing about the treatment of the community from which they stemmed. By the time of the writing of the Johannine epistles it is clear that we have a community under considerable pressure – not from Jewish groups, but from what are perceived by the writer as deviant Christian groups. First John 2–4 upbraids those who do not show love for a ‘brother,’ reflecting the fact that the primary dispute is with those who belong, or have belonged to the Christian community. They have ‘gone out’ (1 Jn. 2:19) from the community and are thus deemed never to have belonged in the first place. One can infer from the language of this epistle that a similar view was held by the opponents of the Johannine community regarding those whom they had left behind, leading to persecution. The frequent reference to being ‘hated’ and even to ‘murderers’ (1 Jn. 3:15) indicates the severity with which the community feels its rejection by former members and the danger into which it sees itself coming. The presence of the Johannine literature in the canon is no guarantee that the church from which it stemmed survived the persecution to which it alludes. At this point the lesson from Methodist history is important – the presence of ideas and motifs from a remnant group at the centre of later thinking and structures is no guarantee of that group’s acceptance or survival. There is little evidence from the second century onwards of a mainstream community which remotely parallels the kind of life which may be read behind the Fourth Gospel. I have argued elsewhere for the prominence of women in leadership in the Johannine community, and for evidence of egalitarian structures based on authenticity of discipleship rather than office.26 Other somewhat unusual features of the community include its view of the continuing revelatory function of the Spirit (Jn. 16:12–15), and its thoroughgoing understanding of Jesus as the incarnation of God’s Wisdom, Sophia. I have also suggested the possibility of a close connection (even a reemergence) of the Johannine community in the form of Montanism in Asia Minor in the mid second century.27 26. 1992). 27.

Cf. J. Martin C. Scott, Sophia and the Johannine Jesus (Sheffield: JSOT Press, Scott, Sophia, 252.

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Recent thorough investigation of the Montanists does nothing to dispel this idea, pointing firmly to their emphasis on women’s prophetic leadership role and the understanding of the immediacy of the revelatory role of the Holy Spirit.28 If such a link was real, we would see clearly how marginalized Johannine Christianity actually became, given the treatment of the Montanists by the emergent structures of ‘orthodoxy.’ The earliest evidence we have for the place of writing of the Fourth Gospel points to Ephesus.29 Following Irenaeus, this became the unanimous witness of the early church, though no certainty can be attached to it. One of the arguments cited against Ephesus has been the absence of reference to ‘John the Apostle’ in the letters of Ignatius, who knows of the mission of Paul in the area. Moody Smith notes this and asks: ‘If John had written his Gospel in Ephesus just a quarter of a century before, would Ignatius have ignored the fact while extolling Ephesus’ connection with Paul?’30 Given that the dating of the Pauline mission and the Johannine correspondence place the latter much nearer to Ignatius’ time, this is a fair question. But what if Ignatius deliberately played down the presence of a Johannine community at Ephesus? Two things might point us in this direction. Firstly, Ignatius shows some knowledge of Johannine traditions in his writing, if not of the final form of the Gospel (Rom. 7; Magn. 7). Secondly, his interest in emerging structures of hierarchical office hardly sits lightly with the picture of a community of ‘friends’ (cf. Jn. 15:14–15) with women in prominent positions (Ign. Trall. 3). Perhaps in Ignatius’ writings we see a trend towards what we have hinted at above: the marginalization of the community by other Christian groups, who at the same time adopted some of its theological outlook. If we return again for a moment to the model of Methodism’s emergence another important point emerges. Expulsion from the main body is a feature of early Methodism – but not expulsion by the Church of England! Rather, expulsion becomes an increasingly frequent feature of the various branches of Methodism itself. This would never have been the desire or intention of Wesley himself and it was only after his death that such splits began to occur over theological, sociological and ecclesiological issues. Is this not also the more likely scenario in late first-century Christianity, especially at a place like Ephesus? Given that other New Testament writings associated with the city have much more in common with each other than with the Johannine writings in all of the major areas (Christology, male leadership, emergent hierarchical church order), it would hardly be surprising to find the Johannine community becoming increasingly isolated from what later emerges as mainstream Christianity. It takes little imagination 28. Cf. Christine Trevett, Montanism: Gender, Authority and the New Prophecy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). 29. Other possible places muted have been Alexandria and Antioch. See further, C. K. Barrett, The Gospel According to St John (2nd ed.; London: SPCK, 1978), 123–34. 30. D. Moody Smith, The Theology of the Gospel of John (NTTh; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 6.



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to see that the letter to the Ephesians, and more particularly the Pastoral Epistles, have within them the seeds of conflict with Johannine Christianity. Expulsion, already a long past issue with the parent body in Judaism, would in this case be an issue with those who ‘have gone out from among us’ (1 Jn. 2:19), that is, to join other Christian groups in Ephesus. The Ideal Reader’s Perspective Does this scenario make any sense from the perspective of the ideal reader of the Fourth Gospel, in whose shoes we seek to stand? The crucial text here is surely the one which purports to be a purpose statement addressed by the implied author to the reader, Jn. 20:31. As Moloney puts it, ‘The ‘you’ in this statement refers to the implied reader, not to the characters in the story. . . nor the Johannine community, nor the real reader, in the first instance.’31 This text, however, is the subject of much discussion due to its textual problems. The question as to whether a present subjunctive (pisteu/hte) or an aorist subjunctive (pisteu/shte) should be read in the opening part of the verse may be crucial to understanding the purpose. The majority opinion follows Riesenfeld in preferring the present subjunctive, making the purpose one of confirming the believer in faith in the face of opposition.32 Other examples of this usage can be found not only in 1 John, but also in the Gospel itself, notably at 13:15, where the context favors the translation ‘you are to continue doing as I have done for you.’ If the situation of the Johannine readers was anything like the one we have outlined, such a reading makes a great deal of sense. The ideal reader is at many points presumed to be aware of the story of Jesus,33 not least in the early reference to the resurrection (Jn. 2:22), but is now hearing it unfold in the Johannine version for the first time. This version will be at variance with other known accounts being promulgated. Carson argues for a missionary purpose in the writing of the Fourth Gospel, thus favoring the aorist reading.34 For him the Gospel has ‘the primary aim of evangelising Jews and Jewish proselytes.’35 Against this view are factors internal to the Gospel and thus open to the ideal reader. Firstly, the Gospel shows the responses of the Jews to be quite mixed: some believe and are not trusted (2:23–25; 8:31–58); some do not believe at all (1:11; 5:18, 46–47; 11:47–54); some do not seem to come to adequate belief (3:1–21); some show true and unqualified belief (3:30; 11:27; 20:18). This can be read as showing the ambiguity of response to Jesus from within his

31. 32. 213–20; 33. 34. 35.

Moloney, ‘Reader,’ 24. Cf. Harald Riesenfeld, ‘Zu den johanneischen hina-Sätzen,’ ST 19 (1965), Barrett, John, 573. See the material cited by Moloney, ‘Reader,’ 21–24 Carson, John, 87–95; 661–63. Carson, John, 372.

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own Jewish people. If Jesus was unsuccessful in persuading ‘his own’ to accept him, the likelihood of his followers doing so would seem remote. It makes some sense to see this ambiguity as a sign of the need for the reader to continue in belief along with the faithful of Jesus’ time and to see the variety of response (whether Jewish or Christian) as simply mirroring the experience of Jesus himself. The response to the Johannine Jesus scarcely makes encouraging reading as a call to missionary zeal. Secondly, the radical antithetical style of the Evangelist demands a sympathetic and knowledgeable reader throughout. This is not a text where wavering is permitted. Carson believes that the question ‘Who is the Messiah’ can only be asked by those not yet in the faith, since Christians ‘already knew the answer.’36 This does not take either Johannine irony or the literary genius of the author seriously enough. In the presentation of Jesus as Sophia incarnate from the first words of the Gospel onwards the reader is drawn into a radically new view of Messiahship, which needs underlining as being present in Jesus, the Son of God. It is not to come to belief that the ideal reader is called, but to stick with the gradually unveiling Johannine picture in the face of opposition. Thirdly, the ideal reader can hardly be an unconverted Jew or a proselyte, as Carson suggests. Why would such a reader need some of the explanatory details given throughout the Gospel? In 1:41, for example, the ideal reader is unaware of the meaning of a basic word like Messiah, which is helpfully translated into Greek! Even the idea of a Gentile ‘God-Fearer’37 as ideal reader seems difficult at this point, since Greek-speakers ‘largely appreciative of Judaism’s tenets and claims but who have not yet submitted to circumcision’38 would hardly need such explanation. Furthermore, the frequent reference in the Gospel to the ‘festivals of the Jews’ suggests that these are not part of the tradition of the one to whom the work as a whole is addressed. Rather, the ideal reader appears to be a Gentile Christian whose familiarity with the Jewish scriptures is frequently assumed, but whose participation in Jewish worship is not. The ideal reader understands that Jesus is unashamedly a Jew, but that not all who share his identity as such are to be trusted. There exists a small group within the larger group who show real understanding of who the Christ is and it is with these that the ideal reader is persuaded to identify. For the most part, however, those who should know better seem interested only in subverting the truth, doing away with what is good and shutting out the light. The Johannine Jesus distances himself from this group, portrayed in the Gospel as the power-group, the ‘authorities,’ by naming them ‘Jews,’ as though he were not one. Yet all along the ideal reader knows that Jesus not only experiences things Jewish as acceptable (festivals; customs; Jewish followers), but as fundamentally vital: ‘salvation comes from the Jews’ (Jn. 36. 37. 38.

Carson, John, 662. If such a category ever existed! Carson, John, 662 ftn.3.



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4:22). There is nothing inherently wrong with being ‘Jewish,’ only with being a ‘Jew’ who rejects Jesus as the Christ. How might this then be heard from the perspective of an ideal reader, who is not a ‘Jew’? The answer must be primarily in terms of group definition. The texts which talk of ‘Jews’ as children of the devil and fundamentally opposed to what is right are not anti-Semitic, but are directed against the dominant group which is bent upon marginalizing the small Johannine group. In parallel to the Johannine Jesus, the ideal reader is unashamedly a Christian, but knows that not all who share that identity are to be trusted. The overall picture is of a group within a group being confirmed in its identity over against the threat of extinction by the majority view. The ideal reader is persuaded of at least four things. Firstly, that it is correct to name Jesus as the Christ, the Son of God, Sophia incarnate. Secondly, that it is right to follow the traditions of the Johannine group, even if the wider so-called Christian world around does not do so, because they go back to Jesus himself (eye-witness theme is thus strong). Thirdly, that it is vital to hold onto the truth in its Johannine version when others who should know better are letting it slip away, or deliberately rejecting it (‘going out from amongst us’). Fourthly, that, like Jesus who stood with the true believers as a remnant within his peer group, the reader should hold fast even in the face of the murderous intent of supposedly ‘like-minded,’ yet ultimately counter-minded contemporaries. In short, it is possible to read the Fourth Gospel through the eyes of an ideal reader who understands the language of exclusion as marking out boundaries in an inter-Christian dispute. The language of inner-group definition is common throughout history in many cultures: the New Testament is no stranger to it. Surveying the Texts So what of the evidence of the texts within the Gospel? It is impossible to cover all of them in detail in the scope of this chapter, so we shall dip into a number of key texts in order to gain some view of the potential for understanding the material as a whole in this way. We shall look briefly at six examples to test out this reading. John 1:19–23 The first reference to ‘Jews’ is not in relation to Jesus, but to John the Baptist. His opening line, ‘I am not the Messiah,’ assumes the ideal reader has heard that some make this claim for John (cf. 1:8, 15). Whether this is historically accurate is irrelevant to the narrator, whose primary concern is to establish John as a trustworthy witness to Jesus as Messiah. This is achieved through a quasi-judicial question and answer session, allowing John to make a formal confession of his identity and purpose in relation to Jesus.

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The appearance of the ‘Jews’ in relation to John the Baptist is evidence of their primary function as representatives of an internecine struggle. Jesus is not isolated in his struggle, but is joined by others, including John the Baptist, the blind man (9:33), Lazarus (12:10), and ultimately the whole disciple group (20:19). The ideal reader hears a persistent echo, that ideal disciples belong to a small group who witness to the truth about Jesus in the face of opposition from the very people with whom their natural affinities should lie. Translated to the world of the Johannine epistles, with its condemnation of opposition from within, such an outlook can easily be read as an inter-Christian dispute. John 5:16–18 This is the first example of open hostility towards Jesus by the ‘Jews.’ It indicates that the dispute between Jesus and his adversaries has both sociological and theological dimensions. The complaint of the ‘Jews’ concerns Jesus’ attitude to the Sabbath, but this is compounded by his provocative answer, which is interpreted as a claim to equality with God. For the ideal reader, this text echoes the earlier references to the ‘Jews,’ to whom Jesus is unwilling to entrust himself (2:23–25) and emphasizes the extent of the threat to the one who stands with Jesus. John is a skilful rhetorician and story-teller. The story of inter-group struggle must make sense within the context of the life of the historical Jesus, even though history is not the primary purpose of writing. The symbolic nature of the encounter between Jesus and the ‘Jews’ at this point is nevertheless clear to the informed reader. The charge against Jesus concerning work on the Sabbath has little content to it,39 the point being that the action of Jesus as Messiah caused division because of its sociological implications. As with the theological accusation, Jesus goes on to explain the basis of his relationship with God. Already in the Prologue and beyond, the ideal reader has noted the connection of Jesus with all of the claims concerning Sophia in Israel’s wisdom tradition. The relationship which 5:19–47 outlines between Jesus and God continues this trajectory. Jesus identifies himself as in the same kind of intimate union with God as Sophia (5:19–23), as giver of life (5:21; eternal 5:24), as judge (5:27–30), and as united in will and purpose.40 The dispute with the ‘Jews’ is represented as one of Christological definition: is this Jesus really on a par with God? The ideal reader addressed in 20:31 has known all along that this is true of Jesus and is being encouraged to hold fast to it. It is precisely this Father–Son intimacy of relationship which emerges as the point of denial in the inter-Christian disputes of the Johannine Epistles (1 Jn. 2:22–23). 39. Cf. Barrett, John, 255. 40. See Scott, Sophia, 98–100, 123–25, 140–145. Both experience mutual love with God (Prov. 8:30; Wisd. 8:3–4); share divine knowledge (Prov. 2:6,10; 3:19,20; 8:12); know ‘all things’ (Wisd. 9:11).



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Thus the dispute with the ‘Jews’ in John 5 reads instead as a symbol of the Christological battles being fought out with opponents in other Christian groups; albeit, it is couched in terms vaguely reminiscent of Jesus’ lifetime. John 8:31–47 The classic text for exegetes who wish to read the Fourth Gospel as antiSemitic, John 8 demonstrates the harshness of the language used against the ‘Jews.’ The particular section which begins in 8:31 is striking because it is addressed first to those Jews who had expressed belief in Jesus. All along the Gospel is working towards the confession of Jesus as the Christ, so the inference here must be that belief means belief in Jesus as Messiah. Jesus immediately confronts this group with an essential characteristic of true discipleship – they should abide in his word (8:31). Initial belief does not guarantee permanent disciple status, but requires continual confirmation through a lifestyle which avoids sin (8:34). Such sin is described as enslavement, the very antithesis of the Johannine community ideal (15:14–15). This passage is full of invective. These ‘Jews’ who believe are exposed as enslaved by sin; as children of the devil, agents of the devil, liars, and by implication murderers (an accusation leveled at several points in the Gospel). If this material is directed against the ‘Jews’ as an ethnic group of leaders opposed to Jesus it certainly makes very interesting reading when placed alongside the invective directed against ‘renegade’ Christians in 1 John. They are warned against the insidious nature of sin (1 Jn. 3:4–6), and reminded that it is incompatible with a life lived in union with Christ, who was sinless. They are accused as children of the devil on account of their sin – which turns out to be lack of love and support for their fellow Christians (1 Jn. 3:7–10). Their hatred for others makes them murderers, outside the possibility of eternal life (1 Jn. 3:15). Finally, their antipathy toward the Johannine Christians is denounced as the work of liars, who claim to love God, but continue hating their fellow-Christians (1 Jn. 4:20–21). Once again the ideal reader is faced with material symbolizing internal strife of a fairly major degree. The reader knows from the unfolding drama of the Gospel to this point that the term ‘Jew’ is ambiguous: it can be positive as of Jesus, John the Baptist, or even the ‘Israelite’ Nathanael (1:45–51). Thus the invective directed against this particular group of ‘Jews’ cannot be seen to apply to all. It is a marker for a specific set of attitudes of the dominant group over against which the minority, represented by Jesus the Jew, is struggling. Those attitudes are lack of love despite expressed belief in Jesus, diabolical intention towards the minority culminating in murderous scheming, and failure to perceive or speak the truth. Since it is historically likely that the addressees of the Gospel and the Epistles were by 90 ce long separated from the synagogue, and the evidence of the rhetoric of 1 John is that such attitudes were displayed by other Christians, the reader will hear this vicious rhetoric in the light of the latter conflict.

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John 9:22 This is the first of three references to expulsion from the synagogue (cf. 12:42; 16:2). There is no evidence to support the idea that Jesus or his followers were expelled from the synagogue during his lifetime. Quite the contrary, the Synoptics and John all picture Jesus as able to function freely in the environs of the temple and in the synagogue. Luke-Acts confirms that the worship life of the earliest Christians was centred around Jewish worship places. Certainly Paul seems to have come into conflict with the synagogue authorities on his missionary rounds (2 Cor. 11:24), but this probably owes as much to Paul’s confrontational style of ‘dialogue’ than to issues around worship. If the ideal reader already knows the story of Jesus, though not in its Johannine version,41 then that reader knows that such conflict does not belong in the lifetime of Jesus. It might well be read at some point in the Johannine community’s story, as a reflection on the split between synagogue and church, but it need not necessarily be seen in that light. The encounter of the parents of the blind man with the authorities raises a number of questions. Why would they need to say anything about Jesus as Messiah? That question has not been asked. How do they know that the ‘Jews’ intend putting those who confess Jesus as Messiah out of the synagogue? The text nowhere suggests that to this point. The blind man himself apparently does not really grasp who Jesus is anyway this early in the story (only at 9:38), so how come his parents are about to confess Jesus, whom they have not met, as Messiah? The holes in the plot of this drama demand a reader who is able to fill in considerable gaps. How might the reader hear this story? Again we have a situation where Jews are afraid of Jews: where the dominant power group is set to victimize others on account of their beliefs. The issue which causes fear, namely discussion as to the nature of faith in Jesus as Messiah, is raised without prior introduction, suggesting that the informed ideal reader knows already that this is what is coming. At the opening of the story the blind man’s sin is not an issue: but by the end of it the Pharisees’ (‘Jews’) sin is the primary focus. That sin is their attitude to Jesus’ words and works and towards those who have made true confession of him. The echoes of late-first century strife between the Johannine group and other Christians are significant. John 11:45 One of the problems of categorizing the ‘Jews’ in the Fourth Gospel has always been the fact that there is no easy narrowing down of the group into a scheme of progressive opposition. True, the rising tide of enmity towards Jesus is coming to its peak in 11:45–57, but it is still striking to find at 11:45 41.

Cf. Moloney, ‘Reader,’ 21–24.



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reference to many ‘Jews’ coming to belief in Jesus. This is another pointer to the ideal reader that there are those who remain faithful, despite the pressure to conform to another way of thinking. The preceding story of Jesus’ encounter with Martha at the tomb of Lazarus has brought with it the high point of confession of Jesus (11:27). This scene has been set up by the Evangelist as taking place amongst the ‘Jews’ (or in ‘Judea’ 11:7). The narrative thus presents us with a picture of a Jew (a female one replacing Peter!) expressing the continuing belief of the ideal reader (11:27=20:31) at the heart of the territory where opposition is declared to be at its greatest (11:8, 16). In classic Johannine style, the words and sign of Jesus come together in the raising of Lazarus, and this culminates in a point of crisis, of radical separation between belief and rejection. What Dodd perceptively pointed out in relation to chapter 8 is no less true of this text: ‘The attentive reader will observe that the whole episode is an example of the working of the principle of iii.15–17; and he is thus prepared for the more explicit treatment of the theme in the next episode.’42 For the ideal reader the point which emerges is again that of the radical splintering of the group which ought to have all in common. It is not that ‘Jews’ are simply opposed to Jesus: there are those who believe and find life. But there are equally those who do not, the majority in fact, and whose murderous purpose is revealed by the schism. In the heat of persecution and desertion (also a theme in 11:47) the reader learns that only the true believers will stand firm. In 11:51–52, the narrator adds a footnote to the comments of Caiaphas, noting that the purpose of Jesus’ coming death is far greater than concern for the nation of Israel alone. In an echo of the Prologue, we hear of the gathering of all the children of God, a reminder along with other elements (Samaritan Woman; Greeks) that we are not dealing with a Gospel exclusively interested in the inner affairs of Judaism. The ideal reader is prompted at this point to remember the way in which Jesus seeks to include all, even if they choose not to be part. John 20:19–23 The final reference we deal with comes in the immediate aftermath of the crucifixion and the report of the resurrection. Mary of Magdala has announced, in apostolic style, the news of the risen Jesus’ appearance to her. Yet the disciples, Jewish followers, are shut away in a room for fear of ‘the Jews.’ This is a good example of the way in which the Evangelist can talk about the group closest to Jesus as though they were not Jews. The ideal reader knows very well that they are, but now hears them addressed separately. This is not the first occasion on which this has happened in the 42. C. H. Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1953), 352.

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Gospel (cf. 13:33). It is a literary counterpart to Pilate’s ironic question in 18:35, ‘Am I a Jew?.’ Just as he appears to be a ‘Jew’ in the sense of belonging to that group which opposes and seeks the death of Jesus yet is not a Jew, so the reverse is true of the disciple group. Crucial for the reader in this scene (20:19–23) is the juxtaposition of the word ‘peace’ with fear of the oppressive group. The story reads as though Jesus is offering reassurance to this beleaguered rump that they are the true succession. Indeed the creation imagery underlying the ‘breathing’ of the Spirit provides the reader with a picture of the birth of a new group identity. To this group is imparted the life-breath of the Spirit, ironically empowering the powerless, fearful remnant in the face of adversity from their own kind. The parallel to a late-first-century community in crisis reflected in the Johannine epistles is intriguing – and a further pointer to a growing conviction that the reader views the Gospel’s in-out ‘Jew’ language as a cipher for an inter-Christian conflict. Conclusion It is possible to read the language of ‘Jews’ in the Fourth Gospel on different levels. The original setting of such language may have been in disputes between Jewish Christians still worshipping in the synagogue and those Jews who did not see Jesus as the Messiah, but the evidence for this is not overwhelming. The conjecture rests primarily on the assumption that the Johannine community was cast out of the synagogue in the light of the issuing of the birkat ha-minim. The examination of the late-first-century church situation in comparison with the experience of Methodist-Anglican and MethodistMethodist splinter groups, at least points to another possible model for reading the relationships current at the end of the century. Given that at some point Christian groups went their separate way from the synagogue – probably with at least some acrimony on both sides – the expression the ‘Jews’ may represent a boundary marker between those two sets of the same ethnic group. It may, however, have had a more important contemporary function for the community to which the Gospel was addressed. The point of view of the ideal reader becomes important here. The Johannine Epistles make clear that the community was still in some kind of critical time of conflict, though not with Jewish groups. There is little reason to suppose that there was a long gap (if any) between the writing of the Gospel and the first epistle. The striking parallels between the language used of the opposing ‘Jews’ in the Gospel and the opponents in 1 John reinforce the possibility that similar groups are held in mind. Since the term ‘Jews’ cannot possibly represent a manner of speech of the historical Jesus, we are already into the world of symbolism. Does it not make more sense to see this language as reflecting the struggle in which the reader is involved, as an increasingly marginalized Christian, facing extreme hostility from others of a similar background?



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Stepping into the shoes of the ideal reader we discover that it is possible to read the Gospel material in this way. It is difficult to find a ‘Jewish reader’ in the Fourth Gospel, however much it depends on a thorough knowledge of Israel’s wisdom literature. Rather, we find that the text constructs a reader who knows the realities of inner-group conflict and finds a metaphor for interpreting those realities in the retelling of the life and ministry of Jesus. The ambiguity of the role of the ‘Jews’ in the Gospel neither represents the confusion of the Evangelist nor an inability to handle a variety of source materials. It is also not necessarily to be heard by the reader as incipient antiSemitism,43 whatever subsequent readers have done with it to their shame. Instead it reflects the desire of the ideal author to communicate to readers the ongoing demand of Jesus to continue in the belief that their conception of the truth of his messianic character is valid – despite other views to the contrary.

43. In making this point, we should not ignore Adele Reinhartz, Befriending the Beloved Disciple: a Jewish Reading of the Gospel of John (London: Continuum, 2001), 76 on new readings of this divisive language: ‘the historical circumstances, whatever they might have been, do not neutralize the anti-Jewish potential of a compliant reading of the ecclesiological tale.’

Chapter 9

New Testament Christology in Recent British Scholarship: A Sketch of Distinctives and Debates Simon J. Gathercole In the late 1970s, it may have been the case that the Labour Party was not working in Britain; but British New Testament scholars certainly were, and none more so than the present jubilar.1 One of the most memorable books from this period is The Origin of Christology, written by James Dunn’s own Doktorvater, Charlie Moule.2 The present survey will attempt to explore scholarship on New Testament Christology produced in Britain since Moule’s intriguing book. The present survey is woefully selective, focusing on areas (nevertheless very numerous) in which Professor Dunn has been a key player.3 Much of this will of necessity involve sweeping generalizations about British scholarship in contrast with what has gone on in Germany and the United States. All the same, this chapter will attempt to characterize some of the distinctive features of British research, and conclude with some recommendations for the future, including – horribile dictu! – some areas in which we might have things to learn from continental and American approaches.4

1. I am delighted here to extend my gratitude to Jimmy for his support over the years, not only while he supervised my Ph.D. thesis, but consistently over subsequent years. 2. Charles F. D. Moule, The Origin of Christology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977). 3. The present chapter will in due course be expanded elsewhere, to include discussion of such areas as John’s Gospel and the book of Revelation, nomina sacra, noncanonical Gospels, and visionary experience. 4. For some other relevant survey material, see William Horbury, ‘British New Testament Study in its International Setting, 1902–2002,’ in his Herodian Judaism and New Testament Study (WUNT 2/197; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2006), 142–220 (esp. 210–13); Gordon D. Fee, Pauline Christology (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2007), esp. 10– 15.



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The Theological Dimension It is notable that there is not much large-scale work of a theological nature currently being done in the United States on New Testament Christology.5 From the older generation, J. Louis Martyn, Leander Keck, and Wayne Meeks spring to mind as contributors, but it is not clear who is going to take up the mantle. The position is different in Germany, but dogmatic interest in New Testament Christology appears to be a little on the wane; the theological tradition is perhaps not strong to the extent that it was a generation ago. There are a number still very active in retirement: one thinks in particular of Professor Dunn’s close friends Peter Stuhlmacher, and Otfried Hofius. One should beware of identifying the situation as a drastic decline: Hans-Joachim Eckstein, Hans-Christian Kammler, and Christoph Landmesser continue the tradition of their Doktorvater Otfried Hofius,6 and Hengel’s concerns can be seen in the work of some of his students, such as Jörg Frey. In probable contrast, though, a theological interest in questions of Christology has remained fairly constant in Britain, especially in the traditionally British concern with incarnation. Dunn’s Christology in the Making was in part a contribution to the ‘Myth of God Incarnate’ debate.7 As such, it had an impact not only on New Testament scholars, but also theologians not just at home but internationally as well.8 More recently, the title of Bauckham’s God Crucified clearly alludes to Moltmann’s volume The Crucified God, and ends with some important reflections on Patristic Christology.9 N. T. Wright’s series of volumes, although still unfinished, have so far emphasized not only the messianic contours of Jesus’ own thought and action, but also their dogmatic import.10 Since the series title is 5. For some recent exceptions, see Frank J. Matera, New Testament Christology (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1999); Wayne A. Meeks, Christ is the Question (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2006), and now (although to some extent an AngloAmerican project) Beverly Gaventa and Richard B. Hays, Seeking the Identity of Jesus: A Pilgrimage (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008). 6. Samuel Vollenweider has also fairly recently produced a volume on Christology: Horizonte neutestamentlicher Christologie. Studien zu Paulus und zur frühchristlichen Theologie (WUNT 2/144; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2002); cf. also the various works by Jens Schröter: Jesus und die Anfänge der Christologie (BthS 47; Neukirchen: Neukirchener, 2001); Jesus von Nazaret. Jude aus Galiläa-Retter der Welt (Stuttgart: Evangelischer Verlagsanstalt, 2006); Von Jesus zum Neuen Testament (WUNT 2/204; Tübingen: MohrSiebeck, 2008). 7. James D. G. Dunn, Christology in the Making: An Inquiry into the Origins of the Doctrine of the Incarnation (London: SCM, 1980). 8. See for example the numerous references in Karl-Josef Kuschel, Born before All Time? The Dispute over Christ’s Origin (London: SCM, 1992; German original: 1990). 9. Richard J. Bauckham, God Crucified: Monotheism and Christology in the New Testament (Carlisle: Paternoster, 1998), 78. 10. See especially N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (London: SPCK, 1996).

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‘Christian Origins and the Question of God,’ it is clear that the overall aim of the volumes is theological as much as historical. On a slightly different tack, one can also add Christopher Tuckett’s recent contribution, in debate with Robert Morgan, on the vexed question of the place of the historical Jesus in New Testament Theology. ‘He has one,’ is the answer!11 Wisdom Christology Another area in which British scholarship appears to me to have a different feel is in the area of wisdom Christology. It is apparent that there is skepticism about according it the degree of importance it often has in American and German scholarship. In the 1970s, there was a spate of interest in wisdom Christology, with most of the work produced in the United States,12 and now works such as the many by Ben Witherington in particular bring wisdom to the fore.13 Celia Deutsch’s two volumes on Matthew, and Eckhard Schnabel on Paul are two other contributions by scholars in North American institutions.14 French scholarship has traditionally also given Sagesse a high profile,15 as has German scholarship: Von Lips devoted a monograph to the subject in 1990,16 and wisdom has played an important role in Hengel’s work on Christology.17 By contrast, wisdom has not featured much in scholarship done in Britain. This can be illustrated by the reserve shown in Graham Stanton’s discussion of that 11. Christopher M. Tuckett, ‘Does the “Historical Jesus” belong within a “New Testament Theology?”’ in The Nature of New Testament Theology (ed. C. C. Rowland, Oxford: Blackwell, 2006), 231–47. 12. See e.g. M. Jack Suggs, Wisdom, Christology and Law in Matthew’s Gospel (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1970); Robert G. Hamerton-Kelly, PreExistence, Wisdom, and the Son of Man: A Study of the Idea of Pre-Existence in the New Testament (SNTSMS 21; Cambridge: University Press, 1973); around the same time there is Felix Christ, Jesus Sophia: Die Sophia-Christologie bei den Synoptikern (ATANT 57; Zürich: Zwingli-Verlag, 1970), in Germany. 13. See e.g. Ben Witherington, Jesus the Sage: The Pilgrimage of Wisdom (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), and his Matthew (Macon: Smyth & Helwys, 2006). 14. Celia Deutsch, Hidden Wisdom and the Easy Yoke: Wisdom, Torah and Discipleship in Matthew 11:25–30 (JSNTSS 18; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987); Lady Wisdom, Jesus, and the Sages: Metaphor and Social Context in Matthew’s Gospel (Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1996); Eckhard Schnabel, Law and Wisdom from Ben Sira to Paul (Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1985). Although based in the USA, Schnabel is German and wrote his Ph.D., on which the monograph is based, in Scotland. 15. For an older example, see e.g. André Feuillet, ‘Jésus et la Sagesse Divine d’après les Évangiles Synoptiques: Le logion johannique et l’Ancien Testament,’ RB 62 (1955), 161–196. 16. Herman von Lips, Weisheitliche Traditionen im Neuen Testament (WMANT 64; Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag, 1990). 17. See e.g. Martin Hengel, The Son of God (London: SCM, 1976), 48–51; Martin Hengel and Anna Maria Schwemer, Der messianische Anspruch Jesu und die Anfänge der Christologie (WUNT 2/138; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2001), 81–131.



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locus classicus for wisdom Christology, the easy yoke saying in Matthew 11:28–30.18 In this respect, Professor Dunn has probably been an exception in giving the Lady a high profile in Britain.19 Adam Christology In contrast, Adam Christology has played a very significant role in British New Testament studies – a greater role, it appears, than it has outside. Philippians 2:6–11 has been a particularly significant site for discussions of Adam Christology. In 1975, Morna Hooker expressed a sense that the dominant view of Philippians 2:6–11 was that ‘it reflects some form of Hellenistic Gnostic Redeemer myth,’20 and proposed an Adamic background instead. Her interpretation dovetails nicely with her broader understanding of Paul’s interchange theology: ‘one who was in the form of God, and who did not consider being-like-God as something which needed to be grasped (since it was already his), nevertheless deliberately put himself into a situation of being-like-Adam which led to Adam’s death.’21 The negative in Phil. 2:6 ‘is a deliberate contrast between Christ and Adam.’22 Jimmy Dunn’s Christology in the Making had in its sights not only the Gnostic Redeemer myth paradigm but the whole apparatus of preexistence and incarnation altogether.23 On Philippians 2:6–11, Dunn notes that although the passage ‘seems on the face of it to be a straightforward statement contrasting Christ’s pre-existent glory and post-crucifixion exaltation with his earthly humiliation,’ in fact it is best understood as a reflection of the Adam Christology so prevalent at the time. As such, Dunn goes further than Hooker and reads the whole of the ‘hymn’ in terms of Adam’s and Christ’s earthly existences. N. T. Wright produces something of a synthesis, not dissimilar from the original position of Hooker. He starts out with a section aiming to ‘establish the virtual certainty of a reference to Adam.’24 In stark contrast to Dunn, however, Wright maintains that an Adam Christology here in Philippians 2 ‘actually entails, rather than rules out incarnational Christology.’25 The contrast for Wright is as follows: ‘Adam, in arrogance, thought to become like God; Christ, in humility, became human.’26 Being like God, Wright 18. Graham N. Stanton, ‘Salvation Proclaimed: X. Matthew 11:28–30: Comfortable Words?,’ ExpT 94 (1982–83), 3–9. 19. See e.g. Dunn, Christology in the Making, 163–212. 20. Morna D. Hooker, ‘Philippians 2.6–11,’ in her edited compilation, From Adam to Christ: Essays on Paul (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 88–100 (96). 21. Hooker, 98. 22. Hooker, 98. 23. Dunn, Christology in the Making, 114–21. 24. N. T. Wright, The Climax of the Covenant (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991), 58. 25. Wright, 59. 26. Wright, 91.

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maintains, is not about ‘knowing good and evil,’ as the serpent and Adam had thought; rather, for Christ, it means acting in the way laid out in Phil. 2.6–8 and enduring humiliation on the cross. In sum, seeing Adam Christology in Philippians 2 has had a long pedigree and has been the subject of numerous studies outside Britain. Nevertheless, the three scholars noted above have made some of the strongest cases for Adam Christology. Binitarianism and Jesus’ Inclusion within the Divine Identity In addition to questions of pre-existence and Adam Christology, Philippians 2 has obviously also been important in discussions of divine Christology in Paul; the other most important has probably been 1 Cor. 8:6, with its interpretation of the Shema. Although they are not unique in this, Bauckham and Hurtado have been two of the leading figures in establishing that these two passages (among others) in Paul attest to a pattern of ‘binitarian’ thinking as Hurtado puts it, or to Jesus’ inclusion within the divine identity, as Bauckham puts it. Hurtado stresses that since this is evident in Paul, or even in pre-Pauline tradition, it must have happened ‘phenomenally early,’ ‘amazingly early’ and ‘astonishingly early.’27 The general outline of the arguments of these two scholars is very wellknown, and the key points they make in common need only be summarized briefly.28 Philippians 2:6–11 attests not only to Jesus being e0n morfh~? Qeou~ but also to his destiny to receive the Lord’s own name, and the worship that is due to God himself. Central here is the substitution – or better – the inclusion of Jesus’ name with the name of the Lord in the description of worship from Isaiah 45:22–23: Turn to me and be saved, all you ends of the earth. For I am God and there is no other. By myself I have sworn, my mouth has uttered in all integrity a word that will not be revoked: Before me every knee will bow; by me every tongue will confess. The attribution in Philippians of this Isaianic genuflection and confession to Jesus clarifies the point that Jesus is not merely receiving a low-level 27. Larry W. Hurtado, Lord Jesus Christ: Devotion to Jesus in Earliest Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 2, 7, 135. 28. On Philippians 2, see e.g. Bauckham, God Crucified, 51–53; Larry W. Hurtado, One God, One Lord (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988), 96–97.



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reverence or homage, but is actually receiving the worship due to the one God of Israel. First Corinthians 8:6 echoes not Isaiah, but the Shema in Deuteronomy 6:4: ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one.’ This statement about the one God and Lord is bifurcated, the argument goes. It can now be seen to refer to the one God, the Father, and the one Lord Jesus Christ: ‘for us there is but one God, the Father, from whom all things came and for whom we live; and there is but one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom all things came and through whom we live’ (1 Cor. 8:6). The Father is in some sense a more ultimate origin of the ‘all things,’ yet the Lord Jesus is also a co-agent in creation. Both alike participate in the identity of the one Lord God confessed in the Shema. As on the exegesis of Philippians 2, Dunn has taken a very different approach to 1 Corinthians 8:6, questioning the connotations of divinity and pre-existence and emphasizing instead the unity of divine action and the eschatological (not the protological) role of Jesus. Even if not all New Testament scholars have been persuaded, Dunn’s approach has had considerable influence on systematic theologians of the stature of John Macquarrie and Karl-Josef Kuschel.29 As I say, in part by dint of their clarity of expression on these points, Bauckham and Hurtado have had important influence internationally. For example, in his recent work on Pauline Christology, Gordon Fee writes: ‘The most significant steps forward in work that impinges on Pauline Christology have been taken in the past decade by Richard Bauckham and Larry Hurtado.’30 The Divinity and Worship of Jesus: Continuity and Discontinuity with Judaism One trend whose beginning coincided with the publication of Professor Moule’s book was the move away from titular Christology into fresher pastures. Christopher Rowland drew attention to the import of the imagery used to describe Christ’s appearance.31 Bauckham’s examination of worshipful responses to Jesus was also a relatively new direction.32 Moule had already touched on this in an appendix to Origin of Christology on proskunei~n, and the topic later received treatment by Dick France in 1982 in an essay on the worship of Jesus, which interacts with Bauckham

29. See e.g. Kuschel, Born before All Time, 291. 30. Fee, Pauline Christology, 14. 31. Rowland draws the contrast between titles and imagery explicitly in C. C. Rowland, ‘The Vision of the Risen Christ in Rev. i. 13 ff.: The Debt of an Early Christology to an Aspect of Jewish Angelology,’ JTS 31 (1980), 1–11 (1). 32. Richard J. Bauckham, ‘The Worship of Jesus in Apocalyptic Christianity,’ NTS 27 (1981), 322–41.

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positively even at that early stage.33 Also acknowledging Bauckham’s inspiration is Larry Hurtado, who in four books (three of which have been written during Hurtado’s time in Edinburgh34) has eschewed a focus on Christology per se and dealt rather with the devotion to or worship of Jesus in earliest Christianity.35 Furthermore, one of Hurtado’s chief concerns in his first book was to show that practices such as hymnic worship of a mediating figure were unprecedented in Judaism.36 A very different view, however, is taken in the work of William Horbury, in particular his Jewish Messianism and the Cult of Christ.37 In contrast to Hurtado, Horbury traces a very strong line of connection between the two elements of his title, seeing pre-Christian ‘supernatural’ portrayals of the Messiah – and, indeed, Messianism in general – as having been significantly under-emphasized in previous study. He draws attention to associations of the Messiah with star-light and sun-light, in, for example, Sibylline Oracles 3.652–656 (the king to be sent ‘from the sun’),38 and this can be seen in particular in a lengthy section in the book entitled, ‘A Spiritual Messiah.’ This section details associations of the Messiah in the LXX with (a) the great light of Isaiah, (b) spirit, (c) the star-light of Balaam’s oracle, (d) sunrise, (e) pre-existence before the luminaries, in the Psalter; Horbury also treats (f) God’s knowledge of the Messiah in Psalms of Solomon, and (g) the divine begetting of the Messiah in the Messianic Rule (1QSa), concluding with observations on (h) the links in Rabbinic literature between the Messiah, and light and spirit.39 In a series of publications, Crispin FletcherLouis has also emphasized continuity between earliest Christology and its pre-Christian Jewish antecedents, particularly via a divine conception of humanity instantiated in particular in the work of the high priest.40

33. Richard T. France, ‘The Worship of Jesus: A Neglected Factor in Christological Debate?’ in Harold H. Rowdon, ed. Christ the Lord: Studies Presented to Donald Guthrie (Leicester: IVP, 1982), 17–36. 34. The first edition of Hurtado, One God, One Lord was not produced in Britain, though Lord Jesus Christ was, as were At the Origins of Christian Worship (Carlisle: Paternoster, 1999), and How on Earth Did Jesus Become a God? (Eerdmans: Grand Rapids, 2005). 35. Hurtado, Lord Jesus Christ, xiii. As a mirror-image to this, Hurtado has also written an important article on Jewish opposition to the phenomenon: ‘Pre–70 CE Jewish Opposition to Christ-Devotion,’ JTS 50 (1999), 35–58. 36. See esp. Hurtado, One God, One Lord, 114 (in the first edition). 37. William Horbury, Jewish Messianism and the Cult of Christ (London: SCM, 1998); cf. also his Messianism among Jews and Christians: Biblical and Historical Studies (London/New York: Continuum, 2003). 38. Horbury, Jewish Messianism and the Cult of Christ, 128. 39. Horbury, 86–108. 40. To take just two examples, see Crispin H. T. Fletcher-Louis, ‘The High Priest as Divine Mediator in the Hebrew Bible: Dan 7:13 as a Test Case,’ SBLSP 36 (1997), 161–93, and ‘The Worship of Divine Humanity as God’s Image and the Worship of Jesus,’ in The Jewish Roots of Christological Monotheism (eds. Carey C. Newman, James R. Davila, and Gladys S. Lewis; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 112–28.



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The differences between Horbury and Hurtado are even more explicit in Horbury’s review of Lord Jesus Christ. Horbury questions whether Jewish monotheism can be interpreted as exclusively as Hurtado suggests, noting the theme of the divine council and the gods of the nations in the Old Testament as well as the glories of kings and angels in the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha.41 Naturally, Bauckham is subject to the same criticism: Horbury comments that, contrary to Bauckham, it is possible that Psalm 110 was important for Messianic reflection in the second temple period, and could already then have been combined with Daniel 7:13–14 to produce a portrait of a superhuman messiah figure who shared likeness with God to a significant extent.42 Hurtado is probably right that there does not seem to be evidence of actual cults celebrating exalted figures alongside the one God in a way that suggests their equality with him; similarly, Bauckham is right to emphasize the tradition of angelic refusal of worship as highly significant. On the other hand, the visionary reports mentioned by Horbury from 1 Enoch, and indeed their precursor in Daniel 7:13–14, do seem to envisage a figure who shares divine authority with the Ancient of Days and receives comparable worship. The conversation will no doubt continue. Atonement One area sometimes marginalized in discussions of Christology (which can sometimes focus on ‘person’ at the expense of ‘work’) is that of the atonement, on which there is only space to touch very briefly here. The Tübingen school has been much influenced by Gese’s view of sacrifice as the process by which the whole person passes through the sentence of death and thereby to new life and glory.43 This is parallelled quite closely, mutatis mutandis, in Hooker’s conception of interchange, encapsulated in the Irenaean maxim that ‘Christ became what we are, in order that we might become what he is.’44 An explicit correlation or synthesis of Gese’s and Hooker’s views was made in an important article by Richard Bell.45 Dunn’s own work on the atonement also has many parallels with this broad

41. William Horbury, Review of Hurtado, Lord Jesus Christ, JTS 56 (2005), 531– 39, esp. 537. 42. Horbury, Messianism among Jews and Christians, 14–15. 43. See especially Hartmut Gese, ‘The Atonement,’ in his edited compilation, Essays in Biblical Theology (tr. Keith Crim; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1981), 93–116, and its reception in e.g. Olfried Hofius, ‘Sühne und Versöhnung,’ in his Paulusstudien (WUNT 51; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1989), 33–49. 44. See e.g. Morna D. Hooker, ‘Interchange and Atonement,’ in From Adam to Christ, 26–41, esp. 26. 45. Richard H. Bell, ‘Sacrifice and Christology in Paul,’ JTS 53 (2002), 1–27.

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approach, with its stress on the representative function of Jesus’ death in Paul;46 one point on which Dunn’s view is closer to that of the Geseschule, however, is in its greater focus on Jesus’ death, whereas Hooker and Bell have connected incarnation and death more closely, continuing the more traditionally English emphasis on incarnational atonement. In different ways, Dunn and Bell have been mediating figures between German and British scholarship on these important points. Evolution or Development? To return, finally, to Charlie Moule, the ‘evolution vs. development’ debate still rumbles on. Moule’s own view on this either/or was clear: New Testament Christology was simply the full flowering of what was already present in the ministry and teaching of Jesus himself: hence Origin of Christology. At the other end of the spectrum in Britain one can mention Geza Vermes and Maurice Casey. Vermes still advances what feels like a quite old-fashioned evolutionary approach: we can take the recent The Changing Faces of Jesus as an example.47 Structurally, Vermes organizes the book in chronological and evolutionary reverse, beginning with the ‘highly evolved doctrine of John,’48 and his account of the ‘Stranger from heaven in whom he recognized the reflected image of the countenance of the Father,’ moving back via Paul’s ‘Son of God’ and the Lord and Christ of Acts, to the eschatological charismatic of the Synoptic Gospels. The reason for the structure is of course that he can end with what he calls ‘the real Jesus,’ which he has recovered ‘beneath the Gospels.’49 This figure is of course a thoroughly Jewish figure, in a sense unremarkably so – he is certainly not unique: Jesus belongs with figures like Honi and Hanina ben Dosa. ‘Needless to say, as healer and exorcist Jesus is perfectly at home in Hasidic company.’50 The Hasidic context also accounts for his itinerant lifestyle, his link with Elijah and his total trust in God. Vermes declares his aim in all this as ‘to enable the real Jesus to become in the true sense incarnate, a genuine, measurable, palpable, Jewish, Galilean ish ha-Elohim, a man of God of the first century ad.’51 Vermes does point to differences from other Hasidim, and stresses the importance of those differences. They amount to the facts that Jesus attracted a following in ways others did not, and – most distinctively – did

46. James D. G. Dunn, ‘Paul’s Understanding of the Death of Jesus as Sacrifice,’ in Sacrifice and Redemption: Durham Essays in Theology (ed. Stephen W. Sykes; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 35–56. 47. Geza Vermes, The Changing Faces of Jesus (London: Penguin, 2001). 48. Vermes, 4, 9. 49. These phrases constitute the title of the penultimate chapter. 50. Vermes, Changing Faces, 251. 51. Vermes, 253.



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not marry and have children, which is best explained by ‘the eschatological spirit which animated his teaching and life which the other Hasidim did not share.’52 In this sense he resembles the Qumran literature’s Teacher of Righteousness. Maurice Casey has probably been the most vocal advocate in Britain in recent times of a clearly ‘evolutionary’ approach to New Testament Christology. The evolution was, in Casey’s title, From Jewish Prophet to Gentile God, with Paul and Revelation occupying positions pretty far along the spectrum, without attributing deity to Jesus.53 Philippians 2:5–6 comes close, but the move to deity is only made in John’s Gospel, which expresses a clearly Gentile identity, and so does not feel the constraints which, say, Matthew and Paul felt. It is this move beyond a Jewish identity which constitutes the decisive shift for Casey, and which enables the attribution of deity to Jesus, so unimaginable within a Jewish framework. In Casey’s most recent work, this evolutionary process is illustrated in the particular case of the Son of Man title.54 On the other hand, explicitly in debate with Casey, Dunn rejects the evolutionary model.55 In his review of the first edition of Christology in the Making, Moule still recognized Dunn as one of the developmental flock. One senses the Doktorvater’s proud approval as he summarizes one part of the book’s argument: ‘There is nothing in the known antecedents in Jewish or Gentile thought to account for it [sc. the pre-existence of Christ], however clear it is that language was borrowed by Christianity from its antecedents, but that it was Christ and the resurrection that led to the doctrine.’56 Later, however, Dunn expresses some dissatisfaction with the image of ‘unfolding,’ on the grounds that tracking the circumstances in which Christological development occurs is extremely difficult.57 There are also others who do not quite land easily on a particular side of the evolution/development divide. One the one hand, Hurtado’s conclusions seem in some ways to be rather conservative. He insists that devotion to Jesus ‘can be traced back into the earliest years of the Christian movement.’58 Thus, he might perhaps fit better into the developmental camp. However, in One God, One Lord he also uses the rather suggestive language of ‘mutations’ (which implies

52. Vermes, 253. 53. Maurice Casey, From Jewish Prophet to Gentile God: The Origins and Development of New Testament Christology (Cambridge/Louisville: James Clarke/ Westminster John Knox, 1991). 54. Maurice Casey, The Solution to the ‘Son of Man’ Problem (LNTS 343; London/ New York: Continuum, 2007). 55. James D. G. Dunn, ‘The Making of Christology: Evolution or Unfolding?,’ in his The Christ and the Spirit. Volume 1: Christology (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 388–404. 56. Charles F. D. Moule, Review of Dunn, Christology in the Making, JTS 33 (1982), 258–63 (259). 57. Dunn, ‘Evolution or Unfolding?’ 404. 58. Hurtado, One God One Lord, 100 (first edition).

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evolution, at least in its imagery), and in Lord Jesus Christ emphasizes the importance of the wider religious environment in the Roman era. As he puts it, the influences on early Christology consist principally of (1) ‘Jewish monotheism,’ (2) ‘Jesus’ himself, and (3) ‘Religious experience,’ but also of both Jewish and pagan elements of the religious environment of the day.59 Hurtado insists further on this fact in his debate with Casey, and so in a sense agrees with him up to a point.60 In an important way, Hurtado is thus in part an evolutionist, though he considers the evolution to have taken place extremely quickly. Again, Horbury is perhaps an evolutionist, but unlike Casey considers the evolution to be quite easily accounted for within a Jewish framework, rather than a non-Jewish pagan context – and so Casey for this reason might not recognise him as an evolutionist! On the other hand, Bauckham does not really fit into either the developmental or evolutionary camp, since his account is focused on the character of New Testament Christology, rather than on its origins. Chester, by contrast, considers a developmental approach (slightly redefined) basically correct:61 Jesus’ visions of himself provided a model for the disciples’ visions of Jesus transfigured or transformed; this then renders intelligible the subsequent nature of earliest Christianity as a visionary movement.62 Conclusions/Prospects I end with a some very brief conclusions. In a sense, despite the attempt above to create an orderly structure, as in most things British there is no nice neat pattern. One cannot boil down the positions of Bauckham, Hurtado, Casey, Tuckett, Dunn, Horbury, and Rowland to a common approach. Of course none of the phenomena discussed above are uniquely British. As such, a grand conclusion would be inappropriate. Yet I do hope to have shown that it is possible to highlight general tendencies which have made the character of British scholarship on New Testament Christology different from its German and American cousins. Finally, two brief observations on areas where we might learn from these cousins. In the first case, on the German side, it seems to me that one aspect of Hengel’s approach which has not been given sufficient weight in British discussions of Christology is the teaching of Jesus. This goes back to an 59. Hurtado, Lord Jesus Christ, 74, 75. 60. Hurtado, ‘Devotion to Jesus and Historical Investigation,’ 97. 61. Andrew N. Chester, ‘Christology and Transformation,’ in his Messiah and Exaltation (WUNT 2/207; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2006), 13–121. In his definition of development, Chester is more interested in the point that the development takes place within a Jewish context than having been triggered by Jesus himself (13). Dick France also confesses himself an unabashed developmentalist (‘Worship of Jesus,’ 19). 62. This is, according to according to Dr. Chester in a Cambridge New Testament seminar, despite Moule’s concern that Chester’s argument exhibited dangerously evolutionary leanings!



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emphasis in his first book, Nachfolge und Charisma (1968), and led to the lex Hengeli that Jesus would not have been proclaimed Messiah on the basis of the resurrection alone; there must have been clear features in his ministry which had already pointed in this direction. Dunn seems to me to be one British scholar who does justice to the impact of Jesus’ own teaching. Across the Atlantic, North American scholarship has always, it seems to me, greatly over-emphasized the results of narrative Christology – another path which has sought to avoid a Christology narrowly focused on the titles of Jesus. This has been a major industry in the USA, but not nearly so significant in the UK.63 Recent studies suggest there may be life in the approach yet, and we should do well to take note of it.64 At the time of writing, the British Labour party is floundering again, but may British Christologists continue to flourish!

63. On the British side, one can point to Bruce W. Longenecker, ed., Narrative Dynamics in Paul: A Critical Assessment (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002), though a number of the contributions there, especially that of Francis Watson, are deeply suspicious of the enterprise. Perhaps tellingly, the most positive advocate of narrative Christology in the volume, Douglas Campbell, has recently moved from Britain to the USA! 64. See C. Kavin Rowe, Early Narrative Christology: The Lord in the Gospel of Luke (BZNW 139; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2006), and the bibliography there.

Chapter 10

The Worship of Jesus among Early Christians: The Evidence of Hebrews Kenneth L. Schenck As one of the leading figures of the New Perspective on Paul and the Third Quest for the Historical Jesus, it is no surprise that our Doctor Father, Jimmy Dunn, was also a leading voice in the ‘partings of the ways’ discussion that ensued in the 1990s.1 All three movements were manifestations of a renewed appreciation of the Jewish character of early Christianity. In the partings conversation, Dunn’s name became representative of a position that: (1) viewed monotheism as a central, universal, and fairly narrowly defined concept within the Judaism of that time, yet (2) did not believe the worship or understanding of Jesus’ identity among early believers required significant modification of Jewish monotheism for a considerable time.2 His preface to the second edition of The Partings of the Ways maintains this sense that neither Paul nor any of the surviving voices within the first and second generations of Christian believers stood appreciably outside the boundaries of Second Temple Jewish monotheistic belief.3 I offer this brief study of the worship of Jesus in Hebrews both in honor of him as mentor

1. See e.g., James D. G. Dunn, The Partings of the Ways: Between Christianity and Judaism and their Significance for the Character of Christianity (2nd ed.; London: SCM, 2006); and idem, ed. Jews and Christians: The Parting of the Ways A.D.70 to 135 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999). 2. Individuals like Jarl Fossum, The Name of God and the Angel of the Lord (WUNT 1/36; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1985); Peter Hayman, ‘Monotheism – A Misused Word in Biblical Studies?’ JJS 42 (1991), 1–15; and Margaret Barker, The Great Angel: A Study of Israel’s Second God (London: SPCK, 1992), would disagree with Dunn on key aspects of the first claim. Individuals like Larry Hurtado, One God One Lord: Early Christian Devotion and Ancient Jewish Monotheism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988); N. T. Wright, The Climax of the Covenant: Christ and the Law in Pauline Theology (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991), 120–36; and Richard Bauckham, Jesus and the God of Israel: God Crucified and Other Essays on the New Testament’s Christology of Divine Identity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), generally disagree on the second claim in one way or another, although Bauckham might say that the understanding of monotheism itself was not modified. 3. Dunn, Partings, xxvi.



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and friend, yet also in support of his basic understanding of ‘Christology in the making’ in this one corner of the New Testament. While Hebrews uses the highly exalted and poetically charged language of Jesus, the author never loses sight of God as the one ‘for whom are all things and through whom are all things’ (Heb. 2:10), in distinction from Jesus. Although Hebrews can speak of the angels worshipping Jesus (1:6) and even address Jesus as ‘God’ (1:8), it does not forget that the deified Jesus still serves under the one God (1:9). Hebrews celebrates and reverences Jesus as the newly enthroned divine Son, the cosmic king, who as Christ, Son of God, and Lord mediates God’s sovereignty over the world without in any way endangering the supreme and ultimate sovereignty of the one God. We would thus have to look beyond Hebrews, a document of second-generation Christian Judaism (2:3), to later Christianity for a Christology that comes into serious conflict with Jewish monotheism. The Enthronement of the Son I have argued in a previous study that the catena of Hebrews (1:5–14) should be read against the context of Jesus’ exaltation to God’s right hand, which might best be conceptualized as Jesus’ enthronement as cosmic king.4 A number of reasons support this interpretation. For one, it fits hand in glove with the apparent timing of Jesus as ‘Son of God’ in Paul and Acts, as well as with the apparent tradition history of the related titles Christ and Lord. Further, the train of thought in Hebrews 1:3–5 reads most naturally with this same timing, leaving the burden of proof on any like Richard Bauckham, who sees Christ’s divine sonship in 1:5 as a ‘variation on the idea of eternal deity as self-generating.’5 Finally, such language is very likely messianic, royal in background. When this passage is read in the light of the literature that came before it, rather than in the light of Christological developments after it, it reads straightforwardly as a celebration of Jesus’ new exalted status as cosmic ‘Son of God,’ the Christ, the Lord. Dunn has presented well the tradition history of the titles Christ, Son of God, and Lord in Unity and Diversity in the New Testament and Christology in the Making.6 He rightly concludes that Paul and the authors of Acts and Hebrews understood the resurrection/exaltation of Jesus to God’s right hand as the focal moment when Jesus most appropriately took on titles like ‘Lord’ and ‘Son of God.’7 Bauckham acknowledges that something new 4. Kenneth L. Schenck, ‘A Celebration of the Enthroned Son: The Catena of Hebrews 1,’ JBL 120 (2001), 469–85. 5. Bauckham, God of Israel, 251. 6. Dunn, Unity and Diversity: An Inquiry into the Character of Earliest Christianity (3rd ed.; London: SCM, 2006), esp. 33–102; idem, Christology in the Making: An Inquiry into the Origins of the Doctrine of the Incarnation (2nd ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), esp. 33–64, 181. 7. E.g., Dunn, Christology, 46; idem, Unity and Diversity, 51.

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happened at Jesus’ exaltation, which he describes as the ‘giving of the divine name to Jesus,’ but he does not believe that Jesus became Son of God at this point.8 A brief evaluation of Bauckham’s sophisticated understanding of ‘christological monotheism’ in Hebrews 1 allows us to review the key evidence. Bauckham has produced two important studies of Hebrews in relation to monotheism in a spate of related works on the general topic, many of which have now appeared together in his monograph, Jesus and the God of Israel.9 As mentioned above, Bauckham does not question the fact that Jesus inherits a name at the point of his exaltation in Hebrews (cf. Heb. 1:4); what Bauckham questions is whether this name is ‘Son of God,’ as the majority of interpreters have concluded:10 In 1:3–4, Christ ‘is installed on the divine throne ‘on high’ to be given his inheritance, i.e. God’s eschatological rule over all things. This is new, not in that he only now begins to participate in the divine identity, but in that the new creative activity of God, God’s eschatological achievement of his purpose for this whole creation, his kingdom, begins with Jesus’ enthronement. This is why he ‘inherits’ the divine name: it is in his rule from God’s throne that the rule of the one God is to be acknowledged by all creation.’11

The new thing that took place at Christ’s exaltation was thus the inheritance of what had always been his divine destiny, namely, the name YHWH. This distinction allows Bauckham to insist that Jesus has been Son since eternity past in Hebrews 1:5 despite his enthronement at the point of his exaltation. The weaknesses with Bauckham’s proposal are the precise counterparts of the strengths we mentioned above for an exaltation context for the catena: (1) his proposal largely ignores the tradition history of these titles in Paul and Acts; (2) it requires us to disregard the most obvious train of thought in Hebrews 1:3–5; and (3) it substitutes an inner logic from outside the key texts in place of a fairly clear one in the texts. With regard to tradition history, along with Hebrews 1:5, we should notice the timing of the other New Testament passage that explicitly applies Psalm 2:7 to Jesus – Acts 13:33: ‘God has fulfilled this (promise) to us, (their) children by raising Jesus, as it is written in the second psalm: “You are my Son; I myself 8. Richard Bauckham, ‘The Worship of Jesus in Philippians 2:9–11,’ in Where Christology Began: Essays on Philippians 2 (eds. Ralph P. Martin and Brian J. Dodd; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1998), 131. 9. See n.2 above. The first study was Richard Bauckham, ‘Monotheism and Christology in Hebrews 1,’ in Early Jewish and Christian Monotheism (eds. Loren T. Stuckenbruck and Wendy Sproston North, JSNTSup 263; London: T&T Clark, 2004), 167–85. The second now appears in Bauckham, God of Israel, 233–53. 10. Bauckham, God of Israel, 239 acknowledges that most commentators have taken the name of 1:4 to be ‘Son.’ For Bauckham, however, ‘the Son is the one who inherits from his Father, not what he inherits’ (‘Monotheism and Christology,’ 175). 11. Bauckham, ‘Monotheism and Christology,’ 174–75.



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today have given you birth.”’ It would be hard to deny that the author of Acts here understands Jesus to be ‘birthed’ as God’s Son in some way at the point of his resurrection, a timing that coheres with when Jesus becomes ‘Lord’ and ‘Christ’ in Acts 2:36.12 The timing of Hebrews 1:3–5 coheres neatly with the timing of Jesus becoming Son in Acts 13:33. Hebrews 1:3 speaks of Christ sitting at the right hand of Majesty in the heights after he has made his purification for sins. This statement clearly refers to Christ’s exaltation and seating at God’s right hand after his death and resurrection. The next verse (1:4) most logically unpacks one implication of this exaltation, namely, that Christ’s seating at God’s right hand indicates that he has become greater than the angels, ‘just as the name he has inherited is greater than them.’ The author then introduces the catena that follows with the conjunction ga/r, most logically suggesting that the following verses will either explain or substantiate the claim he has just made in 1:4. Accordingly, when 1:5 tells of a way in which Jesus is more exalted than the angels, the most obvious way to read this verse is in relation to Jesus just having become greater than the angels when he sat at God’s right hand as royal Son of God (1:3–4). He has become Son at the point of his exaltation, just as Romans 10:9 relates the affirmation of ‘Jesus as Lord’ to a faith in one’s heart that God raised him from the dead, and just as Philippians 2:11 speaks of the confession of ‘Jesus as Lord’ in consequence of Jesus’ exaltation. The key question, however, has to do with the precise connotations of sonship in the catena. On the one hand, Bauckham acknowledges that the citations of Hebrews 1 have to do with the messianic rule of Jesus.13 Bauckham nevertheless understands this sonship to reach back into eternity past and can speak of the ‘full and eternal deity of the Son.’14 Such a meaning for royal sonship would be quite a remarkable innovation at this point in time! It would be much more endemic to such royal language if rather the connotations were those of adoptive sonship rather than the ‘genetic’ sonship driving Bauckham’s interpretation. Sonship in such cases has to do with assuming a godlike role or office and coming to mediate God’s power and authority at a point in time. Prior to Christianity, such royal sonship did not refer to some eternal birthing in the manner of Athanasius’ ingenious formulation some three centuries later. Psalm 2 itself was likely an enthronement psalm (quoted in Acts 13:33; Heb. 1:5 and 5:5), a psalm celebrating the coronation of a new king in Judah. Second Samuel 7:14, also quoted in Heb. 1:5, originally referred to Solomon as king. Psalm 45[Psa. 44LXX], quoted in Hebrews 1:8–9, was originally a psalm for the wedding of a king. The use of the term prwto/tokoj in 12. This arguably early understanding of Jesus’ sonship is not the only one present in Luke-Acts. Luke 1:35 gives the unique New Testament suggestion that Jesus was Son of God because his birth came from the overshadowing of the Holy Spirit over Mary. 13. Bauckham, ‘Monotheism and Christology,’ 178. 14. Bauckham, God of Israel, 237.

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Hebrews 1:6 may allude to Psalm 88:27(LXX) where God says of David that he will ‘make him (my) firstborn, the highest of the kings of the earth.’15 In each case, the default connotation is one of a human assuming the office of God’s Son at a point in their adult life, not to any kind of eternal relationship that had pre-existed birth. The model for kings as God’s sons was thus that of adoptive sonship; Bauckham’s interpretation functions on the model of biological sonship. Certainly we must allow for significant innovation on the part of the early Christians, but we should not infer any more innovation than is necessary to account for the train of thought in the texts in question, especially given the temptation to read later developments back into earlier periods. The burden of proof is thus squarely on Bauckham and others to show that Hebrews 1 does not refer to Jesus becoming God’s adopted, royal Son at the point of his exaltation, a change of ‘being’ and identity whose significance itself should not be underestimated. The use of Psalm 2:7 elsewhere, the likely ideological background, and the actual train of thought in Hebrews 1 all point in this direction. Indeed, the Synoptic Gospels understand the title ku/rioj in Psalm 110:1[109:1LXX] in reference to Jesus as Xristo/j, messianic king (Mark 12:35; Matt. 22:42; Luke 20:41), and the New Testament use of Psalm 110:1 elsewhere relates it to the time of Jesus’ exaltation (e.g., Acts 2:35; Rom. 8:34; 1 Cor. 15:25; Eph. 1:20; 1 Pet. 3:22). Bauckham makes a great deal of the likelihood that the term ku/rioj must surely bear some relation to YHWH in passages like Romans 10:13 and Philippians 2:11, and he may very well be correct.16 Nevertheless, such overtones would seem to be the exception rather than the rule, as is aptly captured in the intrinsic distinction of Psalm 110:1: ‘The Lord said to my Lord…’ Here YHWH, the Lord, is explicitly distinguished from the Messiah as Lord. Bauckham’s ingenious interpretive scheme thus operates far more on assumptions he brings to the text rather than on the inner dynamics of the texts themselves. Protological Language in Hebrews I have argued in a previous study that Hebrews’ protological language in relation to Christ is largely metonymic; that is, Hebrews associates Christ with the creation of the world because the telos of the world is fulfilled in Christ’s establishment of God’s rule on earth as it is in heaven.17 Such language thus would not say anything about Jesus’ literal, personal preexistence but would indicate his association with the meaning of creation. Here I can only reiterate and extend earlier claims that a disciplined reading of Hebrews calls a literal understanding of Christ’s pre-existence in it into 15. All translations are mine. 16. E.g., Bauckham, God of Israel, 196, 199–201. 17. Kenneth L. Schenck, ‘Keeping His Appointment: Creation and Enthronement in Hebrews,’ JSNT 66 (1997), 91–117.



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serious question.18 The two clearest protological statements, 1:2 and 1:10, both appear in contexts that support a figurative connotation. For example, the verse following 1:2 portrays Jesus in terms of wisdom, alluding to Wisdom 7:26. Thus it is quite possible that the author was also thinking of the wisdom of God in creation in 1:2 when speaking of the Son as the one ‘through whom’ God created the worlds. With regard to 1:10, we have already seen that the catena begins with a focus on Christ’s exaltation as royal Son of God. Nothing in the verses that follow points to a shift in this temporal location; rather, the train of thought sustains this timing. Bauckham and others have argued that the passage is chiastic, which allows for a different timing for the middle citations of the chain than at its beginning.19 To argue for this structure, however, they must ignore its overt literary structure. The grammatical structure of the chain links the first three quotations in 1:5–6 (ei]pen … kai\ pa/lin … de\ pa/lin) and views 1:7 (me/n) in contrast with the two citations of 1:8–12 (de/). With the timing of 1:5a effectively established as the point of Christ’s exaltation, it follows that the citations in 1:5b and 1:6 also likely refer to the recently enthroned Christ. The oi0koume/nh into which God leads his newborn prwto/tokoj is thus the world of 2:5, the coming world, the heavenly Jerusalem of 12:22–24. A disciplined interpretation of 1:6 thus will not read it in the light of Jesus’ birth. In the train of thought here, the angels bow as servants before their king as God seats him on his new, heavenly throne. The contrasts between the Son and the angels in 1:7–12 continue this celebration of Jesus’ enthronement. The appointed role of the angels in the new era is transient, like winds and flames (1:7). They are currently ministers to those about to inherit salvation (1:14). By contrast, the appointed role of Jesus is unending and permanent. The citation of Psalm 45 in 1:8–9 fits nicely with the enthronement of a king whom God ‘anointed with oil of rejoicing in the presence of your companions.’ The main point of contrast in 1:10–12 is thus the permanence of Christ’s kingship in contrast to the creation and the angels as its ministers. The point is not Christ’s literal role as creator. We will need considerable evidence elsewhere in Hebrews to conclude that the author is thinking of Jesus literally as creator, for the enthronement context of the passage might easily lead us to see Christ as the one who grounds the creation of the world, as the one who brings the creation to the telos that God intended for the world in creation. Both of these protological passages, therefore, seem somewhat figurative in nature: 1:2 because of its close association with God’s wisdom, and 1:10–12 because it appears in the context of Jesus’ enthronement as cosmic king. Our search for further clues in the rest of Hebrews only leads us further away from a literal reading. Hebrews 2:10, for example, strikingly 18. Although it would seem that an overwhelming majority of Pauline scholars consider it beyond dispute that Paul affirmed the literal pre-existence of Jesus, it is perhaps worth noting that this understanding largely rests on two verses, Philippians 2:6–7. 19. E.g., Bauckham, ‘Monotheism and Christology,’ 177; John Meier, ‘Structure and Theology in the Old Testament Citations in Heb. 1:5–14,’ Bib 66 (1985), 504–33.

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distinguishes God as the one di’ ou[ all things exist, from Jesus as the one God perfects through suffering. This verse uses the same language as 1:2 of God as creator in a passage that distinguishes him from Jesus. Hebrews 3:4 similarly mentions God as creator in a context that distinguishes him from Jesus. Hebrews 11:3 also mentions God as creator rather than Christ. The only other possible reference to Jesus as creator appears in 8:2 where the ‘Lord’ is said to pitch the true tent, but the precise referent here is ambiguous, as is the nature of the tent. In his most recent study, however, Bauckham builds his case for the eternality of Jesus’ sonship on Hebrews 7:3: ‘without father, without mother, without genealogy, neither having beginning of days or end of life, but having been likened to the Son of God, he remains a priest forever.’20 Here he draws on the work of Jerome Neyrey to argue that the audience of Hebrews would have immediately recognized this sort of language in reference to true divinity.21 A passage in the Apocalypse of Abraham actually refers to God as ‘without mother, without father, ungenerated’ (Apoc. Abr. 17.11).22 Both Neyrey and Bauckham thus conclude that 7:3 signals Jesus as true deity, as opposed to a demigod who became a deity after human beginnings. The difficulty with this approach to 7:3 is that it largely loses sight of the actual way the verse functions within the argument of Hebrews 7.23 The main point in Hebrews 7:3 is that the Melchizedek of the Genesis text has no priestly lineage, no point at which he assumes the role of priest, and no time when he ceases to be a priest. Melchizedek, likened to the Son of God, is a0genealo/ghtoj in so far as his priesthood is concerned. That the lack of priestly genealogy is the main inference is clear in 7:6, where Hebrews describes Melchizedek as ‘the one who does not have a genealogy from them,’ that is, from the sons of Levi. Further, the phrase in 7:3 of greatest interest to the author is the idea that a Melchizedekian priest does not have ‘end of life.’ Christ is not hindered by death like earthly priests (7:23). He remains a priest forever (7:24; cf. 7:16). Another complication to the Neyrey/Bauckham interpretation is the fact that Hebrews elsewhere does seem to see Jesus commencing as high priest at the point of his exaltation. It is ‘having been perfected’ through suffering (5:9) that Jesus becomes a ‘cause of eternal salvation,’ since he has been ‘designated by God a high priest after the order of Melchizedek’ (5:10). He was not a priest on earth, but is a heavenly high priest (8:4). Finally, Hebrews 5:5–6 seems to link the ‘birth’ of Jesus as God’s Son with his appointment 20. Bauckham, God of Israel, 244–51. 21. Jerome H. Neyrey, Render to God: New Testament Understandings of the Divine (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004), 228–42. 22. It is also possible that this text is a Christian interpolation that has made its way into the Slavonic translation of the original work. 23. For a more detailed exploration of the meaning of Hebrews 7, see Kenneth L. Schenck, Cosmology and Eschatology in Hebrews: The Settings of the Sacrifice (SNTSMS 143; Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2007), 105–108.



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as heavenly high priest, a commencement we have argued is most likely at the point of Jesus’ exaltation. It is certainly possible that Hebrews 7:3 has more to say about Jesus than the author in fact develops in chapter 7. The author, however, does not build on the idea of a priesthood extending back into eternity past. This verse, which the author may incorporate from elsewhere, is poetic in nature and undeveloped in the area of Bauckham’s interest. If it has connotations on Christ’s deity, we would suggest they are along the lines we now explore in our final section. The Worship of Jesus in Hebrews The key to understanding the worship of Jesus in Hebrews is to recognize the royal nature of the divine language and imagery applied to him. We have seen how prominent the kingship motif is in the background of the sonship passages the author of Hebrews applies to Jesus in the catena. The early Christians clearly associated the titles Christ, Son of God, and Lord with Jesus’ kingship and conceptualized his exaltation to God’s right hand as a kind of cosmic enthronement. This background equally illustrates key passages relating to the nature of Jesus’ divinity and worship in Hebrews. In particular, we should read Hebrews 1:6 and 1:8–9 against the backdrop of Jesus as cosmic king, divine Son, and mediator of God’s sovereignty over the cosmos. It is no coincidence, for example, that Larry Hurtado has not drawn on Hebrews 1:6 in his exploration of early Christian worship of Jesus. In the one place he mentions it, he goes on to say that, we should not take every instance of prosku/nhsij… as connoting the same thing as the cultic worship of a deity. In itself, the gesture (which originally involved a bowing and kiss-gesture) seems always to represent a reverence or respect for the figure to whom it is directed, but the specific meaning or significance of the reverence/respect varies with the nature and claims of the figure to whom the reverence is given.24

The fact that the angels ‘worship’ (proskune/w) Jesus in 1:6 does not tell us exactly how exalted Jesus is. Clearly he is exalted higher than the angels, exalted high enough in fact to be enthroned as divine Son. He is even exalted enough to be called ‘God’ in 1:8. The question is whether he is so exalted that the oneness of the God is called into question, particularly from the standpoint of prior Jewish understanding.25 24. Larry W. Hurtado, ‘The Binitarian Shape of Early Christian Worship,’ in The Jewish Roots of Christological Monotheism: Papers from the St. Andrews Conference on the Historical Origins of the Worship of Jesus (eds. Carey C. Newman, James R. Davila, and Gladys S. Lewis; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 187–213, esp. 189–90. 25. Larry W. Hurtado, Lord Jesus Christ: Devotion to Jesus in Earliest Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 138, 152 does not think so, even though he believes Jesus receives a level of worship previously reserved for God alone.

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This level of exaltation and worship for someone who had only recently walked the earth is clearly unprecedented within Judaism. However, we do find precedents in Jewish literature that illuminate how the early Christians likely conceptualized and arrived at it. Ironically, the closest parallel in early Jewish literature is precisely the one that Bauckham considers an exception to his interpretive model – namely, the Son of Man in the Parables of Enoch.26 In this text, the Son of Man, the messianic chosen one (1 Enoch 51.1–3), sits on God’s throne in judgment of the nations (e.g., 1 Enoch 62; 69.27–29). Bauckham finds this passage to be ‘the exception which proves the rule’ that no figure can share God’s throne with him.27 Quite to the contrary, this passage demonstrates that at least some Jews could think of a royal figure sitting on God’s throne if that figure was understood to be mediating God’s kingship over the creation. In the Parables of Enoch, this Son of Man figure receives worship repeatedly (e.g., 48.5; 62.9), and he receives this worship while seated on God’s throne. We get no sense, however, that God’s oneness or supreme sovereignty is ever in question, for this messianic figure is ruling for God and under the ultimate sovereignty of the one God. He is mediating God’s sovereignty to the cosmos. The worship he receives, from one perspective, seems to blur the lines between the kind of reverence appropriate for a king and the kind of reverence appropriate for God. We wonder, however, whether the problem is in fact one of our own making. Perhaps interpreters have created two dictionary entries for the word worship here when in fact there is only one. That is to say, perhaps scholars have assumed that the worship of God is a different kind of worship from the use of proskune/w in other contexts, when the difference is more one of degree.28 Bauckham similarly dismisses the figure of Moses on the throne of God in the Exagoge of Ezekiel the Tragedian as evidence against his fundamental understanding.29 The idea of Moses sitting on God’s throne is figurative, a prediction of Moses’ biblical career in relation to Israel, based on the comment in Exodus 7:1 that God would make Moses a ‘god’ to Pharaoh. Moses thus stands in relation to Israel as God stands to the cosmos. Certainly Bauckham is correct here, but we question whether he can so easily dismiss the relevance of this passage to the worship of Jesus in the New Testament. Bauckham no doubt feels far less comfortable with the image of Moses on the cosmic throne than Ezekiel the Tragedian did. When it came to the mediation of God’s rule over the world, it was possible to see the human throne as a reflection of God’s throne. Thus Jesus can be like

26. Richard Bauckham, ‘The Throne of God and the Worship of Jesus,’ in Roots of Christological Monotheism, 43–69, esp. 57–60. 27. Bauckham, ‘Throne of God,’ 60. 28. Passages like Matthew 4:10 thus would have more to do with not giving reverence to beings that are alternatives to God rather than giving homage to the Messiah, who participates in and furthers the worship of the one ultimate sovereign. 29. Bauckham, ‘Throne of God,’ 55–57.



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God in relation to the creation just as God is God over everything, including Jesus. Divinity so conceived is primarily a matter of power and authority, and God can allow others to represent his authority in the world. In each case, the apparent blurring of the lines between the worship of the one God and the worship of another figure occurs with a royal figure who is mediating God’s power and authority. We find a similar dynamic at work in the Life of Adam and Eve 13–15, where the angels are commanded to worship Adam as the image of God. As in Hebrews, the angels are merely servants of God. Adam, on the other hand, was made to rule over the creation as God rules over all (cf. Gen. 1:27–28). He was made to reflect and mediate God’s rule as an image of God’s sovereignty. Satan’s refusal to reverence Adam according to God’s will was thus rebellion against God’s authority. This careful distinction between Jesus as Lord and God in relation to the cosmos and YHWH as Lord and God over all, is carefully maintained in both Paul and Hebrews (e.g., 1 Cor. 15:28; Phil. 2:11). The wording of Psalm 110:1 and Psalm 45:6 already distinguishes the ‘Lord’ and ‘God’ (which the early Christians took to refer to the Messiah) from YHWH as the ‘Lord’ and ‘God.’ Hebrews and other New Testament authors who drew on these passages recognized the inherent distinction while understandably blurring the imagery of worship and divinity at times, particularly in poetic contexts. Hebrews 1 is a great case in point. Hebrews 1:8–9 can boldly acclaim Jesus as God by way of a passage in Psalm 45 that goes on to speak of Jesus’ God, YHWH, anointing him as king. Hebrews 1:10–12 can use a YHWH passage from Psalm 102 that originally spoke of God as creator, without forgetting that it was at the exaltation that the Lord said to Jesus (as ‘Lord’) to sit at his right hand. Hurtado has thoroughly catalogued the unprecedented way in which reverence for Jesus skirted modes of worship normally reserved for the one God in Judaism.30 Nevertheless, Dunn has rightly shown that such devotion remains overwhelmingly God-focused rather than Christ-focused. New Testament hymns are not so much to Christ as about Christ, and the early Christians prayed to God through Christ more than to Christ.31 Dunn sums up the situation this way: ‘Had Paul’s Christology been equally, or more contentious at this time for his fellow Jews, we would surely have heard of it from Paul’s own letters.’32 Those aspects of the worship of Jesus that we do find, all relate directly to his role as cosmic Messiah, cosmic mediator of God’s sovereignty, with an understandable blurring of sovereign identity that naturally followed, especially in poetic contexts.

30. Hurtado, One God, 100–14; and now idem, Lord Jesus Christ, e.g., 137–51. 31. E.g., Dunn, Partings, 268–70. Dunn’s Did the First Christians Worship Jesus? (forthcoming) makes the point even more extensively. 32. Dunn, Partings, 270.

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This chapter has argued that the worship of Jesus in Hebrews relates directly to Christ’s cosmic enthronement as king. Parallels in the Parables of Enoch, Ezekiel the Tragedian, and the Life of Adam and Eve suggest strong possibilities for how the earliest Christians came to reverence the one they believed had been exalted to the right hand of God in the manner of Psalm 110:1. We have further suggested that such worship need not have violated conventional Jewish understandings of the one God, for Jesus as Lord meditated God’s sovereignty, and prosku/nhsij to him was ultimately to the glory and worship of that one God. Dunn himself would remind us, however, of the ‘astonishing character of such language spoken of one who had so recently lived on earth.’33 For those of us with Christian faith, it was only the beginning of the long process of unfolding the significance of Jesus the Christ.

33.

Dunn, Partings, 269.

Chapter 11

Inheriting the Agitator’s Mantle: Paul and the Nature of Apostleship in Luke-Acts C. K. Robertson At the end of the seventh chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, the author mentions a seemingly insignificant detail in the story of the stoning of Stephen: ‘Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him; and the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul’ (7:58). This Saul, of course, would go on to become the chief protagonist in the second half of the Acts account, but here his description is simply that of a passive, albeit approving, recipient of the angry mob’s cloaks, mantles that are laid at the feet of the future apostle. What significance, if any, is there to this Lukan detail? It has long been noted that the Stephen story marks a turning point in the Acts narrative, but this curious added detail about Saul/Paul in verse 58 is usually little more than a footnote in most commentaries. A more focused examination of this verse, particularly in light of a possible scriptural precedent in the story of Elijah’s fiery departure and the succession of Elisha, might offer intriguing insights into Luke’s understanding of apostleship. Is Paul’s ministry, as is often believed, an extension of the Twelve’s, or instead the fulfillment of an apostolic charge which they fail to accomplish? A new perspective on the Lukan Paul, and on the role of apostle as agitator, may even lead us to reconsider our own conceptions of leadership today.1 ‘Sent Ones’ Although the term a0po/stoloj with its variants is found throughout the New Testament, it is interesting to note the pervasiveness of the term in Luke-Acts

1. My deepest appreciation goes to James Dunn, not only for his remarkable scholarly work, but for his ongoing support and encouragement in my life, my ministry, and my scholarship.

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in relation to the rest of the canon.2 With eight out of fifteen (53 percent) total appearances of a0posto/louj, ten out of sixteen (62 percent) appearances of a0po/stoloi, and thirteen out of twenty-two (59 percent) appearances of a0posto/lwn, no other Gospel comes close to the Lukan preponderance of ‘apostle’ terminology.3 At first glance, Luke’s use of the term appears to be no different from that of the other Synoptic Gospels, usually referring to the Twelve. Following their appointment in 6:13, Luke emphasizes that Jesus is both accompanied and observed by them: ‘and the Twelve were with him’ (8:1). As in the other Gospels, they enjoy a unique position vis-à-vis Jesus, clearly differentiated from ‘a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people’ (6:17; cf. Mk. 3:14–16). While the latter come to Jesus to hear him, to be healed of their diseases, and to have demons cast out of them, the Twelve are actually ‘with him’ as Jesus teaches, heals, and exorcises (6:17; 8:1; see also Mk. 4:10).4 Even the women who accompany Jesus, and who are listed alongside the Twelve, are differentiated from the latter. While the women, like the multitudes, are described as recipients of Jesus’ healing and exorcising power (8:2), the same is not said of the Twelve. On the contrary, the apostles are, first, invited spectators of Jesus’ power and, then, commissioned agents. As most scholars would affirm, the term a0po/stoloj itself means ‘one who is sent (forth)’ or more simply ‘sent one,’ and this appears to be a fair description of the Twelve. As for their task, Luke spells it out in 9:1–2: ‘Then Jesus called the twelve together and gave them power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases, and he sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal.’ Proclamation accompanied by deeds of power – this is the work of the apostles, the Twelve. But is it truly that simple for Luke, or does he somehow have a deeper understanding of apostleship? To answer this, it is important to note that the fundamental paradigm for apostleship in Luke is found not in the Twelve, but in Jesus himself and his ministry as God’s ‘sent one’ (Lk. 4:43), and it is here that we begin to see uniquely Lukan elements. Indeed, from the moment Jesus begins his public ministry with the baptism by John, Luke and Matthew both note that Jesus is ‘led by the Spirit in the wilderness’ (4:1; cf. Mt. 4:1). But it is Luke alone who points out that, following the temptation, Jesus returns to Galilee ‘in the power of 2. The unity of Luke-Acts, while at times disputed, is recognized in some fashion by a majority of scholars. See Luke T. Johnson, ‘Literary Criticism of Luke–Acts: Is Reception-History Pertinent?’ JSNT 28 (2005), 159–62, 162; C. Kavin Rowe, ‘History, Hermeneutics, and the Unity of Luke–Acts,’ JSNT 28 (2005), 131–57, 153). 3. In Paul’s letters, we see a0po/stolov itself in the nominative singular mentioned several times, either as a self-designator – ‘Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle’ (Rom. 1:1; cf. also 1 Cor. 1:1; 2 Cor. 1:1; Gal. 1:1; Eph. 1:1; Col. 1:1) – or in defense of his position as one who claims apostleship though he is not a member of the Twelve – ‘Am I not an apostle?’ (1 Cor. 9:1; cf. also Rom. 11:13; 1 Cor. 15:9). 4. This view is echoed later in Clement on Virginity II, 15.1: ‘Our Lord Himself was constantly with His twelve disciples when He had come forth to the world.’



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the Spirit’ (4:14). Even the uniquely Lukan emphasis on Jesus’ priority of prayer (5:16), particularly before any significant decision (6:12),5 suggests a self-awareness on Jesus’ part of being sent by God. Furthermore, Luke alone of all four evangelists mentions the synagogue reading of Isaiah 61 at the inauguration of Jesus’ ministry – a reading that links the proclamation of good news with acts of power and liberation (4:18; see also 7:22). The use of this reading suggests Jesus’ understanding of his own ministry as that of God’s ‘servant,’ God’s ambassador, as it were. An even more intriguing Lukan detail, however, is what follows Jesus’ synagogue reading of the Isaian passage. Jesus goes on to express his openness to ministry among outsiders, and to support such an initiative by citing the precedents of Elijah’s ministry to the widow of Zarephath in Sidon and Elisha’s healing of Naaman the Syrian (4:26–29), both outsiders to Israel. The hometown response to Jesus’ words is both immediate and overwhelmingly negative – ‘they were all filled with rage’ (4:28). Indeed, the crowd sets about to hurl Jesus off a cliff, only to have him move calmly through their midst. Here we see the Lukan paradox: these are the religious people, God’s ‘insiders,’ like the devout Simeon in chapter 2 who in a visit to the Jerusalem temple saw the baby Jesus and proclaimed him to be not only ‘glory to your people Israel’ but also ‘a light for revelation to the Gentiles’ (2:32). Unlike Simeon, however, the insiders who hear the adult Jesus speak in the synagogue are threatened by such an idea. It is not so much his self-descriptor as God’s ‘sent one’ that sends them into a rage – indeed, this claim elicits only amazement and confusion. No, their frenzy comes with the suggestion that God’s ‘sent ones’ might be called to be ambassadors to outsiders, to those considered to be unclean or even enemies of Israel. Surely this carpenter’s son was wrong, heretical even. The Lukan Jesus’ overt reference to Elijah and Elisha as exemplars of this kind of ambassadorial work is simply too much for the mob. On an editorial level, it is a clue to the evangelist’s deeper notions of apostleship. The Elijah Connection J. Severino Croatto draws out further parallels between the Lukan Jesus and these prototypical Hebrew prophets. In the setting of his hometown synagogue at Nazareth, Jesus accused his listeners of simply wanting to see him perform the same kind of healings he had carried out in Capernaum (4:23). Three chapters later, Luke depicts Jesus actually entering Capernaum, where he does more than simply refer to the prophets. Now, the first deeds

5. Other significant moments in Luke’s gospel that occur either as Jesus is praying or immediately thereafter include the transfiguration (9:29), the teaching of the Lord’s Prayer (11:1), and even the beginning of the passion (22.45). A similar pattern is reflected in the book of Acts (1:14; 10:31; 12:5). It is little wonder that the Lukan Jesus urges his disciples ‘to pray always’ (18:1).

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of power accomplished – the healing of a centurion’s slave (7:1–10) and the resuscitation of the only child of a widow of Nain (7:11–15) – actually ‘imitate parallel miracles of Elijah and Elisha.’6 The onlookers’ reaction of amazement (7:16) mirrors that of the earlier synagogue crowd, but the crucial difference seen in the same verse is that these people ‘glorify God’ and recognize that ‘a great prophet has arisen’ among them. All that is left to make these ‘bookends’ complete is the epilogue that follows in Luke 7:18–23, as Jesus now echoes Isaiah 61 in his words to John the Baptizer’s followers about his mission as God’s sent one: ‘Go and tell John what you have seen …’ The list of actions that follows echoes the Isaiah 61 list that he cited when he began his public ministry. Thus, in chapters 4 and 7 we see two settings, two crowds, two declarations of the task of God’s sent one, and two very different responses from insiders and outsiders. None of this is very surprising … except perhaps for the intentional references to Elijah and Elisha (the one explicit in chapter 4, the other implicit in chapter 7) as prototypes of apostolic action among outsiders. Dale Allison also notes an intriguing allusion of 2 Kings 1:9–12, where Elijah calls down fire from heaven to consume two companies of soldiers, in Luke 9:52–56, where James and John ask permission to call down fire to destroy an unwelcoming Samaritan village.7 Here it is the apostles, not Jesus himself, who are attempting to draw on the Elijah connection … but in order to destroy the outsiders rather than find some way of engaging them. The story thereby actually serves as an antithesis to the Lukan mentions of Elijah in regards to Jesus’ outsider ministry. It is interesting, also, to note an instance when Luke does not mention Elijah. All three synoptic authors include Elijah along with Moses in the story of the transfiguration but both Mark and Matthew refer to a subsequent conversation between Jesus and the disciples regarding the question of whether ‘Elijah must come first’ (Mk. 9:11–13; Mt. 17:10–13). His response – ‘Elijah is indeed coming and will restore all things; but I tell you that Elijah has already come, and they did not recognize him, but they did to him whatever they pleased’ – clearly sets Jesus himself apart from the prophet, linking the latter instead to John the Baptizer. Luke ignores this story, thereby making sure that there is no confusion about the primary character with whom Elijah is to be linked.8

6. See J. Severino Croatto, ‘Jesus, Prophet like Elijah, and Prophet-Teacher like Moses in Luke-Acts,’ JBL 124 (2005), 451–465, esp. 456. 7. Dale C. Allison, Jr., ‘Rejecting Violent Judgment: Luke 9:52–56 and its Relatives,’ JBL 121 (2002), 459–78. Allison also notes additional links to the Elijah stories in Thomas Brodie, ‘The Departure for Jerusalem (Luke 9:51–56) as a Rhetorical Imitation of Elijah’s Departure for the Jordan (2 Kgs 1:1–2, 6),’ Bib 70 (1989), 96–109. 8. This does negate the connection made in Lk. 1:17 with the angelic foretelling to Zacharias that his son would go before the Messiah ‘in the spirit and power of Elijah,’ but simply puts the emphasis on the adult Jesus at this point in the story, especially since John has been executed and is no longer in the Gospel account (9:7–9).



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Another key connection between Jesus and Elijah is the assumption of Elijah into heaven and Jesus’ ascension in Acts 1. Even the terminology used to speak of their departures is identical, Croatto notes.9 This connection is particularly important since in both cases the story is about a transfer of authority and, thereby, the continuity of the Spirit’s work: ‘When JesusElijah is taken up to heaven, he does not take the Holy Spirit with him. The Spirit is given to the e0kklhsi/a, as Elijah’s spirit was transferred to Elisha.’10 More specifically, the Spirit is bequeathed to the apostles, those who will fulfill Jesus’ commission. In this way, the apostolic work that Jesus modeled would continue, from Jesus to the Twelve even as it continued from Elijah to Elisha. Indeed, Jesus’ clear orders to the Twelve are that, following his ascension, they would receive power with the advent of the Holy Spirit and should then be ma/rturej, literally ‘witnesses’11 or ambassadors sent to proclaim all they had seen and experienced. Although this commission is also found in Luke 24:48, what is added in Acts 1 are the geographical parameters for this apostolic work: ‘in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth (Acts 1:8).12 Elisha had carried on the work of Elijah, and expanded it. Now, the apostles are challenged to do the same. And Matthias Makes Twelve The remainder of the first chapter of Acts concerns the selection of Matthias as the successor to the now-deceased Judas and, therefore, the twelfth apostle. During the selection process, Peter asserts that the key requirement to be an a0po/stoloj is that the person must have accompanied Jesus ‘from the baptism of John until the day when he was taken up from us’ (1:21–22). In this sense, to be an apostle is to be a ma/rtuj, a witness who can testify to what has been physically seen and experienced. Matthias’s name is included in the process because it is verifiable that he had accompanied Jesus. Not incidentally, this also means that he is a known commodity to the existing apostles, a fellow insider. The ‘how’ of the process, the manner in which he

9. Croatto, ‘Jesus,’ 457. 10. Croatto, 458. 11. Luke largely reserves the term ma/rturev for the apostles, thereby underlining their unique position. Besides the texts already cited, see Acts 2:32; 3:15; 5:32; 10:39; 13:31. Two interesting deviations from this pattern concern the report of the witnesses to Stephen’s death who collectively lay their cloaks ‘at the feet of a young man named Saul’ (7:58), and Paul’s later appellation of himself as God’s witness (22:15), even as Stephen himself had been (22:20). 12. To those who argue that this passage does not reflect a further commissioning of the Twelve, but simply refers to a mass of unnumbered disciples, it is important to note that the passage opens in 1:2 with mention that Jesus ascends only ‘after giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles who he had chosen,’ using the same verb found at the initial calling of the Twelve in Lk. 6:13, and the same clear delineation of those ‘chosen’ apostles from all others.

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is actually chosen to fulfill the apostolic role, is nothing more than a flip of a coin. The group prays and then ‘casts lots’ and, as a result, Matthias is selected. The entire scene resonates with memories of how decisions were reached in the days of ancient Israel. Even as Acts 1:6 shows the concern of the apostles with the restoration of Israel; this concern is further illustrated in both the determination to select a twelfth apostle and the process whereby Matthias is indeed selected. Apostleship for Peter and the rest of the eleven in Acts 1 thus appears to be not only about bearing witness to the resurrection of Jesus, but also about continuity with Israel’s past. Two further things may be noted here. First, this is the only act of the apostles accomplished in the interim period between the departure of Jesus in the ascension/assumption and the coming of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost. Although it may be said that this was to ensure that the apostles numbered twelve before the Spirit could be given, it remains that this action, strongly recommended by the Lukan Peter and supported by prayer, is neither designated as an act of the Spirit nor directed by Jesus in his apostolic charge in 1:7–8. In fact, regarding the latter, it should be noted that Jesus’ injunction that the apostles move Jerusalem ‘through Judea and Samaria to the ends of the earth,’ appears to be his corrective to the aforementioned focus of the apostles on Israel’s restoration.13 In fact, in both Lukan departure passages (Luke 24 and Acts 1), Jesus is at the same time clear and specific in his instructions to the apostles – first stay in Jerusalem and wait for the coming of the Spirit, then move out from Jerusalem and bear witness – and in neither passage does he mention the need to choose a twelfth apostle before the Spirit comes. The second thing to note about the story of Matthias is that following the selection, he disappears from the Lukan stage, never to be mentioned again. Stephen and Saul All this brings us back to Saul/Paul who, unlike Matthias, is mentioned quite a bit in the remainder of Acts, and yet whose introduction is remarkably … quiet. As already noted, he enters the scene at the end of the story of Stephen the ma/rtuj. It is important to note that between Matthias and Stephen, the apostles have enjoyed great success, but almost exclusively 13. The fact that it is not the imperative, but rather the future tense, that is used to speak of the apostles’ work as Jesus’ witnesses ‘to the ends of the earth’ does not negate the imperatival quality of the apostolic commission. Rather, the grammatical choice complements the apostles’ question if this moment marks the beginning of the restoration of Israel. To this, Jesus responds by saying that they ‘will receive power’ and then they ‘will be my witnesses.’ The force of command is no less powerful for being clothed in this future tense. The fact that it is not these chosen apostles, but others not yet on the scene, who will eventually complete in full Jesus’ prediction simply adds weight to the fact that this is more charge than forecast.



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within the shadow of the Jerusalem temple. The relational network they develop includes mainly Palestinian-based Jewish believers who see Jesus as their long-promised messiah. These insiders appear to be blind to the needs and growing resentment of their ‘Hellenist’ members. As Luke understates the situation, ‘Now in those days, when the disciples were increasing in number, there arose no small dispute as the Hellenists complained against the Hebrews because their widows were being neglected in the daily distribution’ (6:1). Elsewhere, I have spoken at length about the details of this dispute, and I will not rehearse that discussion again.14 However, for our purposes here it is worth noting that the apostles’ solution in dealing with the complaint is to challenge the complaining Hellenist members of the congregation to choose seven men ‘full of the Spirit and of wisdom’ to address their concerns and help ‘serve tables.’15 It may be recalled that the key requirement to be an apostle and witness in Acts 1 was that the person had to have accompanied Jesus ‘from the baptism of John until the day when he was taken up from us’ (1:21–22). An insider was sought. Likewise, in Acts 6 the apostles recommend that the Hellenists select seven insiders from their relational system (note the Greek, not Hebrew, names of those selected) to respond to complaints arising from within that system. The Twelve continue to devote themselves to the apostolic task of proclamation accompanied by deeds of power, but still within their safety zone of Jerusalem, still among fellow insiders, still in the shadow of the temple. It is the Seven, particularly Stephen and Philip, who appear to be earnest about the geographical dimensions of Jesus’ apostolic charge.16 For while the Twelve remain largely in Jerusalem, Philip moves quickly beyond the city’s geographical and socio-religious boundaries to Samaria, as Jesus had commanded, as well as to evangelize an Ethiopian eunuch, only to be whisked away by the Spirit to parts unknown. And while the Twelve retain their custom of daily prayer and worship at the temple, Stephen instead challenges the very need for the temple in what is the longest sermon in Acts. For Stephen, the temple, far from being a sign of hope of the restoration of Israel, is instead the symbol of Israel’s continued attempts to limit God: ‘Yet the Most High does not dwell in houses made with human hands’ (7:48). The message has fatal results. Stephen’s subsequent death at the hands of the ‘stiff-necked’ crowd (7:51) corresponds with Jesus’ own death (Lk. 9:31). Even the martyr’s altered face/appearance (pro/swpon) mirrors the glorified visage of the Lukan Jesus in Luke 9:29, a passage that looks ahead to Jesus’ death/departure.17 Both Jesus and Stephen die in part 14. See my ‘The Limits of Leadership: Challenges to Apostolic Homeostasis in LukeActs,’ ATR 87 (2005), 273–90. 15. Table service is highly symbolic for Luke, who consistently uses ‘authority over material possessions as a symbol for spiritual authority.’ See Luke T. Johnson, Acts of the Apostles (Sacra Pagina; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 1992), 111. 16. See note 12 above. 17. For another Christian account of an altered appearance, in this case the martyred bishop Polycarp, see Martyr. Poly. 12.1.

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because of their apparent dismissal of the temple: ‘The temple evinces an exclusivism that is in conflict with the universalistic attitude present’ in the Lukan Jesus’ ministry and in Stephen’s sermon.18 James Dunn agrees with other commentators that the connections between the deaths of Stephen and Jesus are fairly obvious.19 But why mention Saul at all in Stephen’s story, and especially the seemingly insignificant detail about the cloaks placed by the witnesses at his feet? In the Septuagint, we first find po/daj in Genesis 18, in the context of Abraham offering hospitality to traveling strangers. To these travelers, who are in fact angelic beings, Abraham offers words of welcome: ‘Let a little water be brought, and wash your feet (po/daj), and rest yourselves under the tree’ (18:4). Only one chapter later in Genesis, to those who are prepared to spend the night in the village square, a similar offer is again made: ‘Please, my lords, turn aside to your servant’s house and spend the night, and wash your feet (po/daj); then you can rise early and go on your way’ (19:2). The first canonical mention of po/daj occurs in the context of hospitality and solidarity. In 1 Samuel (1 Kings LXX), we see a different framework for po/daj, that of respect and reverence. In 25:24, Abigail responds to David following her husband’s foolish move: ‘She fell at his feet (po/daj) and said, “Upon me alone, my lord, be the guilt; please let your servant speak in your ears, and hear the words of your servant.”’ Several verses later, 25:41 likewise states: ‘She rose and bowed down, with her face to the ground, and said, “Your servant is a slave to wash the feet (po/daj) of the servants of my lord.”’ In both verses, there is a sense of deep respect of Abigail toward the soon-to-be-king David, displayed through the act of falling at his feet and washing his feet. The same sense of reverence is found in the story of Shunammite and her son in 2 Kings (4 Kings LXX) 4:37: ‘She came and fell at his feet (po/daj), bowing to the ground; then she took her son and left.’ Again, Esther 8:3 depicts this respect in the context of pleading with one who has the authority to grant the request: ‘Then Esther spoke again to the king; she fell at his feet (po/daj), weeping and pleading with him to avert the evil design of Haman the Agagite and the plot that he had devised against the Jews.’ Whether, then, the use of feet in these passages suggests hospitality and solidarity, as in Genesis, or respect and reverence, as in Kings, Chronicles, and Esther, it is intriguing to note that all these references are relational in nature. Individuals are relating to other individuals through some action involving their feet.20 18. Geir Otto Holmas, ‘’My House shall be a house of prayer’: Regarding the Temple as a Place of Prayer in Acts within the Context of Luke’s Apologetical Objective. JSNT 27 (2005), 393–416, esp. 398. 19. James D. G. Dunn, The Acts of the Apostles (Valley Forge: Trinity Press Intl, 1996). 20. A more individualistic use of po/daj is found elsewhere in 1 Kings (3 Kings LXX): ‘Now the rest of all the acts of Asa, all his power, all that he did, and the cities that he built, are they not written in the Book of the Annals of the Kings of Judah? But in his old age he was diseased in his feet (po/daj)’ (15:23). The powerful Asa apparently had not only feet of clay, as it were, but also literally feet of illness!



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In the New Testament, when po/daj is mentioned, it is usually in the context of respect/reverence, and often in the context of pleading: ‘Great crowds came to him, bringing with them the lame, the maimed, the blind, the mute, and many others. They put them at his feet, and he cured them’ (Matthew 15:30). Mark 5:22 speaks of the synagogue official Jairus begging Jesus on behalf of his child: ‘And when he saw Jesus, he fell at his feet.’ Again in Mark, the Syro-Phoenician woman whose daughter had an unclean spirit ‘came and bowed down at his feet’ (7:25). Matthew 28:9, in speaking about the disciples encountering the risen Jesus, reports that ‘they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him.’ Even the book of Revelation shows a profound sense of reverence as John the Seer comes upon the angel-messenger: ‘When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead’ (1:17). It is Luke, however, who uses this image of feet more than anyone else in the New Testament, and while the other Synoptic writers mention a more generalized list of people at the feet of Jesus, the Third Evangelist is clear that the ones who fall down at Jesus’ feet are not just insiders but, more often, outsiders. Thus, in Luke 7:38, it is the female ‘sinner’ who is found anointing Jesus and kissing his feet, and, in 8:35, it is a formerly demon-possessed man who is found sitting at his feet. It is indeed a respectable synagogue ruler, Jairus, drops to Jesus’ feet to beg for healing for his daughter in 8:41, it is a ‘lazy’ sister, Mary, who sits at Jesus’ feet to learn from him in 10.39. In 17:16, a despised Samaritan falls to his feet in thanksgiving while nine other recipients of Jesus’ healing power simply move on. Later, in Acts, Barnabas the Cyprian appears, selling his lands and laying the proceeds at the feet of the apostles (4:37), while in a macabre scene immediately thereafter it is the corpses of the deceitful Ananias and Saphira that fall to the ground at Peter’s feet (5:10). In Acts 7:58, however, Luke changes the pattern: It is neither the feet of Jesus nor the feet of the apostles that are the focus, but ‘the feet of a young man named Saul.’ Saul, who himself once studied diligently in Tarsus ‘at the feet of Gamaliel’ (22:3) now finds himself the recipient of the outer cloaks, the mantles, of the angry crowd facing Stephen. These ma/rturej entrust Saul with their cloaks, and Luke notes that their trust is wellfounded, as the young man ‘is in agreement with Stephen’s death.’ Yet the true ma/rtuj in this scene is Stephen. And although it is the mantles of the angry witnesses that are laid at Saul’s feet, it is the mantle of Stephen that will be borne by Saul in the pages that follow. Stephen’s speech points out ‘that the people in Jerusalem preferred to remain at the temple.’21 Certainly this appears to be true of the apostles, who preach and teach and perform deeds of power, but always in the shadow of the temple. However, a fastforward look at the Paul who emerges later in Acts depicts a passionate yet profoundly thoughtful missionary-scholar who understands the impact of Jesus’ presence and message for the world beyond the temple. It is Paul and 21.

Holmas, 411.

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Barnabas and Philip, not Peter and Matthias and the other apostles, who will go on to take the message of Jesus throughout Judea and Samaria to the ends of the earth, the very thing that Jesus had declared regarding the apostolic mission. Likewise, it is in Paul’s congregation in Antioch, where the believers display a oneness in the midst of ethnic diversity, not in Peter’s more temple-based group in Jerusalem that Jesus’ followers would first be called ‘Christians.’ The story of Paul and his fulfillment of Jesus’ apostolic commission does not begin with his conversion in Acts 9, which actually is his second appearance on the Lukan stage, but rather with the bequeathing of the apostolic spirit of Stephen in Saul/Paul’s first appearance in Acts 7. This is where Luke’s use of the Elijah connection continues from the inauguration of Jesus’ ministry in Luke 4 to that of the apostles in Acts 1 and now ultimately to transfer authority and vision from the martyr Stephen to the future ‘Apostle to the Gentiles.’ For even as the assumption of Elijah resulted in the empowerment of Elisha and the furtherance of the mission Elijah had begun, even as the ascension of Jesus resulted in the commissioning of the apostles, even so the departure of Stephen to the heavenly realms results in the calling of Saul/Paul to do what the Twelve failed to do in their limited focus on Jerusalem and the temple. A New Perspective on the Lukan Paul? Again, I have spoken at length about the contrast in Luke 9–10 between the failure of the Twelve and the success of the uniquely Lukan group, the Seventy.22 Both there and here I admit an incredulity that so few scholars have questioned Luke’s depiction of the apostles as either unwilling or unable to fulfill Jesus’ commission outside of Jerusalem. Jesus speaks of the future apostolic mission complete with clearly defined parameters, yet the apostles only take it so far and then stop. They bravely face the wrath of the religious leaders of the temple, proclaiming Jesus as the long-awaited Messiah, but do not appear to challenge their fundamental paradigm. ‘Is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?’ the apostles ask Jesus. In many ways, the Lukan Twelve have more in common with the temple authorities who harass and arrest them than with Hellenist Jewish followers of Christ from the Diaspora … not to mention Gentiles. Even the story of Peter and Cornelius, depicted in such detail by Luke, conveys the reluctance of the chief of the apostles in accepting what should have been clear, given the commission in Acts 1. As James Dunn has noted, the move by the Antiochene congregation to reach out to all, a move that results in a new system with a new name – Christians, is so crucial in the Lukan drama that the evangelist has to make sure that it is ‘securely interwoven into the

22.

See again Robertson, ‘Limits,’ esp. 284–85.



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history of the movement’s steady expansion.’23 The Cornelius tale does this, by bridging the introductory accounts of apostolic witnesses like Stephen, Philip, Barnabas, and Paul with the sending out of the ‘Antioch apostles.’ Yes, Luke is indeed showing a continuity of mission through stories like Peter and Cornelius, the visit by Peter and John to bless Philip’s work in Samaria, and the decision by James at the Jerusalem Council to endorse Barnabas and Paul’s Gentile mission while not offending Torah-abiding Jewish believers. But Luke also appears in these narratives to be saying something about a contrast between the proactive non-Twelve and the reactive, and often reluctant, Twelve. Nelson Estrada focuses his attention on the opening passages in Acts, where Matthias is chosen through nomination followed by the casting of lots to succeed the disgraced, deceased Judas. The author argues that these pre-Pentecost stories serve to show the transformation of the Twelve from followers into leaders, a transformation similar to that of Jesus in the early chapters of Luke’s Gospel.24 The difficulty with Estrada’s work, as with that of so many scholars, is that it does not go far enough. In attempting to show the analogy between Jesus and the Twelve, he fails to account for the fact that they still did not fulfill the apostolic mission Jesus predicted in Acts 1. Indeed, he does little to explore why their ‘status transformation’ resulted in only limited success, and the apparently necessary introduction of other workers, such as Paul. Perhaps what is needed is a new perspective on the Lukan Paul, recognizing that his introduction does mark a continuous line, not back to the Twelve, but through Stephen to Jesus and ultimately to Elijah and Elisha, those agitators of the status quo who dared to reach out and welcome the outsider. It is usually assumed that it is Saul’s anger that leads him to agree to hold the mantles of the witnesses as Stephen is slain. Perhaps, however, Saul’s presence and agreement with their actions is instead due to his ability to see what the apostles seem to miss: that in Jesus the distinctions between Jews and Gentiles, between God’s chosen people and the unclean, between insiders and outsiders … have disappeared. Bob Johansen of the Institute for the Future speaks of four challenges that we face today – volatility, uncertainty, complexity, and ambiguity – and despite the danger of trying to see the past through the lenses of the present, it is not too much of a stretch to see similar challenges facing both the earliest followers of Jesus and their Jewish audiences.25 Jesus turned the apostles’ lives upside down, but they still appear not to have grasped the full implications of what he was about. Mark Evanier, a student and interpreter of modern popular culture has spoken of a strong tendency of followers: ‘When they find something

23. James D. G. Dunn, The Acts of the Apostles (Valley Forge: Trinity Press Intl, 1996), 153. 24. Nelson P. Estrada, From Followers to Leaders: The Apostles in the Ritual of Status Transformation in Acts 1–2 (JSNTS 255; London: T&T Clark Intl, 2004). 25. Bob Johansen, Get There Early (San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler, 2007).

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wonderful, they want it to go on forever, and always in the same place.’26 The Lukan apostles exemplify this tendency, most notably in the mountain top experience of Peter, James, and John when Jesus appears transformed and joined by Moses and, of course, Elijah. The Lukan Paul, on the other hand, does seem to comprehend Jesus, recognizing that Stephen’s words about not needing a temple are symptomatic of a shift that endangers the status quo of a temple-based, boundary-defining Judaism. Facing the systemic volatility, uncertainty, complexity, and ambiguity that are embodied in Stephen, Saul first positions himself with those witnesses who kill Stephen. The resonance of this scene with the earlier Lukan tale of the synagogue mob that tried to kill Jesus is certainly no coincidence. Johansen speaks of the need for provocation,27 and in the explicit mention of Elijah and Elisha in the synagogue tale, Luke sets the stage early in his two-volume account for the role of apostles as agitators of the system’s status quo. The prophetic words of Simeon about ‘a light to the Gentiles’ at Jesus’ birth, the clear statement by Jesus about fulfilling the Isaian prophecy by reaching out to outsiders, the ongoing examples in the Third Gospel of outsiders being welcomed, the explicit command to engage the world in Jesus’ commission in Acts 1 and the list of nations in the Pentecost event of Acts 228… all these lead to the longest sermon in Acts and the transfer of Stephen’s spirit and vision to a young man named Saul.

26. See p. 7 of Mark Evanier’s introduction to Jack Kirby’s New Gods (New York: DC, 1998). 27. Johansen, Get There Early, 21. 28. Cf. Gary Gilbert, ‘The List of Nations in Acts 2: Roman Propaganda and the Lukan Response,’ JBL 121(Fall 2002), 497–529, esp. 521.

Chapter 12

Running in Vain, but Not as an Athlete (Galatians 2:2): The Impact of Habakkuk 2:2–4 on Paul’s Apostolic Commission B. J. Oropeza Paul’s apostolic calling to preach the gospel in his letter to the Galatians is frequently understood as a prophetic commission comparable with the prophet Isaiah or Jeremiah. Similar to the Isaianic servant, he is called from the womb to proclaim the good news to the nations/Gentiles (Gal. 1:12–16, 24/Isa. 49:1–5, 16; cf. Acts 13:47);1 and resembling Jeremiah’s call as a prophet to the nations, God sets apart and takes pleasure in Paul before his birth (Gal. 1:15–16/Jer. 1:5–6, 10). In Galatians Paul’s divine commission is rarely related to the prophet Habakkuk. To be sure, scholarship commonly knows that the apostle’s message of righteousness by faith alludes to Habakkuk 2:4 (Gal. 3:11; cf. Rom. 1:17); but what is often unappreciated is that Paul’s words in Galatians 2:2 rest on the assumption that he considers himself a prophetic herald or ‘runner’ of the gospel message in the prophetic tradition of Habakkuk. This repetitive oversight is nothing new. Earliest adaptations of Paul’s running metaphors seem to favor athletic imagery over prophetic origin (2 Tim. 4:6–8; Acts 20:24; Heb. 12:1–8; 1 Clem. 6.2; 2 Clem. 7.3; Ignatius, Polycarp 1.2; Romans 2). In some cases the interpreters apparently fused Galatians 2:2 with 1 Corinthians 9:24–27, an overtly athletic passage (e.g., John Chrysostom, Hom. 76.5).2 Today this line of interpretation has been strongly influenced by the otherwise superb study of the agon motif by

1. See J. Ross Wagner, ‘Isaiah in Romans and Galatians,’ in Isaiah in the New Testament (eds. Steve Moyise, Maarten J. J. Menken; London: T. & T. Clark, 2005), 130–31; Karl O. Sandnes, Paul–One of the Prophets? A Contribution to the Apostle’s Self-Understanding (WUNT 2/43; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1991), esp. 48–76. 2. For athletic imagery related to martyrs, see 4 Macc. 6:10; 17:15–16; 1 Clem. 5.1. On ‘run together’ (suntre/xw) see Ignatius Pol. 6.1; Magn. 7.2; Eph. 3.2; 4.1, which may also be related to athletic imagery but more likely is derived from running to meet at an assembly: so William R. Schoedel, Ignatius of Antioch (Herm., Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 288.

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Victor Pfitzner.3 For Pfitzner, Paul uses popular athletic metaphors of his day to characterize the believer as an ‘athlete of the Gospel’ whose agon or struggle for the faith is against ‘opposition and error,’ and who trains, practices self-renunciation, and has in mind the goal of the gospel’s victory; likewise, the believer endures a contest of faith, running with perseverance in a life-long footrace to attain the ‘prize’ at the end.4 This interpretation is exemplified in 1 Corinthians 9:24–27 and Philippians 3:11–14. Pfitzner, however, extends the imagery to other Pauline passages in which a sports background is more questionable (e.g., Rom. 9:16; Phil. 2:16; Gal. 2:2; 5:7); and he opts against the prophetic courier perspective that is derived from Israel’s prophetic traditions (Isa. 52:7; Jer. 23:21LXX; Hab. 2:2), connoting Paul’s ‘run’ (tre/xw)) instead as a strenuous activity related to toil.5 Contemporary interpreters of Galatians 2:2 often follow this lead by associating Paul’s use of running with an athletic footrace.6 Such imagery, however, appears to be lacking in the context of Galatians 1–2. Instead Paul uses prophetic language to support his calling and separation by God, who ‘revealed’ his Son to him (1:15–16; cf. 1:1). His proclamation of the good news and going up to Jerusalem by ‘revelation’ are likewise prophetic in nature (1:16; 2:2; cf. Acts 9:15; Isa. 52:7–10). It seems that the principle of ‘once a runner always an athlete’ does not ring true for Paul, and so further probing into his use of this metaphor is in order. 3. Victor C. Pfitzner, Paul and the Agon Motif: Traditional Athletic Imagery in the Pauline Literature (NovTSup 16; Leiden: Brill, 1967). 4. Pfitzner, 193–95. 5. Pfitzner, 99–100, 107, 127–29, 136, 192. Another more recent study on the agon motif by Uta Poplutz, Athlet des Evangeliums: Eine motivegeschichtlich Studie zur Wettkampfmetaphorik bei Paulus (HBS 43; Freiburg: Herder, 2004), esp. 329, likewise interprets Gal. 2:2 as athletic. 6. Directly citing Pfitzner in their support of the athletic view in Gal. 2:2 are: e.g., Hans Dieter Betz, Galatians (Herm.; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), 88; Richard N. Longenecker, Galatians (WBC 41; Dallas: Word, 1990), 48–49; François Vouga, An die Galater (HZNT 10; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1998), 44; Ben Witherington, Grace in Galatia: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Galatians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 129–31; David J. Williams, Paul’s Metaphors: Their Context and Character (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1999), 268, 286f. ftn96f. Most recently the sports view is supported by e.g., Gordon D. Fee, Galatians (PCS; Blandford Forum: Deo, 2007), 60; D. Francois Tolmie, Persuading the Galatians (WUNT 2/190; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2005), 81; idem, ‘Bang waarvoor? Die betekenis van mh/ pwv ei0v keno\n tre/xw h2 e1dramon in Galasiërs 2:2,’ HvTSt 60.1–2 (2004), 487–502, esp. 488. Differently Roy E. Ciampa, The Presence and Function of Scripture in Galatians 1 and 2 (WUNT 2/102; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1998), 131–32 suggests Paul’s thoughts in Gal. 2:2 are influenced by Isa. 49, as does Sandnes, Paul, 61f, 218. Closer to my own thesis, J. Duncan M. Derrett, ‘“Running” in Paul: The Midrashic Potential of Hab 2,2,’ Biblica 66 (1985), 560–67 connects Paul’s concept of running with Hab. 2:2. But he suggests ‘in vain’ from Gal. 2:2 comes from Isa. 49, and he overextends the influence of Habakkuk’s ‘run’ to embrace other Pauline passages on running that are not directly related to Paul’s mission, such as Rom. 9:16. Martin Brändl, Der Agon bei Paulus (WUNT 2/222; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2006), 262–75 cf. 415–17 more broadly appreciates the influence of prophetic traditions on Paul’s running metaphors; albeit, his view of Gal. 2:2 is generally directed by Phil. 2:16/Isa. 49:1–6 even though the former Pauline text is older.



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Paul’s Adaptation of Habakkuk 2:2–4 in Galatians 2:2 In the book of Habakkuk, a cultic prophet who is apparently stationed at Jerusalem’s temple complains to God that, among other things, the ungodly prevail over the righteous and the Torah is rejected (1:1–4). God responds that judgment on those who are despisers comes via the Chaldeans (1:5–11), to which Habakkuk responds with a new complaint, asking essentially why God would use the wicked Chaldeans as the instrument of his judgment. As a watchman Habakkuk waits on his post for God’s reply (1:12–2:1); then God instructs him to write down a vision that is set for an appointed time: the righteous person will live by faithfulness, and woeful judgment will come upon the Chaldeans for their crimes (2:2–20). An appendix is added to the book in the form of a psalm petitioning for God’s help and describing a theophany.7 Habakkuk may have attracted Paul’s attention due to the prophet’s emphasis on theodicy, inability of the Torah to restrain sin, and the anticipation of a future time in which the righteous would live by fidelity.8 No doubt he interpreted the appointed time as having arrived through the advent of Christ. Similar to Romans 1:16–17 Paul’s interest in Galatians 3:11 rests with Habakkuk 2:2–4; albeit, Galatians is less interested in theodicy and more in contesting opponents who use the Torah in divisive and boastful ways that threaten Paul’s congregations (cf. 5:26; 6:12–14).9 Paul’s use of ‘by faith[fulness]’ (e0k pi/stewv) seems to suggest that his source comes from a text resembling the Septuagint (Gal. 3:11; Rom. 1:17/ Hab. 2:4LXX) rather than MT or some other text.10 Even so, Paul may be using a variation of the text or reconfiguring it by omitting mou from 7. The text seems informed by events dating roughly 600 bce. For discussions on its setting and composition, see Oskar Dangl, ‘Habakkuk in Recent Research,’ CR:BS 9 (2001), 131–68; Maria Eszenyei Széles, Habakkuk and Zephaniah: Wrath and Mercy (IThC; Edinburgh: Handsel Press, 1987), 3–9; William H. Brownlee, ‘The Composition of Habakkuk,’ in Hommages á Andre Dupont-Sommer (eds. A. Caquot, M. Philonenko; Paris: Librairie D’Amerique et D’Orrent Adrien-Maisonneuve, 1971), 255–75. 8. Addressing such themes in Romans is Rikki E. Watts, ‘“For I Am Not Ashamed of the Gospel”: Romans 1:16–17 and Habakkuk 2:4,’ in Romans and the People of God: Essays in Honor of Gordon D. Fee (eds. Sven K. Soderlund, N. T. Wright; Cambridge: Eerdmans, 1999), 3–25. 9. Alice Ogden Bellis, ‘Habakkuk 2:4b: Intertextuality and Hermeneutics,’ in Jews, Christians and the Theology of the Hebrew Scriptures (eds. idem, Joel S. Kaminsky; SBLSS 8; Atlanta: SBL, 2000), 369–85 rightly suggests that Paul reads from Hab. 2:4b the Torah being used as an excuse for arrogance (377 cf. 373). Hab. 2:4MT mentions those who are puffed up (hlfp%;(u), whereas Hab. 2:5LXX mentions despisers and boasters. 10. See further Joseph A. Fitzmyer, ‘Habakkuk 2:3–4 and the New Testament,’ in To Advance the Gospel: New Testament Studies (New York: Crossroad, 1981), 236–46. Among many alterations of Hab. 2:2–4, Targum Jonathan to the Prophets has that the reader may hasten ‘to be wise’ (MkAxmil;); 1QpHab 7.1–8.3 interprets it in light of the final age and Teacher of Righteousness. See further texts in Francis I. Andersen, Habakkuk (AB; New York: Doubleday, 2001), 210–220.

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Hab.2:4LXX after pi/stewv (or after di/kaiov in manuscripts A and C) to claim ‘the righteous will live by faith[fulness]’ (o9 di/kaiov e0k pi/stewv zh/ setai). Habakkuk 2:2–4LXX reads as follows:11 2:2a: Then the Lord answered me and said, 2:2b: Write a vision and clearly on a tablet, that the one who reads them may run (o3pwv diw&kh| o9 a)naginw&skwn au0ta&). 2:3a: For the vision is yet for a time, and it will spring forth (a0natelei=)12 in the end and not in vain (ou0k ei0v keno/n). 2:3b: If it/he should tarry, wait for it/him because it/he will surely come (e0rxo/menov h3cei) and not delay. 2:4a If he/it draws back, my soul finds no pleasure in him/it, 2:4b: but the righteous one will live by my faithfulness (o9 de\ di/kaiov e0k pi/stewv mou zh/etai). Apart from Paul’s celebrated use of 2:4b above in Galatians 3:11, thoughts about the one who runs (2:2b) and the time or vision not being in vain (2:3a) seem echoed in Galatians 2:2: ‘… lest somehow I might be running (tre/xw) or had run (e1dramon) in vain (ei0v keno/n).’ It is not clear why Paul would alter diw/kw to tre/xw; perhaps diw/kw would be too easily interpreted by his audience as ‘pursue,’ or more likely, his text included tre/xw.13 The MT version Habakkuk 2:2b may be translated ‘so he may run who reads it’ (ESV); ‘that the one who reads it may run’ (NASB); or ‘so that whoever reads it may run with it’ (NIV[ftn.]).14 Both the MT and 1QpHabakkuk use Cw@r for ‘run,’ and there are other instances of the LXX translating Cw@r to diw/kw with ‘run’ as the meaning (cf. Hag. 1:9; Amos 6:12[13]). Both Galatians 2:2 and Habakkuk 2:3aLXX use the phrase ‘in vain.’15 Paul very likely has Habakkuk 2:3 in mind, but a viable alternative is that he is alluding to Isaiah 49:4.16 The strength of the Isaianic connection is that Paul again uses ‘in vain’ in Galatians 4:11 when fearing that his work among the Galatians might turn out to be futile (cf. 2 Cor. 6:1; Phil. 2:16), and this verse shares in common with Isaiah 49:4 the concept of the servant (with whom Paul compares himself) laboring in vain. Both texts use kopia/w to describe the toil, albeit Galatians 4:11 has ei0kh|= for ‘in vain,’ not kenw~v. 11. My translation. 12. Fitzmyer, ‘Habakkuk 2:3–4,’ 240 presents the alternative ‘it will announce’ (a0pagge/lei= from )2 for a0natelei= (2:3a). 13. Manuscripts A and Σ of Hab. 2:2 use tre/xw (cf. Derrett, ‘Midrashic Potential’ 563). 14. In 2:2b (wOb|)r'wO qCw% ryFN(a mal;) ‘run’ is main verb, not the participle ‘read.’ For problems with words and variations in Hab. 2:2–4MT, see e.g., Wilhelm Rudolph, Micha, Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephanja (KAT 13/3; Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1975), 212–13; Robert D. Haak, Habakkuk (VTSup 44; Leiden: Brill, 1992), 55–59. 15. Hab.2:3MT has instead that the appointed time or vision will not ‘lie’ (bzak%f). 16. See recently e.g., Susan Eastman, Recovering Paul’s Mother Tongue: Language and Theology in Galatians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 69.



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Isaiah 49 also seems echoed in Galatians 1:15–16, and it is possible that the concept of Paul being glorified in 1:24 alludes to the servant’s glorification in Isaiah 49:3.17 But even if it could be demonstrated that Galatians 4:11 alludes to Isaiah 49:4, it is questionable whether this connection should be read back into Galatians 2:2; and if the Isaianic text seems present in Galatians 1, Paul not only alludes to Habakkuk 2:4 in Galatians 2:16 but also unmistakably cites it in 3:11. In favor of Habakkuk 2:2–3 as the backdrop for ‘in vain’ are that first, both Habakkuk and Galatians use ei0v keno/n; Isaiah 49:4 uses kenw~v and does not include a preposition. Second, the notion of running is explicit in both Habakkuk 2:2 and Galatians 2:2, but less so in Isaiah 48:20, the closest impression to running that may be associated with 49:4 (see Gal. 5:7 below). Nevertheless, since Paul seems to identify himself in the tradition of a prophetic herald, a point held in common by both Habakkuk and Isaiah,18 perhaps his thoughts were influenced by reading and digesting both prophetic authors. We may add to this conceptual brew Paul’s repetitive oral performances that borrowed thoughts from both traditions whenever he made his circuit to various synagogues and congregations. What then percolates from Paul’s running ‘in vain’ in 2:2 may be a slowly developed conceptual blending of thoughts from both Habakkuk and Isaiah.19 In any case, whether Habakkuk, Isaiah, or some blending of both is in view, the thought of running in vain is clearly not imagining an agonistic sporting event but prophetic tradition. Prophetic Running in Habakkuk and Galatians Habakkuk 2:2 identifies a reader who runs with a tablet and reads the vision written on it.20 Several interpretations of this verse are possible: (1) The reader runs in terror from the message of judgment the vision contains.21 This view has not gained much support. One reason may be

17. Sandnes, Paul, 61 raises these connections. 18. E.g., Isa. 52:7. If Paul’s reading of Isaiah in Galatians is consistent with 2 Corinthians, then Paul might consider himself a herald of the Isaianic servant, but not the Isaianic servant himself: see Mark Gignilliat, Paul and Isaiah’s Servants: Paul’s Theological Reading of Isaiah 40–66 in 2 Corinthians 5.14–6.10 (LNTS 330; London: T&T Clark, 2007) esp. 53–54, 132–42, 159. 19. Notice also the many ideas shared in common between Isaiah and Habakkuk, the latter perhaps influenced by the former (e.g., Hab. 2:2–4/Isa. 8:1; 30:15; 40:31). See further examples in J. Gerald Janzen, ‘Habakkuk 2:2–4 in the Light of Recent Philological Advances,’ HTR 73 (1980), 53–78, esp. 73–77. 20. The MT uses the plural ‘tablets’ and the reading is from the vision, whereas the LXX has a singular tablet and the reading is from the neuter plural ‘them’ (au0ta/), possibly a translation mistake, or perhaps both the tablet (neuter puci/on) and vision (feminine o3rasiv) are assumed. 21. E.g., Haak, Habakkuk, 56.

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that the message is intended to enable hearers to stand firm ‘in the midst of the woes of history.’22 (2) The ‘running’ refers to eyes moving quickly over the reading; i.e., reading with ease.23 But Habakkuk’s language of waiting and tarrying is set in contrast to aspects of movement, such as run and come (2:1–4);24 which makes better sense if both the stationary and movement language are understood literally. Habakkuk is a watchman waiting (2:1, 3), and someone else is a reader running. (3) The vision is written on large plates or clay tablets that could be read at a glance by those who pass by it (cf. Isa. 8:1; 30:8).25 Francis Andersen challenges this view, arguing that the relatively few clay tablets and lack of commemorative inscriptions in Ancient Palestinian Israel should prevent our generalizing here.26 More pointedly this interpretation clashes with a proper translation of Habakkuk 2:2. It tends to make the participle ‘read’ function as the governing verb ‘so that whoever runs may read it.’ The main verb in the sentence, however, is run, which best translates: ‘so that whoever reads may run.’27 (4) A combination of the notions of reading with ease and taking refuge in the vision of the tablets may be in view: ‘so that the one who reads might run into it [wOb|] (for refuge)’ (cf. Prov. 18:19).28 The first aspect, at least, suffers the same setback as view 2. (5) ‘Run’ may be metaphor for conducting one’s life, similar to the way ‘walk’ is sometimes used (cf. Psa. 118:32LXX; Philo, De Agric. 176– 77; b. Ber. 28b).29 Views 4 and 5 are more plausible than 1 to 3, but against these views, there seems to be no convincing reason why we must interpret the runner metaphorically rather than literally. William Brownlee rightly argues that ‘one must not lose sight of the imagery of the watchman, whose message would be carried by a runner.’30 Whereas 22. So John Marshall Holt, ‘So He May Run Who Reads It,’ JBL 83 (1964), 298– 303, here 300. 23. E.g., P. Maiberger, ThWAT 7.440[TDOT 13.416]; BDB, 930; Rudolph, Habakkuk, 211; Paul Haupt, ‘He Who Runs May Read,’ JBL 40 (1921), 181–82. 24. Janzen, ‘Philological Advances,’ 68, 72 draws our attention to the contrast between stillness and movement here. 25. E.g., Charles L. Taylor, Habakkuk (IB; New York: Abingdon, 1956), 987; David J. Clark, Howard A. Hatton, A Handbook on Habakkuk (New York: UBS, 1989), 90; Kenneth L. Baker, Waylon Bailey, Micah, Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephaniah (NAC 20; Nashville: Broadman, 1999), 322–23. 26. Andersen, Habakkuk, 203–204. It is also not known what material would be used for the writing; papyrus and fabric might be options (cf. Jer. 36; Isa. 3:26). 27. A criticism raised by Michael H. Floyd, ‘Prophecy and Writing in Habakkuk 2,1–5,’ ZAW 105 (1993), 462–81, here 472; and Holt, ‘Run,’ 299. 28. J. M. M. Roberts, Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephaniah (OTL; Louisville: WJK, 1991), 109–110. 29. Holt, ‘He May Run,’300–302; Otto Bauernfeind, TDNT 8.229. 30. William H. Brownlee, The Midrash Pesher of Habakkuk (SBLMS 24; Missoula: Scholars Press, 1979), 108.



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the watchman must remain at his post, the runner is free to come and go. This leads us to a final perspective: (6) The runner is a courier or herald that runs to different villages and publically reads aloud (a0naginw/skw/)rq) the vision to others.31 This view seems the most intelligible given an ancient culture in which news commonly travelled via word of mouth, illiteracy ran high, and printing presses were not known. The courier’s special task was to deliver messages (cf. 2 Chron. 30:6–10; Esth. 3:13–15; 1 Sam. 4:12–17; Jer. 51:31; 1 Macc. 16:21; Jos. Ant. 7.248–49; J.W. 6.254) and sometimes the prophet functioned as a ‘runner’ proclaiming the written word disclosed by God (e.g., Jer. 23:21; cf. 12:5; 19:14; Zech. 2:3–4). In Habakkuk, if the prophet must wait at his watch, he could still send out a runner.32 Two or perhaps three individuals may be involved in the process of prophetic promulgation: the prophet/visionary who receives the message, the scribe who writes it down, and the courier who runs with the message and reads it to the public. A few examples of couriers will suffice. Ahimaaz and a Cushite play the role of runners who proclaim the ‘good news’ (eu0aggeli/a) of peace at the defeat of Absalom’s army. It is the watchman who first spots them running toward to the camp and tells David (2 Kings[2 Sam.]18:19–27). For the sake of receiving important news and protection of communities, an association between watchmen and couriers may have been well known. The prophetic heralds of the good news in Isaiah 52:7 (cf. 40:9; 60:6; 61:1; Nah. 2:1[1:15]) likewise proclaim peace and are likely associated with running – their ‘feet’ bring glad tidings.33 Paul interprets this passage as a reference to heralds of the gospel of Christ (Rom. 10:15). He seems to recognize himself a prophet runner, a herald for the gospel of righteousness by faith. The prophetic role of the runner in Habakkuk 2:2 would not have been overlooked by Paul, who uses 2:4 as an anchor for his proclamations – the

31. E.g., Andersen, Habakkuk, 204–05; Floyd, ‘Prophecy,’ 473; Brownlee, ‘Composition,’ 263; Marvin A. Sweeney, The Twelve Prophets (BO; Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2000), 2.471. On public reading see e.g., Exod. 24:7; Jer. 39[32]:11; Arist. 310; Jos. Ant. 4.209; Luke 4:16; Rev. 1:3. 32. Andersen, Habakkuk, 204–205 rightly notices the change of persons in 2:2: ‘you write the vision so that he may run’ (205). 33. Elijah the prophet has a reputation of being a fast runner, though apparently unrelated to his prophetic message (cf. 1 Kings 18:46). Luke, on the other hand, portrays Philip in the tradition of Elijah by having him spiritually led into a wilderness region, travelling swiftly, and proclaiming God’s word to foreigners (Acts 8:4–13, 25–40; esp. vv. 4f., 12, 26, 39–40). In one scene Philip runs up (prostre/xw) to a chariot and preaches the gospel (eu0aggeli/zw) to an Ethiopian (8:30, 35).

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righteous live by faith.34 He most likely thought himself a runner, similar to Habakkuk’s herald, by traveling to different towns on his missionary journeys and proclaiming with prophetic authority God’s message of righteousness by faith at the appointed time designated by Habakkuk’s vision. Moreover, as Paul refers to the possibility of his running ‘in vain,’ he again applies language borrowed from Habakkuk 2:2 to express apprehension about his ‘running,’ that is, his missionary efforts to the Gentiles and message of righteousness by faith proclaimed to them. When meeting with the leaders in Jerusalem, it is this particular brand of the gospel that is at stake.35 Running in Paul’s Letters In addition to Paul’s own running, the Galatians are described as once ‘running well’ before being hindered by the opponents (Gal. 5:7). If the concepts of faith, righteousness, and eagerly awaiting in 5:5 are informed by Habakkuk 2:2–4, then a case could be made that the Galatians’ running in 5:7 is likewise under the same influence as 2:2. It is possible that, in a mitigated sense, Paul considers the Galatians to be called as heralds to their neighbors (cf. 5:14; 6:10), even if they may not be traveling missionaries. More likely in my opinion, Paul is still working with the background of exodus imagery from chapter 4, which is reconfigured to include the Galatians as God’s people.36 Among other allusions to the exoduswilderness, the Galatians are adopted as God’s children (Gal. 4:3–7/Exod. 4:22), called to freedom (Gal. 5:8, 13a/Exod. 4:22–23; 19:4–6), and yet are in danger of turning back to slavery once again (Gal. 4:8–10; 5:1b/Exod. 13:3; 14:10–12; 16:3; 17:3; Lev. 26:13; Num. 14:2–4; Neh. 9:17; Acts 7:39). The subtext of Galatians 5:7 continues this imagery by echoing the Isaianic exodus of God’s people who run away in haste or ‘flee’ (Isa. 48:20LXX) from their Babylonian captors to be joined with the nations/Gentiles on a

34. The message from Hab. 2 probably had wide spread influence on the first generation of Christ followers. See more possible references, especially in relation to the waiting/delay motif, in A. Strobel, Untersuchungen zum eschatologischen Verzögerungsproblem auf Grund der spätjüdisch-urchristlichen Geschichte von Habakuk 2,2ff (NovTSup 2; Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1961). Strobel’s study, oddly enough, does not examine Habakkuk 2:2 in any detail even though this verse is found in his title. 35. In Habakkuk 2:2, however, ei0v keno/n may refer to the ‘end’ or the entire clause of the appointed time that springs forth in the end. Paul, it seems, recontextualizes ei0v keno/n, applying it to his own message and ministry, and he views himself as living in the appointed time fulfilled. 36. See this imagery further in Todd Wilson, ‘Wilderness Apostasy and Paul’s Portrayal of the Crisis in Galatians,’ NTS 50 (2004), 550–71; Sylvia Keesmaat, Paul and his Story: (Re)Interpreting the Exodus Tradition (JSNTSS 181; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 155–215.



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new wilderness journey, and they are led by a servant whom Paul in some sense identifies as himself (Isa. 48:20–49:9; cf. 40:31; 52:12; Gal. 1:15; 2 Cor. 6:1–2). Perhaps Paul considers the Galatians as the ‘nation’ of people who make their run to Zion for safety (Isa. 55:4–5; cf. 2:1–5; 40:1–9).37 They have been delivered from the spiritual slavery of the evil age to make their way through the metaphoric wilderness, associated with the ‘now’ and ‘not yet’ eschatological tension of the present age, to eventually arrive at spiritual Zion, the ‘Jerusalem from above’ that awaits the faithful at the end of the age (cf. Gal. 1:4 4:26).38 The Galatians’ eschatological ‘run’ to final salvation is being hindered by Paul’s opponents who are leading them astray by teaching these Gentiles to be circumcised (5:7 cf. vv.2–4). This verse does not seem to be related to athletic imagery.39 In Philippians 2:16 Paul hopes the Philippians are holding firm to the ‘word of life’ so that he can boast at the parousia that he did not run or labor in vain. The running metaphor here may be borrowed from Galatians 2:2, but the verb for laboring (kopia/w) perhaps associates Philippians 2:16 with Galatians 4:11 (cf. Isa. 49:4). In either case, rather than emphasizing sports imagery, Paul associates this running with his prophetic calling as a herald proclaiming the good news.40 His missionary efforts will not be in vain if the Philippians persevere in the gospel faith to final salvation. In Romans 9:16 the idea of running is probably derived from the Psalms and equated with devout conduct or Jewish law keeping (Psa. 118[119]:32LXX; cf. m. Abot 4.2A; Odes Sol. 11.3).41 Likewise 2 Thessalonians 3:1 (if Paul) attaches the notion of running to the missionary spread of the gospel, but here the allusion may come from Psalm 147:4LXX[148:15MT]. Neither of these passages appears to use athletic imagery. Philippians 3:11–14, however, clearly uses agon metaphors – Paul presses on in a footrace to obtain the ‘prize’ of a heavenly call to eternal fellowship that will be fully realized on the ‘day of Christ.’ The athletic imagery here seems adapted from 1 Corinthians 9:24–27 where Paul runs in a footrace with the goal of an eschatological prize. In this case, however, self-control is needed to prevent disqualification from the race – even an apostle can fall away from grace. Although the importance of his preaching is certainly 37. On Zion as the point of address in Isaiah 55:1–5, see Klaus Baltzer, DeuteroIsaiah: A Commentary on Isaiah 40–66 (Herm.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), 466–74. 38. I argue for this important eschatological view of Paul’s more fully in other studies, e.g., B. J. Oropeza, ‘Echoes of Isaiah in the Rhetoric of Paul: New Exodus, Wisdom, and the Humility of the Cross in Utopian-Apocalyptic Expectations,’ in The Intertexture of Apocalyptic Discourse (SBLSS 14; ed. Duane F. Watson; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 2002), 87–113; idem, Paul and Apostasy: Eschatology, Perseverance, and Falling Away in the Corinthian Congregation (WUNT 2/115; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2000). 39. Contrast J. Louis Martyn, Galatians (New York: Doubleday, 1997), 467 who takes too much liberty in translating 5:7 as: ‘For some time you ran a good footrace. Who has hindered you from staying on course …’ 40. Brändl, Agon bei Paulus, 254–62 insists that Phil. 2:16 be read with Isa. 49:1–6. 41. See Robert Jewett, Romans (Herm.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 583.

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present (e.g., 1 Cor. 9:20–23), these agon passages are not clearly centered on Paul’s missionary efforts to proclaim the gospel to Gentiles; they include or stress his own perseverance to endure the course of life and so obtain the goal of final salvation at the end of the age. Apprehension about Running ‘in Vain’ To communicate the concept ‘in vain’ Paul uses keno/v (Gal. 2:2; 1 Thes. 2:1; 3:5; 1 Cor. 15:10, 14, 58; 2 Cor. 6:1; Phil. 2:16), ei0kh|= (Gal. 2:21; 3:4; 4:11; 1 Cor. 15:2), and ma/taiov (1 Cor. 15:17).42 Keno/v typically means ‘ineffectual’ ‘useless’ ‘fruitless,’ ‘empty,’ or done ‘to no purpose.’43 For Paul the thought often conveys an apprehension that members of his congregations are in danger of apostasy.44 He is anxious that Satan has tempted the Thessalonians to fall away as a result of being persecuted (1 Thes. 3:5; cf. 2:1). The Corinthians are in danger of receiving the gospel in vain because some of them say there is no resurrection from the dead (1 Cor. 15:2, 10, 14, 17; contrast v.58). The acceptable era of salvation has come upon them (2 Cor. 6:1–2/Isa. 49:4, 8; cf. 2 Cor. 5:17), and they must continue accepting Paul’s message of reconciliation; otherwise, they will be receiving God’s grace ‘in vain’ – they will receive no salvific benefit from it (2 Cor. 6:1–2; cf. 5:20; 13:5, 9, 11). If the Philippians persevere in working out their salvation, as God works through them, then Paul’s gospel message and missionary toil invested in them would not be wasted or ‘in vain’ (Phil. 2:16; cf. 2:12–13). In Galatians Paul’s concern is that his labor among the congregations may turn out to be ‘in vain’ if his audience succumbs to the opponents’ insistence that they be circumcised and keep the works of the Law. This would mean that Christ’s redemption for them would be nullified; they would fall from grace and be ‘cut off’ from Christ (Gal. 4:11; cf. 2:11; 3:4; 5:4). Paul’s apprehension about running ‘in vain’ in Galatians 2:2, however, is a concern dealing primarily with his own prophetic calling to proclaim his gospel of righteousness to Gentiles as a courier in the tradition of 42. See the words respectively in Albrecht Oepke, TDNT 3.659–60; Friedrich Büchsel, 2.380–81; Otto Bauernfeind, 4.519–24. 43. Cf. LXX Lev. 26:16, 20; Deut. 32:47; Job 2:9; 7:6, 16; Isa. 29:8; 45:18; 49:4; 65:23; Jer. 6:29; 18:15; Hos. 12:2; Mic. 1:14; 1 Macc. 9:68; Sir. 34:1; Wisd. 3:11. See further sources in Carl J. Bjerkelund, ‘ als Missionsergebnis bei Paulus,’ in God’s Christ and His People: Studies in Honour of Nils Alstrup Dahl (eds. Jacob Jervell, Wayne A. Meeks; Oslo/Bergen/Trömso: Universitetsforglaget, 1977), 175–91; Eckart Reinmuth, ‘‘Nicht vergeblich,’ bei Paulus und Pseudo-Philo: Liber antiquitatum biblicarum, NovT 33 (1991), 97–123; Pfitzner, Agon, 99–100 ftn.6; and Greco-Roman uses in LSJ 938. 44. On this aspect see further B. J. Oropeza, In the Footsteps of Judas: Defectors and Apostasy in New Testament Communities (Peabody: Hendrickson, forthcoming).



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Habakkuk.45 He is not conveying personal fear about his own potential to commit apostasy.46 Nor does he really doubt God’s prophetic commission to him (Gal. 1:15–16) or that the Jerusalem apostles could nullify his calling by a negative decision on his gospel message (cf. 2:6). As Jimmy Dunn memorably puts it, Paul did not go ‘to Jerusalem ‘cap in hand’ to gain an authoritative ruling on a matter … on which he had insufficient competence to decide.’47 Paul’s concern centers on the future effectiveness of his gospel and the way he would be perceived by others, especially the congregations he founded.48 If his circumcision-free gospel were not recognized by the Jerusalem church, many of his Gentile converts would likely turn away from his teachings. Moreover, further opportunities for his ‘running’ as a missionary would require him, among other things, to alter his message of righteousness by faith in a significant way to include circumcision for the Gentiles. The alternative would be to maintain his present messages at the price of breaking away from the Jerusalem apostles, a move that would set him completely at odds with those who personally knew the Jesus he proclaims. In essence his missionary work and gospel message, past and present, would be rendered ineffective – Paul would be running in vain. His private meeting with the leaders in Jerusalem, however, results in their recognition of his mission to the Gentiles (Gal. 2:3–10). Conclusion The ramifications of this study are at least threefold: First, for Paul, the metaphor of running was originally prophetic before it became athletic. Informed by Habakkuk 2:2–4, his running refers to his vocation as a missionary traveler and proclaimer of righteousness that is bound up with his revelatory calling to preach to Gentiles (Gal. 2:2; cf. 1:11–16; Acts 9:1– 16; 22:6–21; 26:12–23). In Paul’s undisputed letters, it is in 1 Corinthians

45. Mh/ pwv (‘lest somehow’) reflects real rather than hypothetical apprehension (BDF 183§361). For options related to grammatical functions, see Elinor MacDonald Rogers, A Semantic Structure Analysis of Galatians (Dallas: Summer Institute of Linguistics, Inc., 1989), 40–41; Pierre Bonnard, L’Epitre de Saint Paul aux Galates (CNT; Paris: Delachaux et Niestlé Éditeurs, 1953), 37–38. 46. Notice differently Polycarp who interprets the idea of not running in vain as conducting one’s life to obey righteousness and persevere, as did ‘Paul,’ ‘Ignatius,’ and others who are now in the presence of the Lord (Polycarp, Phil. 9). See further early interpretations of Gal. 2:2 in Tertullian, Marc. 4.2; 5.3; Gregory Nazianzen, Or. 42.1; Jerome, Ep. 32.1; 53.2; Ruf. 3.2; John Cassian, Second Conference of Abbot Moses 2.15; Martin Meiser, Galater (NTP; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007), 83. 47. Dunn, ‘The Relationship between Paul and Jerusalem according to Galatians 1 and 2,’ NTS 28 (1982), 461–78, quote 467. 48. Dunn, ‘Relationship,’ 467–69 stresses the aspect of effectiveness; Martyn, Galatians, 193 distills the aspect of perception.

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9:24–27 and Philippians 3:11–14 that he clearly connects athletic imagery to the concept of running. Second, the results of this study tend to support the fact that Paul’s prophetic commission in Galatians 1:15 is not specifically oriented to one particular prophet, whether Isaiah, Jeremiah, or someone else, but to a prophetic call in the tradition of the prophets in general. Paul’s calling functions as a stereotypical commission grounded in Israel’s scriptures.49 A sharper relief of Paul’s self-understanding includes his being set apart like Jeremiah and other prophets, his calling to proclaim the good news as a herald in Isaianic tradition, and also his role as a courier spreading the end-time vision about faith and righteousness, similar to the runner in Habakkuk. Third and finally, Paul’s activities as a prophetic runner include the promulgation of a gospel message that has as one of its centerpieces Habakkuk’s words that the righteous person will live by faith/faithfulness (Gal. 3:11/Hab. 2:4; cf. Rom. 1:17). Paul’s view of righteousness by faith[fulness], which rests at the heart of Galatians (2:16; cf. 2:20), is directly influenced by Habakkuk 2:4.50 A reading of Galatians 2:2 through the backdrop of Habakkuk 2 helps us connect the dots between Paul’s prophetic commission (Gal. 1:14–16), his missionary activities as an endtime herald proclaiming the gospel to Gentiles (Gal. 2:2), his central message of righteousness by faith[fulness] (2:16), his own living by faith (Gal. 2:20), and his quote from Habakkuk that sets in contrast the righteous living by faith and those who perform the works of the Law (3:11). Thus the significance of Habakkuk 2:2–4 may be generally delineated throughout Galatians 1–3.

49. On this point see further, Werner Stenger, ‘Biographisches und Idealbiographisches in Gal. 1,11–2,14,’ in Kontinuität und Einheit: Für Franz Mussner (eds. Paul-Gerhard Müller, Werner Stenger; Freiburg: Herder, 1981), 123–40. Similarly, Klaus Baltzer, ‘Considerations Concerning the Office and Calling of the Prophet,’ HTR 61 (1968), 567– 81 views from the Hebrew Scriptures ‘the installation of the prophet’ as a Gattung in an autobiographical text having elements of ‘court audience, call, installation with transfer of authority, regulation of duties, formula of admonition’ (570). 50. Instructive here is Martyn, Galatians, 251 ftn.125: ‘Given Paul’s equating “to be rectified” with “to be made alive” (Gal 3:21), and given his fascination with Hab 2:4, it is possible that, in coining the expression [dikaiwqh=nai e0k], he was influenced by Habakkuk’s location “The one who is rectified by faith will live.”’

Chapter 13

Of ‘Doing’ and ‘Living’: The Intertextual Semantics of Leviticus 18:5 in Galatians and Romans Douglas C. Mohrmann It is well known that the apostle Paul twice cites Leviticus 18:5: once in Galatians 3:12 and again in Romans 10:5. In both contexts discussions of faith and works as well as law and gospel hover nearby. As modern scholarship has wrangled over the variegated perspectives on Paul, an awareness of the importance of Leviticus 18:5 has grown.1 Since my dissertation on Romans 9:30–10:13 in 2001, several detailed treatments have emerged.2 Recent Assessments From the attention given to Leviticus 18:5, two principle views have surfaced. The first view, one that Dunn has championed, is that this intertext, ‘the one who does these things shall live by them,’ refers to the conduct of an Israelite/Jewish person in obedience to the Law.3 The second view, as articulated by Simon Gathercole and others, is that the reference is to the hope of an Israelite/Jewish person for eternal life as a result of obedience to the Law.4 To use Gathercole’s language, the first option is ‘regulatory’ and the latter is ‘promissory.’ 1. Perhaps it seems remarkable, as Preston Sprinkle notes, that Lev. 18:5 was not immediately appreciated: Preston M. Sprinkle, Law and Life: The Interpretation of Leviticus 18:5 in Early Judaism and in Paul (WUNT 2/241; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 7. 2. Douglas C. Mohrmann, ‘Semantic Collisions at the Intertextual Crossroads: A Synchronic and Diachronic Study of Romans 9:30–10:13’ (Ph.D. diss, The University of Durham, 2001) 104–59, 294–304. A fuller survey of research on our intertext is found in Sprinkle, Law and Life, 6–14. 3. One may consult James D. G. Dunn, The New Perspective on Paul, rev. ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans Publishing, 2008) for a representative sampling. 4. Simon Gathercole, ‘Torah, Life, and Salvation: Leviticus 18:5 in Early Judaism and the New Testament,’ in From Prophecy to Testament: The Function of the Old Testament in the New (ed. Craig A. Evans; Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 2004), 126–45.

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As the New Perspective on Paul emerged from E. P. Sanders’s work,5 Dunn came to think of Leviticus 18:5 in a new light. He wrote that it helped him ‘see that the force of Leviticus 18:5 (Gal. 3:12) had probably been misunderstood: it served to indicate how the covenant life should be lived … , life within the covenant, and not just life after death.’6 Nearly twenty years later, he has reaffirmed his view of the intertext as ‘a way of living’ (‘he shall live by them’), not life as a reward.7 Recently Simon Gathercole investigated allusions and citations of Leviticus 18:5 in several texts between 200 bce and 200 ce. His interests have been to assess: (1) whether the aspect of ‘living’ was present or future eternal life; and (2) whether this ‘living’ was regulated by the Law or promised as a reward for obedience to the Law. He concludes that overall the intertext is used to promise eschatological life for the obedient.8 His critique of Dunn goes too far, however, and Dunn responds that Gathercole treats the ‘regulatory’ and ‘promissory’ options too ‘antithetically.’9 Gathercole’s heuristics are clearly motivated by his interest in classical soteriological questions rather than questions inherent to the new contexts. Francis Watson’s work on our intertext is part of a larger study on Paul’s hermeneutics. Watson pictures a three-way conversation between Paul, his intertexts in their canonical context, and the use of the intertexts in ‘nonChristian Jewish literature of the Second Temple period.’10 He concludes, in agreement with Gathercole, that Leviticus 18:5 is naturally promissory. Since he also believes that the difference between ‘getting in’ and ‘staying in’ has no heuristic value, Leviticus 18:5 is then necessarily salvific.11 Watson’s work is imaginative, but it does not move the discussion very far from source criticism.12 A three-way conversation is hardly adequate as a model for the intertextual web of connections between Paul’s scriptures (Hebrew or Greek), the symbolic world of his communities (Jew, Greek, Roman, or 5. E. P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1977) and his following book, Paul, the Law, and the Jewish People (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1983). 6. Dunn, New Perspective, 14. He cites his work Romans (WBC; Dallas: Word, 1988), lxiv–lxxii. 7. Dunn, 288 ftn.7. 8. Gathercole, ‘Torah, Life, and Salvation,’ 127–28, 144–45. 9. Dunn, New Perspective, 452 ftn.23. According to Dunn, ‘the standard understanding of Lev 18:5, as inculcating a life lived by doing the commandments, is indicated by Ezekiel 20:5–26 (the earliest commentary on Lev 18:5) ….’ In fact, he believes that ‘resurrection to eternal life (Dan 12.2; 2 Macc 7:9; cf. 4 Macc 15:3) does not appear to be so directly connected with Lev 18:5.’ 10. Francis Watson, Paul and the Hermeneutics of Faith (New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 2. 11. Watson, 6–13, 323–26, 516, 518. The idea of ‘getting in’ and ‘staying in’ salvation or a covenant relationship with God was first popularized by E. P. Sanders. 12. Watson, 519–28. The tension in Paul’s writings, according to Watson, are inherent in the Hebrew Bible, so Paul’s exegesis merely reflects that tension (e.g., in Rom 10:5–8 between Lev. and Deut.).



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other), his education, his citizenship, his social class(es), and the exigencies of his letters.13 Preston Sprinkle’s work is the most extensive study on the use of Leviticus 18:5. It appears that he moves a short way towards a middle position between Dunn and Gathercole’s dichotomy, between present and future life. But he still views the intertext’s thrust as promissory.14 Sprinkle’s chief conclusions revolve around questions on divine or human agency in salvation. Sprinkle finds that Leviticus 18:5 typifies human agency in most of the new contexts in early Judaism. It is precisely for this reason that Paul rejected it. Sprinkle believes that Paul’s soteriology was strictly based on divine agency.15 Although Sprinkle exhibits more sensitivity to the lexical and syntactic semantics of the intertexts, his readings still do not adequately take into account generic and rhetorical variations in the new contexts. These recent evaluations hold in common the belief that diachronic and synchronic perspectives on the intertext of Leviticus 18:5 will elucidate Paul’s texts. These studies move us away from mere source criticism towards intertextuality. The aim of this piece is to move the discussion further towards that goal. In the process of this study it will become clearer that the heuristics have been too simple, extrinsic rather than intrinsic to the texts, and that Dunn’s call for a moderate position is warranted. Semantic Issues for ‘the one who does these things shall live by/in them’ There is a difficulty at the heart of this debate that is rarely admitted. At face value Leviticus 18:5 is quite unremarkable. The plastic quality of the intertext can be seen on three levels. (1) Lexical Semantics: There no single word in this intertext that is unusual or peculiar (Hebrew or Greek). It would be troublesome to list the semantic range of these words, and to list the connotations and associations would be exhausting (cf. Klh in Lev. 18:3–4). (2) Syntagmatic Semantics: Accounting for the combination of ‘doing,’ ‘things,’ and ‘living’ may help us gain a narrower sense of their combined semantic range. Nevertheless there are collocations of these words or synonyms in scores of texts in the broader Hebrew Bible/LXX. In Deuteronomy alone the relationship of ‘doing’ and ‘living’ is joined to legal material many times. The conjunction of ‘life’ and ‘obedience’ 13. Cf. Douglas C. Mohrmann, ‘Boast not in your righteousness from the Law: A New Reading of Romans 10:6–8,’ JGRChJ 2 (2001–2005), 76–99 which contends for a lively intertextual dialogue between Stoic diatribe and Jewish intertext in Paul’s writings. 14. Sprinkle, Law and Life, 195; he writes, ‘But a sharp distinction between a present experience of this life and a wholly future enjoyment of eschatological life should not be pressed. In many of our documents, eschatological life is both now and not yet.’ He appears to set aside the exceptions to his conclusions: L.A.B. 23:10 and Philo’s Congr., 86–87. 15. Sprinkle, 196–99.

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appears in various verbal constructions throughout the book (e.g., Deut. 4:1, 40; 5:33; 6:2, 24; 8:1; 11:8; 12:10; 16:20; 22:7; 25:15; 30:16, 19; 32:47). Sprinkle’s work illustrates the difficulty in dividing true allusions or quotations from seemingly inconsequential collocations.16 This phenomenon undermines the chance that the intertext could form a singular, technical value. Our heuristics must be adequately flexible. ‘Doing’ the Law would look very different for family laws compared to priestly laws, for example. One could study the appearance of the syntagmeme for logical connection: ‘doing’ as initial acceptance, as maintenance, or as fulfillment of the Law. It would be appropriate to ask if the ‘doing’ is that of individuals, families, tribes, or larger people groups. Is the ‘doing’ ideal (apodictic law) or hypothetical (case law)? Is the ‘doing’ past, present, or future? By extension, the ‘doing’ of the ‘these things’ will have variable influences on the contour(s) of ‘living.’ Living may be reasonably conceived in nearly every human sphere: corporal existence, economic prosperity, historical (national) survival, military or international peace, religious fidelity, temporary or enduring or eternal life, or combinations of these: e.g., future, multigenerational military survival. (3) Intertextual Semantics: Yet, even if these hurdles may be passed, more trouble awaits us. First, if the problems mentioned above in numbers 1 and 2 are real, then later traditions may alter the intertext, and these may influence even later traditions. For instance, several treatments of Leviticus 18:5, including my own, have agreed that Ezekiel 20 and Nehemiah 9 allude to this intertext. Intermediate texts can thus interfere with any hearing of the echoes of Leviticus 18:5 in later allusions. How can we be sure that Paul initiated a direct allusion, and beyond that, how can it be determined confidently that he expected his readers to hear the allusion to Leviticus 18:5 (or Leviticus 18:5 in Ezekiel 20 in Romans 10)? Second, changes of genre or rhetorical interests of the author may alter or even purposefully subvert the semantic value of the intertext beyond considerations of syntax or lexicography.17 16. Sprinkle, Law and Life, 14–19. In my earlier research (see note 2 above), I investigated the use of Lev. 18:5 in Deut. 4:1; 30:16; Ezek. 18: 9, 17, 19, 21; 20:11, 13, 21, 25; 33:12, 15, 16, 19; Neh. 9:29; CD 3:14–16; 7:3–6; 4Q266; Pss. Sol. 14:1–3; Philo Congr. 86.9; Luke 10:25; 18:18, 20; and of course Gal. 3:12 and Rom. 10:5. Together, Sprinkle and I passed over Let. Aris. 127; 1QS 4.6–8; 1 Bar. 4:1. Gathercole, ‘Torah and Life,’ 138 and Sprinkle disagree on 4 Ezra 7.129, but I am inclined to include it as Gathercole did. Sprinkle, Law and Life, 18 and I disagree on the presence of an echo in the Lukan texts. He argues the echo is better heard from Gen. 42:18. Because of the difficulty of dating P(H) and D, he passed over Deut. 4 and 30. Sprinkle (20) has added two texts to my list: 4Q504 frag 6 II, 17 and L.A.B. 23:10. Gathercole (138–39) ventured into the second century ce and thus added m. Mak. 3.15. 17. This level of signification would call the reader to note not only the use of the intertexts in very different genres, for example, but also to see the potential transformation and adaptation of intertext’s genre. Heirich F. Plett in ‘Intertextualities,’ in Intertextuality (ed. H. F. Plett; New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1991), 7 describes this as structural intertextuality. Parody would be one example of this.



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To be sure, there is an inherit ambiguity in this particular intertext with its rather vanilla language. The essay now returns to key texts in the hope of moving further still towards an intertextual hearing of Paul’s echoes of Leviticus 18:5. The Ancient History of Interpretation Revisited As several scholars have now shown, there is a substantial history of ancient interpretation to be traced from Leviticus 18:5 to Paul. My work yielded six major points of comparison for the understanding of ‘living.’18 (1) Boundary issues as they relate to ‘living’ (or dying) could be inferred from nearly all the texts, except Luke 18:18 and 4 Ezra 7.21.19 (2) A corollary to this boundary concept was the persistence by most ancient authors to define ‘living’ in corporate rather than individual terms (Philo Congr. 86; Lk. 10:25; 18:18 are the exceptions). Admittedly, the size of the corporate bodies was trimmed from Israel to Nehemiah’s interest in Judah to even finer definitions of God’s people (CD 3.14–16; 7.3–6; Pss. Sol. 14.1–3). (3) Beginning in the first century bce, as the personal dimension to living started to gain significance, the expression of living in eternal terms also arose (CD 3; 7; Pss. Sol. 14; Lk. 18:18).20 Greek and Roman military domination, with its assiduously corrosive effects on corporate identity, would have contributed to a growing despair for justice in the present life, and hope grew for a fully peaceful existence in the afterlife. (4) The ancient writers displayed a recurring impulse to use Leviticus 18:5 within a historical review: it could be a stick to wield in condemning past disobedience (Ezek. 20; CD 3) or an incentive to regain former holiness and peace with God (Neh. 9; 4Q266, L.A.B. 23.10). Certain texts used Leviticus 18 in this latter sense without the historical context (Deut. 4, 30; Ezek 18; CD 7). (5) The intertext arose repeatedly in the articulation of theodicies (Ezek. 18; 20; 33; Pss. Sol. 14). If an author believed that the nation had come under God’s curse, then the nation’s covenant with God and its ability to regain the promise of life necessarily became an issue for them. (6) In every case, all or particular aspects of the Mosaic Law were made factors in the equation for life.

18. See note 2 above. Added now to the analysis is 4 Ezra 7.129 and L.A.B. 23.10. Also 4Q504 frag 6 2.17 appears to allude to our intertext, but it is too fragmentary to yield any sure results. 19. This is evident in L.A.B. 23.1, 12. 20. Yet as noted by Sprinkle, Law and Life, 62 the emphasis on future life does not preclude resonances for the present life in the eschatological community behind the Damascus Document (CD) or the Psalms of Solomon.

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The relationship between keeping the Law and gaining life was variously conceived in accordance with the definition of ‘living’ in each context. (1) Present obedience and desire for peace could be associated with all the texts. When the present life is primarily in focus, one achieves and maintains life (military survival, prosperity, religious freedom in Palestine, virtue, etc.) within the Law’s vision of life (Lev. 18; Deut. 4:30; Ezek. 18, 20, 33; Neh. 9; 4Q266; Philo, L.A.B. 23.10; 4 Ezra 7.21). (2) The future could be associated with all the texts. When the future life is primarily in focus, one’s righteousness obedience amidst the present suffering is to be rewarded by vindication and peace in the future (CD 3; 7; Pss. Sol. 14; Luke 10:26–28; 18:18–30). (3) Only Luke 18:18 describes a gateway to eternal life through following Jesus as a complementary means to the Law. The results of the subsequent studies by Gathercole, Watson, and Sprinkle vary from these observations at key points. We may now engage them in greater detail where significant disagreement is found.21 Leviticus 18 – The ‘Original’ Context My work on the sexual law of Leviticus 18:6–23 contended that the narrative framework in 18:1–5 and 18:24–30, which belongs to the Holiness code (H), is likely written for the sexual laws.22 Using Mary Douglas’s analysis of other priestly traditions, I discovered an implicit, tripartite logic for these laws, reaching outward from family (18:6–17) to clan/tribe (18:18–20) to nation (18:21–23).23 In concert these laws fill out the demands of the narrative that Israel separate itself from its neighbors. Reflecting on 18:5, I concluded that: The ensuing [sexual] laws contributed to the narrative context by promoting a structured view of life for the nation in distinction to its national neighbors. Together, the framing material and apodictic laws placed walls around life while keeping its corridors quite wide as well. This definition of corporate life was even capable of incorporating non-Israelite (18.26). The punishments of ch. 20 record that an exit from these boundaries may indeed lead to the end of physical life, but the sentences were exercised by the community in its life (cf. Exod 31.14). Therefore, living in Leviticus 18.5 was first and foremost national life within the confines of its distinctive (holy) calling by God in relationship to its national neighbors.24 21. Accordingly, Congr. 86, L.A.B. 23:10, Luke 10 and 18, and 4 Ezra 7 will be passed over. 22. Douglas C. Mohrmann, ‘Making Sense of Sex: A Study of Leviticus 18,’ JSOT 29 (2004), 57–79; see particularly 59–63. 23. Mohrmann, ‘Making Sense,’ 68–73. See 66–68 for a historical and conceptual survey of Mary Douglas’s work. 24. Mohrmann, ‘Making Sense,’ 78. Sprinkle’s criticism of me for not including the rg (Lev. 18:26) is puzzling (29 ftn.7).



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Sprinkle seems perplexed by this analysis and wonders, in essence, if this implies that living is a result of obedience or that the laws are regulations for living. He tentatively concludes that my intent is the latter. Perhaps the confusion arises from the questions posed. The answer is clearly both. His study overlooks the redactor’s attempt to blend the theological or cultic perspective on life (Lev. 18:1–2) with the sociological (18:3–5). Furthermore, the sexual laws seem to have purposeful gaps that promote endogamy, which is a cultural strategy with economic implications. This is present living with present results.25 The only feasible way to conclude with Sprinkle that living is (only) a result of obedience is to ignore the nature of apodictic law. His analysis betrays a rush to answer his preset theological questions, and it in effect detaches the text from its literary and sociological settings.26 Such an analysis also ignores the Ancient Near Eastern use of Klh (and cognates) as a synonym for ‘living’ in 18:3–4.27 The emphasis of verses 3–4 and 6–30 is clearly present (and future), and so it follows that verse 5 has this same emphasis also. Instead of looking at Leviticus 18:6–23 for a definition of living, Sprinkle and Watson look to 26:1–13 and conclude it is equivalent to ‘covenant blessing.’28 Since the refrain of 26:1 forms an intratextual link between chapter 18 and the rest of P (H), an interest in the wider context of Leviticus is not without merit. Its distance from chapter 18, however, should be a caution against our seeing it as a primary definition. Deuteronomy 4 and 30 I have previously argued that allusions to Leviticus 18:5 in Deuteronomy 4 and 30 are possible, but are difficult to claim with certainty, given the difficulty of dating these texts relative to each other.29 Two brief points bear repeating. First, in Deuteronomy 4:1 the effect of obedience to these life-giving laws and Israel’s relationship to her neighbors is both similar to, and divergent from, Deuteronomy 30. Both passages separate Israel from the surrounding nations, yet Deuteronomy 4 emphatically sees the laws as a cause of envy (4:6–7). Second, in both contexts living is national (4:4; 30:1–10). As such, it is difficult to divide the present from the future, as Watson tries to do.30 In 4:1 (and 8:1 as Watson indicates) the laws provide

25. Mohrmann, 74–75. This conclusion comports with Dunn’s assessment as argued in Romans 9–16, 612. 26. Is the promise of long life for obedience to one’s parents in Exod. 20:12 strictly future? When does the future become present? Obedience is expected immediately and living is present and future. 27. Mohrmann, ‘Making Sense,’ 64 ftn.14. 28. Sprinkle, Law and Life, 34; Watson, Paul, 318–19. 29. Mohrmann, ‘Semantic Collisions,’ 115–17. 30. Watson, Paul, 321.

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life for the Israelites’ present ‘going’ into the promised land and the future ‘possessing’ thereof. Whereas 4:5–8 reflects physical and military survival, chapter 30 has a robust view of living, which may very well encompass economic and cultural prosperity, favor from God, and military victory (cf. Deut. 28:1–14). In the genre of covenant renewal, the intent is likely that living is to be viewed as past, present, and future (30:10, 17–18). Ezekiel 18, 20, and 33 The impact of Leviticus 18:5 is most keenly felt in the writings of Ezekiel, as virtually all scholars now recognize. Probable allusions to the passage arise in Ezekiel 18:9, 17, 19, 21; 20:11, 13, 21, 25; and 33:12, 15, 16, 19.31 Gathercole, Watson, and Sprinkle all contend with Dunn who reads these texts as describing living within the Law, because they see living as the result of obedience.32 Their readings, however, miss key rhetorical elements in these chapters. Ezekiel 18 records an urgent diatribe between Ezekiel and the elders of the Tel Abib community regarding God’s justice (cf. Ezek. 8:1; 14:1).33 Ezekiel constructs a theodicy to respond to the fatalism and despair of his co-exiles (Ezek. 18). This theodicy is founded on the principle of life as stated in Leviticus 18:5 and it is framed within a hypothetical case study of three successive generations.34 Ezekiel is thus proclaiming that their exile, which was the resultant punishment of one generation’s sin (past), need not determine life for the next generation (present and future).35 Righteous living

31. Michael Fishbane, ‘Inner Biblical Exegesis: Types and Strategies of Interpretation in Ancient Israel,’ in Midrash and Literature (eds. G. H. Hartmann and S. Budick; New Haven: Yale University Press 1986), 293–94 (and 186 ftn.56) notes more generally Ezekiel’s dependence on Lev. 18. Texts such as Ezek. 43:11 LXX, which bear a resemblance with Lev. 18:5a, have not been added because they do not include the more distinctive v. 5b and may point to a much more general oral or written tradition as their source (cf. Lev. 18:26 LXX). More recently, see Preston Sprinkle, ‘Law and Life: Leviticus 18:5 in the Literary Framework of Ezekiel,’ JSOT 31 (2007), 275–93. 32. Gathercole, ‘Torah,’ 127–28; Watson, Paul, 320; and Sprinkle, Law and Life, 40. The structural features pointed out by Sprinkle complement rather than correct this observation. Clearly, ‘living’ in the present is only a hope. Ezekiel 36–37 see that hope to be realized fully in the future. 33. Joseph Blenkinsopp, Ezekiel (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1990), 81. 34. This text is not about an individualist theology, which would undermine the community’s stability further. Walter Zimmerli, Ezekiel (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1979), 1.381–82 consistently maintains this interpretation for Ezekiel 20 and 33. John Weavers, Ezekiel (London: Thomas Nelson, 1969), 143 explains the problem as the question about the possibility of maintaining the cult while in exile: ‘Was religious life possible at all while in exile?’ Certainly problems for defining religious life in exile created a crisis, but this issue still sidesteps the problem of exile itself. When would it end, if ever? 35. Eternal life with God seems beyond the intention of these texts: cf. Blenkinsopp, Ezekiel, 83.



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is defined specifically in Ezekiel 18 as observing God’s laws: (1) by rejecting idolatry, adultery, oppression, robbery, usury, and having sexual relations with a woman during her period of menstruation and (2) by giving food and clothing to the poor. These standards for relational harmony intertwine the social and religious as something both to live in and strive after (18:5–9, 21, 25–32). Analysis of Ezekiel 33 would yield similar results. Ezekiel 20 remembers a battle with apostasy, not the construction of a theodicy.36 In Ezekiel’s rebuttal Leviticus 18:5 serves to represent Israel’s historical record of choosing disobedience over obedience and death over life (Ezek. 20:13, 21). The problems for Israel’s identity wrought by the exile pushed issues of cultural and religious distinctives to the forefront. Thus for the prophet, obedience to God’s commands again becomes a matter of separation from the nations, just as Leviticus 18:3–5 had insisted. Ezekiel selects specific laws to define where the boundaries of life for Israel stand: exclusion of idolatry (Ezek. 20:7), demand for observing the Sabbaths (20:12), and prohibition of child sacrifice (20:26, 31; cf. Lev. 18:21). Ezekiel’s historical argument claims that the nation had not fully grasped the potential in God’s promise of life (20:13, 21). To complete his rebuttal and expose their hardened hearts the prophet created a parody on Leviticus 18:5 in Ezekiel 20:25 – a stunning transformation that betrays his desperation to provoke his audience. Sprinkle, however, sees the rhetoric as merely informational: ‘To exploit the divine response to the rebellion of Israel against the covenant stipulations by drawing upon and reversing the refrain of Lev 18.6 … Since they have chosen not to “walk in the statutes and keep the judgments by which they could live”, God has sealed the fate of the previous generation.’37 To be sure Ezekiel 20 is full of irony, but the chiding in verses 30–44 is to persuade the audience to abandon their current course of action. We may note at this point that Ezekiel 20:30–44 evokes images of human agency and response to the divine call. In fact, both divine and human agency is present in chapters 18, 20, and 33. The emphasis on divine initiative shifts in chapters 36–37, as Sprinkle illustrates, but divine agency is not absent in the previous allusions to Leviticus 18:5 that are found in Ezekiel. Nehemiah Nehemiah 9:29, which falls in the context of a covenant renewal (Neh. 8–10), uses the intertext of Leviticus 18:5 to characterize the nation’s sin as neglect of God’s laws. Beyond corporate survival in battle, however, the 36. Yet, insofar as the theme of theodicy was attached to the dilemma of exilic life as a consequence of prior sins, which we have seen already in Ezek. 18, it remained important. Zimmerli, Ezekiel, 1.406 argues for a structural similarity which lends support for this observation. See also Fishbane, ‘Inner-Biblical,’ 365–66. 37. Sprinkle, ‘Law and Life,’ 287.

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attention on God’s grace and the economic prosperity of these Israelites (Neh. 9:22–25, 36–37) implies that living in a national scope encompasses both the social (international) and theological spheres. The author no doubt sees a renewed fidelity to the Lord’s laws and statutes, and separation from foreign influences (9:2), as the ways to regain a peaceful, holy existence in Palestine. As Sprinkle points out, the prayer in Nehemiah 9 falls in a context of the people’s covenant renewal.38 It is no surprise, then, that Sprinkle finds a synergism between divine and human agency here.39 The speaker’s stance vis-à-vis his audience (Neh. 8) is radically changed from Ezekiel’s time, and this accounts for the slight shift in balance between these emphases. Qumran Literature A quote and allusion to Leviticus 18:5 appear in the Damascus Document 3.14–17 and 7.3–6. These passages come from the section that is often called the Admonition, a section which is meant overall to encourage the community to hold on to God’s commands. A quotation of Leviticus 18:5b appears in the first text within a brief sketch of Israel’s tradition history (CD 2.4–4.1), much like Ezekiel 20 and Nehemiah 9, in order to highlight the importance of keeping the Law.40 The citation works in coordination with the ‘well’ metaphor in 3.16, which represents the Law (cf. CD 6.4). Together this metaphor and Leviticus 18:5 convey the life-sustaining quality of God’s Law (cf. CD 3.17). Sprinkle argues that the well (divine agency) is in tension with digging (human agency).41 This is oddly stated by Sprinkle because the text shows no sign of theological or psychological stress from this so-called tension. This document is replete with signs of divine agency (CD 1:3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10 12; 2:1, 7, 11, 12, 14; 3:13, 14, 18, 19), and this is clearly the dominate agency. Just as in Leviticus 18, specific laws are selected for the purpose of separating the group from outsiders. Now, however, the observance of the Sabbaths and feast days in the Damascus Document distinguish the elect not so much from the nations (which is obvious), but more pointedly from their Jewish opponents.42 Sprinkle is probably justified in hearing echoes 38. Sprinkle, Law and Life, 41. 39. Sprinkle, Law and Life, 44. However one assesses this relative importance, the point stands that again, as in Ezek. 20, both divine and human agency are comingled as rhetorical purposes necessitate. 40. Jonathan G. Campbell, The Use of Scripture in the Damascus Document 1– 8,19–20 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1995), 78 notes an allusion to Lev. 17 in CD 3.6 (eating of blood). 41. Sprinkle, Law and Life, 67, 72. 42. Philip R. Davies, The Damascus Covenant (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1982), 128 states: ‘The goal of this scrupulous observance is not the holiness of the community; rather, this is only the means. The goal is the ending of God’s rîb with Israel and his granting once again of the land, after its period of desolation, to those fit to occupy it.’



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of Ezekiel 20 here and not just Leviticus 18:5.43 His perception of both present and future corporate living is likewise helpful.44 This section of the Damascus Document emphasizes ‘living’ and gives the impression that only a few in Israel, past or present, have actually deserved it. Furthermore, the companion emphasis on election found here (CD 3.13) implies that the author uses the principle of Leviticus 18:5 more to express the result of righteousness and saw it less (or not at all) as an enticement to obedience.45 The promise of Leviticus 18:5 has been transformed into a confessionaltype fact that would be an important rhetorical tactic for encouraging a minority community in the face of the overwhelming numbers outside its membership. An allusion to Leviticus 18:5 should probably be read in Damascus Document 7.3–6.46 Murphy-O’Connor labels this section a Memorandum because it lists several laws without much explanation, apparently assuming its readers are familiar with the material, and it encourages obedience.47 Like the previous text, the community’s laws, their interpretation of Torah, and their observances create a division within Israel – between those who would realize eternal life and those who would suffer God’s wrath (with the Gentiles). The final text from the Damascus Document tradition that alludes to Leviticus 18:5 preserves an ‘expulsion ceremony’ (4Q266). Since the document quotes Leviticus 4:27 and 26:31 (4Q266 f11.2–3), this intertext seems to originate from Leviticus 18 and not Ezekiel 20.48 The boundary markers are again the standards of the community’s halakah and the Mosaic Law (f1a–b.5–7, 16–18; f11).49 Death, by implication of ‘curse,’ is said to be the cost of transversing that border. This use of Leviticus 18 comports well with the original context. This fascinating text records the Priest’s prayer

43 Like Ezek. 20, this history imputed sin and stubbornness of heart to the Israelites during the time of Egyptian slavery. Davies, Damascus Document, 84f. gives evidence for both, but in the end he sides with Ezek. 20. 44. Sprinkle, Law and Life, 62; so also Gathercole, ‘Torah,’ 135. 45. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism, 294–95 points to a conviction of their election, or predestination, as the fundamental dividing line between those inside and those outside the community. Of course, the provision for repentance and restoration do reflect a limited sense of this struggle (CD 2:5; 4Q267 frag. 18 c.4 l.1). 46. Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, ‘A Literary Analysis of Damascus Document VI, 2 – VIII 3,’ RB, 78 (1971), 210–32 gives an overview of the redactional issues. For a defense of this allusion see, Mohrmann, ‘Semantic Collisions,’ 123–25. 47. Murphy-O’Connor, ‘Literary Analysis,’ 216–20. His reading makes better sense of the material than Davies, Damascus Covenant, 125, who believes this passage was meant for novitiates. 48. However, Sprinkle, Law and Life, 72 suggests an echo of Neh. 9, which is plausible. 49. Charlotte Hempel, The Laws of the Damascus Document: Sources, Tradition and Redaction (Leiden: E.J. Brill,1998)180. Hempel’s interpretation suggests several helpful parallels with CD–A and B.

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at the ceremony. An important element of this prayer is praise to God for creation and his laws, since (although he acknowledges that the nations share life within creation) only God’s laws provide the boundaries wherein life is afforded purpose, order, and prosperity (f11.11–13). Sprinkle attempts to drive a wedge in the text between human and divine agency, which is unconvincing.50 Moreover, it is imperative to keep in mind the occasion of the text when assessing the alleged ‘tension’ between the two agencies and how these play off the notion of ‘living.’ This ceremony by necessity must find fault and place blame on the human agent. Psalms of Solomon Psalm of Solomon 14 subtly contributes to the verbal assault on the rebellious Jews, and it resonates with the polemical tone of Psalm of Solomon 1 that describes the psalmist as full of righteousness (1.3; cf. 14.2), but his enemies as those who have exalted themselves (1.5; cf. 14.6–8), who do not acknowledge God (1.6), who sin in secret (1.7), and whose ‘lawless actions have surpassed the Gentiles’ (1.8). In this time of great political and theological upheaval, Psalm of Solomon 14 responds with a simple theodicy: God has firmly established the faithful and righteous, yet destruction has come because the sinners did not remember him (cf. Pss. Sol. 2; 8; 17).51 In addition to taking on an eternal significance (ei)j to\n ai)w=na: 14.3), ‘living’ in this text involves personal application. Nonetheless, ‘personal’ life and righteousness still seems inadequate, especially in light of the final line (14.10); i.e., in their collective life now and in the future (cf. 14.4). The prospect of life as peace and happiness works here as an incentive and reward for obedience, as in Leviticus, even if the extension of life into eternity gives the psalmist liberty to hope for the happiness which has been so elusive in the present life. In this theodicy human fault is grasped for, but the tension is not as Sprinkle imagines, between this and divine agency;52 rather, it is between the uncomfortable rivalry between the righteous and rebellious. Collective Observations In addition to the observations noted in the summary above, it may now be added that the texts of the Hebrew and Greek Bibles which followed in the wake of Leviticus 18:5 exhibited patterns and innovations expedient to

50. Sprinkle, Law and Life, 72–73. 51. James H. Charlesworth, OTP 2.643–46. 52. Sprinkle, Law and Life, 92–93. He likewise imagines problems with Sanders’s covenantal nomism. Yet, future life is the result of maintenance in the covenant community, not entrance.



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the needs of their times and their rhetorical purposes. Certain tendencies may be highlighted, including a common use of the passage in surveys of Israel’s history (whether described in positive or negative light), or a use for reflection on divine justice and the human culpability as precipitating causes of theological or social crises. The plain language of ‘doing,’ ‘these things,’ and ‘living’ was variously filled by the many new contexts. No technical meanings emerged.53 Even the emphasis on human agency that Sprinkle hoped to prove, is not consistent and is just as likely to be evident as an outworking of the author’s choice of genre or rhetorical stance with his audience (cf. Deut. 4, 30; Neh. 9; CD 3; 4Q266). We should expect the meaning of this intertext to be creatively appropriated in Paul’s new contexts as well. Leviticus 18:5 and Paul In Dunn’s recent response to critics of the New Perspective on Paul, he explains that initial justification and final justification are dealt with at different phases of the research in the New Perspective, with an emphasis on initial justification (properly) being the primary focus in the early years of research.54 Likewise the debates over life in Leviticus 18:5 reflect the questions posed. The question often put to our text is this: does the ‘living’ refer to the present life (initial justification) or the afterlife (final justification)? A measure of continuity exists between these. Therefore, the differences can be easily overemphasized. What fruit can be borne by asking about final justification in texts that emphasize the present life and vice versa? The danger of imposing our questions on the text and forcing Paul’s ad hoc statements into classical theological categories are real. The New Perspective has been instrumental in helping us reconfigure our questions with a heightened awareness of our own theological heritage. Dunn passionately advocates that ‘justification’ in both Paul and contemporary Judaism gave precedence to divine initiative and is the basis for the human obedience: ‘Israel’s law-keeping as its response to God’s saving initiative (classically Ex. 20:2ff), covenant life as ordered and directed by reference to the Law (Lev. 18:5). But at its heart that it is not different from the Christian/Pauline emphasis that faith also expresses itself in obedience, that faith which does not work through love is not faith.’55 Such cautions are helpful as our attention now turns to Galatians 3 and Romans 10.

53. 54. 55.

Pace Gathercole, ‘Torah,’ 145 and Sprinkle, Law and Life, 142. Dunn, New Perspective, 73. Dunn, 371.

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Galatians 3:12 A key to viewing the meaning of Galatians 3:12 is through its rhetorical function, now placed alongside an allusion to Habakkuk 2:4. It is helpful to review the text Galatians 3:11–1256 11

o#ti de\ e0n no/mw| ou0dei\v dikaiou=ntai para\ tw=| qew|= dh=lon, o#ti o( di/kaiov e0k pi/stewv zh/setai 12 o( de no/mov ou0k e1stin e0k pi/stewv, a0ll’ o9 poih/sav au0ta\ zh/setai e0n au0toi=v The structural parallels and differences in Galatians 3:11–12 which this layout displays assists a clear reading. For example, Habakkuk 2:4 functions as a proof text (o#ti), but Leviticus 18:5 is simply illustrative (ou0k … a0lla/).57 In Galatians 3, Paul initiates his direct appeal to the Galatians, reminding them of their experience of God’s Spirit and their joint witness to the miracles of God’s power since their conversion (3:1–5).58 This existential argument recurs at key moments of the epistle’s argument (3:14, 21–22; 4:6–7; 5:5–6, 18). Paul’s exegetical argument in 3:6–14 is not a separate train of thought, rather it is subordinate.59 Paul’s use of Scripture helps him explain where continuity or discontinuity exist between the church’s experience and God’s people in history. First, to mark out the area of discontinuity, Paul initiates a contrast between the Law, particularly works of the Law, and the faithfulness (pi/stiv) of Jesus the Christ (2:15–3:5).60 In 2:19–21 Paul exposes his own 56. Cf. James D. G. Dunn Jesus, Paul, and the Law: Studies in Mark and Galatians (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1990), 227. Note the other parallels which contribute to the structure of the two verses: de/, ou0(k), and o9 plus an adjective (adjectival participle). 57. Normand Bonneau, ‘The Logic of Paul’s Argument on the Curse of the Law in Galatians 3:10–14,’ NovT 39 (1997), 60–80 (72) notes the differences but does not draw any conclusions from this. 58. Hans D. Betz, Galatians (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1979), 30. 59. Christopher D. Stanley, ‘“Under a Curse”: A Fresh Reading of Galatians 3.10–14,’ NTS 36(1990), 481–511 (493); James D. G. Dunn The Epistle to the Galatians (BNTC; Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 1993), 159; against Betz, Galatians, 138 and J. Louis Martin, Galatians (AB; New York: Doubleday, 1998), 25. Francis Watson, Paul, Judaism and the Gentiles: A Sociological Approach (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 23–72 overemphasizes sociological explanations at the cost of appreciating Paul’s scriptural argument, while N. T. Wright, The Climax and the Covenant: Christ and the Law in Pauline Thought (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), 140, on the other end of the spectrum, claims that ‘the chapter as a whole should be seen as an extended discussion of Genesis 15.’ 60. Betz, Galatians, 139 argues that Paul placed Abraham’s faith(fulness) in contrast to works of the Law. While this is true, it serves this argument in a secondary, complementary role under the faithfulness of Christ. Richard N. Longenecker, Galatians (WBC; Dallas: Word Books, 1990), cxvii describes the antithesis as ‘faith versus works,’ but ‘works’ alone is never an issue for this letter.



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convictions about the Law, concluding that there is no life to be lived in right relationship (dikaiosu/nh: 2:21) with God apart from Christ. These verses point towards a radically new reprioritization for Paul. Any definition of life that prevailed before Christ’s crucifixion must be modified or rejected, by Paul’s reckoning. Paul had shifted his allegiance to God in Christ and let his allegiance die to the Law (2:19; cf. Phil. 3:7–9).61 Second, to mark out the area of continuity between the church and God’s people in history, Paul crafts a transition in 3:6 (kaqw/j) and begins to employ pi/stiv to represent the Galatians’ side of the divine–human relationship. From the topic of Christ’s faithfulness there is a transition to a discussion of their participation in the grace of God through their reliance on God in Christ. Like Abraham before them, the Galatians are at a crossroads where their trust in God is to be a measure of the relationship (Gen. 15:6). Furthermore, Paul intended to link their faith to the fruit of Abraham’s blessing, that is, God’s grace through Christ (3:8–9, 16). Their experience is clarified within the context by Paul’s use of ‘blessing’ and ‘curse,’ which describe the state of being ‘in’ or being ‘out’, of acceptance or rejection.62 Therefore, Paul counts faith as the marker for those ‘in’ by virtue of their spiritual relationship to Abraham’s blessing. What the Law is concerned with is supplied by Galatians 3:12b.63 The parallel structure of Galatians 3:11–12 hints at an intentional pairing of o9 di/kaiov and o9 poih/sav. It is likely that Paul wanted to apply these adjectival phrases to the two constituent parties under examination.64 Those in Galatia who now (nu=n: 3:3) live as Paul lives, by the faithfulness of Christ and in emulation of Abraham’s faith(fulness), are righteous (3:11). Those in Galatia who seek to add to their faith a compliance to the Law will be required to live in and by the Law, and by implication of 3:10 they find themselves now (again) under the threat of its curse (3:10,

61. Contra Ragnar Bring, ‘Paul and the Old Testament: A Study of the Ideas of Election, Faith, and Law in Paul with special reference to Romans 9:30–10:30 [sic],’ Studia Theologica 25 (1971), 21–60, here 60. 62. James D. G. Dunn, The Epistle to the Galatians (BNTC; London: Black, 1993), 165. Watson, Paul, Judaism and the Gentiles, 66 points towards this conclusion but does not state it explicitly. 63. Sanders, Paul, the Law, and the Jewish People, 22, 54 ftn.30, 67; Stanley, ‘Under a Curse,’ 503; and Wright, The Climax and the Covenant, 149 mistake the role of Lev. 18:5 in Gal. 3:12b as grounding 3:12a. Stanley concludes, ‘the link between statement and citation is by no means obvious.’ The connective is not o3ti or ga/r, but ou0k … a0lla/. Therefore the link is obvious, the initial assertion is not. 64. Doubt should therefore be cast on interpretations that make the contrast into an opposition between ‘faith’ and ‘doing’ (poie/w); since that would put too much weight on a new component of the argument. ‘Doing’ has been affirmed already by Paul in Gal. 2:10 (cf. 6:9); in agreement with Watson, Paul, Judaism and the Gentiles, 67–68; contra Stanley, ‘Under a Curse,’ 504; Betz, Galatians, 116, 147–48; and Longenecker, Galatians, 120.

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13; cf. 2:18).65 This interpretation comports with a pattern already used to characterize the opposing parties in 3:9–12: 9 11

oi9 e0k pi/stewv . . .10 o3soi … e0c e1rgwn no/mou 12 o9 di/kaiov . . . o9 poih/sav au0ta\

The parallel structure reveals a subtle maneuver, as part of Paul’s deliberative rhetoric, intended to confirm or catch short his audience in their respective positions.66 Therefore, Paul’s use of Leviticus 18:5 in light of his comments on the Law in Galatians 2:14, 19–21 and 3:17–21 capitalizes on the national or constitutional associations of Leviticus 18:5, precisely in order to countermand its jurisdiction over the Gentile converts in Galatia. We may now define ‘living’ and avoid rendering it with unhelpful or unjustifiable abstractions. Paul’s rhetorical interest throughout 3:6–14 is to identify, describe, and persuasively challenge the two parties. Hence, this context should lead us to appreciate the use of ‘living’ in Leviticus 18:5 as a reference to the present life either in the Spirit or in doing works of the Law (3:1–5). Sprinkle argues that since soteriological matters are at stake, living here is necessarily future oriented.67 As Paul’s existential argument runs in front of his exegetical argument, it is clear that his first interest is in the Galatians’ appreciation for living by faith now. Nonetheless, Paul returns to the topic of living in 3:21 in order to consider another dimension of ‘living’ in relationship to the Law. Zw|opoie/w in verse 21 is a synonym for resurrection and, by extension, eternal life (cf. 1 Cor. 15:22, 36, 45; 2 Cor. 3:6; Rom. 4:17, 24–25; 8:11). ‘Living’ in Galatians 3:21, then, is part of a new epoch involving the Spirit’s presence and the implicit promise of resurrection – thoughts that are differentiated qualitatively from things in the old epoch. Finally, and in parallel with Habakkuk 2:4/Galatians 3:11b, the ‘living’ in 3:12b could be used for both the present and eternal future. Romans 10:5 There are several aspects of Romans 10 that strike a cord of familiarity with Galatians 3. Just as Genesis 15:6 and Habakkuk 2:4 appear in Galatians 3, so also Romans 10:4 reverberates with their sounds. Furthermore, in both

65. Stanley, ‘Under a Curse,’ 501–505 similarly argues that Gal. 3:10, acting as a threat, is affirming the negative side of the Law for those who submit to it, while vv. 11–12 are intended to deny its positive, life-giving side. The background incident at Antioch and Paul’s charge against Peter (2:14) is showing through here. 66. Stanley, 497f. points out the heightened conditionality introduced into the text at 3:10 by o4soi (‘whoever’ or ‘as many people as’). Conditionality tactfully avoids direct accusations and leaves room open for the readers to reevaluate their choices. Stanley overlooks the second parallel in 3:11–12. 67. Sprinkle, Law and Life, 140–42.



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letters Paul addresses issues of Gentiles having a right relationship with God alongside issues of Jewish piety. At this point in Paul’s argument, he returns the reader to more quotations of Israel’s Scriptures after a respite in 10:1–4. This subsection (10:5–8), nonetheless, continues to explain his prayer for Israel’s salvation which has preoccupied him since 10:1. Sprinkle’s conclusion that the focus in this passage is on divine agency needs to be balanced somewhat by Paul’s encouragement for unbelieving Israel, an aspect that governs 10:1–13.68 Also, by glancing at the connectives in 10:1–13, one immediately notes the string of explanatory clauses started in 10:2 pauses here, so that 10:6–8 along with 10:5 are intended to support 10:4.69 When ga/r is used again in 10:10–13 (five times), the gospel’s universal mission reemerges as the foundation upon which the apostle erects his remarkable citations of Israel’s scriptures.70 All of this suggests that the quotations must be substantially intertwined with Paul’s interest to motivate the hardened majority of Israel into a joint faith with the Gentiles. In other words, Paul is proceeding upon the ga/r in 10:5 to explain how te/lov, no/mov, and Xristo/v should be related more precisely.71 Paul’s recollection of Leviticus 18:5 is prefaced by an unusual introductory formula: ‘Moses writes.’ I have argued elsewhere that the present tense and personified introductory formulae in Romans 9–11 give this text a vivid and dramatic dimension.72 Both ‘writing’ and ‘law’ in 10:5 fix the picture of Moses as Israel’s paradigmatic lawgiver.73 Like Adam, Moses emblematized an epochal divide within Paul’s theology.74 By mentioning Moses, Paul signals to his audience that he wants to return his discussion to a broader historical framework of redemptive history, which he could conveniently outline by its leading figures such as Adam, Moses, and Christ (cf. Rom. 5). By mentioning ‘writing,’ Paul dramatizes the presentation of this particular epoch’s defining element: the written Torah. Paul is emphasizing the ‘writing’ of Moses, rather than his other personal qualities or speeches, in order to 68. Sprinkle, Law and Life, 196–99. His contention is that 10:3 is a sign of the ‘divine/human antithesis,’ where the Israelites’ lack of submission refers to their rejection of Christ, the stone (178). See Mohrmann, ‘Semantic Collisions,’ 243–46. 69. Mark A. Seifrid, ‘Paul’s Approach to the Old Testament in Rom. 10:6–8,’ TrinJ 6 (1985), 3–37, here 13; Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Romans (AB; New York: Doubleday, 1992), 587. For a fuller discussion of 10:6–8, see Mohrmann, ‘Boasting,’ 76–99. 70. It is not the climax of the argument, as Sanders, Paul, the Law, and the Jewish People, 40–41 claims, but the foundation. See also Steven R. Bechtler ‘Christ, the Te/lov of the Law: The Goal of Romans 10:4,’ CBQ 56 (1994), 288–308, here 306. 71. So also Watson, Paul, 332–33. 72. Mohrmann, ‘Semantic Collisions,’ 187–203. 73. Otto Kuss, Der Römerbrief: Übersetztung and Erklärt (Regensburg: Friedrich Pustet, 1978), 754. 74. Mary Ann Getty, ‘An Apocalyptic Perspective on Rom 10:4,’ Horizons 4 (1982), 79–131, esp. 110; James D. G. Dunn ‘“Righteousness from the Law” and “Righteousness from the Faith”: Paul’s Interpretation of Scripture in Romans 10:1–10,’ in Tradition and Interpretation in the NT: Festschrift E. Earle Ellis (ed. Gerald F. Hawthorne; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987), 219; and idem, Romans 2.600.

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direct the auditors’ attention to the written Law and to situate his citation of Leviticus 18:5 within the Mosaic epoch.75 The phrase which Paul inserts between the introductory formula and the citation confirms this point. ‘The righteousness which comes from the law’ (dikaiosu/nhn th/n e0k [tou] no/mou) defines both ‘Moses writes’ and Leviticus 18:5.76 This phrase indicates that the purpose of Romans 10:5 is to describe the administration of righteousness under the Law, which began at the hand of Moses, and which the zealous Jews were still most eager to confirm (9:31; 10:3).77 It corroborates the epochal signal in the special formula, ‘Moses writes’ (cf. Phil 3:6–9: dikaiosu/nhn th/n e0k [tou] no&mou).78 More than an emphatic contrast between ‘writing’ and ‘speaking,’ the essential theological contrast between Romans 10:5 and 6 is the paradigmatic shift (te/lov) from righteousness from the Law to righteousness of faith (in Christ). The elaborate introduction to Leviticus 18:5 was probably necessary because the words of the citation are pedestrian and unremarkable in their own right. In accord with this new context, chiefly Romans 10:5a (cf. 9:31), the whole Mosaic Law should be considered as the antecedent to au0ta/ and au0toi=v.79 ‘Doing,’ another general term even within the book of Romans, might be simply considered ‘life lived’: one’s philosophy, personality, or vocation realized and made visible. Just as deeds may be virtuous (Rom. 3:12; 12:20; 15:26), they may also be vicious (2:3; 3:8), consciously monitored (13:14), or unconsciously controlled (7:15). They overtly express the operative principles of one’s life. Paul enjoys using the word ‘doing’ as a barometer of the inner conflict between the desires of the Spirit and of the flesh (Rom. 13:14; Gal. 5:17). In addition, ‘doing’ may move beyond a personal dimension since conduct is both personally and socially imprinted, and hence, it may be as much ‘custom’ (1:28, 32; 2:14) as ‘habit’ (1:9). When Paul chooses Leviticus 18:5 for Romans 10:5, and when he sets it in the context of Moses’ composition and description of ‘righteousness from the 75. Ernst Käsemann, Commentary on Romans (4th ed. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980) 286f. 76. C. K. Barrett, A Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans (Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 1957), 198; Getty, ‘An Apocalyptic Perspective,’ 108. 77. dikaiosu/nhn th/n e0k no/mou does not mean, as Franz Leenhardt, The Epistle to the Romans (London: Lutterworth Press, 1961), 267 claims, a measuring of merits against sins, but a relationship with God within Israel’s covenants which, as numerous OT texts testify (not least Isa. 28:16) depend upon trust and obedience. 78. Bring, ‘Paul and the Old Testament,’ 49 also cites Phil. 3:6, yet he contrasts the two, saying Romans is not to be construed as a ‘false kind of righteousness’ such as in Phil. 3:6. Neither, in fact, demonstrate this; Paul’s expressions of the Law’s inferiority are relative to his esteem of Christ and must not be read absolutely. Likewise, to claim that Paul was denying in Rom. 10:5 that ‘living’ according to Lev. 18:5 was never achieved within biblical history is to far exceed the scope of this context. 79. One may contrast this approach with that of most commentators who automatically recall the ‘original’ context. See most recently Michel Quesnel, ‘La figure de Moïse en Romains 9–11,’ NTS 49 (2003), 321–35, esp. 328–29.



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law,’ it is probably motivated by his interest in Israel’s distinctive activities required by the Law.80 It thus should be understood to connect the Mosaic Law with Israel’s zeal and distinctive works (9:32; 10:3; cf. Ezek. 20; Neh. 9; 4Q266).81 Likewise, given its wide range of meaning, ‘living’ may be understood only when anchored to its context. Within this letter, because Paul was convinced that his gospel held consequences of the greatest importance, he frequently sets out the alternatives of acceptance or rejection of his gospel in terms of life or death. So when Paul describes ‘the righteousness of the law’ through Leviticus 18:5 with its promise of life, he first of all intends it to follow this trend. It is highly appropriate for his discussion of salvation in 10:1. Secondly, he may be alluding to his earlier statement in 7:10, ‘Even though the commandment was found in me which was to lead to life, this commandment led to death.’ When tracing these themes in the epistle, an ongoing contrast emerges between life under the Law and life through Christ, in which 10:5 and 6 participate. For example, 5:18 (‘living righteousness/acquittal’) and 8:10 (‘life through righteousness’), in their respective contexts, hint at the same fundamental difference between 10:5 and 6. Namely, life in the present (8:10) and life after resurrection (5:18, 21) have been secured for believers only by Christ’s righteous act (dikai/wma). These uses of zwh/, whether of this or the next life, connote peace with God rather than physical life or national prosperity. By contrast to the partnership of righteousness through Christ and life, Romans 7:10 conjoins the Law with death to suggest that the Law does not provide life. Believers have passed from life under the Law to life with Christ and the Spirit. Paul would only be able to arrive at this contrast if for him the Law was no longer a partner with righteousness. Of course, the very point of 3:21–31 and 7:1–6 is to sever this older partnership and link Christ with righteousness instead. Romans 7:9 is a corollary to Galatians 3:21 in that Paul metaphorically portrays the Law as the power which resurrects (a0naza/w) sin and death rather than eternal life. The purpose of this text, along with Galatians 3:21, is to point to the deficiency of the Law in light of Christ’s resurrection. Paul’s citing of the ‘living’ in Leviticus 18:5, therefore, sparks the memory of these issues of death and life; it contributes to the contrast between existence with the Law and with Christ. Also it may create an intertextual link between th\n dikaiosu/nhn th\n e0k no/mou (10:5) and the lifestyle, customs, and geopolitical particularity which characterizes Moses’ written Torah as summarized in Leviticus 18:1–5a. This picture of the Law and life under 80. Dunn, ‘Righteousness from the Law,’ 219. 81. Thomas C. Rhyne, ‘Nomos Dikaiosyne¯s and the Meaning of Romans 10:4,’ CBQ 47 (1985), 486–99 (495). Interestingly, Rom. 2:13 (oi9 poihtai\ no/mou) is followed by challenges to the interlocutor’s morals (stealing, adultery, etc.: vv. 21–22), which is conceptualized within the framework of circumcision (literal and spiritual) not because there is a clear distinction between observing the Law’s moral or cultic codes, but because circumcision is a requirement of the Law that has a special significance when Jewish and Gentile concerns come to the forefront.

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the Law are alluded to by th\n i0di/an [dikaiosu/nhn] zhtou=tev in Romans 10:3. Paul describes Israel as zealous for doing the things of the Law. Their eagerness in pursuing the Law (9:31–32) is to confirm their state of peace with God (10:3) and to maintain corporate life (10:5).82 Their eagerness may be commendable, but in Paul’s reckoning it fails: (1) because of sin’s power over fleshly humanity (Rom. 2; 7), and (2) because their zeal did not conform to God’s newest and superior provision of life through faith in Christ (10:2–3). Insofar as Leviticus 18:5 represents the Mosaic Law that was still susceptible to the first or subordinate to the second, Paul denies and subverts ‘living’ according to the Law. ‘Doing’ the righteous commands of the Law could neither lead (10:5: e0n au0toi=v as ‘by them’) Israel to life (cf. 9:31) nor maintain (10:5: e0n au0toi=v as ‘in them’) its relationship with God (cf. 10:3). So also in Romans 10:5, ‘life’ and ‘living’ should be viewed from a corporate perspective.83 If ‘living’ in this context is corporate living in compliance with the Law, it would clearly be present life. Is future living hinted at here at all? As with Galatians 3:12, Paul does not provide an exegesis of Leviticus 18:5, so his full understanding of the verse has again been subordinated to his agenda of trumpeting the proclamation of eternal life through Christ. We may speculate that his Pharisaic background (Phil. 3:5; Acts 23:26–28) would lead him to read Leviticus 18:5 as both living here as well as in the eschaton (cf. CD 3; 7; Pss. Sol. 14), but it is impossible to be certain.84 Gathercole bases his speculation on the occurrence of swthri/a in Romans 10:1. This has some merit as it anticipates the fuller and more future-oriented discussion of Israel’s fate in chapter 11.85 The concerns of 9:30–10:13 are palpably more oriented to the present, to Israel’s current course of destruction. Paul’s prayer in 10:1 is that Israel might attain righteousness and living at peace with God, even as the Gentiles believers have (9:30). At this point it is instructive to take inventory of the transformations in Paul’s appropriation of Leviticus 18:5. Three chief differences set 10:4–5 apart from Leviticus 18:5 in its original context. First, the characteristic emphasis on Israel’s holiness (separateness – #$dq, ldb) in Leviticus 17–26, which could be manifest in Israel’s zeal and its special provisions for including the rg (18:26), is radicalized by God’s calling of the Gentiles.86 Second, in 82. Cf. Watson, Paul, 334–35, 340. 83. The issue is not individual observance of the Law or individual life; contra Rhyne, ‘Nomos,’ 495. Again, as with Lev. 18; Deut. 4 and 30; Ezek. 18, 20, and 33; and so on (in contrast with Pss. Sol. 14, Philo Congr. 86; Lk. 10:18), the singular (‘the one who …’) is a token for a plurality. 84. Cf. Watson, Paul, 348–49. His work, however, seems to assume the promissory, future semantic value. He does not adequately account for the present attaining of righteousness by the Gentiles as a model for Israel’s ill-fated attempt to attain it in the present through the Law. 85. Gathercole, ‘Torah,’ 143. 86. Contrast the use of Lev. 18:5 here with the rabbinic text Sifra Ahare pereq 13.13, cited and explained by Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism, 207. The extension of life and righteousness to the yrg by the rabbis was contingent upon adherence to the Law.



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Romans 10 Paul displaces the theme of separation and holiness in P(H) with faith and righteousness as the defining attributes of God’s people. Romans 10:2–3 specifically denies the efficacy of Israel’s piety. Even as idolatry or unsanctioned political treaties could be cited by the prophets to indict Israel, so in Romans 10 Paul criticizes Israel for their singular failure to trust in Jesus, the new stone of Zion (9:30–33). Earlier, against the background of Romans 7, Paul reconstitutes the ‘sons of God’ in 8:14–17 as those who are enabled to fulfill the Law (8:4) by means of God’s work in Christ and with the help of the Spirit. This intent is paralleled in Galatians 3:11–12. Paul momentarily constrains holiness within his conception of righteousness in both contexts, which he then redefines for admission of the Gentiles into the people of God. Third, membership of God’s people is broadened beyond the physical boundaries of Canaan to the world (Rom. 9:25–26; 10:19–20). Te/ lov no/mou (10:4), therefore, must signify that Israel’s pursuit of God through the Law has simultaneously ended, been transformed, and redirected. One final comment must be made regarding the intertextual qualities of Leviticus 18:5 in Romans 10. Paul’s remarkable denial of the validity of Leviticus 18:5 may have been prompted by more than an aggressive interest in reconstituting the people of God. Within the ancient history of interpretation, there lies a likely explanation for Paul’s appropriation of Leviticus 18:5. Specifically its occurrences in Ezekiel 20:11, 13, 21, and Nehemiah 9:29 suggest even more reasons for its usefulness on this occasion.87 In the speeches of both these texts, Leviticus 18:5 features in an historical review and serves precisely to express how Israel has failed to seize upon its potential promise of life (cf. Rom. 9:31). Also, the precedent of rendering Israel’s promise into a virtual curse,88 as in Ezekiel 20 and Nehemiah 9, may have inspired Paul’s telling statement in Romans 7:10.89 Ezekiel 20:25 twisted Leviticus 18:5 to claim that God had responded to Israel’s sin by giving them laws and statutes that would lead them to their death! Paul may have discovered in these intermediate contexts how Israel’s immorality had led them inexorably to exile and why Israel stood in dire need of a solution to such a plight. There was a prophetic precedent for Paul’s historical work in Romans 9–11. These three authors faced a pivotal crisis for understanding the past, present, and future of Israel. These connections in turn could lead us to other texts that are interwoven in the 87. Douglas Moo, The Epistle to the Romans, (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1996), 648 ftn.16 says, ‘Paul has predecessors in using Lev 18:5 as a ‘slogan,’’ and he cites Ezek. 20, Neh. 9, and CD 3. Unfortunately, he does not expound on ‘predecessors,’ and so the present reading supports and refines his intuitive remarks. 88. This is of course facilitated by the indeterminacy of the relative pronoun and participle in Lev. 18:5; cf. the discussion above for Isa. 28:16. 89. Cf. Watson, Paul, 506; but Sprinkle, Law and Life, 186 denies this. Ulrich Wilckens, Der Brief an die Römer (EKKNT; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukircherer Verlag, 1978), 2.224 comments on Rom. 10:5 saying, ‘Was freilich dort [Lev. 18:5] eine Verheißung ist, wird bei Paulus zur Warnung bzw. zur Verurteilung des Sünders ….’ This comment is more appropriate to 7:10 than 10:5, however.

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ancient history of Leviticus 18:5. Perhaps Paul’s theodicy (cf. Rom. 9:6) may indicate additional threads in the intertextual fabric of the Leviticus 18:5 (cf. Ezek. 18, 33; Pss. Sol. 14). Conclusion The insights provided by intertextuality into the use of Leviticus 18:5 are enhanced by diachronic and synchronic studies. Paul’s use of this intertext in Galatians 3 and Romans 10 indicate further innovations. This intertext is particularly open to transformations with the plain language of ‘doing’ and ‘living.’ Should we not expect that each generation and author would fill these basic words according their present customs and needs? The vision of life in Israelite/Jewish religion, which had been dominated by the Mosaic Law, was the single thread that connects all the intertexts surveyed, but different elements in this great body of legal material could be highlighted at different times by different authors. One goal of this present work is to challenge readers of Leviticus 18:5 (and of its subsequent new contexts) to account for lexical, syntagmatic, and intertextual semantics in our analyses. Another goal has been to illustrate the fruitfulness of this approach. Most of the work here has focused on intertextual semantics, with a particular interest in the shifts of genre and rhetoric as they bent the plastic words of Leviticus 18:5. In Galatians 3, for example, the intertext is positioned in parallel with Habakkuk 2:4 to label the two factions in the churches. In the wider context, Paul is contending that those who try to enact the Law will in fact not live in Christ. In Romans 10:5, Paul is concerned with the historic problems of God’s word and its apparent failure (9:6). He is praying for Israel’s salvation (10:1), because their present zeal is not leading to living. They are stumbling to their destruction and will continue to do so until they recognize that the Christ has come (9:5, 33; 10:4). The grander historic scale of Romans 10 requires a more thorough subversion of the vision of life represented by the intertext in order to argue successfully that the administration of righteousness, that is ‘living,’ is no longer to be associated primarily with the Law but is now through faith in God and Christ. For Paul’s eschatological communities, the living involves the present and future. Attempts to divide these eras are bound to reach beyond the warrants of the texts. Likewise, it is a strange and faulty enterprise to divide regulatory and promissory notions between the ‘doing’ and ‘living’ of this intertext.

Chapter 14

Israel’s Triumphant King: Romans 1:5 and the Scriptures of Israel Don Garlington As Paul pens the opening paragraph of Romans, the words that neatly summarize so much of the letter are those of Romans 1:5: ‘the obedience of faith among all the nations for his name’s sake.’ For this reason, James D. G. Dunn is quite right: ‘To clarify what faith is and its importance to his gospel is one of Paul’s chief objectives in this letter.’1 Paul’s statement of his missionary goal follows hard upon his declaration that his gospel is Christological through-and-through. Jesus, the subject of the gospel, is both son of David, i.e., king of Israel, and Son of God. He is none other than the ‘Christ’ and the ‘Lord’ who has commissioned Paul to promote faith’s obedience among the nations for his name’s sake. Yet as familiar as all this is, there is a backdrop to Romans 1:5 that has not been explored, or even noticed, by the commentators.2 This setting is provided by a number of passages from Tanakh that anticipate a king/son who would take the peoples in captive obedience to himself.

1. Dunn, Romans (WBC; 2 vols.; Dallas: Word, 1988), 1.17. 2. In the recent Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament (eds. G. K. Beale and D. A. Carson; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2007), Mark A. Seifrid makes no reference at all to the considerable biblical precedents for Rom. 1:1–7. Similar oversights are committed by Sylvia C. Keesmaat, ‘The Psalms in Romans and Galatians,’ in The Psalms in the New Testament (eds. Steve Moyise and Maarten J. J. Menken; London: T&T Clark, 2004), 139–61; J. Ross Wagner, ‘Isaiah in Romans and Galatians,’ in Isaiah in the New Testament (eds. Steve Moyise and Maarten J. J. Menken; London: T&T Clark, 2005), 117–32. I have attempted to fill some of the gap in Don Garlington, ‘The Obedience of Faith’: A Pauline Phrase in Historical Context (WUNT 2/38; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991), 238–42.

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Genesis 49:10 On his deathbed, the patriarch Jacob envisages a promising future for his son Judah. His line will continue as the tribe of kingship up until and including the time when an ultimate ruler will come to claim possession of what is rightfully his.3 The kingly nature of a coming descendant of Judah is evident from the ‘scepter’ and the ‘ruler’s staff.’ The disputed element of v. 10 is its third clause. Gordon Wenham surveys the various possibilities and opts for the translation: ‘until tribute is brought to him.’ As standing in parallel to ‘the obedience of the peoples’ in the final clause, this rendering makes sense, especially in light of Psalm 68:29; 76:11; Isaiah 18:7, which presage that foreigners will bring gifts to Jerusalem for the king.4 But with all said and done, Genesis 49:10 is sufficiently problematic to the extent that we will have to be content with the general idea that a royal descendant of Judah will take charge of the nations.5 When connected with Genesis 12:3; 15:5; 17:5–6; 18:18; 22:17–18; 28:14; 32:12; 35:11, Genesis 49:10’s prospect of a coming ruler represents the zenith of a whole line of thought concerning the universality of Abraham’s progeny. Especially striking are 17:6, 16; 35:11, where kings are said to be the issue of Abraham, Sarah, and Jacob.6 This descendant 3. 4QpGena–d has it that kings of David’s line will never fail ‘until the Messiah of Righteousness comes, the Branch of David; for to him and to his seed has been given the Covenant of kingship of his people for everlasting generations, because he has kept […] the Law with the members of the Community.’ Such is the understanding of several of the targums. See William Horbury, Jewish Messianism and the Cult of Christ (London: SCM, 1998), 66, 93. 4QBer reads: ‘A ruler shall not depart from the tribe of Judah while Israel has dominion, nor shall one who sits on the throne for David be cut off. For the staff is the covenant of kingship; the thousands of Israel are the feet, until the coming of the Messiah of righteousness, the branch of David, for to him and to his seed is given the covenant of the kingship of his people until the generations of eternity, because he kept … the law with the men of the community.’ In an instance of bitter irony, Ezek. 21:27 identifies the coming one as Nebuchadnezzar! 4. Wenham, Genesis (WBC; 2 vols.; Dallas: Word, 1987, 1994), 2.478. 5. A complete harmonization of the MT and LXX of Gen. 49:10 is not possible, especially the latter’s rendering of Mym( thqy wlw as kai_ a)uto\j prosdoki&a e))qnw=n. However, the problems are to be resolved on the linguistic level. The observation by John W. Wevers, Notes on the Greek Text of Genesis (SBLSCS 35; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993), 826 is to the point: ‘The Greek interprets the passage in the sense of a messianic hope to be rooted in the tribe of Judah.’ Accordingly, T. Judah 22.2–3 has been influenced by the LXX. 6. Horbury, Jewish Messianism, 31, 49 passes on the traditions that Moses was considered to be the first Israelite king, on the basis of Deut. 33:5, which could be translated, ‘and he was a king in Jeshurun,’ and Exod. 19:6; 23:22(LXX). The same is true of Philo, who reckoned Moses to be a ‘king, legislator, prophet and high priest’ (Praem. 53–54; Mos. 1.149). See Peder Borgen, ‘“There shall come forth a man:” Reflections on Messianic Ideas in Philo,’ The Messiah: Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity (ed. James H. Charlesworth; The First Princeton Symposium on Judaism and Christian Origins; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 342–46.



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of Judah is to become the conquering king, identifiable with the seed of Abraham (1 Chron. 5:2) in his dominion over all the earth.7 For this reason, the ruler is likened to a lion that has seized its prey, returned to its den, and there lies daring anyone to challenge it (v. 9).8 Numbers 23:21–24 As with all the Balaam oracles, the second starts out as a curse but ends up as a blessing upon Israel. The thrust of this portion of the vision is to this effect: what Yahweh has said will be performed without fail, and what he has said is that Israel will be blessed. Since the Lord’s design is to bring Israel into the Promised Land, the nation is virtually trouble-free: no misfortune can be found among this people. The victory of God over the Egyptians is integral to this oracle: ‘God brings them out of Egypt; they have as it were the horns of the wild ox’ (v. 22). The LXX renders the second clause as: ‘like the glory of the unicorn for him (Israel).’ ‘What is meant by the simile is that the redeemer God is as resplendent as the fabled unicorn, understood as a beast celebrated for its ferocity and power. In other words, Israel’s God is gloriously invincible.’9 Israel’s redemption from bondage is grounded in the kingship of Yahweh: ‘The Lord their God is with them, and the shout for a king is among them’ (v. 21b). As Timothy Ashley explains, here is the positive reason why Yahweh had decided to bless Israel: he is present in the midst of his people. ‘This joyful shout is for a king, i.e., on account of the fact that Israel’s true king is Yahweh (Exod. 15:18; Deut. 33:5; Judg. 8:23; 1 Sam. 8:7; 12:12; Isa. 33:22), and that this divine king is not in a remote palace, but is in their very midst.’10

7. See Paul R. Williamson, Abraham, Israel and the Nations: The Patriarchal Promise and Its Covenantal Development in Genesis (JSOTSup 315; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 262–67. 8. Similar imagery is applied to Israel in Num. 23:24; 24:9; Deut. 33:20, 22. 4 Ezra 11:36–12:3 depicts the lion as the destroyer of the eagle, the symbol of the fourth kingdom as revealed to Daniel. Further on (12:32), the lion is declared to be ‘the Messiah whom the Most High has kept until the end of days, who will arise from the posterity of David, and will come and speak to them; he will denounce them for their ungodliness and for their wickedness, and will cast up before them their contemptuous dealings.’ 9. John W. Wevers, Notes on the Greek Text of Numbers (SBLSCS 46; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 396. 10. Timothy Ashley, The Book of Numbers (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), 479. Wevers takes up the LXX of v. 21b, ta_ e!ndoca a)rxo/ntwn e)n au)tw=,| and translates as ‘the glorious deeds of chieftains … are in it (i.e. in Israel).’ Wevers, Numbers, 396 is of the opinion that the MT’s Klm constituted a red flag to the translator. For him, the only king for Israel was Yahweh and, accordingly, he substituted a)rxo/ntwn for basile/wj (in contrast to the other three Greek translations): ‘Obviously this departure was an intentional avoidance of a [human] king in Israel. It certainly is not what MT meant or said.’

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Numbers 24:17–19 These verses convey the desire of Balak, Balaam’s employer, to manipulate coming events. But as it turns out, this roadmap to the future is a far cry from Balak’s intentions. In point of fact, an Israelite ruler is going to crush the forehead of Moab, not the other way around! In Balaam’s vision, this personage is likened to a star. Apart from this present text, Israel’s scriptures employs ‘star’ only once as a royal symbol (Isa 14:12), although such a usage was common enough in the Near Eastern context.11 The LXX departs from the MT with its rendering of 24:17, particularly the mention of a ‘man:’ a)nasth/setai a!nqrwpoj e)c Israh/l. This ‘man’ corresponds to the prior verse of Num 24:7: e)celeu&setai a!nqrwpoj. Wevers remarks that the eschatological hopes of the people are now centered in an individual: ‘Such eschatological hopes did involve Jewish hopes in a future figure, not at all limited to Alexandrian Jews of the third century bce.’12 (The same pertains to the LXX of Isa. 19:20, as indebted to Num. 24:7, 17.) G. K. Beale comments that the present passage itself is an echo of the earlier Genesis 49:10, for at least four reasons: (1) there is the virtually verbatim wording of Numbers 24:9 and Genesis 49:10; (2) the use of ‘scepter’ is common to both; (3) both are about the ‘latter days’; and (4) both explicitly refer to the ‘nations’ as Israel’s enemies who are to be defeated.13 Deuteronomy 33:5 LXX According to the LXX of Deuteronomy 33:5: ‘There shall be a ruler in the Beloved, when the rulers of the peoples are gathered together at one time with the tribes of Israel.’ The ‘Beloved,’ remarks Horbury, is Israel, and the LXX has Moses predict either the reign of God himself or an emperorlike ruler over the nation. At least, this is the most likely interpretation, whose probability is increased by its presence in Targum Neofiti. The ruler to come would naturally be identified with Balaam’s star of Jacob, the lord over many nations, and with the final king whom the nations expect, according to Jacob’s blessing of Gen 49:10. He is, in fact, the supreme Davidic king of the latter days.14 Horbury further explains that these oracles in their LXX dress belong to the third century bce, at which time 11. ‘Star,’ along with ‘scepter’ (Ge.n 49:10), carries over into Second Temple literature as a kingly/messianic image. See Borgen, ‘There Shall Come Forth a Man’ (on Philo); J. J. Collins, The Scepter and the Star: The Messiah of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Ancient Literature (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1995). 12. Wevers, Numbers, 406. 13. G. K. Beale, John’s Use of the Old Testament in Revelation (JSNTSup 166; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 239–40, n. 244. 14. Horbury, Jewish Messianism, 51. John W. Wevers, Notes on Deuteronomy (SBLSCS 35; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 39, 1995), 541 confirms that the LXX has in view a kind of Moses Redidivus.



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they pre­suppose a developed messianic interpretation that gave rise to a chain of interconnections among these prophecies within the Pentateuch and also between the Pentateuch and the Prophets. These passages point to a consistent set of messianic hopes, constituting an expectation centered on a royal messiah that was sufficiently central and wide­spread among Jews of the third century to be included in the interpretation of the Pentateuch.15 2 Samuel 7; 1 Chronicles 17 Our interests lie in a specific dimension of the promise to David: peace as a result of conquest. According to 2 Samuel 7:8–11 (1 Chron. 17:9–10), Yahweh reflects on David’s vocation as a warrior and envisages the time when war would cease and the people would no longer suffer violence: there will be rest from all of David’s enemies and those of his subjects (cf. Ps. 89:22–23). V. 11 in particular echoes a number of passages in Joshua (1:13, 15; 11:23; 14:15; 21:44; 22:4; 23:1), according to which Israel and the land enjoyed rest after the conquest of Canaan. History will repeat itself, and the Lord will bring to pass a second conquest. Israel ‘planting’ in the land is a metaphor for safety and security: never again will she be uprooted and removed. The figure anticipates the prophets, who employ the same imagery in predicting Israel’s return from exile (e.g., Isa. 60:21; 61:3; 2:21; Jer. 11:17; 24:6; 31:28; 32:41; 42:10; Ezek. 17:22–23; 36:36; Amos 9:15). All this will come to pass not in David’s lifetime but in the person of his son. The narrative of 1 Kings 1–10 represents a provisional fulfillment of Yahweh’s pledge, when Solomon disposes of the last of David’s opponents and introduces a period of unprecedented peace and prosperity. Psalm 2 Connected directly to 2 Samuel 7 is the Second Psalm’s celebration of the coronation of David’s son. That the royal son is to exercise hegemony over the nations is evident from the outset. The kings and rulers of the earth may have set themselves in opposition to Yahweh and his anointed, but their rebellion is futile and even laughable; it can only call forth the wrath of the real potentate of heaven and earth (vv. 1–6). Then follows ‘the decree of the Lord’ that his son is begotten this day and the nations are to be his heritage (vv. 7–9). The ‘begetting’ of the kingly son in the Near Eastern milieu has to do with his coronation and installation on the throne, not his actual birthday.16 Even so, the metaphor is eloquent of a new beginning. As Hans-Joachim Kraus describes it: ‘“You are my son, I myself have begotten 15. Horbury, Jewish Messianism, 51. 16. See John Goldingay, Psalms. Volume 1: Psalms 1–41 (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2006), 100.

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you!” reveals itself as a creative word, one that originates a new existence. The chosen king is drawn to the side of God, he becomes the heir and representative of his rule.’17 With the ascension of this monarch, a new state of affairs is inaugurated, one that will bear his distinctive imprint. This son is so honored by the Lord that all he need do is ask and the ends of the earth will become his. ‘Ask of me, and I will make …’ recalls Yahweh’s words to Solomon: ‘Ask what I should give you’ (1 Kgs. 3:5). His rule is likewise depicted in keeping with the Near Eastern setting; in other words it is an absolute sway that will brook no contradiction, and should insurrection arise, he will deal with his enemies harshly. Thereupon follows the ultimatum that the kings of the earth must make their peace with this son (vv. 10–12). Here is a tableau of naked sovereignty: the Lord’s anointed is to be obeyed without questioning (cf. Isa. 40:22–24). Psalm 68:17–18 In this Psalm, God is depicted as the divine warrior. Its writer traces the victories of Yahweh from the exodus through the wilderness to the conquest of Canaan and finally his ascent to Zion. His exaltation is depicted graphically by Psalm 68:17–18.18 The psalmist depicts God as the conqueror who descends from Sinai to subdue his adversaries and make them part of his retinue as he ascends into the sanctuary of Sinai. The mention of chariotry finds it most relevant points of contact with the enemy chariots of Exodus 1–15 and Judges 4–5, all of which, writes Goldingay, ‘turn out to be spectacularly useless when Yhwh decides to Act.’19 As customary in the Near Eastern setting, Yahweh receives tribute from the defeated antagonists in recognition that he is indeed the victorious king. Psalm 72:8–11 Psalm 72 is a prayer for the king and a promise of what will result from the answer to the prayer. Vv. 8–11 beseech the Lord for the king’s worldwide dominion and the conquest of his foes. Marvin Tate explains that God is petitioned to make hostile, distant, and powerful monarchs submit in service to the just and life-giving king of Israel. ‘His power has the effect of drawing together the rest of the world to serve him. Since he serves God, by implication he brings the nations to Yahweh’s service as well.’20 This means

17. Hans-Joachim Kraus, Psalms 1–59 (CC; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1988), 131. 18. Unless otherwise indicated, my Psalms follow the chapters and verses from the MT. 19. John Goldingay, Psalms. Volume 2: Psalms 42–89 (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2007), 325. 20. Marvin Tate, Psalms 51–100 (WBC 20; Dallas: Word, 1990), 224.



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that although the psalmist employs very ‘tough talk’ in his petition that the king defeat his enemies, there is a benevolent end in view (cf. 1QS 5.20–29). Such is confirmed by vv. 12–14, which clarify that this king is not a bully but a deliverer and helper of the poor and needy. It is from the oppression of those who would injure and enslave his people that this royal person acts to subjugate his opponents. In this regard, Psalm 72 is dependent on Genesis 49.21 Psalm 110 Psalm 110 is particularly akin to Psalm 2, inasmuch as both speak of the son of David’s conquest of the nations (vv. 1–2). Because of his prowess in war, ‘Your people will offer themselves freely on the day you lead your host upon the holy mountains’ (v. 3), clearly reminiscent of Psalm 68:18. Then this king is also declared to be a priest forever ‘after the order of Melchizedek’ (v. 4). Finally, there is the assurance to the king that the Lord is at his right hand: he will shatter kings on the day of his wrath; he will execute judgment among the nations, filling them with corpses; he will shatter chiefs over the wide earth (vv. 5–6). In typical fashion, the king will tolerate no rivals to his throne (cf. Ps. 2:9; 21:10; 45:6). If there should be a challenge to his dominion, then all the worse for the challengers! Isaiah 9:1–7 Isaiah 9:4–5 takes up the familiar figure of conquest, a declaration following upon the encouragement of v. 3 that the Messiah will bestow joy on the nation. As John Oswalt observes, instead of depopulation and diminishment, the nation will swell and become prosperous: ‘What is dealt with here are all the elemental fears of the people, and the prophet says that in place of fear there is joy.’22 At that point, vv. 4–5 proceed to state the immediate cause of the rejoicing – the militant activities of the king, whereby the deliverance is secured. In pursuing his agenda of conquest, the Israelite king is going to remove the burdensome yoke and the rod of the oppressor. God will end oppression by putting an end to the warfare upon which the oppression rests. All this begins to be realized with the birth of a child, upon whose shoulders the kingdom will rest and whose reign will last forever (vv. 6–7).

21. As demonstrated by Raymond de Hoop, Genesis 49 in Its Literary and Historical Context (OtSt 29; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 137–38. 22. John Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah (NICOT; 2 vols.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986, 1998), 1.241.

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Isaiah 11 According to Isaiah 11:1, the house of David is likened to a felled tree (cf. Amos 9:11). Yet from the tree’s stump a twig begins to emerge. From humble beginnings this ‘shoot from the stump of Jesse’ will rise to become the banner around whom all the nations will rally (vv. 10–12). Verses 3–5 and 13–16 evoke the image of the divine warrior who will subdue formerly unruly nations. This personage will come to the aid of the poor and the meek, when he smites the earth with the rod of his mouth (cf. Ps. 2:9) and slays the wicked with the breath of his lips (cf. 2 Thess. 2:8). The prophet evokes the figure of Hebrew judge, whose responsibility it was to help those in need. As in Isaiah 9:1–7, the insurance of equity for the poor and meek hinges on the king/judge who subdues their foes. Oswalt puts the question, How will the Lord put an end to oppression? The answer is: ‘God will not supplant oppression with greater oppression, nor will he replace warfare with warfare. Instead, he will do away with wars.’23 The weapons at his disposal are ‘righteousness’ and ‘faithfulness.’ In keeping with Hebrew parallelism, righteousness and faithfulness are tantamount to one another. In the prophets particularly, God’s righteousness is his fidelity to redeem Israel from exile. Put otherwise, his righteousness is his saving activity, one rooted in his faithfulness to the covenant. The great effect of Messiah’s military campaign is that there will be universal peace and security (vv. 6–9), a return to paradise. The remainder of the chapter (vv. 10–16) elaborates the reassembly of Israel, particularly in terms of the extension of her territory by the absorption of the other nations of the earth. This includes the conquest of ancient enemies such as Edom, Moab and Egypt. Center-stage in this capture of the nations is the ‘root of Jesse,’ who will stand as a banner to the peoples; the nations will seek him, and his dwellings will be glorious (v. 10). In the day that the Lord extends his hand yet a second time to recover the remnant of his people, he ‘will raise a banner for the nations, and will assemble the outcasts of Israel, and gather the dispersed of Judah from the four corners of the earth’ (v. 12).24 Messiah is to be the rallying point of all who come under his benevolent rule. Isaiah 19:19–24 This is certainly one of the most remarkable portions of the Prophets, just because Isaiah engages in a redefinition of Israel that is virtually unmatched, 23. Oswald, Isaiah, 1.244. 24. ‘Banner’ occurs also in Isa. 5:26; 13:2. In each instance, Yahweh raises the banner as a signal to the nations. As John D. W. Watts, Isaiah 1–33 (WBC; Dallas: Word, 1985), 178 comments, ‘Yahweh’s use of the nations to accomplish his will is patent throughout. In other passages the nations’ task is one of war and destruction, but here the task is one of gathering and assembling Israelites and Judeans from distant places.’



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if not breathtaking in proportions. The worship of Yahweh is to be extended to Israel’s arch-rivals, Egypt and Assyria, who are to be regarded henceforth as the covenant people themselves! Of special interest is that the LXX of v. 20 echoes its counterparts of Numbers 24:7, 17: kai_ a)postelei= au)toi=j ku/rioj a!nqrwpon, o$j sw/sei au)tou/j. The last clause of the MT reads: ‘a savior and a defender, and he will rescue them.’ The LXX, for its purposes, has chosen to merge the separate titles ‘savior’ and ‘defender’ into the one ‘man’ who will save Israel when he judges. Zechariah 9:9–10 The prophet echoes the language of previous predictions of a coming combatant, who is, simultaneously, a procurer of peace (2 Sam. 7:11; Ps. 72:1–11; 89:38–45; Isa. 9:6–7; 11:1–5; Mic. 4:3; 5:2–4). He is described by the three terms ‘righteous,’ ‘saved,’ and ‘humble.’ (1) ‘Righteous’ refers to the conduct of the king in accordance with his proper relationship with Yahweh and with his people; he is to keep covenant with Yahweh (2 Sam. 23:1–7). He is to rule his people in righteousness, which includes justice for the poor. Such action on the part of the king will result in rain and peace (cf. Ps. 72:1–7). (2) ‘Saved’ pertains to the act of being delivered by Yahweh’s action from some ordeal (cf. Ps. 33:16–17). The thought is that the king will receive divine help and favor, so that whatever he does will prosper. He will keep his covenant and rule righteously. (3) The third term is ‘humble’ or ‘poor,’ which represents the Messiah as meek and lowly, not proud and boastful. Verse 10 contains three principal motifs. First, the king will destroy every implement and semblance of war. Second, the king will speak ‘peace’ to the nations. ‘Peace’ means not simply ‘blessing’ or ‘wholeness’ but the restoration of the creation, a return to the Garden of Eden. The prophet sees the new king extending the blessings of Yahweh to all the world. Third, the king will rule from sea to sea and from the river to the ends of the earth (Ps. 72:8). Michael Fishbane argues effectively that Zechariah 9:9–10 is a throwback to Genesis 49:10–11. For all its obscurity, Fishbane writes, the latter was understood messianically from early postbiblical times as a royal expectation projected in terms of a future Davidic line.25 Reading Romans 1:5 Against Its Background When Paul pens Romans 1:5, he brings together a number of texts concerning the coming Davidic king who would claim the nations as his own. Each passage forms a part of the ‘big picture,’ whose climax is Paul’s 25. Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 501–502.

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pronouncement that faith’s obedience is to be rendered to the eschatological king, Jesus. Genesis 49:10 is the fountainhead of all the subsequent texts that anticipate a warrior king who will exercise might on behalf of Israel, take her enemies captive, maintain hegemony over the Gentiles, and establish peace. All the other passages surveyed above simply fall into line intertextually with 49:10. In the original setting, the verse is very militaristic in tone. But Paul, in a ‘demilitarized’ manner, ties into it in such a way as to transcend its original setting. As he applies this verse and the others to his mission, he transposes each into the ‘higher octave’ of what God has done eschatologically in Christ. Among the others, I would highlight in particular the LXX of Numbers 24:7, 17; Isaiah 19:20. For Paul, Christ is the ‘man’ who springs out of Israel to crush those who would harm her and rule the peoples of the earth. From the perspective of Israel’s scriptures it is a ‘mystery,’ writes Beale, that Genesis 49:10 could be speaking about voluntary obedience from Gentile enemies. ‘But now,’ he writes, ‘Paul sees this mysterious prophecy has begun fulfillment unexpectedly by Gentiles being taken into “captive obedience” through trusting in the preaching about Christ.’26 Moreover, Beale suggests that ‘faith’s obedience among all the nations’ may be a paraphrastic rendering of the MT’s ‘to him is the obedience of the peoples.’ In like manner, Genesis Rabba 93.8, 97 also understood the MT of Genesis 49:10 to refer to ‘the nations of the world,’ and Genesis Rabba 99.8 paraphrases with ‘all the nations.’ Beale points also to Targum Onqelos to Genesis 49. To similar effect, the Targum to Genesis 49 yields a distinct messianic focus: ‘The ruler shall never depart from the House of Judah, nor the scribe from his children’s children forevermore – until the Messiah comes, whose is the kingdom, and him shall the nations obey.’ Likewise, Targum Pseudo-Jonathan renders as: ‘until the time when the Messianic King comes,’ and in Genesis Rabba there is the paraphrase ‘until tribute shall come to him,’ which is interpreted to mean that ‘all the nations of the world shall, in the future, bring a gift to [the] Son of David.’ T. Judah also refers to the eschatological salvation of Israel and especially the Gentiles (24:5b; cf. Isa. 11:10). Other documents combine the ideas of resurrection, Messiah and the Gentiles, and certain rabbinic materials also link Genesis 49:10 to the Davidic texts.27 That Paul would tie these eschatological themes to Christ’s resurrection (Rom. 1:4) follows naturally enough from Psalms 2, 68, and 110. According to the first, the enthronement of David’s son has come to pass with the exaltation of Jesus: he now occupies the throne of his father David (cf. Luke 1:32; 4Q246 2:1). It is he to whom the Lord says, ‘Ask of me, and I will make the nations your heritage, and the ends of the earth your possession.’ It is he who possesses the regal authority by which he rules the nations. Such obedience, however, is not cringing and begrudging but the willing and joyous service of the one who has been raised from the dead. 26. 27.

Beale, John’s Use, 240. Beale, John’s Use, 239–40.



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Psalm 68 suits Paul’s purposes in that the ascension of Yahweh on high provides a perfect model for Christ’s resurrection, glorification, and session at the right hand of God. In the Psalm, Yahweh’s former adversaries are made part of his retinue, and as this imagery actually plays out in salvation history, it is believers who have now become his friends and servants by virtue of their reception of Paul’s Gospel. That Paul would have read Psalm 68 Christologically follows from his quotation of it in Ephesians 4:8. Psalm 110 is of the same variety. As the powerful Son of God, Jesus has ascended to the right hand of God and has entered into his regal authority, from which he will rule until all his enemies have been subdued (1 Cor. 15:25–28). It is surely significant that Psalm 110:3 foretells: ‘Your people will offer themselves freely on the day you lead your host upon the holy mountains.’ Paul’s reading of the Scriptures, then, is both eschatological and Christological, especially as he announces at the outset of the Roman letter that his gospel is grounded in the prophetic Scriptures (1:2) and later that Christ is the law’s te/loj (10:4).

Chapter 15

Paul and Ethnicity: The Paradigm of Glocalization Lung-kwong Lo Globalization makes people in the twenty-first century think that the differences between localities and ethnicities have been diminishing. From what has happened in the last decade, however, this is not correct.1 A new term ‘glocalization’ has been coined to emphasize that even though the world seems to be getting smaller, and the connections between people from afar are drawing nearer, the issues of localities and ethnic identities still need to be addressed properly and taken seriously.2 While ‘globalization’ emphasizes the universality of the world and its effect on all people in different places, ‘localization’ reminds us that the cultural, religious, political, economic, and sociological differences of each ethnic community in its own locality are still significant and essential for the construction of identity and meaning of life. The increase of conflicts and sometimes wars between different ethnic groups in Africa, Eastern Europe, and Tibet remind us that without taking seriously the differences of localities and ethnicity, there will be more tragedies in this age of globalization.3 Glocalization joins the characteristics of both ‘globalization’ and ‘localization.’ In the process of our encountering different cultures and ethnic communities, there are tendencies for these communities, on the one hand, to absorb influences that naturally fit and enrich their lives. On

1. See Anthony D. Smith, Nations and Nationalism in a Global Era (Cambridge: Polity, 1995). 2. According to Roland Robertson, Globalization: Social Theory and Global Culture (London: Sage, 1992), 173–74, the origin of the word ‘glocalize’ is from the Japanese dochakuka, roughly meaning ‘global localization.’ For the significance of glocalization, see Roland Robertson, ‘Glocalization: Time-Space and Homogeneity-Heterogeneity,’ in Global Modernities (eds. Mike Featherstone, Scott Lash, Roland Robertson; London: Sage, 1995), 24–44; Ulrich Beck, What is Globalization? (Cambridge: Polity, 2001), 45–51. 3. For a brief discussion on ethnic conflicts that occurred in the twentieth century, see Theo Tschuy, Ethnic Conflict and Religion: Challenge to the Churches (Geneva: World Council of Churces, 1997). For Africa, see also Elie A. Buconyori, ed., Tribalism and Ethnicity (Nairobi: The AEA Theological and Christian Education Commission, 1997).



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the other hand, the communities tend to resist those things that are alien to them, and they often compartmentalize things that can be enjoyed and celebrated as different. It is by such differences that the identities and values of individual and communities are embodied.4 If the benefits of globalization are to be kept, we have to take seriously the aspects of localization and ethnic identity.5 Thus we must take into account glocalization not just globalization.6 In this chapter we will show that glocalization is in fact a paradigm of how different cultures and ethnic communities have encountered one another and also how it could be viewed in Paul’s message of ethnicity. Thomas Friedman suggests that from the mid-1800s to the late 1920s the world experienced the first era of globalization.7 He also believes that the process of glocalism is in fact a very old process which goes back to ancient Greece in the fourth century bce. The spread of Hellenism led by Alexander of Macedonia instigated encounters between different cultures like never before. A serious and critical issue for the Jews was the question of how they would preserve their identity under the influences of Hellenism.8 During the age of the Pax Romana, the Romans, even more than Alexander, dominated the Mediterranean world and became the superpower in Europe, North Africa, and western Asia. By the time of Augustus’ death in 14 ce their territories had expanded from Spain to Judaea, from Gaul to Cyrene and Egypt. Their road systems and the sea routes also allowed these different places to be connected. It was the biggest territory that had ever been integrated into ‘one world’9 with the most diverse cultures and ethnic groups in human history.10 Along with many other ethnic communities, the

4. Thomas L. Friedman, The Lexus and the Olive Tree: Understanding Globalization (rev. ed. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2000), 282–85 and idem., The World is Flat: A Brief History of the Twenty-first Century (New York: Picador, 2007), 420–26. 5. See Friedman, Lexus, 285–90. 6. For debates and critique on globalization, see Beck, Globalization; Jadish N. Bhagwati, In Defense of Globalization (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). 7. Friedman, Lexus, xvi–xvii. 8. See John J. Collins, ‘Cult and Culture: The Limits of Hellenization in Judea’ in Jewish Cult and Hellenistic Culture: Essays on the Jewish Encounter with Hellenism and Roman Rule (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 21–43. Jews in Judaea and the Diaspora remained separate from Hellenistic culture in matters of worship and cult. 9. See Ramsay MacMullen, Romanization in the Time of Augustus (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), x–xi. ‘One world’ does not refer to a world created by Roman civilization, but a process of mutual exposure to cultural changes that took place among all parties concerned. See Thomas S. Burns, Rome and Barbarians: 100 b.c.–a.d. 400 (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003), 27–28. 10. Even though China had been integrated into one political entity since 207 bce, the Chin Dynasty and Confucianism began to be the uniting ideology (State religion) during the Han Dynasty (206bce–220ce). The diversities in cultures and ethnic groups in China were not as great as the Roman Empire. See discussion in Cho-yun Hsu, The River of Ages: The Crisis and Development of Chinese History and Culture ([Chinese] Taipei: Han Sung Press, 2006), 109–14.

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Jews had to face, contact, and react to the Greco-Roman socio-political, military, economic, and cultural impact in a similar way that could be conceived as globalization. We can see in this early point of human history a foreshadowing of modern ‘globalization’ and ‘glocalization.’ Christianity emerged from Judaism at this critical period. The questions and issues related to the way early believers (especially Jewish believers who lived among Jewish communities) faced the impact of Jewish and Gentile cultures are of paramount importance. Not only do they help us understand the history of Judaism and Christianity, but they also speak to the development of the Christian world mission today. If Paul is a Jewish apostle to the Gentiles in that era, it is worthwhile to ask how his message was proclaimed in this context, especially with regard to the issue of ethnicity. We will put forward the viewpoint that Paul gives us an example of glocalization as he tackles critical issues of ethnicity and formulates his theology of universalism. His message is relevant not only for his time but also for today.11 Ethnic Issues in the Early First Century

ce

Just as the impact of the globalization in the twenty-first century has penetrated into all levels of our lives, so also similar evidence can be found in relation to communities of the first century ce. The Pax Romana as a military, socio-political, economic, cultural, and ideological force made a pervasive impact at the time. The military force was supported by political, economic, and legal systems as well as cultural and religious practices.12 Roman citizenship was extended to allies, loyalist, and special groups of people in the colonies, and later even to wider areas of the empire. It served the purpose of preserving peace.13 Levels of unrest, however, came by way of riots and uprisings caused by the different ethnic groups in the empire. Some of the most famous incidents included revolts in Africa, Thrace, and Gaul in 21 ce. Serious conflicts also arose between Jews and Greeks, which brought riots in Alexandria (38–41 ce) and, of course, the Jewish war in Judaea (66–70 ce).14 In the city of Rome, expulsions of foreign astrologists 11. Part of my admiration for Prof. Dunn is his concern that studies of Jesus and Paul be made relevant for today. See e.g., James D. G. Dunn and Alan M. Suggate, The Justice of God: A Fresh Look at the Old Doctrine of Justification by Faith (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994). 12. See Wengst, Pax Romana, 9–54; Paula James, ‘The Language of Dissent,’ in Experiencing Rome: Culture, Identity and Power in the Roman Empire (ed. Janet Huskinson; London: Routledge, 2000), 296–98. 13. See A. N. Sherwin-White, The Roman Citizenship (Oxford: Clarendon, 1973), esp. 225, 229. 14. For Jewish uprisings from 63 bce to 66 ce, see Moshe Aberbach and David Aberbach, The Roman-Jewish Wars and Hebrew Cultural Nationalism (London: Macmillan, 2000), 23–82.



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(17 ce), Isis-worshippers (19 ce), and Jews (19 and 49 ce) indicate that severe tensions existed between Romans and other ethnic communities.15 In antiquity, ethnos was a Greek term which Latin borrowed (natio), and it could be applied to any large group living together, whether a band, class, tribe, nation, or something else. According to Thomas Burns, in Roman eyes, those constituting an ethnos were supposed to manifest common cultural characteristics.16 The term was often used in conjunction with ‘barbarians’ and ‘Gentiles.’17 Nobody seems to have used the word to describe their own group affiliations, and so its use seems to be limited to discussions of ‘others.’18 In Roman society, ethnic identity was important, especially for groups or communities that were non-Romans,19 aliens, outsiders, foreigners (peregrinus), or those considered inferior to the Romans.20 In recent years, discussion on ethnicity among social scientists, especially anthropologists, has been very influential for the study of the Roman world. The first appearance of the term ‘ethnicity’ in English was probably in 1941. Warner and Lunt used it as one of the several characteristics or traits of different people groups in New York City that modified the social system.21 For them, ethnicity could be evaluated almost entirely on a biological

15. Cf. Josephus Ant. 18.65–84; Tacitus, Annals 2.85.5; Suetonius Tiberius 36.1. See also H. Dixon Slingerland, Claudian Policymaking and the Early Imperial Repression of Judaism at Rome (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997). 16. Burns, Romans and Barbarians, 36–37. 17. See John Hutchinson and Anthony D. Smith, ‘Introduction’ in Ethnicity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), 4. 18. Burns, Romans and Barbarians, 36–37; Kenton L. Sparks, Ethnicity and Identity in Ancient Israel: Prolegomena to the Study of Ethnic Sentiments and their Expression in the Hebrew Bible (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1998), 5–6. 19. For between Greeks, the division of humanity was always Greeks and barbarians. Romans belonged to the barbarians. With the Roman conquest of the Mediterranean world, however, ancient writers such as Dionysius of Halicarnassus tried to prove that Romans were originally Greek. Aelius Aristides declared that the Greek/barbarian dichotomy was outmoded; it was revised and modernized into a Roman/non-Roman dichotomy. See J. P. V. D. Balsdon, Romans and Aliens (London: Duckworth, 1979), 30–54. 20. See George La Piana, Foreign Groups in Rome During the First Centuries of the Empire (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1927), 225–34; A. N. SherwinWhite, Racial Prejudice in Imperial Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967); Balsdon, Romans and Aliens, 59–71. The difference in color was not related to ethnic inferiority (so Balsdon, 59–60, cf. 217–19). It is common to confuse ethnic community and race. Race is a social group that is held to possess unique hereditary biological traits that allegedly determine the mental attributes of the group: cf. Anthony D. Smith, National Identity (London: Penguin, 1991), 21. For a different understanding between race and ethnicity, see in Hutchinson and Smith, Ethnicity, 236–74. 21. Hutchinson and Smith, Ethnicity, 4, suggest that the word first appears in the 1953 edition of the Oxford English Dictionary. However, W. Lloyd Warner and Paul S. Lunt had used the term in their 1941 book chapter, ‘Ethnicity,’ which is collected in Werner Sollors, ed., Theories of Ethnicity: A Classical Reader (New York: New York University Press, 1996), 13–14.

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basis or on purely social characteristics.22 Their understandings have been developed into two different approaches to the study of ethnicity. One is ‘primordial,’ which focuses on ethnicity as natural, objective, outside time, and involving ‘given’ qualities of human existence, such as blood, race, kinship, language, region, religion, and custom.23 The other one is ‘instrumentalist,’ which emphasizes ethnicity as situational, subjective, a matter of attitudes, perceptions, and sentiments that vary between particular situations. It focuses on social, political, and cultural resources by different interest and status groups to mobilize large followings to pursue individual or collective interests, such as political power.24 However, even among scholars, ethnicity has been called an ‘extraordinary elusive concept and very difficult to define in any precise way.’25 Nevertheless, despite the concept’s elusiveness, we cannot deny either the existence of ethnicity in the different communities of the ancient world or the legitimacy of the adoption of this concept (albeit with caution) in our studying of ancient texts. By synthesizing the two approaches mentioned above, Anthony Smith suggests that there are six main attributes, historical and symbolic-cultural, of an ethnic community: (1) a collective and common proper name to identify and express the ‘essence’ of the community; (2) a myth of common ancestry or ‘super-family’;26 (3) shared historical memories of a common past or pasts, including heroes, events, and their commemoration; (4) one or more differentiating elements of common culture which normally include religion, customs, or languages; (5) an association with a specific ‘homeland,’ which does not necessarily mean physical occupation but could be a symbolic attachment to an ancestral land (as with Diaspora peoples); and (6) a sense of solidarity for significant sectors of the population.27 These attributes could be regarded as the identity markers to draw the boundaries of various ethnic communities. In view of the above discussion and elements related to ethnicity, the ethnic issues of different communities in the early first-century Roman Empire include the following characteristics: (1) Solidarity under threat: While these communities were defeated by Romans and their homelands occupied, they would, on the one hand, 22. Warner and Lunt, 13. 23. Such as Clifford Geertz, ‘The Integrative Revolution,’ in Old Societies and New States (ed. Cliffored Geertz; New York: Free Press, 1963), 108–13. See also discussion in Philip Esler, Conflict and Identity in Romans: The Social Setting of Paul’s Letter (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 44–49. 24. See discussion in Smith, National Identity, 20; Hutchinson and Smith, Ethnicity, 8–12. 25. Talcott Parsons, ‘Some Theoretical Considerations on the Nature and Trends of Change of Ethnicity,’ in Ethnicity: Theory and Experience (eds. Nathan Glazer, Daniel P. Moynihan; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1975), 53. 26. Cf. Donald L. Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985). 27. Cf. Smith, National Identity, 21.



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stick together more tightly to protect their customs and identity. On the other hand, they would be under pressure to fracture into smaller groups, especially between those distant from the Roman power and those near it. (2) Low social status: Many members of these communities would become slaves and even be deported and dispersed among various cities of the Roman empire. (3) Religious inferiority: Since they were defeated communities, this implied that their gods were inferior to the Roman deities.28 How to continue their own religious practices under this inferior circumstance was a vital concern for ethnic communities. (4) Identity crisis: Under the powerful constraints of Pax Romana, they were forced to accommodate to Greco-Roman socio-political, religious, and cultural contexts. The process of acculturation and assimilation29 between their own cultures and the context dominated by the Roman power, at times caused them to lose their identity or fight.30 (5) Political tension: Under the above circumstances, the tension between the dominant Roman power and the defeated non-Roman ethnic communities would be serious. These inferior ethnic groups would be under pressure to struggle for political autonomy continually. Ethnicity could be used as a tool to pursue their common interests. However, by Rome granting certain prerogatives to communities, such as freedom to practice their own religious rituals and right to organize their collegia or politeuma, the tensions between Roman power and ethnic communities were kept in balance, and revolts were kept in control most of the time. Tensions between Jews and Gentiles in the Early First Century The religious crisis of the Maccabaean revolution was part of the shared historical memories of Jews in the early first century ce. According to 1 Maccabees 1:41–51 and 2 Maccabees 6:1–2, Antiochus IV Epiphanes 28. Rome’s supercilious treatment of ‘subjugated’ nations is illustrated by the Roman writers’ contempt for the religions of the nations. See Virgil’s Aeneid 8.627–731; Cicero, Pro Flacco 69; Tacitus, Histories 5.4.1; John M. G. Barclay, ‘The Politics of Contempt: Judaeans and Egyptians in Josephus’s Against Apion,’ in Negotiating Diaspora: Jewish Strategies in the Roman Empire (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 109–27. 29. Acculturation indicates that a people group adopts the language, customs, and perhaps certain ways of life of another group, but the first group does not lose its ethnic identity. Assimilation indicates that the members of an ethnic group identify with another ethnic group to the extent of merging into that group, and so they lose their original ethnic identity. 30. For discussion on protecting the identity of defeated ethnic groups, especially Jews, see Aberbach and Aberbach, Roman-Jewish Wars.

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demanded the abolition of the temple cult and introduced pagan cults in 167 bce.31 The observance of all Jewish ordinances, in particular those relating to the Sabbath and circumcision, was prohibited. The crisis provoked by Caligula’s insistence to put his statue in the temple of Jerusalem in 40 ce would have refreshed these historical memories. After the death of Agrippa in 44 ce, the situation deteriorated further. Many Jews, especially those who lived in the Jewish territories, would have believed that their distinctive religious and national prerogatives were at risk.32 In such circumstances, the ‘homeland’ of Jewish people, now occupied by foreign powers, did not provide a secure environment for them to preserve their Jewish identity. The situation of the Jews in the Diaspora varied from place to place. Even so, the question of how to preserve Jewish identity was a common concern among Jewish people in the homeland and in the Diaspora.33 John Barclay suggests that there are three themes that could form a theoretical framework to comprehend the ancient Jewish Diaspora:34 (1) Both local and translocal identities: Diaspora communities were neither wandering people nor immigrants. The multi-locale attachments of Diaspora communities created an ambiguity of identity.35 (2) Ambiguity in cultural self-expression: The characteristic of Diaspora communities was to refuse the simple binary options of wholly assimilating into the ‘majority’ culture or preserving its ‘distinct’ traditions in a cultural enclave. Rather, ‘hybridity’ allowed both cultural integration and cultural critique, acculturation and resistant acculturation. (3) Power and politics: Diaspora communities were typically sites of contested power, both internal contests over the interpretation of ‘tradition’ and contests with the ‘host’ community or with other diaspora groups. The power of communities to define themselves and their place within the larger society is tied to their ability to resist the dominant political forces.

31. See Emil Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 bc–ad 135) (rev. and eds. Geza Vermes, Fergus Millar; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1973), 1.155–163. 32. See Josephus, Ant. 20.1.1[6]; 20.5.1[97–99]; 20.5.2–6[102–124]; J.W. 2.12.1– 5[223–238]; and discussion in James D. G. Dunn, Jesus, Paul, and the Law: Studies in Mark and Galatians (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1990), 129–74, here 133. 33. See further, Schürer, History of the Jewish People, 3.1–86; Erich S. Gruen, Diaspora: Jews amidst Greeks and Romans (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002), 15–104; John J. Collins, Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Diaspora (2nd ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000). 34. See Barclay, ‘Introduction: Diaspora Negotiations,’ in Negotiating Diaspora, 1–3. 35. See James M. Scott, ‘Exile and the Self-Understanding of Diaspora Jews in the Greco-Roman Period’ in Exile: Old Testament, Jewish, and Christian Conceptions (JSJSup. 56; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 173–218.



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With the above understanding of the tensions and ambiguities between Jews and Gentiles throughout a Diaspora context, we now turn to Paul’s letters to the Galatians and Romans. I would like to suggest that it was the ethnic tension between Jews and Gentiles that provided the context for Paul’s gospel and thus also the emergence of Christian identity as distinct from Judaism. Paul’s Declaration: Neither Jew nor Greek (Gentile) but One in Christ (Gal. 3:28) The debate about Galatians has continued on issues related to the rationale behind Paul’s attack on ‘works of the law’ related to ancient Judaism, as well as the relationship between historical context and Paul’s theological interpretation.36 The famous declaration in Galatians 3:28 is well recognized: ‘There is neither Jew nor Greek [Gentile], there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus’ (KJV). Its significance for Paul’s gospel and theology, however, has not been widely understood.37 The question of whether it comes from a prePauline tradition or Paul’s own theology may contribute to its being underappreciated.38 It has been seen as a denunciation of the sharp traditional divisions/distinctions between ethnic communities,39 social classes, and genders. It favors the creation of a new community of equality and unity in which divisions are eliminated in Christ. The statement has been commonly understood as a religious or theological statement rather than relevant 36. Mark D. Nanos, The Galatians Debate: Contemporary Issues In Rhetorical and Historical Interpretation (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2002) identifies three areas of debate on Galatians: rhetorical and epistolary genre, autobiographical narratives in Gal. 1–2, and the Galatians situation(s). Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins (London: SCM, 1983), 205–41, here 205, says Gal. 3:28 has been the focal point and organizing centre of Paul’s theology for many scholars. 37. See Douglas A. Campbell, ‘The Witness to Paul’s Gospel of Galatians 3:28’ in The Quest of Paul’s Gospel: A Suggested Strategy (JSNTSS 274; Sheffield: JSOT Press/ London: T&T Clark, 2005), 95. Peter Stuhlmacher, Der Brief an Philemon (EKKNT; Zürich: Benziger, 1975), 67–69 suggests that this passage is Paul’s ‘peak ecclesiological proposition’ and a revolutionary social program, but even the apostle himself was unable to sustain its radicalism in practice. 38. For a detailed discussion on this issue, see Hans D. Betz, Galatians: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Churches in Galatia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), 181–201; and Dennis Ronald MacDonald, There is no Male and Female: The Fate of a Dominical Saying in Paul and Gnosticism (HDR 20; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 1–16. 39. As early as Jerome, Epistle to the Galatians in Mark J. Edwards, ed. Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture NT vol. VIII: Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians (Downers Grove: IVP, 1999), 51, the issue is understood as racial diversity. See also James D. G. Dunn, Theology of Paul the Apostle (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 551 ftn.198, 593. However, it is quite clear that the ‘Jews’ and ‘Greeks’ are not two races but two different ethnic groups. Hence, the division between Jew and Greek/Gentile in Galatians should not be racial but ethnic division.

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to social and political realities.40 A basic question related to the passage, however, is this: how could there be no distinction between Jew and Greek, slave and free, male and female in real life?41 Dunn rightly suggests that the statement of ‘neither Jew nor Greek’ would no doubt be part of the controversy in which Paul was embroiled in Galatia.42 Nevertheless, what was the controversy? I will argue that it is a controversy of both sociohistorical reality and theological interpretation. In light of the paradigm of glocalization and context of Pax Romana, the controversy in Galatia should be understood not only according to Paul’s tension with the Jewish-Christian leaders of Jerusalem at Antioch, but tensions between Jews and Gentiles in the Greco-Roman world. While these differences that caused divisions remained in the social reality and daily life of early Christians, it would be impossible and naive for Paul to suggest to his audience that they could erase these differences in the Christian community.43 The crucial issue would be to ask which divisions or distinctions have to be changed and which ones should be maintained. In his letter to Philemon, Paul does not suggest that the distinction between Onesimus the slave and Philemon the freeman be erased. He indicates that their relationship and social status remain (Phlm. 11–12; cf. 1 Cor. 7:20–24), and Paul even shows his respect for this relationship (Phlm. 13–14). Onesimus, however, possessed a new status – he is a beloved brother of Philemon (Phlm. 16) and a spiritual child of Paul (Phlm. 10). There is no evidence that Paul calls for the universal abolition of slavery (cf. 1 Cor. 7:21), but rather, that he calls for a new social value system, which implies a change to an existing social relationship, which would eventually transform the social reality.44 The social differences remained, at least for a period of time, but the contempt and the superior–inferior relationship between slave and freeman were to be abolished in Christ. Paul’s attitude toward women has always been a centre of hot debate.45 His position is ambiguous in different passages rather than strictly anti-female.46 40. See Betz, Galatians, 189 ftn.68. 41. Cf. Judith Lieu, Neither Jew nor Greek? Constructing Early Christianity (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2002), 1. 42. James D. G. Dunn The Epistle to the Galatians (BNTC; Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 1993), 50. 43. Augustine has observed this point: cf. Edwards, Ancient Christian Commentary, 51. 44. See James D. G. Dunn, The Epistles to the Colossians and to Philemon: A Commentary on the Greek Text (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 306–307; Ben Witherington III, The Letters to Philemon, the Colossians, and the Ephesians: A Sociological Commentary on the Captivity Epistles (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 30. 45. There are several controversial passages in Pauline letters about woman, such as 1 Cor. 7:32–35; 11:2–16; 14:34–35; cf. I Tim. 2:9–15; 3:1; 5:3–16; II Tim. 3:6–7; Tit. 2:3–6. See discussion in Brendan Byrne, Paul and the Christian Woman (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1988); Norbert Baumert, Antifeminismus bei Paulus: Einzelstudien (Würzburg: Echter, 1992); Craig S. Keener, Paul, Women and Wives: Marriage and Women’s Ministry in the Letters of Paul (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1992); Florence M. Gillman, Women who Knew Paul (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1992). 46. See Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her, 236.



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It is clear that at the end of his letter to the Romans, he highly respects Phoebe as a deacon of the church at Cenchreae and a benefactor.47 He also lists Priscilla along with, and prior to, her husband Aquila as persons to which he and all the churches of the Gentiles should be thankful (Rom. 16:3–4); he praises Mary, Tryphaena, Tryphosa, and Persis who have worked hard in the Lord (16:6, 12); he acknowledges Rufus’ mother as his patroness (16:13),48 and above all he names Junia(s) among the apostles.49 In short, according to Romans, Paul’s attitude toward women is more respectful than in ancient Judaism and the Greco-Roman society.50 In Galatians 3:28, Paul surely was not indicating that there was no gender difference in daily life, but for those who were in Christ the attitudes toward gender differences should not be the same as in the contemporary Greco-Roman social and cultural contexts.51 Paul is not suggesting, then, that there are no differences in social reality, but there should be a new kind of equality and unity that is lifted from social reality to a new level of relationship and values. In Christ there is a new reality. The social reality and theological interpretation are not demarcated, then, in Paul’s mind. As I already mentioned, the tension between Jews and Gentiles in the Greco-Roman world was severe. This involved not only general distinctions between them, but the tension often rose to the level of contempt, hatred, conflict, antagonism, and superior–inferior relationships. Thus, Paul is not erasing ethnic differences in the statement ‘neither Jew nor Greek’ (Gal. 3:28; cf. 1 Cor. 12:13; Col. 3:11); he is abolishing hostile relationships in Christ. In other words, ethnic differences should be preserved but not value judgments embedded in relationships. Furthermore, we could ask, what is the theological interpretation for the historical reality in Galatians? We see that the frequent occurrences of the word pair ‘Jew’ and ‘Gentile’ (Greek) usually implies a tension between the two in this letter (Gal. 2:7, 8, 9, 12–15, 3:28), and this pairing is also regularly formulated by Paul in his other letters (cf. Rom 1: 16; 2: 9–10; 3: 9; 10: 12; 1 Cor. 1:22, 24; 7:18; 10:32; 12: 13; Col. 3:11). It is noteworthy that in Galatians this pairing of words disappears after 3:28, and a new pair of words, ‘circumcision’, and ‘uncircumcision’ occur twice hereafter (5:6; 6:15; cf. 1 Cor. 7:19). So what was the theological understanding of 47. See Wayne Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), 60. 48. See Meeks, First Urban Christians, 27, 60. 49. It is unclear whether Junia is a woman, but most scholars accept this as a plausible understanding. See C. E. B. Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1979), 2.789. 50. For discussion on the Jewish devaluation of women, see John Temple Bristow, What Paul Really Said about Women (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988), 14–27; Meeks, First Urban Christians, 81. For discussion on the Greco-Roman legacy of disdain for women, see Bristow, What Paul Really Said, 3–14. 51. See Schüssler Fiorenza (1983) 236; Jouette M. Bassler, Navigating Paul: An Introduction to Key Theological Concepts (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007), 45–46.

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the differences and unity between Jew and Gentile in Galatians? There are at least three: (1) Paul had different experiences with Gentiles in comparison to the Jewish Christian leaders in Jerusalem, but God shows no partiality (2:1–6). (2) Paul had been entrusted with the gospel to the uncircumcised, Peter had been entrusted to the circumcised (2:7–9), but these two missions are to be in unity. They work for the same God and fellowship (2:8–9). (3) ‘To live like a Gentile’ is different than ‘to live like a Jew’ (2:14), but unity comes through faith in Jesus Christ (2:16; 3:26–28). Ethnic differences would not have disappeared in the Christian community, but the attitude toward these differences required a new, mutual respect and acceptance. This is the beauty of unity in diversity which should be kept. A distinction of labor on the mission field, alongside ethnic differences in cultures or customs, was found in early Christian communities. Early Christians with differences among themselves continued to live in unity according to God’s impartiality, the oneness of God, and faith in Christ. Any effort to erase or to ignore these differences and significance would cause tensions and conflicts. In fact, if these differences were erased, the significance of the oneness in Christ would be diminished. The power of the cross relates these differences in one body. Paul argues for unity in diversity, but not for erasing differences to create uniformity. Thus he argues in Galatians for an equal standing of Gentiles with Jews as members of the people of God. Gentiles could keep their ethnic identity and differentiate themselves from observing Jewish laws requiring circumcision, Sabbath, and dietary practices that are the identity markers for the Jews. At the same time the Gentiles in Christ were to find unity with Jews in Christ. In interpreting Galatians 3:28, Augustine writes, ‘Difference … is indeed taken away by the unity of faith, but it remains embedded in our mortal interactions, and in the journey of this life the apostles themselves teach that it is to be respected. For we observe in the unity of faith that there is no such distinctions. Yet within the orders of this life they persist.’52 In nineteenth-century China, western missionaries thought they were propagating a universal religion with universal truth, and many of them paid no respect to the Chinese culture and customs, which in effect became part of the imperialistic invasion that sought to erase cultural differences that composed the ethnic identity of the Chinese.53 In the twenty-first century, there is a danger 52. Augustine in Edwards, Ancient Christian Commentary, 51. 53. See discussion in Lung-kwong Lo, ‘Identity Crisis Reflected in Romans 14:1– 15:13 and the Implications for the Chinese Christians’ Controversy on Ancestral Worship,’ Ching Feng: A Journal on Christianity and Chinese Religion and Culture 3 (Fall, 2002), 23–59, http://www.vanderbilt.edu/AnS/religious_studies/SBL2002/home2002.htm; and idem, ‘Paul’s Gospel to the Gentiles and Its Implications for Christian Mission to Chinese’ in Text and Task: Scripture and Mission (ed. Michael Parsons; Carlisle, UK: Paternoster, 2005), 120–38.



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of understanding Christianity as ‘global Christianity’ without paying attention to the varieties of Christianity in different localities and among various ethnic communities. The notion of ‘global Christianity’ assumes there is only one form of Christianity, namely the forms and patterns developed in Europe.54 Hence, it is important to understand Christianity as ‘world Christianity,’ which takes the paradigm of ‘glocalization’ rather than ‘global Christianity’ that carries connotations of parallels with economic globalization.55 Theological interpretation that does not take the historical and social realities into account could be very dangerous. Not only does it misinterpret Paul’s view, but it could also formulate a theology that shows no respect for differences and uniqueness among ethnic identities, social statuses, and genders. The true gospel respects differences among people and creates a common base for a new categorization of solidarity, a solidarity that could bring freedom, love, joy, peace, kindness, generosity, and gentleness to the different groups of people (Gal. 5:1, 14, 22–23). Paul’s Gospel of God for Salvation to the Jew First and then the Greek (Rom 1:16) Two scholars in particular, James C. Walters and Philip F. Esler, have published influential works with the ethnic issues of Romans as their main interest.56 The aim of Walters is to understand the manner in which Jew–Gentile relationships were treated in Romans, comparing his study with evidence for the situation of Jews in ancient Rome.57 Walters’s study nonetheless has depended too much on attention to the reconstruction of the background and too little on how Paul tackles the Jew–Gentile issues in Romans.58 Esler’s work is one of the first to adopt a social-psychological approach to study the issues related to ethnicity in Romans. His main concern, however, 54. See the critique of Peter C. Phan, ‘Ethnicity, Experience and Theology: An Asian Liberation Perspective,’ in Ethnicity, Nationality and Religious Experience (ed. Peter C. Phan; Lanham: University Press of America, 1995), 255–56; Lamin Sanneh, Whose Religion is Christianity? The Gospel Beyond the West (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 22–25. 55. Sanney, Whose Religion, 23. 56. James C. Walters, Ethnic Issues in Paul’s Letter to the Romans: Changing SelfDefinitions in Earliest Roman Christianity (Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1993); Esler, Conflict and Identity in Romans. 57. Walters, Ethnic Issues, ix–x. My doctoral thesis of 1988 adopted a similar approach and concern. For a recent study on the Jewish Community of Rome, see Silvia Cappelletti, The Jewish Community of Rome: From the Second Century B.C. to the Third Century C.E. (JSJSup 113; Leiden: Brill, 2006). 58. The proportion of Walters’s book is 98 pages for the reconstruction of the background and 37 pages for discussion of the ethnic issues in Romans (including text and notes). Since the construction is only plausible or possible, it is too risky to interpret the text according to this reconstruction.

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is to discuss the nature of Christian identity in Romans rather than ethnicity. For him the issue of identity is closely related to ethnicity, and so he adopts a particular model of identity, that is ‘social identity,’ to be the dominant theoretical perspective in his study of Romans.59 His aim is to ‘argue that central to Paul’s communicative purpose is to strengthen the social identity that his addressees in Rome gain from belonging to the Christ-movement, particularly by emphasizing its supremacy over other identities, ethnic especially, on offer.’60 The issue of ethnicity in Romans does not appear to be his main concern; he only models the concept of ‘ethnicity’ to argue for its relevance to phenomena in the ancient Mediterranean world relevant to Romans. I am arguing instead that Paul tackled the issue of ethnicity while maintaining the particularities of ethnic groups in the Christian movement. The two emphases of Paul’s own identity as a Jew and also as an apostle to the Gentiles in Romans have been well recognized. He addresses his audience occasionally as Jews and Gentiles, and the peculiar interaction between Israel’s particularity and the universality of the Gospel for the Gentiles is clearly a theme in the letter.61 I suggest that all these aspects are not only interrelated but are also Paul’s strategy to tackle the issue of ethnicity among his audience. It was Nihls Dahl who has insisted that the theme of ‘The gospel is a power of God for salvation, for the Jew first and also to the Greek’ (Rom. 1:16) continues from the beginning of the letter through Rom 9–11 and right up to the conclusion of the parenthesis in 15:7–13.62 Not only does this theme run through the whole letter, but there is also a movement of the theme from (1) the ‘Jew first and then Gentile’ (Rom. 1–2) to (2) ‘no distinction between Jew and Gentile’ (Rom. 3–8), to (3) ‘Gentile first and then Jew’ (Rom. 9–11). (1) Jew first and then Gentile (chs. 1–2): Other than Romans 1:16, the phrase ‘Jew first and then Gentile (Greek)’ occurs in 2:9, 10. The priority of Jews recurs in 3:1–2; 9:4–5; 11:29; 15:27.63 Paul agrees that there are differences between Jews and Gentiles in historical framework, but he does not agree that there is a privilege of Jews in salvation.

59. Esler, Conflict and Identity in Romans, 10–13. 60. Esler, 12. 61. Cf. J. Christiaan Beker, ‘The Faithfulness of God and the Priority of Israel in Paul’s Letter to the Romans,’ in Christians among Jews and Gentiles: Essays in Honor of Krister Stendahl (eds. Georg Nickelsburg and George MacRae; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 10–16, here 14. 62. Nils A. Dahl, ‘The Missionary Theology in the Epistle to the Romans,’ in Studies in Paul: Theology for the Early Christian Mission (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1977), 82 emphasizes that Rom. 1:16 is ‘the encompassing theme for the whole main body of the letter (1:16–15:13).’ 63. Cf. e.g., D. Zeller, Juden und Heiden in der Mission des Paulus: Studien zum Roemerbrief (Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk Gmbh, 1976), 141–45; Robert Jewett, Romans: A Commentary (Hermenia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 140.



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(2) There is no difference between Jew and Gentile (chs. 3–8): After positively affirming the advantages of Jews on the basis of their covenantal relationship with God in history (3:1–2), Paul denounces the priority of Jews over Gentiles overtly (3:9), and he emphasizes that there is no difference between them in relation to their being under the power of sin (3:10–20) or their basis of faith in God (3:21–30). Abraham in Romans 4 is the father of all, both Jews and Gentiles. In Roman 5, the solidarity of Jews and Gentiles is further elaborated on in terms of sharing peace, grace, and hope of the glory. In Romans 6–8, the solidarity and tension between the Jewish and Gentile Christians are dealt with in terms of sin and grace, death and law, flesh and spirit.64 (3) Gentile first and then Jew (chs. 9–11): Discussion of the differences between Jews and Gentiles is once again brought back to the foreground in Romans 9–11. The privileges of Jews and their position in salvationhistory are reiterated in 9:4–10:8. Nevertheless, Paul painfully admits that the real situation in his time is the rejection of Christ by many of the Jewish people (9:1–3). At the same time the acceptance of Christ is increasing among the Gentiles (9:17, 24–31). In Romans 11 Paul is convinced that the contemporary situation could bring in the final salvation of all Israel at the eschaton (11:26). Even so, Paul sees an ironical eschatological reversal of salvation history: Gentile first and then the Jew (11:25).65 Paul’s theological strategy to address the concrete situation of his audience is to persuade them to join the solidarity of one body (12:1–5) and keep peace by both recognizing the ‘Jew first and then Gentile’ and facing the historical reality of ‘Gentile first and then Jew’ (chs. 12–15). In the discussion of the conflict between the ‘strong’ and ‘weak’ (14:1–15:13), Paul asks the Gentile Christians, who probably form the majority of the Roman congregation, not to put pressure on the Jewish Christians to give up their practice of food laws, vis-à-vis their Jewish identity. He does not ask Gentile Christians, however, to follow Jewish laws in their daily living.66 In Romans, the theme of ‘Jew first and then Gentiles’ in 1:16 is a thread connecting the whole letter. Moreover, the sequence changes from the promise of the history of salvation to an eschatological reversal when Paul addresses the concrete condition of the Roman Christians. In the letter as a whole, Paul’s message is clear. He exhorts the audience that the identities and particularities of Jews and Gentiles are to be maintained without putting pressure on others to change, and he emphasizes their solidarity in

64. James D. G. Dunn, ‘Paul’s Epistle to the Romans: An Analysis of Structure and Argument,’ ANRW II:25.4 (1987), 2858–65. 65. Dunn, ‘Paul’s Epistle,’ 2873. 66. See further, Lo, ‘Identity Crisis,’ 24–47.

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sin, grace, peace, faith, hope, love, and salvation in Christ. It is essentially the same stance as stated in Galatians 3:28. Conclusion In church history, an emphasis on the oneness and unity of the church has blinded many Christians to the importance of maintaining the particularities of different ethnic groups. The missionary history in general, and in China in particular, has mistakenly tried to take western Christianity and impose it as the only form of Christianity and the norm for theology. It has mistaken the interpretation of Galatians 3:28 without taking historical, social, and ethnic situations into account. The importance of the ‘Jew first and then Gentile’ in Romans 1:16, as well as its concrete life situation, is seriously overlooked. These passages are interpreted mostly according to a theological framework. Paul’s message was to keep the distinctions between Jews and Gentiles in their living contexts, and yet they are to be united in Christ. This is consistent in both Galatians and Romans. The tragedies caused by the force of globalization originated from the west as it exerted enormous power to erase the differences between races, ethnic groups, cultures, religions, societies, and localities, and the trend continues. This phenomenon is similar to the time of the Pax Romana in the first century. Paul’s message is still significant for us today. His gospel of universality does not imply the abrogation of particularities of ethnicity, nor is it a call to eliminate social status and gender differences. The paradigm of glocalization helps us see in sharper focus his paradigm as he dealt with the issues of ethnicity.

Chapter 16

The Cheirograph in Colossians 2:14 and the Ephesian Connection Allan R. Bevere The exact identity of the xeiro/grafon, a hand-written document, remains elusive in Colossians 2:14. Three suggestions are proffered by scholars – a certificate of indebtedness, a heavenly book of deeds, and the Mosaic Law. Whereas the first two possibilities may reveal some aspect of the nature of the xeiro/grafon, I will suggest that the last option is to be preferred. The progression of this argument begins with a consideration of the problem the epistle to the Colossians addresses – the target of the letter and nature of the Colossian philosophy. Once these concerns are addressed, the interpretation of the xeiro/grafon will be examined. After this, common connections between Colossians and Ephesians will be highlighted and how the associations in the two epistles may help illuminate the identity of the xeiro/grafon in Colossians 2:14. A Necessary Consideration: The Colossian Philosophy In order to shed light on the meaning of xeiro/grafon, it is necessary to review the nature of the Colossian philosophy. The dilemma Paul and Timothy are addressing is difficult to ascertain and a scholarly consensus has not been reached.1 It is impossible to rehearse in detail the various options in this essay. Nevertheless, it is important to lay out in brief form a position on the character of the letter’s target. That the target of Colossians is a form of syncretism has been a popular thesis, though there is disagreement on the exact nature of the syncretism.2 Suggestions often vary from a syncretism between some kind of Hellenistic philosophy mixed in with Jewish elements 1. I have suggested in Allan R. Bevere, Sharing in the Inheritance: Identity and the Moral Life in Colossians (JSNTSup 226; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003), 54–59 the hypothesis that Timothy is the writer of the letter at Paul’s request. 2. For an excellent survey and analysis of the scholarly debate surrounding the nature of the Colossian philosophy, see Robert M. Wilson, Colossians and Philemon (ICC; London: T&T Clark, 2005), 35–58.

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or Jewish Pythagoreanism,3 to an alleged mixture of local folk magic with Jewish elements.4 The problematic nature of the various syncretistic positions has been adequately critiqued.5 The biggest weakness in the thesis is its failure to take seriously the essentially Jewish nature of the Colossian philosophy. A higher degree of conjecture is necessary when making the case for the syncretistic nature of the Colossian philosophy. What inevitably happens with these variations is that the Jewish elements of the polemical core in 2:8, 16–23 are marginalized to a greater or lesser degree. One thing should be clear – Jewish elements are not simply minor contributions to the character of the letter’s target, but they contain the very essence of the Colossian philosophy, particularly in the combination of practices mentioned in the polemical core. Circumcision, Sabbath, festival observance, and dietary regulations were not peripheral matters for first-century Jews; they were foundational in giving Judaism its distinctive identity.6 It is important to note that the syncretistic view might carry more weight if only one or two of these foundational elements were mentioned, but the combination of all four brings us to what was critical for Jewish self-understanding. The point here is that whatever the nature of the other practices of the Colossian philosophers, it seems inconceivable that all of the major identity markers of first-century Judaism, which characterize the philosophy targeted, simply contribute to a kind of syncretism in which circumcision, Sabbath, festival observance, and food laws play only a small or partial role to the philosophy. By necessity, the syncretistic position proceeds on the assumption that the Jewish elements are fragmentary practices, which are not related to one another in a way that might reveal the essential nature of the Colossian philosophy. Indeed, it is precisely these Jewish

3. Eduard Schweizer, ‘Die “Elemente der Welt” Gal. 4.3 9; Kol. 2.8, 20,’ in Verborum Veritas: Festschrift für Gustav Stälin (eds. Otto Böcher and Klaus Haacker; Wuppertal: Brockhaus, 1970), 245–59; A. J. M. Wedderburn, ‘The Theology of Colossians,’ in The Theology of the Later Pauline Letters (ed. James D. G. Dunn; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 3–12; and more recently R. E. DeMaris, The Colossian Controversy: Wisdom in Dispute at Colossae (JSNTSup 96; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1994), 16–17. 4. Clinton E. Arnold, The Colossian Syncretism: The Interface Between Christianity and Folk Belief at Colossae (Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1995), esp. 5. 5. For a critique of the various syncretistic points of view see James D. G. Dunn, The Epistles to the Colossians and to Philemon NIGTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 27–35; Ben Witherington, The Letters to Philemon, the Colossians, and the Ephesians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 107–11; Bevere, Sharing in the Inheritance, 35–46. 6. Martin Goodman, The Ruling Class of Judea: The Origins of the Jewish Revolt Against Rome A.D. 66–70 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 97, writes, ‘So distinctive were such practices that adoption of them could bring converts of other races within the Jewish fold.’



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identity markers that resisted syncretistic persuasion.7 Moreover, even though the polemical core is a tricky portion of material to exegete, one of its intelligible aspects is its Jewish verbiage; hence, those who argue for a syncretistic background must minimize what is obvious and speculate on what may be implied. It appears that the most plausible explanation of the nature of the Colossian philosophy, then, is to consider it essentially Jewish in nature and that the target of the letter is the local synagogue.8 The Mosaic Law The lack of consensus on the exact nature of the Colossian philosophy has also led to disagreement on precise nature of the xeiro/grafon. Nevertheless, there is enough evidence from the text itself to put forward a reasonable possibility. Three different interpretations dominate the scholarly debate regarding the identity of the xeiro/grafon: a certificate of debt, a heavenly book of deeds, and the Mosaic Law. Years ago Eduard Lohse argued that the xeiro/grafon was a certificate of indebtedness issued by the debtor to the creditor.9 More recently this position finds supporters with Margaret MacDonald and Marianne Meye Thompson.10 A debtor/creditor relationship is clearly what Paul has in mind when utilizing a form of the word in Philemon 19: e0gw\ Pau=loj e1grya th=| e0mh=| xeiri/, e0gw\ a0poti/sw. Moreover, a rather strong thread of Jewish literature uses xeiro/grafon this way (e.g. T. Job 11:11; Tob 5:3, 9:2). The idea conveyed here is that the xeiro/grafon represents a heavenly IOU (‘I owe you’) written by the hand of the person in debt.11 Related to this is the view that the xeiro/grafon refers to a heavenly book of deeds, a ledger, so to speak, where good and evil deeds are recorded

7. I am certainly not suggesting a simplistic understanding of syncretism vs. socalled ‘Jewish purity.’ The notions of syncretism and assimilation are slippery terms that are often used carelessly: see further John M. G. Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 4–9, 399–402, 402–413; Bevere, Sharing in the Inheritance, 19–23. 8. See Dunn, Colossians, 34–35, N. T. Wright, Colossians and Philemon (TNTC; Leicester: InterVarsity Press, 1986), 27–29. Others argue for the Jewish nature of the philosophy, but not necessarily as something that comes from outside the church: e.g., Thomas J. Sappington, Revelation and Redemption at Colossae (JSNTMS 93; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1983), 19–21; Witherington, Colossians, 164. 9. Eduard Lohse, Colossians and Philemon (Herm.; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971), 108–109. 10. Margaret MacDonald, Colossians, Philemon (SP; Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 2000), 102–103; Marianne Meye Thompson, Colossians and Philemon (THNTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 58. 11. On the issues involved in asking who exactly has written the IOU, see Ian K. Smith Heavenly Perspective: A Study of the Apostle Paul’s Response to a Jewish Mystical Movement at Colossae (LNTS 326; London: T&T Clark, 2006), 100–101.

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‘with a view to the final judgment.’12 This notion is present in apocalyptic literature (Apoc. Zeph. 3:6–9; 7:1–8; 1 En. 89:61–64, 70–71; 2 En. 53:2– 3), and sometimes an angel is portrayed as keeping record of human deeds, not in an adversarial way, but as an agent of God.13 Whether exclusively a certificate of indebtedness or a larger record of deeds, Paul’s point is that the xeiro/grafon has been erased by God in the death of Christ. It was nailed to the cross the same way the indictment against the condemned was nailed to the wood on which the victim was crucified. N.T. Wright does not deny that in some respect each option may include ‘a grain of truth’ which would be entirely in keeping with Paul’s understanding of the place of the Law in reference to what Christ has accomplished; but he rejects both interpretations if they are made central to the understanding the xeiro/grafon in Colossians 2:14.14 He suggests instead that the term refers to the Law of Moses with its regulations (toi=j do/gmasin). We must ask at this point whether Paul and Timothy identify those regulations more specifically. While James Dunn rejects the idea that the xeiro/grafon can be specifically identified with the Law itself, he notes that ‘behind it lie the decrees of the law giving the xeiro/grafon its condemnatory force.’15 What I would like to suggest is that the Law of Moses is not merely behind the terminology here but central to it; and it is precisely the notions of the xeiro/grafon as a certificate of debt and a heavenly book of deeds that are implied rather than made explicit. Indeed, both understandings of the xeiro/grafon as a certificate of debt and a record of heavenly deeds, independent of the Law, are unsatisfactory in reference to the case Paul and Timothy are making to their readers. However, if the xeiro/grafon refers specifically to the Law of Moses, then the ‘overtones’ of the Law as nothing more than an IOU and a ledger recording one’s heavenly deeds bring into full force the cancellation of the Law of Moses through the cross of Christ.16 It is not that one must choose exclusively between the options; it is a matter of what is implied and what is explicit. The full impact of the xeiro/grafon as the Law of Moses is seen explicitly in the practices outlined in the polemical core, which are Jewish in character. These are the halakhic regulations (do/gma) of the Law (xeiro/grafon) being referred to in 2:14, and the mh\ o}}un in 2:16 suggests this as well. Moreover, there may be a verbal connection in the form of a play on words between xeiro/grafon and a)xeiropoi/htov (2:11) that could further indicate a connection between the xeiro/grafon and the Law. Those who are in Christ are circumcised with a ‘circumcision without hands’ (peritomh~| a)xeiropoih/tw|) which suggests that the circumcision ‘done with hands’ is no longer necessary because the hand-written document requiring such a 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

Dunn, Colossians, 164. Witherington, Colossians, 158. Wright, Colossians, 112. Dunn, Colossians, 165. Wright, Colossians, 112.



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practice was eradicated through the cross of Christ. The Colossians were tempted to put too much confidence in the ‘flesh.’ In other words, they were enticed to place confidence in the ‘circumcision done with hands,’ a regulation decreed in the ‘hand-written document’ (of the Law), along with the other practices mentioned by Paul and Timothy in the polemical core.17 The writers’ argument here is not without inconsistencies,18 but the point is that the Law is set aside for the Gentiles who are not bound to the specific regulations it mandates. These regulations are what mark out the people of God as ethnically Jewish. With additional imagery, the authors present these regulations as a shadow of the reality that has now been fulfilled in Christ (2:17). The authors do not equate the regulations of the Law to the powers in 2:15; even so, both the Law and the powers are rendered soteriologically insufficient. Just as Christ is superlative over the Torah and its regulations commended by the Colossian philosophers, so Christ is supreme over the hostile powers that the Colossian Gentiles oriented their lives around prior to their conversion. Jesus disarmed the powers, that is the ‘rulers and the authorities’ when he was crucified. The irony must not be missed: Christ, having stripped the rulers and authorities, ‘made a public example of them, exposing them to ridicule on the cross.’19 Through that cross, the Colossians are liberated from ethnic practices found in the Law, which Paul and Timothy list in 2:16–19. Jesus Christ was publicly humiliated on the cross, but in actuality it was the forces of evil that were openly dishonored. The ethnically Jewish practices enumerated in 2:16–19 give meaning to the xeiro/grafon that Paul says was nailed to the cross. The Ephesian Connection An intriguing question is whether or not the letter to the Ephesians helps to illuminate the identity of the xeiro/grafon. Ephesians 2:15, which speaks clearly of the Mosaic Law,20 sounds intriguingly familiar when read in light of Colossians 2:14. In Ephesians, Christ has ‘abolished the law of the commandment and ordinances’ (to_n no&mon tw~n e)ntolw~n e)n do&gmasin katargh&saj), and yet some scholars suggest that Ephesians 2:15 is not 17. Contrast this with Andrew T. Lincoln, Paradise Now and Not Yet: Studies in the Role of the Heavenly Dimension in Paul’s Thought with Special Reference to his Eschatology (SNTSMS 43; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), 121. 18. For a discussion on the problematic logic of Paul and Timothy’s argument, see Bevere, Sharing in the Inheritance, 140–41. 19. Lamar Williamson, ‘Led in Triumph: Paul’s Use of Thriambeuo¯,’ Int 22 (1968), 326–27. 20. As noted by Pheme Perkins, ‘The Letter to the Ephesians’ (NIB; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2000), 11.399; Charles H. Talbert, Ephesians and Colossians (PaCNT; Grand Rapids; Baker Academic, 2007), 81.

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necessarily helpful in understanding Colossians 2:14. Andrew Lincoln, for example, posits: The problem for the interpretation of v. 14 is to identify what has been dealt with by being erased and nailed to the cross. Both the NIV’s ‘the written code with its regulations’ and the NRSV’s ‘the record … with its legal demands’ could suggest that the Mosaic Law is in view. But the term xeiro/grafon (cheirographon) denotes a handwritten document or a bond of indebtedness, while do/gmata (dogmata) refers to regulations or stipulations. The use of the latter term in Eph 2:15 clearly, because of the context, refers to the Mosaic law; but that cannot be determinative for this earlier usage of Colossians. The clue here is provided by the use of the cognate verb in v. 20 in connection with submitting to the ascetic regulations of the philosophy.21

If, however, the ‘ascetic regulations’ of the Colossian philosophy are ethnically Jewish practices, as I and others maintain, then Ephesians 2:15 is indeed helpful in this matter.22 The writer of Ephesians does not use the term xeiro/grafon, but it is the only other Pauline letter that employs do/gmata as found in Colossians 2:14. In Ephesians, Christ’s death nullifies the Law together with its commandments and regulations. In Colossians, the xeiro/grafon (the Law) with its regulations is erased as it is nailed to the cross of Christ. In Ephesians, the cross abolishes the Mosaic Law as a dividing wall of hostility between Jew and Gentile; and while the language of division between Jew and Gentile is not explicit in Colossians, the xeiro/grafon as a barrier that stands in the way is obvious – it is ‘against us’ (to\ kaq ) h9mw~n) and ‘hostile to us’ (o$ h]n u(penanti/on h9mi=n). The imagery conveyed in both letters is so similar that it is not unreasonable to suggest that both refer to the same thing. It would be even more significant if there were a common connection and a similar situation shared by the two letters. Ben Witherington argues at length for Pauline authorship of both Colossians and Ephesians based on, among other things, the Asiatic rhetorical style of both letters.23 At the same time, there are rhetorical differences based on the different rhetorical situations occasioning each letter. Ephesians, unlike Colossians, reflects epideictic rhetoric, making it less an epistle and more of a homily characteristic of a document that is not addressed to one specific audience with a particular crisis. Instead Ephesians may be a circular in nature, 21. Andrew T. Lincoln, ‘The Letter to the Colossians,’ (NIB; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2000), 11.625. 22. Smith, Heavenly Perspective, 102, observes, ‘In the only other Pauline use of do/gma in Eph. 2.15, Paul points out how the division between Jews and Gentiles was removed by Christ through the abolition of the law. In Colossians Paul gives further details concerning the content of the do/gmata as ascetic practices (vv. 16–23) which include Mosaic laws such as dietary restrictions, circumcision and Sabbath observance.’ I would only take issue here with Smith’s use of the word ‘include’ as if there is something more to the nature of the Colossian philosophy than the Law of Moses. 23. Witherington, Colossians, 2.



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mindful of a clear but larger geographical area where similar concerns of a wider community are generally at stake.24 What is the significance of this for our concerns over the identification of the xeiro/grafon? First, while a minority of scholars question the arguments in favor of Colossian priority,25 most see an obvious connection between the two letters and Ephesians’ dependence on Colossians. As Margaret MacDonald observes, ‘Of all the letters in the Pauline corpus, no two works are so closely linked …. Indeed, it seems that the author of Ephesians was very familiar with Colossians, drawing upon the epistle’s language, style, and concepts. In fact, more than one third of the words found in Colossians are also in Ephesians. For this reason alone it makes sense to study these two epistles together.’26 Both epistles address household concerns as well as marriage. Ephesians, drawing upon Colossians, expands on these concerns, addressing them to a more general audience. It seems also to be the case that Ephesians does the same with the Law of Moses, expanding on it in language that reflects general concerns rather than the specific issues related to Colossians and the Law. If there is ambiguity of language at certain places in Colossians in reference to the Law, it is likely because of the specific nature of the problem the Colossians are having in relation to the Law. Much between writer and readers is assumed. If Ephesians is a circular letter, then less is assumed and terminology becomes more explicit in order for the letter to make sense to the readers of the various church communities. None of this denies the differences between the two letters.27 Nevertheless, the likelihood that Ephesians draws on Colossians also suggests a similarity of concerns,28 including the Law of Moses. Second, if Witherington’s argument for Pauline authorship of Colossians and Ephesians based upon its rhetoric (among other things) is strong, then one can envisage a situation in which Colossians, Philemon, and Ephesians were written in an interconnected way. Dunn suggests that Paul’s personal concern for Onesimus may have prompted him to give direct attention to the letter he would write to Philemon while leaving the composition of

24. Witherington, Colossians, 7 (cf. 215–17), who refers to George A. Kennedy, ‘The Genres of Rhetoric,’ Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period 330 b.c.–a.d. 400, (ed. Stanley E. Porter; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 45: ‘Epideictic is perhaps best regarded as including any discourse, oral or written, that does not aim at a specific action or decision but seeks to enhance knowledge, understanding, or belief, often through praise or blame, whether of persons, things, or values. It is thus an important feature of cultural or group cohesion. Most religious preaching … can be viewed as epideictic.’ 25. E.g. Ernest Best, Ephesians (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 20–36. 26. MacDonald, Colossians, 4. 27. Talbert, Colossians, 3–6, highlights the differences, but space does not permit me to make the case here. I believe the differences he lists are insufficient to deny the literary dependence of Ephesians on Colossians or reject similarities of concern found in both epistles. 28. Andrew T. Lincoln, Ephesians (WBC; Waco: Word: 1990), lv notes that the dependence is not merely copying, but is ‘free and creative.’

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Colossians to Timothy (Col. 1:1).29 It is conceivable as well that, given the situation in Colossae in which the target of the letter is the synagogue, Paul would have believed it important to write a more general composition reminding the Christians in Asia Minor of the inheritance that Jews and Gentiles share on account of the work of Christ. The significance of covenant problems related to the status of Gentiles, as viewed so prevalently in the New Testament, may have motivated Paul to commission a homily. It would not be inconceivable that Paul and Timothy drew on what was already written in Colossians and expanded on it to create the letter now known to us as Ephesians. If Ephesians is the letter referred to in Colossians as ‘the letter from Laodicea’ (4:16), it may be that Laodicea was the document’s first stop, and Ephesus was the letter’s last place of public reading. This may explain why we know the letter today as ‘Ephesians.’ Given the clear relationship between Colossians and Ephesians, the Ephesian interest in the Law of Moses, if anything, moves us in the direction of affirming once again the case that the target of the letter to the Colossians is fundamentally Jewish. Conclusion In considering the internal evidence from Colossians itself, and the related evidence from the Book of Ephesians, it appears that the best explanation for the identity of the xeiro/grafon in Colossians 2:14 is that it is primarily and most specifically a reference to the Law of Moses. It may indeed be the case that the xeiro/grafon as a certificate of indebtedness and/or a heavenly book of deeds reveals aspects of the nature of the xeiro/grafon, but it is precisely because they are inextricably connected to the xeiro/grafon as the Law of Moses that gives each alternative interpretation its legitimacy.

29.

Dunn, Colossians, 40.

Chapter 17

The Epistle to Philemon: Paul’s Strategy for Forging the Ties of Kinship John Byron The letter to Philemon is the shortest of all in the Pauline corpus (335 words in the original Greek), almost postcard in size.1 On the face of it, Paul has written an entreaty to a master to accept back a slave that has, for some reason, been separated from his owner. The letter makes it clear that the slave had been with the imprisoned apostle and during this time was converted. The apostle asks the master to forgive the slave of any wrongdoing and to welcome him as a ‘beloved brother.’ There are a number of ways in which an interpreter could approach this letter including: a consideration of first-century social practices, Paul’s employment of deliberative rhetoric, and his use of the honor/shame relationship between himself and Philemon that he carefully brings to bear on the situation. All of these are important aspects of the letter and should not be overlooked. But I would like to examine the letter as a window into Paul’s practice of pastoral ministry on a personal level. Missing from the letter are all of the various doctrinal and ecclesial aspects found in Paul’s other letters. Rather, Philemon is a very rare glimpse into the relationship between two leaders of the early church as they try to deal with a personal issue that has wider ramifications within the church and society as a whole. This means that while all of the various historical and socio-rhetorical aspects must be considered, the ultimate goal is to observe Paul’s strategy as pastor and how he repairs a broken relationship within the context of the church. This will be done in three steps: (1) by examining the letter to determine what we can know about Philemon and Onesimus; (2) by examining the social data to determine what we can know about Onesimus’ 1. My first introduction to the works of Professor J. D. G. Dunn was during my graduate studies while working under the tutelage of one of his former students, C. L. Holman. Whereas many students become familiar with Dunn’s scholarship through the New Perspective on Paul, my first significant encounter was with his NIGTC commentary, The Epistles to the Colossians and to Philemon (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996). Since then I have continued to learn and benefit from both the work and friendship of Professor Dunn, and it only seems appropriate that I return to Philemon in this chapter as a way to honor him.

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situation; and (3) by examining what Paul has said in the letter in order to determine how he has handled the situation as a pastor. The Person of Philemon While this letter is short on details, it is possible to tease out some information about the recipient. Philemon seems to have been somewhat well-to-do, at least by Lycus valley standards. He owns a house, which is large enough to host a local Christian congregation (verse 2) and provide guest room(s) for travelers (22). He is the owner of at least one slave, Onesimus, but due to the implied size of his house it would not be overstating the case to suggest that he owned many slaves. He apparently had an impressive reputation among the local Christians as one who refreshed their hearts (7), a reputation which may have extended beyond the spiritual and moved into areas of charity and benefaction.2 He also may have been a successful businessman. The fact that he had a large home and slaves coupled with the highly suggestive commercial language used by Paul in 17–18 contributes to this suggestion.3 He was a convert of the apostle Paul (v. 19), but he obviously met Paul some place other than his hometown of Colossae since we know from Acts and Colossians that Paul had never traveled there. It is Paul’s fellow-servant Epaphras who was responsible for much of the evangelistic work in that area. Consequently, Philemon must have met Paul someplace else. Perhaps while on business in Ephesus he met Paul and was converted. Philemon seems to have played a major role in the ministry of the gospel that extended beyond merely opening his house. In verse 1, Paul calls Philemon sunergo/j (‘fellow worker’) and by doing so places him among a select group of people (Rom. 16:3, 9, 21; 1 Thes. 3:2; 1 Cor. 3:9; 2 Cor. 1:24; 8:23; Phil. 2:25; 4:3; Col. 4:11; Phlm. 24). Dunn suggests that this title may indicate that Philemon had taken an active part in Paul’s ministry perhaps even taking time away from his business to join Paul in evangelistic work. The usage of the commercial term koinwno/j (‘partner’) in verse 17 suggests that Paul has a double meaning in mind. Philemon not only had fellowship with Paul in the Lord, he was a partner with Paul in the Lord’s work.4 This information about Philemon, although meager, indicates that he was not just an obscure figure in the early church. Although he is mentioned only once in the New Testament, it seems that he was a prominent member of the church and even a vital part of Paul’s ministry. Consequently Paul is not writing a letter to a stranger but to a friend and partner in ministry.

2. Andrew D. Clarke, ‘Refresh the Hearts of the Saints: A Unique Pauline Context?’ TynBul 47 (1996), 296; David A. DeSilva. Honor, Patronage, Kinship and Purity: Unlocking New Testament Culture (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2000), 124. 3. Dunn, Colossians and Philemon, 301.



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The Person of Onesimus There is really very little to know about Onesimus from this letter. He was a slave (16), though apparently not a very profitable one (11). He was converted by Paul and became close to him while the apostle was in prison (10). Lastly, he was sent back to Philemon with a letter declaring his conversion and requesting that he be welcomed back as a brother. How Onesimus became separated from his master is not stated. If Onesimus was a fugitive, then Paul simply papers over that fact. Paul also does not indicate that Onesimus has expressed any regret or remorse for wrongdoing. If Onesimus was in any danger of punishment upon returning home, Paul makes no allusion to such. What does seem clear is that Onesimus had somehow caused injury to Philemon to such an extent that some type of financial restitution was in order (18). What is curious is that Onesimus remained unconverted while a member of a household that not only hosted a local Christian congregation but was also controlled by a prominent member of the church. For some reason it seems that Philemon never insisted that Onesimus be baptized. As a member of Philemon’s household one would expect that this would be the natural outcome of Philemon’s own conversion. Early Christianity was basically a household movement in that it sought after the conversion of heads of households, whose dependants would follow them into the new faith.5 This pattern is illustrated by the anonymous official in John 4.53, Cornelius (Acts 10:2, 24, 44–48), Lydia (Acts 16:14–15), the Philippian Jailer (Acts 16:31–34) and Crispus (Acts 18:18). In the Greco-Roman world, the concept of the household included not only those related by blood, but also slaves. This attitude is reflected in the New Testament household codes that address not only family relationships but include slaves and masters in an almost seamless fashion (Eph 5:22–6.9; Col 3:18–4:1; 1 Pet 2:18; 3:7). Slaves were property owned by the master, but they were also considered a vital part of the household family. Consequently, with the internal evidence of the New Testament suggesting that conversion of slaves to Christianity was a normal and accepted part of a householder’s own conversion, the case of Onesimus is a curiosity.6 4. Dunn, Colossians and Philemon, 301, 336. 5. DeSilva, Honor, 226. 6. Nicholas H. Taylor ‘The Social Nature of Conversion in the Early Christian World,’ in Modelling Early Christianity: Social-Scientific Studies of the New Testament in its Context (ed. Philip F. Esler; New York: Routledge, 1995), 128–36 suggests that ‘Onesimus had been initiated into the church with the rest of Philemon’s household, but without having acquired Christian convictions. What changed, presumably through Onesimus’ encounter with Paul, was the quality of his Christianity, from involuntary incorporation into a Christian community and conformity therewith, to a commitment to Christian faith. His return to Philemon would combine conviction with socialization and observance, and so complete Onesimus’ conversion’ (133). This, however, seems unlikely. Paul makes no such allusions to Onesimus’ association with the church. Moreover, the fact that Paul commands Philemon to accept Onesimus back as a beloved brother indicates that this is something Philemon had previously failed to do. Thus, if Onesimus had been a ‘social Christian,’ Philemon had failed to treat him in the correct manner and was still excluding Onesimus from his family.

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There have been numerous suggestions about the situation surrounding Onesimus and the composition of the letter he carried back to his master.7 A quick glance through the extensive bibliographies in Joseph Fitzmyer’s commentary reveals that scholarly interest has been out of proportion in regards to this letter.8 Not only is the letter short in length, it is also short on details, which opens the way for endless speculation.9 If ever a Pauline letter required a combination of detective skills and imagination, Philemon is that letter. Details lost in the mix include: the location of Paul’s imprisonment; the exact status of Onesimus in regards to his absence from Philemon’s household; how Onesimus came to encounter the imprisoned apostle; the final outcome of the situation between Onesimus and his master Philemon; and whether or not Onesimus later became a second-century bishop in Ephesus. All of these questions have led scholars to offer a variety of competing solutions. The traditional interpretation is probably best articulated by J. B. Lightfoot.10 Onesimus, a slave owned by Philemon, had run away, financing himself at his master’s expense. Attempting to escape recapture, he fled to the crowded city of Rome to become lost among the people. While in Rome, Onesimus somehow came in contact with the apostle Paul who was imprisoned there.11 While Lightfoot does not present an exact scenario for how this meeting occurred, the end result is that the runaway was eventually converted and became beloved to the imprisoned apostle. Realizing the need not only for repentance, but for restitution, Paul sent Onesimus back carrying a letter asking Philemon to forgive the truant slave and to treat him no longer as a slave, but as a brother.12 7. For an overview of the scholarly interest in Philemon, see the chapter on Philemon in John Byron, Recent Research on Paul and Slavery (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2008), 116–37. 8. The greatest contribution Fitzmyer has made to Philemon studies is arguably his bibliography. With its length of thirty-five pages it represents a full one third of the commentary. Add to this the specific bibliographies at the end of each pericope and the result is a treasure trove of sources and information for Philemon and wider Pauline studies. Cf. Joseph Fitzmyer, The Letter to Philemon (AB 34c; Garden City: Doubleday, 2000). 9. Such a tendency was noted by R. W. Wall, Colossians and Philemon (IVPNTCS; Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1993), 183: ‘In my view, many commentators exaggerate the peril of Onesimus’s situation and the prerogatives of Philemon’s social status. On the mistaken basis, some offer ingenious and highly influential reconstructions of the circumstances that occasioned the writing of this letter.’ 10. J. B. Lightfoot, St. Paul’s Epistle to the Colossians and Philemon (MacMillan, 1879; reprint, Peabody: Hendrickson, 1995), 310–14. 11. Lightfoot, St. Paul’s Epistle, 312. 12. Others who support this view include F. F. Bruce, Epistles to Colossians, Philemon Ephesians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1984); Eduard Lohse, Colossians and Philemon. (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1971); Peter T. O’Brien, Colossians, Philemon. (WBC; Waco: Word Publishers, 1982).



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Over the years there have been numerous challenges to the traditional interpretation including the contributions by Goodenough,13 Knox,14 Winter,15 and Callahan.16 More recently Lampe’s17 hypothesis, based on Roman law and later expanded by Rapske,18 has proven to be the more popular explanation for how a slave could meet an imprisoned apostle and return home without being arrested.19 There is not sufficient space to evaluate all of these interpretations here. But one element that is present in many of these interpretations, especially that of Lampe and Rapske, is an overreliance on legal codes as a source for the situation of first-century slaves. By defining slavery through legal codes, scholars run the risk of buying into the ideology of the slave holder. Legal codes were designed to protect the master’s investment in the slave, not the rights of the slave. With this in mind, we can give consideration to two alternative ways of looking at first-century slavery. Legal Aspects One area which has been a particular stumbling block for New Testament scholarship is the problem of what sources should be used to inform our understanding of slavery and how we should use them. The most obvious resource would be Roman legal texts regulating slavery. But using these is problematic for three reasons. First, the primary source for Roman law is the Digest of Justinian, which was not published until 533 ce. The Digest is a compilation of legal excerpts from which all obsolete rulings had been excised and only those still relevant to 533 ce were preserved.20 While some laws in the Digest undoubtedly go back to the first century, many may also be missing. Though the relevance of the Digest for New Testament studies cannot be dismissed out of hand, it is

13. E. R. Goodenough, ‘Paul and Onesimus,’ HTR 22 (1929), 81–83. 14. John Knox, Philemon Among the Letters of Paul: A New View of its Place and Importance (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1935; rev. ed. New York: Abingdon, 1959). 15. Sara C. Winter, ‘Paul’s Letter to Philemon,’ NTS 33 (1987), 1–15. 16. Allen Dwight Callahan, ‘Paul’s Epistle to Philemon: Toward an Alternative Argumentum,’ HTR 86 (1993), 357–76. 17. Peter Lampe, ‘Keine “sklavenflucht” des Onesimus,’ ZNW 76 (1985), 133–37. 18. Brian M. Rapske, ‘The Prisoner Paul in the Eyes of Onesimus,’ NTS 37 (1991), 187–203. 19. Those who are amenable to this hypothesis include: S. S. Bartchy, ‘Epistle to Philemon,’ in ABD (ed. David Noel Freedman; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1992), 5.305–10; Dunn, Colossians and Philemon, 304–306; Fitzmyer, Letter, 20. This scenario appears to be adopted by Marianne Meye Thompson, Colossians & Philemon (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 196–98. 20. Keith R. Bradley, Slavery and Society at Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 20.

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not necessarily an accurate indicator of which laws were in vogue in the first century. It is quite possible that there were other laws that did not survive and could have shed light on New Testament texts. Thus, while a picture of the legal situation of early imperial Rome is very good, it is also inherently incomplete. Second, the use of legal texts to define the nature and practice of slavery is methodologically questionable. The danger is that it results in monolithic claims about Roman slavery. Legal texts were not necessarily positive indicators of social practice. As Harrill has cautioned, ‘legal codes, at best, provide only inexact knowledge about social practice and, at worst, can build a highly misleading model of slavery. Reading law codes as descriptive rather than prescriptive overlooks the course of juridical decisions in the practice of law.’21 Slavery laws were established in response to situations that required some type of legal control. Whether or not they actually mirror social practices and attitudes is debatable. Third, it is difficult to determine the extent to which Roman laws were fully implemented in Rome’s provinces. Roman law applied only to Roman citizens while non-Romans typically retained their own local rules. Provincial governors applied Roman law as part of their official duties, but how effectively and thoroughly are questions difficult to decide. Governors were under no compulsion to hear particular cases, and their authority was probably felt more in cities than in rural areas, where local practices are likely to have predominated.22 This being the case, it would be difficult to determine, for instance, which, if any, Roman laws applied to the case of Onesimus. These problems can be illustrated with two examples from the Roman historiographer Tacitus. According to Roman law, a slave could not testify against his master in a court of law. Tacitus records, however, that Tiberius, in an effort to get the information he wanted from an accused man’s slaves, forced the slaves to be sold to the treasury at which point they could then be tortured and questioned (III.67).23 In another place Tacitus records that the Roman Senate decreed that if a slave killed his master he must be executed. But it also ruled that any other slaves who were in the house at the time would also be executed as accomplices upon the assumption that they did 21. J. A. Harrill, ‘Using the Roman Jurists to Interpret Philemon: A Response to Peter Lampe,’ ZNW 90 (1999), 136. 22. Peter Garnsey and Richard Saller, The Roman Empire: Economy, Society, and Culture (Berkley and Los Angles: University of California Press, 1987), 1–4. Harrill, ‘Using the Roman Jurists,’ 137 notes: ‘For non-Romans and provincials especially, the use of either Roman law or indigenous legal customs was uneven and opportunistic, depending on whichever best suited the litigant’s interests, and followed the rule of “selfhelp” rather than on police enforcement. The law was in actuality a mixed bag of Roman, Greek, and local influences, and varied according to the region and the idiosyncrasy of the magistrate.’ 23. Cornelius Tacitus, The Annals of Imperial Rome (Penguin Classics; rev. ed; Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1972), 151.



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nothing to stop the crime (XIII.30).24 However, when a prefect was murdered by his slave in 61 ce, and plans to execute all of the household slaves were made public, a riot broke out and the senate house was surrounded. The end result was that Nero had to line the streets with armed soldiers in order to carry out the executions in spite of the protest against slaughtering the innocent (XIV.44).25 If Roman law could be so easily subverted or prove to be unpopular within the capital of the empire, one has to wonder what the situation was like outside Rome. Social Aspects An alternative way to approach slavery is to understand it from the point of view of the enslaved. Slavery was diverse in practice and ideology from nation to nation. An important characteristic in all forms of slavery, however, was disconnection. As an institution, slavery had the ability to disconnect completely the individual from family, ethnic, and cultural ties. M. I. Finley identifies three components of slavery that provide advantages for the owner over the slave: the slave’s property status, the totality of power over the slave, and the slave’s kinlessness.26 Slavery eradicated family and national ties and replaced them with new relationships artificially created by the individual’s position in the institution. It is this aspect of slavery that Orlando Patterson has identified as natal alienation. ‘Slaves differed from other human beings in that they were not allowed freely to integrate the experience of their ancestors into their lives, to inform their understanding of social reality with the inherited meanings of their natural forbears, or to anchor the living present in any conscious community of memory.’27 The effects of natal alienation in the Greco-Roman period are most evident in the way slaves were identified. Slaves and former slaves were easily identified by their servile name, and their inability to record the identity of their father or tribe. The only identification slaves and freed persons could legally use was that of their owner or patron’s name which immediately revealed their status as a slave or former slave.28 Even in death this stigma continued as demonstrated by numerous epitaphs describing the deceased as the slave or former slave of so and so.29 In reaction to this lingering stigma some freeborn descendants of slaves, in an effort to conceal their origins, discarded their servile or foreign names in exchange for a more 24. Tacitus, 298. 25. Tacitus, 334. 26. Moses I. Finley, Ancient Slavery and Modern Ideology (New York: Viking Press, 1980), 75, 77. 27. Orlando Patterson, Slavery and Social Death: A Comparative Study (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1982), 5. 28. A. M. Duff, Freedmen in the Early Roman Empire (Cambridge: W. Heffer & Sons, 1958), 55. 29. Duff, 53.

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respectable Latin cognomen.30 But even if a freed person was able to escape most of the negative aspects of their new status, the upper-class aristocracy generally despised them as social climbers who were causing chaos within the social statuses.31 Another aspect of natal alienation is the way slaves were dehumanized. Jennifer Glancy has demonstrated that slaves were often counted not as people but as ‘bodies.’32 In lists of property, censuses, and last wills and testaments the term most often used to describe slaves was sw~ma.33 This attitude can also be detected in the way that slaves were often used as surrogate bodies for their masters by being forced to take punishment in place of their master. For instance, if a person had failed to pay taxes his slave might be seized and thrown into prison until the taxes and fines were paid.34 The rationale behind such practices was that the master lost the use of his slave and thus the benefit of his investment. When a slave was injured by a third party it was not the slave who was considered injured but the master.35 Female slaves were often used as wet nurses to nourish the children of the master while their own child were sometimes displaced in favor of the freeborn child.36 Slaves’ bodies were also vulnerable to sexual abuse either directly from the master or through being prostituted forcibly. Thus, slaves were, as described by Aristotle, living tools that were at the disposal of the master.37 Like a stunt double in a Hollywood film, slaves were body doubles for their masters. They had no rights to ties of kinship, could not legally contract marriages, and were forever identified by who their former owner was rather than their family or tribe. They were, in some aspects, nothing more than soulless bodies. Paul’s Intercession It is on the basis of natal alienation and its effects on slaves that I want to approach the letter to Philemon and the situation of Onesimus. I submit that Onesimus suffered a compounded form of natal alienation. As a slave 30. Peter Garnsey, ‘The Descendants of Freedmen in Local Politics: Some Criteria,’ in The Ancient Historian and His Materials: Essays in Honour of C. E. Stevens on His Seventieth Birthday (ed. Barbara Levick; Westmead, England: D. C. Heath, Greg International, 1975), 167–80, here 169. 31. Duff, Freedmen, 67–68; Ramsay MacMullen, Roman Social Relations: 50 b.c. to a.d. 284 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974), 104; Dale B. Martin, Slavery as Salvation: The Metaphor of Slavery in Pauline Christianity (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990), 38. 32. Jennifer Glancy, Slavery in Early Christianity (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 9. 33. Glancy, 10. 34. Glancy, 13. 35. Glancy, 14. 36. Glancy, 19. 37. Aristotle, Politics 1253b27–33.



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he was denied the right to identify himself to a parent or a particular tribe. As an unconverted slave in a Christian household, he was alienated to the degree that he was not fully integrated into Philemon’s family. An unconverted slave in an important Christian household suggests some sort of neglect on the part of the family’s leader. Following this suggested background, the letter can be examined to reveal how Paul’s strategy brought about a change to the situation. Paul’s tactic is to intertwine Philemon’s ministry with the situation of Onesimus. In verse 7, Paul reports that, even though he is in prison, he has had news of Philemon’s ministry that brought him joy and encouragement. Rather than name a specific aspect of Philemon’s ministry he refers to it by a general yet powerful description. Paul notes that Philemon has ‘refreshed the hearts of the saints.’ The use of the term ta_ spla/gxna rather than kardi/a in this context heightens the sense of Paul’s message. The term is ‘intensively emotive’38 and ‘is used to express the whole person which in the depths of its emotional life has experienced refreshment through consolation and love.’39 By describing the results of Philemon’s ministry in this way Paul emphasizes the strong emotional bonds that have been forged between Philemon and the saints.40 Paul emphasizes his own relationship with Philemon as well as Philemon’s location within the Christian church by calling him a0delfo/j (‘brother’). Thus Philemon’s actions have consequences not only for himself but also for Paul and the Lycus valley church. Paul’s strategy is revealed in verse 10. It is here that he announces that Onesimus has become a believer. But he does this by describing the event as birthing process with himself as a parent and Onesimus as the child. Admittedly this is not a new description since he routinely refers to his converts as his children or himself as their father (cf. 1 Cor. 4:14–15, 17; Gal. 4:19; Phil. 2:22; 1 Thes. 2:11; 1 Tim. 1:2, 18; 2 Tim. 1:2, 2:1; Tit. 1:4). However, even though it may be symbolic rather than physical, it is highly subversive when used in reference to a slave. Such a statement by Paul not only declares Onesimus’ new spiritual status, it also declares a new social status in that it destroys the effects of natal alienation by allowing Onesimus to identify Paul as his father. Paul has given Onesimus an identity that is located outside of slavery and within the ministry of the apostle and the body of Christ. For the first time Onesimus has a family that is not part of the artificial relationships constructed by slavery. This new relationship is emphasized in verse 12 when Paul again uses the spla/gxnon term. This time it is used not to describe the saints but Onesimus. This produces two results. First, it causes Onesimus to be connected back to the very wellknown ministry of Philemon to the saints. The implication here is that Philemon now has a new focus for his ministry. Second, it makes Onesimus a part of Paul. By describing Onesimus as ‘my own heart,’ it is as if Paul has appeared to Philemon in the person of Onesimus. 38. 39. 40.

Dunn, Colossians and Philemon, 330. Helmut Köster, TDNT, 7.555. Dunn, Colossians and Philemon, 330.

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Verse 16 certainly represents the climax of the letter. While many commentators reflect on whether Paul is hinting here at manumission, I think the more important aspect is the change of status. By declaring Onesimus to be a ‘beloved brother,’ Paul places him on the same level as Philemon (cf. v. 7). This is something Philemon had thus far failed to do. Onesimus lived in a Christian household, run by a well-liked minister, and, as a slave, may have even played some role in the church meetings (i.e., serving food, setting up chairs, etc.). But Onesimus’ non-converted status would have prevented him from participating fully. Although part of Philemon’s household, he had never really become part of Philemon’s family. All of that has changed with the conversion of Onesimus. Moreover, Philemon may be Onesimus’ owner, but it is Paul who has now become Onesimus’ father. Paul is a father in the faith to both Philemon and Onesimus; thus, they are brothers and children of the same man. Finally, Paul uses spla/gxnon for the third time in verse 20. He has also written a0delfo/j for a third time (cf. vv. 7, 16). Careful observation reveals that verse 20 is a reconfiguration of verse 7. Paul asks Philemon to do for Onesimus that for which he is so well known, refreshing the saints. Paul is asking that Philemon recognize Onesimus’ change of status and begin to treat him as a fellow saint. If Philemon follows through with this request, the effects of natal alienation will be significantly undermined, and Onesimus and Philemon will be a part of the same family. Conclusion What we observe in this short epistle is how Paul forges ties of kinship where none had previously existed. By social custom Onesimus was probably always known as the slave or former slave of Philemon. But with conversion and entrance into the body of Christ, the institution of slavery was subverted. Onesimus became the child of the Apostle Paul. Moreover, since Paul is also the spiritual father of Philemon, slave and master are both brothers. Within this new kinship structure the apostle encourages Philemon to treat Onesimus in the same way that he has other saints, by refreshing Onesimus’ heart. Whether Philemon followed through with Paul’s request or even went so far as to manumit Onesimus is a mystery. But if he embraced Onesimus as a brother, then the artificial structures of slavery and the effects of natal alienation would have been seriously undermined. While New Testament scholars have often lamented Paul’s relative silence on the topic of slavery, we may be missing his most significant critique. The bonds of kinship created within the body of Christ can replace the artificial ones created by slavery.

About

the

Contributors

The Reverend Allan R. Bevere is the Senior Pastor at First United Methodist Church in Cambridge, Ohio, and he is a Professional Fellow in Theology at Ashland Theological Seminary. Dr. Bevere is author of Sharing in the Inheritance: Identity and the Moral Life in Colossians (Sheffield Academic Press, 2003). Helen K. Bond is Senior Lecturer in New Testament Language, Literature and Theology at the University of Edinburgh, Scotland. Her interests include the history of Judaea in the first century, Josephus, the historical Jesus and Christian origins. She has a number of publications, including Pontius Pilate in History and Theology (CUP, 1998) and Caiaphas: Friend of Rome and Judge of Jesus? (WJK, 2004). John Byron is Associate Professor of New Testament at Ashland Theological Seminary. His publications include examinations of slavery in early Judaism and Pauline Christianity and how the Cain and Abel story was interpreted in Jewish and Christian literature. He is author of Recent Research on Paul and Slavery (Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2008). Ellen Juhl Christiansen has been a lecturer in New Testament at the University of Aarhus, Denmark, for several years. Since 1994 she has been the National Coordinator for the Ecumenical Forum of European Christian Women. Among her publications is The Covenant in Judaism and Paul: A Study of Ritual Boundaries as Identity Markers (Brill, 1995). Don Garlington currently teaches New Testament at Tyndale Seminary, Toronto. He was also Professor of New Testament at Toronto Baptist Seminary (1987–2002). He has many publications, including The Obedience of Faith: A Pauline Phrase in Historical Context (Mohr-Siebeck, 1991), Faith, Obedience, and Perseverance: Aspects of Paul’s Letter to the Romans (Mohr-Siebeck, 1994), and In Defense of the New Perspective on Paul: Essays and Reviews (Wipf & Stock, 2005). Simon J. Gathercole is Lecturer in New Testament Studies at the University of Cambridge. His doctoral dissertation was published as Where is Boasting? Early Jewish Soteriology and Paul’s Response in Romans 1–5 (Eerdmans, 2002), and among other publications, he is editor (with John M. G. Barclay) of Divine and Human Agency in Paul and His Cultural Environment (T. & T. Clark, 2006), an editorial board member for the

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Library of New Testament Studies, and editor for the Journal for the Study of the New Testament. The Reverend Jey. J. is Principal and Professor of New Testament at Bethel Bible Institute in Danishpet, Salem District, Tamil Nadu, India. He also served as Academic Dean at the Hindustan Bible Institute & College in Chennai, and was Professor of New Testament at Union Biblical Seminary, Pune, India. His many publications include ‘Mysticism’ in the Gospel of John: An Inquiry into Its Background (Sheffield Academic Press, 1998) and The Gospel of John: A Commentary with Elements of Comparison to Indian Religious Thoughts and Cultural Practices (OM Books, 2005). The Reverend Lung-kwong Lo is Director of the Divinity School of Chung Chi College, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, and President of the Methodist Church, Hong Kong, in which he is ordained. He was the Chairperson of the Association for Theological Education in Southeast Asia and the Hong Kong Theological Education Association. His publications include ‘Heaviness through Manifold Temptations,’ in Forty-four Sermons to Serve the Present Age (Epworth, 2007); ‘Paul’s Gospel to the Gentiles and Its Implications for Christian Mission to Chinese,’ in Text and Task: Scripture and Mission (Paternoster, 2005), and Paul’s Purpose in Writing Romans (Alliance Bible Seminary, 1998). James F. McGrath is Associate Professor of Religion at Butler University. He was also Assistant Professor of New Testament at Emanuel University and the University of Oradea, Romania. Among his many publications, he is author of John’s Apologetic Christology (CUP, 2001) and The Only True God: Early Christian Monotheism in Its Jewish Context (forthcoming from University of Illinois Press in 2009).   Douglas C. Mohrmann is Associate Professor of Religion at Cornerstone University. Dr. Mohrmann co-founded and directed the Center for the Study of Antiquity and continues to research and publish on topics related to Early Judaism, Paul, and American Religion. He currently leads the Ancient Studies program at Cornerstone University. B. J. Oropeza is Associate Professor of Biblical Studies at Azusa Pacific University. He is founder and chair of the Intertextuality in the New Testament Consultation (SBL). He has authored a number of books and publications, including Paul and Apostasy: Eschatology, Perseverance and Falling Away in the Corinthian Congregation (Mohr-Siebeck, 2000/Wipf & Stock, 2007), and In the Footsteps of Judas and Other Defectors: Apostasy in New Testament Communities (Hendrickson, forthcoming).



About the Contributors

219

The Reverend Canon C. K. Robertson is Canon to the Presiding Bishop of The Episcopal Church, a former professor of communications and ethics at Georgia College and State University and a Fellow of the Episcopal Church Foundation. He presently serves on several national boards, including the Anglican Theological Review, is a member of the Anglican Association of Biblical Scholars, and has authored or edited numerous articles and books including Conversations with Scripture: Acts (Morehouse, forthcoming). Kenneth L. Schenck is Professor of Religion and Faculty Advisor at Indiana Wesleyan University. He is an ordained minister in the Wesleyan Church and author of a number of publications, including Understanding Hebrews: The Story Behind the Sermon (Westminster, 2003), A Brief Guide to Philo (Westminster, 2005), and Cosmology and Eschatology in Hebrews: The Settings of the Sacrifice (CUP, 2008). The Reverend J. Martin C. Scott taught New Testament in Manchester for ten years to 1999, before returning to his native Scotland, where he is currently Secretary of the Church of Scotland’s Ministries Council. His publications include Sophia and the Johannine Jesus (Sheffield, 1992), the John section of Eerdmans Commentary on the Bible (2003), and a variety of articles on the gospels. His first degree was in music and he retains a strong interest both in performing and in the relationship between music and theology. Graham H. Twelftree is Distinguished Professor of New Testament, School of Divinity, Regent University, Virginia Beach. His publications include Christ Triumphant: Exorcism Then and Now (Hodder & Stoughton, 1985), Jesus the Exorcist: A Contribution to the Study of the Historical Jesus (Hendrickson, 1993), and Jesus the Miracle Worker: A Historical and Theological Study (IVP, 1999). He is a member of the editorial board of the Journal for the Study of the Historical Jesus. Stephen I. Wright teaches homiletics, hermeneutics and New Testament at Spurgeon’s College, London. He was Director of the College of Preachers in the UK (1998–2006), and his publications include The Voice of Jesus: Studies in the Interpretation of Six Gospel Parables (Paternoster, 2000) and (with Peter K. Stevenson) Preaching the Atonement (T&T Clark, 2005), which was shortlisted for the Michael Ramsey Prize for Theological Writing in 2007. Arie W. Zwiep is Assistant Professor of New Testament and Hermeneutics at the Vrije Universiteit, Amsterdam. He also teaches at the Christelijke Hogeschool Ede. Among his publications are The Ascension of the Messiah in Lukan Christology (Brill, 1997) and Judas and the Choice of Matthias (Mohr-Siebeck, 2004).

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Scripture Index Genesis 1:27–28 123 12:3 174 15 164–5 15:5 174 15:6 165 17:5–6, 16 174 18:4 134 18:18 174 19:2 134 22:17–18 174 28:14 174 32:12 174 35:2 52 35:11 174 42:18 154 49:10 174–5, 179, 181–2 Exodus 1–15 178 4:15–16 56 4:22–23 146 7:1 122 8:15, 19 56 13:3 146 14:10–12 146 15:18 175 16:3 146 17:3 146 19:4–6 146 19:6 174 20:13 157 23:22 174 24:7 145 31:14 156 Leviticus 4:27 161 16 66–7 16:7–10, 21–2 66 17 160 17–26 170 18:1–30 156–7, 161–2, 169 18:3–6 153, 159

18:5 151–72 18:21 159 18:26 158, 170 20 156 25:13 37 26:1–13 157 26:13 146 26:16, 20 148 26:31 161 Numbers 14:2–4 146 15:39 48 20:25–26 52 22:7 51 23:9, 21–4 175 24:7–9 176, 180–1 24:17–19 176, 180–1 32:7 48 32:15 56 Deuteronomy 4 154–5, 157–8, 163, 170 4:1, 40 154 5:33 154 6:2 154 6:4 107 6:24 154 8:1 154, 157 11:8 154 12:10 154 15:2 37 16:20 154 18:10 51 18:15–18 57 19:15 68 22:7 154 25:15 154 28:14 157 29:18 49 30 154–5, 157–8, 163, 170 30:16–19 154 31:18 56

32:47 148, 154 33:5 174–7 33:20–22 175 Joshua 1:13–15 177 11:23 177 14:15 177 21:44 177 22:4 177 22:16, 18 56 22:29 177 23:1, 12 56 Judges 2:19 56 4–5 178 8:23 175 8:33 56 1 Samuel 4:12–17 145 8:7 175 12:12 175 18:4 52 25:24, 41 134 28:8 51 2 Samuel 7:7–8 71 7:8–11 177, 181 7:14 117 18:19–27 145 23:1–7 181 1 Kings 1–10 177 3:5 178 9:6 56 15:23 134 17:20–24 38 18:46 145 19:19–20 52

222 2 Kings 1:9–12 130 2:8 52 4:37 134 7:1–14 38 17:17 51 17:32 56 1 Chronicles 5:2 175 5:9 175 17:9–10 177 2 Chronicles 7:19 56 29:6 56 30:6–10 145 Nehemiah 8–10 160 9 154–5, 160–1, 163, 169, 171 9:2 160 9:17 146 9:22–25 160 9:29 154–5, 160 Esther 3:13–15 145 8:3 134 Job 2:9 148 7:6, 16 148 Psalms 2 177–9, 182 2:7 116, 118 2:9 179–80 21:10 179 33:16–17 181 40 77 44 117 45 117, 119 45:6 123, 179 68 182–3 68:17–18 178 68:29 174 72:1–8 181 72:8–11 178–9 72:12–14 179 76:11 174 88:27 118

Scripture Index 89:38–45 181 102 123 108, 109 77 109:1 118 110 109, 179, 182 110:1 118, 123, 124 110:3 183 118:32 144, 147 119:32 144, 147 147:4 147 148:15 147 Proverbs 2:6, 10 96 3:19–20 96 8:12, 30 96 10:4–5 20 16:10 51 18:19 144 31:18 20 Isaiah 2:1–5 147 2:21 177 3:26 144 5:26 180 8:1 143, 144 9:1–2 26 9:1–7 179–81 11:1–16 180–2 13:2 180 14:12 176 18:7 174 19:19–24 180–1 19:20 176, 182 28:16 167, 171 29:8 148 30:8 144 30:15 143 33:22 175 40:1–9 147 40:9 145 40:11 71 40:22–24 178 40:31 143, 147 45:18 148 45:22–23 106 48:20 143, 146–7 48:20–49:9 147 49:1–6 139, 147 49:3–4 142–3, 147, 148 49:6 139, 147 49:8 148

52:7 37, 42, 140, 143, 145 52:7–10 140 52:13 147 53:12 68 55:1–5 147 58:6 37 60:6 145 60:21 177 61 130 61:1–2 37, 145 61:3 177 65:23 148 Jeremiah 1:5–6 139 1:10 139 6:29 148 11:17 177 12:5 145 18:15 148 19:14 145 23:21 140, 145 24:6 177 31:10 71 31:28 177 32:6–44 21 32:11 145 32:41 177 34:9 51 36 144 39:11 145 42:10 177 49:1–6 140 51:31 145 Lamentations 4:8 26 Ezekiel 7:12 26 12:24 51 13:6, 23 51 13:18, 22 48 14:1 158 14:5 49 16:34 49 17:22–23 177 18 155–6, 158, 170, 172 18:9–21 154 20 155, 158–61, 169–71 20:5–26 152

20:11–25 154 20:25 171 21:22–27 51 21:26 51 21:27 174 28:34 51 33 158–9, 170–2 33:12–19 154 34:11–16 71 36–37 158–9 36:36 177 43:11 158 44:19 52 Daniel 7:13–14 109 12:2 152 12:4, 9, 13 26 Hosea 12:2 148 Joel 2:28–29 29 Amos 6:12–13 142 9:11 180 9:15 177 Micah 1:14 148 3:7 51 4:3 181 5:2–4 181 Nahum 1:15 145 2:1 145 Habakkuk 1:1–2:1 141 2:1 144 2:2–20 141 2:2–4 139–50 2:4 164, 166, 172 2:5 141 Haggai 1:9 142 2:12–14 52

223

Scripture Index Zechariah 2:3–4 145 9:9–10 181 10:2 51 Matthew 1:21 66, 67 1:23 66 2:1 47 2:1–18 16 2:7, 16 47 3:2 26 4:1 128 4:10 122 4:17 26 5:7 18 5:23 66 5:35 15 5:43–48 16 5:44–45 18 6:9 30 6:9–10 25 6:10 30–31 6:12 18, 31 6:13 31 6:14–15 18, 31 7:11 17 7:15 22 8:11–12 22, 31 9:7 22 9:9 66 9:15 22 9:36 17 10:7 26 10:23 32 11:2–6, 12–13 29 11:28–30 105 12:24 29 12:28 25, 27, 29–30, 33 12:29 29 13:24–50 17 13:43 25 14:1–12 16 14:14 17 15:10–20 10 15:30 135 15:32 17 16:18 66 16:19 22 16:28 32 17:10–13 130 18:1–22 22 18:14 18

18:23–35 13, 15–18 19:17, 21 19 19:23 25 19:24 19, 25 19:27–30 20 19:30 19 20:1–16 13, 18–20 20:25 16 20:34 17 21:31, 43 25 22:1–14 15 22:42 118 23:9 17 23:29–36 16 24–25 21 25:1–13 13, 20–3 25:34 25 26:3 66 26:6–13 41 26:15, 25 73–4 26:28 67 26:29 25 26:57 66 27:1–2 16 27:3–4 73 27:3–10 65, 73–4 27:11–31 16 27:15 68 27:16 61 27:16–22 65–6 27:24–25 65 27:28 67 28:9 135 Mark 1:14 26 1:15 25–8, 34 3:14–16 128 3:20–30 33 3;22 29 4:10 128 4:15–17 26 4:16–30 43 4:30 17 5:20 56 5:22 135 7:14–23 10 7:21–22 43 7:25 135 8:34–38 64 8:34–9:1 33 8:38 33 9:1 32–4

224 9:11–13 130 10:45 71 11:1 27 12:13–17 64 12:34 28 12:35 118 13:8, 13, 20 26 13:21–22 65 13:26, 30 31 13:33 26 14:3–9 41–2 14:10, 21–22 74 14:24 71 14:25 31 14:42–43 27 14:48 64 14:53 63 14:55–65 63 14:67–70 63 15:1 64 15:6 68 15:7 64 15:5–15 59–64 15:11 69 15:18, 26–7, 32 64 15:16–20 63 16:7 65 Luke 1:2 57 1:17 130 1:32 182 1:35 117 1:45 53 2:7, 12, 16, 24 57 2:32 129 3:19–20 68 3:21–22 56 4 38 4:1 56, 128 4:14 56, 129 4:14–9:50 36 4:14–30 37 4:16 145 4:18 56, 57, 129 4:21 27 4:22 37 4:23 129 4:24–27 56 4:26–29 129 4:29 37, 55–6 4:32 56–7 4:36 57

Scripture Index 4:43 37, 128 5:1 57 5:8 40 5:16 129 5:17 55 5:17–26 38 5:26 39 5:29 42 5:29–32 39 5:30, 32 40 6:2–3 39 6:4 57 6:11 39 6:12 129 6:13 128, 131 6:16 74 6:17 128 6:19 55 6:24 57 6:26 55–6 6:30 55 6:32–34 40 7:1–10 38, 57 7:1–23 130 7:11 41 7:11–15 38 7:16 56 7:16–17 38 7:18–23 29 7:22 38, 57, 129 7:29–30 39 7:34 38 7:36–50 35–45 7:38 135 8:1–3 57, 128 8:21 57 8:1–9:50 38 8:12 53 8:35, 41 135 8:39 56 8:43–48 52 8:46 55 9–10 136 9:1–2 128 9:3 49 9:7–8 56 9:7–9 68, 130 9:11 26 9:18–19 56 9:23–27 33 9:26 57 9:27 32–4 9:28 57

9:29 129, 133 9:31 133 9:35, 44 57 9:51–20:1 57 9:52–56 130 10:4 49 10:9, 11 26 10:13 52 10:18 170 10:21 56 10:25 154 10:25–37 18 10:25–42 44 10:26–28 156 10:39 57, 135 11:1 129 11:2 30–1 11:4 31 11:14–23 51, 55 11:15 29 11:17–18 56 11:20 27, 29–30, 56 11:21 53 11:28 57 12:13, 15, 23 57 12:32 25 13:1–3 68 13:2 40 13:11 51 13:31 68 13:39 31 14:7–14 18, 57 14:8 42 15:1 27 15:1–2, 7, 10 40 16:1–9 16 16:16 29 17:16 135 17:20–21 29–30 18:1 129 18:9–14 57 18:13 40 18:15–17 57 18:18–30 154, 156 18:29–30 57 18:35 27 19:1 27 19:7 40 19:11 27, 30 19:11–27 15 19:37 52 20:41 118 21:33 57

22:3 74 22:18 31 22:24–27 57 22:37 64 22:45 129 22:47 27 23:1–6 68 23:2 56, 69 23:4, 7–25 68 23:14 56, 68 23:15 68 23:19 69 23:22, 24 68 23:25 69 23:27–31, 35 68 23:37 69 23:51 54 23:66–71 68 24 132 24:15 27 24:19, 44 57 24:48 131 24:49 33 24:51 64 John 1:11 93 1:19–23 95–6 1:41 93 1:45–47 97 1:49 69 2:2 93 2:23–25 93, 96 2:6, 13 86 3:1–21 93 3:15–17 99 3:16 80 3:22 86 3:30 93 4:9 86 4:22 86, 95 4:53 209 5:16–18 96–7 5:18 93 5:19–47 96 5:46–47 93 6:15 69 6:69–70 80 6:70–71 74 8:31–59 83–4, 93, 97 8:44, 48 80, 83–4 8:52 80 9:22 98

Scripture Index 9:33 96 9:38 98 10:1–18 70 11:7–8, 16 99 11:27 93, 99 11:45 98–9 11:45–57 98 11:47 99 11:47–54 93 11:51–52 70, 99 12:1–8 41 12:6 74 12:10 96 12:13–15 69 12:42 98 13:2 74, 80 13:15 93 13:26–27 74, 80 13:33 100 13:34–35 80 15:13 70 15:14–15 92, 97 16:2 98 16:12–25 91 17:12 74, 80 18:28–32 70 18:33 69 18:35 100 18:36 69–70 18:37–39 69–70 18:38–40 59–60 19:1–4 70 19:3–7 69 19:11–12 70 19:12–15 69 20:16 70 20:18 93 20:19–23 96, 99–100 20:31 93, 96, 99 Acts 1 136, 137 1:1 46, 57 1:2 131 1:6 33 1:6–8 132 1:8 33, 131 1:14 129 1:16 30 1:16–20 74 1:20 74, 77–8 1:21–22 131, 133 2 116

225 2:4 53 2:7, 12 47 2:16–21 29 2:23 68 2:32 131 2:35 118 2:36 68, 117 2:38 49 2:41 57 3:6 49 3:12 48 3:14 59, 69 3:15 131 3:16 48 3:22–23 57 4:3–4 57 4:7–8 48 4:10 68 4:29 57 4:32 53 4:37 135 5:12 135 5:14 53 5:32 131 5:36 48 6 90 6:1 133 6:2, 4, 7 57 7:37 57 7:39 146 7:48, 51 133 7:58 131, 135 8:4–5 48, 57 8:4–13 145 8:9–24 46, 48, 47–50 8:13 51 8:14 57 8:15 49 8:21 57 8:25 49, 57 8:25–40 145 8:32–33 48 9 136 9:1–16 149 9:5 57 9:15 140 9:21 47 9:26 53 10:2 209 10:16 48 10:24 209 10:31 129 10:36 56–7

226 10:39 131 10:43 53 10:44 57 10:44–48 209 10:45 47 11:1 57 11:17 53 11:19 57 11:21 53 11:26 89 12:5 129 12:16 47 12:24 57 13:4–12 46, 49, 50–1 13:5 57 13:6 47, 55 13:7 57 13:8 47, 56 13:9 55 13:10 48, 54, 55 13:26 57 13:28 68 13:31 131 13:33 116–17 13:39 53 13:44 49 13:46 57 13:47 139 13:48 49 14:3 57 14:8–18 48 14:25 57 15 90 15:5 53 15:7 57 15:35–36 49 16:6 57 16:14–15 209 16:16 51 16:16–24 46, 49, 51–2 16:29 48 16:31–34 209 16:32 49 16:34 53 17:11 13 57 18:5 11 57 18:18 209 18:27 53 19:2 53 19:10 49 19:11–12 52, 53, 54 19:13–17 46, 52–4 19:18–20 53–4

Scripture Index 19:19 53 19:20 49 20:7 57 20:24 139 20:32 57 21:20, 25 53 21:33 27 22:3 135 22:6–21 149 22:15 131 22:19 53 22:20 131 23:26–28 170 24:14 53 26:12–23 149 28:1–6 48 Romans 1:1 128 1:1–7 173 1:2 183 1:4 182 1:5 173–83 1:9 167 1:16 141, 192, 195–8 1:17 139, 141, 150 1:28 167 1:32 167 2 170 2:9–10 192, 196 2:13 169 2:14 167 3:1–2 196–7 3:9 192, 197 3:9–19 xxii, 69, 197 3:12 168 3:21–22 xxii 3:21–31 169, 197 4:17 165 4:24–25 165 5 167 5:12–21 79 5:18, 21–22 169 5:21–22 169 7 xix, 170 7:1–6 169 7:9–10 169, 171 7:15 168 8:4 171 8:11 165 8:14 171 8:34 118 9–11 167, 171, 196–7

9:1–3 197 9:4–5 196 9:4–10:8 197 9:5–6 172 9:16 140, 147 9:17 197 9:24–31 197 9:25–26 171 9:30–10:30 165, 170–1 9:31 29, 168 9:31–33 168, 170–2 9:32 169 10 163, 172 10:1–3 169–72 10:1–13 167 10:3 168–9 10:4 171–2, 183 10:5 151–2, 154, 166–72 10:5–8 152 10:6 168–9 10:8–10 28 10:9 117 10:12 192 10:13 118 10:15 145 10:19–20 171 11 170 11:13 128 11:25–26 197 11:29 196 12:1–5 197 12:10 168 13:14 168 14:1–15:13 197 15:7–13 196 15:26 168 15:27 196 16:3–4 193, 208 16:6 193 16:9 208 16:12–13 193 16:21 208 1 Corinthians 1:1 128 1:22–24 193 3:9 208 4:14–17 215 7:18 193 7:20–24, 32–5 192 8:6 106–7 9:1 128

9:24–27 140, 147, 150 10:32 193 11:2–16 192 12:3 xv 12:13 193 14:34–35 192 15:2 148 15:9 128 15:10, 14, 17 148 15:22 166 15:25 118, 183 15:28 123, 183 15:36, 45 166 15:58 148 2 Corinthians 1:1 128 1:24 208 3:6 166 5:17, 20 148 6:1–2 143, 147, 148 8:23 208 10:14 29 11:24 98 13:5, 9, 11 148 Galatians 1–3 150 1:1 128, 140 1:4 147 1:11–16 139, 149, 150 1:15–16 140, 142, 147, 149–50 1:24 139, 142 2 90 2:1–9 194 2:2 139–50 2:3–10 149 2:6 149 2:7–15 193 2:10 164 2:11 148 2:14 166, 194 2:15–3:5 164 2:16 142, 150, 194 2:19–21 164–6 2:20 150 2:21 148 3 151, 163, 172 3:1–5 163, 166 3:3 164 3:4 148 3:6–14 163–6

227

Scripture Index 3:11 139, 141–3, 150, 164–6, 170 3:12 151–52, 154, 164–6, 170 3:13 141, 165 3:14 163 3:16 165 3:17–21 166 3:21 150, 163, 169 3:26–28 194 3:28 191–95, 198 4:3–7 146, 164 4:8–10 146 4:11 142, 147–8 4:19 215 4:26 147 5:1 146, 195 5:2–4 147, 148 5:5–6 163, 193 5:7 140, 142, 146–7 5:8, 13 146 5:14 146, 195 5:17 168 5:18 163 5:22–23 195 5:26 141 6:9 165 6:10 146 6:12–14 141 6:15 193 Ephesians 1:1 128 1:10 26 1:20 118 2:15 203–5 4:8 183 5:22–6:9 209 Philippians 2:6–11 105–6, 111, 117–19, 123 2:12–13 148 2:16 140, 143, 147–8 2:22 215 2:25 208 3:5–9 165, 168, 170 3:11–14 140, 147, 150 4:3 208 Colossians 1:1 128, 206 2:8 200

2:11 202 2:14 199–206 2:15–19 203 2:16–23 200, 204 2:16 202 2:17 203 3:11 193 3:18–4:1 209 4:11 208 4:16 206 1 Timothy 1:2, 18 215 2:9–15 192 3:1 192 5:3–16 192 2 Timothy 1:2 215 2:1 215 3:6–7 192 Titus 1:4 215 2: 3–6 192 1 Thessalonians 2:1 148 2:11 215 2:16 29 3:2 208 3:5 148 2 Thessalonians 2:3 74 2:8 180 3:1 147 Philemon 1–2 208 7 208, 215–16 10 209, 215 11 209 12 215 10–16 192 16 209, 216 17–19 208 18 209 19 201 20 216 22, 24 208

228

Scripture Index

Hebrews 1:2 120 1:3–5 115–17 1:5–14 115–24 2:3 115 2:5 119 2:10 115 120 3:4 120 5:5 117 5:9–10 120 7:3 120–1 7:6, 16, 23–4 120 8:2 120 8:4 121 9:11–14 67 11:3 120 12:1–8 139 12:22–24 119

7:9 152 9:68 148 16:21 145

1 Peter 2:18 209 3:7 209 3:22 118

Apoc. Zeph. 3.6–9 202 7.1–8 202

1 John 2:19 91, 93 2:22–23 96f 3:4–10 97 3:15 91, 97 4:20–21 97

4 Macc. 6:1–2 189 6:10 139 15:3 152 17:15–16 139 4 Ezra 7.21 155 7.129 154 11.36–12.3 175 12.32 175 Apoc. Abr. 1.11 120

Aristeas 127 154 310 145 Ascen. Isa. 1.28 49 Ezekiel the Tragedian 122

Revelation 1:3 145 1:17 135 Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha 1 Baruch 4:1 154 1 Enoch 48.5 122 51.1–3 122 62.9 122 69.27–29 122 89.61–64 202 89.70–71 202 2 Enoch 53.2–3 202 1 Macc. 1:41–51 189

L.A.B. 23.1 155 23.10 153–6 23.12 155 Life of Adam and Eve 13–15 122 Odes Sol. 1.3 147 Pss. Sol. 1.3–8 162 2 162 8 162 14.1–3 154–6, 162, 170, 172 14.2–10 162 17 29, 108, 162

Pseudo–Phocylides 149 54 Sib. Or. 3.652–56 108 Sirach 22:4 20 34:1 148 T. Job 11.11 201 T. Judah 22.2–3 174 24.5 182 Tobit 5:3 201 9:2 201 Wisdom of Solomon 3:11 148 8:3–4 96 9:11 96 Early Christian Literature (see more names under Index of Authors) Acts Thom. 79 49 Arabic Infancy Gospel 35 75 Barnabas 7:10 67 Did. 11.6, 12 49 Gospel of Thomas 14 10 n.22 John Cassian Second Conf. of Abbot Moses 1.15 149 Hermas Mand. 43[XI].12 49

Mart. Pol. 9–10 64 12.1 133 Ps. Clem. Hom. 9.16.3 52 Dead Sea Scrolls/Qumran texts 1QHab 7.1–8.3 142 1QS 2.11–19 49 4.6–8 154 4.20–22 29 5.20–29 179 4Q246 29, 182 4Q266 154–6, 161–3 4Q267 161 4Q504 154 4QBer (4Q286) 174 4QpGena–d 174

Greco–Roman and Other Ancient Literature (see more names under Index of Authors) ND 1.12.4 54 PGM I.1 54 IV.1227 54 V. 50 51 V.159–71 52 VII. 545–550 51 XII.1 54 XII.15 54 XII.266 52 XII.301–06 52 Josephus Ant. 4.209 145 6.48 49 7.248–49 145 8.353–54 52 15.373–79 49 17.345–48 49 18.65–80 49, 187 18.65–84 187 20.1.1[6] 190 20.5.1–6[97–124] 190 20.97 48

11QMelch 29, 37 CD 1.3–12 160 2.1 160 2.5 161 2.7, 11–14 160 3.6 160 3.13 160–1 3.14–16 154–6, 160–1, 163, 169–71 3.17–19 160 6.4 160 7.3–6 154–6, 160–1, 163, 169–71 12:15–17 44

229

Scripture Index

J.W. 1.78–80 49 1.204, 311 64 2.111–13, 159 49 2.223–238 190 2.253–4 , 585 64 6.254 145 Philo (see more under Index of Authors) De Agric. 176–77 144 In Flacc. 36–38 61

Rabbinic literature b. Ber. 28b 144 Gen. Rab. 1.8 182 97 182 99.8 182 Mishnah Abot 4.2A 147 Mishnah Mak. 3.15 154 Mishnah Yoma 1.1 67 Sifre Ahare pereq 1.13 170 Targum Neof. Numbers 176 Targum Onq Genesis 182 Targum Jon. Proph. Habakkuk 142

Subject Index Abraham 80, 134, 164 n.60, 165, 174, 175, 197 Absalom 145 acculturation 189, 189 n.29, 190 Adam 79, 105–6, 123, 167 Adam Christology xiii, 105–6 Africa 184–6, 184 n.3 agon (as motif) 139–40, 143, 147, 148 Ahimaaz 145 alien (ation) 88, 185, 187, 213–16 allegory, allegorical 15, 20, 22–3, 22 n.46, 84 allusion 13, 15 n.11, 21, 22, 37, 37 n.12, 42, 56, 67 n.39, 130, 146, 147, 152, 154, 157, 158, 159, 160, 160 n.40, 161, 161 n.40, 164, 209, 209 n.6 Ambrose of Milan 77 Anglican Church xiii, 88, 100 anti-Judaism 37, 72, 72 n.2, Antioch 77, 92 n.29, 136, 137, 166, 192 Antiochus IV Epiphanes 189 Antipas (Herod) 16, 68 anti-Semitic/-ism xii, 53, 72–3, 72 n.2, 77, 78 n.22, 79, 80–1, 83, 87, 95, 97, 101 apocrypha 109 apodictic law 154, 156, 157 apostasy 56, 84, 85, 148, 149, 159 apostle/apostleship xiii, 49, 78, 127–38, 139, 147, 149, 167, 186, 191 n.37, 193, 194, 196, 207, 209, 211, 215, 216 apostolic mission xiii, 136–7 Aramaic 4, 60, 62, 73 ascension 131, 132, 136, 178, 183 assimilation 189, 201 n.7 Athanasius 117 athlete/-tic 138–41, 147, 149–50 atonement xii, 66–7, 109–10 Augustine xii, 40, 78, 192 n.43, 194 Augustus 185 Balaam 108, 175–6 Barnabas 50, 67, 136, 137 benefactor/ion 193, 208 birkath ha-minim 85, 90

blessing 78–9, 157, 165, 175, 176, 181 book of deeds xiv, 199, 201–2, 206 boundary (markers) 35–6, 38, 78, 100, 138, 155, 161 calling 131 n.12, 136, 139, 140, 147–50, 157, 170, 215 Capernaum 129 case law (casuistic) 154 Chalcedon 87 Chaldean 141 chief priest 16, 66, 68, 69 child sacrifice 159 Christology/-ical xi, xiii, 83, 87, 90–2, 96, 115, 116, 123, 173, 183 Church xvii, 3, 33, 34, 40, 46 n.2, 50, 53 n.48, 62, 63, 71, 72, 79, 84, 85, 87, 89–92, 98, 100, 149, 164, 165, 172, 193, 198, 201 n.8, 205, 207–9, 215–16 Church Fathers 3, 4, 7, 67, 77 circumcision 86, 90, 94, 149, 169 n.81, 190, 193, 194, 200, 202–4 commission xiii, 128, 131, 132 n.13, 136, 138, 139, 149–50, 173, 206 community xiii, xvii, 4, 5, 13, 14, 33, 49, 54, 55, 58, 66, 74, 75, 83–92, 97–100, 145, 152, 155 n.20, 156, 158, 160–2, 172, 174 n.3, 184–92, 194–5, 205, 209 n.6, 213 compassion 17, 22, 77 confession 33–4, 54, 55, 63, 95, 97–9, 106–7, 112 n.61, 117, 161 conversion 49, 136, 164, 203, 209, 216 Cornelius 136, 137, 209 covenant 152, 155, 157–63, 168 n.77, 174 n.3, 180, 181, 197, 206 creator 119–20, 123, cross (of Christ) 64, 106, 194, 202–4 cult(ic) 67, 108, 109, 121, 141, 157, 158 n.34, 161 n.81, 185 n.8, 190 curse 49, 78, 155, 162, 165, 171, 175 Cyrene 185



Subject Index

David 78, 118, 134, 145, 173, 174 n.3, 175–7, 179–82 Day of Atonement/Yom Kippur 66, 67 debt(-tor) (also indebted) xiv, 15, 16, 18, 21, 26, 31, 36, 37, 43, 45, 176, 199, 201–2, 204, 206 Decalogue 10 demon(s) 29, 33, 51, 53, 55, 56, 75, 78, 80, 128, 135 demoniac 51, 75 devil 51, 54–5, 74–5, 79, 80–1, 83, 95, 97 diaspora 136, 185 n.8, 190 dietary regulations 200 disciple/-ship 6 n.10, 13, 20, 21, 22, 24, 30–3, 39, 62, 73–5, 79, 89–91, 96, 97, 99, 112, 118–19, 128–31, 133, 135 divine agency 153, 159, 160, 162, 167 divine/-er 15 n.11, 22, 26, 27, 48, 50, 51 n.32, 57, 70, 74–75, 80, 96 n.40, 106–9, 115–16, 121, 139, 159, 163, 167, 175, 178, 180–81 divinity xiii, 107, 120, 121, 123 economy/-ic 37, 154, 157, 158, 160, 184, 186, 195 egalitarian 91 Egypt 9 n.21, 47, 56, 59 n.2, 161 n.43, 175, 180, 181, 185 Elijah xii, 37, 38, 56, 110, 127, 129–31, 136–8, 145 n.33 Elisha xii, 37, 38, 56, 127, 129–31, 136–8 elite 16, 35, 41 Elymas xii, 49–51, 55–7 empire 185 n.10, 189, 213 enemy (see also opponent) 51, 55, 178 eschaton/-logy xii, xiii, 16, 21, 23, 26, 27, 30–1, 57, 107, 110, 111, 116, 147, 152, 153, 155 n.20, 170, 172, 176, 182–3, 197 Ethiopan eunich 133, 145 n.33 ethnos/-icity xiii, 89–90, 97, 100, 136, 203, 204, 213 Euripides 50 n.24, 51 n.31 evil spirit 34, 52–3 exile 76, 158, 159, 171, 177, 180, 190 n.35 exorcist 52, 110 faith xvii–xviii, 9, 14, 21, 24, 27, 28, 37, 38, 43, 45, 50, 62, 77, 78, 93, 94, 98, 99, 117, 124, 139–50, 151, 162–8,

231

170–3, 180, 182, 194, 197, 198, 209 n.6, 209, 216 family 26, 36, 60 n.4, 154, 156, 188, 209, 213–16 fasting 39 feasts 39, 41, 42, 60, 160 folklore 4, 8 n.14, 76 food laws 11, 40, 42, 90, 197, 200 foreign(er) 145 n.33, 160, 174, 186, 187, 190, 213 forgiveness 15–18, 31, 39–40, 43–5, 67, 207, 210 form criticism 3, 8 Gaul 185, 186 genre 4, 84, 154, 158, 163, 172, 191 n.36, 205 n.24 gentile xiii, 16, 26, 35, 37–8, 40, 89, 94, 111, 129, 136, 137, 139, 146–50, 161, 162, 166, 167, 169 n.81, 170, 171, 182, 186, 189–98, 203–4, 206 Gnostic Redeemer Myth 105 grace 35, 37, 43, 137, 147, 148, 160, 165, 197, 198 Hanina be Dosa 110 Hasidic 110, 111 heal/-er/-ing 16, 37–9, 52, 54, 55, 110, 128–30, 135 Hellenism 40, 41, 80 n.31, 85, 105, 133, 136, 185 herald 139, 143, 145–7, 150 high priest 63, 108, 120, 121, 174 Historical Jesus xi, 3, 5, 6, 8, 24, 84, 89, 96, 100, 104, 114 Hitler 72 holiness 155, 161 n.42, 170, 171 Holiness Code (H) 154, 156 n.16, 157, 171 Holy Spirit xi, xvi, 33–4, 49, 55, 56, 58, 92, 117 n.12, 131, 132 Homer 3, 50 n.24 Honi 110 honor 41, 48, 178, 203, 207 hope xii, 16, 19, 20, 21 n.43, 24, 25 n.5, 30–4, 37, 38, 45, 69, 73, 83, 133, 151, 155, 158 n.32, 162, 174 n.5, 176, 177, 197, 198 household 30, 205, 209–10, 213, 215–16 human agency 153, 159, 160, 163 humble/humility 48, 52, 57, 58, 105, 106, 180, 181, 203

232

Subject Index

ideal author 87, 101 ideal reader 87, 88, 93–101 identity xii, 5, 35–8, 44–5, 54, 63, 83, 84, 86, 87, 90–95, 100, 106, 107, 111, 114, 116, 118, 123, 155, 159, 184, 185, 187–91, 194–7, 199–201, 203, 213, 215 idolatry 159, 171 Ignatius 92, 139 n.2, 149 n.46 injustice 21, 22, 62, 69 insurrection 61, 64, 65, 69–71, 178 intertext/-ual/-ity 6, 151–72, 182 Irenaeus 92, 109 irony 15 n.11, 17–21, 23, 51, 62, 64, 66, 87, 94, 100, 159, 174 n.3, 203 Isis 187 Jacob 77, 174, 176 Jacobus de Voragine 76 Jamnia (Yavneh) 90 Jerome xii, 77–9, 149 n.46, 191 n.39 Jerusalem 15 n.11, 32, 39, 53 n.48, 61, 63, 65 n.27, 73, 77, 85, 119, 129, 131–7, 140, 141, 146, 147, 149, 174, 190, 192, 194 Jerusalem Council 89 John the Baptist 38, 95–7 jubilee 18, 37, 43 Judaea 39, 60, 80, 86, 99, 131, 132, 136, 180 n.24, 185, 186 Judaizer 86 Judas (Iscariot) 65, 72–83, 131, 137 judge/judgment 15 n.11, 18, 19, 21–3, 31, 42, 44, 54, 66, 68, 84, 85, 87, 96, 122, 141, 144, 159, 179, 180–1, 193, 202 Just/-ice/-ification 16, 18, 19, 21, 22, 32, 37, 39, 62, 69, 155, 158, 163, 181 kingdom (of God) 15, 16–23, 24–34, 37–8, 42–3, 45, 48, 56, 116, 128, 136, 175, 179, 182 kinship 36, 188, 207, 214, 216 labor/toil 13–24, 77, 140, 143, 147, 148, 194 land 18–20, 26, 73, 135, 138, 161 n.42, 175, 177, 188, 189 Lazarus 96, 99 leadership 71, 91, 92, 127 legend 59, 74, 75, 76 linguistic(s) 4, 14, 174 Lord’s Prayer xii, 18 n.26, 30, 31, 129 n.5

love 35–46, 73, 78, 80, 91, 96 n.40, 97, 163, 195, 198, 215 Maccabaean Revolt 189 magic/-ian 29 n.26, 46–58, 200 manumission 216 marriage 20, 22, 205, 214 Martha 99 Mary mother of Jesus 117 Mary of Magdala 99 Matthias 78, 131, 132, 136, 137 mediator xii, 121, 123 Melchizedek 120, 179 mercy 18 messiah/-ianic xii, 16, 21, 22, 25, 29, 31, 34, 54, 55, 63, 64–7, 71, 79, 89, 94– 100, 103, 108–9, 113, 115, 118, 122–3, 130 n.8, 133, 136, 174, 177, 179–82 metaphor 14 n.4, 24, 101, 139–41, 144, 147, 149, 160, 169, 177 metonymy/-ic 13, 14 n.4, 17–19, 118 military 154–6, 158, 180, 182, 186 ministry of Jesus 14, 19, 34, 58, 101 miracles 38, 46–54, 130, 164 mission/-ary xiii, 9 n.21, 42, 50–1, 54, 57, 75, 85, 88, 89, 92–4, 98, 130, 135–7, 140 n.6, 146–50, 167, 173, 182, 186, 194, 198 mnemonic 6 monotheism xiii, 109, 112, 114–16 Montanism 91, 92 Moses 57, 122, 130, 138, 167–9, 174 n.6, 176, 202, 205, 206 Nazi 83 Nero 213 New Perspective xv, 13, 114, 127, 136, 137, 152, 163, 207 n.1 obedience xiii, 151–3, 155–9, 161–3, 168, 173–4, 182 Oedipus 76 Onesimus 192, 205, 207–16 oppression 17, 19, 29, 37, 100, 159, 179, 180 oral performance xi, 13, 16–20, 63, 143 oral transmission 9, 13 orality 12, 62 outcast 35, 40, 180 outsider/insider 39, 40, 50, 55, 87, 129, 130, 135, 137–8, 160, 187



Subject Index

parable 5 n.7, 13–23, 36–7, 43–5 parody 154 n.17, 159 parousia 22 n.44, 32–3, 147 Passover 59–60, 63, 68, 70 pastor xiv, 207, 208 Pauline Christology 107 Pax Romana 15, 186, 192, 198 peace 43, 45, 100, 145, 154–5, 160, 162, 169, 170, 177–8, 180–2, 186, 195, 197–8 Peter 7, 20, 48, 49, 63–5, 99, 131–2, 135–8, 166 n.65, 194 Pharaoh 122 Pharisee 16, 29, 30, 36–45 Philip 47–9, 52 n.39, 133, 136–7, 145 n.33 philosophy 168, 199–204 Pilate 16, 56, 58, 61–2, 64–6, 68–70, 100 Plutarch 47, 63 n.21 preaching/proclamation 48, 52, 72, 76, 88, 128, 129, 133, 135, 139, 140, 145, 147, 149, 170, 182 preaching of Jesus 18, 24–6, 28, 31, 37, 38, 42 pre-existence 105–8, 111, 118, 119 Priestly (P source) 156 Prison/imprisonment 50, 60, 62, 65–71, 207, 209–11, 214, 215 prophet/-ic xiii, 18, 19, 31 n.37, 37–8, 40, 42, 44–5, 47–51, 55–8, 63, 68 n.41, 92, 129, 138–43, 145–50, 159, 171, 174 n.6, 177, 179–81, 183 Pseudepigrapha 109 psychology 4, 8, 160, 195 purity (ritual) 38–40, 42, 44, 201 n.7 Pythagorus 200 Q 5, 7, 24, 26, 29 qaddish (prayer) 30–1 rabbi/-inic 6, 15n.11, 108, 170 n.86, 182 rebellion 19, 21, 123, 159, 162, 177 redemption 148, 167, 175 remnant 89, 91, 95, 100, 180 reign of God 17 n.22, 25–9, 31, 34, 176, 179 religious experience 67, 112, 133, 154, 156, 158 n.34, 159, 186, 189, 205 n.24 restore/restoration 33, 130, 132, 133, 136, 161 n.45, 181 rhetoric/-al 16, 18, 23, 63, 75, 77, 80,

233

96, 130, 153, 154, 158–61, 163–4, 166, 172, 191 n.36, 204–5, 207 righteous/-ness xii, 35–46, 51, 55, 139, 141–2, 145–6, 148–50, 153, 156, 159, 161–2, 168–72, 174, 180–1 Rome/Roman 50, 59, 60, 63–5, 68–70, 73, 78, 112, 183, 185–9, 192–3, 195–7, 209, 211–13 rule of God 25, 27–31, 33–4 sabbath 39–43, 44, 96, 159–60, 190, 194, 200, 204 n.22 Sadducee 36 salvation 20, 34, 38, 43, 52, 74, 86, 94, 119, 120, 147, 148, 152 n.11, 153, 167, 169, 172, 182, 183, 195–8 Samaria 47, 131–3, 136–37 Samaritan 44 n.48, 80, 86–7, 99, 130, 135 Satan 29, 53, 55–6, 58, 74–6, 81, 123, 128 satire 84 scribe 29, 36, 39, 68 n.42, 145, 182 Septuagint 26, 27, 51, 134, 141 Sergius Paulus 50 shame 101, 207 Shema 106, 107 sickness 29, 52 simile 17, 19, 175 Simon Magus xii, 47, 49 slave/ry 15, 29, 38, 51, 97, 130, 134, 146, 147, 161 n.43, 179, 189, 192, 207, 209–16 sociology 88, 90, 92, 96, 157, 184 society 20, 22, 37, 39, 40, 41, 50, 187, 190, 193, 207 solidarity xiii, 134, 188, 195, 197 Solomon 117, 177, 178 Son of God 94, 95. 110, 115–17, 119–21, 173, 183 Sophia 91, 94–6 soteriological 152, 153, 166, 203 sovereign/-ty xiii, 25, 27, 28, 115, 121–4, 178 Spain 185 Spirit of God 29 status 36–7, 40, 42–5, 68, 97, 115, 137–8, 188–9, 192, 195 suffering 64, 120, 156 symbolic universe/world 35, 152 synagogue 56, 77, 84–5, 90, 97–8, 100, 129. 130, 135, 138, 143, 201, 206 syncretism 199–201

234

Subject Index

Synoptic 6–7, 24, 25, 69, 70, 79, 98, 110, 118, 128, 130, 135 taboo 39 tax collector 36, 38–40 Teacher of Righteousness 111, 142 n.10 temple 57, 66–7, 73, 98, 109, 114, 129, 133–36, 138, 141, 152, 176 n.11 temptation 31, 118, 128 textual criticism 7,8 Theophany 141 Theudas 48 Third Quest 114 Thomas (disciple) 7 Tiberius 212 tribe 76, 154, 156, 174, 176, 187, 213–15 unclean 10, 35, 39, 129, 135, 137 universalism 186 unjust 16, 21 vice 10, 11, 76 virtue 156 vision xvii, 19, 102 n.3, 109, 112, 136, 138, 141–6, 150, 156, 172, 175, 176 war 64, 65, 74, 87, 177, 179, 180–2, 184, 186 watchman 141, 144–5 wilderness 128, 145–7, 178 Wirkungsgeshichte 75, 81–2 worship xii, 48, 85–6, 88, 94, 98, 100, 106–9, 114–26, 133, 135, 181, 185 n.8 zeal 88, 94, 168–70, 172 Zealot 61 Zion 147, 171, 178

Greek Words a)delfo/j 215–16 basileia 15, 25–6, 28, 32, 175 n.10 dikaiosu/nh 150 n.50, 164–6, 167–70 do/gma 202–4 e)ggizw 26–8 e)kklhsi/a 131 eu)aggeli/on 28, 145 koinwno/j 208 nomoj 164, 167–9, 171, 203–204 pi/stij 27, 53, 93, 141–2, 164–6 po/rnh 40 proskunhsij 121–2, 124 prwtotokoj 117, 119 teloj 119, 167–8, 184

Author Index Aalbers, Bert 75 n.8, 79 n.26 Abel, E.T. 4, 8 Aberbach, David 186 n.14, 189 n.30 Aberbach, Moshe 186 n.14, 189 n.30 Aeschylus 51 n.31 Allison, Dale C. 62 n.16, 66 n.31, 130 Allport, Gordon W. 8 n.15 Ambrose of Milan 77 Andersen, Francis I. 142 n.10, 144, 145 nn.31–2 Apollonaris of Laodicea 80 n.31 Apuleius 49 n.15 Aristides (Aelius) 187 n.19 Aristophenes 51 n.31 Aristotle 214 Arnold, Clinton E. 200 n.4 Arrian 51 n.31 Ashley, Timothy 175 Augustine 40, 78, 192 n.43, 194 Aulus Gallius 49 n.15, 50 n.25 Aus, Roger D. 61 Bailey, Kenneth 9 n.21 Bailey, Waylon 144 n.25 Bajsic, Alois 60 n.3 Balsdon, J. P. V. D. 187 nn.19–20 Baltzer, Klaus 147 n.37, 150 n.49 Bammel, Ernst 60 n.3 Barclay, John M. G. 189 n.28, 190, 201 n.7 Barker, Margaret 114 n.2 Barrett, C.K. 41 n.32, 48 nn.11, 12, 49 n.15, 53 n.41, 54 n.50, 69 n.43, 70 n.47, 92 n.29, 93 n.32, 96 n.39, 168 n.76 Bartchy, S. S. 211 n.19 Bassler, Jouette M. xvi n.4, 193 n.51 Bauckham, Richard 87 n.17, 103, 106– 109, 112, 114 n.2, 115–22 Bauernfeind, Otto 144 n.29, 148 n.42 Baumert, Norbert 192 n.45 Baumgarten, Joseph M. 44 n.51 Beale, G. K. 173 n.2, 176, 182 Beasley-Murray, G. R. 32 n.43, 70 n.45 Bechtler, Steven R. 167 n.70

Beck, Ulrich 184 n.2, 185 n.6 Beker, J. Christiaan 196 n.61 Bell, Richard H. 109–10 Bellis, Alice Ogden 141 n.9 Berenson Maclean, Jennifer K.61, 66 n.29, 67 n.39 Best, Ernest 205 n.25 Betz, Hans Dieter 140 n.6, 164 nn.58–60, 165 n.64, 191 nn.38, 40 Bevere, Allan R. 199 n.1, 200 n.5, 201 n.7, 203 n.18 Bhagwati, Jadish N. 185 n.6 Bieringer, Reimund 80 nn.32, 34, 81 n.35 Birgit, Taylor 36 n.8 Bjerkelund, Carl J. 148 n.43 Blenkinsopp, Joseph 158 n.33, 159 n.35 Blinzler, Josef 60 n.3 Bond, Helen K. 62 n.16, 63 n.19, 64 n.24, 65 n.26, 68 n.41, 70 n.46 Bonneau, Normand 164 n.57 Borgen, Peder 174 n.6, 176 n.11 Bradley, Keith R. 211 n.20 Brändl, Martin 140 n.6, 147 n.40 Brandon, S. G. F. 60 n.4, 61 n.14 Bring, Ragnar 165 n.61, 168 n.78 Bristow, John Temple 193 n.50 Brocke, Michael 30 n.29 Brooke, George 37 n.12 Brown, Raymond E. 59 n.2, 60 n.5, 61 n.12, 62 n.16, 65 n.27, 69 n.43, 84, 85 nn.11, 13 Brownlee, William H. 141 n.7, 144, 145 nn.30–1 Bruce, F. F. 210 n.12 Bruner, Frederick Dale 26 n.11, 27 n.15 Büchsel, Friedrich 148 n.42 Buconyori, Elie A. 184 n.3 Bultmann, Rudolf 70 n.47 Burney, C. F. 4 n.4 Burns, Thomas S. 185 n.9, 187 Byrne, Brendan 192 n.45 Byron, John 210 n.7 Cable, L. W. 78 n.22 Callahan, Allen Dwight 211

236

Author Index

Callisthenes 47 Campbell, Douglas A. 113 n.63, 191 n.37 Campbell, Jonathan G. 160 n.40 Cane, Anthony 75 n.8 Cappelletti, Silvia 195 n.57 Carson, D. A. 17 n.22, 70 n.45, 90 n.23, 93, 94 Carter, Warren 15 n.9, 67 n.37 Casey, Maurice 110, 111–12 Celsus 55 Charlesworth, James H. 162 n.51 Chavel, Charles B. 59 n.2 Chester, Andrew N. 112 Christ, Felix 104 n.12 Chrysostom, John 77, 139 Cicero 49 n.15, 189 n.28 Clark, David J. 144 n.25 Clarke, Andrew D. 208 n.2 Clement 52, 128 n.4, 139 Collins, Adela Yarbro 63 Collins, J. J. 176 n.11, 185 n.8, 190 n.33 Collins, Raymond F. 36 n.7, 41 nn.30, 33 Cranfield, C. E. B. 26, 28, 31 n.38, 32, 193 n.49 Croatto, J. S. 57 n.58, 129, 130 n.6, 131 nn.9–10 Crossan, John D. 60 n.4, 61, 67 n.35 Culpepper, R. Alan 84 n.5, 85 n.10 Cuming, Geoffrey J. 84 n.2 Dahl, Nils A. 148 n.43, 196 Dangl, Oscar 141 n.7 Dante 76 n.14 Daub, Carl 76 Davies, Margaret 87 n.17 Davies, Philip R. 161 nn.42–3, 47 Davies, Rupert E. 90 n.25 Davies, Steven L. 60 n.7 Davies, W. D. 62 n.16, 66 n.31, De Hoop, Raymond 179 n.21 DeMaris, R. E. 200 n.3 Derrett, J. Duncan M. 140 n.6, 142 n.13 DeSilva, David A. 208 n.2, 209 n.5 Deutsch, Celia 104 Dieckmann, Bernard 75 n. 9, 79 nn.28, 30 Dodd, C. H. 27, 32, 99, 116 n.8 Douglas, Mary 156 Duff, A. M. 213 nn.28–9, 214 n.31 Dundes, Alan 4 Dunn, James D. G. xi–xxvi, 3, 5, 10–11, 13 14 nn.4–6, 15, 17 n.22, 20 n.35, 24, 25 n.6, 26 n.11, 29 n.24, 30 nn.27–8,

31 n.34; 35, 46, 59, 62, 67 n.38, 84 n.3, 87, 90, 102–3, 105, 107, 109–15, 123–4, 127 n.1, 134, 136, 137 n.23, 149, 151–3, 158, 163, 164 nn.56, 59, 165 n.62, 167 n.74,169 n.80, 173, 186 n.11, 190 n.32, 191 n.39, 192, 197 nn.64–5, 200 nn. 3, 5, 201 n.8, 202, 205, 206 n.29, 207 n.1, 208, 211 n.19, 215 nn.38, 40 Eastman, Susan 142 n.16 Edwards, Mark J. 191 n.39, 192 n.43, 194 n.52 Edwards, Ruth B. 85 n.13, 86 Ellis, Peter F. 41 n.32 Esler, Philip F. 188 n.23, 195, 196 nn.59–60 Estrada, Nelson 137 Euripides 50 n.24, 51 n.31 Eusebius 49 n.15 Evanier, Mark 137 Ewald, M. L. 77 nn.20–1, 78 n.22 Eybl, Franz M. 76 nn.11, 15 Falk, Gerhard 79 n.26 Farmer, William R. 80 n.32 Fee, Gordon D. 102 n.4, 107, 140 n.6 Feuillet, André 104 n.15 Finley, Moses I. 213 Fishbane, Michael 158 n.31, 159 n.36, 181 Fitzmyer, Joseph A. 40 n.27, 68 n.40, 142 nn.10, 12, 167 n.69, 210, 211 n.19 Fletcher-Louis, Crispin H. T. 108 Floyd, Michael H. 144 n.27, 145 n.31 Flusser, David 60 n.3 Foley, J. M. 13, 14 n.4 Fossum, Jarl 114 n.2 France, Richard T. 15 n.12, 18 n.21, 22 n.44, 32 n.42, 107, 108 n.33, 112 n.61 Frankfurter, David 46 n.2, 47 n.4 Franklin, Eric 36 n.8 Friedman, Thomas L. 185 Gadamer, Hans George 81, 82 n.38 Gager, John G. 4, 8 Garlington, Don 173 n.2 Garnsey, Peter 212 n.22, 214 n.30 Garrett, Susan R. 47 n.9, 50 nn.20, 21, 52 n.35, 53 nn.45, 47 Gathercole, Simon 151–3, 154 n.16, 156, 158, 161 n.44, 163 n.53, 170 Gaventa, Beverly 103 n.5



Author Index

Geertz, Clifford 188 n.23 Gerhardsson, Birger 5 n.9 Gese, Hartmut 109 Getty, Mary Ann 167 n.74, 168 n.76 Gignilliat, Mark 143 n.18 Glancy, Jennifer 214 Gnilka, Joachim 62 n.16, 63 n.19 Goldingay, John 177 n.16, 178 Goodenough, E. R. 211 Goodman, Martin 200 n.6 Gordon, Richard 47 n.8 Grabbe, Lester L. 66 n.33, 67 Green, Joel 37 n.13, 39, 40 n.26, 42 nn.37, 38, 43 n.45 Gregory of Nazianzus 79 n.26, 149 n.46 Gregory, Andrew 46 n.1 Gruen, Erich S. 190 n.33 Gundry, Robert H. 26 n.13, 27 n.18, 64 n.23 Haak, Robert D. 142 n.14, 144 n.21 Haenchen, Ernst 51 n.28 Hagner, D. A. 29 n.22, 30 n.29, 31 n.34, 32 Hamerton-Kelly, Robert G. 104 n.12 Hanson, John S. 64 n.25 Harrill, J. A. 212 Hatton, Howard A. 144 n.25 Hauck, Freidrich 41 n.31 Haugg, Donatus 76 n.13 Haupt, Paul 144 n.23 Hayman, Peter 114 n.2 Hays, Richard xvi n.3, xxi–xxii Hempel, Charlotte 162 n.49 Hengel, Martin 85, 103, 104, 112 Herder, Johann Gottfried 3 n.1 Herodotus 51 n.31 Herzog, William R. II 14 n.8, 18 n.27 Hogg, Rena 9 n.21 Holmas, Geir Otto 134 n.18, 135 n.21 Holt, John Marshall 144 nn.22, 27, 29 Homer 3, 50 n.24 Hooker, Morna D. 60 n.4, 105, 109, 110 Horbury, William 90, 102 n.4, 108–9, 112, 174 nn.3, 6, 176, 177 n.15 Horowitz, Donald L. 188 n.26 Horsley, Richard A. 64 n.25 Hsu, Cho-yun 185 n.10 Hull, John M. 46 n.3, 55 n.53 Hurtado, Larry W. 71 n.48, 106–9, 111–12, 114 n.2, 121, 123 Hutchinson, John 187 nn.17, 20–1, 188 n.24

237

Ignatius 92, 139, 149 n.46 Isocrates 54 Jaffee, Martin S. 6 James, Paula 186 n.12 Jansen, Hans 77 n.17, 79 n.28 Janzen, J. Gerald 143 n.19, 144 n.24 Jeremias, Joachim 31 n.33, 41 n.31, 42 n.36 Jerome 77–9, 149 n.46, 191 n.39 Jewett, Robert 147 n.41, 196 n.63 Johansen, Bob 137–8 Johnson, Luke Timothy 39 n.19, 40 n.27, 43 n.45, 44, n.52, 81, 128 n.2, 133 n.15, Josephus 48, 49 n.15, 50 n.22, 52 n.36, 60, 64, 70, 145, 187 n.15, 189 n.28,190 n.32 Justin 55, 67 n.35 Juvenal 49 n.15 Käsemann, Ernst 168 n.75 Keener, Craig S. 27 n.15, 29 n.26, 60 n.3, 70 n.47, 192 n.45 Keesmaat, Sylvia C. 18 n.26, 146 n.36, 173 n.2, Kennedy, George A. 205 n.24 Kilgallen, John J. 43 n.46, 44 n.52 Klauck, Hans-Josef 51 n.27, 52 n.38, 75 n.8 Klassen, William 73 Klutz, Todd 53 n.42 Knox, John 211 Kodell, Jerome 50 n.19 Koester, Helmut 67 n.39, 215 n.39 Kollmann, Bernd 53 n.43 Kraus, Hans-Joachim 177, 178 n.17 Kroll, Wilhelm 47 n.5 Kümmel, W. G. 27, 28 n.19, 29, 32, 33 n.46 Kuschel, Karl-Josef 103 n.8 Kuss, Otto 167 n.73 La Piana, George 187 n.20 Labahn, Michael 46 n.2, 48 n.13, 56 n.56 Lampe, G.W.H. 64 n.22 Lampe, Peter 211, 212 n.21 Leenhardt, Franz 168 n.77 Légasse, Simon 60 n.4, 62 n.16 Lewis, C. S. xix n.1, xxiii Lieu, Judith M. 85 n.13, 192 n.41 Lightfoot, J. B. 210

238

Author Index

Lincoln, Andrew T. 70 nn.46–7, 203 n.17, 204, 205 n.28 Lindars, Barnabas 69 n.44 Lo, Lung-kwong 194 n.53, 197 n.66 Lohse, Eduard 201, 210 n.12 Loisy, Alfred Firmin 61 Longenecker, Bruce W. 113 n.63 Longenecker, Richard N. 140 n.6, 164 n.60, 165 n.65 Loubser, J. A. 7 n.13, 11 n.24 Love, Stuart L. 40 n.23, 42 n.36 Lowry, Richard 83 n.1 Lucian 49, 50 n.25, 51 n.31 Lunt, Paul S. 187, 188 n.22 Luther, Martin 79 n.26 Lüthi, Kurt 74 n.5, 76 n.16 Luz, Ulrich 61 n.14, 65, 66 n.30 Maccoby, Hyam Z. 60, 79 nn.27, 29, 80 n.31 MacDonald, Dennis Ronald 191 n.38 MacDonald, Margaret 201, 205 MacMullen, Ramsey 64 n.25, 185 n.9, 214 n.31 Macquarrie, John 107 Maiberger, P. 144 n.23 Malina, Bruce F. 36 n.9 Marcus, Joel 63 n.20 Marguerat, Daniel 47 n.7, 49 n.17, 51 n.29, 54 n.52 Marshall, Howard 40 n.25, 44 n.47 Martin, Dale B. 214 n.31 Martyn, J. Louis 84, 103, 147 n.39, 149 n.48, 150 n.50, 164 n.59 Matera, Frank J. 103 n.5 Maximus of Tyre 49 n.15 Meeks, Wayne A. 103, 148 n.43, 193 nn.47, 48, 50 Meier, John 119 n.19 Meiser, Martin 149 n.46 Merkel, J. 59 n.2 Merritt, R. L. 59 n.2 Metzger, Bruce M. 60 n.6, 68 n.42 Mohrmann, Douglas C. 151 n.2, 153 n.13, 156–57, 161 n.46,167 nn.68–9 Moloney, Francis J. 87 n.17, 93, 98 n.41 Montiglio, Sylvia 50 n.24 Moo, Douglas J. 63 n.20, 171 n.87 Morgan, Robert xxi, n.6, 104 Moule, C.F.D. 45 n.56, 60 n.3, 102, 107, 110, 111, 112 n.62 Mournet, Terrence C. 3 n.1, 7, 11 n.24 Mouton, Elna 38 n.16, 44 n.54

Moxnes, Halvor 36 n.6, 39 Mullen, Patrick J. 40, 41 n.34, 44 Murphy-O’Conner, Jerome 161 Myers, Ched 63 n.19 Nanos, Mark D. 191 n.36 Neale, David A. 39 n.20 Neusner, Jacob 67 n.34 Neyrey, Jerome 35, 36 nn.6, 9, 120 Nock, Arthur Darby 50 n.23 Nolland, John 14 n.7, 40 n.22, 44 n.47 Notley, R. Stevens 60 n.3 O’Brien, Peter T. 210 n.12 Oepke, Albrecht 148 n.42 Origen 60 n.6 Oropeza, B. J. 147 n.38, 148 n.44 Oswalt, John 179–80 Paffenroth, Kim 74 n.6, 75 n.8, 79 n.28 Paget, James Carleton 67 n.35 Papias 79, 80 n.31 Parsons, Talcott 188 n.25 Patrick, Dale 25 n.6 Perkins, Pheme 203 n.20 Perrin, Norman 30 n.30, 31 n.35 Personen, Anni 43 n.46 Pervo, Richard I. 47 n.9 Petuchowski, Jacob J. 30 n.29 Pfitzner, Victor 140, 148 n.43 Phan, Peter C. 195 n.54 Philo 60 n.4, 61 n.8, 144, 153 n.14, 154 n.16, 155, 156, 170 n.83,174 n.6, 176 n.11 Pindar 51 n.31 Plato 49 n.15, 50 n.24, 51 n.31 Plett, Heirich F. 154 n.17 Pliny 64 n.22 Plutarch 47, 51 n.31, 63 n.21 Pollefeyt, Didier 80 nn.32, 34, 81 n.35 Polycarp 149 n.46, 139 Poplutz, Uta 140 n.5 Postman, Leo 8 n.15 Potter, David S. 50 n.23 Quesnel, Michel 168 n.79 Rapske, Brian M. 211 Ravens, D. A. S. 38 n.15, 42 Rawlingson, A. E. J. 61 n.15 Reiling, J. 49 n.15 Reimer, Andy M. 47 n.4, 48 n.14, 50 n.26, 51 n.27



Author Index

Reinhartz, Adele 101 n.43 Reisenfeld, Harald 93 Rensberger, David 70 n.46, 80 n.32 Reventlow, Henning Graf 25 n.6 Rhyne, Thomas C. 169 n.81, 170 n.83 Rigg, Horace Abram 60 Roberts, J. M. M. 144 n.28 Robertson, C. K. 133 n.14, 136 n.22 Robertson, Roland 184 n.2 Rogers, Elinor MacDonald 149 n.45 Ross, D. J. A. 47 n.5 Rowdon, Harold H. 108 n.33 Rowe, C. Kavin 113 n.64, 128 n.2 Rowland, Christopher C. 104, 107, 112 Rudolph, Wilhelm 142 n.14, 144 n.23 Saller, Richard 212 n.22 Sanders, E. P. 152, 161 n.45, 162 n.52, 165 n.63, 167 n.70, 170 n.86 Sanders, James A. 43 Sanney, Lamin 195 nn.54, 55 Schenck, Kenneth L. 115 n.4, 118 n.17, 120 n.23 Schmidt, K. L. 25 n.8 Schnabel, Eckhard 104 Schnackenburg, Rudolf 90 n.33 Schoedel, William R. 139 n.2 Schottroff, Luise xii, 14–23 Schürer, Emil 190 nn.31, 33 Schürmann, Heinz 43 n.46 Schüssler Fiorenza, Elisabeth 191 n.36, 192 n.46, 193 n.51 Schweitzer, Albert 33 Schweizer, Eduard 200 n.3 Schwemer, Anna Maria 104 n.17 Scott, J. Martin C. 91 nn.26, 27, 96 n.40 Scott, James M. 190 n.35 Seifrid, Mark A. 167 n.69, 173 n.2 Sherwin-White, A. N. 186 n.13, 187 n.26 Simon, Marcel 77 n.18 Slingerland, H. Dixon 187 n.15 Smith, Anthony D. 184 n.1, 187 nn.17, 20, 188 Smith, D. Moody 92 Smith, Ian K. 201 n.11, 204 n.22 Snodgrass, Klyne R. xii, 15–19, 21–3 Sophocles 49 n.15 Sparks, Kenton L. 187 n.18 Spencer, F. Scott 40 nn.22, 28, 42 n.38, 44 n.49 Sprinkle, Preston 151 nn.1, 3, 153–63, 166–7, 171 n.89 Staley, Jeffrey L. 87 n.17

239

Stanley, Christopher D. 164 n.59, 165 nn.63, 64, 166 nn.65, 66 Stanton, Graham N. xx, 25 n.6, 55 n.55, 104 Stein, Robert H. 12 Stenger, Werner 150 n.49 Stibbe, Mark 84–5 Strange, W. A. 52 n.40 Stratton, Kimberly B. 50 n.26 Strobel, A. 146 n.34 Stuhlmacher, Peter 191 n.37 Suetonius 50 n.23, 187 n.15 Suggate, Alan M. 186 n.11 Suggs, M. Jack 104 n.12 Sweeney, Marvin A. 145 n.31 Széles, Maria Eszenyei 141 n.7 Tabraham, Barrie 88 n.19 Tacitus 187 n.15, 189 n.28, 212, 213 nn.24, 25 Talbert, Charles H. 203 n.20, 205 n.27 Tannehill, Robert C. 36 n.7, 43 n.41, 44 nn.52–54, 53 n.44 Tate, Marvin 178 Taylor, Birgit 36 n.8 Taylor, Charles L. 144 n.25 Taylor, Nicholas H. 209 n.6 Teeple, Howard M. 3 n.2 Tertullian 67 n.35, 149 n.46 Theissen, Gerd 61 n.13, 90 n.22 Theodoret 49 n.15 Thibeaux, Evelyn R. 44 n.54 Thiselton, Anthony C. 82 n.38 Tolmie, D. François 140 n.6 Trevett, Christine 92 n.28 Tuckett, Christopher M. 104, 112 Turner, John M. 88 n.19 Twelftree, Graham H. 51 n.30, 52 nn.35, 37, 53 n.48, 54 n.51, 55 n.54 Vansina, Jan 8–9 Vermes, Geza 110–11 Virgil 189 n.28 Vollenweider, Samuel 103 n.6 von Lips, Herman 104 von Wahlde, Urban C. 81 n.35, 84 nn.2, 4, 86 n.16 Vos, Johan S. 81 n.36 Vouga, François 140 n.6 Wagner, J. Ross 139 n.1, 173 n.2 Wall, R. W. 210 n.9 Walters, James C. 195

240

Author Index

Warner, W. Lloyd 187, 188 n.22 Watson, Francis 113 n.63, 152, 156–8, 164 n.59, 165 nn.62, 64, 167 n.71, 170 nn.82, 84, 171 n.89 Watts, John D. W. 180 n.24 Watts, Rikki E. 141 n.8 Wedderburn, A. J. M. 200 n.3 Weeden, Theodore J. 9 n.21 Weiss, Johannes 30 n.32 Wengst, Klaus 85 n.11, 186 n.12 Wenham, Gordon 174 Wevers, John W. 174 n.5, 175 nn.9, 10, 176 Wilckens, Ulrich 171 n.89 Wilder, Amos Nevin 26 n.9 Wilken, Robert L. 77 n.18 Williams, David J. 140 n.6 Williamson, Lamar 203 n.17 Williamson, Paul R. 175 n.7 Wilson, Robert McL. 199 n.2

Wilson, Todd 146 n.36 Winter, Paul 61 n.15, 64 n.24 Winter, Sara C. 211 Witherington, Ben 86, 104, 140 n.6, 192 n.44, 200 n.5, 201 n.8, 202 n.13, 204, 205 n.24 Wright, N. T. xx n.3, xxii n.7, 25 n.6, 28, 103, 105, 114, 141 n.8, 164 n.59, 165 n.63, 201 n.8, 202 Wright, Stephen 14 nn.4,7, 16 n.19, 17 n.22, 19 n.30, 21 n.42 Yaure, L. 51 n.28 Zeller, D. 196 n.63 Zimmerli, Walter 158 n.34, 159, 36 Zwiep, Arie W. 72 n.1, 74 n.4, 75 n.7, 80 n.21