Luke: A Social Identity Commentary 9780567669391, 9780567669414, 9780567669407

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T & T Clark Social Identity Commentaries on the New Testament Series Editors Kathy Ehrensperger University of Potsdam, Abraham Geiger College, Germany Philip Esler University of Gloucestershire, UK Aaron Kuecker Trinity Christian College, USA Petri Luomanen University of Helsinki, Finland J. Brian Tucker Moody Theological Seminary, USA

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Luke A Social Identity Commentary

By Robert L. Brawley

T&T CLARK Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA BLOOMSBURY, T&T CLARK and the T&T Clark logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2020 Copyright © Robert L. Brawley, 2020 Robert L. Brawley has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work. For legal purposes the Acknowledgments on p. x constitute an extension of this copyright page. Cover design: Tjaša Krivec All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN: HB: 978-0-5676-6939-1 ePDF: 978-0-5676-6940-7 ePUB: 978-0-5676-9322-8 Typeset by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

To Jane and Anna and in memory of Sara

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CONTENTS Series Preface Preface and Acknowledgments

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Part 1 INTRODUCTION: METHODS AND CONTEXTS 1 Fictive qualities of narratives 1 Author, audience, composition 5 The narrative world 7 The cultural encyclopedia 7 Sociological approaches 9 Social identity theory 11 Philosophical reflections on identity 18 Feminism and postcolonialism 20 Hidden dimensions of hierarchies of dominance 23 Social identity, Christology, and discipleship 25 Modesty in interpretation 26 Part 2 THE GOSPEL OF LUKE: AN OUTLINE 27 Part 3 COMMENTARY 37 Prologue 37 Luke 1:5–2:40 Births and early development of John the Baptizer and Jesus 41 Luke 3:1–22 John the Baptizer 54 Luke 3:23–4:13 Jesus’s beginnings 59 Luke 4:14–21:38 Jesus’s “good-newsing” of the βασιλεία of God and its extension 64 Luke 22:1–24:53 Jesus’s passion, resurrection, and ascension 185 Bibliography Index of Authors Index of Subjects Index of References

211 228 233 235

SERIES PREFACE The T & T Clark Social Identity Commentaries on the New Testament (SICNT) is a series that presents readings of the NT focused on identity. In the last three decades biblical studies have seen a marked upsurge of interest in questions of identity in the ancient world, both of groups and of individuals. The Hebrew Bible and the New Testament are replete with phenomena that are embedded in and have an impact on issues of identity. A primary narrative of the New Testament concerns the processes in the first century CE by which a new socioreligious Christ-movement formed within the populous and longestablished Judean/Jewish group and developed, interacting with Greek, Roman and other traditions, on trajectories of its own until, at some stage, to be both Judean/Jewish and a Christ-follower became difficult, resulting in rapidly increasing social and intergroup complexity. Central to that process was the way participation in various Christ-following assemblies cultivated in the minds and hearts of their members an identity that eventually became distinct from Judean/ Jewish identity. This identity was manifested in distinctive beliefs, attitudes, and behavior, which Christ-followers traced back to the ministry, teaching, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Since the 1990s that branch of social psychology known as social identity theory, originally developed by Henri Tajfel and John Turner in the University of Bristol in the 1970s and 1980s—now deployed by hundreds if not thousands of psychologists across the world—has proven a remarkably rich theoretical resource for probing these inter- and intra-group dimensions of the identity of the Christ-movement as exposed in the books of the New Testament. A torrent of books, articles, and essays has appeared and continues to appear applying social identity theory to the biblical texts, not least, the T & T Clark Handbook to Social Identity in the New Testament (Bloomsbury, 2014). This series of commentaries testifies to the extent to which the application of social identity theory has become established as one of the liveliest subfields of New Testament research and to the resulting need to make available to scholars, students, and the general public detailed treatments of each text from this perspective. The authors of each volume, all well-recognized scholars in the area, while engaging with existing scholarship as they move through the text seriatim in commentary style, will apply distinctive social identity ideas and other perspectives on group behavior generating fresh but well-founded interpretations of the New Testament’s twenty-seven constituent books. The series aims to demonstrate how much New Testament interpretation can benefit from the application of the expert investigation into the social realities of groups,

Series Preface

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and group and individual identities undertaken by social identity psychologists and other social-scientific specialists.

Series Editors Kathy Ehrensperger University of Potsdam, Abraham Geiger College, Germany Philip Esler University of Gloucestershire, UK Aaron Kuecker Trinity Christian College, USA Petri Luomanen University of Helsinki, Finland J. Brian Tucker Moody Theological Seminary, USA

PREFACE AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Although this commentary emphasizes social identity theories, it employs an eclectic approach that is open to any methodology that facilitates the author’s interpretation of the Gospel of Luke. As such it eschews an exclusivist reading even as it aspires to offer persuasive contributions to an understanding of Luke. It is unapologetically contextual in two senses. Understanding ancient literature necessarily involves the cultural encyclopedia of antiquity, on the one hand, and on the other hand, every aspect of the text must be processed by a present-day human brain that is itself located in its own context. To take this further, no understanding leaves interpreters untouched because whatever the human brain processes revises the way it perceives reality even if this is imperceptible. In other words, no exegesis is impersonally objective in that the mental processes of an interpreter always leave their imprint. Thus correlations between a text and contemporary appropriations of it need no excuse whether they come in the form of methodological approaches before reading or in the form of new ways of viewing reality after reading. Obviously although this commentary bears the name of one author, it is dependent upon a host of other interpreters. First, entire generations of forerunners underlie any attempt to write a critical commentary, only some of which are reflected in the bibliography. More particularly I was introduced to social identity theory by the works of Philip Esler. But then a cadre of colleagues attended me in the production of this commentary. At the beginning Brian Tucker dropped the suggestion that I and others might write commentaries focusing on social identity theories, and an editorial team invited me to try my hand at a commentary on Luke. Then for a number of years Brian Tucker and Aaron Kuecker sponsored sessions on writing social identity commentaries on the New Testament in conjunction with meetings of the Society of Biblical Literature. This involved a host of scholars who read and critiqued antecedents of the present work such that I was indeed attended by a social group inside the Society of Biblical Literature whose accompaniment meant nothing less than friendship. Among these I extend gratitude to members of the editorial team, Kathy Ehrensperger, Philip Esler, and Petri Luomenen. Aaron Kuecker edited an initial version and provided helpful suggestions. It goes without saying that I have been sustained by members of my family who had little direct connection with the commentary itself, and it is for this reason that I dedicate this volume to Jane and Anna and in memory of Sara †2011.

Part 1 INTRODUCTION: METHODS AND CONTEXTS

Fictive qualities of narratives The agenda for this commentary begins with what renowned historian Hayden White (1997) refers to as a “fictive” element in all attempts to express an understanding of any aspect of reality in language. The emphasis in the previous sentence on all attempts and any aspect should relieve any anxiety that the use of “fictive” infers that authorial functions are reduced to imagination alone or that aspects of reality are likewise purely imaginary. Further, the reference to all attempts necessarily holds also for both Luke and me in that each of us attempts to express aspects of reality in language. To reiterate, “fictive” here is not to be confused with any notion of fiction that implies a construct derived purely from imagination. Rather, the term recognizes that writers have to provide a structure and select elements from a set of possibilities, highlighting certain features even to the point of exaggeration while neglecting others, not to mention their own flourishes. In other words, writers have an interactive relationship with that which they are attempting to make understandable. Again not to be confused with fiction engendered purely by imagination, even so-called facts or evidence also possesses this “fictive quality.” That is, “statements of facts are always particular interpretations of circumstances, in which certain aspects are illuminated or selected” (Lorenz 1997, 29, author’s translation). It is even possible to add that “brute facts” do not in fact (pun intentional) exist. “Truth is always the product of some man or woman” in a historical context (Irigaray 1993, 203–204). Furthermore, what we refer to as facts and truth are also products of rhetorical forms that have a capacity to persuade others to agree. This capacity to persuade others is a sine qua non if something is to acquire a social affirmation that it is true. This is patently true of narratives, and in the first place it involves what White terms “emplotment.” This includes a framework of elements such as sequence or cause and effect that are put together in one specific way that has its own coherence and that depends on the perspective from which the emplotment arises, as well as rhetorical and poetic enhancements (White 1997, 392–96).1 In 1.  David Barr (2018, 75–90) participates in the discussion of emplotment by arguing that the Gospel of Matthew can and should be read with more than one plot. In other words, emplotment is something that interpreters also discover in the act of construing what they are reading.

2 Luke

fact (again the pun is intentional), “the historical past exists only in the form of a creative concatenation of evidence produced by the historian from sources” (Schröter 1997, 10–11, author’s translation). In so many words, history is not a mere reconstruction of the past but a way of being related to the past by means of a historian’s reconstruction. Working with what he terms a philosophy of history, Alex Callinicos (1995, 3–4) refers to White’s perspective as “antirealism,”2 over against which he advocates a reality that exists independently from the way it is represented in language. In my view Callinicos is misled by the use of “fictive,” which as indicated above does not mean that the discourse is produced by pure imagination. Callinicos (1995, 48) persuasively points to the intention of the natural sciences and history to refer to a reality beyond itself. But the sheer existence of reality is not in dispute. Rather, the fictive nature of representations means that all reality must be construed by a human mind. So when Callinicos uses the assured results of the natural sciences in the production of technology as evidence against what is actually his own construal of positions such as White’s, he fails to recognize the degree to which scientists have been rhetorically successful in convincing others to construe reality in the same way that they do, Galileo’s lack of success in doing so notwithstanding. On the other hand, Callinicos (1995, 8) stipulates that what he describes as “historical knowledge” is possible under certain conditions, to which I notice that the power of persuasion to produce consensus is one such condition. Ironically, nothing less than this is also the burden of Callinicos’s own discourse with respect to his way of construing reality. How successful is the linguistic representation of reality in persuading others to construe reality in a similar way? Indeed, even under the condition of consensus, natural scientists constantly revise their linguistic expressions of physical reality. As we will see, this is all the more true when the discourse is concerned with sociology in its attempts to function as an empirical science. Renowned philosopher Paul Ricoeur (1975b, 201–15) speaks of a similar issue in his understanding of narratives. Narratives present their own world with fictive qualities such as those described by White. This world of the text is always shaped in such a way that it must be distinguished from an alleged ontic reality, and therefore what the text presents lacks direct repercussions either for the traditional search in biblical exegesis for the historical world behind the text or for the more recent attempts to speak of the world in front of the text, both of which are products of the way readers/hearers construe narratives. Likewise, renowned New Testament scholar Jean Zumstein approximates Ricoeur’s approach with his consideration of the Gospel of John as a “poetic narrative” because of the configuration of its narrative world. Zumstein’s construal of the poetic narrative of the Fourth Gospel is pertinent for a project that highlights social identity in Luke, because like the Gospel of John, Luke reflects the self-understanding of a particular group of humans (Zumstein 2004, 1–14). This is in agreement with literary critic Wayne Booth (1984, xiii–xxvii, xx, xxiv–xxv) 2.  Callinicos (1995, 14) refers to his own position as a “naturalistic realist.”

Introduction  3

who points out persuasively that authors produce views of reality that, from the perspective of the narrative, take precedence over “all other views.” In other words, the text presents its own view of reality from an author’s point of view, and this point of view is “laden with values.” Luke’s passion narrative easily demonstrates the perspectivalism of such an emplotment that has the type of fictive quality with which this discussion is concerned. Luke’s emplotment presents Jesus as an actor in a divine story that competes with a carnivalesque mockery from opponents who portray him as utterly absurd. It is even possible to demonstrate Luke’s own grasp of some of these qualities that I am describing as fictive from the beginning of his prologue. The Gospel presents itself as a narrative (διήγησις, 1:1) that is encased in a decisive structure, which it develops in a particular manner (ἀκριβῶς, καθηξῆς, 1:3). To this it is relatively easy to add aspects of time, space, affections, cultural presuppositions, actions, speech, perspectives, characters, evaluations, sequence, relationships of cause and effect, and so on. Just as this commentary can be patently distinguished from the text upon which it is based, so narrative worlds are necessarily distanced from an alleged ontic reality because they portray their own particular view of reality not as a precise reflection of ontic reality but as authors perceive that it should be or might be in light of their perspectives. “The goal of historical research is not to reconstruct the past, but to construct history” (Schröter 2007, 108, author’s translation, emphasis added). Although he understands Luke to have dealt with the Jesus movement as subversive, Itumeleng Mosala (1989, 174–75) perceives in the “orderly account” (1:1) a concern for “law and order” that subjugates subordinate social classes. Whereas I have strong personal convictions akin to Mosala’s with respect to social struggles like those in South Africa, I move Luke closer to what I perceive to be a similar struggle. This commentary demonstrates copiously ways in which dominance is subverted, and major concerns for law and order that belong to the ruling classes, who constitute an outgroup, are likewise subverted. Take, for example, Lk. 22:37: “He was counted among the lawless.” In this text, Jesus interprets his arrest before it occurs at the hands of a group of local rulers, namely, the high priestly party, officers of the temple police, and elders.3 When it does take place, Jesus again interprets it as the action of the high priestly rulers against him “as if [he] were a brigand” (22:52). At one level, their dominance wins the day with the crucifixion, but in Luke, God’s act to raise Jesus from the dead is an enormous inversion of those very systems of dominance.

3.  Josephus (Ant. 20.251) makes it clear that this high priestly party was responsible for local law and order. This was a widespread, typical arrangement in Roman imperial systems. Horsley (1989a, 39–40, 50–58) appropriately distinguishes, as does Luke, the priestly party who by necessity were collaborators with Rome from the Jewish populace. They are not to be taken as representative of people themselves.

4 Luke

On the other hand, in spite of its unavoidable fictive qualities, Luke’s Gospel displays a way in which its story and personages are remembered—yes, remembered! Traditions about Jesus are a “phenomenon of remembering,” which in spite of understanding Jesus’s earthly activities through the perspective of the resurrection, does not mean that there is a break between the past experience of them and their later interpretation (Schröter 1997, IX, 118). Every access to the past rests on an association of an event through its depiction (ibid., 121, 144). Significantly, historical memory in Luke is collective. It follows trajectories of tradition (Lk. 1:2), but this tradition is mediated through a process that Jeffrey Olick (2006, 5) identifies as collective imaging. At the same time it is also construed through individual perspectives in the context of a social environment (Duling 2006, 2). Collective memory is embodied in the “particular circumstances of a localized life” (Harvey 2000, 85). Therefore, when Luke undertakes to narrate “the things that have happened among us” (1:1), he becomes part of dynamic activities in which the memory of the past is repeatedly and creatively processed anew (Olick 2006, 12). In the case of this commentary Luke’s collective memory of the story and personages is not something to be recovered in an objective sense but to be experienced as it were in and by means of the way it is narrated (Schröter 1997, 108–10). As with any act of remembering, collective memory is not static, even when it is reduced to written words. Remembering is a process that is in flux. The human brain does not call something to mind as if it were digital data of a file on a hard disc. Quite to the contrary, each act of remembering is a process in which the mind connects aspects of memory in new configurations. Consequently, repetition does not merely transmit something that is unchanging. Rather, as with all memory, collective memory is a generative process that renews itself in distinct ways. Such a collective memory is renewed in relation to different times and places, and for others who come to belong to the collective group. To be sure, this is crucial for identity, because identity takes shape for both groups and their members in a relationship between past and present (Olick 2006, 8), with the “interaction between salient pasts and exigencies of current social realities” (Kelber 2006, 21, citing Alan Kirk and Tom Thatcher). On the one hand, this commentary focuses on the way groups and their members in Luke’s narrative engage their social identity. On the other hand, in the minds of readers/hearers of Luke’s narrative the dynamic process of remembering continues as a generative force for their social identity. Although collective memory is based on experiences of the past, these experiences are something viewed not in a sense that they can be either reified or represented as a complete picture of ultimate reality (Olick 2006, 7–8). To reiterate, narratives present a world that they envision, and therefore attempts to reverse the process and recover a supposedly ontic reality from the narrative are in vain. This is quite apparent when Luke recounts two incidents when Jesus resuscitates someone from the dead, the son of the widow of Nain (7:11-17) and Jairus’s daughter (8:40-56). Curious though interpreters may be, they cannot reconstruct what may be considered ontic reality, perhaps something like arousing someone from a coma. Nevertheless, these resuscitations occur in Luke’s narrative world. One of the consequences of the

Introduction  5

character of the Gospel of Luke as a fictive narrative means that its interpreters should be interested less in what biblical scholarship has referred to as introductory matters behind the Gospel such as the place and time of the composition or the identity of the addressees in their environment than in the Lukan narrative world itself. At the same time, this brief discussion on fictive qualities and collective memory stands at the beginning of this commentary precisely as an introductory matter, and with this I turn to customary introductory issues.

Author, audience, composition Traditional among introductory matters are of course author and audience. The only allusion the author makes to himself is in a participle in the prologue that accompanies the dative first-person pronoun μοί, which enables us to know that the author genders himself as male (1:3). But inasmuch as the author does not give his name, as Paul does in his epistles for example, he presents himself unambiguously to readers/hearers as anonymous (Wolter 2008, 4). To be sure, Paul refers to one of his companions under the name of Luke in Philemon 24, and this is picked up in Col. 4:14 and 2 Tim. 4:11, and whether Colossians and 2 Timothy come from the hand of Paul or not, they obviously represent one way in which Paul’s co-workers are remembered. The earliest New Testament manuscript that ascribes the Third Gospel to a certain Luke is P75, which is dated to the early third century. The manuscript contains most of the Gospel of Luke, although the beginning, which presumably contains a title, is missing. Nevertheless, an ascription to someone named Luke appears in a title at the end of the Gospel in the phrase ΕΥΑΓΓΕΛΙΟΝ ΚΑΤΑ ΛΟΥΚΑΝ. Significantly, the beginning of the Fourth Gospel in P75 follows immediately with the same formulaic ΕΥΑΓΓΕΌΛΙΟΝ ΚΑΤΑ ΙΩΑΝΗΝ. The evidence is strong here that these titles are produced at a time when the Gospels have been collected and given standard titles that conform to stock designations for each of the four Gospels. In other words, these can hardly be the original titles, nevertheless they do represent one way in which the authorship of the Gospels was perceived at this juncture in the history of manuscript development. This is also reflected in a statement by Irenaeus toward the end of the second century to the effect that a Luke who was a companion of Paul recorded the gospel that Paul preached in a book (Haer. 3.1.1). But this earliest attribution of “a book” to someone named Luke who was a companion of Paul and who recorded Paul’s gospel has something of an artificial ring to it, because Luke’s Gospel focuses on the story of the earthly Jesus whereas the gospel that Paul preached seldom does. On the other hand, Irenaeus quotes from Lk. 1:6, 8 in Haer. 3.10.1 (see also 3.14.1) where he calls Luke a follower and disciple of the apostles. On the other hand, nothing relating to the Third Gospel itself makes a connection with Paul’s co-worker. As already noted, the author intrudes into the narrative at 1:3 with a personal pronoun and participle in the dative, and aside from this exception, the Gospel comes to readers through what in literary terms is an omniscient narrator

6 Luke

(Brawley 1990b, 21). This in no way infers that the narrator knows everything. Rather, it means that the narrator knows everything needed to tell the story in the way it is told. But this unobstrusive narrator also means that there is no way to connect the author of the Third Gospel to a figure outside the narrative such as a companion of Paul. One further consideration is that Luke is a widely disseminated name, and the absence of any connection with Paul in the document itself indicates that even if the name should prove to be original, there is no way to know that this is the same person as the Luke who is mentioned in Philemon, Colossians, and 2 Timothy. Thus, direct reference to the author remains obscure. What is crucial for any concern about authorship is that the identity of such an author external to the text provides no information whatsoever that proves to be beneficial for the interpretation of the Gospel. Because of a good Greek style and prologues to both Luke and Acts that correspond to Hellenistic form, a long-standing opinion is that the author came from a gentile background. But recent considerations especially of material that is stylized after the Septuagint and sophisticated allusions to and interpretations of Israel’s Scriptures (e.g., Brawley 1995b) have tilted opinions toward some kind of Israelite heritage (Wolter 2008, 9–10). The Third Gospel is addressed to a certain Theophilus to whom the author gives the honorable title κράτιστος (κράτιστε in the vocative, 1:3). Beyond this direct address to an individual, prominent first-person plural pronouns in the prologue (“among us,” “to us,” 1:1-2) implicate a much broader audience. So the name Theophilus, compounded on the roots for “God” and “love,” prompts speculations ranging from an appeal to a patron who might help in the propagation of the writing to a symbol for anyone whose identity is related to the realm of “God’s love.” Luke’s frequent parallels with materials in Mark and Matthew, often virtually word for word, have produced sophisticated explanations of literary relationships. Literary relationships should come as little surprise, because from the very beginning Luke makes reference to both sources that he investigates and materials from the sources that he passes on (1:1-3). Among these sources, most probably belong something like our Gospel of Mark and another source identified as Q, which represents material that Matthew and Luke hold in common apart from Mark. But even when we presume sources like Mark and Q, the intricacy of literary relationships to sources and the nebulous character of Q make the problem of synoptic relationships insoluble (so Sanders and Davies 1989, 97–111). The intricacies make tracing diachronic relationships (who has the more original form, who uses whom as a source) precarious. But this is no obstacle to highlighting differences by comparing versions of the same or similar traditions irrespective of the priority of one over the other(s). In my opinion little can be said about the place or time of composition, except that allowing for the use of other sources and Lukan allusions to events attested elsewhere point to a time near the end of the first century. As has already been stated, more than such matters in this section, which are traditionally treated as introductory, the perspective represented in this commentary is that what counts is what turns out to be true in the narrative world.

Introduction  7

The narrative world Readers/hearers encounter clues for what is true in the narrative world in sequences of progressive discovery. Progressive discovery is first of all a matter of readers’/ hearers’ suspense when they anticipate how the narrative unfolds, but they are most intrigued not when their anticipations are fulfilled but when they must revise them (Iser 1974, 278). Luke 1:32 violates chronological sequence and gives away the ending of the plot quite prematurely: “The Lord God will give him [the promised child Jesus] the throne of his ancestor David.” But no first time reader would anticipate at this juncture that the way to that ending would pass through the crucifixion of the protagonist. To travel along the way to such a development requires momentous revisions of readers’/hearers’ expectations.

The cultural encyclopedia Simultaneously, Luke’s narrative employs a cultural encyclopedia that is unavailable to interpreters without substantial familiarity with the history of antiquity. Like all texts, Luke is full of gaps that readers/hearers have to fill from cultural presuppositions. For example, the text presumes without explicit information that readers/hearers can immediately understand that Herod is a client king of Judea in imperial systems, or the significance of the priestly heritage of Zechariah and Elizabeth in 1:5, or the identity of the God who is mentioned in 1:6, or the commandments and regulations, which obviously implicate Israel’s culture, including especially Israel’s Scriptures, in Israel’s land (Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 103). It is even possible to assert that such assumptions, although unwritten, comprise a part of the text. This turns out to be the case quite evidently in enthymematic reasoning. Enthymemes are akin to logical syllogisms, with two conditions. One is that premises, and sometimes conclusions, may be omitted, and this is closely related to the second condition, premises and even conclusions are typically cultural assumptions that are accepted as valid on the basis of a kind of literally “common sense,” whereas they would not qualify as valid premises in syllogisms. Here is a case in point: In Lk. 11:11, Jesus asks, “[If] a son asks for a fish, instead of a fish, will you give him a serpent?” An unexpressed assumption concerning family values and a culturally presumed love of a father lies behind Jesus’s reasoning, and because the rhetoric ends in a question, even the conclusion is left up to a cultural presumption. Such an obvious example conceals the difficulty that interpreters often encounter in order to perceive cultural presumptions. To highlight one case, this commentary makes rather frequent reference to a cultural assumption that behavior is engendered by sources, both positive and negative, from beyond individuals just as physical features are derived from parents. Dale Allison’s interpretation of the saying in 11:34 “your eye is the lamp of the body” is a striking illustration (1987, 61–83). He discovers presuppositions in antiquity that the eye not only is a receptor of light but also emits light, as if it were

8 Luke

like modern radar. Only with this kind of assumption in the cultural encyclopedia are interpreters able to understand the figuration in 11:33-36, that the body if full of light, radiates light like a lamp on a lampstand (see pp. 125–26). In this commentary, I adopt two techniques by which I hope to indicate something of the difference between the cultural presumptions underlying Luke’s narrative world and our own. Rather than offer English translations of Ἰουδαίοι and βασιλεύς/βασιλεία, I will let them stand without translation. My reason for the first case is to avoid what I consider to be an inevitable distortion on one side or the other with respect to whether Ἰουδαίοι should be translated as “Jews” or “Judeans.” Either translation has socioreligio-ethnic nuances that risk being construed with modern Jews in spite of significant developments in Judaism over the centuries or on the opposite extreme with the history of anti-Judaism. In other words, our modern terminology obscures the meaning in the cultural encyclopedia of Luke’s narrative. The rationale for the second is that the political imagery of God and God’s rule in the world as the βασιλεία of God has a long history of development in biblical tradition that is very different from modern concepts of kings and kingly dominion. In ancient Israel and in its surrounding cultures, the God who is βασιλεύς is like good shepherds who care for their sheep, and kings of the nations are intended to be ordained by God to be good shepherds of their people (Zimmermann 2014a, 13–16). Moreover, Jesus’s parable in Lk.  13:18-19, which makes God’s kingdom analogous to the planting and growth of a mustard seed, compels interpreters of Luke not to make God’s rule comparable to conventional images of monarchies, whether in fairy tales or history. Thus, in order to avoid defining God’s rule in the world from conventional perspectives of kings and kingdoms, I leave the Greek words βασιλεύς and βασιλεία untranslated. This point in the discussion of issues of translation presents me also with the opportunity to indicate that unless otherwise indicated all translations of biblical Greek in this commentary are my own, including the Septuagint as well as the New Testament. In keeping with many contemporary stylistic conventions, I seek as much as possible to make the translations gender inclusive. I also consider that Jesus’s use of “son of man” as a self-reference cannot be a (christological) title, and therefore, it is never written in uppercase.4 A somewhat related note is that literacy was limited to a small percentage of the populace, and even if one could read, the availability of copies of something like Luke would have been quite restricted, and most people who became acquainted with Luke experienced it orally; therefore, I attempt to refer to those who encountered the Third Gospel in its early dissemination as readers/hearers. The task of comprehending the cultural encyclopedia is enormous, and even at their best modern interpreters can never understand the New Testament world as it “really was.” Nevertheless, readers/hearers have to construe the Greek language and uncover cultural presumptions in virtually every sentence of Luke (Iser 1978, 225–29; Culler 1975, 203; Barthes 1975, 18, 100), and this requires immersion in 4.  See Wink (2002, 21, 69).

Introduction  9

historical studies in order for them to step, even if to a shallow degree, into the cultural encyclopedia of the narrative world. On the other hand, the fictive aspect of the narrative world hinders interpreters from attempting to recreate the setting of early Christianity from it. Erich Auerbach (1953, 40) makes the casual remark that social, economic, and cultural history is not given in ancient historiography but must be inferred. But this is to proceed backward. The narrative takes over presuppositions from its historical environment, so that Luke is imbued with linguistic, social, economic, and cultural history. Simultaneously, however, as indicated above narratives depict their own vision of reality rather than mirror ontic reality. Consequently, familiarity with the cultural encyclopedia lies at the heart of competence for understanding the narrative whereas abstracting something that approaches ontic reality remains forever elusive. Nevertheless, emphasis still falls on realities that are concretely embodied in life.

Sociological approaches In the twentieth century, form criticism was very influential in establishing three basic tasks for the study of biblical texts, that is, (a) the identification of forms, (b) the history of development (traced in reverse back toward origins), and (c) the determination of the Sitz im Leben. The last-mentioned task produced agreement among interpreters so seldom that many critics proposed abandoning it. But Gerd Theissen (1978; 1983) argued to the contrary that the solution was to adopt sociological methods to focus all the more intensively on the setting in life. In this innovative move, he followed a sociological theory referred to as functionalism, which is concerned primarily with the roles that individuals play in order for the common life of a community to function appropriately. It therefore emphasizes restoring proper functions when the basic aims of the social order are compromised. Quite obviously functionalism implies the maintenance and maintaining of the status quo and comes up short on inducing change. By contrast, as early as 1974 Jonathan Turner set conflict theory over against functionalism. Although he understood conflict theory as the effort of one social group to prevent another from achieving its goals,5 it is equally the effort of one social group to maintain advantages over others. In contrast to our contemporary world, antiquity effectively knew only two social classes, which G. E. M. de Ste. Croix (1981, 32–45 and passim) defined as (a) those who live off of their own labor and (b) those who live off of the labor of others. The conflict between these two classes produced an extractive economic system that depended on what the regulation school of economics calls the “regime” (Boyer 1990, 18–19 and passim). The regime is the way power structures tilt the access 5. Turner (1982, 3). See the thoroughgoing critique of Theissen’s functionalism in Horsley (1989b, 1–64).

10 Luke

to goods and the accumulation of wealth in favor of certain social groups. In the context of the Roman Empire, this entails not only the wide disparity between the haves and the have nots in local contexts but also asymmetrical socioeconomic relationships of domination or exploitation between Rome and its subjected peoples (van Dommelen 1998, 27). Because Israel’s understanding of reality involved in particular the relationships among God, the people, and the land, crises that arose from conflicts developing from asymmetrical levels of living conditions virtually always played out in identification with a variety of socioreligious groups. Under Roman imperial systems conflicts in social conditions produced “unprecedented factionalism.” Prominent in our perception of such factions are the Pharisees, Essenes, and Sadducees to which we can add knowledge of revolutionary and charismatic movements (Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 138). At this point I interject that interpreters have often attempted to determine the audience to whom the Gospel of Luke is addressed, which has also been related in the past few decades with the implied reader. Whereas both of these remain the construct of real readers/hearers, I am persuaded that the status not of the audience but of the personages who appear in Luke’s narrative is far more pertinent for issues of social identity. Although Luke’s prologue addresses Theophilus as someone of prominent status (1:3, see p. 6, and p. 40), and although on other occasions Jesus interacts with people of standing (e.g., Pharisees on multiple occasions, a centurion in Capernaum, a rich ruler, Zacchaeus, the high priestly party, Pilate, and Herod), the Gospel’s episodes overwhelmingly concern peasants who live at the level of subsistence. This is hardly surprising since as much as 90 percent of the population in Galilee and Judea lived at or near the subsistence level, which can be substantiated from the work of Ste. Croix (1981) and Steven Friesen (2004, 323–61). James Scott (1976, vii and passim) demonstrates persuasively how peasants judge economic realities in cultural and religious terms of the practice of justice,6 rights, obligations, and relationships of reciprocity, and how they, therefore, consider the economy in moral terms. Indeed colonial systems such as those that existed in the Roman Empire violate the perceptions of social justice of peasants whose subsistence depends on village values of meeting the needs of its constituents. The consequence of this is not what modern democracies may think of as egalitarianism as such, but the right of the community as a whole to subsistence (ibid., 4–6, 11 and passim). Moreover, what Scott called the “moral economy” is severely threatened by an extractive economy, and this impinges on self-esteem and social status because it destroys the peasants’ obligations to insure the survival of as many in the community as possible (ibid., 8–9; see Boer 2015, 81, 86–88). Thus I am contending that Luke’s episodes that have to do predominantly with peasants at the subsistence level carry special weight in issues of social identity. For example, as will become clear in the commentary on the Sermon on the Plain, Jesus repeatedly promotes village values of a moral economy based 6.  In my view “justice” always means the practice of justice.

Introduction  11

on the practice of justice, rights, obligations, and relationships of reciprocity, and indeed extends these values beyond the village even to enemies (6:35). Patron-client relationships and imperial tribute extracted from an entire population illustrate the disparities in both local and imperial systems (Boyer 1990, vii and passim; Ste. Croix 1981, 53, 342; Boer 2015, xii, 1–2, 110–45). Aristotle presented this two-tiered structure of the social order as natural, but advised those who held civil power and/or privileges of wealth to provide public benevolences so that the common people would acquiesce and tolerate this so-called “natural” order (Pol. 6.1321a).7 In fact, a powerful part of Rome’s representation of itself was that they were benevolent imperialists (Braund 1998, 10). In 1991 Jerome Neyrey edited a volume that based interpretations of LukeActs on the two-tiered social system that underlies conflict theory. The essays highlighted particularly the values in an honor-shame culture, especially as reflected in challenge-riposte interactions of interlocutors, as well as the relationship of individual identity to cultural socialization (“dyadic identity”). The latter was developed much more specifically with social identity theory, which gained prominence in New Testament studies through Philip Esler’s works (1987; 1998; 2003). To give an example, when Jesus heals a paralytic in Luke 5 and tells him that his sins are forgiven, some scribes and Pharisees challenge him by raising the question of who has the prerogative to forgive. On the one hand, Jesus’s interlocutors question his role in announcing forgiveness as exceeding his identity as ascribed to him by the social order, and on the other hand they enter a challenge-riposte contest in which not only the cognitive rationale of who has the right to forgive is at stake but also the honor of both Jesus and his challengers.

Social identity theory Henri Tajfel (1978c, 7) provided the initial impetus for an influential form of social identity theory in which he focused on reciprocal relationships between individuals and groups to which they belong; that is, how individual and group consciousness are dialectically dependent on each other, like a metallic alloy— never one without the other. This is a variant on the problem of particularity and generalization, the latter of which is arrived at by abstraction. In other words, specific persons cannot be perceived apart from their embeddedness in a social reality. If emphasis falls on the side of socialization, the issue is how individuals place themselves and others in the world (van Dommelen 1998, 26). If the emphasis falls on the side of the individual, the issue is how one perceives oneself in light of evaluations from society. Further, how one enters into interpersonal relationships in groups hangs together with established standards that determine group uniformity. Nevertheless, both the imposition and violation of group norms 7. Freire (1993, 36) expressed something similar for twentieth-century Brazil: Benevolence perpetuates the myth that the rich are generous.

12 Luke

make it evident that group uniformity is always at risk, just as the violation of one’s personal norms indicates that self-will is hardly the only determinant in human action (Stryker and Serpe, 1994, 17; Kaufmann 2004, 44). Callincos (1995, 86) assumes that humans act rationally. The question of why someone behaves is a certain way, however, never has a simple answer, and if Freud was correct that there is a level of unconsciousness that remains inaccessible to the conscious mind, it is impossible for anyone one to answer, “Why did you do behave in that way?” This is the predicament of behavioral sciences: We cannot know the determinants of behavior, and we cannot predict behavior beyond a degree of probability. What remains crucial is the “dynamic and generative interdependence of selfconcept and intergroup relations” (Abrams 1999, 205–206). This means that the relationship between self and society is an incessantly ongoing developmental process in which society shapes individuals who in turn shape the society that shapes them (Börschel 2001, 79). Jean-Claude Kaufmann (2004, 7–8, 80) graphically depicts this interaction of subjective self-consciousness, on the one hand, with objective socialization, on the other, by envisioning it as analogous to the model of the spiraling double helix of DNA. The nodes that match up with each other along the opposite edges of the helix correspond to the two poles of individual subjective self-perception and objective (external to the individual) socialization, which on the scale of the globe on which we live corresponds to particularity and universality, and which also means that the relationship between self-perception and objective socialization is always embodied in living humans. Both the subjective and objective dimensions are necessarily how individuals embody a “virtual reality” engendered by socialization, and I am using “objective” in the sense of social evaluations that impinge on an individual from others (see Horrell 2000, 96). Further, for Kaufmann the spiraling of the double helix corresponds to the dynamic and generative nature of social identity. Social identity is an ongoing process that is never fixed but constantly under development by means of reflection on the self in relation to a group or groups, including the ongoing dynamic development of groups (Campbell 2006, 4). A feature of Kaufmann’s understanding is reflected in the vivid way he envisions his own mental constructs. Like his vivid double helix imagery, he also appropriates the French terminology petits cinémas (2004, 70, 188, and passim) in order to depict dreams and aspirations involved in self-perception, a kind of virtual reality in the mind of an individual (for which I adopt the idea of mental videos). Kaufmann’s primary thesis is that living into one’s dreams and aspirations became possible only after the Enlightenment. He reasons that the social pole of dyadic identity was so determinative prior to modernity that in spite of the fact that individuals in antiquity could entertain some dreams and aspirations, social structures were so powerful that people lacked the prospect of attaining them. Thus his view is that with the Enlightenment such social power broke down so that people could escape the determinism of their environment. The two poles of identity—self-perception and communal socialization—are in a constant dialectical relationship. To reiterate, a conceptual world that develops from thoroughgoing socialization makes it possible to construe the concrete

Introduction  13

situation of one’s identity, and the concrete situation of one’s identity makes it possible to alter the conceptual world imposed by socialization (Börschel 2001, 79). Against Kaufmann’s restricting of self-reflection until after the Enlightenment, however, Ray Laurence (1998a, 2) asserts that in the context of the Mediterranean world of antiquity individuals were quite capable of constructing their own identity. But even on his own terms, Kaufmann supports two aspects of the perception of the self that I am persuaded did make it possible in antiquity for the self not only to envision breakthroughs in identity but also to attain them. One is the role obstacles play in the formation of identity (Kaufmann 2004, 17). Soon I turn more fully to Paul Ricoeur’s dialectical consideration of identity, but this is an opportune place to mention the similar role that suffering (like Kaufmann’s obstacles) plays for Ricoeur in the formation of identity (1992, 144–45; see Börschel 2001, 220). Suffering has enormous potential for challenging roles ascribed by socialization. The second of Kaufmann’s notions is the disruption of the perception of the self that comes from responses to unexpected benevolence (2004, 181–88; so also Ricoeur 1992, 190–91). Like suffering, unexpected benevolence reshuffles how humans locate themselves in their constructs of reality.8 Here I offer two striking contemporary examples of the combination of suffering and benevolence to alter perceptions of reality. In the 1970s I knew a man in Fort Mill, South Carolina, who was thoroughly socialized as a racist with a severe prejudice against African Americans. He was drafted into the US Army and was undergoing basic training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. On an extremely hot day he was involved in an exercise in which he was injured and could not move. He was in dire straits, and in the heat of the day he had consumed all the water from his canteen. He was found by an African American soldier, who offered him water from his canteen. Perhaps only people socialized in the environment where whites and blacks had separate public drinking fountains can imagine his surprise when he drank out of the other soldier’s canteen. He told me that the drink of water from a black man’s canteen was like an oasis in the sandy loam of Fort Jackson, and as in virtually all of Jesus’s deeds of power, violation of social borders resulted in the (re)constitution of a new social solidarity. Consequently, at that moment he ceased to construe reality as the racist he had been. A second case is the catastrophic Japanese tsunami of 2011. The suffering of Japanese victims was so calamitous that worldwide aid poured into their country. Particularly surprising, however, was aid that came from China, given that the two countries had a history of mutual distrust (perhaps to say the least). In fact, the relief effort of the Chinese was so surprising that it reoriented many in both countries (Brawley 2014). Suffering has power to force a change in how human beings construe reality; benevolence likewise has remarkable potential for creating new views of life.

8.  In a similar vein, Daniel Bar-Tal (2013, 43–44) speaks of a “major event,” which I take to correspond to experiences of suffering and benevolence.

14 Luke

To return to the Gospel of Luke, the case of the resuscitation of a widow’s son in ch. 7 may likewise illustrate the capacity of suffering and benevolence to change perceptions of reality. Jesus encounters a widow whose only son has died. From the cultural encyclopedia we can deduce that her world suddenly collapses. Suffering becomes integral to her identity. She is bereft not only of family but also of the normal delivery system for subsistence, which conventionally derived from a male member of the family, from the father, husband, or son. Jesus’s compassion for her reflects the drastic change that this death occasions in her location in the social order. But his touch of the bier and his command to the dead son to arise occasion an unanticipated benevolence that transforms the widow’s weeping, or perhaps transforms her tears into tears of joy. Further, because of the extraordinary benevolence, everyone in the crowd that accompanies the widow reenvisions themselves to be participants in a community that God has visited (7:12-16). Tajfel (1978c, 7) is concerned not only with how persons interact with social groups to which they belong but also with how comparisons with outgroups impact ingroups. The power that a social group has to shape the identity of members positively or negatively depends on comparison with other groups (see also Marshall 1998, 49). Social comparison rarely occurs between groups that are radically distinct. In fact, the closer the groups are to each other, the more forceful distinctions tend to be emphasized. So comparison begins rather with a presumption of comparable status (Pitt-Rivers 1977, 10). Furthermore, economic factors have an overwhelming impact on stereotyping (Tajfel 1978c, 5), and because the actors in Luke virtually always act against a backdrop of economic circumstances, as in the case of the rich man and Lazarus (Lk. 16:19-31), such dynamics will be prominent in this commentary. But then social comparison involves combinations of relative similarities and differences, and these are referred to as stereotyping. In social identity theory, stereotyping is not necessarily pejorative distortion but rather the characterization of an ingroup that emphasizes uniformity (Turner 1999, 26; Schneider 1996, 429–30). Ingroup social categorization involves self-perception (self-stereotyping) that emphasizes uniformity over differences, and in turn ingroups stereotype outgroups in ways that emphasize their difference from the ingroup over their similarities (Turner 1999, 26–28; Oakes et al. 1999, 60).9 Members of the ingroup are stereotyped as similar; the ingroup and outgroup are stereotyped as distinct. In fact, when anyone identifies with a group, the identification will likely involve self-stereotyping that also leads to gains in self-understanding.10 9.  Typification involving differences from other groups and similarities within a group inevitably makes social identity a bearer of ideology. Young (1990, 10) critiques this as suppressing differences and argues instead for “heterogeneity rather than unity: social differentiation without exclusion.” See Campbell 2006, 10 n. 38; see also Tucker’s critique (2011, 61–88) of Bengt Holmberg. 10.  Sherman et al. 1999, 88. Stereotyping is not automatic (so Lepore and Brown 1999; Locke and Walker, 1999, 173–77).

Introduction  15

A prominent approach to stereotyping is that members of a group have memories of prototypes who embody norms of both ingroups and outgroups (Stagnor and Schaller 1996, 9–10). To be sure Jesus himself is just such an ingroup stereotype, and the prominence of characters like Peter makes them candidates for ingroup prototypes. When prototypes are more closely considered, stereotyping necessarily overlooks factors that undermine group uniformity so that there are always individual inconsistencies that weigh against the stereotype. Thus, characters like Peter are partial prototypes of the ingroup of Jesus’s followers. Although stereotyping of outgroups is not necessarily pejorative, it assuredly can be. Thus, the same recognition that stereotyping neglects individual inconsistencies can also be a cause for caution in stereotyping outgroups (ibid., 17). Furthermore, because people always belong to multiple groups, stereotyping is inevitably problematic in that it cannot account for this phenomenon of belonging to various groups (Tajfel 1981, 160). Nevertheless, the identity of a group depends on its distinction from other groups. But groups also fall under the sway of prominent groups that are distinct from them. For example, in the discussion of the source of Jesus’s power in 20:18, the high priestly party is influenced by some people who consider the Baptizer to be a prophet. Further, a major issue in the mission orientation of Luke is the possibility for members of outgroups to move into a new group. Two major factors are influential. One is the nature of group boundaries. Flexible and permeable boundaries facilitate movement into another group. The second is social creativity. Innovative ideologies and ways of construing reality that have strong appeals for positive self-esteem also facilitate movement into another group, even if the boundaries are rigid (Tajfel 1978b, 52–54). Needless to say dimensions of entering a new group are pertinent for Luke inasmuch as Jesus calls for following him in a group that pursues an alternative way of living over against conventional ways of living in imperial systems. With respect to relationships between groups, Tajfel (1978b, 39–54) also notes that ingroups frequently revise their own characteristics that are evaluated negatively by outsiders. Luke’s passion narrative readily illustrates this. Luke’s evaluation of the crucifixion of Jesus as a scriptural necessity in God’s economy revises the evaluation of his detractors that Jesus’s execution renders him utterly absurd. Or to turn things around, a group that perceives itself to be inferior may emulate a group it takes to be superior (Grahame 1998, 173). An element of this appears in the evaluation of the twelve-year-old Jesus in comparison with the teachers in the temple in 2:46-47. The status of the twelve-year-old Jesus is elevated because he compares favorably with revered teachers. Great care is needed in comparison of an ingroup with an outgroup. If the outgroup is a dominant majority, ingroup comparisons with it produce features that are either similar or distinct. In either case, the criteria are established by the dominant majority, and they are translated into the subdominant ingroup as either emulation or resistance. The identity of a group attained by opposition to another still defines itself by the other (Scott 1990, 10–19). But there is an alternative. If the

16 Luke

ingroup is innovative, it can make creative use of its subdominant social space and define itself by its own values.11 Tajfel advanced a thesis that mere categorization that names one group in distinction from another is sufficient to produce competition and therefore conflict (Tajfel 1978c; van Knippenberg 1978, 173). Empirical experiments have repeatedly reinforced much of this thesis but have also provided evidence that context is determinative enough to keep the thesis from being absolute. For example, if groups are extremely dissimilar, comparison and therefore conflict may be irrelevant (Tajfel 1978a, 90–91). Further, if ingroup norms include openness toward outsiders, categorization alone may not be a sufficient factor to produce conflict (Gaertner, Dovidio, et al. 1993, 3, 12). Also interest in the individuality of members of an outgroup can undermine conflict that derives from negative stereotyping (Lepore and Brown 1999, 144). Further, as already indicated with respect to stereotyping, exponents of social identity need to remain aware that people belong not to one group but to groups that are located among other groups in which they play different roles (Tajfel 1978d, 14–15). It is not uncommon for interpreters to attempt to rank the salience of roles that members play in distinct groups to which they belong simultaneously, including attempts to arrive at a “superordinate” level of identity (Tucker 2011, 50–55; Baker 2014, 107–09). To be sure, there is evidence for hierarchical ordering (Hewstone 1996, 346). But at best this works only partially. In the first place, this tends toward essentializing identity as manifesting sameness everywhere. But this stumbles in two respects. For one thing, salience is contextual (Stryker and Serpe 2000, 284; Gingrich 2006, 4–6). To give a random example, when I participate in a political election my citizenship and place of residence are salient, but not my religion. For another thing, identity is also complex because individuals belong to multiple groups that inevitably have secondary systems of categorizations (e.g., male, female, adult, youth, wealthy, or poor [Deschamps and Doise 1978, 144]) and are further influenced by such factors as the relative security of a group’s status and numbers, or distinctions in economic and even linguistic systems (Brewer and Miller 1984, 284–85). To illustrate how salience functions with respect to context, Peter’s denial of Jesus in 22:54-62 is in the company of members of the staff of the high priest (again, associated with imperial collaborators) among whom he plays no salient ingroup role. Nevertheless, Peter allows his role as a follower of Jesus to become subdominant. In contrast, his denial indicates in the first place that even the most highly valued of roles in social identity can lose their priority and, second, that his bitter weeping (22:62) depends precisely on the prominence of his role as a follower of Jesus, which stands out in comparison with those associated with the presumed deficient group of imperial collaborators. Indeed, the complexity of 11.  See Sugirtharajah 1995, 2. Weber (1964, 126) notes special skills and originality among the subdominant. “The most intense and productive life of culture takes place on the boundaries” (Bakhtin 1986, 2).

Introduction  17

belonging to multiple groups means that membership in some of them may even come into conflict with each other (Gingrich 2006, 6). Further, in Luke’s setting conflicted aspects of identity are both implicated and exacerbated by the ubiquitous presence of imperial systems (Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 138). First, as already indicated all processes of developing identity on the basis of being categorized by membership in groups involve competitive comparisons with other groups. Comparisons in turn inevitably include connotations of power and inequality that have the capacity to precipitate violence (Baumann 2004, 18, 35, 42–46), both physical and symbolic. This is particularly true for the Ioudaioi as a vanquished people, along with the other conquered people in the Roman Empire. They were submerged in social hierarchies that were partly indigenous and partly Roman (see Ahmad 1992, 15). Luke’s passion narrative is a clear illustration of this in that the Roman imperial system entrusted the high priestly party with local civil order. But this involved collaboration between the local indigenous elites with the Roman governor. Collaboration meant both resistance and cooperation—resistance to maintain some sense of autonomy, cooperation in order for the elites to maintain their ruling status. To use Homi Bhabha’s language, the resulting system was “less than one and double” (1994, 139, 171). That is, under native collaborators, provincial systems were less than a unified autonomous nation, but collaborators who were accountable to imperial superiors meant that civil authority and the payment of tribute were doubled. In an analogous way W. E. B. Du Bois reflected on the “double life” mindset of African Americans: “Double thoughts, double duties, and double social classes, must give rise to double words and double ideals, and tempt the mind to pretence [sic] or to revolt to hypocrisy or to radicalism” (2007, 136). At least three major overarching groups dominate the horizon of the individual and social poles against which Luke’s characters and readers/hearers develop their self-perception. These pose the question of how they understand who they are and consequently the roles they play in relation to (a) the people of God, which for Luke also includes the group of Jesus’s followers as is indicated by the use of the first-person plural pronoun in 1:1; (b) an ethnic group over against other ethnic groups;12 and (c) civic status (slave, freed, citizen, dominant, subdominant).13 On the other hand, all groups find ways to incorporate people who not only share 12.  Hall’s emphasis on ethnicity (1997, 2–19) as a complex discursive cultural construct is a basis for shifting emphasis from essentialism to Luke’s literary presentation of it. This involves such matters as presuppositions involving the point of view of the narrative. Laurence (1998b, 95) enumerates features for ethnicity as (1) shared territory, (2) common descent, (3) shared language, (4) shared customs = culture, (5) shared beliefs or religion, (6) name, ethnonym expressing group identity, (7) self-awareness, self-identity, (8) shared history or myth of origin. Balch (2015) proposes a thesis that Luke ameliorates ethnic conflict and advocates the acceptance of foreigners (οἱ ἀλλόφυλοι). 13. On “the all-pervading dominance of the Roman Empire,” see Campbell 2006, 68–70, 83–84.

18 Luke

collective views but are also different (Börschel 2001, 20). Thus, these three umbrella groups to which Luke’s actors and readers/hearers belong incorporate subgroups that are as manifold as the variations in levels of commitment to them, so that who they may be and the roles they may play are muddlingly multifaceted. Nevertheless, the identity that binds differences together has a quality that is more than the sum of its parts. Esler employs social identity in his study of Romans especially in relation to the resolution of conflict. If it is true that categorization alone may be a sufficient cause of competition and conflict, then altering categorization should be a factor in reducing rivalry and antagonism. Thus, Esler cites particularly the strategies of “recategorization,” “decategorization,” and “crossed categorization.” Recategorization involves redefinition of distinct groups so that they become newly aware of common ground. Decategorization perforates group boundaries and focuses rather on the people involved instead of their group identity to such an extent that categories lose some of their significance (Hewstone 1996, 330). At the same time, decategorization can establish a superordinate goal that encompasses distinct groups (ibid., 349) (e.g., “Whoever is not against you is for you,” Lk. 9:50). Crossed categorization emphasizes common characteristics that groups share that bridge differences (Esler 2003, 29–30; Gaertner et al. 1993, 1–26). Though not confined to conflict stories alone, these strategies throw light on many such incidents in Luke. When some Pharisees grumble about Jesus’s table fellowship with revenue collectors and sinners, Jesus recategorizes the latter as people with maladies whom he calls to repentance (5:30-32). At the same time this may be read more subtly as crossed categorization (Hewstone, Islam, and Judd 1993, 779–93). If indeed the grumbling of the Pharisees indicates that they too have a need to repent, Jesus’s analogy of a physician healing the sick identifies a common category that Pharisees may also share with tax collectors and sinners.

Philosophical reflections on identity Social identity theory developed from pragmatic observations in empirical experiments about the nature of dyadic personalities, that is, the way individuals perceive themselves in relation to how social groups ascribe identity to them. But in postmodern perspectives identity became a matter of philosophical reflection on the basis of the notion of the disintegration of the self into discrete experiences. The human brain integrates discrete experiences into a holistic image of the self in much the same way as “emplotment” works for history or narrative (see pp. 1–3).14 Paul Ricoeur responds to this enigma with a dialectical interplay between two poles for which he uses the Latin ipse (itself) and idem (the same). Of course he resorts to Latin because the translations in parenthesis in the previous sentence 14. Lyotard (1979). He was anticipated by Hume’s argument (1748, 251–63) that humans are driven to construe discrete experiences as cohesive.

Introduction  19

do not do justice to his two categories. The first bears correspondence to the notion that humans undergo discrete experience and the second to the notion of an integrated identity. Idem and ipse have a double kind of dialectic in that (a) temporal permanence (idem) is set over against difference in terms of what varies (ipse) and (b) ipse itself involves a dialectic with an “other than self.” This is reflected in the ambiguity of the English title of his book Oneself as Another. The self may occupy a place in an unending oscillation between either of two poles. That is, to say that “one is always implicated in the other” is polysemous because “one” and “other” can both function as either a subject or an object. An “other” becomes an object of a self that occupies the position of a subject. But if an “other” becomes the subject, oneself becomes an “other” as an object. Moreover, for Ricoeur one becomes a character in one’s own narrative in which emplotment holds all that is discrete in an uninterrupted continuity, a permanence through time (idem) of what is not the same (ipse) (Ricoeur 1992, 1–3, 115–24, 140–43). As with emplotment in a historical narrative, a narrative of oneself is a “synthesis of the heterogeneous” (ibid., 141). To be sure this remains problematic because forgetfulness and false memories reinforce the postmodern notion that coherent identity is an artificial construct. The postmodern disintegration of the self notwithstanding, Charles Taylor focuses on what corresponds to Ricoeur’s idem. Even though the fallacies of memory challenge coherence in identity, Taylor maintains, as does Ricoeur, that humans make themselves a part of a narrative that holds all that is not the same together. Although this is a construct, the construct itself is an indisputable, embodied reality upon which we bet our lives. The notion of the fragmentation of the self, therefore, is not the end of a coherent self. Rather, it is part of the conditions in which human beings nevertheless construe themselves as a coherent whole. Moreover, the narrative of our lives always involves interaction with others (Taylor 1989, 46–52; see Ricoeur 1992, 33–36, 54). The very language in which our narrative is couched is inherited from the communal framework in which we are socialized. Thus, Taylor is part of a strong philosophical tradition, represented also by Heidegger (1969, 41), that identity is socially mediated. Emmanuel Levinas is particularly concerned with the interface between identity (being) and acting. Levinas (1999, 29) accentuates an encounter with the other before being or acting, which he calls a phenomenology of sociality. Because this sociality is prior to being, Levinas can avow that ethics is before ontology (ibid., 98). In fact, before moving to acting Levinas asserts pure passivity. For example, the I is a being that did not choose to be, and this itself witnesses to a lack of intentionality, which in turn puts this being into question, an accusation before there is any culpability (ibid., 19–21, 28–29), a “responsibility . . . toward something that was never my fault, never my doing, toward something that was never in my power, not my freedom” (ibid., 32). Further, this being that is called into question without intentionality on the part of the I is concretized in the demands that the face of an “other” encountering the I makes upon the I (ibid., 24). The face is the concretization of an idea that exceeds its own conceptualization, and this comes from beyond the self; that is, it concretizes the Other (see Ford 1999, 37). With

20 Luke

reference to Levinas and alluding to Descartes’s “I think, therefore I am,” Jacques Derrida once wrote that solipsistic ontology (like that of Descartes), with its absorption in self, is “incapable of respecting the Being and meaning of the other” (1978, 141). This is to say that against the Cartesian “I think, therefore I am,” the I is first of all not in the subject position but in the object position. Therefore, “the face of the other [is] the original locus of the meaningful” (Levinas 1999, 23), and this relationship of being put into question by the other is “irreducible” (ibid., 25). Transcendence (the Other) is so intimately related with human identity that it is possible to speak of one accompanying the other, as if even in this way they are differentiated (Hayat 1999, x-xi). For Levinas, a human being can never exist as being for itself because a human being is always called into question in the crisis of facing the other in the concrete form of the human face (ibid., xiii–xiv). Further, Levinas finds in the summons of the other upon the I nothing less than God (1999, 27), that is, “the other,” a “Majesty approached as a face” that stirs up “admiration, adoration, and Joy” (1987, 165). This is especially pertinent for Luke in that the relationship with an external pole that impinges on the subjective pole of identity includes a relationship with God that is embodied in communal relationships with other human beings (see Ford 1999, 49). What should not be neglected is that the relationship with others also flows from the individual to the group. This is especially apparent in what one promises to others, desires for others, enables for others, and gives to others in terms of the practice of justice. Andrea Günter (2015, 92–94) finds in just such transactions the expression of what she considers to be genuine autonomy. Decisively, when such promises, desires, enabling, and giving go missing, autonomous identity suffers tragically.

Feminism and postcolonialism Some avant-garde feminists introduced “women’s experience” as a criterion for the practice of justice but soon ran into resistance from other feminists who recognized an implicit essentialism (as if one size fits all) and made room for empirical differences in women’s approach to Scriptures, gender, class, race, power, culture, and wealth and poverty (Fulkerson 1994, 1; Ehrensperger 2004, 103, 192). Perhaps at this point a reminder is in order that to belong to one group does not exclude membership in other groups (Deschamps and Doise 1978, 144). Womanist, mujerista, Asian, and African voices resisted the presumption that upper-middle class Euro-American women could speak for them. In reality an enormous range of the experiences of women exists beyond the academy (Fulkerson 1994, 3–8; Ehrensperger 2004, 21). For some early feminists, essentialism was part of a strategy to achieve equality with males. Presumably women could accomplish achievements and attain status on a par with men. This, however, falsified women’s identity by making it conform to dominant hierarchical male norms (Lee 2014, 38–40). Is it possible to establish equality without sameness? According to Joan Scott, socially constructed dynamics

Introduction  21

of power have juxtaposed equality as the antithesis to difference. She attempts, therefore, to expose this social construct itself as fallacious by contending that difference does not stand in opposition to equality (Scott 1988). What is more, because such “equality” is defined according to male norms, it overlooks power relationships. Linda Gordon (1991, 1, 6–7) argues in addition that the mere recognition and tolerance of differences among women under conditions of class, race, sexual preference, culture, wealth and poverty “depoliticized” difference and rendered it “non-relational,” whereas differences actually encounter each other in relationships of conflict, cooperation, and mutual influence.15 “Relationality” is a key term, because the conception of the self and the other as binary opposites is susceptible to reinscribing hierarchical power relationships. By way of comparison, this is clearly not the case for Taylor, Levinas, and Ricoeur where the interplay between the self and the other is not oppositional but precisely relational. Once the discussion turns to relationships as the organic stuff of identity, then essentialism goes out the window. In other words, identity is a variable that functions within social relationships, and social identity is variable depending on roles that are salient in the context of belonging to a group. Indeed Manuela Kalsky (2000, 22) calls for a Christian feminist identity-in-relation. Similarly, over against the reduction of difference to sameness, Elizabeth Berg (1986, 213) endorses “partiality,” that is, the antonym of impartiality in the sense of valuing preferences in relationships. In other words, she values taking sides in the concrete realities of struggles for the practice of justice. This is an ideological stance that resists making universal claims for truth. Rather, it creates a subject position from which subaltern people speak for themselves, which means asserting their identity in relationships that are specific to their contexts. As a dimension of context, Israel’s traditions give strong prominence to place. This is reflected again and again in covenant traditions that have to do with divine promises of land for the descendants of Abraham. Israelite identity was determined fundamentally by heredity and attachment to the land (Schiffman 1981, 138–39). The village, which is largely characterized by extended kinship is the primary communal place in Luke, so that Jesus can address a village as a collective (Lk. 10:13). Such places of origin are also the primary context in which inhabitants are socialized and attain a place where they belong. But secondarily, the notion of kinship extends to all the descendants of Abraham, which is subsumed under the relationship of all Israelites to Jerusalem as the center of their world. Indeed from Israelite perspectives Jerusalem was the center of the entire world, nothing less than the axis mundi. On the other hand, in New Testament times Israel’s relationship to the land was compounded by the domination of the land by the Roman Empire. The very constitution of a nation’s territory is always determined by the history of political conflicts (Harvey 2000, 75). So change in political power inevitably produces 15.  See Lee 2014, 43–44; Ehrensperger (2004, 22–23) critiques feminist uses of Judaism as a negative foil for early Christianity as “anti-Judaism.”

22 Luke

change in the distribution of resources (Magalhães 2007, 223; Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 61–62). In fact, Stegemann and Stegemann (1999, 111–12) call the expropriation of land the “hallmark” of the time of Herod the Great and the next generation of his successors. Their confiscation of land included enlarging their own property, usurping lands for public monuments, and making awards to military veterans so that an increasing number of peasants had access to a dwindling amount of land. In addition, postcolonial perspectives show how the overlay of imperial systems also regulates locations that manifest colonial identity not only in public space but also in domestic places (Sumrain 2016, 58–59), which is quite easily demonstrated in the disparity in Galilee where the elite and those at the subsistence level lived. Galilee was dominated politically and economically by the urban centers Sepphoris and Tiberias, which were administrative centers in an area where Herod Antipas was a client ruler of Rome. Archaeological remains such as Jewish ritual baths in upper-class houses attests to the prominence of observant elite Ἰουδαῖοι in these administrative centers (Freyne 1988, 605). Further, urbanites and large landowners dominated peasants in the countryside. Social elites, who formed 1–5 percent of the population, lived in tension with more than 90 percent of the masses (Josephus, Life, 32–38; Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 67–95). In spite of the understanding of the βασιλεία of God as God’s ruling activity, Hans Kvalbein has recovered an emphasis on the concrete reality of time and belonging to a place as manifestations of salvation (1998, 203–205, 212). This is comparable to postcolonialism’s revaluation of the margin. Dominant culture lures those who are on the margin to mimic the center with promises of a higher civilization and power, again dissolving difference into sameness, and the expectation of the subdominant to achieve power is a strong determinative for acquiescence (Scott 1990, 20, 82; Ahmad 1992, 207–08). From the perspective of colonizers, failure to move toward the center implies remaining uncivilized. But postcolonialism revalues belonging to the margin as a place for creative activity. However, the metaphor of the margin does not mean mere opposition to the dominant center, in which case the margin is still defined by its negative relationship to the center. In fact, as already indicated pp. 15–16, opposition defines both the center and the margin by the other (Scott 1990, 10–19; Baumann 2006, 20, 34). Rather, for postcolonialism the margin is a creative space from which to develop an alternative reality (Sugirtharajah 1995, 2; Bennington 1995, 121).16 Significantly, Jesus and his early followers who are depicted in Luke belong to just such a creative space on the margin. Itumeleng Mosala perceptively identifies the move of black theology in South Africa toward the dominant center. For him, this occurred in nothing less than the 16. Much of note 11 bears repeating. Weber (1964, 126) notes special skills and originality among the subdominant who belong to the margin. Further, “the most intense and productive life of culture takes place on the boundaries” (Bakhtin 1986, 2).

Introduction  23

presumed universal valuation of the Bible in its entirety as divine revelation (1989, 16–32). What this conceals is that the Bible bears messages not only of liberation but also of domination, precisely in the association of obedience to God with the domination of some humans over others. From the beginning the Bible contains perspectives that legitimate both the dominance of oppressors and the liberation of the oppressed. Not only does the Bible contain such conflicting dimensions but it also developed in the crucible of concrete struggles between oppressors and the oppressed. If I understand Mosala correctly (1989, 44–66), he critiques sociological approaches in biblical interpretation for not siding with a radical conflict theory (but see p. 11 on conflict theory).17 Finally, resistance to essentialism has produced a serious critique from postcolonialism of social anthropology, including the social identity methodology upon which this commentary so strongly depends. The descriptions and predictions of behavior in the Bible by the social sciences are portrayed as if social relationships could be represented by a paradigmatic Mediterranean culture (Sugirtharajah 1998, 16–24). Similarly, Horrell (2000, 34 and passim) effectively critiques the homogenization of individual behavior in social scientific theory. Rather, reality for classes, gender, and culture is manifest in concrete cases (Miller 1986, xiii; Sugirtharajah 2013, 107–110). Though related to culture and socialization in a culture, identity remains quite particular, and to generalize class, gender, or culture commits the fallacy of essentializing (Fulkerson 1994).

Hidden dimensions of hierarchies of dominance French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu (1984, 1998) has lucidly identified hidden dimensions of hierarchies of social dominance that lie under social interchanges.18 Overlapping conventions of socialization, such as family, peers, education, religion, media, economic systems, ethnicity, occupation, gender relationships, geographical location, food, clothing, and so on, (obviously the objective pole of social identity) instill cultural presumptions that are so internalized by both the dominant and the subdominant that they appear to be natural, whereas in reality they legitimate hierarchies of dominance (Bourdieu 1984, 471)—among other examples, advantaged over disadvantaged, male over female, educated over uneducated, wealthy over poor, or urban populations over peasant farmers.19 What Bourdieu expresses in terms of multiple aspects of socialization that establish legitimacy of some over others is substantiated in a particular social 17.  Mosala (1989, 167–72) takes Luke to be designed to elevate the status of Jesus from lowly origins, and in this sense considers Luke to be an “enslaved gospel,” which needs to be liberated by reverting to Jesus’s lowly origins. In my view, Luke repeatedly portrays Jesus as of low status, nowhere more so than in his birth and crucifixion, his beginning and end. 18.  On hidden violence, see also Irigaray 1993, 109, 117. 19.  On the dominance of urban over rural, see Lomas 1998, 64–76.

24 Luke

setting in what Daniel Bar-Tal (2013) calls intractable conflicts between modern Jews and Palestinians. He refers to this as indoctrination occurring in such contexts as family, neighborhood, and school (18) that produces entire worldviews (6), including explanations that are attempts to justify the legitimacy of the domination of one group over another (17), which he calls a “prototypic” schema of conflict (18). He further refers to the underlying dynamics of competition (and conflict) as “socio-psychological,” that is, “what people think and feel,” “their beliefs, attitudes, and emotions”20 (26, 26–33). The outcome of intractable conflicts is the consideration that two systems of goals are incompatible with the correlative consequence of conflict (14–15). Further, Bar-Tal shows how roles individuals play are inescapably bound up with collective beliefs and well-defined group boundaries (15–16). Moreover, Bar-Tal shares common ground with Bourdieu’s underlying assumptions in what he refers to as a “collectively shared encyclopedia” (33) and “shared socio-psychological infrastructure” (34). Earlier in a brief discussion of conflict theory, I mentioned Ste. Croix’s division of antiquity into two classes—those who lived off of their own labor and those who lived off of the labor of others. This is thoroughly valid, but it is also a huge reduction to simplicity because humanity also produces a virtual multiplicity of divisions (Harvey 2000, 40), and Bourdieu is after these numerous nested hierarchies of dominance. Cultural ideologies shore up hierarchies, and this occurs especially in the distribution of labor or resources (Operario and Fiske 1999, 43–44). And yet, cultural presuppositions are not ultimate views of reality set in concrete. Rather, they are constantly subject to challenges regarding discrepancies in relationships of power (Horrell 2000, 97–98). An immediate qualification is called for. As indicated earlier, the predominant way to distinguish among people is binary oppositions, which reflects a predominantly masculine preference, whereas feminine perceptions tend to run along a continuum that is far more discriminating.21 Beyond binary opposition reflected in the construct of gender, beyond whether one is educated or not, beyond wealth or poverty, beyond differences in languages and speech, humans share a host of common characteristics. Nevertheless, predominantly masculine dominance creates cultural divisions according to binary oppositions, which are culturally internalized as if natural (Bourdieu 1998, 8–9, 14). For example, the controversy over plucking and eating grain on the Sabbath (Lk. 6:1– 5) is grounded not only in the law but also in the cultural presumption of the absolute validity of the law, as if Sabbath conventions follow the course of reality as if they are as natural as the sequence of days itself. But to focus Sabbath norms on

20.  Emotions are “evaluative reactions to stimuli” (28). 21. Phenomena such as ambiguous genitalia and individual perceptions of their identity undermine the binary construct of gender, including the cultural presumption that gender is “natural” (Bourdieu 1998, 13–14; 1984, 471; Irigaray 1993, 97–98, 101–2, 157– 63: “[Nature] is in continuous becoming” (108). On the other hand, dialectic circumvents binary opposition (111, 139–40).

Introduction  25

work related to food also legitimates the dominance of those who are well fed over the hungry such that the hungry are no exception. The dominance of imperial systems is assuredly legitimated by cultural presumptions. In spite of the fact that the legitimacy of the Roman emperor to levy taxes comes into question in Lk. 20:22, everyday experiences of people in the narrative world of Luke-Acts are seldom in touch with the emperor. Assuredly, as the story of the question about taxes indicates if anyone was prosperous enough to have a Roman coin, such as the Tiberius denarius that is often presumed to be the coin that is displayed in the incident, they would hold an image of the emperor in their hand, and if they could make out the Latin and abbreviations on the coin, they would be struck with epithets of the emperor such as “divine.” But the common people would hardly have direct experiences of the emperor. Rather, contact with imperial systems filtered down through client kings, governors, and the high priestly coterie, who were imperial collaborators in imperial systems for local order (Josephus, Ant. 20.251).22 So Lk. 3:1 not only provides a chronological synchronization but also describes Rome’s typical hierarchy of imperial systems: emperor, Roman prefect, regional client kings, and Israelite high priesthood (similarly Nolland 1989, 139). Further, everyone in Luke’s narrative world who is not a Roman citizen would belong to subdominant vanquished peoples, with the cultural presumptions that Rome advanced a superior culture destined to pacify and civilize inferior cultures, which many of the vanquished peoples themselves internalized in terms of the legitimacy of superiority of the conquerors over themselves as inferior classes who had been subjugated.23

Social identity, Christology, and discipleship Social identity in Luke is in some sense Christology. The narrative is strong on providing external poles of evaluation of who Jesus is and the role he plays. The plural “poles” is significant in that external perspectives come from a variety of voices ranging from God to demons, from disciples to opponents. This means that voices that express who Jesus is must be measured on a scale of reliability (see Alter 1981, 116–17). But the reliability of characters in the narrative is often a task that is left up to readers/hearers. Literarily speaking the most reliable voice is a reliable narrator, although in Luke the narrator defers that honor to God. Even though external social evaluations of Jesus are quite available in Luke, his own self-perception (often debated) is hardly available, which is to say that we do not know the mind of Jesus. Still, he is an eminently reliable character. Furthermore, readers/hearers participate in judging the evaluations of him by

22.  Horsley’s remarks in note 3 bear being repeated (1989a, 39–40, 50–58). The high priestly collaborators with Rome are not to be taken as representatives of all their people. 23.  See the typical equation of cultural difference with class difference in Spivak (2008, 58).

26 Luke

other characters, and thus they construe his character so much so that they likely develop an empathetic identity with him. Readers/hearers also construe the character of other personages in the narrative from external social evaluations so that they can build images of disciples predominantly as an ingroup. And they may again develop an empathetic identity. Further readers/hearers construe characters who are outside the ingroup, and this corresponds to basic tenets of social identity theory that ingroup identity is strongly dependent on comparison with outgroups. Finally, similar dynamics of the way readers/hearers construe Luke’s narrative are at work for external social evaluations of who God is.

Modesty in interpretation To speak of hierarchies of dominance is an occasion to mention systems of dominance in biblical studies also. Proponents of specific methodologies (historical, literary, sociological, post-structuralist, etc.) often attempt to trump each other. By now it is obvious that the methodology of this study is rather eclectic. Methods should be complementary, although at times philosophical presuppositions behind them may be contradictory. But eclecticism also may participate in struggles for dominance in interpretation as if it surpasses other voices. In an attempt to counter authoritarianism behind biblical interpretation, I once coined the term “prophesighing” rather than “prophesying” to express the way we flounder in interpretations (Brawley 1994, 115). Thus, no designs to silence other voices lies behind this commentary, but part of my hope is that it will find some resonance with them.

Part 2 THE GOSPEL OF LUKE: AN OUTLINE

My understanding of the structure of Luke has been strongly influenced by Reinhardt von Bendemann (2001). Luke 3:1-2 makes a rather clear break between the material that has to do with the births of John the Baptizer and Jesus and the consequent portrayals of their significance. The beginnings of the story of Jesus himself blend a bit with Luke’s account of John’s ministry, but a primary focus on Jesus begins clearly at the genealogy in 3:23-38. Jesus’s temptations in the wilderness form a rather liminal episode before Jesus engages other people in his ministry. Virtually all outlines of Luke take Jesus’s remark in 9:51 as the opening of a new section: “When the time of his taking up1 drew near, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.” This is then identified as a new orientation to the so-called “travel narrative.” Not only do we have merely three throw-away lines (13:22; 17:11; 19:28) that provide brief hints to readers/hearers of the journey to Jerusalem, but as von Bendemann shows, the agenda after 9:51 stands in resilient continuity with the program before 9:51, which is grounded in Jesus’s claims in 4:18-19 and 4:43-44 to “good-news” the βασιλεία of God. Clearly the preparation and empowerment in Jesus’s sending of seventy-two disciples on a mission in 10:1-12 reiterates the sending of the twelve in 9:1-6, in spite of the intervening narrator’s note of Jesus’s orientation toward Jerusalem in 9:51. What stands in thematic continuity, 9:51 notwithstanding, is the progression of the “good-newsing” of the βασιλεία of God, and the motivating, equipping, and enabling of disciples for their mission in the βασιλεία of God from 4:14 to 21:38.

Outline (1) Luke 1:1-4 Prologue (2) Luke 1:5–2:40 Births and early development of John the Baptizer and Jesus (2.1) 1:5-25 Zechariah in the temple and Elizabeth’s pregnancy (2.2) 1:26-38 Gabriel’s annunciation to Mary

1.  Usually understood as the ascension of Jesus or his death. But see on 9:51 pp. 112–13 where emphasis falls on the relationship with God implied by the “taking up” of Jesus.

28 Luke

(2.3) 1:39-56 Mary and Elizabeth (a) 1:40-45 Elizabeth’s prophecy (b) 1:46-55 Mary’s prophecy (2.4) 1:57-80 Birth and circumcision of John the Baptizer and Zechariah’s prophecy (2.5) 2:1-39 The birth of Jesus (a) 2:1-7 Jesus’s birth in Bethlehem (b) 2:8-20 The angelophany to the shepherds (c) 2:21-39 Circumcision of Jesus and the infant Jesus in the temple (c.1) 2:22-24 Sacrifice of purification (c.2) 2:25-35 Simeon (c.3) 2:36-38 Anna (3) Luke 2:40-52 Jesus’s growing years—in the temple and in Nazareth (4) Luke 3:1-22 John the Baptizer in the wilderness (4.1) 3:1-2 John’s ministry in its imperial context (4.2) 3:3-14 John’s message (4.3) 3:15-17 John’s relationship to one who is coming (4.4) 3:19-20 John’s imprisonment (4.5) 3:21-22 Jesus’s baptism (5) Luke 3:23–4:13 Jesus’s beginnings (5.1) 3:23-38 Jesus’s genealogy (5.2) 4:1-13 The devil’s temptations of Jesus (6) Luke 4:14–21:38 Jesus’s “good-newsing” of the βασιλεία of God and its extension (6.1) 4:14-44 Jesus’s program and manifestations of his mission (a) 4:16-30 Jesus’s “good-newsing” and a negative response at Nazareth (b) 4:31-41 Ministry in Capernaum (c) 4:42-44 Jesus’s programmatic extension of his “good-newsing” of the βασιλεία of God (6.2) 5:1-11 Association of the first followers in Jesus’s mission (6.3) 5:12-26 Healings and controversy (a) 5:12-16 Cleansing a leper (b) 5:17-26 Dramatizing faith and forgiveness, and persuading critics (6.4) 5:27-32 The calling of Levi, Levi’s banquet, and persuading critics (6.5) 5:33-39 Parables of persuasion for not fasting (a) 5:34-35 Parable of the bridegroom (b) 5:36 Parable of old and new garment (c) 5:37-38 Parable of old and new wineskins (d) 5:39 Parable of the value of old and new wine



The Gospel of Luke

29

(6.6) 6:1-11 Discussions on appropriate behavior on the Sabbath (a) 6:1-5 Plucking grain on the Sabbath (b) 6:6-11 Healing a man with a withered hand (6.7) 6:12-16 Choosing twelve apostles (6.8) 6:17-49 The sermon on the plain (a) 6:20-26 Blessings and woes (b) 6:27-49 Focal instances and parables of the way things are in the βασιλεία of God (b.1) 6:27-31 Doing good to others (b.2) 6:32-42 Undermining hierarchical dominance (b.2.1) 6:32-36 Loving enemies (b.2.2) 6:37-38 Justice as the recompense for the practice of justice (b.2.3) 6:39 Parable of the blind leading the blind (b.2.4) 6:40 Disciple and teacher (b.2.5) 6:41-42 Parable of the speck in the eye



(b.3) 6:43-45 Behavior as bearing fruit (b.4) 6 :46-49 Heeding and the parable of building on a foundation (6.9) (6.10) (6.11) (6.12)

7:1-10 A centurion and his slave 7:11-17 Raising the son of the widow of Nain 7:18-23 The Baptizer’s question: “Are you the one who is to come?” 7:24-30 The Baptizer’s significance (a) l. 7:24 Affirmation of John’s ministry (b) 7:25 Contrast with imperial elites (c) 7:27-28 More than a prophet (d) 7:29-30 Accepting and rejecting John’s baptism

(6.13) 7:31-35 Parable of the children in the market place (6.14) 7:36-50 Simon the Pharisee, a woman in the city, and Jesus (a) 7:37-38 The woman’s extravagant act (b) 7:39 Simon’s evaluation (c) 7:40-43 Jesus’s parable of the two debtors (d) 7:44-47 Jesus’s superordinate category of forgiveness (e) 7:48-50 Jesus’s declaration of the woman’s dramatization of faith (6.15) 8:1-3 Jesus’s programmatic “good-newsing” and the function of women deacons (6.16) 8:4-18 Parables of the sower and the lamp (a) 8:5-8 Sowing seed and types of soil (a.1) 8:9-10 Explanation of mysteries in parables (a.2) 8:11-15 Allegory of the parable of the sower (a.3) 8:16-18 Inversion of what is hidden and disclosed in the parable of the lamp

30 Luke

(6.17) 8:19-21 Jesus’s mother and brothers and fictive kinship (6.18) 8:22-25 The disciples’ fear in a storm (6.19) 8:26-39 Jesus and the Gerasene demoniac (a) 8:28-31 Jesus’s encounter with the demonic; naming, and negotiating (b) 8:32-33 Demonic possession and drowning of swine (b.1) 8:34-35, 37 Fear as confirmation of the exorcism (b.2) 8:36, 38-39 Interpretation of the healing as what God has done (6.20) 8:40-56 Intercalated incidents of Jairus’s daughter and the woman with the flow of blood (a) 8:40-42a Jairus’s appeal with Jesus’s initial response (b) 8:42b-48 The woman’s touch and Jesus’s confirmation of her dramatization of faith (c) 8:49-56 The daughter’s death and resuscitation (6.21) 9:1-62 Themes of mission, Jesus’s identity, discipleship, Jesus’s destiny (a) 9:1-6 The sending of the twelve in mutuality with village hosts (b) 9:7-9 Herod Antipas and Jesus’s identity (c) 9:10-17 A meal in the wilderness as mutuality with villagers (d) 9:18-22 The disciples, Jesus’s identity and prediction of his passion (e) 9:23-27 The nature of discipleship (f) 9:28-36 The changing of Jesus’s face and his destiny (g) 9:37-43a Criteria for and mission of Jesus’s disciples (g.1) 9:38-41 The failure of disciples in mission (g.2) 9:42-43 Jesus’s exorcism

(h) 9:43b-45 Jesus’s second passion prediction (i) 9:46-50 Deficiencies among disciples in terms of hierarchies of dominance (i.1) 9:46-48 Dispute about greatest (i.2) 9:49-50 John’s concern with keeping boundaries



(j) 9:51-56 Jerusalem as Jesus’s destination and the Samaritans (k) 9:57-62 Three potential disciples

(6.22) 10:1-24 The mission of the seventy-two, anticipations and forewarnings (a) 10:3-12 Forewarnings (b) 10:13-15 Woes on unrepentant cities (c) 10:16 Heeding and rejecting Jesus’s emissaries (d) 10:17-24 The return of the seventy-two (d.1) 10:17-20 The fall of Satan and the assurance of the seventy-two (d.2) 10:21-24 Revelation and the fictive kinship of babes



The Gospel of Luke

(6.23) 10:25-37 The parable of the good Samaritan (6.24) 10:38-42 Martha and Mary: hospitality and heeding Jesus (6.25) 11:1-13 Prayer as preparation of disciples for mission (a) 11:2-4 The Lord’s Prayer (b) 11:5-8 Parable of the friend at midnight (c) 11:9-13 God’s gift to those who ask (6.26) 11:14-26 Exorcisms and competing evaluations of Jesus’s identity (a) 11:15 The charge of collaborating with Beelzebul (b) 11:16-23 The βασιλεία of God versus Satan’s βασιλεία (c) 11:24-26 The problem of lapsing

(6.27) (6.28) (6.29) (6.30)

11:27-28 Understanding blessedness in relation to kinship 11:29-32 The problem of seeking signs 11:33-36 The metaphor of light as a response to Jesus’s ministry 11:37-54 Jesus hosted by a Pharisee (a) 11:39-41 Genuine purity (b) 11:42-44 Woes for neglect of justice and love (c) 11:45-52 Burdens too difficult to bear and the generation/ derivation of behavior from ancestors (d) 11:53-54 Cross-examination to catch Jesus

(6.31) 12:1-12 Guarding against abandoning the group of Jesus’s followers (a) 12:2-3 Hypocrisy as warning to disciples (b) 12:4-12 Mixture of severe threats and abundant assurances of God’s care (b.1) 12:8-9 Reciprocal acknowledgement and denial of and from Jesus (b.2) 12:10 Blasphemy against the Holy Spirit (6.32) 12:13-21 Parable of the rich fool (a) 12:13 The issue of the patrimonial inheritance (b) 12:14 Jesus refuses to adjudicate (c) 12:15-21 The parable (6.33) 12:22-34 Juxtaposition of the “nations of the world” with the βασιλεία of God (a) 12:22-31 Assurance of God’s care (b) 12:32-34 The little flock and the orientation of the heart on God’s reality (c) 12:35-48 Being prepared and embodying God’s reality in deeds. (d) 12:35-40 Readiness for a time of crisis (e) 12:41-48 Two types of slaves as exhortation to fidelity in the present

31

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(6.34) 12:49-59 Division over Jesus and discerning the present time (a) 12:52-53 Divisions in domestic relationships (b) 12:54-56 Comparison of forecasting weather for the future with the inability to discern the present (c) 12:57-59 A parable of judgment? Or injustice in Roman judicial systems? (6.35) 13:1-5 Tragedies and divine punishment for sin (6.36) 13:6-9 The parable of the unproductive fig tree (6.37) 13:10-17 The healing of the woman bent over (a) 13:14 Objections of the synagogue leader (b) 13:15-17 Jesus persuades all those who objected (6.38) 13:18-21 Parables of the mustard and the leaven (6.39) 13:22-30 Who is included in or excluded from salvation? (a) 13:23 Expectations of only a few (b) 13:28-30 Inclusion of people from the four corners of the earth (6.40) 13:31-35 Lament over Jerusalem (a) 13:31 Pharisees warn Jesus of Herod’s desire to kill him (b) 13:32-33 Jesus’s response in terms of his destiny in Jerusalem (c) 13:34-34 Jesus’s lament over Jerusalem (6.41) 14:1-24 Jesus as the guest of a Pharisee (a) 14:1-6 Sabbath healing (b) 14:7-14 Social status and reciprocity (c) 14:15-24 Parable of the great banquet as indicating inclusive social relationships (6.42) 14:25-35 Jesus’s conditions apart from which one cannot be his disciple (a) 14:26 Disruption of close relationships (cannot be my disciple) (b) 14:27 Carrying the cross (cannot be my disciple) (c) 14:28-30 Building a tower (cannot finish) (d) 14:31-32 Going to war (unable to encounter the opponent) (e) 14:33 Give up all one possesses (cannot be my disciple) (f) 14:34-35 The oxymoron of salt losing its saltiness (6.43) 15:1-32 Grumbling detractors of inclusive social relationships and three parables of persuasion (a) 15:3-7 Joy over recovering a lost sheep (b) 15:8-10 Joy over finding a lost coin (c) 15:11-32 Joy and consternation over the return of a lost son/ profligate brother



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(6.44) 16:1-31 The mammon of injustice, the children of this age and the children of light (a) 16:1-9 The parable of the children of this age and the children of light (b) 16:10-13 Mammon of injustice and genuine reality (c) 16:14-15 Lovers of money and the children of this age (d) 16:16-18 The βασιλεία of God in the context of Israel’s Scriptures (e) 16:19-31 Parable of the rich man and Lazarus (6.45) 17:1-19 Causing scandals, lack of faith, slavery, healing lepers, and thanks (a) 17:1-6 Causing scandals and the problem of faith (b) 17:7-19 The scandal of those who are un-thanked (b.1) 17:7-10 Parable of the un-thanked slaves (b.2) 2. 17:12-19 The healing of ten lepers and the problem of giving thanks (6.46) 17:20-18:8 The reality of the βασιλεία of God (a) 17:20-37 When and where? (a.1) 17:20-21 Pharisees and where (a.2) 17:22-37 Disciples, when and where

(b) 18:1-8 Prayer, not losing heart, and vindication: The parable of the widow and the unjust judge

(6.47) 18:9-34 Expectations of who is included in the βασιλεία of God (a) 18:9-14 Parable of the Pharisee and the revenue collector (b) 18:15-17 The place of babies in the βασιλεία of God (c) 18:18-27 The rich ruler (d) 18:28-30 Peter and the commitment of the disciples to the βασιλεία of God (e) 18:31-34 Fulfillment and Jesus’ passion in Jerusalem (6.48) 18:35-43 A blind beggar receives his sight and follows Jesus (6.49) 19:1-10 Jesus and Zacchaeus: (a) 19:8 Giving half to the poor and fourfold restitution (b) 19:9-10 Restoration of a lost son of Abraham (6.50) 19:11-27 The parable of the Minas: The contrast of Jesus’s βασιλεία with a brutal and exploitative kingship (6.51) 19:28-40 Jesus’s entrance to Jerusalem (a) 19:28-32 Jesus’s prescience and preparation for the entry (b) 19:33-38 The entrance and the disciples’ acclamation (b.1) 19:39 Some Pharisees’ objection (b.2) 19:40 Jesus’s affirmation

(c) 19:41-44 Jesus’s lament over Jerusalem (d) 19:45-48 The temple incident and the claim on the temple

34 Luke

(6.52) 20:1-21:4 Teaching, “good-newsing,” and discussions at the temple (a) 20:1b-8 The question of the source of Jesus’s power (b) 20:9-19 The parable of the tenants of the vineyard (c) 20:20-26 The question of tribute to Caesar (d) 20:27-40 Sadducees and the question of the resurrection (e) 20:41-44 How is the messiah David’s son? (f) 20:45-21:4 Scribes, widows’ houses, and a widow’s two copper coins (f.1) 20:45-47 Some scribes who seek honor but abuse widows (f.2) 21:1-4 A poor widow’s gift of two copper coins (6.53) 21:5-36 Future destinies of the temple, the disciples, Jerusalem, and the son of man (a) 21:5-11 Destruction of the temple and its antecedents (b) 21:12-19 Future expectations for Jesus’s followers (b.1) 21:12 Synagogue discipline and imperial judiciaries (b.2) 21:13-19 Promises of guidance and care (c) 21:20-24 Siege of Jerusalem as avenging justice and wrath (d) 21:25-26 The coming of the son of man in judgment (e) 21:29-36 Parable of the sprouting fig tree and exhortation (6.54) 21:37-38 Narrator’s summary of Jesus’s teaching (7) Luke 22:1-24:53 Jesus’s passion, resurrection, and ascension (7.1) 22:1-6 Conspiracy of the high priestly party, Judas, and Satan to execute Jesus (7.2) 22:7-34 Passover and table talk (a) 22:7-13 Jesus’s prescience and preparation for Passover (b) 22:14-38 The supper and table talk (b.1) 22:14-20 The first cup, the bread, and the second cup and their meaning. (b.2) 22:21-27 Disrupted unity and its reversal (b.2.1) 22:21-23 Betrayal (b.2.2) 22:24-27 Contention about greatness recategorized by negative comparison with kings of the nations (b.2.3) 22:28-30 Recategorized kingship conferred on the twelve (b.3) 22: 31-34 Prediction of Simon’s betrayal and his vow of fidelity unto death (b.4) 22:35-38 In face of imminent conflict Jesus’s revision of instructions in 9:3 for mission (7.3) 22:39-46 Jesus and the disciples at prayer on the Mount of Olives (7.4) 22:47-53 Betrayal and arrest of Jesus



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(7.5) 22:54-62 Peter’s denial in the high priest’s courtyard (7.6) 22:63-65 The mocking of Jesus in the high priest’s house (7.7) 22:66-71 Interrogation of Jesus before the elders (a) 22:67-68 The question of Jesus’s messianic identity and his concession to futility (b) 22:69 Jesus’s imminent identity with the son of man as an inversion of judgment (c) 22:70-71 The interrogators’ statement that Jesus is Son of God and his concession to futility a second time. (7.8) 23:1-25 Jesus’s trials and the sentence of crucifixion (a) 23:1-5 First appearance before Pilate (a.1) 23:2 Accusations (a.2) 23:3 Pilate: Are you the king of the Ἰουδαῖοι? And Jesus’s submissive assimilation (a.3) 23:4 Pilate’s declaration of no probable cause (a.4) 23:5 Renewed accusations





(b) 23:6-12 Appearance before Herod Antipas (b.1) 23:9 Interrogation with no response (b.2) 23:11 Mockery of Herod and his soldiers (b.3) 23:12 Herod’s and Pilate’s friendship (c) 23:13-25 Second appearance before Pilate (c.1) 23:13-16 Pilate’s second declaration of no probable cause (c.2) 23:18-25 Crowd of accusers requests the release of Barabbas and the execution of Jesus. Pilate concurs.

(7.9) 23:20-56 Events surrounding the crucifixion and burial (a) 23:26 Simon of Cyrene carries Jesus’s cross (b) 23:27-31 Jesus and lamenting daughters of Jerusalem (c) 23:32-33 Introduction of two malefactors crucified with Jesus (d) 23:34a Textually uncertain prayer of forgiveness (e) 23:34b-38 Casting lots for Jesus’s clothing and mockery (f) 23:39-43 Account of the two malefactors resumes (f.1) 23:39 One mocks (f.2) 23:40-42 The other asks to be remembered in Jesus’s βασιλεία (f.3) 23:43 “Today you will be with me in paradise”

(g) (h) (i) (j) (k) (l)

23:44-45 Inversions of normality 23:46 Jesus commends his life to God’s care and dies 23:47 Centurion declares Jesus just 23:48 Crowds beat their breasts in lament 23:49 Followers including women witness from a distance 23:50-56 Joseph of Arimathea buries Jesus and women follow to the tomb

36 Luke

(7.10) 24:1-12 The women at the tomb and their testimony (a) 24:1-3 An aborted mandate (b) 24:4-7 Two messengers and their message of resurrection (c) 24:8-12 The first, but ineffective proclamation of the women (7.11) 24:13-35 Events on the journey to Emmaus (a) 24:13-24 The ironic account of Jesus’s crucifixion by the two travelers (b) 24:25-27 The risen Jesus’s appeal to the Scriptures for understanding the Messiah’s suffering (c) 24:28-35 The two from Emmaus return to Jerusalem but the priority of their story is preempted by the announcement to them of an appearance to Simon (7.12) 24:36-49 The risen Jesus with his disciples (a) 24:36-38 Peace in the face of fear (b) 24:39-42 Affirmation of Jesus’s corporeality (c) 24:44-48 Jesus’s appeal to the Scriptures for understanding his suffering and the disciples’ mission (d) 24:49 The reaffirmation of the promise of the Spirit (7.13) 24:50-53 Jesus’s blessing, ascension, and the disciples’ worship

Part 3 COMMENTARY

Prologue Luke 1:1-4. Only in the prologue does the narrator intrude into the narrative with a reference to himself. He accomplishes this by means of a first-person pronoun modified by a masculine singular participle. He does so, however, only by locating himself in an ingroup to which he belongs, which has chronological priority over him. The group comes before the author himself. Indeed, he names this ingroup “many” (πολλοί, 1:1) in just the second word that he writes. The author’s relationship to these many reveals in a preliminary way significant norms of the ingroup. First, they have been formed by events that have occurred among them, and readers/hearers can quickly deduce that these events are not merely part of a foundational past. Rather they become part of traditions, and a central feature of the ingroup is the passing on of the traditions, which together belong to a collective memory (see pp. 4–5). Second, before the author can create his διήγεσις (“narrative”), something has happened to him that has a pronounced sway on his identity. On a theoretical level, it is even possible to say in a virtually universal way, that only when humans experience aspects of love from others in a process of socialization do they become a subject with the capacity to speak, and speaking is therefore a response to others (Hans-Ulrich Rüegger 2012, 178–80). For the author of Luke, others have passed on traditions to him as an other, and it is clear that this bestows upon him the capacity to create a διήγεσις. He is othered before he others others, and his narrative is a response to his experience of these others. (See the section on Levinas, Ricoeur, and Taylor in the “Introduction,” pp. 18–20). Further, the ingroup to which the author belongs is determined functionally, that is, not by its formal characteristics but as noted above by actions, which is indicated by events that have occurred among them. This is to say that from the beginning Luke does not identify his ingroup by means of institutional organization and features. Granted, in 22:25-30 when Jesus makes a dramatic contrast of the life in common of his disciples with the kings of the earth, and then promises that they will sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel, he anticipates the development of institutions. Further, these institutions clearly begin to materialize in Acts. But from beginning to end the Third Gospel deals with what Keith

38 Luke

Roberts (1978, 111–26) distinguishes as “contracultural,” that is, a movement that holds alternative values within an existing dominant system over against a “counter cultural” group, which has already developed institutions for its future. In this case, the dominant context is Israel’s economic, social, religious systems as a vanquished nation within the Roman Empire. Jesus initiates a gathering of disciples the function of which is to live in an alternative way even though it exists in the midst of complex imperial systems. Ekkehard and Wolfgang Stegemann (1999, 187, see 195, 206–11) use the terminology “Jesus movement,” to indicate similarly a stage of development prior to institutionalization, which is the focus of Luke’s narrative. It is from within this kind of group that the author intrudes into this type of narrative to locate himself among an ingroup of “many,” who like him have undertaken to compile narratives concerning things that have happened among them. In this sense he finds a place for himself in the narrative, which he is obviously writing from the perspective of his own time. Consequently, he hardly stands alone, and further, his identity is an implicit social identity for his time and place. Indeed, social identity theory posits that identity is enhanced by membership in an ingroup with a positive character. Moreover, the inclusive “we” in 1:1-2 implies solidarity and plays down distinctions within the group (Gaertner et al. 1993, 1–3). Although at the level of this introductory prologue the inclusion of subgroups is not yet apparent, the narrative will make some of them plain (a pious priestly couple at 1:5, shepherds at 2:8, revenue collectors and soldiers at 3:13-14, etc.). Gerd Baumann (2004, 21–24) has referred to this kind of inclusion of subgroups who belong to a larger group by way of common social experiences and practices as the manifestation of a “segmentary grammar.” This is to say that at certain levels subgroups appear to be unattached, even to the extent of being at odds with each other, but at the level of the events in Luke’s narrative they belong together as those who recognize themselves under the phrase “among us” (1:1). In other words, the plural “we” can arise only by an incorporation of differences that arrives at solidarity, differences notwithstanding (Börschel 2001, 20). Simultaneously, readers/hearers will discover that the broadly inclusive “we” will also imply the exclusion of antagonists who resist a divine reality that is repeatedly called “good news.” Baumann (2004, 19–21) refers to such social exclusion as manifestations of an additional “grammar” of binary opposition that that he calls “orientalization” (with credits to Edward Said). This means that some are othered in such a way that “they” stand over against “us.” The perspective of the narrator is that often his own ingroup (“we”) also stands in the position in which they are “othered” negatively by others. Readers/hearers become aware of this pointedly in Simeon’s prediction in 2:34: “[Mary’s son] is destined for the falling and rising of many in Israel and a sign that is opposed.” Moreover, in binary oppositions, each group characterizes the other as deficient. Baumann (2004, 25–27) identifies yet another way of othering as “encompassment,” which means that a larger group constitutes a hierarchy of dominance over subgroups that are included under the condition that they acquiesce to the larger group. This dynamic plays out on multiple occasions among

Commentary  39

characters in the narrative. When John tries to stop someone from expelling evil forces in Jesus’s name because he does not follow along with “us” (9:49), he engages in a strategy that looks like binary exclusion. Yet, if this exorcist acquiesces and “follows along with us,” he will be encompassed within the dominant group. Jesus actually diffuses John’s attempt at encompassment by decategorization. This involves the solidarity of a segmented identity: “Whoever is not against you is for you” (9:50). On the one hand, encompassment has a positive dimension in that some who are excluded are awarded a positive value. On the other hand, it has negative implications in that characteristics of a group are subjugated under the larger group that encompasses it. The Lukan narrator may also be capable of encompassment. Indeed, some feminists detect such encompassment on the part of the narrator with respect to women who, for example, are typically given lesser voice than men or no voice at all so that they are present only by being encompassed in the larger group dominated by men (e.g., Reid 1994; Schaberg, 1992, 275, 278–81). Significantly, these three ways of relating to others— orientalizing, segmentation, and encompassment—are not necessarily distinct from each other but may overlap. To resume the segmentary grammar in the prologue, that is, a level that attains solidarity in spite of differences at other levels, the implicit address in the plural pronoun ἡνῖν (1:1) allows for readers/hearers of both genders to read themselves into the narrative. References to others both precede and follow the author’s reference to himself such that although he is not a charter member of the ingroup, he immerses himself in a group that endures over time and includes predecessors. He is under compulsion to receive information from them, but the narrator and his contemporaries are also bonded together by common experiences that have happened “among us” (Du Plessis 1974, 264). Group boundaries are left undefined except by these common group experiences. The development in the Gospel shows repeatedly that the boundaries are porous, and the use of first-person plural pronouns in the prologue assuredly means that the boundaries are open to any reader/hearer for whom the common group experiences can be replicated. Moreover, Luke’s account of “the things that have happened among us” is not merely a matter of compiling sources. Rather, Luke participates in voicing a social memory of Jesus, of what he says and does, and of the people who surrounded him. In modern times, text criticism and form criticism have been driven by the desire to recover something that is original, an original text or an original tradition. But when Luke composes his narrative, he is attempting to do something far more than simply pass on tradition. Rather, he is keeping the social memory of Jesus alive by communicating it anew to his contemporaries (Kelber 2006, 15; Schröter 1997, IX, 118). Luke is hardly presenting an archive of the sayings and deeds of Jesus but is rendering the social memory anew with the consequence of promulgating the social memory in an autonomous social context (Kelber 2006, 17) or “keeping Jesus alive by making him communicate to the present” (ibid., 21). This is crucial for the identity of Luke and Luke’s readers/hearers because social identity depends on how humans are able to find a place for themselves in relation to the past and the present established by collective memory (Olick 2006, 8).

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At the same time and in spite of textual variations in the earliest collective memories of Jesus, the tradition is hardly open to disorderly embellishment. Oral social memory is subject to constraints. Kenneth Bailey has used traditional village life in the Mediterranean world to show how original witnesses practice informal control in the passing on of tradition. Since Luke does not belong to the original setting of his narrative, then by necessity he depends upon those who were “eyewitnesses and servants of the word” (1:2). However, the primary constraint is not oriented toward preservation of the past but toward the vivification of the present. For Jesus’s adherents “to remember the words and deeds of Jesus of Nazareth was to affirm their own unique identity” (Bailey 1995, 10). This thesis underscores how Luke’s reference to “us” in 1:1 implicitly distinguishes an ingroup from an outgroup. Further, social identity theory holds that people identify with groups in order to reduce uncertainty along with the enhancement of their self-esteem and the positive evaluation associated with their group (Hogg and Mullin 1999, 258). As if on cue Luke’s prologue anticipates that this narrative (διήγεσις) will increase group cohesion by providing assurance (ἀσφάλεια) to one adherent (Theophilus) that assuredly will extend to the larger group. The polite title (κράτιστε, 1:3), with which Theophilus is addressed, is the first hint of hierarchies of dominance in Luke. It is a form of address that a subordinate uses to speak to someone of higher social status, perhaps reflecting a patronclient relationship (to promote distribution of the document?).1 Itumeleng Mosala (1989, 173–74) takes the address to Theophilus as an indication that the audience of the Gospel is the ruling classes. In my view this overlooks that an overwhelming majority of all the actors in Luke’s narrative belongs to the common people of the vanquished nations of the Roman Empire. The notion of confining the audience to classes with dominant power also hardly allows that in an oral culture with limited copies of written documents, the audience would have heard the Gospel performed for the ears of the “flock” (12:32). Further, as Erich Auerbach (1953, 43) astutely observes, the focus on incidents that, in the perspective of the large scheme of things, are themselves otherwise insignificant marks the narrative as concerned with a movement among common people. Moreover, the polite title for Theophilus is too multifaceted to specify either his social status or the author’s relationship to him (BDAG). Crucially, however, even though Theophilius likely possesses elite status, the privileged are also subject to the norms of the group (Sarasin 2012, 133–34) as they are reflected in the Third Gospel. In any case, the title ascribes honor to him and emphasizes the assurance (1:4) that surely will profit a larger audience as well. This shapes a narrative perspective according to which no one in this group, to which the narrator belongs, stands alone. Further, the boundaries are porous for all readers/hearers to presume an invitation that potentially they too may belong. 1.  Interestingly, characters in Acts address office holders in imperial systems with this same title. Robbins (1991, 321–23) takes this as an indication that Luke himself occupies a subordinate position to Theophilus.

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Luke 1:5–2:40 Births and early development of John the Baptizer and Jesus Luke 1:5-25. The episode that begins with a focus on Zechariah is infused with this priest’s personal relationships with the larger social order from imperial and religious systems to the crowd outside the temple. Suddenly, the social environment becomes expansive. Herod the Great, a client king in imperial systems, is first of all a synecdoche for an imperial political context that encompasses everything in Luke’s narrative. But the identification of Herod by means of the national title of Judea as his realm, including Galilee, also establishes a geographical perspective for the entire narrative, to which exceptions are noted (e.g., 8:22-26; 17:11). Further, places locate social players in distinct positions of advantage or disadvantage, and as noted earlier, with rare exceptions the characters in Luke’s Gospel belong to the territory of vanquished peoples of the Empire. In a regional sense, Herod is at the apex of social structures into which individual personages have to negotiate the social space where they belong (Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 75; cf. Harvey 2000, 75 and passim; Matthews 2006, 49). Just as suddenly aspects of the social environment are played out in a specific man and woman who occupy a social space and social dimensions quite distinct from those of Herod. Luke is very quickly revealing to readers/hearers the “nested hierarchy of spatial scales” (Harvey 2000, 75) within which humans have to negotiate where they belong. Geographical and cosmological spaces are not separate from identity but a part of it (Petts 1998, 80). The problem of belonging is not merely finding a place in which to fit. Rather, it is a quandary of belonging in many places (see Ahmad 1992, 127)—for Zechariah here these many places include at least the empire, nation, temple, local community, and household, each of which puts constraints on him. Further, what happens in one cannot be understood apart from what is happening in the others (Harvey 2000, 75). This will be played out dramatically when the childlessness of Zechariah and Elizabeth will be inverted by the birth of a son with whom promises are attached that will transform their nuclear family, their social reproach in their community, and the entire destiny of the people of Israel (on the latter, see on 1:16-17, p. 43). When Zechariah enters the narrative, he is serving in a conspicuous place in Jerusalem’s temple, but readers/hearers quickly learn that the place where he “belongs” is not Jerusalem in the first instance but the hill country of Judea (1:23, 39), which occupies a dramatically lesser place in the hierarchy of spaces than Jerusalem, which the culture as a whole presumes to be Judea’s municipal center (see Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 12–13). This is to say, that Zechariah’s normative place is rather at the opposite extreme from Jerusalem where both Herod in his palace2 and the high priesthood in their temple belong. Josephus makes a basic distinction between rulers, on the one hand, including both client 2.  Herod presided over colossal construction projects including a palace and a massive rebuilding of the temple, although one of Herod’s fortresses with a palace was at Herodium twelve kilometers south of Jerusalem (Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 105–106).

42 Luke

kings such as Herod and the high priestly coterie who are responsible for local order and administration, and the rest of the people, on the other hand (Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 53–54, 68). Apart from Zechariah’s temporary service in the temple, he belongs to the masses of the people. Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth are succinctly characterized by venerable Israelite ancestry for both of them that, from the ideological perspective of the narrative, gives them ascribed status among their people. The focus on these two in ethnic terms establishes that the entire story construes reality through the point of view of Ἰουδαῖοι, to which exceptions are noted (as indicated on p. 41). This point of view is all the more perceptible when the two are characterized ambiguously; on the one hand, they are “just”; on the other, they are childless (indeed, Elizabeth is presumably postmenopausal, 1:18). Both traits reflect ethnic social evaluations among Ἰουδαῖοι on the scale of acquired status. In the complexity of hierarchies of dominance,3 to be just counts as honor, to be childless counts as shame (see on 1:25). These two are committed to the practice of justice as evaluated by the commandments and regulations that God gave to Israel. Justice here is a matter of how human beings live in relationships with others, and it is especially oriented toward the future because practicing justice means promises that bind oneself to others to maintain such relationships (Günter 2015, 92–94). Zechariah is, first, a miniature of Israel’s hopes for the future and, second, a synecdoche of Israel’s temple cult. But there is a social structure that determines Zechariah’s place and function; to wit, the priesthood is split between a dominant high priestly party and ordinary priests who serve, like Zechariah, for a short tenure only when their turn comes up. Josephus describes a pattern of exploitative relationships between the high priestly party and ordinary priests in that the former denied the latter their share of tithes (Ant. 20.180-81, 206-207), and this is an aspect of what Roland Boer (2015, xii, 1–2, 110–45) refers to as an extractive economy (see also Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 122–23). It is, moreover, what Itumeleng Mosala (1989, 16) identifies as part of the way the Bible itself emerges from class struggles in Israelite society. His perspective is that the hermeneutical starting point is not a universal message of the Bible per se but the crucible of concrete social conflict itself (ibid., 16–21). Inexplicably, however, Mosala (1989; 166–67, 184–85) fails to recognize Luke’s portrayal of Zechariah and Elizabeth as participants in the underclass of the order of priests. Thus, at the beginning of Luke, the hierarchy among the priestly class underlies Zechariah’s service in the temple. On the one hand, he and Elizabeth share a venerable status, which is reflected in the ancestry of both; on the other hand, their status is conflicted by a secondary hierarchy of dominance of the high priestly coterie over ordinary priests. They do not belong to the priestly aristocracy. Thus, for the moment Zechariah belongs in the temple, but in the priestly hierarchy, the place where he belongs is ambiguous. His temple service is temporary such that he essentially belongs to a place that is remote from the 3.  See pp. 23–25 in the “Introduction.”

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temple in the Judean hill country (1:23, 39). Still, momentarily, he stands before God. Cultic functions separate him from a crowd outside, and yet he shares with them the disposition of prayer. Outside and inside mimic each other. Inside incense rises up to God; outside the prayers of the crowd go up like incense. In this setting, the appearance of God’s messenger Gabriel to Zechariah as an ordinary priest from the Judean hill country undermines the presumed dominance of the high priesthood in Jerusalem. They supposedly are the guardians of divine manifestations! Nevertheless, in relation to Gabriel, Zechariah responds in fear (1:12), which although it is a form-critical characteristic of an angelophany still indicates Zechariah’s perception of himself as a subdominant, an inferior before a superior. Moreover, God has heard (1:13, divine passive) Zechariah’s supplication, which is his idiosyncratic parallel to the crowd’s prayers outside. These outsiders are not to be forgotten, because the relationship between Zechariah and the crowd qualifies the entire episode (Dillon 2006; 464–65, 469). Gabriel grants a promise for future hopes. Readers/hearers never know the content of Zechariah’s supplication (δέησις, 1:13); nevertheless, the introduction to the notice of his prayer connects his supplication causally (διότι) with the birth of a son, for which he prays (Fitzmyer 1981, 325). This means that his supplication as well as Gabriel’s promise is oriented toward the future. Again, a feature of practicing social justice is fidelity into the future (Günter 2015, 93). Zechariah’s identity as a just person (δίκαιος, 1:6) includes fidelity to the people in whose cult he serves and to promises that he had received from Gabriel for the future of the people of Israel (1:16) with whom he will live in solidarity. Because of the promises for the future, childless Zechariah and Elizabeth cannot be representatives of a nation without a future (Dillon 2006, 464–65, 469–70). Simultaneously, Gabriel’s promise of a child, who will produce joy for his parents, is connected with many in Israel (vv. 14, 16). Nota bene, Gabriel’s promise is both for the parents and for many of the children of Israel who through this son will turn to the Lord. A promise of a particular birth to aged parents carries with it nothing less than the promise of a preparation of a corporate people for the Lord, including the crowd outside the temple. Again, the promises to Zechariah and Elizabeth in one social space cannot be understood apart from what is happening in the others. Transitions at one level in the “nested hierarchy of spatial scales” are related to transitions at other levels (Harvey 2000; 75, 79). In fact, just as Israel’s relationship to its national space will be dramatically altered by the birth of their son, so will their relationship to their social space in the Judean hill country be altered (see 1:57-58, 65). Although Zechariah’s inability to speak is conventionally understood as punishment for his failure to believe (e.g., Fitzmyer 1981; 328, 348, 365), in my view it clearly functions rather as a sign. To understand it as a punishment miracle is to fail to consider that Gabriel’s promises are for both the parents and the people of Israel. So when Zechariah asks, “By what will I know (κατὰ τί γνώσομαι) this?” the issue is his assurance for both his particular case and the promises for the people. Gabriel’s attestation of the promise in order that Zechariah may know has multiple dimensions. He asserts his status and claims to have a divine mandate so that Zechariah can be assured; further, he gives a tangible sign. His status is indicated

44 Luke

by his standing in the divine presence. Because in the cultural encyclopedia angels are agents of divine revelation (e.g., Josephus, Ant. 15, 136), Gabriel has a divine mandate to speak this good news to Zechariah, and Zechariah’s inability to speak is the tangible sign. Because he did not believe Gabriel’s promises, he now knows. Further, the sign also functions for those outside. From his inability to speak, they also know (ἐπέγνωσαν) that he had experienced a vision. The interplay between Zechariah and the crowd pervades the entire scene from prayer to promises. Supplication and belief in promises are prominent norms for the social identity of Zechariah and the people. Luke 1:24-25. Elizabeth is a classic case of negative aspects of social identity. Cultural assumptions, which are overdetermined by family, kinship, village, training/education, ethnic/national heritage, and religion, produce hidden violence.4 She is a victim of cultural violence because she has internalized the cultural assumptions that childlessness is a reproach. Further, because her childlessness is interpreted as a basic feminine deficiency, this is clearly gender violence (Wittig 1986, 64). In fact, she internalizes the cultural evaluation, and she herself interprets the situation as her disgrace with no mention of her husband Zechariah (1:25). Cultural presumptions have assigned her to a class of subordinate females. Henri Tajfel (1978a, 86–97) identifies several strategies that are possible when social identity takes on negative qualities. (a) If boundaries are permeable, one may pass from a subordinate group with negative value to a dominant group, that is, one may assimilate.5 (b) It is possible to emphasize distinctions and even to create new ones in order to give prominence and positive value to distinctiveness. (c) It is possible to reinterpret negative evaluations.6 (d) It is possible to increase direct competition (see also Giles 1978, 385–86). (e) On the other hand, if boundaries are rigid, passing from one group to another requires social creativity such as new ideologies, attitudes, and affective attractions (e.g., enhanced self-esteem) (Tajfel 1978b, 54). It should be noted, however, that especially among people who have a high identification with a group, outside challenges to the group tend to enhance ingroup identity. Although Elizabeth has acquiesced to her inclusion in a subdominant group of subjugated females, the phenomenal aspect of this story is that it will become possible for presumably impermeable boundaries to become permeable, and she will assimilate into the dominant honorable group of childbearing women. Her pregnancy in her later years liberates her and gives her voice to express her liberation. Instead of being the object of cultural oppression, she becomes a subject 4.  Scott (1990, 20) also refers to hidden transcripts produced by multifarious sources of socialization. 5.  Note the similarity with Baumann’s “encompassment” (2004, 25–27). 6. Stegemann and Stegemann (1999, 195) indicate how in the Jesus movement stigmatization from outsiders is reinterpreted as election. This is accompanied by a devaluation of the status of the elite.

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who speaks as a gendered “I” (μοί, 1:25) and who asserts the right to speak for herself. She not only surmounts the cultural violence but also becomes a creative producer of a vision of reality. Furthermore, she is a charter member of a group that believes in Gabriel’s promises. Indeed as we shall see, she then becomes a prophet. Luke 1:26-38. Another woman, Mary, who is Elizabeth’s counterpart in being childless, but her contrasting counterpart in age takes the stage with her by the narrator’s simple notice that the action that follows occurs in the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, and this enables readers/hearers to link this incident to Zechariah’s angelophany. Mary is also a female counterpart to Zechariah in that Gabriel also pays her a visit and not only repeats his earlier promises to him but also expands them. Although Luke calls Nazareth a city, Gabriel actually encounters Mary in a Galilean village on the fringes, an “insignificant Galilean hamlet” (Fitzmyer 1981, 343), with an estimated population of 400 (Reed 2000, 152). It dwarfs into insignificance in comparison with Jerusalem and the temple at the heart of Israel in Judea. Whereas Zechariah is the leading character in Jerusalem, and Elizabeth the auxiliary, this time Mary takes primacy of place and Joseph is a hanger-on to whom she is to be married. The narrator’s designation of Mary as a virgin characterizes her from a perspective that locates her socially in relation to her function over against males (Irigaray 1993, 72). Gabriel also presumes Mary’s fear with his exhortation for her not to be afraid (1:30). Although this is a formcritical feature of an angelophany, it nevertheless reflects the response of someone of inferior status in the face of a superior. The impact of all of this is that the lower Mary’s status is, the more Gabriel’s characterization of her as favored by the God whose grace is with her (1:30) inverts her status, and divine favor heightens her status all the more in contrast to her pregnancy outside marriage. Although Jane Schaberg (1987) interprets Mary’s pregnancy on the level of a historical construct outside Luke rather than on the level of his narrative, her thesis that Mary is impregnated by male violence against her7 likewise heightens her favor in the eyes of God. Gabriel’s appearance to Mary begins not with the annunciation but with the assurance that God is on her side, that is, the Lord is “with her” (ὁ κύριος μετὰ σοῦ, 1:28). Before the announcement of her task she is already assured that she will meet the competence phase of the mandate that is to come. As a reminder, the competence phase means that a subject is obligated, willing, and able to perform the mandate (Greimas and Courtés 1982, s.v. “Narrative Schema”). God’s blessing and power will not only obligate her but also motivate and enable her to accomplish a task that is yet to be revealed (Stock 1980, 466–68). The nucleus of the promises to Mary is the embodiment of the Davidic covenant in a son to be born to her. The promised child is destined to sit on the throne of David, and he receives stellar ascribed honor in the prediction that he will be

7.  See, however, David Landry’s rebuttal (1995, 65–79) to Schaberg.

46 Luke

called son of the Most High.8 Gabriel makes a creative hermeneutical move with respect to 2 Sam. 7:12-16 LXX. There σπέρμα, which is a singular noun, is taken collectively so that it means that the Davidic dynasty will reign in perpetuity. By contrast, Gabriel takes σπέρμα as a literal singular, embodies it in Mary’s son who will be named Jesus (Lk. 1:31), and makes his βασιλεία endless (οὐκ ἔσται τέλος, 1:33). The long and short of this in the Lukan context is that “endless” is construed both chronologically and geographically. His βασιλεία will not come to an end, and it will include the entire world. See, for example, the “restoration of all things” in Acts 3:21, which the NRSV translates appropriately as “universal restoration.” In addition to Gabriel’s initial affirmation that God is with her in order for her to accomplish her task (1:28), and the repetition with variation that Mary has literally found grace with God (1:30), which might be even better inverted as God’s grace has found her, she cannot comprehend how her pregnancy will take place. Very much like the way Zechariah questioned, “How can I know?” (1:18), Mary asks, “How will this be, since I do not know a man?” (1:34). This demonstrates that she understands that her promised pregnancy will violate social norms against which she must determine her identity. According to Tajfel’s taxonomy of strategies to cope with negative evaluations of identity (1978a, 86–97, see on 1:24-25, p. 44), Gabriel makes it possible to reinterpret negative evaluations by making this is a matter of God’s power. The reference to Elizabeth’s pregnancy also binds the promises to Mary to those made to Zechariah. Further, Gabriel assures that Mary’s pregnancy will take place by the power of the same God that had already brought about Elizabeth’s pregnancy (1:35-36). Both are covered by the same statement: οὐκ ἀδυνατήσει παρὰ τοῦ θεοῦ πᾶν ῥῆμα (1:37) (“Everything will not be impossible with God”). This is even more dramatic than the translation in the NRSV: “Nothing will be impossible with God.” To underscore this point, the Greek negates “to be impossible” rather than “everything,” which is rendered as “nothing” in the NRSV. As a consequence Mary revises and elevates her selfesteem by envisioning herself as “the servant of the Lord,” and in so doing she uses Septuagint terms for venerable Israelites (e.g., “Moses my servant,” “David my servant”). Luke 1:39-56. These two stories of women and childbearing then converge directly when Mary visits Elizabeth. Here again there is a cultural hierarchy, the least of which is not their ages. Elizabeth is a descendant of Aaron, just, faithful to God for a lifetime, and advanced in years (1:5-7). She takes precedence over Mary with a physical manifestation in her womb of their encounter, inasmuch as when the two women meet, Elizabeth’s child quickens. Moreover, she has priority in beginning to prophesy with beatitudes. On the other hand, she subverts her own 8.  Kilgallen (1999, 401–14) layers Jesus’s identity in three tiers. He takes the future passive “will be called son of the Most High” quite literally as an ascribed title from others, which he separates from both Jesus’s Davidic messianism and “Son of God” as a title (1:35), which he derives from the virginal conception. I view these terms rather as appositional characterizations. Luke 1:35 reiterates Jesus’s sonship in relation to the “Most High” in 1:32.

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priority when by means of the Holy Spirit, her proclamations of Mary’s blessed status reinforce Gabriel’s assertions to Mary concerning God’s favor for her and her child, and Elizabeth revises her own social identity because of her role in the drama and her contact with Mary’s associated role (see also Green 1992, 470). Thus, she acknowledges her secondary status in relation to Mary who is the mother of “my” Lord. Theoretically, Elizabeth’s declaration of blessedness for the woman who believed what was spoken to her by the Lord could include both women, but Elizabeth receives a word of the Lord only indirectly through Zechariah, whereas Gabriel speaks directly to Mary. These affirmations indicate that the vital roles that these women play raise their status enormously in relation to the people. By now Zechariah, Elizabeth, Mary, and to a certain extent the crowd outside the temple in 1:10, 21 are bound together by divine promises for the future. Then Mary also takes up the mantel of a prophet with her canticle. Broad assumptions of global cultures, both chronologically and geographically, presume that women give birth to children but not to texts.9 Mary undermines such assumptions by giving birth to her own text. She first of all identifies herself by her relationship with God, who looked (aorist) upon her low social class, which is what ταπείνωσις means (1:48). This is anything but the suppression of what Mosala (1989, 171) thinks of as the rejection of “Jesus” unacceptable low-class origins. Rather, it locates Mary in the major division of society in her world between the elite who have ascribed honor and the masses who do not meet the criteria of honorable status established by the elite (Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 57). Mary’s ταπείνωσις stands in contrast with those in political power and with those who are rich, and it stands in parallel with those who are hungry. She inverts low degree and high degree, so that her lowliness is not personal humiliation alone as Fitzmyer (1981, 367) implies. She then extends her present state to all who have profound respect for God by promising them mercy. As Robert Tannehill (1986, 28) correctly puts it, “Whole societies are involved.” This assumes the form of God’s action to take the powerful down from their thrones (emperors and client kings) and to take the side of Israel, God’s child, in remembering mercy (1:54). In his earlier promises, Gabriel grounds his message in God’s promises in the Davidic covenant. Therefore, when Mary mentions what God had proclaimed to the ancestors (1:55), the expectation of readers/hearers would naturally be for her to expand the significance of the promises of the Davidic covenant. Instead she shifts to the promises to Abraham and his descendants in perpetuity (1:55). Indeed, the notion of remembering in the canticle is grounded on the collective memory of Abrahamic promises (Dillon 2006, 474, 479), promises which come from the past but are irrepressibly oriented toward the future (von Rad 1965, 319–28). In brief, she identifies herself as one case of the redeemed of Israel who is bound to the descendants of Abraham10 by promises for the future.

9.  Mary Ann Caws (1986) comments on this with respect to literature. 10.  Putative descent is a prominent feature of ethnicity in antiquity (Hall, 1997, 25).

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Luke 1:57-58. Quite in contrast to Elizabeth’s six months of concealing her pregnancy (1:24), word of the delivery of her son spreads to neighbors and kinfolk, and they rejoice with her. They share cultural presumptions about her pregnancy, and they interpret it first in terms of gender but nevertheless as divine mercy. Thus, the delivery of her child already has collective social consequences that resonate anew with Gabriel’s promise of the rejoicing of “many” at the child’s birth (1:14). Moreover, this picks up Gabriel’s announcement to Zechariah so that the birth of this child anticipates John’s mission of preparing a people for the Lord (1:17). Luke 1:59-80. Luke mentions the circumcision of Elizabeth’s child and the presence of an anonymous kinship group who intend to participate in naming him according to cultural presuppositions, reminiscent of the African proverb “it takes a village to raise a child” (note the similar socializing ceremony at the circumcision of Jesus in 2:21, see p. 51). But Gabriel’s instructions to Zechariah to name the child John take precedence over traditional customs, and with that Zechariah’s silence as a sign that attests Gabriel’s promises does not simply come to an end. Rather, the sign is confirmed once again because Gabriel had also imposed limits on Zechariah’s inability to speak: “Until the day these things come about” (1:20). As in the perception of the crowd at the giving of the sign in the temple, the restoration of his speech is also a sign to others. On this occasion it prompts them to ponder, “What then will this infant be?” (1:66). Like Elizabeth, Zechariah is filled with the Holy Spirit and prophesies. Like her, he also takes up the form of a beatitude, except that God is the one who is beatified. Readers/hearers expect Zechariah to be blessing God for the birth of John, but when he says that God has raised a horn of salvation in the house of David, he can only be speaking of Mary’s conception and Gabriel’s promise that her son will be a Davidic ruler (see 1:32-33), who is also the one whom Elizabeth has referred to as her savior (σωτήρ, 1:47). Thus like Gabriel, Zechariah interprets this event that is underway as God’s fidelity to Davidic promises (1:69), and like Mary, he also perceives this to be God’s fidelity to Abrahamic promises (1:70-73). Thus, Zechariah performs a hermeneutical act and synthesizes the Abrahamic and Davidic covenants in continuity with each other as ways in which God keeps fidelity to divine promises. But also like Mary, Zechariah views God’s fidelity to divine promises to mean the end of hierarchical systems of dominance. It means salvation from enemies and from all who hate “us” (1:71). Given the ubiquity of Roman imperial systems and Mary’s direct reference to throwing the powerful from their thrones, political allusions are unavoidable. But the grids of hierarchical dominance are exceedingly multifaceted beyond easy recognition, and Luke’s narrative entails rescue from large complexes of such things as social, religious, economic, gender, and political dominance for the well-being of all. Not until 1:76 does Zechariah turn to his newborn son. He then outlines the future course of his son’s prophetic ministry, that is, to prepare the way of Lord, by giving the people the knowledge of salvation. Zechariah then elaborates that this is the way of forgiveness of the sins of the people by means of God’s heartfelt mercy (1:77-78). Moreover, Zechariah as a prophet gives his hearers access to these

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realities by means of metaphors, which is perhaps the only way one has access to such realities. The figurations are a dawning from on high in parallel with light shining in darkness and in the shadow of death. Further, “peace” appears for the first time in Luke as the outcome of John’s preparation of the way of the Lord: “ To direct our feet in the way of peace” (1:79). This is foundational for a theme of peace that is destined to arise again and again in this Gospel. Luke 2:1-7. By means of an inclusive “our” in 1:79 that identifies a group to which Zechariah and characters associated with him belong (e.g., Elizabeth and Mary), not to mention the Israelites to whom Gabriel aims his promises to Zechariah (1:16). To be sure, readers/hearers also have the potential to buy into the narrative. Once inside the ingroup, “our feet” are immediately directed in an unusual way toward peace. The way runs through imperial systems to a baby in a feeding trough for animals. The intense interest of interpreters in chronology is thwarted here, because the notice of the reign of Herod in 1:5 dates the time of the births of John and Jesus before 4 BCE, whereas Quirinius did not become governor of Syria until 6–7 CE (Josephus, Ant. 18.1-4).11 On the other hand, the social and political hierarchy is unavoidable. Augustus is at the very pinnacle of virtually every hierarchical system, political, economic, cultural, religious, military, and so on (Elliott 2008, 89–90, 122–25). Indeed, Roman coins attribute the title pontifex maximus (“high priest”) to Augustus, and Vergil calls him nothing less than “son of God” (Aeneid 6.793-94). Josephus (Ant. 18.1) describes Quirinius, likewise of high status, as a Roman senator who moved up through the ranks to become a proconsul.12 Crucially, Luke’s account of the birth of Jesus begins with the emperor’s directive for a census, which in all probability implies a move in support of a poll tax that could be especially onerous to peasants at the subsistence level (see Scott 1976, 99–102). Augustus’s decree was implemented through the provincial governor. What is more, an unmentioned local collaborator in Bethlehem who would enroll Joseph in his birthplace has to be supplied as a part of imperial systems. Thus, a hierarchical geography coincides with the ruling hierarchy— from Rome through Syria to Judea, and specifically to the little town of Bethlehem, which is peripheral to Jerusalem (Rohrbaugh 1991, 132–35, 139; Ste. Croix 1981, 6–13, 300), but ironically the birthplace of David. The contrast between high and low status is unmistakable. In spite of the social stigma of pregnancy outside of marriage, Luke still presents Mary as engaged to be married.13 The contrasts continues to such an extent that Mary and Joseph find no proper human lodging, and if on this occasion the newborn Jesus has a place to lay his

11.  On the dating of Quirinius and what is likely an erroneous supposition that the poll tax meant returning to one’s birthplace, see Stegemann and Stegemann (1999, 117). 12.  To be enrolled as a senator required wealth of a minimum of one million sesterces, and proconsuls received another million for a year service (Friesen 2004, 345). 13.  Pace Bock (1994, 205–206), who considers the couple to be married at the time of Jesus’s birth.

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head (cf. 9:58), it is the inauspicious appropriation of a feeding trough.14 This baby’s birth is at the opposite extreme from the status of Augustus and Quirinius with which the account begins (so also Wolter 2008, 126). Further, Augustus’s decree manifests dominance by the warrior way of force, and Joseph’s compliance, along with the massive enrolment of others, demonstrates their identity as part of a vanquished people. Luke 2:8-20. The shepherds replicate the secondary status of Zechariah and Mary, who previously had received angelophanies, and reminiscent of the two of them, a messenger (ἄγγελος) of the Lord appears also to the shepherds (2:9). Thus the messages from God to Zechariah, Mary, and the shepherds reinforce one another. The naming of the babe as savior (σωτήρ) expands Mary’s praise of God as her savior (1:47) and Zechariah’s “horn of salvation” (1:69) as well as his reference to “salvation from our enemies” (1:71). Indeed, a multitude of the hosts of heaven join the messenger, and together they take up the theme of “peace on earth” (2:14) that replicates Zechariah’s “way of peace” (1:79). In addition, the plurality of the shepherds and the heavenly multitude that joins the messenger in 2:13 expand from the privacy of single persons to an increasingly larger group. In hierarchical schemas, the countryside where nomadic shepherds rove is subdominant to the settled city (Ste. Croix 1981, 6–10), and therefore subdominant even to the little town of Bethlehem. One attempt to locate the social status of the shepherds turns to the place of shepherds in the bucolic tradition of the advent of the golden age (Wolter 2008, 127, 130). On the other hand, in spite of traditions that idealize David as a shepherd, the Babylonian Talmud Sanh. 25b evaluates shepherds as unreliable because they take their herds to graze on the property of others. In any case, they are peasants, who like Mary and Joseph stand in contrast to those at the top of social hierarchies such as the emperor and provincial governor (Fitzmyer 1981, 408). An additional indication of their status underlies the messenger’s exhortation to the shepherds not to be afraid (2:10) because it presumes precisely their fear. Although in form-critical terms fear is a standard feature of an angelophany, it nevertheless is also a feature of the reaction of subdominants who consider themselves to be inferior before a superior. These shepherds of low status fit into the thematic development of how God is at work among those who are the least expected. They are the first ones to receive the good news of a savior who is born to them, and they are the first who epitomize all the “people” (λαός, 2:10). Consequently, they are also the first to set out on the way to peace (2:14). In addition, the sign of the way to peace is a baby’s presence in a feeding trough (2:12). For the heavenly hosts, this exhibits nothing other than the glory of God (δόξα, 2:14), which contrary to social hierarchies is the 14.  I cannot refrain from mentioning a woman I knew when I was teaching in Mexico (1965–68). She worked at very low wages for a man who made orange crates. As a part of the compensation for her work, her boss allowed her to live behind his house under the tin roof of a lento that was partially opened on one side. When she gave birth as a single mother, she cradled her baby in an orange crate.

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manifestation of God’s power in the affirmation of the lowly who are utterly fragile over against a mighty ruler on the throne (see 1:52) (Berger 1983). The shepherds turn into interpreters of this as the word of the Lord to them (2:15-17). Further, the shepherds are the first to publicize their experiences so that an enlarging company of Israelites hears them, and their amazement gives a tacit social affirmation that Mary, Joseph, and the baby belong to this developing group (2:18). What Mary ponders in her heart (2:19) is not the headline news of the dominant, but “rumors” of subdominant groups who correlate the events in Bethlehem with their own imagination of an alternative to the order manifested in imperial decrees that are based on the warrior way of force. Events that are resourceful for the subdominant, in situations such as deprivation and marginalization, are repeated as “rumors” that express imaginations of an alternative reality (Ahn 1985; Scott 1990, 81–86).15 Horizontal relationships among subdominants, like the shepherds with Mary and Joseph, which express values that these characters hold, develop collective power, and the collective group itself is a sign of resistance to one order and allegiance to an alternative (Scott 1990, 61–68, 81). Luke 2:21-39. Nevertheless, established socializing institutions also participate in the social affirmation of Jesus’s birth. First, the communal ceremony of circumcising and naming the baby on the eighth day actualizes Gabriel’s instructions to name him Jesus (2:21) (note the unnamed people present at the similar socializing ceremony for John in 1:59-62). Second, after the days of Mary’s purification, the presentation of Jesus in the temple conforms scrupulously to the law of Moses (2:23-23). Further the democratic scriptural stipulation that every male that is born will be called “holy” to the Lord (Exod. 13:2) also resonates with Gabriel’s promise that Mary’s child will be “holy” (Lk. 1:35). In this same event, the sacrifice of two turtledoves or two young pigeons also complies with the law, but in addition it is indicative of their social status among the poor (2:24; see Lev. 12:8). The sacrifice reflects their social perception of themselves and adds to Mary’s inclusion of herself in the ταπεινοί (“people of low status,” Lk. 1:48, 52). At this point established institutions become modified by a man and woman playing idiosyncratic cameo roles. They are revered elders who augment customary norms associated with the temple. The brief descriptions of their character presume that they have acquired social status among Ἰουδαῖοι who like them are devoted to the temple and the people of Israel. Further, their gender mutually redoubles their prescience. Simeon is characterized as one who practices justice and is pious, and he is anticipating Israel’s consolation. This consolation can only mean the healing of the wounded hopes for the destiny of Israel, and what he does and says is authenticated by the presence of the Holy Spirit (2:25). Implicitly he anticipates the healing of the wounded hopes for Israel that is grounded in the recognition of the Lord’s anointed one, which according to a revelation of the Holy 15.  Note how this supposition of an imagined reality in these peasants of antiquity contrasts with Kaufmann’s limitation of the power of such imagined reality to postEnlightenment societies (2004, 70, 188; see pp. 12–13).

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Spirit, Simeon is destined to encounter before his death (2:26). He meets Jesus and his parents as they are fulfilling their religious customs and imparts a prophetic message. Simeon first identifies Jesus as the Lord’s anointed one, which gives him the consolation on his part of the journey on the way of peace. So he addresses God, “Now, o Lord, you are dismissing your slave (δοῦλος) in peace according to your word” (2:29). This binds him in a literary social identity to Mary who has declared herself to be the δούλη of the Lord (1:38), which associates them also with venerable personages like Moses and David who are repeatedly characterized as servants of the Lord. Simeon then equates the way of peace with God’s salvation for Israel and the ἔθνη, and he takes this to be a manifestation of the power of God (δόξα) in unexpected ways (2:29-32). In fact, when he sees the infant Jesus he calls him nothing less than God’s salvation: “For my eyes have seen your [God’s] salvation” (Berger 1985, 27–39). Simeon then addresses a special message to Mary. In literary terms, he gives a prolepsis that anticipates the development of the narrative: “This baby is set for the fall and rise of many in Israel, and as a sign that is opposed, and a sword will pierce your soul itself, so that the reasoning of many hearts might be revealed” (2:34-35). In the narrative itself, Mary falls out of the picture until the book of Acts, and even there nothing appears about a trauma that pierces her soul. To be sure, this is a narrative gap that tradition has rushed in to fill. The two matters that the narrative develops are opposition to Jesus and the fall and rising of many in Israel. The subject here is Israel’s larger society. Although Mary’s anticipated trauma is not narrated in Luke, she would belong to a group in Israel that rises. In the second half of the twentieth century interpreters focused on the opposition to Jesus and the fall of the people of Israel (Conzelmann 1961, 145–48; Haenchen 1971, 100–102). But as we shall see, this neglects Luke’s presentation of Jesus as one who has the power of persuasion for the rising of many in Israel, including those who initially meet the criteria for falling.16 In fact, Wolter (2008, 141) convincingly interprets the fall and rising of many in Israel as chronologically consecutive. Still as things stand here, Simeon leaves Joseph behind and singles out Mary as one who suffers under hierarchies of domination. Thereby the agony of her subdominant gender is specifically amplified. Anna (= Hannah) is Simeon’s counterpart. She is identified by a very rare feminine term for “prophet” (προφήτις).17 Her appearance is marked by a comparatively elaborate characterization that emphasizes her genealogy, her age, her marriage for seven years, the length of her status as a widow until the age of

16.  Luke’s narrative is designed to be persuasive (Tannehill 1986, 11). If this is true for readers/hearers, is it not also true for actors in the story? See Brawley (2018b). 17.  Four women are given the title in the Septuagint. In the New Testament the only other occurrence is in Rev. 2:20 as a term appropriated by the woman called Jezebel who uses it to designate herself such that it has a negative connotation.

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eighty-four,18 and her devotion to the temple in fasting and supplication. In spite of her venerable title as a prophet, no words comparable to Simeon’s pass her lips, a silence that Barbara Reid (e.g., 1994, 406) attributes to an authorial dominance over her because of her gender. Still, the narrator summarizes her speech. She joins Simeon, Joseph, Mary, and Jesus “at that moment” and keeps on giving thanks publicly and speaking about Jesus to all who were waiting expectantly for the redemption of Israel. Therefore, everyone involved in this episode, including those to whom Anna speaks belong to a nascent group who are anticipating the healing of Israel’s wounded hopes. Luke 2:40-52. A summary of Jesus’s growing years in 2:40 characterizes him as full of wisdom and accompanied by God’s grace. The conclusion of the scene in 2:52 reiterates this, and these two summaries of Jesus’s character frame the episode in 2:41-51 with interpretive brackets. Thus the narrator’s characterization is dramatized in an account about one case of this family’s customary celebrations of Passover in Jerusalem. When Jesus was twelve years old,19 instead of joining the pilgrims returning home, he remained in Jerusalem. The traveling of pilgrims together to and from Jerusalem is a part of the corporate identification of the group celebrating the festival (Spaulding 2009, 42–43), and it should occasion little surprise that his parents expected him to be among fellow travelers. When Mary and Joseph did not find him after traveling one day, they returned and found him sitting in the middle of some teachers listening to and consulting with them. Jesus’s participation in the discussion levels out the hierarchical dominance of teacher over inquirer (see on 6:40 p. 87).20 The astonishment of his interlocutors at his insights and responses dramatizes his wisdom. When his mother protests his treatment of them as parents, he responds with his first words in Luke, “Did you not know that it was necessary for me to be in τοῖς τοῦ πατρός μου?” (2:49). Any who know Luke’s story of Jesus’s birth catch that his use of the pronoun “my” refers to God as his father, and this dramatizes what the summaries say about his relationship with God. Although the Greek ἐν τοῖς τοῦ πατρός μου is hopelessly ambiguous, John Kilgallen (1985) makes a strong case that because the context emphasizes the search of Mary and Joseph21 for the place where the twelve-year old is, the traditional “in my Father’s house” is the most convincing translation. On the other hand, Henk de Jonge (1978, 333–36) makes a plausible case that the term 18.  It is possible to take the number “eighty-four” to be the period of Anna’s widowhood (Wolter 2008, 144). 19.  It is highly likely that the significance of the age of twelve corresponds to a typical attribution of special abilities to eminent people already at this stage of their lives (Wolter 2008, 147). 20.  Paulo Freire’s “democratic humanism” is a philosophy of pedagogy that shifts the locus of learning from teacher to student, that is, it makes relationships of dominance level (Aronowitz 1993, 8–9). 21.  The emphasis is indicated by the fact that the verb ἀναζητέω (“to try to locate by search” [BDAG]) appears twice in 2:44-45.

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should remain ambivalent. On the one hand, it can mean “in my father’s house,” on the other it means that Jesus must be concerned with the entire mission for which his father has destined him. Nevertheless in the social setting of hierarchies of dominance, Jesus is revising the customary dominance of family and kinship. To be sure, such a hierarchy of dominance is then reinstated as he returns with Mary and Joseph to Nazareth and submits to them so that the identities of members of the family are reciprocally interdependent. That Mary kept all these matters in her heart (2:51) gives readers/hearers the impression that all of this is related from her point of view. Moreover, the incomprehension of Mary and Joseph in 2:50 also means that awe invades her relationship with Jesus, and her awe is projected toward the future of what divine necessity (δεῖ) will mean for Jesus. But most especially, Jesus’s self-perception is dependent upon a reciprocal relationship with God, whom he calls “my father” (de Jonge 1978, 351–52).

Luke 3:1-22 John the Baptizer Luke 3:1-22. For the third time Luke establishes the setting of the narrative in imperial systems (see on 1:5; 2:1 pp. 41, 49). Though not without minor difficulties (Fitzmyer 1981, 455), the calculation of the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar (most likely c. 29 CE) provides one of the few firm dates we have for New Testament chronology. Further, Luke synchronizes it with Pilate’s term as prefect (26–36 CE), the tetrarchy of Herod Antipas in Galilee and his brother Philipp in Ituraea and Trachonitis, Lysanias’s rule in Abilene, and the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas. So it is no surprise that this text is referred to as “the great synchronization.” But the correspondences in each of these three references to imperial systems are hardly merely chronological. Zechariah is correlated with Herod the Great (1:5), the birth of Jesus with Augustus and Quirinius, and the ministry of John the Baptizer with Tiberius and his contemporaries. What is striking is that each of these cases displays how the people in Luke’s narrative experience Roman imperial systems. Briefly put, Rome delegated the administration of its provinces to the oversight of Roman proconsuls, but except for Roman colonies, local administration was in the hands of indigenous collaborators (Lincott 1993, 130), that is, client kings and local administrators, which in the latter case among the Ἰουδαῖοι was the high priestly party (Josephus, Ant. 20.251; Hanson and Oakman 1998, 140–47; see also Acts 4:27). It is tempting to envision the Roman Empire as one entity, and to be sure the sequence from Tiberius, through client kings and governors, to local indigenous administrators does represent nested hierarchies under the emperor. But its nature as a conglomerate with constant tensions in policies and administration is not to be overlooked. In Jesus’s passion Pilate and Herod Antipas find common ground in spite of the fact that Luke presents them as competitors beforehand (23:12). The wilderness as the place where John the Baptizer belongs stands over against the centrality of the high priestly party in Jerusalem, but he ultimately meets his end at the hands of Herod Antipas, the client ruler in Galilee and Perea. In short,

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anyone who lives within the systems of the Roman Empire experiences not merely one face but many. Thus, 3:1-2 outlines Roman imperial systems as the context of John’s mission (Reid 2011, 45–49; Vinson 2008a, 85: “the current power brokers”). Not only is this the context for John’s ministry but also the ubiquitous imperial systems for all of Luke. Luke 3:1-2 is one sentence, and the main clause at the end of the sentence is the coming of God’s word to John. Further, the specifications of the hierarchy of imperial systems modify this main clause. The beginning of John’s ministry is integral to the political systems or vice versa. In sum, Luke sketches dimensions of hierarchies of dominance and makes John’s message for Israel coaxial with political and certainly by extension, economic, and patriotic dimensions of the hierarchies. In this context, for John, God’s word is baptism for repentance for the forgiveness of sins. His mission is preparation for the way of the Lord (3:4). Now John is not only Zechariah’s offspring but his message is also a successor of his father’s in that John continues what his father prophesied. Zechariah’s last words forecast John’s mission “to direct our feet in the way of peace” (1:79). This prediction is initially actualized by the shepherds who set out on the road to peace (2:14), and in connection with this, the way of the Lord that is to be made straight in 3:4 is the way of peace. Furthermore, for both Isaiah and Luke, the way of peace is also equated with God’s salvation that will be manifested to everyone (“all flesh,” 3:6). The parallels with Isaiah and the promise of Zechariah mean that John undertakes to make straight God’s paths to peace. Of course this replicates the vision of Israel’s restoration from exile in Isa. 40:3-5. But when Lk. 3:5 says that every mountain and hill will be made “lowly” [sic] (ταπεινωθήσεται),22 Mary has already chosen the cognate noun and adjective to speak of her low social standing and the inversion of the hierarchies of dominance of the power of those who sit on thrones (ταπεί νωσις, 1:48; ταπεινός, 1:52). The overtones of Isaiah’s poetic language resonate with the setting of John’s ministry in the context of imperial systems. In essence John is calling for a coalition as an alternative to hierarchies of dominance, and his practice of baptism marks the radical change that indicates that those who repent belong to such a group. The Baptizer follows with norms that characterize the ingroup coalition. Ingroups stereotype outgroups in terms that emphasize difference. Accordingly, John others those who are not yet repentant with what Baumann (2004, 19–21) calls “orientalization,” that is, categorizing others in terms of binary opposition. And so he identifies them with the totalizing classification “offspring of vipers” (3:7). In the cultural encyclopedia, strong traditions attribute behavior to its origin, first of all for children of human parents (“like father, like son”), but then this also becomes metaphysically metaphorical in John’s expression “offspring of vipers.” Malevolence is generated by its origin in evil sources (Brawley 2016, 117–19). John then places this in parallel with what he considers to be an erroneous aberration 22.  To be sure, “to be made lowly” is my own periphrasis of the verb, which for a fluent Greek speaker would not require an adverb.

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of the cultural heritage that he calls “children of Abraham” (3:8), and it is against this erroneous origin of behavior that he exhorts repentance. When Luke speaks of Abraham here, it is important to remember that both Mary and Zechariah appeal to God’s fidelity to the Abrahamic promises at the heart of the anticipation of a messiah and messianic salvation, which supplants the erroneous assumptions of John’s hearers. John then uses the metaphor “fruit” (3:8), on the one hand, for behavior that is produced on the basis of norms of the ingroup, and on the other hand, fruit reiterates the metaphor of behavior derived from parents. In other words, fruit too is the product of its origin—tree and fruit, which I take to be the weight of the last half of 3:8. Almost universally, interpreters take the statement “that God is able to raise up children of Abraham from these stones” as scoffing. Quite to the contrary, John uses the demonstrative to refer to “these stones” as if they are definite, and “stones” have a venerable heritage as metaphors for God’s children. In Josh. 4 twelve stones are figurations of the population of the twelve tribes, and Isa. 51:1-2 envisions the restoration of those who pursue the practice of justice and seek the Lord as quarried out of the rock of Abraham and dug out of the pit of Sarah (Seitz 1960). Moreover, John follows the vein of Zechariah and Mary and proclaims the power of God as the origin of fruits worthy of repentance. In fact, the power of God to raise up children of Abraham from stones (figuratively) is at the heart of the episodes in Luke. Not until Acts 3:25 do interpreters discover the full range of what it means for all the families of the earth to be blessed in the “seed” (τῷ σπέματι) of Abraham. “Seed” is a singular noun, but it is also capable of being understood as a collective noun. Luke 1:32-33 has already demonstrated how Gabriel construes the ambiguity of David’s “seed.” “Seed” appears in 1:32-33 only by allusion to 2 Sam. 7:12, where it obviously means David’s descendants (plural). In an audacious hermeneutical move, however, Gabriel confines the singular to one of David’s descendants, namely, Mary’s child (see pp. 45–46). By no means, however, is the collective meaning thereby jettisoned. Rather, in a very anticipatory fashion it is possible to say that in the Baptizer’s mouth the power of God to raise up children to Abraham certainly does not eliminate Abrahamic ethnicity but expands it. But John also has a dire warning in the opposite direction. The tree that does not bear fruit worthy of repentance is cut down to the ground and burned including the root (3:9). Nevertheless, beyond the source of behavior, this episode also gives cases in point of the norms of John’s repentant coalition, which is a nascent ingroup. The norms are solutions to an underlying problem consisting of the way some human beings accumulate resources by dispossessing others. The accumulation of wealth by some means “an accumulation of misery” for others (see Callinicos 2009, 53). Consequently, John’s norms of behavior mean that those who have provisions share them with those who do not, for instance, clothing and food (3:11); that revenue collectors do no more than what is decreed for them (3:13); and that soldiers do not extort or defraud (3:14). Sharing goods of course breaks down hierarchies on the axis of wealth/poverty. Revenue collectors and soldiers are exhorted to revise their patterns of dominating others by coercion. As for the remainder of v. 14, the NRSV construes the present imperative ἀρκεῖσθε

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as passive, with the sense that the soldiers should be pleased with their wages. As far as I am aware, a simple, but innovative alternative for this passage has never been suggested. The imperative can also be middle, and the middle ordinarily means that the subject is involved in pleasing others. The verb ἀρέσκω itself is stock terminology for pleasing others (BDAG). From Homer on the middle is used with the dative of means in the sense of “making good” or “making amends,” and even the passive is also used in this sense (LSJ). Moreover, all the other instances of behavioral norms that appear in the immediate context have to do with behavior toward others. The context, therefore, suggests that this imperative of ἀρέσκω in the middle or passive voice with a dative indicates that it should rather be rendered “make amends by means of your wages.” Like the sharing of clothing and food, the soldiers should use their wages to make amends for extorting and defrauding (see on Zacchaeus in 19:2-10, pp. 170–72). Members of ingroups act out their identity in behavior, and behavior embodies identity. The Baptizer’s norms identify those who belong to the ingroup. Abusive revenue collectors and soldiers are good examples of what Paulo Freire (1993, 29–31) calls “sub-oppressors,” that is, under the domination of hierarchies of dominance above them, they oppress others below them.23 On the one hand, John’s norms for toll collectors and soldiers break down hierarchies of dominance based on coercive roles that they play. On the other hand, they remain complicit in the hierarchies of Roman imperial systems. Michael Wolter (2008, 162) points away from the collaboration of revenue collectors in imperial systems to their personal economic interests. But given the setting of Lk. 3:1-2 in imperial systems into which John is introduced, their economic interests can hardly be detached from their complicity in these systems. This holds whether the soldiers are Ἰουδαῖοι or gentiles, because, as indicated above, indigenous collaborators were a crucial part of the hierarchies of imperial systems, and this would include Ἰουδαῖοι who are temple police. Further, as is generally the case in imperial systems, vanquished populations are socialized to accept domination. Because the dominant power purportedly possesses a superior civilization, the subdominant are lured to mimic their colonizers (Scott 1990, 20, 82). This produces hierarchies of dominance that are mixtures of Roman and indigenous components (Ahmad 1992, 15) as in the case of revenue collectors, and also in the case of the soldiers even as Ἰουδαῖοι among troops of someone such as Herod Antipas (Fitzmyer 1981, 470), who would be complicit in the hierarchical dominance of imperial systems.24 John’s reflections on ingroup norms, however, prepare the way of the Lord, which is the way of peace, 23.  For a modern reiteration of sub-oppressors in Haiti, see Casimir (2009). 24.  On the inevitability of complicity in hierarchies of dominance, see Spivak (1999, 3–4; 2008, 63, 71). For Spivak, not all forms of complicity in domination are equivalent, but complicity is unavoidable, even such as participating in the exploitation of child labor when one drinks a cup of tea. See also Giroux (1993, 184–85). Simply reversing the oppressed and oppressor reinstates the colonial model and erases complexity, complicity, diverse agents, and multilayered nested situations.

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and which is in turn the way of leveling hierarchies of dominance. It would be contradictory, then, if John were to advise soldiers to be content with their wages as participants in the warrior way of dominance. But what of John? The fact that he is in a position to speak in imperatives, even though they are the word of God for him, puts him in a position of dominance. His relationship with his hearers is asymmetrical. This very idea is in the anticipations and reasoning of the people (λαός, 3:5). They ponder whether John might be the anointed one (messiah). This means that by his actions and behavior he has acquired an honorable status. Further a social group conveys to him their comprehension of his place in the social order. But he nips this in the bud. As a forerunner, he is preparing the way for another. As Kathy Ehrensperger (2007, 33, 61) insightfully puts it, asymmetry is not dominance when the goal is transformation of and the empowerment of others (or another). Like good parenting, “transformative power” is in the business of rendering itself obsolete.25 But John also assesses himself by comparison with another who is exceedingly more powerful. Thus, he deemphasizes his own baptism with water and promises his hearers baptism with Holy Spirit and fire (v. 16). Readers/hearers of Luke have indications for understanding the Holy Spirit by the way it functions. Thus, they can anticipate that this Holy Spirit will motivate and enable John’s own ministry (1:15), as it has also empowered the conception of Mary (1:35) and inspired the prophecies of Elizabeth (1:45), Zechariah (1:67), and Simeon (2:25-27). Briefly put, the Holy Spirit provides divine power to motivate and enable bearing fruit worthy of repentance. But “fire” is a multivalent metaphor. Fire is associated with the very presence of God, as in the burning bush (Exod. 3:1-6) or as a metaphor of purification (Mal. 3:2-3) or as an image of judgment and punishment (Gen. 19:24; Deut. 4:24; Isa. 30:27; Amos 5:6). Continuity between John’s prediction and Pentecost in Acts 2 provides grounds for thinking of fire also in terms of divine motivation and empowerment. But the following verse also associates the figure with purging, judgment, and destruction (Lk. 3:17). Wolter (2008, 165–66) is of the opinion that this fire most likely emphasizes “eschatic” judgment, although the threshing of 2:17 also implies purification. Hans Conzelman (1961, 18–26, 150) advanced the thesis that Luke divides redemptive history into three distinct eras and sharply separates John the Baptizer from Jesus. But this thesis comes strongly into question in that John performs his role by “good-newsing” (εὐηγγελίζετο) the people in the same way that Jesus performs his role (3:18, see on 7:24-35, pp. 92–93). Indeed, for this reason it seems obvious that Conzelmann’s thesis runs aground. Abruptly, Luke narrates John’s imprisonment between his ministry to the people and the baptism of Jesus. On the one hand, 7:18 shows that this is out of order chronologically. On the other hand, this arrangement dramatizes the consequences of John’s challenges to violations of the norms of God’s justice. Therefore, it is patently 25.  See Torres (1993, 126). Pedagogy is antiauthoritarian but directivist; epistemologically to know is to know in favor of someone.

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clear that baptism in the wilderness is not innocuous to hierarchies of dominance. It is prudent to remember that hierarchies of imperial systems are nothing less than the setting of John’s ministry (3:1-2). Not until 9:7 are readers/hearers aware that Herod Antipas hears rumors that attribute Jesus’s deeds to John who supposedly had been raised from the dead. Only then do Luke’s readers/hearers get the information from Herod’s mouth that he had beheaded John (9:9). Luke recounts nothing more about John’s demise, but from the notice of his imprisonment in 3:19-20, it is a matter of deduction that his death came because of his rebuke of the Tetrarch. In this case an external source outside John’s ingroup represented by Herod Antipas assesses John’s place in the social order as emphatically negative. Because Luke explicitly mentions Antipas’s marriage to the wife of his (half-)brother (3:19), interpretations almost invariably focus on questions of marriage and laws concerning adultery. But the dimensions of John’s critique are likely much larger. When Antipas contracted his marriage with Herodias, he was still married to the daughter of King Aretas of Arabia. Thus, their marriage also involved attempts to manipulate political power by marriage alliances. In other words, in addition to questions of the legality of the marriage, Antipas and Herodias were very much involved in machinations to advance themselves in the hierarchies of imperial systems. Further, it is not to be overlooked that 3:19 adds to the grounds for John’s imprisonment his critique of “all the evil things Herod had done.” On the one hand, John’s ministry in the wilderness focuses on leveling hierarchies of everyday experience. On the other, he apparently challenges hierarchies of dominance among the elite. This intensifies the power of John’s norms to produce ingroup loyalty even under coercion from the outside.

Luke 3:23–4:13 Jesus’s beginnings Only then does Luke relate the baptism of Jesus. As indicated earlier Hans Conzelmann (1961, 18–21, 26) argues that the notice about John’s arrest before Jesus’s baptism and that the narration of the baptism itself is in an anonymous passive (“Jesus was also baptized,” 3:2) are indicative of a Lukan design to separate Jesus from the Baptizer. But I see things quite differently. Rather than separating John from Jesus, Herod’s use of the warrior way of dominance increases the magnitude of his evil deeds, heightens the similarity between John’s destiny and Jesus’s (Tannehill 1986, 53), and makes the Baptizer all the more significant in his relationship with Jesus. Verse 21 resumes with John’s baptism of all the people and then puts Jesus in the spotlight. Notably Jesus’s prayer receives emphasis that equals his baptism itself, and this is part of the thematic development of prayer as a prominent norm for the ingroup. Both Jesus’s prayer and his baptism are precursors to the dramatic opening of heaven. Although the Holy Spirit descends in bodily form,26 it is not a dove but analogous to one. What is determinative in the superlative degree for Jesus’s 26.  Spirit is thought of in antiquity as having “substance” (Weissenrieder 2014).

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identity is the voice that addresses him, and this far surpasses the interplay of his identity with social endorsements. Nevertheless, his dyadic identity is conspicuously revealed to him from an other, that is, an external pole: “You are my beloved son, I am well pleased with you” (3:22). Curiously, the speaker is only implicit and must be filled in from the cultural encyclopedia, perhaps in the form of a bath qol, that is, an audible sound that must be interpreted as the voice of God. But that the voice is from God is undeniably Luke’s interpretation. Luke 3:23 explicitly states that Jesus’s baptism marks his starting point. But before recounting a first episode, Luke traces Jesus’s genealogy. Whether one is able to claim a genealogy of seventy-six generations or not, in antiquity reputed ancestry was among the most essential criteria for identity (Hall 1997, 25). Although a number of the names in Jesus’s genealogy are recognizable as people who stand out in Israel’s history, the genealogy functions to bind both events and people together by reflecting kinship as an ideal for collective life (Boer 2015, 89). Significantly, among the most prominent ways of referring to the group around Jesus is fictive kinship, which Bovon (2002, 315) also calls “elective kinship.” The term “fictive” deserves a brief explanation. It does not mean that the kinship is not genuine. On the contrary, the moment someone is called a sibling or reference is made to God as a parent, a genuine relationship comes to expression. On the one hand, the genealogy makes Jesus the heir of both divine creation and divine activity in Israel’s collective memory, with accents on David and the patriarchs. On the other, it reveals dimensions of hierarchies of dominance. Conspicuously, even though the note that it was “supposed” that Joseph was Jesus’s father (v. 23) gives a faint nod to Mary, it is a hierarchy of males exclusively. To begin this genealogy with God as the progenitor, whose only successors are men, hides that “males have taken sole possession of the divine, of identity, and of kinship,” and in the succession of only males from God the creator, their gender alone is responsible for the creation of offspring (Irigaray 1993, v, 16). Indeed, the absence of women in Luke’s genealogy is a case of a male hierarchy of domination especially in the eclipse of a particular woman, Mary. That she is hidden behind her husband and the statement “as was supposed” is what Luce Irigaray calls matricide (ibid., 11). Thus, the social function of Luke’s genealogy undermines Mary’s virginal conception, which itself is a divine challenge to male hierarchies of dominance. If readers/hearers have only this divine challenge in mind, then the virginal conception unequivocally deconstructs Jesus’s genealogy. Further, “as was supposed” categorizes the genealogy as an ostensible cultural assumption. The genealogy then, functions only as a way to reveal the hidden cultural assumptions about Jesus’s origin and the hidden cultural assumptions that when Jesus has his beginning, he is separated from his mother (ibid., 46–47). By contrast, in the next verse, Jesus is thoroughly united with the Holy Spirit (4:1). This picks up the line of thought from 3:22 as if the genealogy did not intervene. He is led (ἤγετο, passive) into the wilderness. But the use of the preposition ἐν before τῷ πνεύματι is somewhat ambiguous. It could be a description of Jesus’s condition of being in the Spirit, as in the case of Simeon in 1:27, or it could mark the agency of the Spirit, that is, that the Spirit led him into the wilderness.

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Reading the preposition ἐν in the sense of agency creates the anomaly of the Spirit appearing twice in the same sentence, first as united with Jesus and second as an agent discrete from him. A second reason to take the preposition as describing Jesus’s condition is that 4:14 forms an inclusion with 4:1, setting off the temptation episode by entrance into and return from the wilderness, and 4:14 makes it clear that when Jesus returns from the wilderness, he does so in the condition of the power of the Spirit. As will become clear, the temptations of Jesus are figurative recapitulations of Israel’s wilderness wandering, in which the Israelites were led by God (Deut. 8:2). Jesus’s forty days of testing is a reflection of Israel’s forty years in the wilderness in miniature. It is because of this context that I prefer the reading of ἤγετο as a divine passive, that is, as God led Israel in the wilderness, so God leads Jesus into the wilderness in his condition of being in the Spirit (as in the Vulgate). At this point a word about the figurative interplay of texts that is called “intertextuality” is in order. The relationship between a precursor and successor text is a figuration because neither text stands alone but is reflected back and forth in the other in such a way that the two texts together proliferate overtones of meaning that neither expresses alone. With the mythological feature of Jesus’s interchange with the devil, the context is already pushing interpretation beyond a literal to a figurative level. In addition, readers/hearers are explicitly challenged to recall texts from their cultural encyclopedia by formula citations. Twice Jesus introduces references to Scripture with the formula γέγραπται (“it is written,” vv. 4, 8) and once with εἴρηται (“it is said,” v. 12), and the devil matches Jesus’s references to Scripture also with the formula γέγραπται (v. 10). In this incident both Jesus and the devil allude to, quote, and interpret texts from the Scriptures of Israel. And it is pertinent to note that every text that incorporates a precursor text has not only political implications but is also intimately related to group identity. In other word’s interpretation chooses to construe the multivocality of language in ways that present the interpreter’s view of reality, that is, the interpreter’s view of what is true in relation to life with others (political). Thus, interpreters appropriate texts for their own purposes (Suleiman 1986, 122), one of which is always to assure themselves of who they are both in the eyes of others and in their own self-perception (identity) (Kristeva 1982, 78). To make what I am saying concrete, the interpretation that I write at this juncture in an attempt to express my view of what this text means about what is true in relation to life among human beings, and it also encapsulates my attempt to convince anyone who reads this that I am a reliable and (hopefully) persuasive interpreter. Furthermore, if any readers are drawn toward a similar view of what the Lukan text means, then together we form a kind of coalition of like-minded people, which has political dimensions in that such a coalition has implications for life together with others. To return to the text of Luke, clearly Jesus’s identity as the son of God is at stake in the temptations. In the first and last of the three temptations, the devil raises the question of Jesus’s relationship to God: “If you are the son of God.” This explicitly presents demonic constructs of Jesus’s identity. At his baptism the heavenly voice of an other, which as indicated above, surpasses assessments of identity by

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human beings, is the external pole that establishes Jesus’s identity as an ascribed identity. By contrast, the devil makes no attempt as a rival external pole to ascribe a competing identity to Jesus. Rather, the devil devises empirical criteria that will establish Jesus’s identity as an acquired identity. In each case Jesus is tempted to acquire his identity by performing extraordinary feats that will demonstrate his identity. Curiously, this is an indication that attempts of interpreters to determine Jesus’s identity by means of his deeds of power surprisingly may have demonic overtones. The first temptation plays off of Israel’s hunger in the wilderness. To begin with, Israel is personified in Scripture with an identity like Jesus’s as the offspring of none other than God (Exod. 4:22-23; Deut. 1:31; 8:5; 14:1; 32:5-20). The intertextual figurations spread out far beyond the simple citation of texts. To reiterate, Israel’s wilderness wandering echoes in Luke’s references to Jesus’s forty days in the wilderness. Similarly, before Jesus responds by quoting Deut. 8:3 the devil’s proposal for Jesus to demonstrate an acquired identity by turning stones into bread evokes from readers/hearers a miniature replication of God’s provision for Israel’s hunger in the wilderness. Further, when Jesus responds that one does not live by bread alone, the citation conjures up the completion of the verse: “But by every word that goes out through the mouth of God.” This depends on evoking the context of the allusion, which is a basic feature of intertextuality (Hays 1999, 391–412; Zimmermann 2014b, 62; Ehrensperger 2005). Some interpreters are fond of saying that Luke omits the last part of Deut. 8:3 (“but by every word that comes by way of the mouth of the Lord”), presumably because the remainder of the text does not interest him. In intertextuality the breaking off of citations is common and is designed precisely to evoke their completion (Dupont 1956–57, 287). Thus, from the point of view of intertextuality, Luke evokes the last part of the verse for readers/hearers who know the cultural encyclopedia. This can be illustrated by the use of this Q material in both Matthew and Luke. If Q did not have the last part of the verse, then the citation of the first part educed a completion that Matthew added. If it did contain the last part, then Luke expected the citation to evoke the conclusion from readers/hearers. Further, living by every word that comes by way of the mouth of the Lord is reminiscent of the voice at Jesus’s baptism identifying him as the son of God (Lk. 3:22), which again parallels Israel’s identity as the children of God. Moreover, Jesus’s actions in the moment of resisting the temptation dramatize living by the word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.27 In fact the devil’s reference to turning stones into bread is already evocative of Deut. 8:3, and implies the devil’s own particular interpretation. The devil emphasizes that the provision of bread manifests God’s care. Jesus’s interpretation is that the fasting taught Israel that one does not live by bread alone (cf. his own forty days of fasting),28 and only after Israel experienced that one does not live by 27.  On the foregoing paragraphs on intertextuality, see Brawley (1995, 16–20). 28.  On the ambiguity in Deut. 8:3 reflected in the different perspectives of the devil and Jesus, see Polzin (1993, 9–11, 21–24).

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bread alone, did God provide food. In short, Jesus sticks with his identity as it is ascribed to him by the heavenly voice of Lk. 3:22. Acquired identity is again at stake when the devil promises to give Jesus all the power and glory of the kingdoms of the world if he will worship the devil. This demonic claim that all this has been relegated to the devil so that it can be given to anyone to whom the devil wishes is often taken as a Lukan evaluation of civil authorities. But a competing evaluative perspective in Luke-Acts that all of history is in God’s hands speaks against this (e.g., Acts 5:38-39). Further, the will to power manifested in hierarchies of political dominance and the unjust realities that power gains and maintains are under strong sanctions in Luke-Acts. Moreover, from a literary point of view the devil is an unreliable character. His statement of his own power over the earth’s kingdom is the height of deception. The devil’s claim also builds on Gabriel’s promise to Mary that her son would sit on the throne of his ancestor David with a kingdom that would have no end (Lk. 1:32-33). The endless kingdom has two dimensions, chronological and spatial (see p. 46). “Without end” refers chronologically to eternity, but at the same time geographically to the entire world, as in the devil’s promise. So the devil presents a proposal for Jesus to achieve what Gabriel promised. It bears keeping in mind that through Gabriel, Mary, and Zechariah, Luke has synthesized the Abrahamic and Davidic covenants, and by New Testament times some Israelite traditions had expanded the land to be inherited in the Abrahamic promises to the whole world (e.g., Sir. 44:19-21; Jub. 17:3; 19:21; 22:14; 32:18, Mek. Exod. 14:31; Philo, Life of Moses, 1.155; Rom. 4:13; Heb. 2:5; Mt. 5:5; 1 Cor. 6:2). So in the cultural encyclopedia the correspondence between Gabriel’s promise and the devil’s is all the more prominent in the sense of fulfillment of the Abrahamic promise of “land” to mean the entire world. Further, the devil’s claim that all this “has been given” over to him is in the form of a divine passive that makes him correspond to a broker as in patron-client systems. The devil claims to be a broker of Abrahamic promises by way of Davidic promises that have been renewed and modified by Gabriel and confirmed by Mary and Zechariah (see on Gabriel’s promises to Zechariah and Mary, Lk. 1:13-16; 31-33; 54-55; 69-72, pp. 43–44, 45–46). Jesus responds with another scriptural citation from Deuteronomy: “You will worship the Lord your God and you will serve [this God] alone” (Lk. 4:8; see Deut. 6:13; 10:20). This time as well the devil evokes a background in Israel’s collective memory. Jesus’s repetition of the command to worship God alone (Deut. 10:20) follows the incident of the idolatrous casting of the image of a calf, and what is more Israel’s wandering in the wilderness was replete with rebellion against God. Additionally, Jesus’s refusal to worship the devil corresponds to another aspect of the Abrahamic promises. Not only is Israel promised the land, there is also a promise for the blessing of all the nations of the earth, which the devil’s promise of domination bypasses (Brawley 1995b, 20–22). For the third temptation the devil likewise resorts to a scriptural promise. After he positions Jesus on the pinnacle of the temple, he dares him in a protasis, “If you are the son of God,” and then makes the apodosis a command for Jesus to cast himself down to test the validity of God’s promise (ostensibly to him): “The

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Lord will command his angels concerning you (sing.) to protect you, they will take you up in [their] hands lest you strike your foot against a stone” (Lk. 4:1011 = Ps. 90:11-12 LXX). The devil proposes another empirical act as the basis for an acquired social identity. In response, Jesus quotes again from Deuteronomy: “You will not put the Lord your God to a test” (6:16). The larger context of Deuteronomy also echoes in this citation. The complete sentence elaborates: “In the way you (plur.) put [God] to the test in Trial” (LXX). Here the Septuagint translates the Hebrew Massah, which means “trial,” and so renders the name of the place with a word that corresponds to “Trial.” This recalls an incident that is more fully recounted in Exod. 17:1-7. When the Israelites had no water to drink, they quarreled with Moses, which Moses interpreted as a test of whether “the Lord is with us or not” (Exod. 17:7), and so Moses named the place Massah. In this intertextual ambiance of Ps. 90 LXX, Exod. 17, and Deut. 6, God is the one who is put to the test as much as Jesus. Jesus will not devise a test to determine whether God is with him or not (Brawley 1995b, 22–24). In sum, in the three temptations Jesus’s social identity is determined by an ascription from God and is not acquired by Jesus’s achievements.

Luke 4:14–21:38 Jesus’s “good-newsing” of the βασιλεία of God and its extension Luke 4:14-15. By way of contrast, when Jesus returns to Galilee in 4:14-15, a large contingent of people throughout his neighboring territory praise him for his teaching in their synagogues. Jesus’s role as a teacher (4:15) is not far removed from the venerable title “Rabbi” for a teacher, and this marks a shift from ascribed honor to acquired status, which in turn reflects a public evaluation of him. Now a communal pole of his social identity comes in to supplement his ascribed identity. Luke 4:16-30. Luke gives the episode in Nazareth the flare of an inaugural event or debut even though such designations are contradicted by the fact that Jesus customarily attends this synagogue, and in fact that he had previously been teaching in synagogues in 4:15. Furthermore, his upbringing and customary attendance indicate that Nazareth is the place where Jesus belongs, although only three times is he called “Jesus of Nazareth”: by a demon (4:34), by the crowd that identified him for the blind beggar in 18:37, and by the two on the road to Emmaus in 24:19. The people of the village also acknowledge that he belongs in his hometown when they say, “Is this not Joseph’s son?” Nazareth is his πατρίς, which for English speakers is ambiguous as either “hometown” or “homeland.”29 But this minor ambiguity is easily circumvented by asserting that Jesus belongs to his hometown in his homeland.

29.  The ambiguity means that in English πατρίς can refer both to Nazareth and to the Land of Israel.

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His apparent reading from the scroll of Isaiah would characterize him as among the small percentage of people in Galilee who are literate. The event consists of three main movements. The first centers on a mixed text from Isa. 61:1-2; 58:6. In spite of a presumption that Jesus read the passage, Luke says only that he unrolled the scroll to the place where the text was written, and so the mixed text from Isaiah literally belongs to the narrator who provides the text as information for readers/hearers (Wolter 2008, 191). Jesus’s own input begins with his commentary on the passage with which his identity comes into intertextual interplay. To summarize what has been said earlier, intertextuality is a figuration in which a precursor text and a successor text play back and forth on each other. Further, every interpretation is political in choosing one construal of reality over others, and every interpretation has a purpose of assuring one’s image both in the eyes of others and in his or her own selfperception (Suleiman 1986, 122; Kristeva 1982, 78). The heavenly voice at Jesus’s baptism, his fast in the wilderness, and his temptations have reinforced his endowment with the Spirit, and as if coincidentally, the reading recounts Isaiah’s endowment with the Spirit of the Lord accompanied by a divine anointing (4:18). When Jesus claims, “This Scripture is fulfilled today in your hearing” (4:21), the perspective toward the precursor text is that it is incomplete and is vividly updated so that it is pieced together with this event in order to achieve its completion in none other than Jesus. Because the anointing is associated with the tasks of “good-newsing” the poor, being sent to preach release to captives, restoring the sight of the blind, freeing those who are oppressed, and proclaiming “the acceptable year of the Lord,” it expresses Jesus’s consecration to a mission that involves dismantling hierarchies of domination (4:18-19).30 Such hierarchies are especially associated with victims who suffer because of poverty and maladies. Twice the citation promises release from debts and oppression. This comes into focus when it becomes clear that prisons in antiquity were ordinarily short-term holding tanks and imprisonment quickly came to an end in either acquittal or execution. But with imprisonment under Roman imperialism debt was a long-term exception (Wansink 1996, 29–31; Tannehill 1986, 65). In addition, the “acceptable year of the Lord,” like the context of the citations from Isaiah, is loaded with echoes of the jubilee year, which stipulated release from slavery and debts (Ringe 1985, 33–45). The notion of the remission of debts is strongly contextual because around the time of the Herodian period, rabbinic considerations produced a way to avoid the remission of debts at the year of Jubilee.31 Thus, Jesus’s reference to the release of captives (from debtors prison) alludes strongly to the problem of

30. Bock (1994, 400–401, 408, and passim) makes distinctions between liberation as a material social reality and as an individual spiritual condition. I view this as a false dichotomy. Human beings always are embodied corporealites under constraints from their sociocultural settings that include religious or “spiritual” matters. 31.  The evidence that jubilee years were actually observed is sparse.

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bondage to debt. Correspondingly, at the beginning of the Revolt against Rome (c. 67 CE), mobs burned debt documents (Josephus, J.W. 2.427). So far so good, “everyone spoke favorably of him, and they were amazed at his words of grace” (4:22). This text has attracted much discussion because of the ambiguity of the genitive construction. Is grace like an adjective that describes the rhetorical quality of his words, or are his words a proclamation about grace? Nolland (1989, 198) dismisses both of these alternatives for “words endued with the power of God’s grace.” This overlooks, however, significant evidence that comes in 4:43 and 5:1. In 4:43 Jesus encapsulates his own proclamation as the good news of “the βασιλεία of God,” and in 5:1 the narrator summarizes Jesus’s prior preaching from the point of view of his auditors who “hear the word of God,” that is, the word about God’s grace. At any rate, in social scientific terms, Jesus’s actions have resulted in acquired honor. But this is also juxtaposed to the status ascribed to him by the Nazarenes: “Is this not Joseph’s son?” The form of the question itself (with οὐχί, 4:22) already implies a positive response—an unwritten “of course he is”! Identifying someone by parentage is not in itself negative, except that cultures may harbor presumptions of hereditary hierarchies of dominance. Ascribed honor and acquired status come into tension, and when identity is challenged, Tajfel’s taxonomy of strategies for overcoming negative qualities (1978a, 86–97; see on 1:23-24, p. 44) comes into play. Indeed, in this case Jesus turns to one of Tajfel’s strategies, that is, he emphasizes distinctions and creates new ones to give prominence to his Spiritanointed, prophetic identity. It is worth bearing in mind that Joseph appears here as a known character given that he is introduced in chs 1–3. Readers/hearers know him particularly as Mary’s betrothed (1:27), of village origin (Nazareth), and as subject to registration under a decree of Tiberius, which puts him in Bethlehem at Jesus’s birth (2:1-7). Readers/hearers deduce a bit about a mixed character of his social status in that Mary identifies herself as a member of a low social class (ταπείνωσις, 1:48), in that he and Mary offer the sacrifice of poor people after Mary’s purification (2:24), and in that he claims ancestry from David and the patriarchs (3:23-38). On the other hand, with respect to Jesus’s identity beyond the suppositions of the Nazarenes, Isaiah’s anointing is an anointing of a venerable prophet. This makes plausible the people’s ponderings: Does the ascribed status of Jesus as Joseph’s son warrant his occupying the space of Isaiah’s anointing? A word about the term “anointing” is in order. Fitzmyer (1981, 529–30) deduces from the original context of 4:18-19 in Isaiah that the anointing can only be a prophetic anointing. Although the evidence is a bit tenuous, a different perspective emerges when the same verb for anointing (χρίω) is used in Acts 4:26-27 to refer to God’s anointing of Jesus. This occurs in parallel with the attribution of the designation “messiah” to him (from Ps. 2:2 LXX). This is to say, that Luke does use the verb χρίω in the sense of a messianic anointing (Brawley 1987, 12–13). There is another possibility, however, that rather than refer to Isaiah’s own prophetic anointing, Isa. 61:1-2 could be on the lips of the suffering servant in Isaiah, who embodies the sufferings of Israel (Sanders 2001b, 46–47). But this is not entirely

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convincing because rather than embody Israel, the passage in Luke winds up with Jesus’s identity as a prophet who is not accepted in his own πατρίς (“hometown/ homeland”). In a certain sense, Jesus is involved in a “dialogue sermon,” that is, there is a repeated interchange between Jesus and the congregation, which corresponds to the dialectic between the individual and communal poles of social identity. Whatever Jesus’s claim to be anointed conveyed to his auditors, the people of Nazareth face the cognitive dissonance that Jesus’s ascribed status as Joseph’s son does not match an acquired status so lofty as to occupy the space of Isaiah’s anointing. Jesus initiates a second movement in this scene by quoting two proverbs. He attributes the first to the minds of the people of Nazareth: “Physician, heal yourself ” (4:23). He expresses their desire for him to perform deeds that will verify his status as something that he has acquired. This prompts readers/ hearers to recall the beginning of the chapter where Jesus evades the devil’s attempts to prove his identity as an acquired identity by means of empirical deeds. The second proverb is, “No prophet is acceptable in his hometown/ homeland” (4:24). Significantly, this proverb is quoted before the people in the synagogue express their wrath. Jesus predicts an antagonistic response from his hometown (Vinson 2008a, 122), and it provides a criterion for understanding the remainder of the incident at Nazareth. Jesus anticipates that the Nazarenes will consider him unacceptable in his hometown/homeland because he is a prophet. He then provides two illustrations of the proverb. The first is Elijah who was instrumental in an incident that involved mutual provisions of food in concert with a poor widow of Zarephath in the land of Sidon. For her part, she provides food for him, then through him God keeps her own provisions of oil and meal from becoming depleted. In addition, Elijah also revived her son (1 Kgs 17:8-24; Lk. 4:25-26). The second is Elisha who was instrumental in curing the leprosy of a prominent Syrian commander (2 Kgs 5:1-14). But like Luke’s Jesus in Galilee, both prophets were also active in their own homeland. In fact, as we will see with one exception in Lk. 8:26, Jesus’s mission is confined to the territory of Ἰουδαῖοι. In the third movement the people in the synagogue were filled with wrath and attempted to lynch Jesus (4:28-30). Much ink has been spread in discussions about what motivated their wrath. For example, James Sanders contends that the Nazarenes embody interpretations, which are paralleled at Qumran and in which the acts of restoration from Isa. 61:1-3 that are repeated in Lk. 4:18-19, promise disaster to the outgroup and blessing to the ingroup. By contrast, Jesus opens up promises of blessing to the outgroup (Sanders 2001b, 60–65). But in actuality the text leaves the wrath of the people of Nazareth unmotivated. Precisely to the point, the absence of motivation confirms all the more the criterion of the proverb. They reject Jesus because no prophet is acceptable in his own hometown/ homeland. Therefore, rejecting a prophet in his own homeland is a confirmation of his prophetic identity. In the Gospel of Luke after this rejection, Nazareth ceases to be a place where Jesus belongs.

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Jesus emerges from Nazareth with the validation of his Spirit-anointed prophetic identity without performing empirical deeds to verify the status that God ascribes to him in 3:22, and this is to the consternation of the people of his hometown who determine his ascribed status from Joseph. An important aspect of reader response criticism is that actual readers/hearers may inhabit the same social space as the people of Jesus’s sociocultural ambient. They become part of the social pole that reflects cultural assumptions about where the individual fits in the social order. On the horizon, however, deeds arise that will nevertheless affirm a comparable acquired identity. In fact Jesus had already alluded to events in Capernaum in his interchange with the Nazarenes: “Certainly you will say (ἐρεῖτε) to me . . . ‘Do here also the things that we heard have happened in Capernaum’” (4:23). For the setting in Nazareth this appears to be anachronistic—Luke has not yet narrated things that have happened in Capernaum. True, some efforts have been made to take the verb “will say” as a genuine prediction of the Nazarenes’ future rather than a logical future (Wolter 2008, 196; for a logical [“vivid”] future see Bock 1994, 416). Luke 4:31-41. But for readers/hearers this future “you will say” is in any case a prolepsis of what happens in Capernaum in 4:31-37. As in the narrator’s summary in 4:14-15 and in the incident in Nazareth, Jesus habitually teaches in synagogues (4:31). In addition, a man who has an unclean spirit is present. Whatever cultural assumptions about demon possession prevailed in antiquity, two things need to be said. First, it was an explanation of genuine maladies, and the attribution of the conditions to demons functioned as do our attribution of disorders to bacteria, etc. Second, the category of demon possession rendered victims subdominant in hierarchies of dominance. But already before Jesus exorcises the unclean spirit, his teachings have an “astonishing” (ἐξεπλήσσοντο) power of persuasion by which Jesus accrues honor (vv. 31-32). So when the unclean spirit says that it knows that Jesus is the holy one of God who has come with the purpose to destroy unclean spirits, the actual exorcism confirms what the unclean spirit has expressed, namely, Jesus’s identity is reflected in his relation to God and his deeds of liberation from external hierarchies of dominance. In other words, the acquired honor expressed in Jesus’s exorcism reinforces the divinely ascribed identity of Jesus, which is expressed also by the unclean spirit. Similar affirmations by means of Jesus’s deeds that in turn acquire social approval come, first, from the healing of Simon’s mother-in-law (4:38-41), which is the basic minimum in form-critical terms of a healing (description of the malady, method of healing, and sanction) and, second, from a narrator’s summary of Jesus’s healing sicknesses and diseases. Additional demons who announce Jesus’s ascribed identity as the son of God reinforce this. Moreover, the narrator explains that the identification of Jesus by the demons means that they know his messianic identity (4:38-41). Luke 4:42-44. The desire of the people of Capernaum for Jesus to stay with them is yet another social confirmation of his acquired status (4:42). On the other

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hand, this is at variance with Jesus’s mission to other cities. Programmatically, it is necessary for him to “good-news” the βασιλεία of God to “the other cities” (4:43). With respect to the relationship between geography and identity, Jesus does not belong in Capernaum. So he departs, and the people of Capernaum must revise their expectations. To summarize, by the end of ch. 4, ascribed and acquired honor, that is, what is claimed for Jesus and what he manifests in his deeds expand each other exponentially. Inasmuch as πατρίς in the proverb in 4:24 means both hometown and homeland, Nazareth may anticipate failures in Israel to accept Jesus. But the proverb is a significant criterion for Jesus’s prophetic identity, and to read Nazareth (πατρίς) as a cipher for all Israel (πατρίς)32 is no more warranted than to take Capernaum, which is populated by Ἰουδαῖοι, as representing gentiles as if it corresponded, for example, to Zarephath and Syria in the incident in Nazareth (4:25-28) (reductio ad absurdum). Luke 5:1-11. Jesus initiates his program for the other cities by associating his first followers in his mission. The beginnings among fishermen contribute to the plot, which contains an enacted parable of a great catch of fish (5:4-10), but it also brings into play how their social environment evaluates their status. Although Luke calls Capernaum a city (4:31), which is also the location of Simon’s house (4:38), Josephus refers to it as a town (κώμη, Life, 72.403), and its population is estimated to be between 600 and 1,500 (Reed 2000, 152). Thus Luke embellishes the location to give it prominence in Jesus’s ministry (Wolter 2008, 201). Other things being equal, dwellers in such a town stand above village peasants in hierarchies of dominance (Rohrbaugh 1991, 132–35, 139; Ste. Croix 1981, 6–13, 300). This is quickly qualified by the presence of unskilled artisans, hired workers, and servants of the elite. All of these tended to be peasants who gravitated to cities when they lost access to land, and expediency put them at an even lower level of subsistence than rural village peasants (Lenski 1966, 278). At least from one Roman perspective, because fishing and marketing fresh fish catered to sensual pleasures, fishers were among the least respectable of trades (Cicero, De Officiis, 1.150-51). Simon possesses a house, a boat, and a trade (Theissen 1992, 64–66), which according to Steven Friesen’s poverty scale (2004, 341, 347) would put fishers at a stable position near subsistence, that is, with only slight abilities to accumulate a surplus, or if fishers were formerly farmers who had lost their access to land, they would be at the subsistence level, among the lower 90 percent of the population in the Empire in contrast to the top 10 percent who were able to accumulate wealth. Or to measure this in Ste. Croix’s terms (1981, 32–69, 112–201, and passim), they were among those who lived from their own labor rather than from the labor of others, which is the great dividing line in the social order of antiquity (also Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 70–71). K. C. Hanson (1997) has shown that fishing was conducted in a network of imperial systems, into which teams that were bound together largely by kinship were embedded (see also Hanson and 32.  As, for example, does Jack Sanders (1987).

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Oakman 1998, 106–108). Even if Simon owned his own boat, fishing was part of an economic system from which the elite profited by means of regulations under the regime of Herod Antipas, who as a client ruler passed on tribute to Rome. The system involved bureaucratic layers of collectors of taxes and brokers responsible for harbors and fishing leases as well as systems for marketing dried or pickled fish.33 Nevertheless, readers/hearers are able to observe how Simon in also nested in hierarchies of dominance, not only with others above him but also others below. The use of plurals in 5:4-7 indicates that Simon has a crew (see also Hanson 1997, Diagram 1). Further, the fact that his mother-in-law lived in his house likely means that she was a widow with no sons who would be able to support her. In addition, when Jesus is instrumental in expelling her fever, her restoration to normality is confirmed by the resumption of her practice of her customary domestic service (4:38-39). Her service can only mean that she resumes a social role which reflects a distribution in duties according to gender, and in which divested of her own goals, her actions achieve significance through her ability to serve others, an ability that Jesus has restored.34 Modern sensitivities to hierarchies of dominance with respect to gender notwithstanding, there is hardly any greater sign than her domestic service that demonstrates that she belongs to this household. On the other hand, in 5:1-3 Luke locates the fishermen not in Capernaum but on the shores of Lake Gennesaret, where they are engaged in the manual labor of washing their nets (5:2). They are first of all a part of a crowd gathered on the lakeside to hear Jesus proclaim the word about God.35 The crowd is not without significance in the imperial setting. With the exceptions of 22:6, 47; 23:4, 48, the crowds in Luke are virtually always an amalgam of people who manifest their needs and maladies. Ste. Croix (1981, 116) suggests that the terms ὁ ὄχλος, οἱ πολλοί, and τὸ πλῆθος are predominantly the unpropertied, and these are the ones who profit from Jesus’s teaching and healing. The presence of a crowd is itself a sign of unauthorized alternatives to hierarchies of dominance; their spontaneous assembly is an act of autonomy and a sign of collective power (Scott 1990, 63–65). Out of this crowd Luke identifies Simon already as a particular facilitator in that he maneuvers his boat a bit from the shore to provide a platform for Jesus’s teaching, which beyond question is an attempt to influence the crowd. But then the episode completely neglects Jesus’s teaching and focuses on his involvement in another extraordinary event. Although interpreters repeatedly call the catch of fish a “miracle,” large catches are unusual but nevertheless easily recognized phenomena. Jesus takes the initiative to tell Simon how he ought to fish (5:4). Simon responds by addressing Jesus with a title of honor (ἐπιστάτα, 5:5) that locates Jesus above him in a hierarchy of dominance, and in spite of unsuccessfully 33.  On taxes and fees, see Hanson and Oakman 1998, 114–16. 34.  On cultural expectations that women would be in attendance off to the side, see Irigaray 1993, 46–47, 62, 78–79, 149. 35.  The genitive in 5:1 is not subjective but objective.

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fishing all night, he agrees that his crew (“we”) will let down their nets. The result is an overwhelmingly large catch of fish such that they need the help of others (5:5-7). Jesus’s command and Simon’s compliance can be taken as asymmetrical power, which Simon acknowledges by his use of the title ἐπιστάτα. However, because Simon is the beneficiary, it is transformative power (Ehrensperger 2007, 33, 61). Not until after Simon’s reaction (5:8) does the narrator mention the astonishment that motivates his response, which is shared by his crew as well as James and John the sons of Zebedee (5:9-10). In effect this event is an enacted parable (Green 1997, 233), the meaning of which cannot be completely captured in direct discourse. It is obvious, however, that Simon Peter36 takes the extraordinary catch as an experience of the numinous against which he perceives himself to be an unworthy subdominant: “Get away from me, for I am a sinful man, lord” (5:8). Because “sinner” is a social evaluation of subdominants by the dominant culture, here Peter is an example of how subdominants internalize social categorization in their perception of themselves. His sense of subdominance is also reflected in the shift of titles for Jesus from ἐπιστάτης (“master”) to κύριος (“lord”). The titles themselves are not so distinct, but the LXX uses κύριος as a title for YHWH, and there are similar connotations in Luke. Peter follows Jesus not because of the extraordinary harvest of fish, which he takes to be a cause for separation between the two. Rather, Jesus must interpret the dramatized parable and then give his promise that Simon will “catch people” (5:10) (Tannehill 1986, 203–204). This remark now becomes an external criterion generated by Jesus that Peter encounters as an “objective” pole beyond his self-perception and that therefore impinges on his identity. Jesus also recategorizes Peter by shifting from Peter’s self-categorization of himself as a sinner to his own categorization of him as a follower (Gaertner et al. 1993, 1–26; Esler 2003, 345–50). By way of anticipation Jesus will continue to be a source of criteria that impact how his disciples construe their identity. On the one hand, his imperative “do not be afraid” corresponds to a form-critical feature of numinous epiphanies implying a relationship of superior to inferior as in the angelophanies of Zechariah, Mary, and the shepherds (1:13, 30; 2:10). On the other hand, Jesus interprets the event as anticipating the association of Simon as a helper in his mission, and this moves toward the mutuality of partnership. Simon, James, and John become Jesus’s partners by following him (5:11). It is therefore ironic that in the history of interpretation the calling of Simon as a partner rather than a subordinate has been construed as his ecclesiastical hierarchy of priority over others. Luke 5:12-26. In 5:12-16 Luke relates the healing of a leper that reinforces Jesus’s acquired status. Like the healing of Simon’s mother-in-law’s fever, this cleansing is the form-critical basic minimum of a healing (malady, act of healing, sanction). As is well known, leprosy was a condition that put its victims in permanent quarantine, cast out—a caste outside the social order. Although leprosy was a malady (rarely 36.  The narrator presumes the familiarity of readers/hearers with the nickname “Peter,” which he uses here without any notice that it is conferred on him by Jesus as readers/hearers discover in 6:14.

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Hansen’s disease), the relationship to society was expressed as a part of the purity system and inscribed in Levitical legislation. It is indispensable to understand that purity/impurity involved conditions that produced various degrees of uncleanness and correspondingly necessitated distinct rituals for purification. Indeed many degrees of impurity were unavoidable, even entered into willingly or unwittingly (e.g., childbirth), and were remedied by simple rituals. But other cases, which included leprosy, involved being excluded from the community and barred from walled cities (Meyer 1965, 418–23; Wright and Jones 1992, 277–82; Fredriksen 1999, 52–54), although it is entirely likely that this incident did not occur in a walled city. Whatever the case, Josephus speaks of lepers being driven completely out of the city and “as good as dead” (Ant. 3.264, author’s translation). Lepers were thus subdominant in at least religious, cultural, and political hierarchies. Of course, all impurity subordinated people in layers of hierarchies. But ordinarily this was temporary and the means for purification were readily available. Lepers could also be restored to purity, but only after the remission of the disease. Three elements stand out in Jesus’s encounter with the leper. The petitioner’s kneeling posture dramatizes his cultural presupposition of a hierarchy of power and status over someone who is dependent and of low estate. Indeed, the KJV translation “if thou wilt” has often been interpreted along an axis of power, that is, to will something into existence (so also Fitzmyer 1981, 572, 574). On the other hand, the leper states his request in terms of an axis of desire: “Lord, if you want to, you can make me clean” (5:12, J. B. Phillips). Second, Jesus also responds in terms of the axis of desire: “I do want to, be cleansed” (5:13). Third, what Jesus expresses verbally is dramatized by a touch. Even though uncleanness may be transmitted by touch, there is some discussion as to the degree to which Jesus violates cultural conventions (Nolland 1989, 227). But the exclusion of lepers from the living areas of others and the communication of uncleanness to a house into which a leper enters (Meyer 1965, 419) imply a general proscription of touching that Jesus obviously breaches. In addition, his touch contrasts with the leper’s gesture of kneeling and symbolically challenges hierarchies of dominance by means of direct interaction. Jesus’s act of touching contrasts with the gesture of an outward vertically open palm, which indicates that someone should stay away: “And he stretched out his hand and touched him” (5:13). In the vast majority of cases in the Gospels, when Jesus is involved in extraordinary deeds, violations of cultural norms occur, either on the part of Jesus or on the part of the supplicant. Indeed, the basic form-critical pattern of healings already mentioned earlier (description of the malady, method of healing, and sanction) should be modified to malady, violation of norms, restoration, and sanction. This is to say that violations of cultural norms are a crucial part of restoration to community (Theissen 1983, 79–80, 129–39, 255–56)37 or to express 37.  Building on Theissen, Wire (1978, 109–10) demonstrates the structure of miracle stories as an extraordinary breakthrough of an oppressive context which produces a transformation. Dewey (1997, 53–60) reinforces Wire’s conclusions.

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it differently a violation of hierarchies of dominance results in the subversion of hierarchies of dominance. Hence in the cleansing of the leper in 5:12-14 Jesus’s astonishing touch is a vital part of the pattern of healing: “And immediately the leprosy left him” (5:13). Given the social strictures, cleansing and healing are synonymous with one qualification. The cleansing had to be sanctioned by a priest according to Levitical law (5:14), which also adds to the confirmation of Jesus’s mighty deed. But this confirmation also increases the honor that Jesus acquires so that the social pole of his identity spreads all the more (5:15). Jesus’s command to the former leper to be silent is often discussed as part of the enigma of the so-called messianic secret. But from a social identity perspective it implies that Jesus resists determining his identity by acquired honor, that is, by social affirmations. True, his identity is confirmed by crowds (plural) who come to him in 5:15. However, it is almost as if this text fits into the two poles of social identity. The rumors and crowds comprise the social dimension, Jesus’s command to silence, and his isolation and prayer (5:16) correspond to self-perception. Hence, it appears that according to Luke, Jesus knows where he belongs in society apart from the social evaluation. Luke 5:17-26. Here Luke combines two typical kinds of stories. On the one hand, it is a healing; on the other, it is a discussion. According to form criticism, the category of the latter is also called “a conflict story.” This has strongly influenced interpretations in that the form-critical function of conflict stories is to vindicate the protagonist, which in this case of course is Jesus. The effect of this has been to regard the story as Jesus’s triumph over his so-called opponents. As we will see, this is a serious distortion of what actually occurs in the text.38 In establishing the setting for the healing, Luke brings some (note that there is no definite article) Pharisees and teachers of the law onto the scene. This is the first of three episodes in 5:17-39 in which Pharisees are interlocutors with whom Jesus engages in “reasoned dialogues” (διαλογίζομαι, 5:21). This verb (and its cognates) is reason enough to call into question the conventional category of these discussions as “conflict” stories. Though in 5:17 Pharisees are part of a crowd attracted to Jesus, the narrator distinguishes them from the crowd simply by naming them. From the cultural encyclopedia Luke’s audience would recognize that the mere category of Pharisee means that they rank high on the social pole of ascribed honor as they do in Josephus (Life 12; J.W. 162-166; see also Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 129). Further, they are also identified geographically. They come from many villages of Galilee and Judea, and even from Jerusalem. Some interpreters take the provenance of these Pharisees and scribes from the villages and Jerusalem to represent Jesus’s engagement with Pharisaism in toto (Nolland 1989, 234). But this is far too premature. This is Luke’s initial reference to Pharisees, and they have not been characterized in any way, so as already noted 38.  “The story should suggest the form; the form should not be imposed upon the story” (Wink 2002, 77).

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their characterization depends on their reputation in the cultural encyclopedia. Furthermore, like other characters these Pharisees represent themselves, not their entire sect (see Brawley 2018b). Here they are part of interested observers who assemble from far and wide. Further, their gathering from all corners transforms the location of this event so that the place of this event acquires the semblance of a geographical center, which in turn highlights the key import of this episode first for everyone in the crowd, and consequently for the readers/hearers of Luke. The heart of the healing is the action of some men who carry a paralytic on a stretcher. When the crowd restricts their access to Jesus, they let him down through the roof. Surprisingly, it is Jesus’s observation of this dramatic act that enables him to perceive their faith. That is, the act dramatizes their hopeful anticipation of healing, and it is this that communicates their faith to Jesus rather than their verbal articulation of a conviction that Jesus would call faith (Meynet 2005, 16). On the basis of this observation Jesus turns to the paralytic and proclaims his forgiveness (2:20). Roland Meynet perceptively points to the presence of forgiveness associated with healing as a vital component of the “new covenant” as in Jer. 31:31-34 (38:31-34 LXX): “And I will assuredly not remember their sins any longer.” Meynet also points to the correspondence of Jeremiah’s new covenant with the “eternal covenant” of Isa. 55:3 (ibid., 14–16). Definite articles in Lk. 5:21 specify that these scribes (equivalent to the teachers of the law in 5:17) and Pharisees are those who had come with the crowd, and their response to Jesus’s proclamation of forgiveness to the paralyzed man is to “begin to reason carefully” (διαλογίζομαι, 5:21). The man’s paralysis places him at the bottom of hierarchies of power and the prominence along the axis of action. Indeed John Pilch refers to such a malady as a “deviant condition” (Pilch 1991, 194). Thus this man cannot even dramatize his own faith like that of the men who let him down through the roof. At the point of Jesus’s proclamation of forgiveness, the scribes and Pharisees in this scene play the role of social regulators, and they clearly raise the question of Jesus’s identity from an external pole of social evaluation: “Who is this who speaks blasphemies?” (5:21). Moreover, this is a kind of labeling that probes whether or not Jesus is a deviant, which of course a blasphemer would be. Labeling employs epithets to characterize by a typical trait, and negative labeling instigates a social assessment that someone is outside the borders of the social order. On the other hand, a positive appraisal has a goal of characterizing someone as prominent in the social order (Malina and Neyrey 1988, 35–36, 54, 99–102). The apprehensions of the scribes and Pharisees are in the form of a cultural presumption that appears as literally “common sense,” that is, everyone supposedly concurs that God alone is able to forgive sin. In an honor-shame culture this constitutes a challenge, which if it prevails in the discussion, will marginalize Jesus. Indeed, normally not to offer a riposte is to lose the challenge and incur a loss of honor. According to 5:22-23, Jesus answers their “reasoning” with an action that according to him speaks louder than words. Notably, he also clearly establishes that one purpose of his action is to convince his challengers of the power to forgive sins: “So that you may know that

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the son of man has power to forgive” (5:24).39 Consequently, the healing enables them to know. First, the former paralytic interprets the event as a divine act by glorifying God (5:25). Then astonishment and awe seize them all (see also Green 1997, 243; Fitzmyer 1981, 586: “all present”).40 The successful healing means that the forgiveness and the restoration as well manifest the way things are in the βασιλεία of God. Walter Wink (2002, 75), who owns an outstanding reputation for encountering others including opponents with charity, finds it impossible for the evangelist Luke, and Mark as his source, to have included the likes of Pharisees and scribes among ἅπαντας (“all”) who glorified God. Rather, against the text he attributes to the evangelists “unabated hostility” to Jesus’s interlocutors.41 Moreover, rather than include these interlocutors in the reference to all in 5:26, he declares that the evangelist “ignores” them. But what Wink himself ignores is that the purpose of Jesus’s mighty act in all three Synoptics is so that the interlocutors “will know” that he has the power and prerogative to forgive (5:24). According to the text itself, Jesus was successful in enabling his interlocutors to know. So along with others, the scribes and Pharisees experience a revision of expectations, and together with all the others they give a shared evaluation of Jesus in positive light: “We have seen wonders today” (5:26, similarly Vinson 2008a, 148). In other words, rather than a negative evaluation that labels Jesus a deviant, they attribute to him an affirmative action that makes him all the more prominent. Luke 5:27-32. The following pericope also combines two types of stories. The calling of Levi can hardly be separated from his banquet in honor of Jesus, which occasions another honor-shame contest with Pharisees and scribes. Just as the trade of the fishers who follow Jesus earlier in the chapter stands out, such is the case also for Levi whose occupation as a revenue collector (τελώνης) precedes his name (5:27). Revenue collections in imperial systems depended on contracts that pledged specific amounts, for which the contract holders were responsible, and 39.  Incidentally, Wink (2002, 77–80, see p. 51 and passim) takes “son of man” not to be merely a self-reference, although it is that, but to be broad enough potentially to include any human being. Wink (2002, 17, 78, and passim) notes that the Greek contains two articles (ὁ υἱὸς τοὺ ἀνθρὠπου) and speaks of translations omitting the second. Conventions for the use of articles across languages are quite different and specific, and English translations do not need the second. For example, Greek uses definite articles with abstract nouns; English does not (ἡ διαιοσύνη vs. “justice”). So it is improper to speak of an English translation “omitting” an article. 40.  Nolland (1989, 238) interprets “all” as the crowds on the basis of the parallel in Mark. But on this first appearance of scribes and Pharisees in Luke, there is no predisposition to exclude them. 41.  It seems to me self-evident that to attribute to characters in an episode malevolence beyond what the author does violates the ethics of interpretation. The same goes for attributing malevolence to the authors themselves beyond what the text expresses. Why this reluctance to attribute to the evangelists something akin to the love Jesus advocates for enemies in Lk. 6:27?

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which they fulfilled by employing agents who then collected a variety of minor taxes, sales taxes, customs fees, and tolls. The contractors were generally gentiles, whereas in Judea the underling revenue collectors were Israelites, who thus were collaborators in imperial systems.42 In addition to collaborating in imperial systems the arrangement also tolerated injustices and greed (see 3:12-13) such that they are stereotyped as despised along with sinners (BDAG, “τελώνης”), and here in 5:30 the scribes and Pharisees use both terms as negative labels that designate what for them are outgroups. Quite different from the enormous catch of fish that preceded the calling of Simon, James, and John, the only facet that Luke gives of Levi’s call is Jesus’s command, “Follow me” (5:28). Instead of the weight falling on an extraordinary event that leads to a decision to follow, the sequence is reversed, and Levi’s call leads to an extraordinary banquet. The banquet is populated with a multitude that includes many revenue collectors and others, whom some Pharisees and scribes then stereotype as sinners (5:30). Put another way, unlike Jesus compelling the fishers to follow, celebrating Jesus with a feast dramatizes how Levi follows him. At the same time, the imperfect ἠκολούθει (5:28) implies that the feast is one among other actions of following Jesus (similarly Nolland 1989, 245). The grumbling of these Pharisees and scribes is neither directed at Jesus nor is it an accusation. They address Jesus’s disciples, not necessarily Simon, James, John, and Levi who will be numbered among the twelve but his followers who are at the banquet. As in the previous incident the challenge is in the form of a question: “Why?” They do not take Jesus himself to task but ask the disciples why they (perhaps including Jesus) eat and drink with revenue collectors and sinners. But then Jesus implicates himself in a parable and explains the purpose of his mission. Frequently, Luke’s Jesus uses parables to persuade his interlocutors (also Linnemann 1966, 18–19). Apropos to the form of the question, his parable clarifies why they are eating and drinking with revenue collectors and sinners: “Those who are in good health have no need of a physician, but those who are bad off. I have come to call sinners to repentance not those who practice justice” (5:31-32). The grumbling and the question again put the scribes and Pharisees in the role of social control agents whose perplexity over revenue collectors involves socio-politico-economic assumptions and whose objection to sinners involves socioreligious assumptions. These are cultural presuppositions that socialization imposes on others and that subdominants likely internalize (see also Wolter 2008, 228). On the basis of norms based on these hidden assumptions they presume hierarchies of religious, social, economic, and political dominance in the form 42.  Michel (1971, 88–105); Walker (1978, 222). Walker contends that the historical Jesus was accused of eating with revenue collectors and sinners and the incidents in the Synoptics referring to such table fellowship were constructed on the basis of the accusations. But what is material for Luke is that Jesus did call a revenue collector as a disciple and did eat with such. Stegemann and Stegemann (1999, 200) downplay the collaboration of revenue collectors in imperial systems, but it is undeniable.

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of an ingroup and outgroups. From this there is an implicit questioning of the character of Jesus and his disciples as deviant on the order of the adage “You are known by the company you keep.” Jesus undermines the presumption of such hierarchies of dominance on at least two levels. One is on the basis of need. People who are bad off need a physician. To refer once again to the Baptizer’s ministry, revenue collectors and sinners need repentance (3:12-13). Significantly, here Jesus employs the strategy of recategorizing (Gaertner et al. 1993, 1–26; Esler 2000, 345– 50). Instead of the totalizing characterizations of revenue collectors and sinners the guests at Levi’s banquet are recategorized as those who are in need. On a second level, all who hear Jesus’s parable are compelled to consider whether they belong to those who practice justice (δίκαιοι) or sinners, an issue that arises explicitly in 16:15 and 18:9 (Tannehill 1986, 173). In 16:15 Jesus declares to some Pharisees who are lovers of money, “You are the ones who legitimate yourselves before others,” and in 18:9 the narrator describes Jesus’s audience as “some who trusted in themselves that they practiced justice and despised others.” The narrator does not give the response of the scribes and Pharisees to the parable. But in my opinion unless interpreters hold a prejudice against Pharisees, the verdict must still be out on whether his explanation, which presumably is persuasive for Luke’s readers/hearers, also persuades these scribes and Pharisees (Brawley 2018b, 109–11). Luke 5:33-39. At 5:33 “some” compare Jesus and his disciples with the disciples of John and the Pharisees, and they note that his disciples do not fast and pray (the two actions are taken together as one rite) whereas their counterparts do. The indefinite third-person plural (“some”) leaves the authors of these remarks uncertain. But if this construction takes up the scribes and Pharisees again, it makes the interlocutors refer to themselves awkwardly as if they are the others. Nevertheless, the observation is tantamount to making the fasting of the disciples of John and the Pharisees ingroup norms and thereby portraying Jesus’s disciples as an outgroup with different norms. Jesus responds to his interlocutors with four parables: the Bridegroom, Mending a Garment, New Wine and Wineskins, and the relative appeal of Old and New Wine (5:34-39). The parable of the Bridegroom (5:34-35) has to do with the importance and urgency of the present moment. Though the parable as such leaves the comparison of ingroup and outgroup unexpressed, ingroup norms obviously bond the group together and not only disregard outgroup norms but imply a socioreligious hierarchy of dominance over them. And as Levi’s banquet demonstrates, Jesus is breaking down hierarchies of dominance and recategorizing outsiders as insiders. In the second place, the parable of Mending a Garment (5:36) makes it irrational to destroy a new garment in order to patch an old one. Indeed, such an action renders both useless. The parable does not imply the impropriety of mixing the old and the new as much as the utility of both. Again, this makes the case for inverting hierarchies of dominance in the form of ingroups and outgroups. New Wineskins for New Wine (5:37-38) is a repetition with variation of the parable of Mending a Garment. Such repetition not only makes the two parables

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reinforce each other but also produces a gain in meaning and emphasis (Tannehill 1975, 42–43). If the reality of God’s commonwealth has come near for all, imposing the established norms of certain ingroups on others can only fracture what is a reality for everyone. Such imposition is as irrational as putting new wine, which still might be producing carbon dioxide at the end of fermentation, into old wineskins, which cannot expand to accommodate the pressure that might build up. The fourth parable implies that like the preference for old wine over new, established ingroup norms impede the overthrow of hierarchies of dominance. Virtually all interpreters of these four parables accentuate the new over the old (e.g., Flebbe 2005, 171–87) whereas each expresses not only tensions between the old and new but also the value of both. The parable of the Bridegroom concludes that there is a proper time for fasting. Mending the Garment argues against doing anything detrimental to either piece of cloth. The parable of the Wine Skins makes it irrational either to destroy the old wineskins or to spill the new wine. And preference for old wine does not undermine the value of the new.43 In fact, the parables make it clear that Jesus’s new work is the preservation and restoration of God’s promises to Israel (similarly Good 1983, 19–36). But the continuity is not between Judaism and Christianity (Nolland 1989, 249). Rather, it has to do more accurately with the arrival of the βασιλεία of God in relation to redemptive history (Wolter 2008, 232–33). Luke 6:1-11. This section contains two debates about appropriate behavior on the Sabbath. The socioreligious assumption is that the Sabbath is a day of sacred commemoration that proscribes work. In the first episode (6:1-5) Jesus’s disciples pick grain, separate the grain from the hulls by rubbing it in their hands, and eat it. Some Pharisees, who play the role of social control agents, challenge them with another “why” question, but this time they also interpret the disciples’ behavior as unlawful: “Why are you doing what is not lawful on Sabbaths?” (6:2). The debate is grounded not only in the law but also in cultural presumptions that the law is unconditional as if the customs for observing the Sabbath were natural conditions of reality. But norms regarding restrictions of work related to preparation of food also promote the dominance of the well fed over the hungry such that hunger occasions no exception. In speaking on behalf of his disciples Jesus appeals to an event in Scripture as a legal precedent. First of all, Lev. 24:5-9 specifies that when loaves of the bread of presence that have been consecrated to God are replaced with fresh loaves after one week, Aaron and his descendants are to eat the loaves that have been replaced in a holy location. But then 1 Sam. 21:1-6 relates an incident in which David commandeers holy bread from a priest for his men who are on a campaign, and the priest relents. Jesus presumes the familiarity of these Pharisees with the 43.  Against Flebbe (2005, 181–87) who argues for the fundamental incompatibility of the old and new. The issue is more appropriately the proper continuity of old and new (Nolland 1989, 249; Green 1997, 250).

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biblical accounts, cites the latter incident with reference to the first, and points out that David and his men ate what is not lawful for anyone to eat except priests. His case depends on making a violation of the Sabbath as a holy day comparable to the confiscation and consumption of holy bread by David’s troops who were not priests. Further, the correlation of the two events hangs on the tertium comparationis that in both cases hunger legitimates overriding the law. What is more, Scripture gives two rationales for observing the Sabbath. In Exod. 20:11 the reason for keeping the Sabbath holy is a commemoration of creation. Humans are not to work on the Sabbath because after six days of creation, none other than God rested and did not work. Differently, Deut. 5:14 gives the rationale for observing the Sabbath as the humanitarian need for rest. According to the second rationale, the unexpressed enthymematic rhetoric underlying Jesus’s explanation is that just as rest satisfies a human need for the weary, eating satisfies a human need for the hungry and therefore by analogy fulfills one purpose of the Sabbath. But social identity jumps into enormous prominence because Jesus also makes himself and his disciples comparable, if not superior, to David and his companions by declaring: “The son of man is lord of the Sabbath” (6:5). Jürgen Roloff (1970, 61) creatively suggests that here Jesus implicitly challenges these Pharisees that they act as if they also are lords of the Sabbath. “Son of man” is a Hebraism that means a human being, which the Septuagint translates as υἱὸς ἀνθρώπου (e.g., Ps. 8:5 LXX). Jesus reasons by analogy to what David and a number of other “sons of humans” (Wolter 2008, 235) did in the case of hunger. In Lk. 5:24 “son of man” refers to Jesus and focuses on his prerogative to forgive, although Wink (2002, 77–80) also indicates intimations of any human having the power to forgive.44 In Lk. 6:1-5, however, disciples override the Sabbath, and so they act as if they are sons of humans who are κύριοι of the Sabbath. Thus, in 6:5 Jesus can only be one case among his companions, and they all act on the basis of human need as lords of the Sabbath (Wolter 2008, 235; so also Wink 2002, 73). In any case, against a challenge from some Pharisees to the socioreligious status of Jesus and his disciples, Jesus responds on the level of determination of his identity from the individual pole of dyadic identity. The second debate regarding the Sabbath occurs when Jesus is teaching in a synagogue. It is occasioned by the presence of a man with an atrophied hand (6:6-11). Virtually all maladies make their victims subdominant with respect to action in hierarchies of physical power, and often judgments regarding suffering as punishment make them subdominant to ethical hierarchies. To repeat a note already mentioned earlier, Pilch (1991, 194) even refers to maladies as a “deviant condition.” In this case scribes and Pharisees are watching closely to see whether or not Jesus will restore the man’s hand. Again they play the role of social control agents, because they are watching with the purpose of reproaching him if he does restore the man’s hand (6:7). Interpreters ought not read too much into their eyeing 44.  Biblical usage including the Septuagint use “son of man” with both individual and corporate connotations (Wink 2002, 25–34, 51).

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him, because Jesus returns the favor in 6:10. In 6:8 Jesus perceives the reasoning (διαλογισμοί) of the scribes and Pharisees. This may not imply merely that he is prescient, because cultural assumptions about prohibitions on the Sabbath were ingrained and formidable. A later tradition in the Mishnah speaks of the regulations regarding the Sabbath as mountains hanging by a hair in that they have sparse scriptural references but many laws (m. Hag.1.8). Conventionally, the Pharisees’ reasoning is taken to be negative (e.g., Bock 1994, 528). But διαλογισμός means a kind of reasoning that on its own it is quite neutral. Moreover, on his part in this series of debates, Jesus joins his interlocutors and reasons likewise them, especially in parables. It is pertinent to note that in this episode Jesus is teaching, and this implies that he wishes to persuade his interlocutors by his own reasoning. His intention is apparent in that he asks the man to stand up as a case in point in order to demonstrate something about Sabbath regulations. He uses simple comparisons of good or harm and saving life or destroying it (6:9). One might generalize that the evaluation of religious practices is often easily determined by whether the result is beneficial or harmful. Many interpretations acknowledge that Sabbath regulations permitted healing in cases of emergency and play down the urgency of this man’s plight (so Bock 1994, 528). But two details are worth noting. One is the analogy of destroying life (6:9), which although hyperbolic amplifies the man’s predicament. The other is that Luke takes pains to point out that it is the man’s right hand (6:6). Α culture that relegates unsanitary tasks to the left hand makes this significant. Moreover, in Israelite culture the hand symbolizes action, expressed even as the “hand” of God that works for the sake of Israel (Deut. 7:19; 11:2; Josh. 4:24; 1 Sam. 6:3, 5; Job 2:10, etc.) (Pilch 1991, 205). Thus, the right hand is virtually a synecdoche for existence itself (Bovon 2002, 204). A withered hand diminishes life. At this point Jesus is the one who eyes all of them (6:10). There obviously is no prohibition that one should not speak on the Sabbath, and all Jesus does in this incident is to speak. He tells the man to extend his hand, which also is no violation of Sabbath laws, and when he does, it is restored (6:10). In my opinion virtually all translations render the reaction of the scribes and Pharisees in tones that are excessively negative, such as the translation “fury” in the NRSV. More literally they are filled with ἄνοια, “a lack of understanding,”45 and they dialogue among themselves about what they might do with Jesus (6:11). At the outset they were watching closely in case they might be able to bring charges against him. And their question among themselves should be understood in that light. Is there any way to 45. For ἄνοια as lack of understanding, see Herodotus 6.69; Thucydides, 2.61; Demosthenes, 1.26. Plato, Tim. 86b, speaks of two kinds of ἄνοια, (μανία = “passion,” “enthusiasm,” “frenzy” and ἀμαθία = “ignorance”) but Plato, Rep. 382 makes a distinction between μανία and ἄνοια. Translation traditions have introduced “anger” or “fury” as in NSRV. See note 42 on the ethical issue of attributing more malevolence to characters or authors than what is expressed in the text.

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accuse him or to exert social control? Significantly, this is a deliberative question in the optative, and as is the case with all deliberative questions the outcome remains unresolved. Beyond Sabbath regulations, judgments about Jesus are at the center of this episode, and it demonstrates once again the image of Jesus as one who acts as a “lord of the Sabbath” (6:5) (see also Wolter 2008, 236). For readers/hearers, his identity as a lord of the Sabbath is demonstrated, and their positive response according to the ideological norms of the narrative would constitute an objective pole of his identity in keeping with the subjective pole he himself has manifested in 6:5. Luke 6:12-16. For a second time, Jesus withdraws from the social context of his ministry as in 5:16, and he tarries through the night in prayer on “the” mountain. On this occasion the interlude introduces the choosing of the twelve. Because the temporal dimension flows from the night to daybreak, there is an implicit connection between his prayer with God and the choosing of the twelve. An unexpressed presumption is that after the decision of Simon, James, and John to follow Jesus and the calling of Levi, Jesus has attracted a growing number of disciples who are taken for granted as a conglomerate at 5:30, 33; 6:1, 13. From this larger group Jesus chooses twelve whom he calls apostles. The fact that he applies this term to them is moving toward making apostle a title, and yet it identities them in terms of their function, that is, they are envoys whom he sends out. Their personal names (6:14-16) together with the title not only identifies them as characters in the narrative but also confers status upon them among other disciples. Simon stands out in that Luke specifies that Jesus confers the name Peter on him (although Luke had already used the nickname at 5:8), and this suits his future function in a leadership role as one who heeds Jesus. John Turner notes that leaders are prototypical when they embody ingroup values and identity (Turner 2005, 10–11). But Peter will have “to grow into the name, as his denial of Jesus, his fear, and his lack of understanding show” (Brawley 1990b, 142). Luke 6:17-49. But before the apostles function as envoys, they accompany Jesus down the mountain and thereafter their first role is to be a part of a crowd of disciples and a large multitude of people from all of Judea (including Galilee naturally), Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon, which is of course to say a broad spectrum of people (6:17). A narrator’s summary gives the purposes for which they gather—to hear Jesus and to be healed. In fact, he cures those who are troubled with unclean spirits (6:18). Moreover, those with maladies try to touch him because touching presumably accesses his power to heal (6:19, see on 8:44-46 p. 102). Again, these events are recounted in a narrator’s summary and none is narrated as an independent episode. As if on cue, this gathering serves to establish an audience for Jesus’s teaching. And it should not be left unnoticed that his teachings follow his actions. In other words Jesus elaborates what his actions have dramatized as the way things are in the βασιλεία of God (6:20). The Sermon on the Plain is the centerpiece of Jesus’s teaching and as such it is apposite to reiterate what is said earlier about the significance of one’s interpretation of reality both as a political act and as a reflection of one’s identity. Interpretation

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chooses among options regarding what one considers to be real or true, and this reflects the desire of interpreters to assure themselves of their image in the eyes of others and in their own perception (Suleiman 1986, 122; Kristeva 1982, 78). The only introduction to Jesus’s teaching is his eye contact with his disciples (6:20)46 who are thus identified as his primary audience, although the great multitude of people in 6:17 is not to be forgotten. This sets the stage for all of his teaching in ch. 6 with beatitudes47 and woes. Interpreters have been tempted to construe these beatitudes as implied imperatives for his hearers to adopt new behaviors. Indeed, in general this is part of the debate in scholarly literature. A second issue is whether the social conditions described in the predicates of the beatitudes are literal or metaphorical. To take the latter first, in his massive commentary Hans Dieter Betz decides for the metaphorical, so that Matthew’s “poor in spirit” suits the meaning of his construal of a pre-Matthean original, from which Luke’s version also derives, that is, the poor understand themselves in a condition that is the antonym of arrogance (Betz 1995, 111–16, 125–26, 129, 132). Similarly, Jacques Dupont (1973, 474, 486–545, 544) also reconstructs an original, which he traces back to Aramaic and in which he construes poverty as an attitude toward others rather than a social condition. But the difficulty of this is that Luke gives the antonym of the poor in the first woe as those who are rich and already are “paid in full” (6:24). “There can be little doubt that the rich . . . are the literal rich” (Nolland 1989, 282). They can hardly be reduced to an attitude, any more than the rich man and Lazarus in 16:19-31 can become abstract types. More judiciously David Hellholm (1998, 296–304, 311–12) allows for the potential of the beatitudes to declare the reversal of conditions that are generally understood as oppression. Indeed, Bovon (2002, 224) deduces that “Luke understands the word [poor] concretely.” Although Hellholm (1998, 296–304, 311–12) also allows for the potential of the beatitudes to function as ethical exhortations for conditions that do not exist prior to the exhortation, in my view the evidence that the predicates describe social conditions also decides the first issue in the scholarly debate. In other words, rather than ethical exhortations, the beatitudes and woes are performative. Harmut Stegemann puts it correctly: “In connection with the proclamation of Jesus the things about which he spoke came to pass” (Stegemann 1982, 17 [author’s translation]). The beatitudes all announce inversions of hierarchies of dominance and are fuller expositions of inversions that first come to light in Mary’s Magnificat (1:46-55) (Green 1997, 265). A series of four blessings (6:20-22) balances a series of four woes (6:24-26). Significantly, they are addressed directly to Jesus’s audience in the second-person plural (differently from Matthew’s third-person plural). Thus, Jesus’s listeners, 46.  I once heard Stephen Moore describe Luke as a Gospel of looking. Moore is Irish, and in his pronunciation Luke and look are homonyms. 47.  Beatitudes, which derives from the first word of the form in Latin beati, are also called “macarisms,” because in Greek they begin with the word μακάριοι.

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who in 6:20 are designated as disciples (μαθηταί), are identified by their social position as either dominant or subdominant in hierarchies regarding access to the resources of the earth. That is, they are addressed in their corresponding conditions of blessings or woes as if Jesus had called them by name, and the perceptions of themselves and the social location they attribute to themselves is the strongest clue to who they are. The subdominant occupy pride of place as addressees, and in fact the rich who are addressed as the counterpart of the poor function as an outgroup in comparison with them.48 To those who perceive themselves to be among the poor the first beatitude announces the inversion of poverty inasmuch as they possess the βασιλεία of God (6:20), and although the possession of the βασιλεία of God points back to what Jesus has already done and said, it is also to be elaborated later (esp. 6:27-38). Those who are hungry and weep now are promised a future inversion of being filled with food and laughter (6:21). Weeping and laughter are not merely subjective expressions but are open to the discernment of others (Bovon 2002, 226). Further, this is especially clear in social identity terms when society as such (οἱ ἄνθρωποι, “people”) ascribes shame to those who are hated, excluded, and reproached49 on account of the son of humans. Although aside from being Jesus’s disciples, the ingroup does not yet have a name (such as Christians), to be shamed because of Jesus’s name reflects the objective pole of social identity; that is, this is the shame that others ascribe to the ingroup. Such a reality is an occasion for rejoicing and dancing, because of the recompense in heaven (i.e., before God, 6:22-23). To be noted is the causal clause with γάρ in 6:23. This clause gives the reason for rejoicing and dancing in 6:22. To rejoice and dance are imperatives that call for attitudes and actions in the present, and this is based on the presence of a heavenly reality now. This is to say that a perspective of a divine reality that already exists prevails. The recompense (μισθός, 6:23) is a metaphor for “an unconditional pledge of salvation” (Wolter 2008, 251 [author’s translation]). The reason to affirm the reality of this recompense in the present is not only that it is founded on divine promises but that it also has a historical precedent. Those who ascribe subdominant evaluations to others have the precedent of ancestors who did the same to the prophets who received divine vindication. In every case, the blessing is for here and now, though the inversion of hierarchies of dominance may lie in the future. In a certain sense the inversion already occurs when in Jesus’s teaching the blessings are matched by woes as their counterparts (6:24-26). The trappings of the dominance of the rich are already “as good as it gets.” As with the beatitudes, this also is especially clear in social identity terms when society as such (πάντες οἱ ἄνθρωποι, “everyone”) ascribes honor to the rich, well fed, and comfortable. The same kind of historical precedent holds as in 6:23. The ancestors of those who 48.  Wolter (2008, 247, 253) designates the poor “fictive addressees.” Nolland (1989, 287) takes the address in the second person to love enemies an indication that the rich are absent. For the view of an address also to the rich, see Tannehill 1986, 206–208. 49.  Society at large actually attributes to them the name “evil” (6:22).

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ascribe high honor to the dominant acted the same way toward those so-called prophets who in the final analysis turned out to belong not to divine reality, which is the way things are when God rules, but to a reality that is painfully deceptive. Luke 6:27-49 then describes the way reality is in the βασιλεία of God, that is, when God reigns. On the one hand, the language often prescribes behavior and expresses ingroup norms. On the other hand, the nature of God as the source for behavior establishes identity in the ingroup. More immediately 6:27-31 has a common theme of doing good to others. Jesus first tells his listeners that they also are to invert their hidden hierarchies of dominance formed by enmity, hate, and conflict: “love your enemies,” “treat those who hate you well,” “bless those who curse you,” “pray for those who mistreat you” (6:27-28). This even applies to violence and force. “Turn the other cheek to the one who strikes you” and “do not withhold your under garment from one who takes your outer garment” (6:29). In the first place, these exhortations are what Tannehill (1975, 53, 67–77, and passim) calls “focal instances”; that is, they evoke behavior far beyond any literal understanding of something like a blow to the cheek. This “message is not simply one of prescriptive morality,” but “an inversion of world order” (Green 1997, 272). Walter Wink (1992, 127, 175–93) has perceptively shown how these sayings do not enjoin passive acceptance of violence.50 Rather, they offer a way of nonviolence that takes the initiative from the offender and enables the victim to refuse to be treated as subdominant. Nevertheless, Richard Horsley (1993, 28, 255–79) also contends persuasively that these statements are not easily universalized, because they presuppose Israel’s covenant values of corporate village life (though not restricted to villages). To give repeatedly to anyone who asks (6:30) breaks down patronclient hierarchies, but it also implies mutual care on the basis of need in close community life (Oakman 1991, 156). On the one hand, this conforms to general reciprocity, but the criterion of need also implies vertical general reciprocity. This means the distribution of resources from the advantaged to the disadvantaged on the basis of need. The series of terse sayings in 6:32-42 is roughly organized by a dialectical theme of abolishing hierarchical relationships established on the basis of behavior. Paul Ricoeur (1992) succinctly catches a similar social identity dialectic in the English title of his treatise Oneself as Another. The title is polysemous depending on the perspective of readers/hearers. As a subject one stands in relation to an other. But from the other’s point of view, one becomes an other in the object position. Without emphasizing the dialectic as does Ricoeur, Emmanuel Levinas (1999, 23) nevertheless reflects mutuality in identity in the encounter of one with the other. 50.  In the classic movie On the Waterfront(1954) Karl Malden plays the role of a Roman Catholic priest who defends laborers who work on the docks against corrupt union officials. At one point a thug hits him. He turns the other cheek, and the thug hits him again. Malden then says, “Now I have turned the other cheek,” and he proceeds to beat up the thug. He obviously misses the point that turning the other cheek is a focal instance that takes initiative away from the aggressor.

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In fact, instead of starting with an “I” who stands in relation to an other, as in Descartes’s “I think, therefore I am,” for Levinas the “I” is in the object position where the face of the other is “the original locus of meaning.” The first of Jesus’s terse dialectics in this series, doing the same to others as what you desire others to do to you, is widely known as his golden rule (6:31). Although similar admonitions appear elsewhere, they typically bear the marks of manipulating hierarchies of dominance that are evaluated on the basis of the conduct of others, especially “balanced reciprocity” (Nolland 1989, 298; Bock 1994, 596–97). Alan Kirk (2003, 667–86) has a strong argument that the golden rule must be understood within concrete realities of Greco-Roman reciprocity, because unless behavior that embodies the golden rule produces reciprocity, the rule cannot engender an alternative social vision. On the other hand, the golden rule is not expressed in terms of actual reciprocity. W. C. van Unnik (1966, 284– 300) documents the notion of giving with expectation to receive, as in 6:31, as thoroughly at home in ancient Mediterranean culture. But this changes radically. The dialectical series in 6:32-34 becomes enigmatic. Three rhetorical questions indicate that balanced reciprocity is unworthy of attributing praise to those who practice it. Loving in return of love from others (6:32), or the possibility of doing good in return for the good that one receives from others (6:33), or making loans in hope of receiving something from others not only is conventional but Jesus also describes such reciprocity as the behavior of sinners (6:32). Significantly, Jesus presents balanced reciprocity as the norm for an outgroup whereas he calls for general reciprocity for the ingroup, which according to 6:20 is his disciples. What appears most enigmatic is that rather than break down hierarchies of dominance, Jesus speaks of an established sociomoral hierarchy over “sinners.” His rhetorical questions of 6:32-34 are resolved by a condescending view that even sinners do the same. If this categorization of sinners as a class is taken as a qualification of Jesus’s relationships with sinners, whom he indeed calls to repentance (e.g., 5:29-32), it establishes a distinction between Jesus’s disciples as an ingroup and sinners as an outgroup, and thereby contributes to the social identity of both (Green 1997, 273; Wolter 2008, 259). But van Unnik’s documentation of balanced reciprocity, as in 6:31, as characteristic in the cultural encyclopedia implies that the outgroup, here sinners, is the culture at large, to which Jesus presents a stark alternative. In other words, loving those who love you and doing good to those who do good to you meets the cultural norms of balanced reciprocity, like “honor among thieves,” and Jesus’s saying expects the ingroup norms of his disciples to surpass this. In just this way Jesus does propose an alternative social vision. Rather than balanced or negative reciprocity, Jesus states his vision along the axis of desire. It means acting for the welfare of others not on the basis of inducing a benefit for oneself but on the basis of performing for others that which one desires for oneself—let the chips fall where they may. As is well known, Kant wished to universalize a similar view to treat others according to a maxim that one could hold to be a universal law (Thilly 1957, 443). In contrast to Kant, however, Luke’s form of the golden rule is at the microlevel of interpersonal relationships.

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But loving enemies (6:35) is something quite different. Like doing good and lending without expecting anything in return, loving enemies surpasses reciprocity. Ricoeur (1990, 392–97) perceptively describes this as the logic of superabundance, which he puts in opposition to the logic of equivalence. To be sure, this is a dialectical opposition, or as Ricoeur states it, a tension between reciprocity, which indeed is needed for the practice of justice, and the free gift that surpasses reciprocal obligation, and not one without the other. On the other hand, crucially 6:35 shifts the reasoning for doing good from being based in reciprocity with others to the social identity of being children of the Most High. Social identity theory anticipates a name for the ingroup, which Luke lacks as such. But “children of the Most High” is a very elevated functional equivalent (similarly Wolter 2008, 259). The Most High is kind even to those who are ungrateful and evil, and this is reiterated as the identity of being children who belong to this father who is merciful. The interpretive tradition overwhelmingly takes this as an ethic of imitation. But in the cultural encyclopedia, behavior, whether good or evil, derives from external forces (like father, like son), as when John the Baptizer addresses his audience as “offspring of vipers” (3:7) (“descent generates behavior,” see on 3:7 pp. 55–56 [Brawley 2016, 117–18]). The God who is identified as a parent is the source of the possibility, motivation, empowerment, and discernment for doing what is good (Brawley 2018b, 114). Green (1997, 271) appropriately expresses this thusly: “Luke unmistakably roots all expected behavior firmly in the character of God.” But Green then shifts the root for behavior to imitation of God (ibid., 275). In my view, this always winds up as a reductio ad absurdum. To use some language from Matthew, God’s children cannot “send rain on the just and the unjust” (Mt. 6:45). Sharon Ringe (1985, 10–15), however, offers an alternative to imitation ethics rather in the form of encounters with images of God’s nature (theocentric) in Christ (christological). Because the parent is merciful, the children who live out of a relationship with this God are enabled to become merciful (6:36). Tannehill (1986, 209) takes God’s mercy as setting the “standard” by which one is to live. I am making a distinction between encounters with God as the source of behavior and ingroup norms that set the “standard.” An encounter produces a dynamic relationship that exceeds what can be captured in a standard. The recompense of this behavior arising from an encounter is nothing other than obtaining the exceedingly elevated identity of children of God. The behavior of those who put justice into practice, however, also has one other recompense. The recompense of practicing justice with respect to others is to be treated justly in return. Humans are complicit in the problem of evil to such an extent that by whatever criteria they judge or condemn others, they also indict themselves. Thus moral hierarchies of dominance are undermined. In fact, forgiving others is always a counterpart of being forgiven (6:37-38). In an unusual way, as an ultimate consequence, behavior on behalf of others and forgiveness do possess a correspondence to balanced reciprocity. The parable about the blind leading the blind, as if traveling on the way of life, expresses an incongruity that disqualifies anyone from leading others on the

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basis of a hierarchy over them (6:39). This of course does not result in an inverted hierarchy so that a disciple comes to stand above a teacher. Rather when everyone achieves their purpose (καταρτίζω), all are just like the teacher (6:40). Wolter (2008, 263) summarily rejects the possibility that this saying has to do with the status of Jesus’s disciples with their teacher. But the parabolic nature of the saying and the structure of the argument support the conclusion that everyone who becomes like the teacher reflects a social identity like Paulo Freire’s “democratic humanism” (Aronowitz 1993, 8–9) that alters the relationship of learning from the dominance of the teacher over the student to a relationship of mutual interchange. First, students and teachers here are a focal instance (Tannehill [1975, 53, 67–77, and passim] in which the teacher is not allegorically christological any more than the blind of 6:39 are allegorically Jesus’s followers. Further, according to the line of thought, (a) the incongruity of the blind leading the blind negatively rules out a hierarchy. (b) But the incongruity of a student surpassing the teacher also rules out a hierarchy. (c) At this point the argument introduces the notion that when everyone achieves their purpose they are just like the teacher. (d) Finally, no sooner are disciples given the possibility of a status like that of their teacher than the brief parable that follows in 6:41-42 disciplines them for haughtiness. They are restrained from adopting stricter expectations for others than what pertains to themselves, like seeing a speck in the eye of another without noticing the log in their own eye. When Jesus addresses such a person as a hypocrite (6:42), it should be noted that hypocrisy is not merely the conflict between what one says and does but involves hidden presumptions of reality that underlie hierarchical social relationships as if concealed behind a mask. Bovon (2002, 250) takes hypocrisy to be an individual attitude, but this misses the social relationship with the other in 6:41-42. The stricter expectations pertain rather to students who not only rise to the level of their teacher but also evaluate themselves as superior to the level of the other (6:41-42). Such attitudes of superiority are hypocrisy because they are based on erroneous underlying assumptions that give (cultural) legitimacy to some people over others. The notion that behavior derives from its source is no longer reiterated in terms of parent and child, as in 6:35, but in the figuration of plants and their derivative fruit. A good tree does not produce rotten fruit; a rotten tree does not produce good fruit; thorns and briars do not produce figs and grapes (6:43-44). As is typical in biblical reasoning, deriving behavior from the influence of an external source does not stand over against personal responsibility, and this comes to expression as the flow of what is good from the treasure of the heart (6:45). On the other hand, behavior is also influenced by ingroup norms, and the exhortation to do what Jesus says (6:46-47) is clearly an appeal to ingroup norms as an external pole of identity for those who have Jesus as their lord,51 and having Jesus as their lord is 51.  The vocative here as Jesus’s reference to himself is not yet a title, Nolland (1989, 309) notwithstanding. Hence I have written this in lowercase.

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tantamount to a name for the ingroup. This too is reinforced by a brief parable. This ingroup identity embodies ingroup norms like a house built on a firm foundation. Otherwise, ingroup identity collapses like a house without a foundation in a flood (6:48-49). Luke 7:1-10. The hidden presuppositions underlying hierarchies of domination, about which Pierre Bourdieu speaks (1998), are exactly that. They belong to a level of assumptions that the culture presumes as axiomatic, but unlike authentic axioms they are culturally specific and the presumption that they are “natural” or universally true is subject to refutation. For social identity the issue is the way hidden presumptions function to build and sustain hierarchies of domination. One such hidden assumption is that benevolences on the part of the elite legitimate power and prestige,52 and this finds a prominent place in the healing of the centurion’s slave. After Jesus teaches about what life looks like in the βασιλεία of God (6:20-49), much of which challenges hierarchies of dominance, he actualizes his mission in healing the servant of a centurion. Multiple dynamics make the situation complex. Although Jesus’s saying about loving enemies (6:27) should include the gentile centurion, elders of the Ἰουδαῖοι takes pains to demonstrate that he is “worthy” (ἄξιος, 7:4) for Jesus to help him. The elders are engaging in cross categorizations (Hewstone, Islam, and Judd 1993, 779–93), that is, emphasizing what the centurion shares in common with the Ἰουδαῖοι. The complexity grows with the influence and power of the centurion and with his relationship to his slave. The narrator, the elders, and the centurion himself all elaborate his position in hierarchies of dominance. Although the centurion is off stage, he choreographs the entire scene. With heavy overtones of balanced reciprocity, which the Sermon on the Plain transcends, he has enough influence among elders of the Ἰουδαῖοι to send them as his emissaries. The elders appeal to Jesus on the basis of the centurion’s love of “our people” and his benefaction in constructing their synagogue, for which Jesus is expected to reciprocate. Apparently they also come to Jesus on the centurion’s behalf because they themselves are reciprocating for his relationship with them and his benefactions for the people of Capernaum (7:3-5). The centurion and elders cannot escape the context of imperial systems that Luke so clearly outlines in 1:5, 2:1-2, and 3:1-2. Especially 3:1-2 summarizes levels of a political hierarchy reaching down from the emperor to national and indigenous rulers. The system reaches down further and inevitably involves local leaders, such as the elders in Capernaum, who constitute a governing council and who as ruling Ἰουδαῖοι played roles of collaboration in imperial systems, which they demonstrate in their advocacy for the centurion. Thus, it is misleading to think of Jesus encountering imperial systems only in the face of the centurion. To be sure the centurion plays a prominent part in the systems. But so do the elders, who like the high priests in 3:2, collaborate in the system. For example, in 52. Aristotle (Pol. 6.1321a) advises the elite to practice benevolence precisely to influence the populace to tolerate their dominance over them.

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Capernaum the local elders were responsible for collecting tribute and taxes. The provincial government took 25–33 percent of the grain production and 50 percent of the fruit, to which the inhabitants would have to add a poll tax and the halfshekel temple tax (Hanson and Oakman 1998, 114–16). Collaboration is a twoway street. Local ethnic leaders must collaborate with governing systems, or they will lose their position among the elite as leaders. But Roman agents also need to curry the favor not only of the local leaders but also of the local populace. In other words, patron-client relationships produce hierarchies of power and influence that motivate the actors. Jesus’s proclamation of the βασιλεία of God also strongly qualifies what many interpreters think of as imperial mimicry. In proposing alternatives to the Empire, Jesus himself uses a political image, that is, βασιλεία. On the other hand, the characteristics that Jesus proposes for the βασιλεία of God (such as in the Sermon on the Plain or 22:25-26) determine what this βασιλεία looks like rather than allowing the imperial model to determine its character. But the hierarchies in which the centurion is involved are multifaceted. In fact, the narrator’s introduction of the centurion in 7:2 also implicates his hierarchical power over his mortally ill slave who is precious to him. The terms “slave” and “precious” may function in two ways. They can mean that the slave has a utilitarian value, or they can infer the personal endearment of the slave. The extent of the centurion’s actions implies the latter (Green 1997, 268).53 In this case slavery and endearment necessarily stand in complex tension with each other, and in that culture such endearment may have involved a same-sex erotic relationship.54 On the other hand, Wolter (2008, 269–70) judges a same-sex relationship to be unlikely, because in such a case for elders of the Ἰουδαῖοι to intervene on his behalf would be incompatible with their values. Not only is the centurion able to send a deputation of elders of Ἰουδαῖοι, he also claims to be part of a network of hierarchies of power and influence, so that he can persuade Jesus merely to “say the word” for his slave to be healed (7:7). He is able (a) to send another delegation of friends, (b) to spell out that he is immersed in hierarchies of dominance both above and below him (7:8), (c) to treat Jesus as being involved in a hierarchy of honor over him by claiming that he himself is not worthy (ἱκανός, 7:6) for Jesus to enter his dwelling, (d) to prescribe through his emissaries what Jesus should do, and (e) to say more in this incident than Jesus does (7:6-8). The evaluation of the centurion by this second delegation stands in some tension with the declaration of the first group of emissaries in that they report the centurion’s self-perception that he is “unworthy” (Bock 1994, 639–41), and this creates distance between him and Jesus. Green (1997, 288) 53.  Green substantiates his argument with references to Xenophon, Memorabilia 2.10.1 and Columella 12.3.6. 54.  Jennings and Liew (2004, 467–94) indicate the prominence of military arrangements of same-sex erotic relationship in connection with Matthew’s version of the incident. See also Gowler (2003, 116–18).

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takes the centurion as a model of deference in declaring himself unworthy, and this eases overtones of balanced reciprocity. But his asserting of his position over soldiers and his influence among the elders and friends as well as his deference best fit Pierre Bourdieu’s notion (1984, 163) of nested hierarchies of dominance both above and below him. He commands soldiers but is himself under authority (7:8). For Jesus all of this dramatizes faith to such an extent that he exclaims that the centurion’s faith exceeds what he has found in Israel (7:9). Each of these hierarchies functions as part of objective external poles of social identity. Further, the fact that the centurion is a gentile undermines a presumed hierarchy of Israel over non-Israelites. With respect to the healing itself, Jesus does nothing other than to begin to accompany the elders. Nothing in the story establishes when and how the healing takes place. Rather, the narrator highlights Jesus’s amazement at what the centurion says and does. In particular, he expresses the power of Jesus’s word. But without ever arriving at the point of speaking the word, Jesus identifies what the centurion has done as “faith.” It is not merely the centurion’s trust that Jesus can heal from a distance that constitutes faith. Rather, Jesus “reacts as a spectator . . . like the other spectators” (Bovon 2002, 263) to the whole array of the centurion’s actions and words, which dramatize faith. When Jesus declares that this faith exceeds what he has found in Israel (6:9), interpreters commonly find in his elevation of a gentile’s faith a criticism of unbelief in Israel (among others Fitzmyer 1981, 653). But because of the similarity of this dramatization of faith with the healing of the paralytic in 5:17-26, and the similarity of the role of elders of the Ἰουδαῖοι in this healing with the role of the men who brought the paralytic to Jesus (5:19-20), the comparison of the centurion’s faith with Israel’s can hardly indict Israel but rather enhances Jesus’s astonishment (similarly Wolter 2008, 271–73). Along this line of thought, the elders in Capernahum, that is, Israelites, are a part of the entire network that functions in solidarity for this healing. On other occasions Jesus’s deeds astound others; this incident astounds him. Coming as it does immediately after the Sermon on the Plain, I take the healing of the centurion’s slave and the centurion’s dramatization of faith to be demonstrative of the way an alternative way of life is lived in the βασιλεία of God in the midst of imperial systems with its multiple hierarchies of dominance. Luke 7:11-17. Although Nain is a village, Luke calls it a city toward which Jesus journeys along with a large contingent. As they near the entrance of the village, they encounter a funeral procession (7:11-12). The narrator’s voice alone succinctly informs readers that the only son of a widow has died, and he is being carried out of Nain, presumably to a burial site. In addition another large contingent accompanies her. This is sufficient to insinuate from the cultural encyclopedia that the woman, bereft of any male in her nuclear family, is now outside the normal delivery system for subsistence. Indeed, Bock (1994, 649) describes her graphically as an “orphaned parent.” Compassion motivates Jesus to take the initiative first to comfort the widow, and then to stop the procession, touch the bier, and command the son who had died to arise (7:13-14). He does, and the narrator credits Jesus with restoring him to his mother (7:15).

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At this point, when Luke says that the accompanying persons ἐδόξαζον τὸν θεόν, it means that they interpret the event as a manifestation of the power and care of God through a great prophet who has been sent to them (7:16). To be sure their interpretation constitutes a social evaluation of Jesus’s identity corresponding to what he has already acquired through his deeds. But their interpretation of his prophetic character also reinforces what is anticipated as early as Mary’s Magnificat (1:46-55), Zechariah’s Benedictus (1:68-79), and Jesus’s prophetic identity from the incident in Nazareth (4:16-30). Luke 7:18-23. The ensuing reports of what Jesus has done are enough to reach John the Baptizer, who has been out of sight since the notice of his imprisonment in 3:19-20, and he sends two disciples to ask Jesus if he is “the one who is to come” (7:18-19). The question appears twice word for word the same, first in the narrator’s indirect discourse recounting the sending (7:19), and then in the actual posing of the question in 7:20. Sigmund Mowinkel’s attempt to show that the phrase is a periphrastic messianic title in the cultural encyclopedia (1956; see also Hahn 1969, 380) has earned the judgment that evidence for his thesis is insufficient. Nevertheless, John’s question and Jesus’s response in ch. 7 bridge Luke’s thematic development between John’s prediction in 3:16 and Ps. 117:26 LXX (“Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord”), which is quoted later in 19:38. Moreover, in 3:15-16 the Baptizer’s anticipation of one who is to come as the messiah (ὁ χριστός) provides the literary confirmation that his question is about Jesus’s christological identity. Luke has composed the chapter with accounts that prepare for Jesus’s response to John. In rehearsing his varied deeds of power, Jesus points to many incidents that correspond to the anticipation of his ministry from the references to Isaiah in his inaugural address in Lk. 4:18-19. But here a narrator’s summary also mentions giving sight to the blind and raising the dead (7:21). To be sure, previous accounts have included healing stories. But no one who has died has been raised until the immediately preceding account of the raising of the son of the widow of Nain. Further, up to this point there has been no report of Jesus giving sight to the blind, and it is not until the Baptizer’s question has been framed in 7:20 that this narrator’s summary breaks into the sequence to report that Jesus had given sight to many who were blind (7:21). Thus in one sense, Jesus’s response is a non sequitur. John’s question arises because of the status that Jesus has acquired by means of his deeds, including the raising of the son of the widow of Nain, and Jesus tells John’s messengers to report back to him the very deeds that generated his question (7:22). But this means that John is not asking about the acquired honor attributed to Jesus but the significance of it. Still Jesus’s response is circular and allusive: “Report to John what you have seen and heard” (7:22). This is ironic in that readers of Luke know more than John about Jesus’s ascribed identity, including the voice at his baptism, which in the narrative is addressed to Jesus alone (3:22). But readers/hearers also know about Jesus’s identity from the voices of unclean spirits (4:33, 41). This should be informative even for modern Christology in that Luke’s Jesus bases his identity not on who he is in an ontic sense but on what he does. Jesus’s message to John is about functional Christology.

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Jesus sets off his response to the Baptizers inquiry with a beatitude in the form of a litotes: “Blessed is anyone who takes no affront in me” (7:23). The negative expresses a positive, at the center of which is the verb σκανδαλίζω, which in the Septuagint as well as the New Testament is especially used with reference to a relationship with God. A “scandal” is a cause of falling away from God, which certainly can be measured on the scale of honor and shame, and which in this case is the antithesis of following Jesus (Stählin 1971, 345, 349). The Baptizer has no need for the deeds of Jesus to be affirmed, but the litotes supports the significance of them as identifying Jesus as God’s anointed one (messiah). Luke 7:24-30. The Baptizer’s inquiry then becomes an occasion for Jesus to speak about John’s significance. Notably he simply presumes the association of John with the wilderness, where his audience encountered him (7:24). Jesus initiates his remarks with three rhetorical questions, for each of which he provides or implies hypothetical answers. Did you go out to see a reed blowing in the wind? Or a man in soft clothing? Or a prophet? (7:24-26). The first is dropped without comment, the second is contradicted by Jesus’s own comment that those who are dressed in splendor and luxury are in palaces, and the third is developed positively in terms of John’s function as more than a prophet. The first is an affirmation that unlike a weed merely blowing insignificantly in the wind, John’s ministry was momentous, indeed as is soon to follow, it was epoch making (7:24, 28). The second contrasts John with imperial elites in palaces (7:25), who constitute a hierarchy of dominance with respect to economics and status. These elites in palaces comprised certainly no more than the top one percent of the population of the Roman Empire (Friesen 2004, 340–41, 347). Jesus then summarizes John’s role as more than a prophet in Luke 3 as the one whom God sends ahead of “you” (singular) to prepare “your” way before “you” (Mal. 3:1; Lk. 7:27). On the one hand, this can be interpreted as John’s preparation of the way Jesus is to follow. But in 1:17 Gabriel has designated John’s task to be the preparation of the people (Bock 1994, 674). This earns Jesus’s evaluation that no one is greater among humans (those born of women) than John. With the emphasis I am making on hierarchies of dominance, it is pertinent to notice that Jesus does not make John the greatest (superlative) among humans (against Bock, 675). Rather, he allows that no other is greater (comparative) than he (7:28), which actually frustrates hierarchies of prominence. That Jesus is democratizing the human race should be abundantly clear when we consider that of necessity he must include himself among those born of women (7:28). Because in the remainder of the verse Jesus says that the least in God’s commonwealth is greater than John, many interpreters exclude the Baptizer from the βασιλεία of God (e.g., Conzelmann 1961, 18–27; Wolter 2008, 283). In the first place, in terms of “the things that have happened among us” in 1:1, there can be no question of a break in continuity in what happens in Luke from Zechariah to Jesus’s ascension. In fact, Luke drives the continuity all the way back to God’s creation of Adam (3:23-38). In the second place, I consider the line of thought to be much more subtle. The first part of the sentence compares John with humanity in terms of conventional hierarchies of dominance and evens them out.

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With respect to the second part of the sentence, it needs to be clarified that the nominalized adjective βασίλειον, which appears in 7:25, is a second declension equivalent of the first declension βασιλεία, which is attested in multiple sources (e.g., compare 2 Clem. 9.6 [βασιλεία] with 2 Clem. 17.5 [βασίλειον] [BDF; BDAG]). Jesus’s comments compare the Baptizer with those who live luxuriously in conventional kingdoms (βασιλείοις, 7:25). In light of this it should be clear that the phrase “in the βασιλεία of God” modifies the verb rather than “the least”: The way things are “in the βασιλεία of God the least is greater than he” (7:28). That is, the comparison is between conventional hierarchies of dominance and the βασιλεία of God. In other words John’s mission in the wilderness undermines the kingdoms of those who rule in luxury. To reiterate, the βασιλεία of God means the leveling out of conventional social hierarchies. In this sense, Jesus and John are engaged in the same enterprise, “a common front on equal terms” (Wink 2002, 87, emphasis original). Although Fitzmyer (1981, 670) assumes that Jesus gives way to the narrator and is no longer speaking in 7:28-30, Wolter (2008, 284) shows that it is far more likely that Jesus still addresses the crowds of 7:24. Thus, the most compelling evidence that the Baptizer belongs in the βασιλεία of God is that Jesus continues to rehearse his ministry and its effects positive and negative (7:29-30). By and large the people, including revenue collectors, accepted God’s dealings with them in justice and were baptized, which by implication with what follows, meant accepting God’s purpose (βουλή). But some Pharisees and lawyers rejected John’s baptism and thereby rejected God’s purpose. To reiterate, in the context God’s purpose is the practice of justice especially as this is manifested in leveling hierarchies of dominance. This flashback to John’s baptism has an intriguing relationship to Matthew’s version of his ministry. Matthew’s account names Pharisees and Sadducees whom John labels “offspring of vipers” (Mt. 3:7), whereas Luke does not mention them (Lk. 3:7). But surprisingly in Matthew these Pharisees and Sadducees are among those who are baptized (Mt. 3:11, “I am baptizing you in water for repentance”). If Q names some Pharisees as those who are baptized, then Luke cannot be referring to them but to other Pharisees. This is one of the reasons that Lk. 7:30 should be translated: “When [specific] Pharisees and lawyers were not baptized by John, they rejected God’s purpose for themselves.”55 Luke 7:31-35. Jesus then employs the simile of the children in the marketplace to characterize the behavior of “this generation” (7:31-32). Conventionally, ἡ γενεὰ αὗτη (7:31) is taken to mean Jesus’s contemporaries. But several clues support taking γενεά in its more literal sense as the process of generation, which in the cultural encyclopedia applies to the genesis of behavior as well. (a) Jesus has 55.  Luke differentiates among Pharisees and does not represent them as monolithically hostile. Thus the participle μὴ βαπτισθέντες is not concessive as in the NRSV translation “because” (Brawley 2018b, 111–12). The temporal circumstance is preferable as in the translation in the text given earlier. These are certainly not “the leaders of Israel” (as in Bovon 2002, 285).

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just made a distinction between “all of the people who heard” John, including revenue collectors, and those Pharisees and lawyers who rejected John’s baptism. Those who accepted John’s baptism do not belong to “this (process of) generation,” that is, those whose behavior is characterized as engendered by the rejection of God’s purpose. (b) The inferential particle οὖν (7:31) links “this (process of) generation” with the behavior of those Pharisees and lawyers who rejected John’s baptism. (c) Consequently, the demonstrative αὗτη has an antecedent, namely, the behavior of those Pharisees and lawyers, which is thus designated as deriving from “this (process of) generation.” (d) The simile of the children in the marketplace continues the discussion of the rejection of God’s purpose, which is manifest in the criticism of both the Baptizer and Jesus by some who labeled John demonic and Jesus a “friend” of revenue collectors and sinners (7:31-34). (e) The entire section is summarized with another image of the determination of behavior by the source that engenders it, that is, genuine wisdom is manifest as the generative source of behavior by all of her offspring (7:35). Simon Gathercole (2003, 476–88) has proposed an intriguing alternative, namely, that Jesus reproaches his critics because they have separated Wisdom from John and Jesus, whom Wisdom sent as her children. Either way, the nuance of “this generation” includes the process of generating behavior. In social identity terms, those associated with Jesus and the Baptizer embody the norms of their ingroup. The process of generating behavior that is engendered by the rejection of God’s purpose characterizes the outgroup. Luke 7:36-50. The change in scene to the home of a certain Pharisee, presumably in Nain, is a dramatic shift. Simon is an urban householder who is the first of three Pharisees to host Jesus. Incidentally, in Luke only Pharisees host Jesus multiple times. Further, the notice that Jesus reclines with other guests at the meal distinguishes the setting from lower classes, who typically did not recline (Lucian, Symposium, 13; Athenaeus, Deipnosophists, X.428B; Cicero, Sen. 13.4514.46). Given my understanding of 7:30 as “when Pharisees and lawyers were not baptized by John, they rejected God’s purpose for themselves,” Simon the Pharisee cannot be identified as one who rejected John’s baptism (against Nolland 1989, 353). I concur with Green (1997, 307–308) who gives eight reasons that Simon is not to be understood as one who rejects God’s purposes: (a) The Pharisees cannot be taken as stereotyped characters any more than other literary ficelles, such as the people; (b) Luke-Acts leaves open the possibility that the character of someone such as Simon can be revised; (c) Luke’s portrayal of Pharisees varies (see also Brawley 2018b); (d) Simon’s hosting of Jesus as a guest does not fit a Pharisee who rejects him; (e) Simon is amenable to consideration of Jesus as a prophet; (f) Jesus engages Simon personally; (g) Jesus encounters Simon in mutuality in order to persuade him; (h) Luke leaves the episode open without stipulating how Simon responded. To set the scene socially, as with other Pharisees whom readers have encountered, Simon the Pharisee presumes social hierarchies based on socioreligious norms. Meals bolster similarities among an ingroup and differences from an outgroup (Hogg and Abrams 1999, 9), and in fact, Plutarch warns against mixing people of different social standing at meals (Questiones Conviviales, VII.6.708). But here

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the mixing of status is dramatized by Simon on the one hand and a woman whom the narrator characterizes as a sinner in the city on the other. Moreover, where Jesus stands in conventional socioreligious hierarchies, especially with respect to his prophetic identity, dominates the plot. On the one hand, the unusual behavior of the woman who anoints Jesus’s feet with ointment, wets them with her tears, dries them with her hair, and kisses them precipitates a crisis at the meal. Otfried Hofius (1990, 170–77) has convincingly demonstrated from the cultural background that it was not a customary expectation for a host to offer to wash a guest’s feet. But it could be an extraordinary act of respectful love. Thus there is no reproach of Simon as if he had omitted a common courtesy. On the other hand, far from considering the woman’s behavior as an act of respectful love, this Pharisee thinks that the woman’s extravagant behavior confirms her status as a ἁμαρτωλός. This is an example of what has been called the “meta-contrast theory” (Oakes, Haslam, and Reynolds 1999, 58) according to which a set of characteristics, in this case the items of the woman’s behavior including her reputation, are lumped together in categorizing her. This is tied up with Jesus’s standing as it surfaces in Simon’s internal monologue: “If this man were a prophet, he would know who and what kind of woman is touching him, namely, that she is a sinner” (7:39). Consequently, his internal monologue repeats the narrator’s categorization of the woman in 7:37. This is also anticipated in social dominance theory that holds that all social institutions and cultures involve forms of hierarchies, and that cultural ideologies sustain hierarchies (Operario and Fiske, 1999, 43–48; see also Bourdieu 1998). In other words, Simon expects the woman’s disreputable status to legitimate his hierarchical socioreligious dominance over her. Bock (1994, 694, 698) takes Jesus’s response to Simon as a rebuke. What the text emphasizes, however, is a dialogue in the form of a mutual interchange. Jesus opens the dialogue by saying, “Simon, I have something to say to you” to which the Pharisee replies in with a respectful title for Jesus, “Teacher, tell [me]” (7:40). Jesus then takes his part in the dialogue to tell a parable of a creditor who releases two debtors, one with a large debt and the other with a small debt. The outcome is: “The remission of large debts can transform a great distance into an impressive proximity” (Wolter 2008, 294, author’s translation). Given antecedents in the context, this incident reiterates the characterization of Jesus as one who eats with revenue collectors and sinners, which is on his own lips immediately before this incident in 7:35. But now readers/hearers know that this must be amalgamated with eating with Pharisees also. With respect to Jesus, Simon’s internal monologue constitutes a challenge to his honor. With respect to the woman, Simon’s categorization is a clear case of relating to another not on an individual basis but on the basis of associating her with a conglomerate group (Abrams 1999, 197). Thus, with his categorization of the woman Simon presumes both a socioreligious hierarchy and a male-female hierarchy (Klinghardt 1996, 99–109; see Irigaray 1993, 118, 143). As on some previous occasions (e.g., 5:31-32; 5:34-39) Jesus’s parable is an attempt to persuade his interlocutor (Brawley 2018b, 112–13). Roland Meynet

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(1994, 267–80) delineates how by means of the dialogue Jesus repeatedly endeavors to persuade Simon: (a) In the parable, the creditor takes the initiative for cancelling the debts both great and small. Correspondingly, although the debtors react to a greater and less degree, nevertheless both respond with love. (b) When Jesus turns to the woman, he still appeals to Simon directly. When he invites him also to turn to her, he still addresses him: “Do you see this woman?” To digress momentarily, social identity experiments have demonstrated that instructing members of ingroups to take note of the attributes of individual members of outgroups reduces bias against them (Bettencourt et al. 1992, 317). Moreover, Jesus does this when he asks Simon to observe the woman and her actions of bathing and anointing his feet (7:44-46). Thereby, Jesus entreats the Pharisee to regard the woman anew as if a mirror in which to see himself. (c) Jesus relates the parable for Simon’s sake: “I have something to tell you.” (d) If the woman’s pardon entails her love, Simon’s pardon should entail his love. (e) Other guests declare the issue of the episode: “Who is this who forgives sin?” (f) The way the story is told compels Simon to include himself as one of the debtors, that is, as one whose sins are also forgiven (see also Brawley 2018b, 113). This also is effectively a construal of a superordinate category, namely, the category of those who are forgiven. And the effect of this superordinate category is that it breaks down the differences that presumably legitimate Simon’s hierarchy of dominance over the woman (see Bettencourt et al. 1992, 318). Empirical studies of ingroup-outgroup behavior indicate that focusing on personal characteristics and individualizing features of specific members of outgroups produces effects that are beneficial in moving toward superordinate mutuality (Bettencourt et al. 1992, 312–18). Correspondingly, what Jesus does is to concentrate even more meticulously on the very behavior that Simon took to be scandalous. It can scarcely be overemphasized that by means of her extravagant behavior, the woman dramatizes what Jesus calls “faith” (7:50). Once again, faith is not expressed in terms of cognitive verbal propositions. Rather, it is demonstrated in concrete action. By the end of the incident readers/hearers deduce that according to Simon’s criteria, Jesus is indeed a prophet who does know who and what sort of woman was touching him. In fact, she plays a role that corresponds to one of the least who now belongs to the βασιλεία of God as defined by Jesus’s comparison of the least to John the Baptizer in 7:28. Also as indicated above, at the conclusion other guests highlight the question of Jesus’s identity: “Who is this who also forgives sins?” (7:49). Notably, these anonymous guests become participants in pondering Jesus’s identity by what he does. That is, they are incipient participants in Luke’s functional Christology. But Jesus also determines the identity of others on the basis of what they do. Above all, he endorses the woman’s dramatic demonstration of faith: “Your faith has saved you. Go in peace” (7:50). Social identity theory also deals with how someone may change associations with groups. For example, cooperative interdependence can undercut competition and hostility (Operario and Fiske 1999, 43). As indicated above on 1:24-25, Tajfel (1978a, 86–97) identifies several possible strategies for changing groups. (a) If

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boundaries are permeable, one may pass from a subordinate group with negative value to a dominant group, that is, one may assimilate. (b) It is possible to emphasize distinctions and even to create new ones in order give prominence and positive value to distinctiveness. (c) It is possible to reinterpret negative evaluations. (d)  It is possible to increase direct competition (see also Giles 1978, 385–86). What happens at the meal in Simon’s house is primarily Jesus’s reinterpretation of negative evaluations. He does so by greatly intensifying the prominence of the woman’s distinctive behavior and attributing a positive value to it. The episode ends without specifying an outcome. Nevertheless, Jesus’s reasoning by way of a parable corresponds to the narrative’s evaluative point of view that Jesus was a persuasive teacher. Therefore, Bovon (2002, 291) effectively points out that this dialogue with Simon “was filled with a loving desire to persuade him,” and the door remains open that Simon could have been persuaded. I concur with Tannehill (1994, 33) and Green (1997, 307–308, 312–15) who dismiss a negative evaluation of Simon in favor of an open ending. One further remark is warranted. Jesus’s dismissal of the woman in peace is another milestone on the way of peace that is initiated in Zechariah’s canticle in 1:79. Freedom from a socioreligious hierarchy of dominance with the possible resolution of conflict between Simon and the woman show readers/hearers what peace looks like. Luke 8:1-3. The narrator takes up once again the nature of Jesus’s mission as described in 4:43 of going through cities and villages “good-newsing” them and preaching the βασιλεία of God. But a new twist is that women act like the twelve as disciples and perform the function of “deacons” (διακονέω, 8:1). Three women who have been cured from evil spirits and illnesses are named—Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Susanna—but there are many others. Joanna is identified as the spouse of Chouza who is designated as a representative of Herod Antipas, although his precise status cannot be determined (Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 131). These women have resources at their disposal and serve as benefactors of Jesus and the twelve. The juxtaposition of their being healed with their function as deacons could be taken as balanced reciprocity, but more likely both are general reciprocity. This is to say that just as Jesus’s healings are a response to need, so also is the service of these women who respond to Jesus like the woman in the house of Simon the Pharisee (7:36-50). “[Jesus’s] graciousness toward these women is not repaid by their benefactions; rather, his graciousness is mirrored in theirs” (Green 1997, 319). Given the prominence of certain women elsewhere in the world of Ἰουδαῖοι contemporaneous with Jesus (Nolland 1989, 366) their role is hardly unique. Nevertheless, as will be apparent, Mary Magdalene and Joanna are prominent in Luke’s resurrection account, Joanna is surprisingly close to collaborative imperial systems,56 and the resources of the women imply their prominence. Their role in serving Jesus and the twelve with their resources certainly tests hierarchies of dominance based on gender and contribute to a distinct group identity. 56.  Some interpreters speculate that she had left her husband to follow Jesus (see Bovon 2002, 301), but this remains speculation.

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Luke 8:4-18. The party of itinerant disciples gathers together with a large crowd of travelers to form the audience for the parable of the sower (8:4-8). Unlike many of Jesus’s parables that essentially reason with his interlocutors, this one provides teaching relatively free from a context, which Jesus then explains to his disciples. The simple plot involves only one person who sows seed, the destiny of which is determined solely by the type of soil upon which it falls (Fitzmyer 1981, 712). The text offers little to control an interpretation of the parable. But an attentive audience of the Gospel of Luke already has clues in the imagery of growth and bearing fruit, first from John the Baptizer (3:8-9) and second when Jesus virtually plagiarizes John’s theme of bearing fruit in 6:43-44. By means of the figure of God’s raising up children of Abraham, the Baptizer makes bearing fruit derivative from God (see above on 3:8-9, p. 56), which is also implicit in Jesus’s affirmation of an identity that is engendered by an encounter with God. Luke 6:35 has a name for this identity. Those who live out of a relationship with God are named “children of the Most High” (see above on 6:35 p. 86), and the behavior that this engenders in people is comparable to the production of fruit from plants (6:43-45). The heart of the parable is therefore the relationship between the βασιλεία of God and its recipients with its consequent effects among them toward its ultimate fulfillment, which at this moment is still hidden (Schröter 1997, 314). But Luke does not let the matter rest there and the explanation of the parable to Jesus’s disciples (8:9-15) follows an allegorical schema according to which the seed has become the word of Jesus’s proclamation. Further, according to the allegorical schema, the parable, which originally has only one actor, becomes populated with distinct types of hearers who face obstacles for the growth of the seed—the devil, the time of testing, the cares, wealth, and pleasure of life. These obstacles likely insinuate group norms for early followers of Jesus (Bovon 2002, 310), especially the norms of constancy and persistence of faith in the midst of trials (Fitzmyer 1981, 713). According to this allegorical schema, Jesus’s disciples in the developing plot of Luke often fare poorly. They are like the seed that flourishes for a while, but they fail in the time of testing. This, however, reveals the shortcomings of the allegorical explanation of the parable, because it has nothing that correlates with the redemptive power that produces restoration beyond failure. Jesus’s explanation of the purpose of speaking in parables (8:9-10) categorizes the disciples as an ingroup in contrast to the many (οἱ λοιποί) who constitute an outgroup. The different relationships that the two groups have with Jesus are determined by God’s gift (δέδοται, divine passive), and the cohesiveness of the ingroup depends on access to the mysteries of the βασιλεία of God. The content of these mysteries for insiders is indicated by three things. One is a citation from Isa. 6:9-10, the second is the explanation of the parable, and the third is the context in Lk. 8:16-18. To take the second first, the specification of obstacles to the growth of the word is quite banal and devoid of concrete instances. Luke’s citation from Isaiah is in intertextual interplay with a precursor text which essentially makes a distinction between mere “hearing” and actual “heeding.” The crux of Jesus’s statement is whether he purposefully hides mysteries of the βασιλεία of God from the outgroup. The translation of the ἵνα clause as result (“so that”) rather than

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purpose (“in order that”) makes little difference in that if Jesus knows that his parables will not be understood by outsiders, then speaking in parables still hides the mysteries from them (Wolter 2008, 307). But, in addition, an astonishing inversion in 8:16-18 throws a new perspective on everything that has been said about the ingroup. The light in the parable of the Lamp has as its purpose that those who enter will see it (8:16). Notably, the seeing of this light parallels God’s gift of the knowledge of mysteries to the disciples (8:10). However, the mysteries are modified because there is nothing hidden that is not to be disclosed and nothing secret that is not to be made known (8:17). Consequently, the role of those in the ingroup to whom the mysteries are given is to disclose the realities of the βασιλεία of God that are present in Jesus’s ministry. To be sure, the fulfillment of the βασιλεία of God is now hidden as a mystery, but the task of insiders is to make known what is secret, so that outsiders will become insiders and indeed bear fruit. If, however, insiders do not make known what is secret, they violate group norms and are perilously close to becoming outsiders. On the one hand, the boundaries between the disciples and the others are porous (Green 1997, 326),57 but the ending of 8:18 reiterates the contrast between the ingroup and the outgroup. Those who are in the position of having received what is represented by light and the gift of revelation receive even more, whereas those who are deprived of light and revelation and are further divested. Wolter (2008, 312) takes this metaphorically as salvation and perdition at the final judgment. But this also fits into the task of disciples to make the mysteries of the βασιλεία of God known to outsiders. Threats of judgment increase uncertainty, and one impetus for joining a group is to reduce uncertainty along with the enhancement of selfesteem by means of a positive evaluation of social identity (Hogg and Mullin 1999, 258). Luke 8:19-21. The inversion of inside and outside on the basis of hearing and heeding the word of God continues under the umbrella of kinship. A report comes to Jesus that his mother and brothers are outside (ἔξω, 8:20) and wish to see him. The notion that Jesus’s ἀδελφοί could be Jesus’s relatives rather than his siblings (Fitzmyer 1981, 724) is extremely unlikely in that these ἀδελφοί are associated with Jesus’s mother and not their own mothers. The parallel in Mk 3:33-35 implies that Jesus gives priority over his family to the people around him who do the will of God. Quite in contrast, in Luke Jesus’s kin in the nuclear family become a template of those who hear the word of God and do it (8:21). Still, the saying challenges hierarchies of dominance in the family. It also democratizes the bonds of kinship, which Bovon (2002, 315) calls “elective kinship.” Rather than the priority that cultural norms grant to blood kinship, elective kinship implies that his mother and brothers are also subject to the same criteria of hearing and heeding God’s word. Luke 8:22-25. Although the following episode is usually titled “stilling the storm,” the focus is much more on the dramatization of the behavior of the disciples that evokes Jesus’s question, “Where is your faith?” (8:25). Whereas in 57.  On boundaries that are permeable, see Tajfel (1978a, 86–97).

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the cases of the friends of a paralytic (5:17-26) or the centurion in Capernaum (7:2-10) or the woman who was a sinner in Nain (7:36-50), behavior dramatizes what Jesus subsequently calls faith, the disciples’ behavior dramatizes what Jesus identifies as fear, which is equivalent to a lack of faith. Conventionally, the story manifests Jesus’s power over nature. However, in a situation of danger (8:23) the disciples do not manifest the spirit of life but the spirit of death: “We are perishing” (8:24). In keeping with the preceding line of thought in the chapter, they stand on the threshold between inside and outside. Nevertheless, the disciples also interpret the event in terms of Jesus’s identity, about which they can only marvel in awe, but they do so in terms of Jesus’s functions. Thus, this is another case of Luke’s functional Christology. The disciples ponder who Jesus is by and because of what he does. Luke 8:26-39. Jesus’s arrival in another region (8:26) marks a significant shift, and yet this is the chronological conclusion to the voyage that included the disciples’ fear in the face of the storm (8:22-25). Jesus’s sojourn in country of the Gerasenes on the eastern side of the Sea of Galilee is his only excursion into gentile territory in Luke, but it hardly constitutes what could be called a gentile mission. In other words, this territory never becomes a place where Jesus “belongs.” In this ambiguous territory, Jesus encounters a man who in today’s terms is obviously mentally ill. Luke’s description is that he has many demons. He is permanently improperly clothed, but he is not naked as is often assumed. In a two garment society he does not have on an outer garment (ἱμάτιον) but only his underwear (χίτων) (Wolter 2008, 317), which also is an expression of his poverty and status as an outcast (Stegemann and Stegemann, 1999, 93). Moreover, to express his situation as an oxymoron, he lives in the place where the dead belong (8:27). In the previous episode the disciples had manifested the spirit of death (8:24) rather than the spirit of life. All the more, here the symbolic voice of this man’s habitual living among the dead can hardly be ignored. Conspicuously, he initiates a dialogue by which he attempts to distance himself from Jesus. But like others who are demon possessed, he also has insight into Jesus’s identity. In 1:3132 Gabriel predicts that Mary’s son will be called Jesus and the son of the Most High. But this makes the irony of Jesus’s identity run high because this disturbed Gerasene is the only character in all of Luke who addresses him in this manner (Ἰησοῦ υἱὲ τοῦ θεοῦ τοῦ ὑψίστου 8:28). Jesus’s identity is also denoted by antithetical relationships, a case of which is indicated by his encounter with the disturbed Gerasene. Quite in contrast to suppliants like the leper in 5:12 who appeal to Jesus for empathy and aid, this man demands that Jesus have nothing to do with him. Precisely in response to this appeal for separation, Jesus counters and initiates a relationship with him by asking his name, to which he replies, “Legion” (8:30). This of course is the name of a large contingent of Roman soldiers, and the association between this man’s disorder and his condition of being one of the vanquished people under imperial powers can hardly be mere coincidence (Theissen 1983, 255–56; Horsley 2003, 100–101). Significantly, Jesus is portrayed as antithetical to the man’s malady that prevails under the conditions of imperial oppression.

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The narrator makes it clear that it is the demons who request not to be commanded to depart into the abyss but to enter into a herd of swine, which then drown themselves in the lake. Some interpreters saddle Jesus with responsibility for the deaths of the swine. However, it is not he but the demons who request to take possession of the swine, and then the demons drive the herd into the sea (Bock 1994, 777). Their destiny is like the saying “be careful what you wish for” (8:31-33). In fact, there is further correspondence between the name “Legion” and the drowning swine in that the Ἰουδαῖοι of the time labeled Romans “swine,” and the mascot on the standards of the tenth Roman legion Fretensis, which was stationed in Syria-Palestine, and by whose hands Jerusalem was destroyed in 70 CE, was a boar (Bovon 2002, 329; Carter 2006, 17). The standard form-critical element of confirmation in exorcism stories and healings has several facets here. (a) The man no longer dwells in the place of the dead but sits properly clothed and in sound mind at Jesus’s feet; (b) eyewitnesses tell the people of the region what had happened; (c) they in turn interpret the event with the spirit of fear rather than the spirit of life (like Jesus’s disciples in 8:22-25) and ask Jesus to leave; (d) and in response to the man’s request to be with Jesus, Jesus interprets the event by telling the man to recount the great things God had done for him. So the man himself “preaches” (κηρύσσων) the great things Jesus had done for him. The parallelism between Jesus’s instructions for him to tell the great things God had done, and the man’s proclamation of what Jesus had done clearly indicates that the latter means what God had done through Jesus (8:36-39). The identities of both Jesus and the disturbed man are illuminated. Jesus’s identity is embellished positively by what he has accomplished in this gentile region and antithetically by the destruction of powers of evil, including overtones of imperial hierarchies of dominance. The man is no longer disturbed but newly manifests the spirit of life at home in his city (8:30). Although it goes unexpressed in the narrative, assuredly his name is no longer Legion. Luke 8:40-56. Another geographical shift locates Jesus back in Galilean territory, but the themes of the spirit of life versus the spirit of fear and death continue with intensity alongside the intersection of hierarchies of dominance. This passage contains the raising of Jairus’s daughter into which the healing of a woman who touched Jesus’s garment is intercalated (8:43-48). This arrangement constrains Luke’s readers/hearers to hold up each incident as a lens through which to consider the other. Like an audience in a theater, a crowd observes the drama, but only partially because at the end Jesus, Peter, John, James, Jairus, and his wife move behind a curtain as if it were where Jairus’s daughter is (8:51-56). The two incidents are bound together first by maladies. At the beginning of the episode Jairus’s twelve-year-old daughter, his only daughter (a detail that is reminiscent of the widow of Nain’s only son in 7:12), is at the threshold of death. A synagogue leader approaches Jesus deferentially by falling down at his feet, which is an external ascription that enhances Jesus’s status in what Jairus assumes to be a hierarchy of dominance (Bovon 2002, 337). As we will see, he himself holds prominent places in nested hierarchies of dominance. He voices a supplication for Jesus to come with him to his house for his daughter’s sake, and they set out on the

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way with the crowd (8:41-42). But then a suffering woman, who is simultaneously the counterpart of both Jairus and his daughter, interrupts this story line. Verses 42 and 43 juxtapose the daughter and the woman; for the entire duration of the daughter’s twelve years of life, the woman has been suffering from a persistent, incurable flow of blood that implicitly indicates that she faces the danger of death,58 so that there is a correspondence with the twelve-year-old’s perilous condition. The daughter has as her advocate a prominent father, a leader of a synagogue who is conspicuously named, high in the hierarchies of religion, political power, and gender, who approaches Jesus man-to-man, so to speak. The unnamed woman with the flow of blood has no advocate, and she, subdominant in gender and health, approaches Jesus from behind without voice.59 On the other hand, whereas Jesus stands out in Jairus’s story, the woman plays the leading role in hers. Jesus is in the background occupied with Jairus. On her own initiative she sneaks a touch on the fringe of his garment, unseen, unknown, but not unnoticed. She perceives immediately that the flow of blood has stopped (8:44-45), and simultaneously Jesus perceives that someone has touched him: “Who is the one who touched me?” (8:45). Prominent interpreters take Jesus’s prescience that someone has touched him as a self-affirmation of his power (e.g., Robbins 1991, 512–13). On the other hand, the touch of an other thwarts his ability to claim proprietorship. The woman’s initiative to touch demonstrates her own claim to have access to healing, which is then turned into power such that Jesus gives the interpretation that he recognized that the touch drew power from him (8:46). But this drama is not complete until the woman breaks her silence and becomes a subject who occupies the stage as a public speaker. She enters her new situation with trembling (8:47). Group socialization theory posits that changing status from a marginal group to one that is socially approved involves risks, and someone who seeks to change status faces a decision of whether or not the benefits outweigh the costs (Brown 2000, 26–27; Levine and Moreland 1994, 305–36). Thus, the woman’s trembling likely reflects that the risk of being judged negatively may outweigh the benefits of violating social norms. Nevertheless, she overcomes her trembling, announces the reason for touching Jesus, and proclaims before all the people that she has been healed (8:47). A further conclusion of group socialization theory is that not only is the newly accepted person changed but the group likewise undergoes change. “Jesus has a function as a healer of her body and the social body” (Weissenrieder 2002, 75, author’s translation). This is borne out by the continuation of the story. Only then does Jesus recognize that like the friends of the paralytic in 5:19-20, the centurion in Capernaum in 7:7-9, and the woman who was a sinner in the house of Simon 58.  Weissenrieder (2002, 75–85) demonstrates that in comparison with Mark, Luke avoids the purity terminology of Leviticus 15 and stresses rather the severity of the woman’s malady, the longevity of which implies that she is under the threat of death. 59.  On the feminine character of closed lips, see Irigaray 1993, 100.

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in 7:37-50, and unlike the fearful disciples in 8:23-25, this woman’s actions and public proclamation dramatize her faith. So in retrospect he calls her “daughter,” which integrates her anew into a socially approved group. Further, he declares that her faith has saved (healed) her. To be sure what Jesus designates as faith involves her proclamation of why she touched Jesus and how she was healed. Nevertheless, her speaking in spite of her fear is a part of her faith that is dramatized more than it is confessed. Jesus then endorses her demonstration of faith and reintegration into the established social order with his farewell blessing: “Go in peace” (8:48). All of the public aspects of this woman’s experience form an external pole of evaluation that contributes to her perception of her own identity as someone who has been healed and reintegrated into her community. When the narrator resumes the story of Jairus’s daughter, it is shocking that the restoration of the woman’s life coincides with the daughter’s death (8:49). When Jesus hears this, he says, “Do not fear, only have faith, and she will be saved (made well)” (8:50). Given the intercalation of the two episodes, to what extent does the story of the healing of the woman with the flow of blood cast light on the correlation of this newly designated daughter with Jairus and his daughter? Does the woman’s dramatization of faith not impact both Jesus and Jairus, so that Jesus appeals at this point for Jairus to have faith like the faith demonstrated by the woman who touched his garment?60 The woman’s dramatization and Jesus’s proclamation of her faith invert socioreligious and gender hierarchies. Indeed, she demonstrates faith that both enlightens and impresses Jesus and consequently Jairus. Then Jesus enhances the prominence of the woman’s identity by sanctioning her dramatization of faith. In John Turner’s terms (2005, 10–11), by embodying prototypically group norms of faith, she thereby exercises a power that is reflected in the kind of faith that Jesus then encourages Jairus to have (8:50) (Lee 2013). The deconstruction of a hierarchy of gender begs for comment. Obviously, that Jesus names the woman “daughter” makes a momentous change in both poles of social identity: (a) her understanding of herself, (b) the community’s evaluation of her, and (c) the character of the community itself. The woman gains new aspects of her identity, and the community likewise must change in relation to her (Brown 2000, 26–29, 30–31; Levine and Moreland 1994, 307–308). “The woman’s restoration to the community is also the community’s restoration” (Lee 2013). Nevertheless, Mary Ann Tolbert (1992, 268) understands “daughter” as a term that subordinates her to Jesus in a new patriarchal relationship. By contrast, Horsley takes the language to imply that the woman is a daughter of Israel (Horsley 2001, 211–12; also Green 1997, 349). Although it is subsequent to this episode, in Lk. 13:16 Jesus calls another woman who has been healed a “daughter of Abraham,” and this throws weight toward Horsley’s position. Further, the designation of the woman as a “daughter” increases the correspondence between the woman who has had a flow of blood for twelve years and Jairus’s daughter who is twelve years old. Thus, it is unlikely that Jesus establishes a new hierarchy of gender by 60.  My account is strongly influenced by Lee (2013).

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subordinating her as if Jesus reduces her status by designating her by a term that implies that she is a minor. In any case, the procession continues to Jairus’s house where the actors are reduced to Jesus, Peter, John, James, and the daughter’s parents. The inversion of the hierarchy of gender continues in that, whereas the woman’s declaration stands out as a public voice, what happens to Jairus, his wife, and his daughter is relegated to domestic privacy. Still, Jesus has a last interchange with a crowd in which he contrasts the spirit of life with the spirit of death. He tells those who are beating their breasts in mourning not to weep “because she has not died but is sleeping” (8:52). The contrast between the spirit of life and the spirit of death is only increased by their response of laughter (8:53). The description of the resuscitation is sparse. Jesus takes the daughter by the hand and tells her to get up (8:54). She does, but the only sanctions of the success of the raising are that he makes arrangements for her to eat and that her parents are astonished (8:55-56). Finally, Jesus charges them not to tell anyone. From the narrator’s perspective, obviously someone did, and this obviously reached as far as the narrator. Luke 9:1-62. Chapter nine follows a pattern in which thematically related episodes are repeated—mission (9:1-6), Jesus’s identity (9:7-9), mission (9:11-17), Jesus’s identity (9:18-20), Jesus’s destiny (9:21-22), discipleship (9:23-27), Jesus’s destiny and identity (9:28-36), mission (9:37-43a), Jesus’s destiny (9:43b-45), discipleship and mission (9:46-50), Jesus’s destiny (9:51-56), discipleship (9:5762). As will become clear, the interpretation of the parts depends on their mutual interplay in the whole, and the whole depends on the mutual interplay of the parts. Furthermore, from 9:1 on Jesus repeatedly gives instructions and corrections for discipleship. His criteria constantly function as the objective or external pole of their identity in interplay with their self-perception. In this manner, the identities of both Jesus and the disciples are mutually dependent upon each other. Luke 9:1-6. The sending of the twelve involves not only an extension of Jesus’s mission but also a development in their identity (9:1-6). The motivation and empowerment for their mission derives from Jesus who calls them together, gives them δύναμις καὶ ἐξουσία over all demons for healing maladies, and sends them to proclaim the βασιλεία of God and to heal (9:1). Traditionally δύναμις and ἐξουσία are translated as “power” and “authority.” In my view both indicate competency, including ability, motivation, and empowerment, and unfortunately the translation “authority” reveals the untoward preoccupation from the earliest time in the development of Christianity with who or what has hierarchical authority. True, ἐξουσία, which like δύναμις means power, can also mean the authority of an office, such as a magistracy. But this is precisely what the twelve do not have. Indeed at this point Jesus’s instructions to them (9:3-5) imply precisely that they are as people without authority.61 Therefore, as far as making sense in English is 61.  This is an intentional allusion to Fred B. Craddock’s book on inductive preaching, As One without Authority (Nashville: Abingdon, 1979).

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concerned, the two terms should be taken as a hendiadys with the meaning of a full range of empowerment. By way of anticipation, this of course means the capacity of the twelve to bring about mighty deeds, which are repeatedly portrayed as a battle between the power of God and the power of evil. Jesus prohibits the twelve from taking their own provisions for their mission. Rather, they are to live in mutuality with the people to whom they are sent (9:34). To anticipate, the fact that in 22:35-36 Jesus suspends this advice, for all of its presumed mystery, means that the disciples are no longer living among people in mutuality. Christfried Böttrich (2003, 377–81) likewise recognizes the reciprocity between the charismatic gifts of power over demons and healings that Jesus bestows upon the twelve and their dependence upon their hosts in the specific social situation of the Galilean mission. Under the entirely different social situation of Jesus’s arrest this changes dramatically (ibid., 289–91). But whereas Böttrich views the issue of equipping the disciples for distinct social situations as figurative (parabolic), I take it to be a concrete matter of mutual dependence. The hosts in the villages are to share the resources of life with the twelve whereas the twelve are to share the resources of the βασιλεία of God with their hosts. But then Jesus forewarns them about the lack of hospitality among those to whom they go, which entails shaking the dust off their feet as a sign of testimony against them (9:5). In spite of this negative anticipation, the narrator summarizes only a successful proclamation and exercise of the empowerment of the twelve to heal (9:6). Luke 9:7-9. The narrator then interrupts the sequence of the narrative with an insertion about imperial systems. The sudden appearance of Herod Antipas who sits at the center of power in Galilee contrasts sharply with the village setting of the mission of the twelve. In keeping with Jesus’s instructions, the twelve are to live in mutuality with the villagers. But for anyone who knows the times, this is a sharp alternative to life under the rule of Herod Antipas who is located at the apex of regional imperial systems. Technically a tetrarch without the status of a full king, he still functioned in the regional imperial system as a client king.62 Rather than the mutuality of an allocative economic delivery system characteristic of village values, Antipas was part of an imperial extractive delivery system that bled life out of 90 percent of the population who lived at or near to the level of subsistence (see Boer 2015, 81, 86–88). This striking insertion juxtaposes the movement from below of Jesus’s envoys among Galilean villages with political hierarchies of dominance from above. In 9:9 Antipas’s attempt to see Jesus lacks sufficient motivation,63 although later 13:31 informs readers that he wants to kill Jesus. What is more according to 23:8 he also hoped to see some sign from Jesus. But in 9:7-8 he is vexed about Jesus, first of all, because he has heard about the mission of the twelve (τὰ γενόμενα 62.  On functions of client kings in imperial systems, see Lincott 1993, 24–41. 63.  Nolland’s claim (1989, 431, 433) that Herod’s motivation is to resolve uncertainty about Jesus’s identity is partially accurate on the basis of Herod’s question and his reflection on Jesus’s identity.

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πάντα), but then because he has heard rumors that identify Jesus as some kind of prophet: John the Baptizer who has been raised from the dead,64 Elijah redivivus, or another ancient prophet. He surmises that his execution of John by means of despotic violence has solved the first of those rumors. Still as a consequence he is perplexed about Jesus’s identity: “Who is this about whom I hear such things?” (9:9). Luke 9:10-17. The juxtaposition of the power of imperial systems with Jesus’s empowerment of the twelve continues with their return and a summary in 9:10 that is a literary repetition of 9:6, that is, it is a report of positive accomplishments in their mission. Although at 9:10 they are in the city of Bethsaida, in 9:12 at the close of the day the twelve say that they are in the wilderness, which is the setting for the feeding of the five thousand (9:13-17). Close to the end of the day, the twelve express concern for the crowds who are in the wilderness with nothing to eat, and they recommend to Jesus that he dismiss the crowds so that they might go into the surrounding villages and countryside in order to find lodging and provisions (9:12). Although it is often inadequately noticed, Jesus’s response is the heart of this incident: “You (emphatic) give them something to eat” (9:13). This is to be understood as a counterpart of Jesus’s instruction to the twelve when he sent them on their mission (9:3-4). He prohibited them from taking provisions and directed them to live in mutual dependence upon the villagers. Now the shoe is on the other foot. This time the villagers come out to them, and with the tables turned Jesus tells them to provide provisions for the villagers. But they object; the task is daunting and the provisions are meagre. They have only five loaves of bread and two fish. Against these meagre provisions, the task appears to them to be overwhelming. “We are not to go and buy food for all these people, are we?” (9:13). I construe this as an interrogative expecting a negative answer, because 9:14 gives the rationale for their question: “For [γάρ] there were about five thousand men [ἄνδρες].” This is as if to say, “Can you imagine how much that is going to cost?”65 To repeat, the task of feeding so many is daunting. In 9:5 Jesus had instructed the twelve that if a city was inhospitable to shake the dust off their feet as a witness against them. In the wilderness, had the twelve failed to provide for the villagers, would these have shaken the dust off 64.  Josephus (Ant., 18.116-19) writes about the influence of John and popular support for him among the Ἰουδαῖοι, some of whom blamed the defeat of Antipas by King Aretas whose daughter Antipas divorced in order to marry Herodias (see Lk. 3:19-20) on his execution of John. 65.  The implication is like a modern objection in political discussions in the United States about providing aid for people seeking asylum. The repeated mantra is that there are too many, and the cost is prohibitive. Near the end of 2018 the president of the United States threatened to send 15,000 National Guard troops to the border with Mexico to resist a caravan of asylum seekers roughly the size of the 5,000 in the wilderness in Lk. 9:12-17. Meanwhile as I write this, the same president is asking for five billion dollars to build a wall at the border. Which cost is prohibitive?

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their feet against the disciples? Indeed, in such a case they would have failed Jesus’s instructions to them: “You give them something to eat.” As it is, Jesus instructs his disciples to seat the people in groups of about fifty (i.e., 100 groups) (9:14-15). Otherwise Jesus does surprisingly little other than to look to heaven, give a typical Israelite blessing at mealtime, and break the meagre provisions (9:16), which he then gives to the disciples for them to distribute. Emphatically, this is not merely a feeding event but an enabling event. Jesus had enabled the twelve to cast out demons and heal, now he enables them to give people in need something to eat. At 4:3 the devil tempted Jesus to turn stones into bread as a recapitulation of the provision of bread in the wilderness for Israel. This time around, the episode does recapitulate a feeding in the wilderness, but it is also a part of the mutuality of Jesus and his disciples with the crowds, again a stark alternative to Roman imperial systems characterized by “extractive economics” (Boer 2015, 81, 86–88). Luke 9:18-22. Prior episodes in Luke give multiple declarations that affirm Jesus’s identity for Luke’s readers: Gabriel’s promise to Mary, “He will be called son of the Most High” (1:32); the voice at Jesus’s baptism, “You are my beloved son” (3:22); and people possessed by demons: “God’s holy one” (4:34) and “son of the Most High” (8:28). But at a level of irony, characters in Luke directly raise the question of Jesus’s identity: “Who is this?” (e.g., Jesus’s interlocutors at the healing of the paralytic in 5:21; the guests at the home of Simon the Pharisee in 7:49; Jesus’s disciples in 8:25; and Herod Antipas in 9:9). There are virtual equivalents in the temptations when the devil asks, “If you are the son of God,” in 4:3, 9, or John the Baptizer’s question, “Are you the one who is to come?” (7:19), or Simon’s interior monologue, “If this man were a prophet” (7:39). But from an entirely new literary point of view, at 9:18 Jesus himself interrogates his disciples with the question of who he is with respect to the objective, external pole of his dyadic identity: “Who do the crowds say that I am?” They repeat what the narrator expresses as the rumors that Antipas heard (9:7-8): John the Baptizer, Elijah, or an ancient prophet who has been raised (9:19). Jesus focuses the question anew on the disciples: “But who do you yourselves say that I am?” To this Peter responds, “God’s messiah” (9:20). Strangely, however, the matter remains unsettled. In fact, as Kaufmann indicates (2004, 7–8, 80), social identity develops constantly, and as the narrative in Luke unfolds Jesus’s social identity is repeatedly construed anew. Indeed, Thomas Docherty (1983, 56) demonstrates how a character’s identity develops in progressive literary unfolding in the course of a narrative. And this is certainly the case here, because “rebuking [his disciples], he charged them not to say this to anyone” (9:21). Luke gives no motivation for this charge except Jesus’s own self designation as “son of man” and his first passion prediction. He forecasts the rigors of his suffering, his rejection by the elders, chief priests, and scribes,66 and being put to death and rising on the third day (9:22). As Ricoeur contends (1992, 66.  One article subsumes all three groups.

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144–45; see also Börschel 2001, 220; Kaufmann 2004, 17), suffering is integral to individual identity. But as quickly becomes apparent, suffering also characterizes an ingroup. Indeed, suffering continuously forces us humans to join groups to which we hope never to have to belong. Luke 9:23-27. Here Jesus’s followers become such an ingroup that occasions suffering. An equally rigorous description of following him entails denying self (9:23). Self-denial is elaborated in two figurations: first, the metaphorical gaining of the whole world but losing oneself and second, the paradox of losing life by seeking to save it, or losing life for Jesus’s sake and thus saving it (9:24). These two figurations play on two antithetical understandings of reality. One construct of reality is based on a view of life that reduces physical existence to futility. The other construct of reality is grounded on following Jesus with an understanding of reality from the perspective of the βασιλεία of God (9:25) (Wolter 2008, 347–49). “To lose one’s life by wanting to save it” devastates one’s construal of life in a way that is analogous to the postmodern disintegration of the self into discrete experiences with no center except the artificial integration of the self in the human brain (see Beardslee 1979, 58–59). But the second half of the saying, using Ricoeur’s language, reorients what the first half has disoriented (ibid., 59, citing Ricoeur 1975a, 71): “Those who wish to save their life will lose it . . . (disorientation) . . . but those who lose their life for my sake will save it” (reorientation). The disorientation also involves taking up one’s cross day after day. Because a cross is an ultimate torture to terrorize that ends in death once and for all, taking it up involves the ultimate risk of one’s life. Simultaneously, because a cross ends in death, day after day is what Michael Riffaterre (1978, 2–8, 42, 63, 109–10, 115–24, and passim; 1983, 51, 118, 200, 317 n. 57) calls an “ungrammaticality.” That is, an incongruity that forces the language to a figurative level. But crucifixion is also an attempt on the part of the executioners to reduce offenders to ultimate ridicule, which is then spelled out in terms of ultimate shame in a culture of honor/shame. The cross is a mark of identity of either one who follows Jesus or one who does not. Anyone who finds the suffering of Jesus or his followers scandalous (see on 7:23, p. 108) is the one who is ultimately put to shame in a future act of the glory of the son of man and the glory of God. To this point, glory can only be defined by its fundamental connotation of a manifestation of (divine) power and majesty. The future act of the son of man corresponds to Jesus’s role in judgment (Horsley 1989b, 109),67 and the future act of God corresponds to the ultimate manifestation of the βασιλεία of God. But one qualification on divine majesty is that it is an inversion of normal expectations in that it encompasses suffering and what conventionally can easily be interpreted as shame (9:26-27). Thus, gaining one’s life by losing it for the sake of Jesus opens the way to a new level of identity for his followers, which involves new perceptions

67.  It is inexplicable to me that Wink (2002, 177) ignores such a passage as Lk. 9:28 in claiming that unlike Matthew, Luke (and Mark) do not portray the son of man as judging.

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of all reality as God’s reality. I write “perceptions” (plural) because, as Kaufmann (2004, 7–8, 80) emphasizes, identity develops as an ongoing process. Luke 9:28-36. The perception of all reality as God’s reality also comes about as close as I think is possible to understand Luke’s version of what is traditionally called the transfiguration. Jesus’s promise that some of those present68 will see the βασιλεία of God before they die (9:27) has future implications that from a Lukan perspective will be accomplished before the end of chronological limits of Luke (perhaps Acts should be included). Some of those who are standing with Jesus, namely, Peter, John, and James, go with Jesus up on the mountain, which as in 6:12 is a place of prayer. In 6:12 a mountain was the place of prayer prior to selecting the twelve. Here prayer on a mountain69 is similarly the context for the manifestation of Jesus’s glory to three of the twelve. Their experience at this juncture is already a foretaste of seeing (“experiencing”) the βασιλεία of God (so also Green 1997, 376). But what happens on the mountain also foreshadows Jesus’s destiny. Unlike Mk 9:2, Luke does not speak of a transfiguration (μεταμορφόομαι) but of τὸ εἶδος of Jesus’s face becoming different (ἐγένετο . . . τὸ εἶδος τοῦ προσώπου ἕτερον, Lk. 9:29). This is part of a complex text that culminates in 9:51: “He set his face (πρόσωπον) to go up to Jerusalem.” The orientation of Jesus’s face is also reflected in 10:1: “After these things the Lord appointed seventy-two others and sent them two by two before his face.” Granted, Luke maintains the visual imagery on the mountain that is apparent in Mark. Jesus’s clothing becomes like white lightning (9:29). But in Luke it is the face of Jesus that becomes different. Going up to Jerusalem is the goal or consequence of the change in the εἶδος of Jesus’s face. In fact, εἶδος has a meaning of “course of action,” which interpreters usually overlook with respect to this passage. This meaning is clearly substantiated by Thucydides in The Peloponnesian War when he describes a course of action (εἶδος), both of enemies who threaten the Greek cities and of the cities themselves, the latter of which he describes as an εἶδος to form an alliance among the cities themselves (6.77). Again, Thucydides uses εἶδος to refer to a strategy to disrupt a treaty between the Athenians and Tissaphernes of Persia (8.56). Further, when Jesus talks with Moses and Elijah, who appeared in glory (δόξα), he speaks about his exodus (ἔξοδος), which he was going to fulfill in Jerusalem (9:29-31). Jesus’s determination to go up to Jerusalem in order to accomplish his exodus is the course of action (εἶδος) that becomes different (ἐγένετο . . . ἕτερον). To emphasize once more, δόξα in Luke is a manifestation of divine power and majesty, and this is nothing other than an envisioning of Jesus’s passion and resurrection, which for Luke is the manifestation of God’s power and majesty reminiscent of the exodus for Moses and the translation of Elijah (2 Kgs 2:9-11).

68.  Jesus’s audience is unclear. At 9:18 Jesus is with his disciples only. At 9:23 he speaks to all, perhaps a crowd or all the disciples. 69.  The designation of this mountain with the definite article probably means that Luke presumes familiarity with the tradition.

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The irony of Jesus’s identity continues for the disciples. Unlike Peter’s misunderstanding of Jesus’s passion prediction in Mk 8:33 (which Luke does not contain), in Luke, Peter takes the event on the mountain as hallowing the place, which he wishes to commemorate by building three shrines. Although the narrator hastily informs readers that Peter does not know what he is talking about (Lk. 9:33), Peter is associating Jesus’s identity with a place, which he wishes to consecrate as a special location to which he thinks Jesus belongs. But this mountain is the place where Jesus does not belong. On the contrary, the event points the way forward toward Jerusalem. Sharon Ringe (1983, 96 and passim) demonstrates how thoroughly the scene on the mountain is replete with subtle biblical allusions in addition to parallels to Sinai and the explicit evocation of the exodus with its theme of liberation from “penultimate systems, rules, and patterns of indebtedness.” Susan Garrett (1990, 656–80) concurs but perceptively increases the severity of the problem by demonstrating the mythological imagery of the demonic power of evil that is manifest in the systems of oppression that Ringe elaborates. All of this emphasizes the full range of the power of liberation in Jesus’s exodus, which impinges on Jesus’s identity. When Peter, John, and James hear the voice from the cloud, the proclamation is virtually the same as at Jesus’s baptism, no longer spoken directly to Jesus, but now to them, “This is my chosen son,” with an additional imperative, “listen to him” (9:35). This command is quite informative about Jesus’s identity because it is reminiscent of Deut. 18:15, which promises a prophet like Moses, with whom Acts 3:22 explicitly identifies Jesus (so also Wolter 2008, 354). The silence at the end (Lk. 9:36) captures these apostles’ lack of understanding. It strikes me as undeniable that a lack of understanding is a condition that is necessarily also true for any reader/hearer of this inexplicable account. Luke 9:37-43a. Nevertheless, the thematic development of the criteria for and mission of Jesus’s followers continues. At 9:1 Jesus empowered the twelve to exorcise demons and to cure, and they successfully carry out their mission. But at this point a deficiency develops. In 9:38-40 a man reports that while Jesus was on the mountain with Peter, John, and James, he implored the disciples to cure his only son who suffers violent convulsions, but they were unable to do so. Consequently, he pleads with Jesus to look with favor on his son. Jesus responds in exasperation, “Oh faithless and perverse generation” (9:41). This is an explicit case of evaluation that collapses the distinction between ingroup and outgroup by a totalizing negative characterization (Tajfel 1978d, 62–66). Since this reflects the inability of the disciples, the “faithless and perverse generation” can hardly refer to the entire population of Jesus’s contemporaries. As on other occasions, γενεά expresses the process of engendering and what is engendered here is deficient behavior. On the one hand, the inability to heal derives from a deficiency of faith and a distortion of reality, which is necessarily a critique of the disciples. On the other hand, when Jesus heals the boy, everyone understands that what he has done is engendered by God’s power and majesty (9:43a). Needless to say, this is an extremely positive evaluation of Jesus from the external pole of dyadic social identity.

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Luke 9:43b-45. But lest anyone think of God’s power and majesty merely in conventional terms, in the very context of astonishment at God’s greatness, Jesus gives his second passion prediction (9:43b-44). In contrast to everyone’s interpretation of the healing of the boy as nothing less than the greatness of God, in this case the disciples cannot interpret Jesus’s prediction in such terms. They do not understand. The narrator here implies that their lack of understanding also derives from or is engendered by a deficiency of faith and a distorted view of reality. Luke 9:46-50. The same deficiency arises among the disciples in terms of hierarchies of dominance in their discussion about who among them might rank the highest (9:46). This betrays concern with status in a cultural context of honor/shame together with one’s appropriate place in hierarchies of dominance according to conventional cultural norms. Jesus again subverts such hierarchies. First, his action speaks as loud as his words: “Jesus . . . took a little child and put the child beside himself ” (9:47).70 Then, he uses the child in order to subvert social categorizations by inverting them: “The least among you is the greatest” (9:48). Any concretization of this recategorization puts humans on equal and reciprocal grounds. Moreover, this also is a derivative argument that surprisingly begins not with God’s greatness but moves from a little child, who on the axis of abilities to act, is close to the bottom of established hierarchies of dominance. Jesus identifies with the child to such an extent that accepting his response to the child establishes the condition according to which the disciples do or do not receive Jesus and God (Robbins 1983, 66). To receive the child in his name is to receive him, and God in turn identifies with Jesus to such an extent that to receive Jesus by receiving the child is to receive the God who sent Jesus. This also expresses an ingroup norm on the one hand, and on the other a criterion from an “objective,” external pole, namely, from Jesus, that impinges on the disciples’ perception of their identity. The identity of members of the ingroup depends on receiving others as this is concretized in the focal instance (Tannehill 1975, 53, 67–77, and passim) of a child. Luke 9:49-50. Still the distorted perception of discipleship continues with John’s presumption that the disciples of Jesus are an ingroup with impermeable borderlines; he is “preoccupied with boundary keeping” (Green 1997, 355, 392). He reports that he and others (first-person plural) kept prohibiting someone who was casting out demons in Jesus’s name, because he was not “following with us” (9:49). It is difficult not to notice how much this contrasts with the disciples who could not cast out a demon in 9:40. Precisely this outsider successfully casts out demons. John’s othering of the exorcist reflects what Baumann calls “encompassment” (2004, 25–27). For John, the other is relegated to an outgroup unless he acquiesces to and is encompassed in the hierarchy of dominance of the larger group. Jesus corrects this misperception by recategorizing both the disciples and the independent exorcist, a recategorization that also invokes the criterion of 70.  On the importance of action as well as words in Jesus’ saying, see Robbins 1983, 45, 66.

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working on a common task (Gaertner et al. 1993, 1–3): “Whoever is not against you is for you” (9:50). True, this constitutes another critique from Jesus as an external source that impacts the identity of the disciples. But more than that, it crosses boundaries and eliminates both competitive conflict and the inability spearheaded by John to welcome another like a child. On another occasion Jesus expresses a similar but antithetical statement: “Whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather together with me, scatters” (11:23). The apparent conflict is likely to be attributed to the context for the first as a reference to including compatible outsiders, whereas the second has to do with maintaining the solidarity of members of the ingroup against competing outgroups (Fitzmyer 1981, 821). Luke 9:51-56. At 9:51 virtually all commentators speak of a major break in the structure of Luke because Jesus’s destination in Jerusalem supposedly is the beginning of what is conventionally called the “travel narrative.” However, rather than breaking away from the previous context, the narrative continues long-established thematic trajectories of relationships with strangers, criteria for following Jesus, and the preparation of the disciples for mission. Take, for example, the close correspondence between the sending of the twelve in 9:1-6, which of course occurs before 9:51, and the sending of the seventy-two after 9:51 in 10:1. Moreover, the journey to Jerusalem surfaces only sporadically. Therefore, I follow Reinhard von Bendemann (2001) in taking the text to be in continuity from 4:14 to 21:28. In fact, such continuity is indispensable in 9:51 when the narrator establishes clear allusions to the events on the mountain where the εἶδος of Jesus’s face became different (9:29). In my opinion this holds in spite of Wolter’s objection (2008, 369) that the point of view is not retrospective. The nearness of the time for Jesus’s ἀνάλημψις in 9:51 (“death,” “ascension,” or “taking up”) picks up Jesus’s ἔξοδος in Jerusalem (9:31), and the change in the εἶδος of Jesus’s face on the mountain (9:29) is here reprised by “he set his face to go to Jerusalem” (9:51). Jesus’s ἀνάλημψις, which quite literally means “taking up,” is usually construed as a reference to Jesus’s ascension or death. This is only a bit compromised by the fact that the account of Jesus’s being taken up in 24:51 uses the verb ἀναφέρω. Nevertheless, there is an intriguing use of ἀνάλημψις in Lucian, Abdicatus 5, which has striking overtones of Jesus’s relationship with God. Lucian gives an account of a son who is first renounced by his father, but who then cures his father’s madness and is made a son once again. This event about human relationships is summarized as an ἀνάλημψις. I am not suggesting that this is a direct parallel. Further, it is not the relationship of father and son that is of interest. Rather, it demonstrates the use of ἀνάλημψις with a passive meaning. This would indicate that the so-called “ascension” is not something that Jesus accomplishes but something that happens to him as a matter of his relationship with God. This also is by no means alien to the idea of Jesus’s ἔξοδος in 9:29-31 in the sense of a reprisal of the liberation of the Israelites as the people of God. Without taking appropriate account of these connections of 9:51 with the change in Jesus’s face in 9:29-31, Craig Evans (2001, 93–105) contends that “set

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his face” implies judgment against Jerusalem. But the connection just mentioned between Jesus’s ἔξοδος and his ἀνάλημψις establishes the necessity of Jesus’s destiny far beyond judgment against Jerusalem. In fact, setting his face at this point is a declaration of intention, and Jesus’s intention is an attestation of his identity as the agent of his actions (Ricoeur 1992, 73). The basis for the failure of some Samaritan villagers to receive Jesus because his face was set toward Jerusalem is unclear beyond the insight that a positive evaluation of an individual who belongs to a negatively evaluated outgroup (Ἰουδαῖοι are an outgroup among Samaritans) requires significant exceptions to the anticipated behavior in order for it to be revised (Tajfel 1981, 152–53). The behavior of these villagers in Samaria entails hidden presumptions in the cultural encyclopedia of hierarchies of dominance that are manifest in contentious relationships between Israelites and Samaritans, and this underscores all the more and throws additional light on Luke’s portrayal of the events on the mountain, which is not a “transfiguration” as in Mark, but a portending of Jesus’s destiny (“exodus” and “taking up”). Luke 9:57-62. The last pericope in ch. 9 revisits the nature of discipleship. Jesus confronts three potential followers with the rigors of following him. When the first promises to follow wherever Jesus goes, he replies, “Foxes have dens, and the birds of the sky nests in which to encamp, but the son of man71 does not have a place to recline his head” (9:58). This implies that a relationship with Jesus takes priority over stable domestic relationships centered on the home. On the other hand, although there appears to be no contextual connection of Jesus’s homelessness with the reference to Herod Antipas in 9:7-9, it is not irrelevant in that homelessness reflects social realities of many Galilean peasants under the reign of Antipas who had lost access to the resources of the land (Brawley 2011, 2–3). In the second case Jesus calls another to follow him. His response is a request first to go and bury his father. Jesus’s answer is for him to let the dead bury their own dead, and to go and proclaim the βασιλεία of God (9:59-60). Bultmann (1967, 893) takes the first occurrence of “dead” figuratively as a reference to those who resist Jesus’s call, so that the saying would mean, “Let those who resist my call bury their physically dead kinfolk.” Again the implication is that following Jesus supersedes normal ties and responsibilities of family kinship. This is also the case with the third candidate when he promises to follow but asks permission to bid farewell to his household. Jesus tells him that no one who plows and looks back is suitable for the βασιλεία of God (9:61-62). No outcome is reported in any of these cases, but that is beside the point. They form part of the objective pole of criteria that Jesus establishes that impinges on his disciples’ self-perception of their identity. Luke 10:1-24. The sending of the seventy-two is very reminiscent of the sending of the twelve in ch. 9. To be sure emphasis falls on the extension of Jesus’s mission, but quite differently from the sending of the twelve, the problem of the rejection of 71.  I write this with lowercase because it is a self-reference, not a title.

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Jesus’s emissaries increases far beyond the sending of the twelve. This is a feature that is quite informative for social identity, because ingroup identity must also cope with negative evaluations from outgroups. On the one hand, the seventy-two are explicitly sent two by two, and their tasks are summarized under the heading of going “before his face” (10:1). This again picks up Jesus’s orientation toward Jerusalem, which is indicated by the changing of his face on the mountain in 9:29 and is reiterated in 9:51. Perhaps recalling the parable of the sower (8:4-14), Jesus speaks of a large harvest but few workers, and in anticipation of an even greater harvest exhorts prayer for the lord of the harvest to produce workers (10:2). Like the twelve in ch. 9, they are not to take provisions (10:4), and they are to exchange peace as a quantity (“wholeness,” “well-being,” Fitzmyer 1985, 848). The image of “a child of peace” (10:6) is a genitive of origin that involves the presumption from the cultural encyclopedia that peaceful behavior is engendered from a transcendent “peace” as its source. At first glance the exchange of peace for hospitality appears to be balanced reciprocity (quid pro quo), because workers deserve their wages (10:7). But their tasks to heal maladies and to tell the recipients, “The βασιλεία of God has come upon you” (10:9), indicate that the exchange is based on need rather than social reciprocity, and inasmuch as the bestowal of peace comes from God, so also the disciples are to understand that the hospitality of their hosts is also engendered by God (Nolland 1993a, 559). This strong association with God’s rule is a persuasive reinforcement of the seventy-two as part of an ingroup. On the other hand, forewarnings hang over the sending of workers into the harvest. They are sent like lambs in the midst of wolves (10:3), the latter of which is a stereotypical portrayal of an outgroup. The emissaries may not be accepted (10:6), and the stakes shift from rejection by inhospitable homes (9:4-5) to cities who likewise may not receive them (10:10). At this point the text makes a subtle transition. Whereas 9:5 enjoins shaking dust off the feet against a household that does not receive the apostles, Jesus now instructs the seventy-two to pronounce direct woes on cities publicly: “Go out into its streets and say, ‘We wipe off the dust of your city that clings to our feet against you.’” They are to add a verbal declaration: “But know this, the βασιλεία of God has come upon you” (10:11). This is the typical kind of revaluation of outgroup opposition anticipated by social identity theory (Tajfel 1978a, 86–97; see on 1:24-25 p. 44; and Giles 1978, 385–86). The subtle transition continues in that Jesus stops giving instructions to the seventy-two and gives his own commentary that pronounces judgment upon such cities worse than the notorious judgment on Sodom for its reprehensible violation of hospitality (Gen. 19:4-11). He then addresses Chorazin, Bethsaida, and Capernaum directly in the vocative, again making their judgment notoriously vicious by comparing them unfavorably with Tyre and Sidon, legendary embodiments of wickedness (Isaiah 23), who would have readily repented had they experienced the deeds of power that Jesus had performed in these Galilean cities (Lk. 10:12-15). In fact, Capernaum is demoted from any supposed privilege and cursed as bound for Hades (10:15). The personified cities, however, are no longer explicitly in the crosshairs when Jesus again addresses his disciples and generalizes the problem of rejection by a

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saying that is antithetically comparable to 9:48: “Whoever receives this child in my name, receives me; and whoever receives me, receives the one who sent me.” This time rejection replaces reception: “Anyone who hears you, hears me; and whoever rejects you, rejects me; and anyone who rejects me, rejects the one who sent me” (10:16). The definition of rejection of the seventy-two as equally a rejection of Jesus and God turns the rejection of Jesus’s emissaries into nothing less than a rejection of God, a powerful reevaluation of an external pole that strongly affects the identity of the seventy-two who will face opposition from outgroups. Rejection shows that they belong on God’s side. The actual mission of the seventy-two is an ellipsis. It is completely passed over in silence. But the prospects of opposition notwithstanding, the seventy-two return with a glowingly positive report summed up as “Lord, in your name the demons are put in subjection to us” (10:17).72 As with Jesus himself (e.g., 11:2022), their success is portrayed in terms of a battle between the power of God and the power of evil. Jesus supplements this with his own vision, “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven” (10:18). Susan Garrett (1992, 13) documents references in Daniel that introduce prophetic visions in the imperfect, precisely as does Jesus in 10:18 (ἐθεώρουν). From this she makes a plausible case for a vision of Jesus of something that still lies in the future, that is, Jesus’s death, resurrection, and exaltation. On the other hand, in T. Sol. 114 a demon explains that demonic beings fly in the heavens but having no place to alight fall like lightning, which observers of the phenomenon assume to be falling stars. Further, these falling demons set cities and fields on fire. On the basis of this, Samuel Vollenweider (1988) argues for an eschatological event that has already taken place in Jesus’s present, that is, the inbreaking of God’s rule, that empowers the subjection of demons to Jesus’s disciples. Because of the enigma of the saying, I present both of these views as attempts to understand what I consider to be an insoluble conundrum. But in spite of the enigmatic saying, Jesus claims not only the demise of Satan but also that he has given his disciples power (ἐξουσία) over demons and every harmful force (10:19), and therefore the fall of Satan in 10:18 serves as the reason for the success of the seventy-two (Vollenweider 1988, 200–201). The advent of the βασιλεία of God is an invasion of Satan’s βασιλεία. Thus, the seventy-two are not to measure the success of their mission in the subjection of demons to them but in God’s power. This power of God ensures that their “names are written in heaven” (10:20), which emphatically reflects their identity. Although no mention is made here of the problem of the rejection of their mission, the criterion of success shifts to the affirmation that when it comes to their ultimate destiny, they are in God’s hands. Jesus then changes his address from the disciples to the God with whom he speaks in the language of fictive kinship,73 “Father, Lord of heaven and earth.” He 72.  In literary terms this is a completing analepsis in that it fills in some content of the ellipsis. 73.  Fictive kinship is a way of denoting relationships that are very real. Note Bovon’s terminology of “elective kinship” (2002, 315).

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follows with a spirit-filled prayer that appears designed for his followers to overhear. In effect, he distinguishes their identity anew over against an outgroup (10:2122). God has hidden “these things” from the outgroup who are sarcastically called “wise” and “intelligent” and revealed them to the ingroup who are affectionately called “babes.” This is a notable undermining of conventional hierarchies of dominance, which Wolter (2008, 388) refers to as a “self-stigmatizing description” (author’s translation). This has to do with what Peter Berger calls “cognitive outsiders,” that is a “group of people whose view of the world differs significantly from the one that is generally taken for granted in their society, and that is used to legitimate social outsiders [here Jesus’s followers] against low evaluations by the dominant social order” (Berger 1969, 7). Such a strategy transfers Jesus’s followers from a subordinate to an honorable status. “These things” that have been hidden and revealed are the disciples’ knowledge that God’s reign has disarmed the demons, and this is based on the mutual relationships between Jesus and God that determine who the “son” and “father” are. In Luke the identification of Jesus as son of God is ordinarily on the lips of a divine voice, an angel, or demonic characters. But here Jesus calls God “my father,” and uncharacteristically calls himself “the son” (10:22). This is a dramatic expression in Luke of Jesus’s self-perception with respect to his dyadic social identity. Jesus further explains that the revelation of who God is happens through him. In other words, as the son he is the middle term between God “and anyone to whom the son chooses to make the revelation” (10:22). The fact that Jesus conceals and reveals inverts the status of the babes over against those who by conventional norms are the wise and intelligent. This is affirmed all the more when Jesus explicitly addresses his disciples and, using their eyes as a metonym for them, pronounces them “blessed” for what they have seen and heard (10:23-24). In essence, employing another metonym of prophets and kings, he asserts that they stand as the culmination of that for which Israel had long hoped. In addition to the affirmation that the ingroup of Jesus’s followers expresses the continuity between Israel’s traditions and the βασιλεία of God, according to the ingroup values the status of these disciples is venerable and prominent. Luke 10:25-37. Although for many interpreters, the prominence of the parable of the Good Samaritan and the introduction of a lawyer as a new interlocutor for Jesus mark a new beginning, καὶ ἰδού (“just then,” NRSV) juxtaposes this dialogue with the previous material (Wolter 2008, 392). A lawyer might indeed signal attentive readers that according to the values of dominant hierarchical systems he is someone who belongs to the wise and intelligent. In long-standing interpretive traditions, the lawyer presumably seeks to entrap Jesus (he has a “hostile attitude,” Fitzmyer 1985, 880). Sheer lexicography shows this to be erroneous; ἐκπειράζω means to “test thoroughly” (similarly Wolter 2008, 392). The lawyer wishes to determine whether Jesus has an accurate answer (10:25). In addition, I have explained earlier (p. 93) why 7:30 should be translated “when [certain] Pharisees  and lawyers refused John’s baptism, they rejected God’s purpose for themselves,” so that Luke has not stereotypically characterized all Pharisees and lawyers pejoratively. Above all, Jesus engages the lawyer as a serious

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interlocutor so that in a joint venture the two come to mutual decisions, and as in other discussions with interlocutors Jesus uses a parable in order to persuade this interlocutor (see, for example, 5:31; 5:34-38 three times; 7:41-42). The joint discussion begins with the lawyer’s concern about attaining the heritage of eternal life, and then focuses specifically on the love command and consideration of who is a neighbor (Snodgrass 2008, 352). The initial question is dominated by the verb ποιέω (“to do”). The lawyer asks, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” (10:25). Notably this is another case where, as in the case of Luke’s “functional” Christology, doing determines what is quintessential. In fact, two appearances of the verb ποιέω (“to do”) both before and after Jesus’s parable, the second of which in each case is an imperative, bracket the pericope. Further, this verb is at the heart of what the lawyer asks and the way Jesus responds (10:25, 28), as well as what the Samaritan “does” and the exhortation that Jesus gives to the lawyer (10:37 twice). When the lawyer initiates his dialogue to test out what is right, Jesus reciprocates and puts him to the test by asking, “How do you read what is written in the law?” Remarkably, it is not Jesus who announces the double command. Rather, the lawyer is the one who identifies love of God and neighbor to be at the heart of Torah, and in so doing he passes Jesus’s test. Jesus explicitly agrees that this is precisely what is quintessential, and he encourages the lawyer: “Do this . . . .” But not too quickly, because Jesus’s approval introduces a twist by shifting from “eternal life” to “do this and you will live” (10:28). That is, Jesus shifts from a durative understanding of life to qualitative living. Indeed, the future “will live” appears to refer to qualitative living that is immediately available upon the doing. Luke’s notice that the lawyer wishes to justify himself has generally been taken in the sense of self-righteousness as in 16:15, where Jesus claims that his interlocutors wish to justify themselves before others (Fitzmyer 1985, 886). But in 10:29 there is no attempt to gain honor before others (challenge-riposte theories notwithstanding), and δικαιῶσαι ἑαυτόν means preferably that he wishes to assure himself that he holds the right position (see Robbins 2004; Bovon 2013, 55). Further, the question “Who is my neighbor?” contains nothing like the presumptions of Simon the Pharisee who questions Jesus’s status as a prophet (7:39), and Jesus treats the inquiry as part of a dialogue to which he can respond in good faith with a parable. Against typical interpretations, the encounter is hardly agonistic. In fact, it is quite collegial in that Jesus and the lawyer collaborate in appropriate considerations as to what is at stake. On the other hand, the lawyer’s question about identifying who qualifies as a neighbor necessarily presumes that there is an outgroup that is to be excluded (Bock 1996, 1028). The story itself is well known. As is the case with most of Jesus’s parables, motivation is in short supply. Jesus gives no reason why a man goes from Jerusalem to Jericho, no reason why brigands (λῃσταί) attack the traveler (although in the cultural encyclopedia this road was notoriously dangerous), no reason why the priest and Levite passed by on the other side. Incidentally, speculations about purity concerns of the priest and Levite (e.g., Fitzmyer 1985, 887; Bauckham 1998, 477–89) typically involve misunderstandings of the purity system, in which

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impurity in many cases is unavoidable and even purposefully incurred. Incurring impurity is not a sin and can be remedied by purification rituals. What is sinful is to enter sacred space in a state of impurity. Further, there is no corpse in the story from which the priest, Levite, or Samaritan might contract impurity. The parable clearly specifies that the victim is “half-dead” (10:30), that is, severely wounded! But quite out of the ordinary for Jesus’s parables, the behavior of the Samaritan is motivated—“When he saw [the wounded man] he had compassion” (10:33). Jesus then invites the lawyer back into the dialogue: “Which of these three do you think was the neighbor of the one who fell among the brigands?” Again none other than the lawyer collaborates in providing the punchline: “The one who showed him mercy” (10:37). At this point there are multiple ways to construe the parable depending on how one who hears the parable identifies with the characters in the embedded narrative. Of course anyone who has passed by someone in need can readily identify with the priest and Levite and be moved to the point of regret by the parable (see the autobiographical statement in Brawley 1990b, 224–25). It is also possible to identify with the Samaritan and thus conclude that “my” neighbor is anyone in need. But in all probability, the lawyer would have identified with the man who fell among brigands. Thus Nolland (1993a, 592–96) heavily emphasizes the actual perspective of the man who fell among thieves in spite of the absence of any direct reference. Although the wounded man is never explicitly identified as Jewish, his ethnicity is beyond doubt. This is clear from a literary presumption that the identity of characters is determined by the point of view from which the story is told unless an exception is noted, as is the case of the Samaritan, who comes on the scene as a member of an outgroup.74 If then the lawyer identifies with the man who fell among brigands, he is compelled to think of himself as the recipient of mercy from a member of an outgroup. Given the cultural antipathy between Ἰουδαῖοι and Samaritans, it is possible that he might rather die than be the recipient of mercy from such an outgroup, like Jonah who wished to die rather than see God’s mercy extend to the Ninevites (Jon. 4:3). It is common to fault the lawyer because he does not utter the word “Samaritan” in his response to Jesus in order to identify who proved to be neighbor to the one who fell among brigands, and this indeed is part of approaches to the parable that call attention to a disjunction between the lawyer and Jesus (e.g., Snodgrass 2008, 357). This is quite unnecessary, because the lawyer correctly discerns that the heart of the matter is the recategorization of the Samaritan on the basis of what he does. At this point it is pertinent to remember that the lawyer asked what he needed to do to inherit eternal life, and because of what the Samaritan does, his acquired 74.  Among others Esler (2000, 337–38) makes a great deal to do about the lack of ethnic identity of the man who fell among thieves. But the literary convention is to the effect that unless otherwise noted identity depends on the dominant point of view. Thus, the brigands and innkeeper are likewise Ἰουδαῖοι.

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honor supersedes his attributed status (Wolter 2008, 398). Moreover, at this point Jesus virtually requires the lawyer to identify with the Samaritan: “You (emphatic) go and do75 likewise” (10:37). Inasmuch as the parable has a venerable position in the history of interpretation as possessing a supreme power of persuasion, the open ending of the parable leaves plenty of room for the possibility that the lawyer decided to “do likewise.” In fact, rather than a disjunction between the lawyer and Jesus, at the level of the narrative in which the parable is embedded “Jesus was able to become the neighbor of the expert in the Law” (Bovon 2013, 59). Needless to say, the implications for social identity are enormous. First, Philip Esler (2000, 345–50) has shown how social identity theories of crossed categorization, recategorization, decategorization, and contact across categories both aid and are deficient in overcoming the conflict between Ἰουδαῖοι and Samaritans. In addition, action based on compassion in the face of need undermines presumptions underlying ethnic and socioreligious hierarchies of dominance. In other words, the Samaritan breaks through social categorization. Further, action and identity are closely related; when the group is strong, its norms influence behavior, and vice versa behavior determines the character of group (Terry et al. 1999, 295). But in this episode, behavior transcends group norms (ibid., 343). If this is true for the wounded man and the Samaritan, the dialogue must have the potential of transcending boundaries between Jesus and the lawyer as Bovon notes (see the previous paragraph). Luke 10:38-42. In this episode the identities of two women are interdependent on dyadic relationships with the roles they play in hospitality. In chs 9 and 10 Jesus instructs disciples how they are to live in mutuality with villagers in dependence upon the hospitality of those who receive them. In this episode, Martha extends hospitality to Jesus himself. In so doing she not only reprises the role of the named women in 8:2-3 who support him but also exhibits the perspective of the host. Because Martha is identified as the host who receives Jesus into her house, she likely is the older of the two sisters, and seniority in years also means seniority in a domestic hierarchy of dominance. Martha also reflects hidden assumptions of a culturally presupposed gendered hierarchy of dominance in terms of serving a male guest, which she has internalized and by which she plays the role of a social control agent with respect to her sister. By contrast, Mary transcends the gendered hierarchies of dominance and sits in the position of a disciple at Jesus’s feet and listens to him (10:39), observing what the voice from the cloud commanded in 9:35: “This is my chosen son, listen to him.” Martha supports social perceptions of a female domestic host to the degree that she complains about Mary’s failure to help her in her abundant serving (διακονία, 10:40). In her complaint she mentions herself three times: “My sister has left me alone to serve; tell her then to help me” (10:40) (Brutscheck 1986, 43). “She refers not to Mary’s conduct toward Jesus but toward herself. . . . Martha has nothing against Mary’s listening as such” (Wolter 2008, 400 [author’s translation]). Nevertheless, this does mean that she expects 75.  Note again the imperative of the verb “to do” (ποιέω, 10:37).

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Mary to fulfill the culturally expected role of hospitality whereas Mary violates that role and takes on the identity of a disciple (Venetz 1990, 185–89). Moreover, Martha construes Jesus’s failure to back her expectations that Mary conform to the social expectations as his lack of support for cultural norms (“Do you not care?” 10:40). Addressing Martha with a double vocative, Jesus then gives his interpretation in which he evaluates her compliance with domestic expectations, which the narrator describes as driving her to distraction, as making her fretful and troubled. Jesus then plays off her distraction with “many things” against the “one thing that is needed” (10:41-42), and affirms Mary’s choice as “the good portion, which will not be taken away from her” (10:42). In the end Mary’s listening to Jesus, again reflecting the command to listen to him in 9:35, is the one thing that is needed. In spite of the high dependence that Jesus and his emissaries place on village hospitality, which is viewed as general reciprocity, at issue here is how the βασιλεία of God breaks into and alters perceptions of reality as they are embodied in expectations of roles in domestic, kinship, and gender hierarchies of dominance. Once the sisters have heard the view of reality reflected in Jesus’s interpretation of the interrelationships of all three, their understanding of who they are in relation to Jesus, to each other, and to the culture into which they have been socialized can hardly remain unaltered. Luke 11:1-13. It should not go unnoticed that this section on prayer continues the thematic development of the preparation of disciples for mission reaching at least as far back as 9:1,76 not to mention Jesus’s anticipation of making Peter and his associates fishers of people (5:10). Especially readers/hearers should note how this picks up Jesus’s charge to his disciples in 10:2 to pray to the lord of the harvest to send laborers. In spite of the appearance of an interlude while Jesus is at prayer, there is hardly a break in the impact of the βασιλεία of God on the perception of reality, interpersonal relationships, and cultural presuppositions. One of Jesus’s disciples asks him to teach them how to pray, and curiously this disciple cites John the Baptizer and his disciples as a paradigm to emulate (11:1). Without any ado, Jesus responds with what is well known as the “Lord’s Prayer” or the “Our Father” (11:2-3). The address πάτερ alone expresses a view of reality in which an appeal is made to God as a child to a parent. But it also registers as something that is mediated by Jesus, who in 10:22 says, “No one knows . . . who the πατήρ is except anyone to whom the son chooses to make the revelation” (Green 1997, 440–41). Behind this is a prominent presumption in the cultural encyclopedia that a child derives both identity and behavior from the parent (Brawley 2016, 117–18). Needless to say, the impact of this relationship on the identity of Jesus and his disciples is inestimable. (By way of anticipation, there is further characterization of this πάτερ in 11:5-13.) First, an imperative in the passive voice commands that this name for God be consecrated (11:2). Put into the active, the verb implies that 76.  Preparation of disciples for mission before and after 9:51 is one indication that the structure of Luke flows from 4:14-21:28 thereby bridging over a so-called “travel narrative” (von Bendemann 2001). See pp. 27, 112.

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humans reserve the title πάτερ with special devotion for their relationship with God, but in any case it refers to a divine act in which God manifests God’s divine nature, as in the following petition, by the coming of the βασιλεία of God (Nolland 1993a, 613–14; Wolter 2008, 406). The manifestation of God’s rule in this βασιλεία is the principle characterization of the divine parent, the reality for which the prayer petitions (11:2). Without question, Jesus employs a political model (βασιλεία) to speak of God’s rule but using human institutions to define the βασιλεία of God puts the cart before the horse (see the discussion on the “Cultural Encyclopedia” in the “Introduction,” pp. 7–9). Rather, God’s character and activity, as in 11:20, determine the nature of God’s rule, which is developed in the remaining supplications of the prayer. The petition for daily bread employs a metonym for access to the resources of the earth for sustaining life (11:3) (Nolland 1993a, 617). Luke 11:4 uses the verb ἀφίημι both to ask for divine forgiveness of sin and to make God’s forgiveness the paradigm for the way Jesus’s disciples (“we”) cancel what others owe them. In imperial economic systems, which Roland Boer (2015) calls “extractive,” risks of incurring debt ran high for nearly 90 percent of the population. Thus, the notion of forgiving what others owe could hardly exclude economic debt (also Green 1997, 443). Moreover, such forgiveness serves as a focal instance (Tannehill 1975, 53, 67–77, and passim) for repairing broken relationships. “Do not lead us εἰς πειρασμόν” (11:4) has long proved baffling. To make God responsible for temptation appears to be inconsistent. Indeed, as I write this, the popular press is reporting that Pope Francis has supported a new translation of the prayer to avoid the idea that God could be responsible for temptation. And yet in a way, which is difficult to understand, the prayer does implicate God as somehow involved. Granted, it is plausible to understand the petition “do not lead us” as “keep us from” or “do not abandon us in temptation,” that is, as a safeguard against temptation or arduous crises (see 8:13; 22:28). But from another perspective, it is also possible to take the petitioners in the prayer as the ones who put God to the test, as in Jesus’s response to the devil in 4:12 with reference to the wandering Israelites in the desert who in a crisis of their faith put God to the test: “Is the Lord with us or not?” (Exod. 17:7 LXX) (Gibson 2001, 98–99, 102, see on 4:10-11, p. 64). The unavoidable ambiguity aside, this final petition is uttered in the  context of the parent-child relationship that is established by the address and in the secondperson imperative (or equivalent) in 11:3-4. In Luke, this parent-child relationship is indispensable for the identity of Jesus’s followers. Two analogies employing enthymematic rhetoric, the premises of which depend on presumed cultural norms, extend the characterization of the πατήρ. Significantly, Jesus introduces the analogies in such a way as to make any hearer (τίς ἐξ ὑμῶν, 11:5, similarly 11:11) an actor in each of the stories. The first (11:5-8) presents a scene from village life involving cultural values regarding two friendships that overlap three characters. The reader/hearer is asked to identify with a man who has a friend who comes in the dead of night, and the newly minted host has no food with which to extend the culturally required hospitality. He therefore appeals to yet another friend, who expresses how disruptive and troublesome the request

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in the middle of the night is. Nevertheless, even if the friend who has been asleep will not provide food because of their friendship, he will do so because of the cultural evaluation of being shameless (11:8). The syntax leaves ambiguous whose shamelessness is at stake. Although I think that the ambiguity of whether it is the petitioner’s shamelessness or the sleeping friend’s attempt to avoid shamelessness remains ambiguous,77 Klyne Snodgrass (1997, 505–13; 2008, 443–44) has an impressive lexical argument for attributing shamelessness to the one who disturbs his friend at midnight.78 He demonstrates that ἀναίδεια (“shamelessness”) always has a pejorative meaning, which he attributes only to the petitioner who disturbs his friend. But the cultural power regarding hospitality imposes strong obligations on all the actors in the story. First, the phrase διά γε τὴν ἀναίδειαν (11:8) indicates that the failure to provide bread at midnight would occasion shame, so that the potential host is attempting to avoid dishonor by a lack of hospitality. Further, his appeal to his other friend at midnight is no more shameful than the friend who arrives at his house at midnight. What is more, shamelessness can be used in two senses. It may be an evaluation of one who lives in total disregard of cultural boundaries, in which case it is an equivalent of “shameful.” But it also may be used for situations of extreme need in which exigency compels one to violate cultural norms that otherwise would be maintained. In this case shamelessness is not disregard of shame but a regretful, purposeful violation of conventions that is not regarded as “shameful.”79 This applies of course to the man who arouses his sleeping friend. But in village culture, the entire community is responsible for hospitality, and a friend who has bread would also experience shame from the entire village if he did not share it (Huffard 1978, 154–60). Nevertheless, this episode ends with a pronouncement: “Ask and it will be given to you, seek and you will find, knock and it will be opened to you. Anyone who asks receives, and anyone who seeks finds, and to anyone who knocks it will be opened” (11:9-10). The analogy is from lesser to greater. Even if the cultural values of friendship might occasion little response to a request among humans,

77.  Such ambiguity behooves interpreters to seek to understand the text from both perspectives. 78.  In his attempt to take the parable as subverting friendship and honor and shame, Waetjen (2001, 703–21) misses that hospitality is not subverted but demonstrated. Further, he evaluates friendship in terms of the elite patriarchy and neglects village values, the latter of which Horrell (2001, 298, 303) documents. 79.  Admittedly, I am informed by modern parallels from my own experience of the use of sin vergüenza (“shameless”) in the interior of Mexico and some experience and discussion with Koreans who use yeom-chi-bul-gu-ha-go (“disregarding shame”) in cases where exigency causes people to violate cultural conventions, violations which otherwise would be “shameful.” On the other hand, I do not find it shameful to use such modern experiences to enlighten our perspectives in that all our methods are in essence modern constructs. See “Introduction”, pp. 9–22.

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the necessity of avoiding shame does motivate a response. How much more can suppliants rely upon God to respond to what is needed? The second analogy puts the hearer in the role of a father, and the reasoning is a reductio ad absurdum, “If a son asks the father for a fish, instead of a fish will he give him a snake? Or if he requests an egg, will he give him a scorpion?” (11:10-11). This enthymematic rhetoric presumes a model of the family that values children and that undermines the hierarchical patriarchal model of elite families (Horrell 2001, 298, 303). Another pronouncement makes the argument from lesser to greater explicit: “Therefore, even though you might be evil, you know how to give good gifts to your children; how much more will the πατήρ in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask?” (11:13). But this pronouncement also moves far beyond requests to avoid shame or to acquire material goods. This still occurs in the context of preparing disciples for mission, and this is the first promise of the Holy Spirit, which resurfaces in 24:49 and Acts 1:8, as the promise “of the Father” (τοῦ πατρός) (Tannehill 1986, 239). This gift from the πατήρ has the purpose to motivate and empower mission. Luke 11:14-28. A section on exorcism and evil spirits presents and assesses competing identities of Jesus and evaluations of his ministry. The narrator uses a periphrastic tense in order to emphasize Jesus’s numerous exorcisms (generally regarded as one of the characteristic deeds of the historical Jesus) one of which provides a case in point—the casting out of a demon that rendered a man mute (11:14). Still, the exorcism itself lies outside the focus of the story and is summarized from the narrator’s perspective in utmost brevity rather than portrayed in detail. The amazement of the crowds, on the one hand, is compromised by the claim of “some of them,” on the other hand, that Jesus casts out demons by collaborating with Beelzebul, the ruler of demons (11:15). Their logic is that Jesus as one who is demon possessed is casting out the demon of another man who is demons possessed (Bovon 2013, 120). The narrator gives no initial characterization of these others and leaves it up to Jesus to deal with this competing claim to his identity. With overtones of irony, still others put him to a test by seeking a sign (11:16) as if he had not just then cured a man who was unable to speak (11:14). They also request some empirical act that would confer acquired status on him reprising the devil’s temptations in 4:2-12. According to Tajfel’s strategies of responding to negative evaluations of social identity (1978a, 86–97; see on 1:24-25 p. 44; and Giles 1978, 385–86), Jesus follows the strategy of emphasizing distinctions and creating new ones in order to give prominence and positive value to distinctiveness. This is, therefore, a strategy of increasing direct competition. In accord with the theory, especially for people who have a high identification within a group, readers/hearers can anticipate that threats to identity enhance ingroup identity. Jesus responds with a brief parable that is both a reductio ad absurdum and a redefinition of the behavior that has received negative evaluations: “Every kingdom divided against itself becomes desolate, and house falls on house” (11:18). He then swaps figurative language for metaphysical and says directly that the charge against him pits Satan against Satan. Subsequently, he makes his

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own empirical observation and asks a question. He notes that like him, others (“your sons”) cast out demons: “With whom do they collaborate?” (11:19). Jesus presumes that the conclusion to this enthymeme goes without saying, so that he declares that if the other exorcists cast out demons in concert with God, then they will judge his critics for denying exorcisms that are from the finger of God (Bock 1996, 1078). At this point he then makes a positive assertion of his relationship with God that redefines his behavior: “If I cast out demons by the finger of God, then the βασιλεία of God has come upon you” (the verb is aorist, 11:20). This is nothing less than the announcement that the βασιλεία of God is present in his ministry, or as Stegemann and Stegemann put it (1999, 204), Jesus’s message includes commentary on his “charismatic deeds.” He then embellishes his answer with another figuration of overpowering a strong man (11:21-22). Significantly, this depicts Jesus’s mighty deeds as a battle between the power of God and the power of evil. The concrete arrival of the βασιλεία of God in the ministry of Jesus means an alternative reality already in the face of prevailing socio-religio-political systems. The upshot is that the “others” function as an outgroup that evaluates Jesus pejoratively. As the speaker, Jesus categorizes himself positively, for which social identity theory uses the term “stereotyping,” not necessarily in a pejorative sense but in the sense of giving special emphasis to what members of a group have in common. In addition, Jesus as the leader of his ingroup embodies the group’s norms as a prototype (van Knippenberg 1999, 320–21). Furthermore, social identity theory holds that such stereotypical selfcategorization produces a gain in self-understanding (Sherman et al. 1999, 88),80 which is to say that Jesus’s identity is highlighted all the more by the charges of a competing identity. Still Jesus stereotypes the outgroup as “against him” with the antithesis of a previous saying. In 9:50 he declares, “Whoever is not against you is for you.” The saying here is, “Whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather together with me, scatters” (11:23). Whereas 9:50 refers to an attitude toward including compatible outsiders, 11:23 serves rather as a norm for the solidarity of the ingroup against competing outgroups (Fitzmyer 1981, 821). The following sayings about the behavior of demons (11:24-26) are associated with the previous material by catch words. They express the severity of the problem of maladies and evil, because it is possible for demons, powers that influence behavior from outside a person, to return with potency more devastating than before. In immediate succession Jesus’s brief conversation with a woman from the crowd juxtaposes two ways of understanding blessedness (11:27-28). One is explicitly gendered in a woman’s positive evaluation of Jesus, which she associates with his maternal heritage. For her, Jesus’s mother attains honor through her son. This woman belongs not with the outgroup but with the ingroup (she is not against him, 11:23). But in this case Jesus’s mother becomes significant only through a 80.  Stereotyping is not automatic (Lepore and Brown 1999, 144–46; Locke and Walker 1999, 173–77).

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prominent male, namely, her son.81 Thus, a culturally presumed gendered hierarchy of dominance underlies the anonymous woman’s beatitude, about which Jesus expresses a reservation (μενοῦν) (Venetz 1990, 187). His response focuses on blessedness not in terms of the hierarchies of blood kinship but in terms of heeding God’s word (assuredly this would include Jesus’s mother according to 1:38), and this in turn makes way for the woman herself to be called blessed as one who hears God’s word and obeys it (Bovon 2013, 132). Luke 11:29-32. Although the notice in 11:29 that the crowds were increasing makes a slight transition from Jesus’s interchange with the woman in 11:27-28, Jesus takes up again the quest for a sign from heaven in 11:16. He characterizes these questers with a totalizing negative categorization of the outgroup (Tajfel 1978d, 62–66) as an “evil generation.” As I have consistently emphasized earlier, the Greek γενεά highlights the genesis of behavior, so that the search for a sign is a product of something that is engendered by evil. The irony in the quest for a sign is not merely that the exorcism of the mute demon is itself a sign, but also that those who propose this test act like the devil by repeating a test (πειράζω, 11:16), once again like what the devil devised in 4:2-12. Consequently, in keeping with Tajfel’s taxonomy of strategies of passing from one group to another (1978a, 86–94, see above on 1:24-25), Jesus emphasizes his distinctiveness by refusing to comply with the quest and creates a new distinction that he calls “the sign of Jonah.” In this elaboration he reprises the role of Jonah for the people of Nineveh, that is, he reprises an event that produced their repentance (11:30). In addition, the queen of the South who listened to Solomon’s wisdom corresponds to the Ninevites. Although Jesus’s claim that “something greater than Solomon is here” (11:32) is often taken as a claim to his identity, here the neuter πλεῖον (“something greater”) rather than the masculine indicates that Jesus focuses on the event of repentance rather than on his person. And so it is neither Jonah nor Jesus who is the witness against the unrepentant, but the people of Nineveh and the queen of the South (11:31-32). Luke 11:33-36. Jesus’s parabolic use of light moves away from critiquing opposition to giving positive guidance. With strong verbal agreement, “No one after lighting a lamp puts it in a crypt . . . but upon a lampstand” (11:33) repeats 8:16 where Jesus says, “No one after lighting a lamp covers it with a vessel.” There it addresses the sharply defined ingroup of disciples in order to explain why Jesus speaks in parables, and it points to the mission of the disciples to make the mysteries of the βασιλεία of God known to the outgroup. By contrast, the context here emphasizes increasing crowds (11:29) and stresses rather their response to Jesus’s ministry, which is portrayed as light and the eye as a metaphor for perceiving it. The ingroup and outgroup are determined solely by their acceptance or rejection of Jesus. Dale Allison (1987, 61–83) demonstrates that according to presuppositions in antiquity the eye not only is the receptor of light but also emits a kind of light (radar perhaps is a contemporary analogy). In this way the body that is full of 81.  Another case of what Irigaray (1993, 11) calls “matricide.”

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light emits light “as when a lamp gives you light with its brightness” (11:36). The imagery is not entirely foreign to our modern expression that certain personalities light up a room when they enter. The entire process parallels light with singleness of purpose (ἁπλοῦς, also means “without guile”) and darkness with evil (πονηρός, 11:34). Once again the image points to how behavior is engendered, either from a source without guile or from evil. In case of the latter, this corresponds to the process of seeking a sign, which in 11:29 is engendered by evil. Luke 11:37-54. The notice that “while [Jesus] was still speaking” a Pharisee invites him to a meal (11:37) means that the eye as the light of the body impinges on this incident. The Pharisee’s eye takes Jesus’s failure to dip his hands in water before the meal as a violation of his ingroup norms, a negative evaluation that evokes Jesus’s rejoinder. This corresponds to the second of Tajfel’s taxonomy of strategies to answer negative evaluations from an outgroup (1978a, 86–94). That is, Jesus emphasizes distinctions and introduces new ones, and he does so to such a degree that he violates the role of a guest and becomes the antagonist of his host (Gowler 1991, 233). Because Jesus uses the second-person plural to address this gathering (ὑμεῖς οἱ Φαρισαῖοι, 11:39), other guests are included, but they are necessarily the ones who are present at the meal and cannot represent the entire sect. So the use of these guests by interpreters to stereotype all Pharisees and lawyers is misleading (Brawley 2018b, 113–14). By an analogy of the inside and outside of a cup, Jesus alleges that the ingroup norms of his host and the other guests correspond to a negative interior reality, which he describes as plunder and wickedness (11:39), which corresponds to the body full of darkness in the preceding pericope (11:34). When Jesus calls these Pharisees senseless, because they do not value the inner reality equally with the outer (Wolter 2008, 432), he identifies them as deviant (11:40). Further, he makes an exhortation that the inner reality should be the gift of ἐλεημοσύνη (11:41). “Alms” is a quite inadequate translation of ἐλεημοσύνη. Here it cannot be reduced to charitable gifts. Rather it means the entire spirit of behaving mercifully (BDAG; so also Green 1997, 471). Thus, Jesus indicts these Pharisees and lawyers for disregarding divine judgment and love (11:42) whereas they pursue hierarchical social domination in terms of the cultural values of honor and shame (11:43). When he likens those present to unmarked graves (11:44), he voices something similar to what Bourdieu (1984, 471) refers to as hidden assumptions underlying hierarchies of dominance.82 A lawyer’s complaint that Jesus also dishonors them exposes the interlocutor’s hidden assumptions that legitimate hierarchies of dominance as if they are normal (11:45). But this only unleashes another denunciation of lawyers for putting heavy burdens on others (11:46). These burdens are virtually always understood metaphorically as legal strictures that are difficult to fulfill (e.g., Bock 1996, 1118). On the one hand, the history of interpretation has looked at demands of the law from an etic perspective from which they are considered burdensome. What 82.  Green (1997, 469 n. 61) refers similarly to “institutions” as patterns of behavior that are socially legitimated.

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is often expressed from an emic perspective of those who keep the law is not a burden but joy. For my part, I am persuaded that the burdens of physical labor should be included in burdens of the subdominant classes that are difficult to bear. The compulsion for labor on the part of peasants was complicated. The more fortunate among the peasants had access to arable land usually as part of village allotments. Others who had lost access to land might work as unskilled artisans serving other peasants, or they might be indentured servants, and others might work as tenant farmers. Their situation also was exacerbated by conscription for compulsive labor. In addition, distorted legal rulings could come into play. According to Leviticus 25 indentured servants were to serve only until the year of jubilee, and tenant farmers were not to be required to render usurious amounts of their harvests. Luke 11:42 mentions Pharisees who practice tithing produce to the extreme, and this perhaps relates to the demands on peasants to fulfill agricultural quotas that were multiplied enormously because in addition to tithes, which presumably should have been part of the joy of keeping the law, the brunt of imperial tribute also fell disproportionately especially on peasants who labored on large estates. Because of this, the “primary form of taxing the village and the rural sector was not in terms of agricultural goods . . . but in terms of labor” (Boer 2015, 120). In this sense, Lk. 11:46-47 also makes a distinction between those who live from their own burdensome labor and those who live from the labor of others (Ste. Croix 1981, 4, and passim): “And you yourselves do not touch the burdens with one of your fingers” (11:46). Jesus then enters into an extended argument about how the behavior of lawyers derives from their progenitors. First he alleges that they build memorials to prophets that their forebears killed, and thus the memorials attest that their heritage is the violent deaths of God’s spokespersons (11:48). The logic here is not only that the tombs memorialize the lives of the prophets and the circumstances of their violent deaths but also that the behavior is engendered by the same source as that of their ancestors. Thus, Jesus twice attributes their behavior to “this generation” (11:50-51). As I argue repeatedly elsewhere in this commentary, in my view, although γενεά (“generation”) is virtually universally misunderstood as the lifespan of Jesus’s contemporaries, the idiom expresses the process of generation, by which behavior is engendered (11:47-51). This too demonstrates how hidden violence is concealed in hierarchical dominance, of which even victims may be unaware (Bourdieu 1984, 471; 1998, 7; Irigaray 1993, 114). Some scribes and Pharisees then respond to Jesus’s exposure of hidden violence underlying hierarchical dominance with what is conventionally understood as vehement ill will (11:53). This is a translation of δεινῶς ἐνέχειν. On good philological grounds, however, it should be translated rather as an “extreme dilemma.” Confirmation of the latter translation is readily available in multiple sources. The speaker in Antiphon 1.1 sees himself in a terrible dilemma (δεινῶς ἔχειν)83 between obeying his father’s command to bring his murderers to justice 83.  This is the only kind of definition given for the adverb in LSJ.

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and a mother and half-brothers who oppose the father’s command. Or in a war the general Neon sees what dire straits (ἔιχον δεινῶς) his soldiers are in because of a lack of supplies (Xenophon, Anabasis 6.4.23). In Herodotus 2.121C.2, the mother of an executed thief is in dire straits (δεινῶς φέρειν) when she looks upon her beheaded son in face of the king’s edict that no one grieve his execution. On the basis of this evidence, these Pharisees see themselves in an extreme dilemma, between a rock and a hard place. But this translation of their response notwithstanding, their reaction is a form of what Bourdieu (1998, 40–44) designates as symbolic violence, that is, the effect of social presumptions that exploit the subdominant and leave the dominant supposedly innocent. Jesus’s indictments at this meal leave his interlocutors beyond the possibility of being persuaded, and they take up cross-examination in order to catch him in something he might say (11:53-54). Luke 12:1-12. On the one hand, ch. 12 is concerned with the increasing number of people associated with Jesus. Indeed, the feature of a significant number is a factor for constituting a group in that numbers reinforce an ingroup’s interpretation of reality (Börschel 2001, 95, 125). On the other hand, the chapter also functions to guard against abandoning the group. The gathering together of “tens of thousands” at 12:1 intensifies the crowds of 11:29 and forms an implicit affirmation from an external pole of Jesus’s popularity, which stands over against the preceding negative evaluation of him in the home of a Pharisee. But the issue of the legitimation of hierarchies of dominance by means of hidden cultural presumptions continues from ch. 11. The ὑπόκρισις of the Pharisees, about which Jesus warns his disciples, is not merely a disingenuous disconnect between saying and doing. As the word formation implies, ὑπόκρισις points to assumptions (a “judgment”) disguised underneath socialization that legitimate deceptive views of reality as if they were truly natural—as if hidden behind a mask, as yeast is in dough. As far as I am able to determine 12:1 is the only place in Luke where the characterization of Pharisees has no contextual qualifications that specify particular Pharisees (Brawley 2018b, 114). It should be noted nevertheless that in this case Jesus does not label the persons hypocrites but refers to the character of their behavior. Elsewhere in Luke the label “hypocrite” always refers to specific people in particular circumstances (6:42; 12:56; 13:15). In 20:20 a verb form of the root occurs as the narrator’s characterization of interlocutors who feign that they are sincere. Here in 12:1 Jesus does exhort his disciples to be on guard about the Pharisees’ hidden cultural presumptions in general. But in no case does Luke use the language of hypocrisy as a totalizing label. My unabridged dictionary, which gives “hypocritical” as one definition of “pharisaical,” is consequently quite un-Lukan. With more elaborate vocabulary and style, the revealing of what is concealed in 12:2 reiterates 8:17. Significantly, these two versions of the unveiling of what is hidden have dramatically different settings. The context in 8:17 is the specific group of Jesus’s disciples apart from “others.” Jesus explains to them why he teaches  in parables (8:9-10), and the logion refers positively to the unveiling of the  mysteries of the βασιλεία of God to outsiders (see p. 99). In ch. 12 the

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setting is an enormous crowd, although Jesus’s address is still aimed at disciples. Surprisingly, 12:2-3 shifts the burden of hypocrisy away from the Pharisees who have been censured in 11:39-52 and makes the unveiling of hidden presumptions that legitimate deceptive views of reality a threat against the disciples. This remarkable shift inverts the controversy with Jesus’s opponents in ch. 11 into an exhortation aimed at his followers (similarly on the level of Q, Schröter 1997, 347). Luke 12:4-12 curiously mixes severe threats against denying Jesus and abundant assurances of God’s care in times of crisis and trial. The crises and trials are future and without question anticipate persecution, including martyrdom (“those who kill the body,” 12:4). Initially, the fear of human persecutors pales in comparison with the fear of God, whose judgment is depicted as irreversibly extreme (12:4-5). Nevertheless, this juxtaposition of the fear of humans and the fear of God rests on the assertion that humans, for all their violence, cannot annihilate the life that rests in God’s power (Schröter 1997, 354). Thus this worst of all fears precipitously melts sensitively into God’s care. This divine care is first illustrated from nature by sparrows, which are devalued in a human economy, but not in God’s economy. Hyperbolically humans are then taken to surpass the value of a sparrow down to counting each hair (12:6-7). After the affective mood has oscillated between the fear of God and confidence in God’s care, a quid pro quo contract splits the difference (12:8-9). Confessing Jesus before humans corresponds to the son of man’s84 confession of humans before God. Quite appropriately Wink (2002, 178) emphasizes the role of the son of man as advocate for those who confess him (12:9). He then dismisses, however, that the denial of Jesus before humans corresponds to being denied before God’s angels as judgment. But this has a peculiar qualification: “Anyone who says a word against the son of man will be forgiven, but anyone who blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven” (12:10). The enigma of blasphemy against the Holy Spirit is baffling and prompts voluminous speculations. Mark 3:28-30 and Mt. 12:25-32 understand blasphemy against the Holy Spirit as the attribution of the work of the divine Spirit to a demonic spirit. In both cases, however, this is a response to opponents whereas in Luke, Jesus is addressing his disciples. Although it goes beyond what is clearly expressed, Wolter (2008, 444–45) offers a plausible solution that Luke makes a distinction between the disciples who bear witness and the people before whom they make their confession (ἄνθρωποι in 12:8-9). Forgiveness is offered to those before whom the disciples make their confession if they say something against Jesus, but they are not forgiven if their reaction is to declare the disciples’ confession itself to be blasphemy of the Holy Spirit. Or as Wink (2002, 86) persuasively presents it, the disciples are not to be considered fail-safe. Rather, what is blasphemous is to consider the source of their testimony to be evil. Another solution is that the passage warns against the potential apostasy of disciples. In this case, such apostasy constitutes blasphemy against the Holy Spirit. 84.  Jesus’s use of this phrase as a reference to himself cannot be titular.

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But this rests uneasily with the assurance of God’s care down to counting each hair, which is reinforced all the more by the promises that follow in 12:11-12. These verses clearly anticipate persecution from opponents including local synagogues and civic rulers, but then assure the disciples with confidence, because “the Holy Spirit will teach you in that very hour what is necessary to say.” Whatever the case may be, in 12:1-12 ingroup norms for commitment and fidelity are forcefully supported by both severe warnings and tenderhearted assurances. Luke 12:13-21. A plaintiff ’s concern for a share of the family’s patrimonial inheritance (κληρονομία) sets up the parable of the Rich Fool. His complaint that his brother has not divided the inheritance reveals a hierarchy of dominance in the family. On the one hand, the inheritance represents Israel’s heritage of the equitable access to the resources of the land in Abrahamic covenant traditions (see Deut. 1:8; Isa. 51:1-55:13; Ezek. 33:14; 34:37-39; 35:15; 47:14, 21; 48:1-35). Thus, in a not overly subtle way this case presents a contrast between greed and the distribution of goods so that everyone has equitable access to the means of subsistence according to covenant traditions. In New Testament times hierarchies of dominance such as urban over rural, elite over peasants, strong over weak, wealth over subsistence, male over female (note for example the problem of widows), older over younger (note the plight of orphans) had decimated Israel’s ideal of the distribution of the land among the tribes, clans, and families so that everyone would have equitable access to subsistence. Traditionally the identity of Ἰουδαῖοι was determined fundamentally by heredity and attachment to the land (Schiffman 1981, 138–39). On the other hand, in the case at hand Jesus interprets this petitioner’s concern as a reflection of greed. Whether it is the petitioner’s greed or his brother’s or both is unclear. Doubtless behind this is the principle of allocating land and its resources by village kinship groups according to the needs of villagers (Boer 2015, 102–104). Inevitably, therefore, the access to the resources of the land is a social problem. But this is a squabble between two brothers, which Jesus associates with the self-interest of individuals (12:15). To identify one brother or the other as greedy is irrelevant. Whatever the case, Jesus refuses to play the role of judge, presumably because that belongs to the collective orientation of village kinship groups (ibid., 102). The warning against greed, however, is addressed to the entire crowd. The admonition is based on a litotes that evaluates life in terms of something other than “more than enough” possessions: “Life with respect to someone is not a matter of the abundance of possessions” (12:15) (Malherbe 1996, 131). This also serves as the introduction of a parable. Egbert Seng (1978, 142–47) perceptively looks for the background of the parable of the rich fool in Wisdom Literature, but the significance of Abrahamic promises of land and equitable distribution according to needs in a corporate group are far more prominent elsewhere in the Law and the Prophets. When the land of a man, who is already rich, is unusually productive, he asks himself what he should do because he has inadequate space to store his grain (12:17). He decides to demolish his storehouses (plural), build greater ones, amass his resources, and congratulate himself for accumulating

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provisions for a long future (12:18-19). God, an unnoticed character who of course has been present all along, gives an evaluative characterization of the rich man: he is “imprudent”! (12:20). He is imprudent for at least two reasons: First, the future comes as a surprise, including the end of life. Second, in a culture where goods are in limited supply, amassing grain means withholding goods that are needed for the collective good (Malina 1981, 71–93; Rohrbaugh 1993, 34–35; see Callinicos 2009, 53). In the agrarian economy of the ancient eastern Mediterranean world, superabundant harvests were possible only on large tracts of land such as sizable estates (latafundia). Moreover, agricultural modes of production were such that accumulating large surpluses was impossible without other laborers, either tenants who rented land for high percentages of their yield or wage laborers at low pay or the unfree labor of indentured servants or slaves (Ste. Croix 1981, 32–53, 112–13; Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 110–11). A significant number of additional laborers would have been necessary to produce the harvest, to dismantle storage facilities, and to construct new ones. To reiterate, because resources were limited, in the extractive economy of the imperial systems of Jesus’s time accumulations of large surpluses upon which this rich man depended for his leisure and enjoyment inevitably meant “an accumulation of misery” for others (see Callinicos 2009, 53).85 The rich man plays the same role as the squabbling brothers who act for their self-interest and ignore the collective will for access to the resources of the earth. But his sudden death shows ironically that his calculations for the future left God out of the picture and also that for all his wealth he was always dependent on God (Seng 1978, 138, in reliance on Adolf Jülicher). As Abraham Malherbe (1996, 125–27) aptly points out from Hellenistic parallels, greed has double-pronged dimensions of the social and the individual, and to his ironic discredit, the rich fool identifies himself only against an objective pole of wealth and luxury. Such self-interest always injures the βασιλεία of God, so that self-interest devoted to possessions clashes with commitment to God (“being rich toward God”) (12:21), or as Jesus puts it later, “You cannot serve God and mammon” (16:13). Luke 12:22-34. A conclusion that compares ingroup and outgroup norms, namely, the juxtaposition of the “nations of the world” with the βασιλεία of God, is the key to the entire section, which focuses on God’s care for the embodiment of life. Whereas 12:4-5 uses fear of God in order to avert fear of humans, 12:22-34 picks up again the theme of God’s care expressed in 12:6-7. As if in confidence that the prayer for daily sustenance (11:3) would be fulfilled, Jesus quietens his disciples’ anxieties about daily necessities, which are included in nourishment and clothing as a synecdoche (12:22-23). He reinforces his previous statement about the essence of life exceeding possessions in 12:15 by repeating a virtual equivalent of 4:4 (“one does not live by bread alone”): “Life is more than food” (12:23a). At the

85.  Snodgrass (2008, 397) dismisses this aspect of injustice in accumulating wealth: “The parable does not teach about wealth ” (399).

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same time, he does not disparage but aggrandizes the embodiment of life: “And the body more than a garment” (12:23b). As in Wisdom Literature, Jesus then underlines the significance of the embodiment of life by observing nature and making reasoned deductions. The image of sparrows in 12:6 is embellished by ravens that in contrast to the rich man of the parable (12:16-20) “do not plant and harvest, nor have cupboards or storehouses and yet God gives them nourishment” (12:22). Similarly, like ravens that do not plant or harvest, lilies do not produce clothing, but excel in splendor (12:27). The entire argument stresses the limits of human existence (“can any of you add a cubit to your life span by worrying,” 12:25) and simultaneously its grandeur (“how much more do you differ qualitatively from the birds,” 12:24). Limitations and grandeur together form a strategy that is particularly effective for groups that are marginalized, such as rural peasants in Galilee, who were vanquished by foreign powers, beleaguered under oppressive imperial systems, or as Luke puts it both early and late, those who hope for the redemption of Israel (e.g., 2:25, 38; 24:21). All analogies break down, and these are not meant to imply that nourishment and clothing come apart from labor. The ravens are not examples to emulate (Wolter 2008, 453). Rather, in the end the analogies capitalize on the difference between disciples on the one hand, and ravens and lilies on the other, and they thus display God’s care all the more (12:24). Further, a reasoned deduction about the inability of anxiety to change the length of one’s life (ἡλικία, Wolter 2008, 454), that is, a futile matter (ἐλάχιστον), leads to the conclusion that it is in vain to worry about the rest (12:25-26). Admonishing his own, Jesus labels the disciples ὀλιγόπιστοι and implies their assent with the norms of the nations of the world as an outgroup (12:28-30). In this way he accomplishes two things. On the one hand, this expresses two constructs of reality, one that pertains to God’s children (“your Father,” 12:30, 32) and the other to all the nations of the world (Dillon 1991, 618–20). Second, the rhetoric is a pseudo-shaming strategy to strengthen ingroup identity. All this assures disciples of a relationship with God as the crucial factor of their identity even in the face of crises and trials. But as indicated above, the key to the section is the exhortation to seek the βασιλεία of God as an elective kinship group (Bovon 2002, 315) with God as their father who knows their needs (12:30). Any suspicions that Jesus expects necessities of life to be miraculously provided is dispelled by the way of life in the βασιλεία of God (12:31), in which humans strive for the collective well-being of all, characterized by allocative economics (Boer 2015, xii, 1–2, 110–45), which stands in contrast to the dynamics of the “nations (ἔθνη) of the world” (12:30). From one perspective, the way of life in the βασιλεία of God stands in contrast to the extractive dynamics of imperial systems. From another perspective, the way of life in the βασιλεία of God is reiterated with the image of a “little flock” (little in not merely numbers but also socially and politically trivial), which is extracted from the crowd of tens of thousands in 12:1. This little flock encapsulates the rule (βασιλεία) of the God who is their father, and God’s way of ruling is elucidated as using possessions for acting mercifully (ἐλεημοσύνη) (12:32-33). To have

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treasure in heaven (12:33-34) recalls “being rich toward God” in 12:21 and means commitment to God’s reality as the orientation of the heart, that is, commitment to life as it should be lived under God’s rule. This is nothing other than the manifestation of a preeminent transcendental86 of life, which is finally named later in the chapter as “justice” (τὸ δίκαιον, “practicing what is right,” 12:57). Luke 12:35-48. Again, God’s care does not come without rigors. As an eschatological perspective takes over, the words “fear not little flock” (12:32) do not lead Jesus’s followers to consolation without ominous responsibilities. In fact, the cadence of Luke’s prose picks up as if to startle. Wolter (2008, 460) effectively indicates a structure in which 12:35-40 highlights “being prepared” whereas 12:42-46 focuses on “doing,” and a conclusion in 12:47-48 brings these two key issues together. The previous material played down clothing, but now in 12:35-40 Jesus counsels readiness for a time of crisis. The crisis is identified in 12:40 as the coming of the son of man,87 and this crisis dictates dressing like the Israelites at the time of the exodus (Exod. 12:11) with lamps lit (Lk. 12:35). A case in point of readiness is that because of slaves who are alert, the arrival of the son of man in judgment is portrayed as the inversion of normal master-slave hierarchies of dominance (12:36-38). Instead of serving the master, diligent slaves generate a reversal in which the master serves them! On the other hand, these slaves do not invert their status to become masters themselves. Rather an image of mutuality replaces the master-slave hierarchy (so also Green 1997, 501–502). In 12:39-40 the coming of the son of man is hardly like a thief in the night (so also ibid., 498–99). Rather, what is analogous is the keen readiness that is apparent in the metaphorical images of both slaves and those who guard against theft (12:39-40). Peter interrupts Jesus with a jarring question: “Lord, are you saying this figuration for us or for everybody?” (12:41). The answer to his question comes only from reflection on the urgency and diligence that Jesus continues to press (12:42). The elements of the puzzle confronting Peter (and the readers/hearers) are represented by two types of characters who are portrayed as slaves. One works diligently to comply with responsibilities (12:42, 43-44), the other procrastinates, acts out his own nested hierarchy of dominance over his underlings, beats them, and plays the role of the rich man in the parable of the Rich Fool (12:45). When the master returns unexpectedly, he punishes the second character dreadfully (12:46). Rather than heighten anticipations of the parousia, this parable emphasizes fidelity 86.  Justice transcends any of its specific responses to particular, local circumstances; it transcends any of the attempts to institutionalize it in laws (Callinicos 1995, 196–97). This holds even for Jacques Derrida, who, on the one hand, resists the transcendence of meaning in language but, on the other, recognizes the necessity of decisive commitment to justice, not as something that can be objectively determined, but as something that still transcends (exceeds) all attempts to establish what is right (Yamada 2000, 76–79). 87. Son of man terminology with reference to Jesus is specifically oriented toward Jesus’s role in judgment (Horsley 1989b, 109).

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in the everyday world (Friedrichsen 2001, 264). In fact, the primary purpose of an apocalyptic perspective is virtually always to exhort disciples to live appropriately in the present. The closest that Jesus comes to answering Peter’s question in 12:41 about whether his parable is for disciples or for everyone is in 12:48: “To everyone to whom much is given much will be sought, and from the one to whom much is entrusted, much more will be demanded.” Luke 12:49-59. This section has two distinct parts. In the first (12:49-53) Jesus is autobiographical about the nature of his mission, and in keeping with Simeon’s prophecy in 2:34 about the falling and rising of many, it emphasizes a division. The second (12:54-59) is addressed to the crowds, and it centers on making appropriate judgments. When Jesus says, “I came to cast fire on the earth” (12:49), attentive readers/ hearers may remember a prolepsis from John the Baptist that a stronger one who is to come would baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire (3:16).88 Almost as if on cue, Jesus himself brings up baptism in connection with fire. But this narrative trajectory crashes. Instead of baptizing, Jesus is the one who will be baptized: “How constrained I am until it is fulfilled” (12:50). This baptism imagery may be akin to being overwhelmed in deep water (Nolland 1993a, 708). A more precise understanding of what this baptism means remains enigmatic, but it assuredly is related to division over Jesus’s ministry. From the promise of “peace” in 1:79 and “peace on earth” in 2:14, traces of the way of peace keep popping up. But again true to Simeon’s warning of division (2:34), the road is anything but smooth. So the promise of peace is abruptly qualified by Jesus’s rhetorical question and his answer: “Do you suppose that I came to bring about peace? No, I say to you, rather division” (12:51). This is specified as divisions in domestic relationships; father against son, or vice versa; mother against daughter, or vice versa; mother-in-law against her son’s bride, or vice versa (12:52-53). An ingroup identity for those who choose to be Jesus’s disciples may mean that they will be involved in ingroup conflict in other groups to which they belong. The domestic kinship groups specified here are focal instances (Tannehill 1975, 53, 67–77, and passim) that may be extended to relationships in other groups. The address to the crowds makes a comparison between reading signs of weather, that is, anticipating rain from clouds and heat from south winds, and perceiving what is happening in the present. The folk wisdom of forecasting the weather for the (near) future is contrasted ironically with the inability of Jesus’s audience, whom he calls “hypocrites,” to interpret the present (12:56). As indicated at the beginning of the chapter in 12:1, ὑπόκρισις is a deceptive view of reality built on hidden presumptions (as if hidden behind a mask) that legitimates hierarchies of dominance in social structures and takes them to be natural. In the context of 88.  The image of fire can be associated with God’s presence or with purification or punishment and destruction or as an analogy of events at Pentecost (see on 3:16 p. 54; Wolter 2008, 468–69). The nature of the image in 12:49 of Jesus coming to cast fire upon the earth remains ambiguous.

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ch. 12, reading the signs of the present include at least the contrast between God’s providential care (12:22-29) rather than the vicious amassing of the resources of the earth for sustaining life (12:15-20); the contrast between the kingdoms of the nations and the βασιλεία of God (12:30-32); the contrast between commitment to God’s reality as the orientation of the heart (12:21) and injustice (see 12:57-59); and the problem of domestic division in face of Jesus’s challenges to hierarchies of dominance (12:51-53). In sum, hypocrisy is a false view of reality based on hidden cultural presumptions that fallaciously legitimates injustice. It has proved difficult in the history of interpretation to decide how to take Jesus’s words about being taken before a judge (12:58). If these words are taken figuratively as a parable, they point to an eschatological final judgment (so also Wolter 2008, 473). One reason from the context for taking them literally is that this pericope is followed immediately by an account of imperial injustice perpetrated by Pontious Pilate (see the discussion on 13:1-3). Indeed, if they are taken literally, they describe the epitome of injustice in the judicatories of Roman imperial systems with respect to debtors. This scene ends before a magistrate, who would necessarily be a local imperial collaborator. The accused person (“you” likely refers to an Israelite peasant) has not yet been found guilty. Nevertheless, Jesus advises settling before having to face the magistrate. Rome vaunted the impartiality of its legal system as depicted by statues of Justicia, a female deity who was blindfolded and held level balances in her hand. In reality magistrates were notorious for favoring elite Roman citizens over peasants (Garnsey 1970, 128–41; Lincott 1993, 43–67, 99–123). In fact, as early as Aristotle, magistrates were advised to present themselves as pious by supporting public religious celebrations so that their constituents would feel no resentment against them (Pol. 6.1321a). The conclusion of this passage shows clearly that the case is a matter of debt (“until you have paid the last tiny coin,” 12:59), and the incarceration is in a debtor’s prison (12:59). Israelite practice permitted indentured servitude but did not permit imprisonment for debt (Bovon 2013, 258–59). The injustice involved in this case is, therefore, a focal instance (Tannehill 1975, 53, 67–77, and passim) of the necessity to “judge what is right” (12:57): κρίνετε τὸ δίκαιον. I once heard theologian Robert McAfee Brown say that it is difficult to define justice, “but I know injustice when I see it.” The problem of discerning justice, however, must struggle with hypocrisy, and by that I mean the way hypocrisy is defined above. Hypocrisy involves fallacious perceptions of reality that depend on underlying cultural assumptions, which are deeply embedded by diverse agents of socialization (Bourdieu 1984, 1998) and which legitimate hierarchies of dominance.89 Underlying hidden cultural assumptions may even make it difficult to know injustice when we see it. But recognizing the hierarchies of dominance legitimated by hidden cultural

89.  Take, for example, assumptions about the rightful powers of government, or gender roles, or the status conferred by education and wealth, and the degree to which they underlie prominence of some over others.

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presuppositions should be like discerning weather from clouds in the west or from a wind out of the south. To “judge what is right” is no simple task. For one thing values can come into conflict. In his critical remarks to some Pharisees in ch. 11, Jesus observes their tithing down to small amounts of agricultural produce. When he then challenges them to practice the justice and love of God, he also affirms that their tithing ought not be neglected (11:42). This implies that it is possible to fulfill values simultaneously. But what if the values come into conflict? In Luke, Jesus consistently observes the Sabbath, and he appears to support the restrictions against work on the Sabbath. But he also can advocate the value of meeting the needs of hunger when this comes into conflict with restrictions against work (6:1-5). This means to a certain degree that justice is contextual in particular contingent situations. What is right may be quite local. For another thing, culturally specific goals strongly determine what is considered to be right. Alaisdair MacIntyre (1988) shows how distinct cultures value different goods to be attained, which in turn determine what justice means. A certain culture may value the goal of honor so highly that a violation of family honor mandates the death of the violator at the hands of the family itself. For such a reason as this Alex Callinicos (1995, 196–97) advocates that justice means the “transcendence of particularism.” And in a certain sense, so does Jacques Derrida, who, on the one hand, opposes the very possibility of establishing any final meaning in language but, on the other, sees the necessity of justice to transcend its particular manifestations, as it may be represented by law, for example (Yamada 2000, 76–79). That is, justice means “the recognition of the inadequacy of the narrower solidarities [such as] nation or race or religion” (Callinicos 1995, 197).90 Perhaps discerning what is right is indeed similar to how observers discern what the weather will be like, that is, both turn out to be complicated challenges. Luke 13:1-5. Partial support for reading the case in 12:54-59 as a literal description of imperial systems of (in)justice is that the following story of Pilate’s blatant high-handed violence is simultaneous (“at that same time,” 13:1). Pilate’s treachery is summarized by the narrator as if it is common knowledge on the part of “some present” who relate it to Jesus (13:1),91 but it is so elliptic that it also presumes that Luke’s readers are aware of who Pilate is (see on 3:1 pp. 54–55) and something of his behavior. Similarly, the elliptic account on Jesus’s lips of the deaths of eighteen people who were killed by the collapse of a tower presumes common knowledge (13:4). Jesus himself then questions whether his interlocutors take these tragedies to be divine retribution for especially heinous “sins” of the victims (13:2) or their “debts” (13:4). At first glance, when Jesus says, “No,” he seems to be arguing against correlating divine punishment with sin (e.g., Bovon 2013, 269). But he actually levels the 90.  See note 110. 91.  Josephus does not mention this incident but does refer to other acts of Pilate’s treachery that are comparable (Ant. 18.60-62, 85-89; J.W. 2.169-177).

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ground for everyone, and this has to do with the identity of the ingroup of disciples who cannot presume that they are immune to judgment. When it comes to the problem of evil, they are on the same ground as the victims in these incidents (13:3, 5). And so Jesus actually reinforces divine punishment for sin. Although ostensibly ignored in this passage, Pilate’s treachery most surely incurs the same divine punishment. Luke 13:6-9. Punishment is not the final word, however. In the parable that follows a painstaking gardener (“pastoral care,” Brawley 2014, 242) pleads with the one who has planted the fruitless fig tree to allow one more year of special cultivation before cutting it down (13:6-9). The imagery has a strong background in Israelite tradition where a vineyard is a metaphor for God’s people and the vine and fig tree are metonyms for wholeness (see Snodgrass 2008, 259, 263). The parable also recalls other agricultural images like John the Baptizer’s exhortation to bear fruit with the warning of cutting down a tree that does not produce good fruit (3:8-9), or like Jesus’s words about good trees producing good fruit (6:43), or like the sower and the seed in 8:4-8 where there are possibilities that greatly exceed failure. The planter and the gardener in the parable play roles in a hierarchy of power, which the gardener felicitously inverts with his plea for one more year (Bovon 2013, 272). The surprise in the plot is that unlike the Baptizer’s warning that the axe is “already lying at the root of the trees” (3:9) the gardener so to speak withholds the axe for another year (Green 1997, 515). The heart of this parable is hope for an alternative to destruction, hope for fruit, hope for life like “a tree planted by a spring of waters that produces its fruit at the right time” (Ps. 1:3 LXX). But as in Psalm 1, there remains the unsavory alternative, namely, destructive judgment (Kilgallen 202: 439–49). Luke 13:10-17. When the scene changes to a synagogue on the Sabbath, does Jesus play the role of the gardener in 13:6-9? This account has two foci. On the one hand, in 13:10-13 the narrator introduces a woman who had been bent over for eighteen years, unable to stand up straight. Jesus takes the initiative to call to her, pronounces that she has been set free from her malady, and then lays his hands on her. Immediately she was straightened (ἀνωρθώθη, divine passive). Further, she recognizes God’s act and interprets the event as such by glorifying God. That is, she recognizes her healing as a manifestation of God’s power. On the other hand, at 13:14 the focus shifts to conflict. The leader of the synagogue is displeased that this healing occurs on the Sabbath and takes the healing as violating the sacred commemoration of God’s establishment of the seventh day as a day of rest. Although speaking and touching constitute nothing resembling work, the leader makes a social challenge, not to Jesus but to the people, to come to be healed on “workdays.” In spite of Jesus’s response to the leader’s challenge, he too addresses the people, but first labels them “hypocrites” (plural, 13:15). The story reflects a multifaceted grid of hierarchies of dominance, which are legitimated by hidden presuppositions, and it is the fallacious view of reality based on underlying cultural assumptions that in turn constitutes the hypocrisy.

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The synagogue leader has status that gives him hierarchical power over others in the synagogue, the calendar gives hierarchical priority to Sabbath time over other times, relationships are hierarchically gendered, and health is hierarchically superordinate over malady, which of course is subordinate. As mentioned earlier, here “hypocrites” is a label for people who hold a deficient view of reality that is built on hidden presumptions (as if behind a mask) that legitimate hierarchies of dominance (see on 12:1, pp. 128–29). Labeling and deviance theory predicts that someone who labels others will solicit supporters who will then subject deviants to further degradation (Malina and Neyrey 1988, 35–65, 96–97). But in this case Jesus appeals for support from the very people he labels deviant. This involves two processes that social identity theory refers to as “decategorization” (Hewstone 1996, 323–68) and “crossed categorization” (Hagendoorn and Henke 1991, 24760; Hewstone et al. 1993, 779–93). (a) Inasmuch as Jesus, the synagogue leader, and all who are present are obligated by necessity to lead an ox or a donkey to drink every day of the week, membership in the group of Sabbath observers is decategorized and loses its salience. (b) Over against the dominant categories of gender, leadership, and health, Jesus introduces a new category of the children of Abraham, which encompasses everyone present. Again, the membership in the group of Sabbath observers loses its salience and no longer maintains its hierarchical dominance. But more than that, Jesus interprets the woman’s malady in mythological terms that make the loosing of the woman nothing other than God’s liberation from a satanic bondage that impedes the functions of her life. Dennis Hamm (1987, 27) insightfully relates her release from bondage to the rationale for Sabbath observance. In Deut. 5:15 Sabbath observance is a commemoration of God’s liberation of Israel from bondage in Egypt to which the woman’s liberation as Jesus interprets it is an undeniable parallel. Further, Jesus’s naming the woman “Abraham’s daughter” (13:16) is also a forceful assertion from his external point of view of her identity (on naming someone prominent see Malina and Neyrey 1988, 54–65, 99–102). This title is without precedent in Israelite tradition, although the mother of the seven sons in 4 Macc. 15:28 is named somewhat indirectly a “daughter of the steadfastness of God-fearing Abraham.” Further, the ascribed status of the woman as Abraham’s daughter is a premise for the healing rather than a consequence of it (Seim 1994, 48). This appellation is a forceful claim on divine promises in the Abrahamic tradition, to which Mary and Zechariah appeal (Lk. 1:55, 73-75), and which Peter summarizes in Acts 3:25. In turn, this naming is a compelling appropriation of Israelite honor for those who are beneficiaries of Jesus’s ministry. Finally, once again an act of Jesus undermines the hidden presumption that Sabbath conventions are the inviolable natural order of things, a presumption which in this case creates a hierarchy of dominance of the healthy over those who are not, as well as the dominance of a healthy male ruler of the synagogue over a suffering female. Does Jesus not play a role like the gardener caring for the fig tree in 13:6-9? On the one hand, his attention to the woman who was bent over from eighteen years of bondage and his elevation of her to the status of a daughter of Abraham might be compared to the cultivation of the fruitless fig tree. But something similar

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holds for the way Jesus deals with the leader of the synagogue and the others who are present. Jesus’s challenge to them as hypocrites and his reasoning with them bears fruit, so to speak. “All those who were opposed to him were humiliated, and the entire crowd (the leader is included) rejoiced at all the glorious things that he was doing” (13:17). At 13:5 Jesus exhorted his audience to repent. In this healing the woman did not repent but those who opposed her liberation did. The social group composed by the assembly in the synagogue has achieved a gain in its own self-categorization. In addition to being a group that observes the Sabbath as a commemoration (a) of the seventh day of creation, (b) of God’s establishment of the seventh day as a day of rest for the well-being of humans, and (c) of Israel’s exodus in the remote past, they are a group that rejoices at the glorious liberation of a bent woman in their very midst on that very day. Luke 13:18-21. Luke’s version of the parable of the mustard seed surprises readers with two striking features. First, the βασιλεία of God is made analogous not to something grandiose but to the planting of a mustard seed in a garden. Second, although none of the possible varieties of shrubs known as σίναπι would exceed a height of three meters (BDAG), in this parable the plant grows into an exaggerated tree with conspicuous branches where birds nest. The postpositive οὖν in the introduction to the parable may be a simple transition, or it may be an inferential particle such as “accordingly,” which may imply that the healing of the woman bent over (13:10-17) is a concrete case of how divine benevolence is like the planting and growth of a mustard seed (Hultgren 2000, 401),92 unremarkable except for the birds who take shelter in it. As such the parable is a parody of the eschatological image of the noble cedar of Ezek. 17:23 under which animals live and in which birds nest (Crossan 1973, 47–48, 51), although Ezek. 17:24 also inverts the lofty and lowly. This inversion of expectations corresponds to the presence of well-being under God’s rule not in conventional images of royal majesty and most particularly not in the imperial warrior way of dominance. The βασιλεία of God is “not a towering empire but an unpretentious venture of faith” (Funk 1973, 7). Thus, in instances that are striking, it is like gifts among individuals in the out-of-the-way, like the healing of an anonymous woman whom Jesus identifies as Abraham’s daughter. Moreover, the growth from the minute seed assures that a hitherto hidden reality is yet to come as the way things are when God rules. The woman who hides a leavening agent in flour so that she leavens all the dough (13:20-21) is like a fraternal twin to the man who plants the mustard seed. Her simple act corresponds to the man’s tossing a mustard seed into the garden. Moreover, the exaggerated growth of the mustard seed into a tree is matched by the gigantic amount of flour that the woman leavens. The enormous quantity of 110 pounds is enough to feed 160 people (Bovon 2013, 301). In the wake of 92.  Nolland (1993, 728) argues against continuity with the previous passage. I concur with Green (1997, 526) and Wolter (2008, 485) who insist on reading in continuity with 13:10-17.

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the benevolence of God that is manifest in the restoration of a bent woman to wholeness and the enhancement of her identity as Abraham’s daughter, a mystery from a hitherto hidden reality that contravenes conventional perceptions of reality (Funk 1971, 163–65) the βασιλεία of God is arriving as a concrete reality. Luke 13:22-30. Readers get a notice that everything that has occurred since 9:51 is a part of Jesus’s orientation with his face set toward Jerusalem, but which is also a continuation of his program to proclaim the good news of the βασιλεία of God to other cities of the Ἰουδαῖοι from 4:43: “He was going through city after city and village after village teaching and making his way to Jerusalem” (13:22). As Jesus is teaching an interlocutor poses a question with εἰ that already presupposes a positive answer: “Lord, only a few will be saved, will they not?” (13:23). In order to catch the movement in this incident, close attention needs to be paid to shifting perspectives in the dialogue with Jesus. First, it is patently clear that this interlocutor is attempting to identify with a supposedly select ingroup of those who are saved, a supposition that James Sanders correctly labels “a false assumption about election” (2001a, 110). On this assumption the elect ingroup then constitutes a hierarchy of dominance over everyone else. The notion of a delimited, select ingroup over against a vast majority of those who are not saved is reinforced by notions in the cultural encyclopedia such as in T. Ab. 11 where Abraham is shown two gates in heaven, a narrow one that is the entrance to life and a wide one that leads to destruction (see Wolter 2008, 491). Corresponding to the anticipated answer that is presumed in the formulation of the question, Jesus apparently responds positively. However, he addresses not only his interlocutor but all his hearers (plural) telling them to struggle with many others to get through a door that not only is narrow but also is limited to a time when it will no longer be open (13:24-25). Jesus then shifts the point of view according to which his audience is no longer trying to compete with others to get through a narrow door. Rather, they are locked out, and they pound on the door to get in (13:25b). They appeal to the doorkeeper that he should recognize them, apparently on the basis of who they are (13:25-26), that is, on the basis of their ascribed status (a bit differently, so also Green 1997, 530). When these who are locked out attempt to establish that they belong inside, the lord of the parable advises them twice: οὐκ οἶδα ὑμᾶς πόθεν ἐστέ. This is usually translated as “I do not know where you come from” (NRSV). But I am translating this as follows: “I do not know what engendered you” (13:25, 27).93 Further, Jesus gives an external ascription of their identity as “workers of iniquity” (v. 27). Significantly, this identification means that his interlocutors produce injustice (subjective genitive) and simultaneously that what they produce is engendered by injustice (objective genitive of origin).94 But here the perspective changes again, and it changes quite dramatically. The narration shifts to an 93.  Literally, this is something like “I do not know you from whence you are.” 94. Interpreters generally try to decide whether such genitive constructions are subjective or objective. But these genitives are capable of communicating both nuances simultaneously.

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eschatological perspective where the interlocutors are “weeping and grinding their teeth” on the outside looking in. And what they see on the inside is reminiscent of the eschatological pilgrimage of all nations anticipated by Isa. 2:2; 25:6; Mic. 4:1-3 (among other references). That is, they see innumerable people from the four corners of the earth, the full number of Israelites and gentiles (Dupont 1967, 166) eating with Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and all the prophets (13:28-29). In addition, the pericope ends with the inversion of the first and the last (13:30), and this also refers to those who are included and excluded in terms of social class (Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 202). Social identity theory anticipates that bias against outgroups generated by ingroup categorization can be ameliorated under conditions by which an ingroup promotes acceptance of others as a norm (Gaertner et al. 1993, 3–5). In so many words, by reducing a presumptive characteristic of an ingroup that they are God’s favorite people to the exclusion of others, Jesus transforms the perception of ingroup-outgroup boundaries. His interlocutors, who have the perspective that the criteria are so stringent that only a select ingroup will be saved set the standards so high as to exclude themselves. Ironically, those categorized as an outgroup over whom they presume to have preference turn out to be in the ingroup. On the other hand, the presumed ingroup’s initial exclusive categorization becomes so stringent as to be detrimental to their ingroup. Weeping and grinding teeth indeed! Simultaneously some Pharisees come on the scene. This is a bit abrupt, but the continuation of the theme of Jesus’s face being set toward Jerusalem beginning in 9:5195 and reiterated in 13:22 remains in the air. Uncharacteristically for Pharisees in Luke, they do not act as social control agents or presume a hierarchy of dominance. Rather, they play a role of resistance in the context of Roman imperial systems. That is, they act to thwart Herod’s imperial warrior way of force to kill Jesus (13:31), and they approach Jesus as allies (Tyson 1960, 245). To be sure they do not understand his destiny in Jerusalem, but in this misunderstanding they make good companions of his disciples who also do not understand. Significantly, Jesus’s response does not challenge them for giving him this advice. Rather he targets Herod Antipas, whom he characterizes as a fox. The animal metaphor is ambiguous in that, on the one hand, it connotes someone who is cunning or deceptive, and on the other hand, it means someone who is inferior or deficient in power (e.g., Bovon 2013, 325). From previous information in Luke, readers/ hearers know that Herod Antipas was recognized as a tyrannical ruler who was rebuked by the Baptizer for a multitude of evil deeds (περὶ πάντων ὧν ἐποίησεν, 3:19), who imprisoned John (3:19-20), and who beheaded him (9:9). Perhaps it surprises readers/hearers, but Jesus enlists these Pharisees to serve as his emissaries to Herod (13:32). If Jesus can appeal to them to be his emissaries, this is a further indication that as strange as it may be, they are his allies. If they accomplish this task, they will inform Herod Antipas of the divine necessity for Jesus to fulfill his 95.  On the development of this theme, see 13:22; 17:11; 18:31.

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itinerant mission to cast out demons and to heal, along with the notice that his itinerancy soon comes to an end, which inevitably implies that he will fulfill his goal (13:32-33). He also alludes to this as the work of a prophet, whose end comes inevitably in Jerusalem, “because it is not possible for a prophet to be killed except in Jerusalem” (13:33). Although by chance Herod happens to be in Jerusalem at the time of Jesus’s crucifixion (23:7), he is Tetrarch of Galilee with his capital in Tiberias, and Jesus’s journey to Jerusalem is in the opposite direction. Although this incident expresses no direct interest in Jesus’s followers, it implies rigor in following him as in 9:23 and 9:57-62. The repetition of Jerusalem in 13:34 links Jesus’s lament over the city to 13:33. In fact, this structure causes the name of the city to be repeated three times in succession one after the other, the last two in the vocative. However, Jesus no longer directs his words to Pharisees but once to the city itself in a singular pronoun in the genitive (τὰ τέκνα σου, 13:34), whereas six times second-person plural pronouns and verbs aim at the Jerusalemites themselves. Because the style is very poetic, some interpreters see it as the voice of Wisdom as in 11:28, which also speaks of high-handed killing of prophets (e.g., Bovon 2013, 328). It is unlikely that the shift in addressees from singular to plural is an unintended inconsistency. First, the city itself is referred to in the feminine singular and charged with killing the prophets and stoning those whom God sends (divine passive). But then Jesus claims that he has frequently desired (ποσάκις ἠθέλησα) to gather Jerusalem’s “children like a hen gathering her own brood under her wings” (13:34). In Luke, Jesus has never been in Jerusalem during his ministry. But in antiquity national identity is determined less by the territory within the borders of the country than by association with the dominant city. In fact, Josephus refers to Jerusalem as the metropolis of the entire race of the Israelites (J.W., 7.375). Thus, Jesus has indeed ministered frequently to those who tie their identity to this city. The lament itself is a mixture of pathos and a prophetic challenge built on the axis of desire. The image of Jesus’s longing to gather Jerusalem’s children like a hen gathering her chicks evokes affection, devotion, and protection. But this is stymied by Jerusalem’s antipathy to his desire—they do not want to be gathered (13:34). Against the preponderant interpretation of “your house” in 13:35 as the Jerusalem temple, Wolter shows convincingly that the temple is overwhelmingly designated God’s house rather than the house of the people (2008, 408).96 With the second-person pronoun ὑμῖν as a dative of disadvantage (BDF § 188; Smyth 1984, § 1481) the sentence means something like, “To your chagrin you are locked out of your (own) house.” This is a tragic announcement of the present situation likely referring to them as vanquished victims of imperial domination. By contrast, this tragic announcement is followed by another for the future, which Dale Allison (1983, 80) has astutely shown to be a conditional prophecy citing Ps. 117:26 LXX: “You will not see me [salvific messiah] until [the condition is fulfilled] when ‘you’ 96.  Others take “house” as a reference to Jerusalem’s leadership, those who fall under their sway, and institutions (e.g., Weinert 1982, 75–76; Green 1997, 539).

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[Jerusalem] say, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.’” But this is not only a conditional prophecy; it is also a literary prolepsis. Accordingly in 19:38, a multitude of disciples acclaims Jesus with this royal welcome from Ps. 117:26 LXX. Against taking this as the completion of the literary prolepsis, Wolter (2008, 499) argues that in 19:38 only Jesus’s disciples make the acclamation of the one who comes in the name of the Lord. But with the notion of linking the identification of all Israelites with Jerusalem as the capital (as in the previous paragraph), and the verbal repetition of Ps. 117:26 LXX in 19:38, the multitude of disciples does indeed fulfill the prolepsis. Luke 14:1-24. This section has three main parts. First, there is a Sabbath healing (14:1-6), then some rather common sense advice about social status and social reciprocity (14:7-14), and finally a parable about social relationships (14:1524). My reading of the last of these joins a growing consensus that stands over against a long-standing history of interpretation of the parable as an allegory of Heilsgeschichte, that is, as a representation of stages of God’s sending of prophetic emissaries to Israel. To return to the flow of the text at 14:1, for the third time Jesus dines with a Pharisee. In fact, this host is identified as a leader of Pharisees. Given that in 14:3 the interlocutors are described as Pharisees and lawyers, a man with dropsy appears to be an outsider to this ingroup. He is categorized only by his malady, and so he belongs to a group of those who suffer from maladies and need to be healed. Significantly the setting is a Sabbath. The narrator describes the mindset of the assembly as “observing [Jesus] closely” (παρατηρέω, 14:1), which need not be pernicious inasmuch as Jesus returns the favor when he is “especially observant” of them in 14:7 (ἐπέχω). A situation of need presents itself in the case of the man who suffers from edema (14:2), but Jesus also makes this a time to query how the Sabbath is to be observed. Clearly, Jesus himself wishes to commemorate the Sabbath. As on earlier occasions (6:1-5; 6:6-11; 13:10-17), the question is how best to do that, especially when one is confronted with human need: “Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath or not?” (14:3). Does fidelity to the commemoration of the Sabbath impose a hierarchy of dominance over a sick man? The silence of his interlocutors indicates that this is also a conundrum for them. After the man is healed and leaves, Jesus then endorses the healing by the analogy of rescuing a son or an ox that has fallen into a well on the Sabbath (14:5). As in the case of the woman bent over in the previous chapter, this is a case of decategorization combined with cross categorization. Jesus and the man who is healed are decategorized as violators of the Sabbath by association with categories of those who take care of their own offspring or domestic animals when they are in need. The man with edema takes on the character of a son who falls into a well, or even if he should be comparable to an ox, that would make the case on the basis of reasoning from lesser to greater. Further, the analogy confers on Jesus the character of the son’s parent or the ox’s caretaker. Again Jesus’s interlocutors are unable to answer this complex situation provided by values that appear to come into conflict, that is, observing the Sabbath or caring for someone in need.

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What does the inability of his audience to respond a second time indicate? On the one hand, because in an honor and shame culture, the inability to respond to a challenge supposedly means loss of honor, it could mean that Jesus overshadows them definitively. Bock (1996, 1259) even takes their silence to mean that Jesus’s interlocutors are condemned. On the other hand, their silence could mean simply that the cross categorization leaves them unable to oppose Jesus’s reasoning, which assuredly is designed to persuade his interlocutors. The narrator calls the second part of the passage a parable. Although in 14:8-10 Crossan (1973, 70) finds an expression of polar reversal, which occurs in other parables of Jesus, this happens here in a literal, direct way that is seldom understood as a “parable.” First, Jesus urges his fellow guests to resist seeking places of honor in a wedding feast (γάμος) with the banal reason that one might incur shame by being demoted to a less prestigious place (14:7-11). Nevertheless, this unveils underlying cultural presumptions that legitimate hierarchies of dominance. Second, Jesus counsels the host to resist balanced reciprocity in which one party’s action obligates a counterpart to respond in kind. Rather, he commends general reciprocity in which one is hospitable on the basis of need, including specifically the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind, with no expectation of reciprocity (14:12-14). This proposed guest list presupposes the subversion of multiple hierarchies of dominance. Indeed, inviting those who count for little socially is equivalent to taking the lowest seat at a banquet (Noël 1989, 22). What seems to be parabolic indeed is that Jesus’s advice presents focal instances (Tannehill 1975, 53, 67–77, and passim) that evoke further reflection by which the totality of systems of honor/shame, balanced reciprocity, and hierarchies of ingroup and outgroup lose their coherence (see Green 1997, 553). With such an alternative view of reality, Jesus promises eschatological blessedness at the resurrection of those who act in justice (14:14). This is to say that God guarantees that acting in justice has decisive outcomes (Wolter 2008, 507). What is seldom noticed is that the host has already complied with this advice, at least partially, in inviting Jesus who is hardly to be expected to practice balanced reciprocity. The third part of the larger section is introduced by a fellow guest who picks up Jesus’s promise of blessedness in the previous verse and anticipates future blessedness: “Blessed is anyone who will eat bread in the βασιλεία of God” (14:15). This expresses the anticipation in Israelite tradition of an eschatological feast, a figuration of salvific blessedness as in 13:29 (Schottroff 1987, 197). It goes without saying that the interlocutor presumes that he himself is among the ingroup that will participate in that blessedness. As indicated earlier on 13:23, he embodies what James Sanders refers to as a potentially “false assumption about election” (2001a, 110). Jesus responds explicitly to him with the parable of the great banquet (14:16-24). The plot is simple but surprising. We know enough of the cultural and economic realities in antiquity to understand that the meal presumes that the participants are elite (Schottroff 1987, 200, 206; Rohrbaugh 1991, 143). By way of examples of this, the preparation of a “great banquet,” the invitation of many (πολλούς) in 14:16, and the excuse of one of those invited that he has purchased not one but five

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yoke of oxen (14:19) are indicative of persons of substantial means. A host invites a large body of guests to a dinner, but at the time of the meal one and all give excuses exemplified by three particular instances. In anger at the rebuff of his invitation, the host sends a slave97 with urgency to invite street people, especially the poor, crippled, blind, and lame (14:21), the same kind of people Jesus had advised his host to invite in 14:13. Because there is still room, the host of the parable again sends the slave to compel people to come who live even more remotely from privileged habitations in “paths and hedges” where “the poorest of the non-elite people lived,” and the final guests “are asked to come into a part of the city where they do not belong” (Rohrbaugh 1991, 144). The host’s explicit purpose is to exclude those originally invited who in effect have excluded themselves (14:25). Traditionally attempts have been made to interpret the parable in terms of relationships between Israel and members of the early Jesus movement. But this is a will-o’-the-wisp. I digress momentarily to say that the result of this allegorical reading attributes to Luke opposition to recalcitrant Israelites whom the prophets invited to be guests in God’s banquet and who refused the invitation. This interpretation makes the host of the banquet refer to such Israelites in 14:24: “For I say to you, not one of those people who were invited will have a taste of my banquet.” I question such a reading as on the border of unethical interpretation because it attributes to the author of the text a malevolent anti-Semitic rejection of Israelites that is simply unwarranted. Rather, the previous context shows clearly that what happens is the subversion of social hierarchies of dominance and an urgent call on the level of social ethics for new interpersonal relationships (Braun 1995; Schottroff 1987, 204–205, 207). Robert Tannehill (1986, 232) points perceptively to two distinct literary brackets that shape interpretations of the parable. First, the guest’s acclamation of blessedness in 14:15 and the conclusion of the parable in 14:24 imply a vision of God’s eschatological βασιλεία. Second, Jesus’s advice to the leader of the Pharisees in 14:12-14 and the following passage addressed to his disciples in 14:25-33 imply social relationships in the present. But I regard both dimensions to be of one piece, not one without the other. Jesus inverts what his interlocutor proposes for the eschatological future (14:15) into the blessed community of the βασιλεία of God now. The blessedness of the βασιλεία of God is the inclusion of those who were never “invited to the banquet” (Wink 2002, 89). And this comes with an implicit warning. If the hierarchies of dominance are not broken in the present, those who think they will be among the blessed in the future banquet will be like those in 13:28 who are on the outside looking in. Moreover, there is good news for the poor and afflicted. They can expect to participate in the blessedness of the βασιλεία of God in the present (Schottroff 1987, 209). Luke 14:25-35. Whereas 14:1-24 implies the demise of hierarchies of social dominance and the inclusion of people who were previously excluded, this section 97.  That the host is a slave holder is part of his characterization as someone who belongs to the elite.

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puzzlingly features disruptions of close interpersonal relationships. On his journey great crowds accompany Jesus, but he makes it clear that discipleship means more than traveling with him. Indeed, Jesus declares that it is impossible for any who would be disciples not to hate their own parents, spouses, children, siblings, and their own lives, and similarly he asserts that it is impossible for anyone who does not carry his or her own cross to be his disciple (14:26). Conventionally interpreters take this section as if it is an exhortation to break up family relationships in order to make following Jesus a superordinate priority (e.g., Bock 1996, 1284), and some take it to be an actual denial of familial attachments (e.g., Theissen 1992, 37–39). Otherwise, virtually all interpreters take “hate” here to be a figurative expression (Wolter 2008, 516–17). I take the move to a nonliteral level to hang on what Michael Riffaterre calls an “ungrammaticality” (1978, 2–8, 42, 63, 109–10; 1983, 51, 88, 118, 200, 317 n. 57), that is, an incongruity that presents an obstacle that forces readers to search beyond a direct literal nuance. On the one hand, in the Lukan context the βασιλεία of God involves priorities that undermine domestic hierarchies of dominance (8:19-21; 9:57-62; 12:51-53; cf. 2:41-51) with which a figurative sense of “hate” coheres. In this vein, the superordinate salience of ingroup loyalty to Jesus conflicts sharply with the possible salience of ingroup loyalty to close kin. In order to demonstrate the ungrammaticality of this section, I begin with the conclusion of the pericope, which I take to be a summary of the argument, although many indeed consider it to be a free floating logion that has nothing to do with the previous context: “Salt is good, but if salt loses its saltiness [literally “becomes stupid”], how will it salt?” (14:34). This is an oxymoron in that sodium chloride does not cease to be sodium chloride, the common knowledge of which is attested in antiquity by a tradition attributed to R. Joshua b. Hanania (roughly 70–120 CE). He plays on the fact that because mules are hybrid animals, they are sterile and argues that it is no more possible for salt to lose its savor than it is for a mule to have an offspring (b. Bek. 8b). Integrating the incongruous impossibility of salt losing its saltiness with 14:2533, Christophe Singer (1998, 21–36) has a startlingly persuasive interpretation of the passage that begins not with establishing criteria for fulfilling what is necessary for discipleship but with the depiction of discipleship as a near impossibility. In fact, the statement “you cannot be my disciple” (οὐ δύναται εἶναί μου μαθητής) is repeated three times (14:26, 27, 33). Further, the conditions of abandoning kinship and all possessions are so incongruous as to constitute a virtual impossibility. This logical dissonance is an “ungrammaticality” that forces interpretation beyond a literal level. Hating family functions as a figuration of the tragic ineptitude of life, comparable to the recognition of the vanities of quotidian existence. The incompleteness of conventional ways of life compels conversion to an orientation that discipleship, no more than life itself, is not what humans construct. Indeed, discipleship starts with the recognition of what is virtually impossible, such as the attempt to realize life in attachment to family, or possessions, or in one’s own life itself. To anticipate a similar line of thought in 18:26, who then can be a disciple?

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What is more, Jesus explains this figuration by direct speech about the cost of discipleship and by two parabolic illustrations of appropriate evaluations from start to finish of any of those who accompany him who wish to become disciples (14:2832). The vanity of quotidian life is reflected in the cultural power that reduces to shame one who starts to build a tower that he cannot finish (14:29-30). Although some “towers” might indeed be completed, life itself is ultimately analogous to an unfinished tower. A companion parable puts a potential disciple in the role of a king going to battle with a military force that is woefully outnumbered who must certainly come to grief. This too is likely a slightly disguised allusion to the warrior way of dominance of the Roman Empire against which any uprising by Jesus’s disciples would inevitably bring failure (14:31-32). Again, although it is possible to conceive of a victorious military campaign, the emphasis here is on the inability of such success with a deficient military force. The culmination of the line of thought (οὕτως, 14:33) is not merely about abandoning one’s goods. It rather reiterates the consciousness of the tragic incompleteness of life. To return to the salt, the impossibility of salt losing its saltiness corresponds to the impossibility of disciples to make themselves disciples. Accordingly, the identity of a disciple is dependent upon an impossibility that is made possible by God, and this also anticipates 18:26-27: “Who then can be saved?” to which at that point Jesus answers: “Human impossibilities are God’s mighty deeds.” Luke 15:1-32. The personages who come to Jesus in 15:1 are revenue collectors and sinners, and this again provides an occasion for some Pharisees and scribes to play the role of social control agents (15:2). Their basic complaint is that Jesus “receives” revenue collectors and sinners whereas their underlying cultural presumptions warrant social, religious, economic, and political hierarchies of dominance that are manifest in separation between themselves as an ingroup and revenue collectors and sinners as outgroups. But not only does Jesus not separate himself from revenue collectors and sinners, he also goes so far as to eat with them. So these Pharisees and scribes grumble about Jesus’s table fellowship with them. As on other occasions Jesus reasons with them in parables (see 5:31-32; 5:33-39; 7:41-42; 11:39; 11:44; 14:16-24). Jesus’s introduction to the Lost Sheep places his interlocutors in the role of the shepherd in the parable: “Which of you” (15:4). By emphasizing the stock metaphor of God as a good shepherd who installs the king, and who in turn is intended likewise to be a good shepherd of the people, Ruben Zimmermann (2014b, 225–32) catches both communal and political nuances in this parable that are usually passed over. So God’s care is already implicated in what the shepherd does long before Luke’s reference to divine joy in 15:7. The Lost Sheep is paired with the Lost Coin, and the two parables together make gender salient. Although linking the two parables with “or” stops short of compelling hearers to adopt the role of the woman in the Lost Coin in the same way that they adopt the role of the shepherd in the Lost Sheep, it nevertheless provides the potential for Jesus’s audience also to identify with her: “Or which woman” (15:8). In any case, the two parables in tandem reflect corporate joy from the point of view of both genders, and thus the woman’s searching and rejoicing

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with her female friends and neighbors (τὰς φίλας καὶ γείτονας, 15:9) disclose and reinforce God’s perspective of joy over repentance (15:7, 10) just as much as does the shepherd’s. However, with the prodigal son other issues of hierarchical dominance and hidden cultural assumptions underlying them come to light. Unlike the introductions of the Lost Sheep and the Lost Coin, the parable of the Prodigal Son is narrated with reference to a person whose role hearers do not play, although they may identify by empathy. In addition, the Lost Sheep and the Lost Coin relate to the account of the grumbling interlocutors only as an implicit way of evoking similar joy among them. But the prodigal son is a mis en abyme (see Brawley 1995b, 32–34), that is, a literary device that replicates the primary level of the narrative (the account of the grumbling interlocutors) with a narrative on a secondary level (i.e., Jesus’s direct recounting rather than the narrator’s). A similar parallel is Nathan’s parable in 2 Sam. 12:1-4, which replicates the story of David’s adultery with Bathsheba. Further, whereas the shepherd and woman interact with a sheep and a coin that play passive, unmotivated roles, the younger son is very much a responsible actor with complex interpersonal interactions directly with his father and indirectly with his brother. What is more, the shepherd and woman act according to established values. But the younger son contravenes cultural values. For one thing, because in the culture of a world where famine is an ever present threat, for him to deplete his resources without making allowances for the scarcity that comes in the midst of famine is tantamount to denial of his humanity as a dependent rational animal (Powell 2004, 265–87). But even more, the profligate waste of his goods in a foreign country is in effect a denial of his Israelite heritage that derives from his portion of the inheritance of the land. As a consequence of God’s promises to Abraham that his descendants would inherit the land, the land was shared equitably among the tribes of Israel, and the patrimonial inheritance was a part of the system to ensure Israelites access to the resources of the earth. The younger son’s share of his patrimonial inheritance derived ultimately from the Abrahamic covenant, and squandering it in a foreign country was tantamount to denying his identity as a descendant of Abraham. From a postcolonial perspective the story of this family almost becomes a parable also of the macro family. If, as Schiffman puts it, Jewish identity is fundamentally determined by heredity and attachment to the land (1981, 138–39), then the father’s description of the younger son as “lost” (15:32) means not merely absence from the presence of his family, and not merely separation from his homeland. Rather his condition had deteriorated to having no place at all to which he belongs. That is, he concretely embodies the relinquishment of his indigenous traditions and national identity (Sumrain 2016, 61).98 As an indentured servant in the fields of a foreign master, he belongs to no place either domestically or nationally. Correspondingly, on the macro scale the patrimonial heritage of the 98.  Harvey (2000, 85) also speaks perceptively of the “material embeddedness of the body and the person in the particular circumstances of a localized life.”

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descendants of Abraham suffered severely under imperial domination. The image of the younger son slaving dishonorably in the fields of a foreign landowner is a persona that the entire nation shares. Domestic dynamics reinscribe the societal dynamics of Israel under imperial domination, or the other way around the imperial situation distorts indigenous culture and plays out in specific behavior (see Sumrain 2016, 63). But as the parable demonstrates, this may wind up as a solution if a “dialectics of politics . . . moves freely from the micro- to macro-scales and back again” (Harvey 2000, 52, emphasis added). Consequently, the younger son understands the implications of the external pole of his social condition such that according to his own self-perception, he actually agrees that he has abandoned his status as his father’s son and heir to his Abrahamic heritage. He ponders how he may rise above his present status of a starving, destitute, indentured (unfree) hog feeder (Harrill 1996, 714–17), who is reduced to the level of vying with the swine for food (Wolter 2008, 533). Social identity theory anticipates behavior in keeping with identity, and indeed the younger son returns home with a plan to request to be restored not as his father’s son but as his hired hand (15:19). In terms of a dyadic personality, his self-perception, as it is impacted by cultural evaluations, renders him incapable of identifying himself as his father’s son. George Ramsey (1990, 33–42) has an intriguing analysis of character and plot in the parable in which he contends that interpreters must account for the possibility that the repentance of the younger son is simply self-serving. Two factors make this highly unlikely. First, internal monologue ranks high on a character’s reliability (Alter 1981, 117). Therefore, when the younger son says to himself as well as to his father that he is “no longer worthy to be called your son” (15:19, 21), readers/ hearers can hardly imagine that he is lying to himself, even though self-deception remains a possibility. But his internal monologue assuredly means that readers/ hearers have an exceedingly high level of certitude that what he says is reliable. Further, this son’s categorization of himself is crucial for the plot reversal of the restoration of his sonship. In addition, the genre of the parable as a mise en abyme, that is, a reiteration in miniature of the larger story that contains it, virtually requires the repentance, an expectation that the two previous parables also create as Ramsey acknowledges (ibid., 40). Finally, the father’s understanding of his son in terms of “dead/alive” and “lost/found” can only be understood metaphorically according to the context. Similarly, the father’s rejoicing, which corresponds to the joy “in heaven” (15:7) and “before God’s angels” (15:10), makes him a figuration of God (Wolter 2002, 38–39).99 But Ramsey (1990, 41–42) is altogether correct in demonstrating the priority of the characterization of the father by what he says and by the drama of what he does to the point that the demeanor and behavior of both of his sons is irrelevant. That is, nothing other than the father’s compassion drives the dynamics (15:20). 99.  To take the father as a figuration of God is not to make the father an allegorical double for God.

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Furthermore, there is a recategorization in the identity of those whom these Pharisees and scribes as an ingroup identify as an outgroup of “revenue collectors and sinners.” All three parables present Jesus’s companions at the table not as sinners but as people who are lost. Most particularly the third parable emphasizes the substitution of a new ascribed identity. The older sibling characterizes his brother in terms of the latter’s violations of decency before his return. But the father recategorizes the younger son in terms of the present. He was previously dead, but now he is alive; he was previously lost, but now he is found. Needless to say, these recategorizations express a dramatic shift in status (Wolter 2002, 40–41, 43–44). The recategorizations bridge the gap between the original ingroup and outgroup, and they move the needle away from Baumann’s orientalization with its binary opposition toward segmentation (Baumann 2004, 3–17). To reiterate, segmentation means that on one level the groups are separate, whereas on another level the possibility is open for them to move toward fusion at a level of solidarity. Indeed, the father inverts the younger brother’s degraded status, which he himself portrays as a “hired hand,” whereas the father magnifies his identify as his son beyond measure. As a part of this recategorizing, the external pole of the son’s identity is manifested by an extravagant celebration (15:22-24). The older brother’s presumptions of a hierarchy of dominance underlie his description of the identities of both him and his brother (Linnemann 1966, 78–80). To be sure, he is angry (15:28). His accusation that his brother has not only devoured his inheritance but also done so with prostitutes means that in a most serious way he perceives that his brother has desecrated his patrimonial heritage. But the older son’s anger is far more oriented toward his father’s behavior (so also Nolland 1993, 787). His complaint to his father that the celebration of the younger son’s return is scandalous is his attempt to act as a social control agent. He presumes that the younger brothers’ respective behaviors legitimate his hierarchy of dominance over his brother, which also parallels the priority of older over younger (15:29-30). But then the father defends his own behavior simply by recategorizing the identity of the younger son. The older son categorizes his sibling as the wayward offspring of his father (“this son of yours,” 15:30). In response, the father first reaches out to the older son by addressing him affectionately as τέκνον (Fitzmyer 1985, 1091). He then not only recategorizes the younger brother as “alive” and “found” but also refers to him as your brother (15:32). On the basis of form criticism Wolter (2002, 25–26) argues that because the parable is a conflict story, its function is to defend Jesus’s behavior, and with the defense of Jesus’s behavior, the parable has arrived at its goal. Thus as a conflict story the parable is not open ended, and it shows no interest in the response of the older brother. In my opinion Wolter is restricted by considering only one formal category, and he fails to note formal features necessary to the narrativity and contextuality that are essential to the parable (see Zimmermann 2014b, 138–40, 148–50). First, with respect to the narrativity, a narrative program involves stages of need, competence, performance, and sanction (Greimas and Courtés 1982, s.v. “Program, Narrative”). Correspondingly, (a) the conflict between Jesus and his interlocutors creates a narrative need, (b) Jesus’s access to the three parables meets

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the competence phase, and (c) the relating of the parables is the performance. The sanction stage is essentially the recognition of the success or failure of inverting the initial need, namely, the conflict between Jesus and his interlocutors. Narratives do not always manifest every element in the program, but the shape of the narrative program is so implicit that readers/hearers either supply what is missing or ponder it. In Luke 15 the sanction phase of Jesus’s persuasion of his interlocutor’s is missing. Nevertheless, it is a part of the narrative form for readers/ hearers to ponder. Second, in regard to contextuality, the crucial point of contact between the mise en abyme and the primary narrative of the grumbling interlocutors is the father’s invitation for the older son to join the party. This corresponds to a summons implicit in the parable for Jesus’s interlocutors to adopt a divine perspective, corresponding to the joy in heaven at the conclusion of the first two parables (15:7, 10). The divine perspective is analogous to the father’s reversal of the older brother’s categorization of his father’s prodigal son to nothing other than his own brother. Further, inasmuch as the parable duplicates the larger story of the complaint of Jesus’s interlocutors in miniature, the father’s positive affirmation that the older brother is always with him corresponds to a similar positive affirmation of the grumbling Pharisees and scribes (15:31). In several other cases, such as the compound healing and conflict stories in 5:17-26 and 13:10-17, the sanction phase is explicit in the response of detractors who abandon their opposition. Whether the Pharisees and scribes in the narrative world of Luke 15 might be persuaded does remain open. As Snodgrass (2008, 135– 36, 140) appropriately puts it, at least the parable “functions as an invitation for them to change.” Might they recategorize themselves so that they abandon their role as social control agents and celebrate like the shepherd, the woman, and the father? To turn to a reminder once again, 5:17-26 and 13:10-17 provide evidence that Luke does not dismiss the possibility in the narrative world that Jesus is able to persuade his interlocutors. Luke 16:1-31. The parable of the “Unjust” Steward (16:1-9), which for reasons that will become clear I prefer to call the parable of the Children of This Age and the Children of Light, shares many features with the parable of the Prodigal Son. Material resources derived from a higher hierarchical source are squandered, and whereas the grumbling of some Pharisees and scribes sets the stage for the parables of ch. 15, the unjust steward and Jesus’s sayings attached to it provoke some Pharisees to ridicule him retrospectively (16:14). In 16:8 Jesus sets up a contrast between the children of this age and the children of light. He thus depicts two opposing ways of perceiving reality. In this sense there are also strong parallels with the two perspectives reflected both in the setting of grumbling critics of Jesus and in the parables of ch. 15. Furthermore, as is to be seen the comparison between the children of this age and the children of light controls the entirety of ch. 16. On the other hand, 16:1-9 is addressed to disciples, and no character in 16:1-9 corresponds to the father of 15:11-32. The parable of the Children of this Age and the Children of light depicts a hierarchical patron-client structure. This is the type of an economic delivery

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system that Roland Boer (2015, xii, 1–2, 102–45; see also Loba-Mkole 2008, 1351– 52) labels “extractive.” Hierarchies of honor/shame, balanced reciprocity, and occupational status are complicit with the patron-client system. The nomenclature οἰκονόμος (“manager”), a term also applied to Roman procurators in relation to the emperor (LSJ), gives him “enviable status” (Green 1997, 590) as the manager100 of the rich man’s possessions and indicates a position of administration as a broker between his patron (the rich man) and the clients (the debtors). He thus belongs to a social class that ultimately depends on the labor of others (see Ste. Croix 1981, 32–53). When he sets up his options for his future after losing this position, he establishes categories of ingroups and outgroups. In the eyes of the upper class, work itself was evaluated less by production than by social standing (Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 24–25). Thus, his “inability” to dig (16:3) derives as much from his status according to his self-categorization as from his physical strength, and this strongly impacts the identity and behavior that derive from it on the one hand. On the other hand, his occupational status is such that begging would put him to shame. But as is repeatedly the case in socioeconomic relationships, there is a disorienting combination of cultural norms of honor/shame and occupational status with injustice, such that for the manager to attempt to salvage his honor proves to be no restriction to behavior that derives from injustice in the economic delivery system. First, the manager manipulates the patron-client system by misappropriating the rich man’s resources. Then in order to provide for himself, he attempts to obligate others in systems of balanced reciprocity, and thereby he complicates his misappropriation of the resources of the rich man by deceptively reducing the liability of three debtors. In fact, the relationships among the rich man, the manager, and the debtors correspond to an absentee elite wealthy man and his manager as broker who both profit from the exploitation of farmers (Loba-Mkole 2008, 1352). Consequently, the parable characterizes him as ὁ οἰκονόμος τῆς ἀδικίας. The Greek is especially significant in describing the manager here, and the same structure serves as well to characterize mammon in 16:9. In particular, instead of using the adjective ἄδικος (“unjust”) the noun ἀδικία (“injustice”) appears in the genitive. Fitzmyer (1985, 1101, 1109) takes these to be genitives of quality and deduces that the movement leads toward dishonesty. But the dative is the case of leading toward whereas the genitive is the case of deriving from. In the cultural encyclopedia, moreover, behavior is engendered by its source. Here it is engendered by injustice. In other words, these are genitives of origin. Rather than describe the manager as “dishonest” (NRSV), the noun ἀδικία in the genitive portrays him as deriving his behavior from injustice. Moreover, whereas for the steward begging is shameful, manipulation of the economic system that derives from injustice is not! In fact, the manager’s shrewd manipulation of the system earns the commendation of 100. On occupational nomenclature and corresponding attributions of status, see Bourdieu 1984, 101–103.

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prudence from the rich man (16:8a). Patently, both of these characters belong to the children of this age. Although the parable dramatizes manipulations of the economic delivery system by an individual, it nevertheless matches the larger structure of extractive systems in the Roman Empire. Moreover, the monetary system under the control of the elite was so implicated in injustice that it was a symbol of domination and exploitation (Hanson and Oakman 1998, 120). Hence the relationship between mammon and injustice is also expressed by a genitive of origin (16:9, 11). Jesus speaks explicitly in this passage about the use of mammon that is engendered by injustice as its source. The interpretation of the parable is hotly contested, frequently depending on whether the voice in 16:8-9 belongs to the rich man or Jesus. As far as this point is concerned, the split between the rich man’s comments in the parable and Jesus’s commentary on it must come in the middle of 16:8. Luke’s Jesus who makes serving God and the mammon that is engendered by injustice categorically incompatible (16:13) could hardly be the κύριος who commends the steward whose behavior is engendered by injustice (16:8a). Along the same line of reasoning, the rich man of the parable, who belongs to the children of this age, is incapable of comparing the children of “this age” with the children of light (16:8b) (similarly Green 1997, 593). Thus, Jesus interprets the parable in 16:8b not by making the commendation of the steward the crux but by the stereotypical categorization of the children of “this age” and the children of “light” (similarly Konradt 2016, 112 and passim). This constitutes a sharp distinction between an ingroup and an outgroup, and the behavior of everyone in the parable acts according to the norms of the children of this age. All of the personages in the parable—the rich man, the manager, and the three debtors—are players in the extractive system of “this age.” What is finally decisive is that the conclusion in 16:9 is built on an oxymoron— “eternal tents.” Σκηναί (“tents”) are temporary, so that Jesus’s remarks in 16:9 about making friends with mammon are acerbically sardonic. Virtually all other types of interpretation take the parable to be about a proper use of money (mammon, see Snodgrass 2008, 406–10, 415). But the parable always speaks about the use of the mammon that is engendered by injustice. Jesus’s interpretation in 16:9 is as if to say, “Make friends with the mammon that is engendered by injustice, and see how long that lasts” (pace Nolland 1993a, 801; see Brawley 1998, 820; Porter 1990, 127–53). When Jesus suggests making friends by means of mammon engendered by injustice, friendship as reciprocity for favors in maneuvering economical systems, as in this case (16:9), is hardly a relationship of mutual regard. Rather in antiquity friendship in patron-client hierarchies is a relationship of balanced reciprocity, and in this parable making friends means becoming a part of a system of conspiracy among the “children of this age” (Soards 1985, 357).101 On the threshold of his 101.  Soards (1985, 357) shows that in this parable, friendship that is acquired by means of the mammon that is engendered by injustice is part of a system of conspiracy among the “sons of this age.”

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crisis, the manager increases even more his manipulation of the extractive economic systems. He anticipates that his deceptive benevolence to the debtors will obligate them to receive him into their houses (οἶκοι, 16:4), but the use of mammon that is engendered by injustice inevitably fails so that it sardonically procures only “eternal” bivouacs (16:9). Jesus’s oxymoron is a jarring contrast to the extractive economic system. The view of Stegemann and Stegemann (1999, 45) that it is quite plausible that as a result of the manager’s ploy the debtors would welcome him into their homes fails to take into account that this is the perspective of the children of this age, and that they do not after all receive him into their homes but into their bivouacs. Contrary to the view of many interpreters (e.g., Nolland 1993a, 806), Jesus’s comments in 16:10-13 continue to develop the juxtaposition of the children of this age with the children of light. His declaration, if “you are not faithful with mammon that is engendered by injustice, who will entrust you with what is genuinely real?” (16:11), confirms the incompatibility of the way of viewing reality either as children of this age or as children of light. Far from producing an abiding haven, patronage with its hierarchies of honor/shame and balanced reciprocity engendered by injustice delivers deceptively fleeting refuge. Balanced reciprocity in patron-client relationships does not produce lasting relationships. Rather the result is quite the opposite. Incidentally, this is what Bakhtin (1984, 169) calls carnivalesque logic. The manager’s schemes notwithstanding, his ultimate destiny is comparable to the return to reality such as when a carnival king loses his crown and is deposed. As indicated above, in my view the categorization of the children of light and the children of darkness controls the entire chapter. This is apparent in what follows in 16:14 when some Pharisees mock what Jesus has said. These Pharisees also profit from patronage, whether the hierarchical capital is cultural (honor/ shame) or economic, so the narrator designates them “lovers of money.” Many interpreters take this reference as a characterization of the Pharisees in general. But these are clearly specific Pharisees who have overheard Jesus and mock his views on patronage. Therefore, the participle that describes them is attributive:102 “The Pharisees who heard all these things were fond of money” (16:14). Further, rather than describe Pharisees in general, Jesus addresses them in the secondperson plural (16:15). He speaks to certain Pharisees who have heard what he has said and accuses them not merely of self-righteousness but of legitimating themselves over against others (16:15) (Nolland 1993a, 810). In terms of dyadic personality this means cultivating the external pole of the opinions of others to enhance their perception of themselves. Moreover, when Jesus says that what is highly valued among humans is abominable before God, he echoes the contrast between children of light and children of this age as well as between God and mammon (16:8, 13). 102.  On attributive participle phrases without the article that are translated as a relative clause see BDF § 412.

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Luke 16:16-18. Although 16:16 is enigmatic, the statement that “the law and the prophets (were) up until John [the Baptizer]” makes a claim on Israel’s scriptural tradition, and the declaration coordinated with it means that something new has developed in keeping with the tradition: “From then on the βασιλεία of God is being proclaimed.”103 Significantly, the newness of the βασιλεία of God is in continuity with Israel’s Scriptures of old: “It is easier for heaven and earth to pass away than for one letter of the law to fall away” (16:17). Nevertheless, entering God’s commonwealth involves a struggle (16:16), which is manifest in a way of life that is a distinct alternative to hierarchies of dominance. This is the same contrast as that indicated by the juxtaposition of the children of light with the children of this age. The struggle to enter the βασιλεία of God stands over against the extractive economic system of patron-client relationships. What is more, the βασιλεία struggles against the extractive economic system that is reflected in the relationship of the Roman Empire with the peasants of the vanquished nations.104 Luke 16:18 is often taken as an isolated statement that stands alone. But Jesus’s teaching about dismissing one’s wife is also part of the distinction of the children of light over against the children of this age. Modern divorce involves legal adjudication so that the husband and wife are not left to their own determination of the dissolution of their marriage. By contrast, this text is about the practice in the biblical world by which a husband would “send his wife away.” Needless to say, this is much closer to a form of what today would be called the abandonment of a spouse. Jesus is dealing with such a type of unilateral dismissing a wife and remarriage, and his association of this with adultery is an intensification of the law, from which not one letter will fall away (16:17) (Nolland 1993a, 820). This also reflects ingroup norms associated with what 16:8 refers to as the children of light. Luke 16:19-31. Another parable (a) demonstrates disparities in economic systems, (b) reflects negatively on a rich urban elite man (Herzog 1994, 117), who from the context qualifies as a child of this age (see on 16:8), and (c) forms an interpretive bracket with the parable of the unjust steward. It is common for interpreters to defend the rich man’s wealth as unproblematic as such, and to lay the burden on the way riches are used (e.g., Bock 1996, 1372). Richard Bauckham (1991, 22–46), however, has compared this parable with a number of parallels from antiquity, and argues persuasively from the stark disparities in the parable that it is solely on the basis of blatant inequality in this life that the postmortem fates of the rich man and Lazarus are reversed. The juxtaposition of the extremely rich man and the miserly beggar at his gate is anything but coincidental. As is generally true in the world today, aside from inheritance, the only way the rich 103.  I view the debate over whether John is included or excluded (e.g., Conzelmann 1961, 22–27) from the proclamation of the gospel as definitively decided by the use of εὐαγγέλιοζομαι (3:18, 16:16). “Good-newsing” designates John’s message as part of the new age (so also Green 1997, 603). 104.  Imperial rule maintained a massive system of exploitation by the upper class (Ste. Croix 1981, 374).

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man in biblical times could amass wealth was by exploiting the labor of others (Ste. Croix 1981, 32–33, 53, 112–13),105 and as in the case of the rich fool in 12:16-21 (see pp. 130–31), the accumulation of surpluses to support extravagant luxury meant “an accumulation of misery” for others (Callinicos 2009, 53).106 Consequently, Lazarus, who belongs to the abject poor (Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 92) and who falls below the level of subsistence to the extreme, is a victim of hierarchies of dominance that deprive him of access to the resources of the land.107 Not only do such hierarchies of dominance separate the rich from the poor, so also does the physical structure of the rich man’s gate. (Modern gated communities may not be far behind.) In the perceptive words of David Harvey (2000, 97), “The body [is] the irreducible locus for the determination for all values, meanings, and significations,” and Harvey adds further that the body is relational (ibid., 98), which as in the case of the rich man and Lazarus can be a relationship of neglect. Thus, in the very lesions of his body Lazarus wears the violence of hierarchies of wealth, class, and consumption. With respect to his identity, the poor man has a name, the only character in all of Jesus’s parables with this distinction. There can be no doubt that according to the description of some Pharisees in 16:14 the rich man is aligned with those who are fond of the mammon that is engendered by injustice, and the fact that in the world to come the rich man belongs in Hades (16:23) corresponds to the fact that he also belongs to the children of this age (16:8). On the other hand, the poor man belongs to a place in the bosom of Abraham (16:22), and this associates him with the children of light. The parable uses a remarkable double dose of recategorization in the world to come as an exhortation to live appropriately in the present. In social identity theory, recategorization normally builds common ground. But in this case the recategorization is a reversal that maintains distinctions. In fact, it is a polar reversal as is indicated by the fact that in the world to come the rich man is categorized as belonging to a place of torment in Hades, whereas the poor man belongs in the embrace of Abraham. The inequities in the social order of this world are reproduced but inverted in the world to come. But a second part of the parable picks up the heritage of Scripture to which reference is made in 16:17. In Hades the rich man appeals to father Abraham. Although his appeal has echoes of 3:8 (“we have Abraham as father”), it exceeds a mere appeal to alleged Abrahamic descent. Indeed, Abraham responds to him affectionately as his τέκνον (16:25). The rich man pleads first for himself. His request for Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and refresh his tongue inverts the circumstance of Lazarus at the rich man’s gate when Lazarus desired crumbs 105.  On amassing wealth in the modern world also primarily by either inheritance or the labor of others, see Piketty (2014, 377–429). 106.  Hegel remarked similarly that “the creation of .  .  . paupers .  .  . brings with it conditions that greatly facilitate the concentration of disproportionate wealth in the hands of a few” (1967, 150). 107.  Herzog (1994, 119) gives a probable scenario of how peasants lost access to land.

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from his table. But in the world to come the rich man’s gate has a counterpart in an impassable chasm that now separates the rich man from Lazarus (16:26). When this appeal turns out to be futile, the rich man then petitions not for himself but for his five brothers (16:28). Still, he expects Lazarus to serve him as one who comes back from the dead108 as if he were in a hierarchy of dominance in which Lazarus serves as a client under his patronage (16:27). But Abraham counsels that the five brothers should heed Moses and the prophets (16:29), and he then concludes that if they will not heed Scripture, they will not be persuaded even if someone should rise from the dead. This conclusion about heeding Scripture reinforces 16:16-17: “Not one letter of the law will fall” (similarly Green 1997, 600). The scriptural heritage according to the Abrahamic promises is equitable access to subsistence from the resources of the land. The accumulation of wealth when the poor are at the gate is engendered by injustice just as surely as the fraudulent manipulation of the patron-client economic delivery system in 16:2-7. Luke 17:1-19. This chapter opens with the problem of causing scandals (stumblings) among Jesus’s disciples. The plural is significant because the perspective has to do not with the interior life of each individual, but with damaging others in the community (Bovon 2013, 494). Discipleship is not merely an individual endeavor but a collective undertaking (Bock 1996, 1387). Moreover, the scandals are viewed from the point of view of one who occupies a position of dominance over another who is concretized as “one of these little ones” (17:2). The little ones are very reminiscent of the “babes” in 10:21 whose names are written in heaven and the “little flock” in 12:32 to whom the βασιλεία of God is given. Contextually, Lazarus who lies at the rich man’s gate (16:19-32) corresponds to a little one who is not to be forgotten (17:2) (Kilgallen 2003, 163–64; Wolter 2008, 565–66). Moreover, just as the consequences of the rich man’s relationship with Lazarus are grim, so here also the judgment for someone who scandalizes another is worse than the figuration of being thrown into deep water with a mill stone around one’s neck (17:2). This culminates in a direct exhortation in the imperative: “Be on your (plural) guard” (17:3). But the grim consequences also have a solution, with which the perspective jumps to the one who is scandalized. The one who is offended is expected to censure the one who offends (17:3). When the circumstances of someone who is dominant over another prevail, an inversion occurs in which the subdominant little one challenges the dominant one. This violates social propriety according to which only someone who is socially equal is perceived to have sufficient standing to confront another (Malina and Neyrey 1991, 30). If the intervention produces repentance, Jesus enjoins forgiveness on the part of the one who is offended to a radical degree such that there is no need for a mill stone (17:3-4).

108.  Abraham’s declaration that the brothers will not believe even if someone “rises from the dead” alludes to the rich man’s request for Lazarus to return from the dead, even if it also has hints of a proleptic reference to Jesus’s resurrection. See Herzog (1994, 116).

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When the disciples request Jesus to increase their faith (17:5), faith surfaces as a resource (a) for guarding against scandalizing another, (b) for repenting, and (c) for forgiving. As a minor excursus, it is important to note that πίστις (“faith”) is a relational term. It connotes a fundamental sense of trusting and being trustworthy with a particular orientation toward the future. That is, it is trust and trustworthiness in relationships that others can count on like promises for the future. To be sure a part of trusting is reliance on another as well as being reliable, and the notion of faith as the power to accomplish something is an aspect of relying on something beyond oneself.109 Of course in Luke the implicit relationship is with God, and this is also a relationship that Jesus mediates. In response to the disciples’ request to increase their faith, Jesus uses the parable of the Mustard Seed. Their request implies an increase of what they already have. Jesus, however, refocuses their request for an increase. He reflects rather on the nature of faith. Although the minute size of the mustard seed was proverbial, Luke does not mention the size (the NRSV notwithstanding). Faith is simply said to be “like” a mustard seed. For one thing, like a light that is either on or off faith cannot be differentiated into quanta, and in this regard it is like a mustard seed that is an entity (Hahn 1985, 159). For another, Jesus’s response makes the apostles’ faith conditional (“If you have”) and thus reduces the faith that they presume to have to less than a mustard seed entity (17:6) (so also Fitzmyer 1985, 1142). In the remainder of v. 6 Jesus declares that faith that is like a mustard seed could empower the disciples to command a mulberry tree to be uprooted and cast into the sea. This is hardly an illustration of the power of faith to accomplish heroic feats but an absurd hyperbole (only a demonic exhibitionist would ever wish to do such a thing). Rather, the absurd hyperbole implies the deficiency of the apostles’ faith (Hahn 1985, 166; against Kilgallen 2003, 161 and Wink 2002, 134). Thus, Jesus’s response serves as a negative exhortation by belittling their lack of faith (compare “where is your faith,” 8:25; “you of little faith,” 12:28). Luke 17:7-19. Jesus then relates a parable that poses a case involving the institution of slavery which requires close consideration on the part of the apostles. Typical interpretations take the master-slave relationship as a metaphor for relationships between God and humans. But this is a perilous move. True, in biblical tradition, the image of master/slave or lord/servant is used as an image of how venerable characters are related to God—“Moses my [God’s] servant” (especially Exodus, Numbers, Joshua), or “David my servant” (1 & 2 Samuel, etc.). Although this obviously takes a social institution of lord/servant as a metaphor of a divine-human relationship, the image is ruled by God’s character, and in this relationship God is not to be characterized as analogous to a stereotypical slave holder. Quite differently, the parable of the Un-Thanked Slaves (17:7-10) presumes the inhumane social institution of slavery in the Roman Empire without defining it from the perspective of divine-human relationships. In fact, Jesus presents his 109.  See Rudolf Bultmann, “πιστεύω, κτλ.” TDNT 6.174-228.

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case in rhetorical questions that require the apostles first to choose what they would do if they categorize themselves as a stereotypical slaveholder. If someone categorized as a slave came in from plowing or tending sheep, would they as the slaveholder invite the slave to the table to eat? Would they not rather require the slave to prepare something for them to eat and drink, and only then allow the slave to eat? Would they as the slaveholder thank the slave for doing what he had been commanded to do? (17:7-9). The conventional approach to this text translates λέγετε in 17:10 as an imperative, but this ignores the additional comment in v. 11 that shifts the apostles’ perspective from the slaveholder to that of the slave. With the imperative the apostles are required to categorize themselves as slaves, and this preempts any possibility of contemplating the previous rhetorical questions in 17:2-9 where they are to adopt the persona of a slaveholder. The translation usually runs: “Thus also you when you have done everything commanded to you, say (imperative), ‘We are slaves to whom no thanks is due, we have only done what we ought to do’” (17:10) (translation adapted from Kilgallen 1982, 49–51). But there are two crucial questions: (a) Who is being characterized here? And (b) what constraints appear in the contiguous context. Initially, Jesus asks the apostles to adopt the perspective of the slaveholder and the form of the parable entices them to agree with the slaveholder’s domination of his slave without any reciprocity including even gratitude.110 But as is typical in Jesus’s parables, he turns the tables by requiring the apostles to recategorize themselves as un-thanked slaves. Do they understand themselves to be like slaves, who if they internalize the presuppositions of the hierarchies of dominance in their slave culture, consider themselves to be slaves bereft of honor? Is this the self-categorization that the apostles have of themselves with God? With Jesus? If so they identify themselves as insignificant slaves. But what if we take λέγετε in 17:10 not as an imperative as in the conventional translation, which commands the apostles to think of themselves as un-thanked slaves, but as an indicative that forms another rhetorical question in line with the previous ones (17:7-9): “When you have done everything commanded to you, do you say (interrogative), ‘We are unworthy slaves; we have only done what we ought to do?’” This reading takes into consideration the inhumanity of slavery in the Roman world where as many as one in six people were enslaved and where slaves themselves internalized the presuppositions underlying slavery as a natural and necessary condition for human society? (see Aristotle, Pol., 1254a1-b21). Can this possibly be an image of how humans are related to God? Reading 17:10 as part of the series of rhetorical questions allows for two additional interpretations. In the first case, slaveholders themselves are stereotyped as self-centered exploiters of unfree labor. From this perspective, little more comment is needed other than to note the inhumanity of slavery. 110. In fact, Knowles (2003, 256–60) appropriately takes the parable to be Jesus’s repudiation of reciprocity in divine-human relationships.

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But in the second case, these rhetorical questions then introduce the healing of ten lepers in 17:12-19, which exerts considerable contextual constraints. On the one hand, the notice that Jesus is once again underway on his journey toward Jerusalem changes the setting from the comment about un-thanked slaves to the healing of the ten lepers. And for interpreters captivated with Lukan geography, this begins an entirely new section (Fitzmyer 1985, 1149). On the other hand, it is strange to describe the way to Jerusalem as going through the middle of Samaria and Galilee (“between Samaria and Galilee,” NRSV). But then not to go unnoticed is that the healing of the ten lepers corresponds with mixed geographical identities. One of the ten turns out to be a Samaritan, which also turns out to mean that he is doubly regarded as geographically restricted. That is, he is an outsider in Judean territory, and he is also an outsider to local social space on account of his leprosy. Because of the literary presumption that characters belong to the group represented by the perspective of the narrator (see on 10:29-37, p. 118) the other nine are Israelites, so that this has a peculiar correspondence with the strange route that goes between Samaria and Galilee. The disease of leprosy (it is unlikely that this is our modern Hanson’s disease) necessarily creates formidable hierarchies of dominance, not only socioreligious but also spatial—these lepers have to “[keep] their distance” (NRSV). At a distance they necessarily appeal to Jesus from a subdominant position (Bock 1996, 1401) that is comparable to the slaves in the preceding context, and their self-perception is that they are bereft of “mercy,” which is a socioreligious property that in this case is manifested spatially. Their exclusion from social space demonstrates “no mercy.” So this is what the lepers appeal to Jesus for: “Jesus, master, treat us with mercy” (17:13). When they make their appeal, he does nothing more than send them on their way to priests, and when they are in the process of following his instructions, they are cleansed (17:14). Notably the cure of leprosy is registered on the axis of purity (Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 143–44), which also involves a dramatic social and religious reversal of their relationship with respect to an external pole of ascribed identity, which again is manifest spatially in that once they regain their purity, they have access to previously prohibited locations. The surprising twist in the story is that only one among those who were healed returns to glorify God and thank Jesus. As on other occasions in Luke, to glorify God as a result of deeds of power is to interpret the event theologically. None other than God is at work in these deeds. Only at this point are readers/hearers given the clue that the one who interprets the healing theologically by glorifying God and giving thanks is categorized as a Samaritan. It is a commonplace in New Testament studies that presumptions of Ἰουδαῖοι undergirded a hierarchy of dominance over Samaritans. But the same holds true for Samaritans’ presumptions of dominance over Ἰουδαῖοι. From both sides a fundamental presumption supporting their dominance was the right place for temple worship (Hamm 1994, 278, 282).111 111.  Hamm (1994, 284–86) takes the Samaritan’s thanksgiving at Jesus’s feet to be an act of worship that takes priority over the temple on Mt. Gerizim, and similarly over the temple

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With respect to the other nine lepers who had been cleansed, Jesus himself is like the un-thanked slave of 17:9. And thus, the story of the ten lepers dramatizes the rhetorical question of 17:10. Should Jesus be one who, when he has performed his Spirit-anointed mission of release and recovery (4:18), say, “I have only done what I ought to do?” Or given the inhumane institution of slavery, should the slave in 17:10 be thanked, just as Jesus, who is God’s venerable servant, should also be thanked? The Samaritan who returns also picks up again the request of the apostles for increased faith (17:5). That is, when the Samaritan returns to glorify God and thank Jesus, he dramatizes what Jesus calls “faith” (17:19), and as has been noted earlier, this is a repeated pattern in Luke. Faith is consistently dramatized in actions. Consequently, the apostles witness a performance of what faith looks like. It is clear, then, that the Samaritan’s thanksgiving is a theological interpretation of the cleansing of his leprosy as an act of God. A Samaritan who glorifies God and thanks Jesus for being cleansed of leprosy is, figuratively speaking, virtually as astounding as a mulberry tree that has been uprooted and cast into deep water. Luke 17:20-18:8. At first glance when some Pharisees ask Jesus when God’s commonwealth is coming (17:20), the line of thought appears to break precipitously. Against the background of the cleansing of the lepers, however, the line of thought hangs together surprisingly well. To be noted first, Jesus responds to these Pharisees not about when, but rather about how and where: “The βασιλεία of God does not come with auguries to be observed, nor will people say here or there. Look, the βασιλεία of God is at your disposal (ἐντὸς ὑμῶν)”112 (17:20-21). Contextually, the βασιλεία of God is available to them in the present as witnessed in the cleansed leper who by glorifying God and thanking Jesus interprets his healing as an act of God in the midst of the here and now. This reiterates 11:20: “If it is by the finger of God that I cast out demons, then the βασιλεία of God has come upon you.” Unexpectedly, however, Jesus then turns to his disciples, and this time he does speak to them about when. He affirms a future but frustrates the desire for his disciples to see “one of the days of the son of man” (17:22). Presumably, the day of the son of man is the time of judgment and vindication (Horsley 1989b, 109), and the desire will be frustrated because vindication still lies in the future. On the on Mt. Zion. He refers to this presumed act of worship as Luke’s high Christology. Although he is quite aware that in Luke-Acts the Jerusalem temple still maintains its viability for Jesus and his followers, he nevertheless takes the Samaritan’s thanksgiving, as well as other occasions when characters in Luke praise God for Jesus’s deeds of power, as identifying Jesus with God. This simply overlooks the way in which Jesus identifies himself as one through whom the power of God is at work (e.g., Lk. 11:20). 112. This translation of a much disputed passage depends heavily on Bovon 2013, 516–17, who cites correspondences with Deut. 30:11-14 (“The word is very near to you”). See also Lebourlier (1992, 259–62) who documents a sense of presence among a collective group.

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other hand, the day of the son of man will come with both the suddenness and the destructive power of lightning. But such a time will be delayed by the necessity for him to suffer and be rejected by “this generation” (17:25). The imagery shifts to well-known stories of Noah and Lot that dramatize salvation antithetically by juxtaposing it with destruction. The day of the son of man will similarly disrupt normality (eating, drinking, marrying, buying and selling, planting and building) and bring with it devastation. The images of salvation and destruction obviously set an ingroup apart from an outgroup. In popular interpretations of eschatology today, 17:34-35 has been combined with other biblical texts in a construal of what is called “the rapture.” According to this modern construct, at the eschaton God’s people who are alive will be “raptured” into a new form of existence.113 But for this text in Luke the imagery is reversed. True, in keeping with the notion of rapture, in 17:34 two are in bed, one is taken, the other left; two are grinding together, one is taken, the other left. But in the imagery of Noah, Lot, the destruction of Sodom, and the memory of Lot’s wife (17:28-32), the ones who are taken are those destined for destruction, and those who survive are destined for salvation (against Nolland 1993a, 862). Moreover, behind the taking of one and the leaving of another in the night, August Strobel creatively detects an allusion to the angel of death who passes over the first born of the Israelites but takes the life of the first born of the Egyptians (Strobel 1961, 25–27). Inasmuch as Jesus has addressed his disciples with respect to “when” and has indicated that “here” and “there” are inept categories (17:22-23), their question “where” seems awkwardly out of place. Still Jesus replies with a proverbial saying attested in the cultural encyclopedia, which in its usual form, however, reads: “Where the corpse is, there vultures will gather.” Only, Luke replaces “vultures” with “eagles” (Ehrhardt 1953, 68–72). Conventionally, this has been taken merely as an image of something as clear as a gathering of birds of carrion (Topel 2003, 403–11). But the substitution of eagles for vultures has recently gained attention in that Roman legions marched behind standards bearing eagles. Rome like many nations today used an eagle as its emblem. Furthermore, Jupiter’s mascot was an eagle. Consequently, the altered proverb has strong connotations of the coming of the βασιλεία of God over against imperial systems that are compared to eagles devouring a corpse (Carter 2003, 467–87). Luke 18:1-8 identifies itself as a parable for Jesus’s disciples about praying with the purpose of not losing heart (18:1). The eschatological perspective in the previous context and parallels in the remainder of the pericope indicate that losing heart has to do particularly with eschatological vindication over against present manifestations of injustice (Nolland 1993a, 866, 869). The parable depicts a magistrate who sits at the top of local judicial hierarchies of dominance in imperial systems. Significantly, Jesus as the narrator of the parable characterizes him as someone who does not fear God or respect humans, which is to say that his verdicts 113.  Popularized in the United States by the Left Behind series by Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins.

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are not engendered by the justice of God or the God of justice (Delling 1962, 7). Indeed, Wendy Cotter (2005, 342) vividly describes the parable as “a burlesque of the whole [imperial] justice system.” Consequently 18:6 identifies the magistrate as a “judge whose behavior is engendered by injustice” (genitive of origin). Indeed he belongs to the world of injustice (Delling 1962, 14). Roman magistrates were notorious for favoring the socially dominant over the subdominant (Garnsey 1970, 121–48; Lincott 1993, 43–67, 99–123). Implicit in this parable is the assumption from the cultural encyclopedia that in the economic delivery system women depended for their subsistence on a male member of the family, that is, fathers, husbands, or sons. Thus, this widow who has no male kin to advocate for her is certainly subdominant in hierarchies of gender and kinship (Green 1997, 640; Wolter 2008, 588). Although initially unsuccessful, she keeps coming (imperfect) to the magistrate for justice against a male adversary. Repeating Jesus’s description, the judge categorizes himself as someone who does not fear God or respect people. Nevertheless, he relents because of the widow’s persistence “so that she will not give me a black eye” (18:5). For a powerless female to give him a black eye is to put him to shame (Nolland 1993a, 868) even though because of the disparity in social status between him and the widow, perpetuating injustice against her does not put him to shame. A challenge from such a vulnerable widow is scarcely recognized when she is not a social equal (Malina and Neyrey 1991, 30, 41–42). In fact, as in other cases in Luke, characters whose dominance over the socially lowly are not put to shame when their behavior is engendered by injustice, because this demonstrates all the more their status of dominance. Stephen Curtpatrick (2002, 107–21) makes a forceful case for dissonance between the story of the woman persistently seeking to be treated justly and the frame of the parable that points to prayer. But the very tension that he takes as dissonance forces a revisionary view of prayer, not as passively pleading with words alone but as active engagement with injustice. It is as if when one prays for justice, one also keeps beleaguering perpetrators of injustice. Jesus then makes two points in the transition from the parable to the life of his disciples (18:7-8). (a) God is unlike this judge whose behavior is engendered by injustice, therefore, God will not delay in granting vindication, which is particularly associated with the coming of the son of man in judgment. (b) Nevertheless, the disciples are to pray to God as they simultaneously engage social reality like the persistent subdominant woman who keeps challenging the judge whose behavior is engendered by injustice. Finally, the question about the son of man finding faith on earth implies that the widow of the parable dramatizes what faith looks like (18:8) (so also Green 1997, 637–38). The impact of this parable on the identity of small communities of Jesus’s followers can scarcely be overstated. They recognize themselves as analogous to the widow. The parable and its interpretive frame assure them that God “hears” and that in the last analysis God’s justice prevails. Luke 18:9-34. This section repeatedly revises readers’ expectations about who will be included in the βασιλεία of God. In so doing it picks up again surprising expectations in 13:23-30 where an interlocutor who anticipates that only a few

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will be saved is confronted with numerous people from east and west and north and south at God’s eschatological banquet. Similarly, in 14:15 a guest at an elite banquet who assumes that he will eat bread in the βασιλεία of God must face the inclusion of people of the streets, paths, and hedges along with the possibility of his own exclusion (14:16-24). Luke 18:9-14. In this episode Jesus addresses the parable of the Pharisee and Revenue Collector to auditors who categorize themselves in hierarchies of dominance in which they hold themselves to be in positions of honor over against others. The presuppositions underlying their self-categorization are at least twofold; (a) right behavior according to their norms warrants separating ingroups from outgroups, and (b) they are confident in themselves that they practice justice (my periphrasis of the adjective δίκαιοι). Therefore, they despise those who are not in their ingroup (18:9). Because these presuppositions determine the ingroup, the audience for Jesus’s parable cannot be limited to categories such as disciples or Pharisees. The determination of honor with respect to others reflects the two poles of dyadic social identity, that is, individual introspection and social evaluation. Prayer likewise impacts social identity in that those who pray construe God as an external pole of their social evaluation. The parable itself juxtaposes a Pharisee and a revenue collector at prayer, and the character of both men is reflected in their prayers (Wolter 2008, 592). Neither of the two is representative of their group. Rather, they are individual actors in Jesus’s story (ibid., 592–93). On the other hand, in Luke, Pharisees form associations (see 14:1) that function as groups that reinforce their individual status (Neyrey 1998, 28), and the Pharisee’s prayer expresses his sense of distinction from others based on his way of life, the commitment to which is documented by tithing “everything” he acquires as a focal instance (Tannehill (1975, 53, 67–77, and passim; Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 123). This of course is a kind of benevolence for the corporate structure of Israel. A corollary of this distinction would be the assumption that tithing represents ingroup norms and that those who observe the same practices are part of an ingroup. Further, the cultural encyclopedia provides the implicit social pole of identity for both the Pharisee and revenue collector. The Pharisee holds honorable status (Snodgrass 2008, 471) whereas the revenue collector is immediately recognized as a local collaborator in imperial systems with a negative social appraisal.114 Society at large ascribes the actors honor and contempt respectively, and the prayers of both show that they internalize their social status. The Pharisee formulates a prayer of thanksgiving, although he conveys virtually no gratitude for what God has done. Rather, his gratitude is for what he himself does in terms of his customary way of life. Sheer categorization of a group is enough to implicate social identity, but it is also augmented by comparison with other groups, and this is what the Pharisee does. That is, even though he expresses 114. Stegemann and Stegemann (1999, 200) downplay the political aspect of the collaboration of revenue collectors, but it is unavoidable.

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thanksgiving to God, he does so in terms of his superior status by comparing himself in an exclusive way with others. First, he does this by distinguishing himself in general terms from those who plunder others, those who practice injustice, those who are unfaithful to their spouse, but then concretely over against “this” revenue collector (18:11-12) who is his counterpart in the story. In social identity terms, this is a type of stereotyping of others in outgroups that increases the self-esteem of members of an ingroup. Further, an underlying assumption for him is that abiding by his ingroup norms legitimates his place in a hierarchy of dominance over the outgroups he has identified by their behavior. By contrast, in his prayer the revenue collector categorizes himself as a sinner, which by implication is a comparison with the larger society against which he has internalized a stereotyped evaluation and by which he is considered to be deviant. On the other hand, this self-categorization comes only after he makes a plea for God’s mercy, that is, a plea for God to treat him mercifully (18:13). This is far more than an expression of humility (e.g., Bock 1996, 1465). Rather, it is an act of casting himself in dependence upon the grace of God, which Wolter refers to appropriately as an “encounter with God” (2008, 593). Jesus then announces that God justifies (divine passive) “this man” (the revenue collector). In other words, his commentary indicates that God has done something merciful for the revenue collector. But simultaneously Jesus compares him with “that man” using the preposition παρά (παρ’ἐκεῖνον, 18:14). Amy-Jill Levine (2014, 209) proposes that this polysemous preposition παρά could mean that the revenue collector is justified “alongside” the Pharisee. On the grounds of lexicography alone, such a reading is possible. But it fails to take into account that in the plot of the Pharisee’s prayer, he separates himself from others who are not like him, particularly “this (οὗτος) tax collector” (18:11) (Schnider 1980, 49). When the tables are turned in God’s justification of the revenue collector the separation from others carries over, and the preposition contrasts the revenue collector with the Pharisee: God determines “this (οὗτος) man” to be in the right rather than “that one” (ibid., 51). The parable subverts hierarchies of dominance resting on cultural assumptions and inverts the status of the dominant over the subdominant (18:14b). One outcome for readers/hearers is that they may too easily identify only with the revenue collector who appeals to God’s mercy. In fact, dismissing the Pharisee puts them in the position of separating themselves from others, as if to say, “I thank you that I am not like this Pharisee.” Empirical research has demonstrated that instructing members of an ingroup to consider the attributes of members of an outgroup reduces bias (Bettencourt et al. 1992, 317). Identifying with both characters in the parable serves as an indication for readers/hearers not to consider that God’s mercy is for some to the exclusion of others (Schnider 1980, 52–56). Luke 18:15-17. After this unexpected positive recognition of a revenue collector, the theme shifts precipitously to babies (βρέφη, 18:15), a term that has not appeared since the birth of the babies of Elizabeth and Mary in Luke 1–2. People, expressed in an anonymous third-person plural, keep bringing (προσέφερον, imperfect) babies to Jesus, with the desire for Jesus to lay his hands on their

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children. Even though the text uses masculine terms for these anonymous people who bring their offspring to Jesus, assuredly the babes are in their mothers’ arms. Over against these women not only do some disciples intervene but they also rebuke them, thus reflecting hierarchies of dominance in terms of both gender and the stage of life. With respect to the babes, interpreters often downplay the rights of infants. But what needs to be clarified is that on the axis of willful action, babies have low status (see Tannehill 1996, 267). In terms of the extension of the life of the family they are highly valued, and in a world where infant mortality is high, a premium on the life of these infants is clearly reflected in the desire of the mothers for Jesus to touch their children. Readers/hearers who remember 17:1-2 might think that these disciples who intervene are perilously close to being thrown into deep water with a millstone around their neck. By contrast Jesus calls for the babies and says, “Let the little ones (παιδία) come to me and do not hinder them, for the βασιλεία of God belongs to such ones. Truly I say to you, anyone who does not receive the βασιλεία of God as a little one will in no way enter it” (18:16-17). Stephen Fowl (1993, 153–58) suggests that the incidents of the rich ruler (18:18-27), the disciples who have left home (18:28-30), the blind beggar (18:3543), and Zacchaeus (19:1-10) demonstrate what receiving the βασιλεία of God as a little one looks like (see also Robbins 1983, 61). Granted, these are cases in point of receiving the βασιλεία of God. But I contend that the previous context with respect to the astonishment of who is included is also relevant. The previous incidents have highlighted the vulnerable widow who receives vindication (18:2-8) and the revenue collector whom God has justified with an act of mercy (18:9-14). In this light no reader/hearer should neglect the babies upon whom Jesus puts his hands. Although Luke’s version does not mention Jesus’s action of taking up the children in his arms as in Mk 10:16, in addition to what he says the importance of his actions is anticipated in the purpose of those who brought babies to Jesus. They brought their children to Jesus so that he might touch them (ibid., 45, 61). The rejection of the babies by the disciples notwithstanding, Jesus effectively blessed them. In other words, what Jesus does in touching them is all that is needed to comprehend how they are included in the benefits of the βασιλεία of God. It is their inclusion already as infants that inverts expectations. Still, the notion that everyone needs to receive the βασιλεία of God “as a little one” means that the babies serve in some respect as a figuration of how to receive the βασιλεία. Three interpretations are possible: (a) receiving the βασιλεία of God in utter dependence corresponding to the way a little one receives nourishment and care, (b) receiving the βασιλεία the way one accepts a little one (the βασιλεία is like a little one) (Patte 1983, 34), and (c) receiving the βασιλεία in the act of accepting a little one (the βασιλεία is personified in a little one). The narrator’s term βρέφη for babies in Lk. 18:15 changes to παιδία on Jesus’s tongue (18:16, 17), and παιδία can include children whom we no longer call babies. But in the context that has babies in mind, receiving the βασιλεία of God the way a little one would, implies receiving it in total dependence, the way a baby receives its mother’s milk, with no reciprocity. Robbins (1983, 52) cites Aristotle to the effect that such action involving no reciprocity is a manifestation of good moral character and

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goodwill. Nevertheless, the context also strongly suggests receiving the kingdom by receiving little ones. This is of course closely related to 9:47-48 where for the disciples to accept Jesus’s selection of a little child together with his identification of the child as great is to welcome Jesus and the one who sent him. In fact, the incident is capable of expressing all three nuances of the interpretations that are suggested above. Luke 18:18-27. In sharp contrast to babies with low status on the axis of willful action, a ruler whose governing certainly reflects high status on the axis of willful action addresses Jesus respectfully with the title “good teacher.” Whatever position the ruler holds (Fitzmyer 1985, 1198 designates him a “magistrate”), he functions of necessity in the web of imperial systems, which provides him with elite privileges and the accumulation of wealth itself and requires him to collaborate felicitously in imperial systems. All of this is part of an external pole that assuredly impacts his self-perception in his dyadic identity. His address to Jesus as “good teacher” is a compliment that implies that the two correspond in status, and it also hints at anticipations of reciprocity. First, Jesus rejects the title as an improper external pole of his dyadic identity, and when he then restricts the title “good” to none other than God (18:19), he indicates that far from reciprocating with a compliment to the ruler, he subordinates the status of his interlocutor and himself as well to God. The ruler asks Jesus, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” (18:18). In response, Jesus names five of the ten commandments (18:20) (implying the whole law, as in Rom. 13:9), and the ruler asserts that in his adult life he has kept them all (Lk. 18:21). Jesus does not dispute the ruler’s claim, but nevertheless adds one additional condition with three parts. He asks the ruler to sell everything, give to the poor, and follow him. Further, Jesus also shifts the language from “inheriting eternal life” to having “treasure in heaven” (18:22). Treasure in heaven has antecedents in 6:35 and 12:33-34. In 6:35, the reward for living under the rule of God is nothing other than to attain the status of children of the Most High, and in 12:33-34 where on the one hand the treasure has as its antithesis moneybags that deteriorate along with a heart that is oriented toward such moneybags, and on the other hand in positive terms “treasure in heaven” is nothing other than the equivalent of the life that the ruler wishes to inherit in 18:18 (Wolter 2008, 600). Similarly, the call to uncompromising discipleship reflects Jesus’s saying in 16:13: “You cannot serve God and mammon” (Tannehill 1986, 270). Moreover, Jesus has made it abundantly clear in 6:30-34 that need determines the proper distribution of the resources of the earth, a position that the early community of believers in Jerusalem also takes in Acts 4:32-35. The ruler’s sorrow indicates the detrimental but beguiling roles that status, wealth, and power play in his dyadic identity. Moreover, his departing disposition of sorrow contrasts sharply with the babies that Jesus blessed in the previous pericope. But the story is not finished. Jesus looks at the wealthy ruler and comments in his presence on how difficult it is for rich people (plural) to enter the βασιλεία of God (18:24). He elaborates this with a short parable: “It is easier for a camel to enter through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the βασιλεία of God” (18:25). Jesus’s auditors see this not only as indicting the rich but also as making

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entering the βασιλεία of God virtually impossible for anyone. Jesus, however, shifts the issue from human action (e.g., “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”) to the power of God: “Human impossibilities are God’s mighty deeds” (18:27). By way of anticipation, the curtain will soon rise on another rich man, Zacchaeus, whose reversal of his way of life is just such a mighty deed of God (19:1-10). Luke 18:28-30. Peter then enters the discussion apparently speaking on behalf of the disciples by using the first-person plural “we.” His claim in 18:28 that they have left their “own” (τὰ ἴδια)115 to follow Jesus meets the norms that Jesus called for from the wealthy ruler (18:22), and this serves as concrete evidence that they are among those who enter the βασιλεία of God (Bovon 2013, 568). The implication of Peter’s claim is that they have made sacrifices and experienced hardship in order to follow Jesus, and it is to be noted that memories of sacrifice and suffering have potent impact on identity (Ricoeur 1992, 144–45; see also Kaufmann 2004, 17). Jesus acknowledges their commitment and promises that anyone who leaves home and family for the sake of the βασιλεία of God will receive “many times as much” both in the present time and eternal life in the world to come (18:29-30). Although what it means to receive many times as much lacks further explanation, both the parallels with home and family (18:29), and the fictive kinship (Bovon 2002, 315: “elective kinship”) of those hear God’s word and do it (e.g., 8:19-21) point toward the building of an alternative community that embodies Israel’s covenant values of the wholeness of the community (similarly Green 1997, 659). Luke 18:31-34. The scene shifts to set Jesus and his disciples off alone for private instruction. In this setting he again predicts his passion, reiterating the orientation of his face to go to Jerusalem (9:51). Because in 18:31 the dative τῷ υἱῷ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου is to be construed with τελεσθήσεται and not with γεγραμμένα (Wolter 2008, 603–604), the text means something like “everything written by the prophets will be fulfilled by the son of man” (18:31) rather than “everything that is written about the son of man” (see the NRSV). Thus, it is futile for interpreters to try to find correspondences between the prophets and Jesus’s predictions of the details that he will be handed over to gentiles, mocked, insulted, spit upon, scourged, and killed (18:32-33). Further, because of the role of the son of man in eschatic judgment (Horsley 1989b, 109), the fulfillment is not limited to the crucifixion itself. Unlike the parallel in Mk 10:33, Luke does not mention the high priestly party and scribes. Nevertheless, in retrospect from Luke’s passion narrative, Judas and the high priestly party hand Jesus over and thus collaborate with gentile actors in imperial systems in Jesus’s crucifixion. The mockery, insults, and scourging are depicted in Luke’s account of the crucifixion, but spitting is not mentioned again.116 Still the portrait of suffering is a major part of how Jesus is remembered, and utter condemnation at the hands of people of prominence 115.  NRSV “our homes”; Wolter 2008, 602: “The material, personal, and spatial totality of life in one’s social world” (author’s translation). 116. Technically, this prediction is a “completing prolepsis,” which means that it provides a detail about the passion of Jesus that does not appear in the narration of the

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constitutes an extreme external pole of negative social evaluation with respect to Jesus’s dyadic identity, which is to be countered by his resurrection. The disciples are completely dumbfounded (18:34). The prediction prepares readers/hearers for Luke’s passion narrative, but at this point, are they like the disciples dumbfounded beyond comprehension? Luke 18:35-43. The notice that Jesus is nearing Jericho keeps readers/hearers aware that his face is still set toward Jerusalem. In Nazareth Jesus claimed his anointing for proclaiming recovery of sight to the blind (4:18). Further, a narrator’s summary about enabling many who were blind to see prepares for Jesus’s response to messengers from John the Baptizer about his identity as “the one who is to come” (7:20-21, see p. 91). But not until this point in the Gospel do readers discover a narrative of the recovery of sight for someone who is blind. Blindness is not the only obstacle to be surmounted by the blind man. The iterative imperfect verb expresses that he has been sitting beside the road where he customarily begs, and as an outsider to the crowd following Jesus both his location beside the road and his status as a person with maladies mean that he is among those who are on the margins of the normal social order (see Green 1997, 662). When he discovers that Jesus the Nazarene is passing by, he shouts out, “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me” (18:38). For shouting and/or for shouting this way, those who were hierarchically the “foremost” rebuked him, and said, “Shut up!” In 18:15-16 Jesus had rebuked his disciples for prohibiting little children to come to him. Both there and here they “acted to stop powerless marginalized persons from coming to Jesus” (Culpepper 1994, 437–38). Their prohibition of the blind man’s shouting brings them again perilously close to being thrown into deep water with a millstone around their neck for causing little ones to stumble (17:1-2). But the blind man violates their mandate and cries out all the more, “Son of David, have mercy on me” (“do something merciful for me,” 18:39). With the exception of Gabriel’s reference to David as the ancestor of Mary’s promised child (1:32), this is the first and only occasion in Luke where someone calls Jesus David’s son (but see the discussion on 20:41-44, pp. 180–81). For Luke, this must be another allusion to Jesus as the one through whom God’s covenant with David is being fulfilled. It is also remarkable that the blind man’s perception of behavior in the line of David is to manifest mercy. As noted in the “Introduction” (p. 8) in Hebrew culture the God who is βασιλεύς is like a good shepherd who cares for the sheep, and Israel’s kings are ordained by God to be good shepherds of their people (Zimmermann 2014a, 13–16). It is of course highly ironic that this man understands the meaning of Jesus as the one who fulfills God’s Davidic covenant, whereas those who lead the procession appear to misunderstand it as if the journey were militaristic. On account of his understanding of Jesus’s status, the blind man also addresses Jesus in the vocative, κύριε (Lord). Jesus does nothing other than tell the man in the imperative, “See again!” passion itself in 22:47-23:46; that is, the detail of being spit upon does not occur later in the direct description of his passion.

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Jesus interprets what the man has done as “faith”: “Your faith has saved you” (18:42). At this point many interpreters jump to a definition of his faith in terms of his recognition of Jesus’s Davidic kingship. But as in other cases in Luke, faith is not defined merely by its cognitive content. Rather, it is dramatized. Following the pattern of other cures, the afflicted man violates boundaries. Marginalized from the crowd, he refuses to comply with the command to be silent. On the other hand, the man’s faith also approaches a confessional conviction. He is able to perceive that Jesus is the one through whom God is fulfilling the Davidic covenant. Unlike the wealthy ruler in 18:18-25, this man who has recovered his eyesight follows Jesus. Not only is the blind man’s eyesight restored but he himself is also restored to the normal social order and becomes a member of the ingroup of those who are following Jesus. Finally, both the man who had regained his sight and all the “people” (λαός) interpret the event. That is, the man recognizes his recovery of sight as an act of God by glorifying God as do all the people who give praise to God (18:43). This pericope is a remarkable presentation of Jesus’s ascribed identity as it is construed in Luke. But it also demonstrates how someone who is categorized as on the margins of the normal social order transgresses borderlines and crosses over them in order to belong to the ingroup. Luke 19:1-10. As Jesus and his entourage, including the blind beggar who had received his sight, pass through Jericho, Zacchaeus comes onto the scene. At first readers/hearers alone are aware of him in the narrator’s comments. He is categorized as a chief revenue collector, which inevitably makes him a collaborator in Roman political structures.117 The sheer sequence in the narrator’s disclosure of his position and riches implies that he is wealthy because of the part he plays in imperial systems (19:2)118 and locates him in economic and political hierarchies of dominance over others. Exploitation of his own people and imperial collaboration inject a double dose of negative social evaluation for his dyadic identity. In addition, his short height competes with the crowd, and he is thus spatially an outsider like the blind man (18:39) (Nolland 1993b, 905). His marginalization and curiosity motivate him to climb a tree to see Jesus, a dramatic feat that likely implies that he risks being shamed for his undignified manner as a mature, wealthy man who runs ahead of the entourage and climbs a tree. But this violation of social norms also breaches the boundary that keeps him on the outside, and thus turns the attention of Jesus and the crowd to him. On several occasions Jesus has been a guest of others, but this time he initiates the invitation to become Zacchaeus’s guest (19:5). In contrast to the rich ruler who became sad in 18:23, Zacchaeus rejoices when he welcomes Jesus (19:6). A reiterated pattern in Luke is for Jesus to be criticized for welcoming revenue 117.  Stegemann and Stegemann (1999, 200) dismiss a political dimension (incorrectly in my opinion) for the negative appraisal of revenue collectors. Imperial collaboration is all the more prominent for a “chief ” revenue collector (19:2). 118.  On sequence implying causation, see Chatman (1978, 45–48).

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collectors and sinners. This time the revenue collector welcomes him, as does Levi in 5:29, which produces the same kind of social protest, that is, grumbling. Only this time it is an indefinite crowd: “They all were grumbling” (19:7). Notably their grumbling focuses on space in which, according to the throng, Jesus does not belong: “Because he had gone in to lodge with a man who is a sinner” (19:7). Further, as this text also shows they categorize Zacchaeus as a sinner. Luke provides no motivation for Zacchaeus’s acceptance of Jesus as his guest, but readers/hearers cannot afford to overlook that his welcoming Jesus is a case in point of “whoever receives me receives the one who sent me” (9:48). Abruptly Zacchaeus makes a double-pronged statement that is expressed in the present tense. A number of prominent interpreters take this present tense to be a declaration of Zacchaeus’s customary practices, which motivates Jesus to recognize that he is a genuine member of the people of Israel and to vindicate him against all the people who were complaining that Jesus had gone to be the guest of a sinner (e.g., Fitzmyer 1985, 1225). In my view the only solution that makes the incident coherent is to take the present tense of the verbs as progressive. Thus Zacchaeus indicates his resolve for the future: from this point on “I am going to give half of what I have to the poor, and if I have defrauded anyone, I am going to give fourfold restitution” (so also Bovon 2013, 598–99). Against understanding Zacchaeus’s declaration as his customary practice, if he were explaining his usual behavior, why would the people in Jericho categorize him as a sinner with their particularly negative act of grumbling? (Bock 1996, 1520). In the second place, if Zacchaeus describes his normal behavior, Jesus would have no occasion to announce that “salvation has come to this house today” (19:9). Further, Zacchaeus cannot customarily practice the giving of half of his possessions (would his wealth be halved daily? annually?). Customarily dispersing half obviously reduces the amount that is to be halved, which is reminiscent of Zeno’s paradoxes. Or Zacchaeus cannot continue to restore customarily fourfold those whom he defrauds, because that would involve continuing extortion customarily (Hamm 1988, 431–37; Culpepper 1994, 442– 43). On the other hand, if Zacchaeus makes a pledge about his behavior beginning from this point to dedicate half of his possessions to the poor, then the additional fourfold restoration to any whom he has defrauded would likely deplete the other half. If such were the case, then his relationship to his wealth would come close to Jesus’s demand to the rich ruler in 18:18-23 to give all he has to the poor (Tannehill 1993, 203). Finally, Zacchaeus could hardly be defending his customary practices because his status as a chief revenue collector inevitably involves his collaboration in imperial systems to extract tribute from the people for the sake of Rome. Remarkably, Jesus takes Zacchaeus’s new relationship with his wealth and with the people whom he has defrauded as nothing less than σωτηρία (“healing/ salvation”). By his new relationship of restoring what he has exploited from Abraham’s children, Zacchaeus dramatizes communal values of the Abrahamic covenant. For this, Jesus advocates his restoration to community with the implication that this is where he belongs. Further, he provides him with a new external evaluation of his identity. Instead of a “sinner” or a chief revenue collector (19:7), Jesus recategorizes him: “He is indeed a son of Abraham” (19:9). This is

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a strong affirmation that he has been restored into the community of the crowd who categorized him as an outsider and who in 19:3 objected to Jesus entering his house as a guest. In addition, social identity begets behavior, which especially means following group norms, and this episode even makes him a prototype of the group; the other way around because he embodies group norms, he is a prototype (Turner 2005, 10–11). Finally, the association of salvation with this rich man illustrates how what is impossible for humans becomes God’s mighty deed (see 18:27, p. 168). Luke 19:11-27. The layover in Jericho merges with Jesus’s long-anticipated arrival in Jerusalem and the latter ignites fervid expectations of the entourage that the βασιλεία of God is going to appear immediately. This sets the stage for Jesus’s parable of the Minas. The parable tells a story of a man with an ascribed status of nobility who goes into a far country to be named a king (obviously a regional client king in imperial systems) and then return. In the meantime, he distributes ten minas119 among ten slaves and commands them to do business until his return. This patently reflects an enormous disparity in political and economic dominance of the nobleman over his citizens in what Boer calls an extractive economy (2015, xii, 1–2, 102–45). On the other hand, those citizens hate him and send a delegation after him to report that they did not want “this man” to rule over them. After he becomes a client king and returns, he summons the slaves in order to find out what they have earned. The first returns a tenfold gain. This is an incredible increase of 1,000 percent that could hardly be achieved except by some kind of exploitative behavior (Vinson 2008b, 75; 2008a, 597). Nevertheless, the king ascribes to him an identity from the external pole of dyadic identity as a “good slave” and grants him power over ten cities. The ascription that he is “good” can only be from the perspective of a manipulator in an extractive economy, in which the parable of the Unjust Manager implicates “mammon that is engendered by injustice” (16:9). Thus, what qualifies this slave as “good” is that he has accommodated to the hierarchies of dominance in imperial systems. Further, he internalizes his place in the hierarchies as the inevitable, natural order of things in society, and thereby the ascription “good slave” serves to legitimate the exploitative economic behavior of the ruling class. The next slave reports a fivefold gain, and the king makes him overseer of five cities. A third declares that he put the mina in a cloth for safe keeping, “for I was afraid of you” (19:21). This slave then gives an evaluation from the external pole of dyadic identity of the king as ruthless: “You take what you did not invest and reap what you did not sow” (19:21). The king then shames him by labeling him with an external evaluation of “wicked” (on labeling see Malina and Neyrey 1988). As the antithesis of the “good slave” this “wicked one” names the reality of the king’s extractive exploitation and does not perform in such a way as to benefit the dominant order. Bernard Scott (1989, 234) attempts to ameliorate the harshness of the king by proposing that the parable gives readers/hearers two images of 119.  Mina = μνᾶ, a Greek monetary unit.

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his relationships with the slaves. According to him, the third slave erroneously portrays the master as a hardhearted king, whereas the king’s approbation of the first two slaves and his reward to them of regency over cities show him to be a gracious and generous ruler. But far from being a merciful act of generosity, the bestowal of power over ten cities is an act of calculated benevolence fitting patronclient patterns that would require balanced reciprocity and ensure their loyalty in imperial systems as a return (Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 17–18; Brawley 2018a, 227). Further, because the dominant class determines the criteria of honor, the king expresses his own internal side of his dyadic identity by repeating the slave’s external evaluation of him verbatim. He thereby asserts that because he is heartlessly dominant, he possesses the status of honor (19:22). His actions of dominance prove his high rank in the dominant social hierarchy. The ruthless king then commands others to take the third slave’s mina and give it to the one who has ten. They object that this is an unjust distribution. As in the parables of the Rich Fool and the Rich Man and Lazarus, this is another case in which the “accumulation of misery is a necessary condition corresponding to the accumulation of wealth” (Callinicos 2009, 53; see Rohrbaugh 1993, 34–35). It is therefore quite in keeping with the extractive economy (Boer 2015, xii, 1–2, 102–45) that the king insists that the “haves” will have more and the “have nots” will be exploited to the point of depleting what they have (19:26). He then orders the execution before his eyes of those who did not want him to be their king (19:27). In the history of interpretation this has often been interpreted in its Lukan form as an allegory that presents a model of diligent industry on the part of the slaves (or God’s servants) while they await Jesus’s parousia from heaven (the far country), including the final judgment (Nolland 1993b, 912–14; Bock 1996, 1531–44). Wolter (2008, 617–18) takes the parable as an explanation for why the βασιλεία of God does not appear with Jesus’s arrival in Jerusalem and corrects false expectations by projecting the time of the βασιλεία of God to the parousia. But the story can hardly be about investments and slaves that allow the king’s hierarchies of dominance to remain intact. Because of his high status, the evaluations of his slaves that he voices, first on the positive side, “you excellent, good slave” (19:17), and then negative, “you wicked slave” (19:22) is internalized by them and reflected in their self-perception of their dyadic identity as accurate, and this is another indication of the fact that those who are dominant establish the criteria for honor. Indeed the evaluation of the ruler as ruthless by a subdominant slave and the brutal exercise of the king’s violent power of the sword manifest the presumption that his dominance is nevertheless legitimate. Luke’s audience would probably have understood the story as a shocking case that “describes the economic and political structure of an exploitative kingship” (Schottroff 2006, 185). The story mirrors imperial systems of patron-client relationships that thereby exploit subdominants, render them dishonorable, and penalize their lack of productivity. The client king then ruthlessly massacres adversaries. Thus, the parable is a parody of Jesus’s kingship (Culpepper 1995, 361–64; Vinson 2008b, 69–86; 2008a, 594; Braun 2012, 442–48; Brawley 2018a,

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229–31).120 Although interpreters commonly appeal to accounts in Josephus concerning Archelaus, and often suggest that he is a parallel to the aspiring king in Jesus’s story (Ant. 14.302; 17.219-340, 374-87), numerous other imperial intrigues also provide similar parallels (Bovon 2013, 612). In any case, Jesus makes it clear to his entourage that the βασιλεία of God contrasts sharply with this narrative portrait of imperial systems. The exploitation of others in a system of slavery can be nothing other than the behavior of the “children of this age” who serve the mammon that is engendered by injustice (16:8, 13, see pp. 151–54). What remains, however, is that powers in Jerusalem are collaborators in imperial systems, and Jesus will be executed as if he were like the victims of this king’s massacre (Braun 2012, 447–48). This king plays a role that will be replicated in imperial systems that involve Pilate, Herod Antipas, and high priestly collaborators in the crucifixion of Jesus. Luke 19:28-40. No sooner does the parable of the Minas end than a notice appears that Jesus is approaching Jerusalem. To be sure, this forms a major bridge from the initial setting his face to go to Jerusalem in 9:51. The prolepsis in 9:51 anticipates the fulfillment of his ἀνάλημψις,121 which quite literally means “taking up,” and as I point out in connection with the discussion on 9:51 (p. 112), ἀνάλημψις is used in Lucian, Abdicatus 5 to summarize an event about human relationships in which a father reinstates a son that he has renounced. Again, the point is the passive nuance in the sense that Jesus’s ἀνάλημψις is not something he accomplishes but something that happens to him as he is taken up by God. His approach to Jerusalem is linked to 9:51 as its prolepsis. Simultaneously, 19:28 directly links the parable of the Minas with Jesus’s approach to Jerusalem: “While he was saying these things [the parable], he proceeded forward going up to Jerusalem.” In the discussion on 9:51, I mentioned Craig Evans’s notion (2001, 93–105) that Jesus’s arrival in Jerusalem implies judgment on the city. This direct connection of simultaneity with the parable establishes that Jesus’s arrival in Jerusalem must be starkly differentiated from the return of the king in the parable who has his enemies slaughtered before his eyes. To make this correspond to the judgment at Jesus’s arrival would be a colossal distortion. To return to Jesus’s arrival in Jerusalem, for anyone who knows the geography of Judea, his journey fits verisimilitude as he passes near Bethphage and Bethany on the slopes of the Mount of Olives (19:29), about four and three kilometers from Jerusalem respectively (Carroll 1992, 715; Perkins 1992, 703). Indeed the Mishnah considers the Mount of Olives to be an extension of the sanctity of Jerusalem (m. 120.  Snodgrass (2008, 532, 539) simply overlooks the ruler’s ruthless exploitation and execution of his enemies such that he can take the ruler to correspond to none other than Jesus. 121.  The taking up again of the process of Jesus’s arrival in Jerusalem makes the allusion back to Jesus’s ἀνάλημψις a literary analepsis. (A variant spelling of ἀνάλημψις is ἀνάληψις from which the literary term is derived.)

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Parah 3.6, 11; Šeqal. 4.2; Yoma 6.4). Acquiring a colt that has never been ridden on which Jesus is to enter into Jerusalem becomes a portent, because Jesus’s instructions about securing it predict what takes place (19:30-34). Not only do two disciples bring the colt but they also prepare it for riding by throwing their garments on it (19:35). The procession mirrors the arrival of pilgrims who entered the city from the Mount of Olives. But in distinction from a festival pilgrimage those who accompany Jesus spread their garments on the road and praise God vociferously for all the mighty deeds that they had seen (19:37). Their actions constitute an external pole of Jesus’s identity by attributing acquired honor to him. Assuredly his mighty deeds include the account of the healing of the blind man (18:35-43), and reach as far back as 4:18 where Jesus establishes his program of “good-newsing.” But clearly his mighty deeds also include events like his encounter with Zacchaeus whose salvation is nothing less than a divine act (see on 19:1-10, p. 170 and 18:27, p. 168). More weighty is the crowd’s acclamation of Jesus as the blessed one who comes in the name of the Lord, not only reprising Ps. 117:26 LXX but also picking up again the Baptizer’s question in Luke 7:20: “Are you the one who is coming?” Further it is also a literary analepsis of Jesus’s lament over Jerusalem in 13:35: “Blessed is the one who is coming in the name of the Lord.” Unexpectedly, however, the entourage further confers on Jesus an ascribed identity as the βασιλεύς who comes in the name of the Lord. Βασιλεύς is an entirely new designation for Jesus and is evidence for hearing an allusion here to royal or heroic entrances into a city. Significantly, however, the crowd declares his character as βασιλεύς by an acclamation of “peace in heaven and glory in the highest” (19:38). This acclamation also takes up again the way of peace heralded first by Zechariah in 1:79 and then in the message to the shepherds in 2:14. Moreover, it also sharply distinguishes Jesus from the ruthless βασιλεύς in the parable of the Minas in 19:12-27. To add weight to this distinction, literary brackets refine the nature of the crowd’s ascription. On the one hand, the characterization of the king in the parable of the Minas as cold-bloodedly brutal assures readers/hearers that such a pretender to the throne does not establish the criteria for what a βασιλεύς should look like. Rather, Jesus’s identity is the measure of what a βασιλεύς should be, and his identity is colored by “peace in heaven and glory122 in the highest” (19:38). On the other hand, some Pharisees (τινες) who accompany the crowd attempt to play the role of social control agents. Although they respectfully call Jesus “teacher,” they presume their place in a hierarchy of dominance with the purpose of quieting the demonstration, first by commanding him (imperative) to address his disciples, and second by the expectation that he will censure them for calling him a βασιλεύς (19:39). Quite to the contrary, Jesus evaluates their ascription of him as βασιλεύς as a divine necessity such that if not for the crowd, the stones 122.  “Glory” means a manifestation of God’s power, but in a way that is an inversion of the violent coercion of imperial systems.

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would cry out (19:40). Many interpreters think that this is an allusion to the stones of the temple, and indeed a reference to the stones of the temple occurs in 21:5-6. On the other hand, the hypothetical shouting of the stones is an alternative to the disciples’ acclamation if they were to be silenced. This is also reminiscent of the Baptizer’s claim that God can raise up children of Abraham from “these” stones (3:8). The unspoken premises of Jesus’s enthymematic rhetoric are that God has power over people and nature, God controls the cry of this crowd, and therefore if not these, then nature itself would make the acclamation. Luke 19:41-44. But beyond these brackets, Jesus’s own lament over Jerusalem interprets his identity as βασιλεύς. His regency means the way of peace (see 19:38), to repeat, anticipated by Zechariah in 1:79, the heavenly host in 2:14, and Simeon in 2:34-35. From the time of these anticipations, Jesus has repeatedly carried out a mission that equates salvation/healing with peace (e.g., 7:50; 8:48). When it comes to identity, Jerusalem plays a complex role. On the one hand, it is a synecdoche for the people of Israel. On the other hand, it is the center of elite collaborators with the imperial systems of the Roman Empire. Further, to be noted is the distinction in 19:48 between the people and ruling elites. Bovon (2012, 17) comments correctly that Jesus’s peace is not to be confused “with the Roman imperial power.” On the other hand, imperial power is not to be ignored, because the peace about which Jesus speaks is an alternative to imperial systems of dominance. Therefore, as he weeps over Jerusalem his primary concern is the problem of both collaboration and resistance to Rome. Because Judea is a provincial territory of the Empire, local collaborators are necessary. Otherwise, Judea would be an occupied territory. But the necessity to comply favorably with Rome, which includes the flow of tribute, was inevitably problematic. Thus, not only does Jesus lament Jerusalem’s failure (personified in the second-person singular) to recognize the way of peace but he also predicts the coming of the warrior way of the sword, the tragedy of which exceeds the ruthlessly brutal king of the parable of the Minas (see p. 170). Further, this tragedy is attributed to the failure to recognize the time of (presumably) divine visitation (ἐπισκοπή, 19:44). Although Luke is most likely aware of the destruction of Jerusalem, Jesus’s prediction of it here is heavily flavored with Isa. 29:3 LXX and connects Jerusalem’s destiny not with 70 CE but with Israel’s past (Dodd 1947, 47–54). Thus, this need not be a vaticinium ex evento anymore than the predictions a generation after Jesus of Nazareth of another man who shared the same name. Jesus the son of Ananias also predicted woe to Jerusalem and its temple four years before the beginning of the Revolt against Rome. He continued his predictions for over seven years until he witnessed the siege of Jerusalem in 70 CE, which he saw as a vindication of his predictions (Josephus, J.W. 6.300-309). Luke 19:45-48. I have found little in any way to connect the incident in the temple with the foregoing context. In spite of the traditional title “the cleansing of the temple,” Jesus’s entrance into it involves nothing that corresponds to the rededication of the temple under Judas Maccabeus. Rather, Jesus casts out those who are selling, which out of the necessity to protect the precincts of the temple could only occur in the close vicinity of the temple. The casting out of the sellers is

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often understood as a violent act (driving out, as in Jn 2:15). The verb that describes the action (ἐκβάλλω), however, is used also for sending workers into the harvest (Lk. 10:2) or to convey the Samaritan’s act of taking out two denarii to give to the innkeeper in 10:35. Most often, however, Luke uses it with reference to casting out demons, and it is likely that such nuances bleed over into each other. But then Jesus quotes from Scripture with two implications: “My house will be a house of prayer (see Isa. 56:7), but you have made it a cave of plunderers” (see Jer. 7:11; Lk. 19:46). To take the last first, the basis for Jesus’s action is his perception of a misuse of the temple involving some kind of economic exploitation beyond what the “sellers” represent. In Jeremiah, people who steal and practice violence use the temple as a safe haven (“cave of plunderers”). Therefore, Jesus’s act must be nothing other than a demonstration against systematic extractive economic practices (Boer 2015). But the central issue for the pericope is a divine claim on the temple as a house of prayer. Indeed, Jesus’s disciples do make it a place of prayer (24:53), but as 19:47 indicates Jesus makes the temple environs a special place of his teaching (Brawley 1987, 120). E. P. Sanders (1993) takes the temple incident to be foundational for understanding the historical Jesus. Further, the mere sequence immediately following with the appearance of the high priestly party along with scribes and the leaders of the people as Jesus’s mortal antagonists (19:47-48) insinuates that in Luke the event in the temple is a major factor that contributes to his execution. Luke 20:1-21:4. But first Jesus’s teaching in the temple environs provides occasions also for debates particularly with the high priestly coterie, scribes, and elders (20:1). In the first of his debates, the high priestly party and scribes raise a challenge about the source of Jesus’s power (ἐξουσία) behind his actions in  the temple. Nolland (1993b, 943) restricts the challenge to Jesus’s teaching. But the intimidating question of the interlocutors is, “By what power do you do these things (ταῦτα, plural)?” (20:2). Surely “these things” must include casting out the sellers as well as his teaching. Virtually all English translations make this a debate about authority, but the question is expressly about the source of Jesus’s power, recalling the accusation in 11:15 that Beelzebul is the source of Jesus’s exorcisms (see pp. 123–24). Moreover, Jesus introduces a parallel between himself and the Baptizer, and the issue is not the Baptizer’s authority but the source of his baptism. Is it from heaven or humans? (20:4). These alternatives reflect two basic ways of construing reality. One view of reality derives from a divine perspective and the other is from a human perspective. Jesus’s interlocutors reason among themselves (συνελογίσαντο, 20:5) that Jesus’s question about John’s baptism creates an enigma for them no matter which of these two possible sources they acknowledge. Incidentally, the possibility that the power is from humans is directly falsified by the fact that in terms of human political structures, neither Jesus nor John had any authority from humans. The challenge to Jesus and his riposte imply the same conundrum, and this holds great significance for Jesus’s identity. First, his identity is nuanced by juxtaposition with his antagonists, which is essentially an ingroup comparison with an outgroup. Second, along with Jesus’s interlocutors, readers/hearers are confronted with Jesus’s acquired honor as a prophet among

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the people: “But if we say, ‘from humans,’ the people will stone us” (20:6). This is virtually a variant on what Jesus himself says in 11:20: “If by the finger of God I cast out demons, then the βασιλεία of God has come upon you.” Luke 20:9-19. When Jesus addresses the people in 20:9, the response of the scribes and high priests in 20:19 shows that they are among those who hear the parable of the Tenants of the Vineyard. Three times an absentee landlord sends slaves to collect some of the vintage from the tenants. On the one hand, ordinarily tenant farmers had to render a high percentage of the produce to the owner. On the other hand, leasing land was often uncertain. Tenants often resisted remitting the produce, which could indeed bring about severe punishment (Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 44–47). But these tenants go so far as to beat the slaves who come to collect a portion of the produce and send them away empty handed. The text clearly interprets this in terms of honor/shame (20:11 and 13). Finally, the landlord sends his beloved son and heir with the expectation that instead of shaming him, the tenants will honor him (20:13). To the contrary, they successfully plot to kill him expecting to confiscate his inheritance. Consequently, the owner destroys the tenants and turns the vineyard over to others. Jesus then appends a scriptural citation: “The stone that the builders rejected has become the head of the corner. And everyone who falls upon that stone will be crushed; and it will crush everyone upon whom it falls” (20:9-18). Because the vineyard is stock imagery for Israel (e.g., Isa. 5:7; Jer. 2:21; Ps. 80:8), there is little doubt that for Luke this saying is an allegory of Israel (Bovon 2012, 38; pace Wolter 2008, 644). But beyond reason, many commentators have interpreted the parable in terms of the transfer of salvation from Israel to a new people of God. This patently disregards 20:19, which explains clearly that the scribes and chief priests perceived that he spoke this parable to them. As has been indicated frequently earlier, these groups constitute the ruling elite who are imperial collaborators (e.g., Josephus, Ant. 20.251). The handing over of the vineyard to new tenants means not the destruction of the people of God’s heritage, as in Isa. 5:5-6, but their survival under a different type of regime (Brawley 1995b, 27–41). Luke 20:20-26. In 20:19 fear of the people compromises the hierarchy of dominance of the scribes and high priestly party in their efforts to lay hands on Jesus, so in their attempt to hand Jesus over to the power of the Roman prefect, they send secret agents who conceal their identity by posing as disciples of Jesus who pretend to be people who practice justice (δικαίους εἶναι) in order to catch something incriminating in what he might say (20:20). Sending these agents enables the scribes and high priests to avoid an honor-shame contest in which they might be losers (Green 1997, 711, 713). They address Jesus with a captatio benevolentiae that characterizes him as one who speaks God’s truth, but which ironically serves as a positive identification of Jesus from an external pole (Bovon 2012, 53). Then they pose a conundrum: “Is it lawful for us [Israelites] to give tribute to Caesar or not?” (20:22). What is at stake in this conundrum is whether or not Jesus himself submits to Rome’s domination of Israel over against the βασιλεία of God (Dawsey 1984, 160–61). Jesus astutely sees through their craftiness and calls for a denarius with Caesar’s image and inscription. In fact, the recto of the

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Tiberius denarius at the time of Jesus (see on Lk. 3:1, pp. 54–55) identifies the emperor as “Tiberius Caesar Augustus, son of the divine Augustus.” In addition the verso carries an image of the Roman deity Pax and identifies Tiberius as the high priest (pontifex maximus). In other words, this is a coin that serves Roman propaganda reflecting at the same time imperial power and implicating religion in the form of the imperial cult syncretized with traditional Roman mythology as a legitimating factor of this imperialism (Klemm 1982, 248). Only then does Jesus deliver his verdict: “Render to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God” (20:25). In the political ideology of the United States, Jesus’s answer is often understood as if the coordinated terms “what belongs to Caesar” and “what belongs to God” are balanced, so that this text is frequently cited in support of separation of church and state.123 But assuredly in a biblical perspective the second half of Jesus’s answer controls the first half. “Caesar” is always subservient to God’s justice and judgment, so that Jesus clearly stands on the side of the superordinate status of the βασιλεία of God (Dawsey 1984, 162). Further, separation between political and religious realms is quite anachronistic. Simply put, all political regimes in antiquity claimed religious legitimation. Rather, Jesus throws the question back on his interlocutors, and when he counsels them to “render to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God” (20:25), he confronts them with two statements that are forever in dialectical dialogue with each other. Jesus engages his interlocutors with the God before whom they must ponder in a profound way what to make of civil powers. When such pondering occurs in the overall context of Luke, there can be little doubt that Jesus advocates an alternative way of life over against extractive imperial systems. Luke 20:27-40. In this text for the first and only time in Luke some Sadducees come on the scene. Although their only characterization is that they say that resurrection does not exist (similarly Josephus, J.W. 2.165-66; Ant. 18.16), we have enough information in Acts to fill in Luke’s cultural presumptions that many in the sect are allied with the high priestly party and some are associated with the Sanhedrin as ruling elites (Acts 4:1; 5:17; 23:6-8). Indeed, Josephus (Ant. 18.17) speaks of some of them becoming “magistrates” [ἀρχαί]). The assessment of evidence has produced a probable social location of the Sadducees as a conservative element in the upper class (Stegemann and Stegemann, 1999, 156). Furthermore, participation in ruling systems as members of the Sanhedrin and as magistrates makes them inevitably local collaborators in imperial systems. Their status in hierarchies of dominance aside, they appear here as interpreters of Moses (see also Josephus, Ant. 13.297-98). Like some Pharisees in Lk. 19:39, as interested interlocutors they address Jesus politely as “teacher” (20:28). But then they attempt to reduce the belief in resurrection to an absurdity. First, they presume the practice of levirate marriage according to which if a man dies childless, a brother 123.  For an example of a sophisticated version in terms of a “genuine . . . civic debt” as honoring God, see Bock (1996, 1613).

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is responsible for marrying his widow in order to provide a fictive descendant in his name (Deut. 25:5-6; see Gen. 38:8). These interlocutors propose the case of seven brothers all of whom were married but then die childless, and all of whom therefore have been married to the same woman. This is very much a gendered question that presupposes the existence of male polygamy. Because polygamy for males presumes that they can be married to multiple women at the same time, this test case can only be formulated as a conundrum for females who were not permitted to have more than one husband at the same time. If resurrection means continuity with and restoration of earthly existence, whose wife will she be in the resurrection? (Lk. 20:27-32). Jesus’s answer affirms continuity between earthly life and resurrection existence in that worthy people attain resurrection from the dead, but he also affirms discontinuity in that earthly relationships and bodily matter take on an altered form (20:34-36). Indeed, if all males and females are like angels (ἰσάγγελοι), then this is a subtle egalitarian inversion of the hierarchy of male dominance (Bovon 2013, 69–70). Finally, Jesus argues from God’s words to Moses (“I am [ἐγώ εἰμι] the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,” Exod. 3:6 LXX; see 3:15) that God is the God of the living and not of the dead (Lk. 20:37-38). This enthymeme appropriates the cultural premise that God is the God of the living, with which these living Sadducees, who are theists, must agree. God’s words to Moses spoken long after the deaths of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob affirm a present relationship in which God is their God. But Jesus’s response bypasses whether, like the risen Jesus in ch. 24, they already have a place “in that age” (which is contrasted with “this age” in 20:34-35), or whether the resurrection occurs at the time of the restoration of all things (Acts 3:21). What is clear, however, is that Jesus interprets Moses’s comment as an affirmation of an inviolable relationship between God and the patriarchs that leaves the resurrection mysterious even as it affirms that God does not allow death to annihilate the relationship of life (Kilgallen 1986, 478–95). Whatever the gaps in this account that ends in mystery, some scribes agree positively with Jesus over against these Sadducees (Lk. 20:39). Syntactically, these scribes who agree with Jesus in 20:39 appear to be the closest antecedent for the third-person plural subject who no longer dared to ask him anything in 20:40. But taking the third-person plural subject as referring to the Sadducees makes better sense. Luke 20:41-44. Even though questions for Jesus have come to an end, he still engages his interlocutors. And in the present case, he takes the initiative to pose to his interlocutors a matter that appears highly significant for his identity: “How do people say that the messiah is David’s son?” (20:41). With this, he refers to an ascribed identity in the cultural encyclopedia, but here its ascription to Jesus remains puzzling. To be sure, Gabriel announces to Mary that her son will be a descendant of David to whom God will give the throne of David, and the blind man in 18:38-39 has addressed Jesus twice as “son of David.” But Gabriel’s announcement and the blind man’s address stop short of equating “son of David” with the messiah, that is, the anointed one. Jesus himself notes an incongruity in Scripture with the assumption that the messiah is David’s son. David as the

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presumed author of Ps. 109 LXX reports that “the Lord [YHWH in the Hebrew of the psalm] said to my lord, sit at my right hand” (109:1 LXX). In the patriarchal culture of the biblical world the son calls the father “lord,” not vice versa (Fitzmyer 1985, 1315). Thus, Jesus reasons: If David calls the messiah who sits at God’s right hand lord, how is he David’s son? (20:44). Because in 1:32 Gabriel names David Jesus’s father (πατήρ) and the genealogy of Jesus makes David his ancestor in 3:31, and because Zechariah alludes to him as David’s child in 1:69, Luke can hardly mean that Jesus denies his presumptive Davidic descent. Luke is also clear that the designation of Jesus as the anointed one is beyond dispute (see 2:11, 26; 4:18, 41; 9:20; 24:26, 46). Speaking quite literally, the issue to be resolved is not whether the messiah is David’s descendant, but how (πῶς) it is possible for Davidic descent to determine the identity of the anointed one. In what sense is the messiah David’s son? (Bock 1996, 1640). For readers who remember Gabriel’s promises to Mary in 1:31-33 and his affirmation in 1:37 (“Everything is not impossible with God,” see p. 46), one answer to the question of how the messiah is David’s son is by the power of God (Patte 1987, 315–16). At the very beginning of the story of Jesus, Mary also asks, “How will this be?” Gabriel responds with reference to a mighty deed of God: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you and the power (δύναμις)124 of the Most High will overshadow you” (1:35). Further, given that the very first words of Jesus in Luke play off of Jesus’s relationship to Joseph on the one hand (2:48) and his relationship to God on the other (2:49) the question of paternal kinship remains enigmatic beyond understanding. In the end, however, in spite of 1:32 and 3:31, Davidic descent can hardly be the primary criterion for determining the messiah’s identity (Green 1997, 724). Luke 20:45–21:4. Jesus delivers an external evaluation of some scribes that discredits them. His audience is his disciples, but as on other occasions people at large overhear. Fitzmyer (1985, 1317) takes this to be a “blanket condemnation” of the scribes that allows for no exceptions. Against this, the participles that describe the scribes are attributive (20:46). This is to say that Jesus speaks not about scribes in general but about those specific ones who parade in long robes, those specific ones who covet greetings in the market place, and those specific ones who strive for prestigious seats in synagogues and places of honor at meals, and finally those specific ones who are characterized as devouring widows’ houses and making pretentious prayers (so also Nolland 1993b, 976, although he then slips into speaking of scribes in general). At first glance most of these behaviors may appear to be innocuous, but altogether they represent hierarchies of dominance that are supported by cultural presuppositions, perhaps regarding the importance of the contributions of scribes to the social order or their observance of Torah as legitimating their standing over others. In the case of these scribes Jesus refers to attempts of some of them to gain honor by such things as long prayers at the same time that their attempts are accompanied by injustice, represented here as consuming widows’ houses (20:47). 124.  One of the meanings of δύναμις is “a mighty deed.”

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J. Duncan M. Derrett (1972, 1–9) provides a plausible explanation of this from rabbinic parallels in which prominent citizens use such things as their piety to build positive reputations so that they might serve as trustees of the estates of widows and orphans, and then profit by claiming excess expenses in their work as trustees. Whether these rabbinic parallels are applicable in this case or not, it is clear that the focal instance of consuming widow’s houses is a part of extractive economic systems that eviscerates responsibilities in Israelite allocative systems that are designed to protect widows and turns this into exploitation at the hands of others (Bovon 2012, 87). Jesus summarily judges such scribes harshly thereby attributing to them an external pole of evaluation that turns the honor that they seek into shame. In spite of the chapter break, 21:1-4 continues the line of thought focusing this time on a specific poor widow, so that she becomes a case in point in the extractive economic systems in which according to 20:47 some scribes are implicated. First, readers/hearers view this scene through the eyes of Jesus who occupies a place where he observes people who make offerings to the temple. He evaluates the poor widow far more favorably than all the rich people whom he has observed contributing to the temple treasury. She expresses extraordinary commitment to the system, and Jesus values her two copper coins as more than all of the gifts of the rich combined.125 Their benevolences do not diminish their level of wealth and status, whereas the widow casts her entire βίος into the treasury (21:1-3). Βίος can mean “livelihood,” that is, the resources that are necessary for subsistence, but the fundamental meaning is life itself, and it is entirely plausible that by means of her two copper coins she makes a commitment of nothing less than her life to the temple. Literarily, Jesus provides an external evaluation of the woman that elevates her social identity. But not only does this make the widow poignantly praiseworthy (so also Wolter 2008, 666), it also exposes the injustice of the extractive economic system (Wright 1982, 256–65).126 Interpreters often comment to the effect that Jesus is not thereby disregarding the gifts of rich (e.g., Bock 1996, 1647). On the other hand, when wealth is understood as amassing resources at the expense of others (those scribes who devour widow’s houses are hardly out of sight), a critique of the rich as part of extractive economics can hardly be passed over. What is more, Jesus’s very next words predict the destruction of the temple (21:5-6), so that in this extractive economic system, the widow casts her two copper coins into what ultimately will be a lost cause. But the poor widow’s actions may not be completely fruitless. Readers/hearers may still remember the programmatic statement of 1:37: “Everything will not be impossible with God” (see p. 46). If they

125.  Cf. Aristotle, Eth. nic. 4.1.23: “We feel that however much they [princes] spend and give away they can hardly exceed the limit of their resources.” 126.  Wright supports the critique of the extractive system but rejects the widow’s gift as “poignantly praiseworthy” as I phrase it. Surely, Jesus’s evaluation of her gift as more than others and the equivalent of her life makes it “poignantly praiseworthy.”

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keep this grand scheme of things in mind, they may expect God to be at work beyond the destruction of the temple in ways that they have not anticipated. Luke 21:5-36. As the previous comments have already indicated, Jesus stands over against talk about the splendor and adornment of the temple by predicting its future demise—“not one stone will be left upon another that will not be thrown down” (21:6). In response to the disciples’ question about times and signs, Jesus launches his last public discourse, which concerns signs and times, in three distinct sections. First, after he warns against messianic pretenders who do predict times, and then forecasts wars and uprisings (21:8-9), he acknowledges disquieting global conflicts, cosmic, astronomical, and meteorological events (21:10-11). But surprisingly these do not signal the end. Second, the discourse focuses on the particular destiny of Jesus’s followers. Jesus warns them about focal instances of arrests, persecution, synagogue discipline, imprisonment, kings and governors, which will occur because of the testimony they will give (21:12-15). Subjection to synagogue discipline betrays the point of view that a significant portion of Jesus’s followers still belong to the synagogue. The reference to kings and governors broadens the perspective, and yet this does not exceed the nested hierarchical systems of the Roman Empire present from the very beginning of Luke (see 2:1-2; 3:1-2). The appearance of Jesus’s followers before judicatories is not the occasion for them to testify but the consequence of their testimony (Wolter 2008, 674). On the other hand, the ability to respond in these judicial settings with words from Jesus picks up and elaborates the warnings of 12:11 and the promise of 12:12 that the Holy Spirit will teach believers “in that very hour” what to say. In particular this assuredly means that they will not deny Jesus but confess him. Similarly, Jesus’s warning of betrayal by family and friends (21:16) flashes back to 12:52-53. Further, the relationship with God that notably impinges on the identity of Jesus’s followers is expressed in the assurance that not even a hair of “your” head will perish (21:18), which is a variant of the assertion in 12:7 that the hairs of “your” head are all numbered. Finally, the endurance that reaps life in 21:19 reiterates the saving of life by losing it for Jesus’s sake in 9:24. Here suffering does not exclude individual distress (such as a specific case of betrayal by members of the family, 21:16), but the emphasis falls especially on corporate experiences of suffering. Indeed all the sayings in vv. 8-20 are all formulated in the second-person plural. Without question such suffering shapes identity, but so does the confidence of a relationship with God that engenders the assurance of God’s care (vv. 18-19). This is precisely what these texts, with ch. 12 in mind, reinforce by repetition with variation (on repetition with variation see Tannehill 1975, 42–43). Third, in 21:20-24 the particularity that is focused on Jesus’s followers precipitously gives way to a description of a siege of Jerusalem, which is here categorized as days of avenging justice (ἐκδίκησις, 21:22) and wrath (21:23). Pronouncements of hardships for pregnant women and nursing mothers are cited as focal instances of the avenging justice and wrath as well as slaughter and the deportation of captives among all the nations (21:23-24). In summary fashion, Jerusalem is to be “trampled by gentiles until the times of the gentiles are fulfilled” (21:24). In contrast to interpretations of the previous prediction of

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Jerusalem’s demise in 19:43-44 as derived from prophetic pronouncements (see p. 176), many  interpreters take the detail here to reflect a retrospective view of the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 CE. Still the text traces this back to “all that is written” (21:22), and there are allusions to a number of prophetic texts that anticipate Jerusalem’s demise (e.g., Nolland 1993b, 1000–1002), so that like the lament in 19:34 this need not be a vaticinium ex evento.127 But terror and tragedy do not have the last word. In the midst of cosmic and astronomic signs, dismay of nations, fear, expectation of things to happen in the whole world, and the shaking of heavenly powers (21:25-26), the son of man comes with manifest power and dominion (21:27), which evokes the imagery of Dan. 7:13-14. As has been emphasized repeatedly in this commentary, the coming of the son of man is especially associated with judgment (Horsley 1989b, 18–19, 49–50). A major feature of this section is the role that suffering, both individual and corporate, plays in the identity of both Jesus’s antagonists and his followers (see Ricoeur 1992, 144–45; see also Kaufmann 2004, 17). For Jesus’s followers, however, the experience of injustice turns out to be a sign of their salvation. When they stand with Jesus on the side of God’s justice, they will suffer because the powers of evil fight back against God’s justice. But Jesus promises that the suffering will be overcome. Therefore suffering at the hands of those who stand against God is inverted into nothing less than the assurance of triumph by means of the exceedingly greater power of God. Thus Jesus turns again to his followers and tells them: “ Raise your heads, because your redemption is at hand” (21:28). In a move anticipated by empirical evidence in the study of social identity (Tajfel 1978a, 94; Lemaine et al. 1978, 294–95; Giles 1978, 385), suffering that appears to be a disturbing factor for the identity of Jesus’s followers is reinterpreted so that it becomes positive. The discourse ends with a parable and exhortation. As the budding of trees produces the knowledge that summer is near, so also the occurrence of “these things” produces the knowledge that the βασιλεία of God is near (21:29-31). But to what do “these things” refer? The reference seems most naturally to pick up the items in Jesus’s predictions. To reiterate, taken with 21:28, the parable includes the notion that as God’s justice nears, the powers of evil, whose demise is drawing near, resist even more vehemently. In a kind of inverted logic, their increased violence is a sign of how close they are to defeat. On the other hand, Jesus appends two additional statements to the parable: (a) “Amen I say to you, ‘This generation will in no way pass away until all things have come to pass’” (21:32). “This generation” is hardly Jesus’s contemporaries. Rather, the basic meaning of γενεά is what has been born, that is, what has been engendered, and therefore the human race (so also Wolter 2008, 682; cf. “those born from women,” 7:28; “all who live on the face of the earth,” 21:35). (b) “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will in no 127.  On this see Dodd (1947, 47–54) and the parallel predictions of Jesus son of Ananias in Josephus, J.W. 6.300-309, noted in the discussion on 19:41-44, p. 176.

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way pass away” (21:33). “All things” refer not only to the social, political, cosmic events in Jesus’s discourse but also to the abiding validity of all of Jesus’s words, at the center of which is his “good-newsing” of the βασιλεία of God. Although the exhortation in 21:34-36 is standard fare concerning staying alert, it does not stand on its own. It has twenty-one chapters of God’s activity especially in and through Jesus behind it, and the exhortation is a consequence for the future of this theocentric, but christological story. The story creates a crisis that ends with universal judgment in the presence of the son of man (Fitzmyer 1985, 1355). To reiterate, crises in history that are the consequence of the encounter of God’s justice with the powers of injustice is a portent for Jesus’s followers of who they are in light of their vindication and, closely related, their hope.

Luke 22:1–24:53 Jesus’s passion, resurrection, and ascension Still before the judgment in the presence of the son of man, much of the theocentric but christological story remains to be told. Because of the Lukan passion predictions, readers have long anticipated Jesus’s suffering and death. Further, the story of the life and mission of Jesus’s followers is yet to be told. The remainder of Luke is devoted to Jesus’s passion and resurrection, and Acts relates episodes in a story of the Jesus movement, although Acts itself anticipates a history that extends beyond its end. Luke 22:1-6. Jesus’s passion begins with a plot of chief priests and scribes to put Jesus to death in which Judas Iscariot is entangled (22:1-6). The high priestly party needs to be identified as collaborators in imperial systems who are responsible for local order in Judea and Galilee (Josephus, Ant. 20.251, see on 3:1-2, pp. 54–55). One of the major characteristics that distinguishes one group from another is a collective name (Hall 1997, 25), and although proper nouns for group entities among Jesus’s followers are sparse, Judas belongs to a select group known simply as the twelve (22:3). His involvement with the chief priests and scribes puts him in a process of changing group identification. Changing groups is ordinarily associated with boundaries that are flexible and permeable. But here the boundary is rigid, and consequently a new component of power is necessary (Tajfel 1978b, 52–54). The new component of power at this point turns out to be the prominent reemergence of Satan who has been in the shadows. A pronounced view in biblical literature is that human behavior is engendered by external powers, even though human beings nevertheless remain totally responsible for what they do. Accordingly, Judas is in the process of turning aside from the twelve to go his own way (22:3; see Acts 1:25; Brawley 1995b, 71–74). In turning away from the twelve, he is joining a conspiracy of collaborators in imperial systems. Simultaneously, his behavior is engendered by Satan (22:3). Quite significantly a conspiracy is necessary because the elite local rulers are set over against the populace (λαός). Further, the interplay between the priestly party and the people continues with intriguing tensions throughout Jesus’s passion. Incongruously Judas not only turns away from the twelve but also casts his lot

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not with the people but with the high priests and scribes. As indicated earlier, his astonishing behavior falls under the power of evil personified as Satan. Both his associations with the elite rulers and with Satan play a major role in his identity as in the adage “you are known by the company you keep.” Further, monetary compensation makes him a Faustian figure in that he sells his soul to the devil, so to speak (22:5). Luke 22:7-38. The plot to put Jesus to death establishes a theme, but a literary strategy of delay pushes his execution into the future. The first part of the delay is a Passover meal and table talk. Like the case of securing a colt for Jesus to ride into Jerusalem (19:30-34, see p. 175), Jesus’s prescience about the preparation for the meal on the day when the Passover lamb is to be sacrificed becomes a portent. It heightens the significance because Jesus’s prescience of what will happen before it takes place is a form of reiteration of Jesus’s prescience in giving two of his disciples instructions on finding the colt in 19:30-34. This time he instructs two named disciples, Peter and John, to prepare a place for Passover by following a man who is carrying a water jar (22:8-13). Jesus and the twelve form a group with high entitativity; that is, Luke presents them as a highly unified group, and they experience gains in identity and self-esteem from the value of their membership in the entity (Sherman et al. 1999, 81–88). At the same time, members need differentiation, and optimal distinctiveness means ideally that the two aspects of entitativity and differentiation are balanced (ibid., 89–91). These dimensions of both belonging and perceiving differentiation play out dramatically in the observance of Passover in Luke 22. Reference has been made above to the way suffering binds its participants together. But in 22:14 Jesus appeals to solidarity with the apostles that anticipates suffering. Significantly this unity is built on the axis of desire: “I have fervently desired to eat this Passover with you” (22:15). This reflects high entitativity in the face of the suffering that Jesus anticipates. The two cases of Jesus’s prescience in the form of finding a colt for him to ride into Jerusalem and finding a place for Passover reinforce Jesus’s passion predictions so that suffering is anticipated as inevitable. Because Jesus says that he will in no way eat the Passover until it is fulfilled in the βασιλεία of God, some ambiguity obscures whether his eager desire to eat this Passover before his suffering comes to fruition or not (22:15-16). But when he speaks of not drinking the cup “from now on” until this fulfillment in the βασιλεία of God (22:18), the presumption must be that he eats the meal with the apostles. Luke has two cups, one before and another after the breaking of bread. The signification that Jesus gives to the first cup under the rubric of thanksgiving is prominent: “Take this and divide it among yourselves” (22:17). Drinking this cup cements their gratitude for their solidarity with Jesus and one another, not to mention with God—a solidarity that ensures their identity as a group that has a name. They belong to a group that is called apostles (22:14), and this group has a governing purpose toward the coming of the βασιλεία of God. Also under the rubric of thanksgiving, Jesus breaks a loaf and distributes it among the apostles. Again his words ascribe a twofold meaning to it: (a) “This is

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my body that is given on your behalf ”; (b) “Do this in remembrance of me” (22:19). The first comment is an indirect I-saying and a metaphor that I take to be quite complex. For one thing, bread is a synecdoche for life, and when Jesus says, “This is my body,” he makes an analogy between bread and his own existence (Brawley 1995a, 31). As with the first cup, its distribution among the apostles reiterates their group solidarity that is reinforced by Jesus’s gift of his life on their behalf. But even though Jesus’s death is in the air, the gift of his life (τὸ σῶμά μου τὸ ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν διδόμενον, “given for you,” present passive participle) is already a reality from past times before this meal, and thus here it can hardly be sacrificial (ibid., 30). Interpretations of the second comment have a history of taking ἀνάμνησις (22:19) as a memory that re-presents Jesus (so Fitzmyer 1985, 1390–92, 1401). Some interpretations have long held that the memorial was based on a Hebraic understanding of re-presenting what was being remembered. Brevard Childs (1962, 50–60) showed this to be an erroneous understanding of the Hebrew zkr. Although he agreed that by way of memory, Israel could experience the exodus anew, to think of a dynamic re-presentation of what is remembered loads zkr with more weight than it can sustain. Further, with respect to the meaning of the Greek ἀνάμνησις later patristics did in fact develop a view of a dynamic re-presentation in the understanding of the eucharistic ἀνάμνησις. But to make this a part of Luke’s view of Jesus’s last supper is completely anachronistic, and we should speak rather of the memory of Jesus that the Gospel of Luke portrays (Brawley 1990a, 139–40), that is, most especially the memory of Jesus’s special relationship with God from his baptism to his death and his being taken up. The second cup after the meal is also a metaphor that associates “this cup” with “the new covenant.” This too is complex in that the cup is further modified by both a prepositional phrase and a participial phrase. This cup is modified by “in my blood” and “poured out on your behalf ” (22:20). In spite of popular piety, Luke does not associate blood with Jesus’s predictions of his passion nor does it come into play in the description of his crucifixion. To be sure blood is the seat of life, and wine is associated with blood by methexis; that is, it shares features of color and liquid consistency with its metaphorical referent. Joachim Jeremias (1996, 221–22) argues that “body” and “blood” are twin concepts representing the elements of sacrifice (flesh and blood). But Luke’s last supper separates the two cups from each other as well as from the bread and each is self-contained (against Jeremias see Brawley 1995a, 30). Wine and bread are synonymous metonyms for life. Another matter with the second cup is of course the new covenant. Surprisingly, in spite of the name of the New Testament canon, “new covenant” appears only four times in its pages. In fact, the similarities between the parallel Pauline and Lukan forms of the last supper tradition likely derive from the same tradition and thus restrict the distribution of “new covenant” even more. The other two references in 2 Cor. 3:3-6 and Heb. 8:8 are clear allusions to the “new covenant” in Jer. 38:31-33 LXX, where the covenant relationship with God is written in minds and hearts (Brawley 2014, 126–27). The overtones of Jer. 38:31-33 are also unavoidable in

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Luke’s version of the last supper (Fitzmyer 1985, 1402). What is new is not the essence of the covenant but expectations of a divine act that changes the heart and enables fidelity to the relationship with God (von Rad 1962, 270; 1965, 324). One other comment is needed. Jesus also shares this cup with his apostles, again affirming them as a group with high entitativity, and this corporate relationship with Jesus and one another, as it is manifested in Jesus’s open commensality in Luke, represents a key feature of group identity in the βασιλεία of God. In this context there is little to support the understanding of what is translated as “on behalf of you” in 22:19, 20 as vicarious atonement. Rather, the eating, drinking, and giving of self “on behalf of you” is for the sake of high group solidarity. The last supper then shifts dramatically and astoundingly to disrupted group unity. The meal for the sake of group solidarity breaks up into instances of disloyalty and rivalry. In other words, the character of the group as an entity moves perilously close to being dissolved into individual differentiation. First, the narrator’s notice of the plot against Jesus in 22:2-3 surfaces again ironically in Jesus’s first words after his declaration concerning the new covenant, “But the hand of the one who betrays me is with me at the table.” The table itself is a metonym for group solidarity (22:21). Because the readers’/hearers’ knowledge that Jesus refers to the hand of Judas exceeds that of the apostles, the latters’ searching among themselves is ironic. In fact, in their own eyes all of them are implicated as potential betrayers (22:23) (Clivaz 2002, 400–16). But then individual differentiation breaks down group solidarity even more. The twelve dispute among themselves about who among them should be regarded as the greatest (22:24). The contention about greatness, which cannot be separated from the question of who the betrayer might be, qualifies the high entitativity of the group. Jesus’s antidote is to compare them with the honor-shame values of imperial systems as expressed in patron-client relationships, especially among client kings and elite benefactors. David Lull (1986, 289–305) makes a sophisticated effort to portray the rulers of the nations as “ideal” benefactors. But he does not consider the ideal that Aristotle advocates for those who hold power. This founder of the Lyceum in Athens counsels elite rulers to control their citizens by offering sacrifices [public feasts] and erecting public monuments, “so that commoners who do not participate in ruling might acquiesce to them in return for sharing in the public feasts, and for seeing the city decorated with votive offerings and magnificent public buildings may be willing for the conditions of citizenship to endure” (Politics 6.1321a31-42). In fact, Vinson (2008b, 77–83) demonstrates that in Luke-Acts kings as such do not function positively. Nevertheless, Lull goes so far as to include Herod Antipas and Pilate as positive benefactors because both found no cause to execute Jesus in his trial (Luke 23). But this affirmative reading of them is a clear impossibility according to Acts 4:2627: “The rulers gathered together against the Lord and against his messiah. .  .  . Namely, . . . Herod and Pilate . . . gathered together against your holy servant Jesus” (against Lull see also Nelson 1991, 113–23). Luke-Acts is replete with negative views of imperial systems that dominate and exploit, most explicitly here, where Jesus says: “The kings of the nations rule over them [as if they are the greatest],

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and the ones who exercise power over them have themselves called benefactors” (22:25, on the translation of καλοῦνται in the passive see Nolland 1993b, 1064). By contrast Jesus says to the twelve, “But this is not the way for you” (22:26). Among his followers the social identity prototypical norm for Jesus’s followers, which according to Turner (2005, 11) leaders embody, begins not from a position comparable to imperial client kings but from service to others (so also Moxnes 1991, 261). Indeed, Jesus presents himself as embodying the prototypical norm of a servant, not with high status but with low status. “The servant role is permanently inscribed in his identity” (Tannehill 1992, 21). The kings of the nations who love to have themselves called benefactors are prototypical of an outgroup, Jesus the servant is prototypical of the ingroup. Further, Jesus explicitly undermines hierarchies of dominance among those who are gathered at the Last Supper. First, his rhetorical question expresses the conventional presumptions that dinner guests are superior to servers: “For who is greater, the one who reclines or the one who serves?” But then, Jesus locates himself among the disputing apostles as one who serves (22:27). Now this inversion of hierarchies of dominance is extremely pertinent for understanding the place of the twelve as sitting on thrones in the βασιλεία of God (22:29-30). In keeping with serving, they stand quite in contrast to the kings of the nations. Places in the βασιλεία of God are the inverse of hierarchies of dominance in imperial systems. In my opinion, Luke’s Jesus is not predicting the apostles’ places on thrones as an eschatological event. Rather, their places are realized in their service in the life of Jesus’s followers beginning in Acts (Brawley 1990b, 93), and this anticipates the development of a movement that eventually will have its own institutions for a new identity that goes beyond established systems (see Roberts 1978, 111–26; Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 206–11). But first Satan will “sift” Simon along with his “brothers.” Not only does Jesus revert to his given name rather than address him by the epithet “Peter,” which he bestowed upon him, but he also doubles it, thereby reflecting the gravity of the situation (Bock 1996, 1742). With this Jesus predicts that Simon’s individual behavior will produce a disastrous imbalance in the optimal distinctiveness of social identity, that is, the maximum benefit of both solidarity and individuality, of both group unity and distinctiveness (Brewer 1991, 475–77). Further, this holds precisely when individuality in terms of Simon’s behavior is an expression on behalf of the group (see ibid., 479). Regrettably, Simon’s personal denial will devour his group identity. But Jesus’s supplication on his behalf anticipates his restoration and the strengthening of the group’s high entitativity anew. Here the ingroup’s high entitativity takes on the fictive (“elective,” Bovon 2002, 315) kinship role of siblings (22:31-32). Simon’s promises of loyalty correspond to the optimal benefit for inclusion in the group, but Jesus anticipates that his denials will disrupt the group entitativity of those who are “with” Jesus (22:33-34). Obviously this is a prediction that anticipates a sequel. Suddenly the mood grows increasingly melancholy as Jesus compares the imminent future with his earlier sending of the apostles on their mission in 9:3.

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There because of mutual interdependence with village hosts, there was no need to prepare for the imminent future. By contrast conflict is now on the horizon such that Jesus represents it as a time of preparation with swords. He interprets this as requisite for the fulfillment of Scripture and deems it necessary for him to be included among the lawless (22:35-38), which is an allusion to Isa. 53:12. Over against older views that New Testament references to Scripture are atomistic, it is entirely plausible that such a brief allusion evokes its context if the passage is prominent in the common culture (Hays 1999, 391–412; Zimmermann 2014b, 62; Ehrensperger 2005). In such a case Jesus would be associating himself with the suffering servant in 53:12: “Therefore he will be the heir of many and will divide the spoils of the strong, because his life was delivered up to death, and he was reckoned among the lawless, and he bore the sins of many, and he was delivered up on account of their sins.” When the disciples acknowledge that they have two swords (Lk. 22:38), they appear to play the role of the lawless. Jesus’s reply at the end of the verse (“It is enough,” NSRV) clearly does not say that the two swords are enough, and I am persuaded by Fitzmyer’s translation: “Enough of that” (1985, 1434). In fact, Jesus’s crucifixion alone, but especially with two malefactors accounts for his being reckoned among the lawless. This indicates that the disciples misunderstand Jesus’s modification of his earlier instructions in 9:3 and have taken the sword literally when it is rather a sign of the times when the warrior way of the sword will prevail. Although Fitzmyer takes this to be an anticipation of the time of the church under persecution, my view is rather that Jesus indicates that the time of interdependent mutuality with villagers, which prevailed in ch. 9, is no longer viable in the context of his arrest. At the same time, the disciples’ misunderstanding further erodes the group’s high entitativity. Luke 22:39-46. The scene shifts to the Mount of Olives, which by virtue of Jesus’s custom and the events that follow is a special place of prayer. Jesus again exhorts group solidarity in prayer, particularly not to enter testing (22:40). Given the increasing tension of the impending time of trial (22:46) the “testing” must include the tendency of actions against the group to invite defections. It is not only aspirations of greatness (22:24) that generate an imbalance in optimal distinctiveness but also intimidations against Jesus and his followers (Brewer 1991, 475–77; Sherman et al. 1999, 81–88). As with the petition in the Lord’s Prayer in 11:4, there is ambiguity whether the petitioners are to ask not to be tested or not to be the ones who put God to the test of whether God is with them or not (see on 11:4 p. 121). No sooner has the narration of Jesus’s supplication for God to remove his ordeal (“cup”) become a group norm (22:42), which is balanced by commitment to God’s will, than his disciples violate their group entitativity with him by falling asleep in sorrow (22:45). Although it is unclear what “in sorrow” means, Jesus’s renewed exhortation to pray not to enter testing (22:46) indicates that sleeping instead of prayer means that they have violated norms of group solidarity. With this, the delay between the beginning of the plot of 22:2-6 and its implementation comes to an end. Significantly, in Jesus’s arrest and trial, the

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narrator refrains from evaluative judgments and readers are left to grapple with Jesus’s social identity between the dyadic poles of external evaluation and Jesus’s self-perception as these factors appear in the dialogue (see Bakhtin 1984, 252). Luke 22:47-53. Suddenly Judas and an arresting party (high priests, temple police, and elders) arrive on the scene. Interpreters have a tendency to separate Judas together with the crowd of high priestly agents who are involved in Jesus’s arrest from Roman agents such as Pilate and the centurion of 23:47. But there could be no arresting party with its consequent interrogation before a council of elders if they were not already collaborators in imperial systems. The position of the arresting party in imperial systems contributes to their ability to become dominant over Jesus and his disciples. Their arrival transforms the nature of Jesus relationship to the space on the Mount of Olives. For him, it has served as a place of prayer, that is, as a sanctuary in more than one sense of the word. Indeed, as mentioned earlier, the Mount of Olives was considered to be an extension of the sacred space of the temple. This socioreligious concept of space as an extension of the temple is reason enough for interpreters not to forget that in his action in the temple, Jesus had made a claim on it as a place of prayer (19:46), and as an extension of the temple, the Mount of Olives should also have been a place of prayer as well as a place of personal security. But at this point Jesus and his disciples lose protection at the very time that they could only have presumed that they belonged to a safe place. The arresting party transforms it into a place of conflict and confrontation (see Sumrain 2016, 68). The collaborators arrival, however, is even more strangely mixed, because one of Jesus’s followers, Judas, is leading them, and he approaches Jesus to betray him with the bewildering gesture of a kiss (22:47-48). Astute readers can scarcely avoid the contrast with the woman who kissed Jesus’s feet in 7:38 (Bock 1996, 1768), which is the only other reference to a kiss in Luke. But in response readers/hearers are left to grapple with Jesus’s reference to himself as the “son of man” who is betrayed. As noted elsewhere in this commentary, Jesus’s reference to himself as son of man is associated with his function in eschatic judgment (Horsley 1989b, 18–19, 49–50), which implicitly puts Judas under scrutiny. Although 22:47 still refers to Judas as one of the twelve, his actions reiterate the fractured entitativity of the ingroup. But in contrast to similar cases of fractured solidarity among Jesus’s disciples, Judas’s broken relationship with the group goes unrepaired. By way of comparison, others of Jesus’s disciples are prepared to act in solidarity by contriving to fight with swords, and one slashes off the ear of a slave of the high priest. In truth, however, their uncomprehending willingness to act in solidarity with swordplay constitutes yet another break from Jesus, who stops the warrior way of the sword and heals the slave’s ear (22:50-52). In fact, the disciples’ swordplay mimics the behavior of the arresting party who accost Jesus with swords and clubs. Here Jesus’s dialogue is a question that discloses his self-perception only in a partially negative way: “Do you come out with swords and cudgels as if I were a brigand?” (23:52). Granted, this fulfills his prediction (22:35-38) that on the basis of Scripture he would have to be reckoned among the lawless (22:52), but it is also the antithesis of his daily activities in the temple.

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Repeatedly his activities there contested underlying assumptions that supposedly legitimate the hierarchies of dominance of those who arrest him. Ironically, now the priestly hierarchies of dominance are no longer manifested in their place in God’s house of prayer but in the power of the sword under the cover of darkness (22:53). Luke 22:54-62. The narrative then creates parallel scenes that reflect the simultaneity of Jesus and Peter. While Jesus is under arrest in the residence of the high priest, Peter is in the courtyard in the vicinity of Jesus’s detention and yet at a distance from him (22:54). The narrator paints Peter’s portrait first, depicting him again as weakening group entitativity. The center piece of his portrait is a fire around which he gathers with others in the courtyard (22:55), which itself is a sociological phenomenon in that they all form a closed circle face to face with each other oriented toward the fire in the middle (Girard 1986, 151–54). Both this phenomenon and Peter’s face are illumined by the light of the fire. On the one hand, an individual’s perception of group solidarity can be affected positively. Simultaneously, however, multiple factors are at work that excite or suppress what is salient in a given context (Vescio et al. 1999, 126). In Peter’s case Jesus’s arrest and detention manifest the threatening atmosphere that diminishes the saliency of his identity as a member of the ingroup of Jesus’s followers. In fact, his denials make him a classic case of the mutability of salience. Fundamental to salience is the drive for positive self-esteem in social and cultural conditions. Peter is faced with the challenge of negotiating complex factors that weigh on his self-identity as he stands among an outgroup. According to optimal distinctiveness theory, small minority groups enhance the loyalty of their members among themselves. But when one such member is submerged in and confronted with a majority of another group, someone like Peter is depersonalized and loyalty to a minority group is severely threatened (Brewer 1991, 479–80; Sherman et al. 1999, 81–88). In fact, when members of a subdominant group are confronted with differences from a dominant group, they perceive the differences to be greater than do members of dominant groups in comparison with subdominant groups (van Knippenberg 1978, 179). Therefore, Peter would characteristically perceive his identity to be under greater threat than what his interlocutors intend. On the other hand, differentiation virtually always produces conflict with established powers (Lemaine, Kastersztein, and Personnaz 1978, 282–83) so that Peter’s perception of a threat is not inaccurate. He is associated with Jesus who has been arrested as an outlaw. He is isolated from other members of his group, and the fact that he is facing some who are allied with the high priest creates a disparity in relative numbers and power. Issues such as culture and language also contribute to distinctions between ingroups and outgroups, and although Luke makes nothing of Peter’s speech here, an interlocutor identifies him as a Galilean (22:59), which in all probability includes his accent (as in Mt. 26:73) and implicates cultural distinctions. Further, in this case his distinction from the others is reduced to one stereotype alone—the claim that he is associated with Jesus (on such factors see Brewer and Miller 1984, 282–90). In short, Peter attempts to negotiate a context in which his solidarity with Jesus ceases to be salient. Not only does he deny his

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association with Jesus (22:57) and dissociate himself from his ingroup (22:58) (see Farnham et al. 1999, 244–45), but he also refuses to allow his distinct Galilean identity to implicate him in order that he might be tolerated in the midst of this alien group (22:59-60). Social identity theory describes Peter’s dilemma from the perspective of an insecure self-image over against a majority group of higher status (Moscovici and Paicheler 1978, 254–65). Therefore, clearly Peter’s suppression of the salience of his solidarity with Jesus’s followers and his self-stereotype involve multiple determinants. Nevertheless, his denial actually reflects his perception that he does belong to a group distinct from others around the fire, an identity that he now represses, however. The narrator emphasizes the extent of the interrogations of Peter by spreading them over a prolonged period (more than an hour, 22:59) and portraying them as emanating from both genders, which Peter’s responses clearly indicate (γύναι, vocative 22:57; ἄνθρωπε, vocative, twice in 22:58, 60). Suddenly, a rooster’s crowing and Jesus’s gaze call to Peter’s mind Jesus’s prediction of his denial (22:6061). To be sure, this denial of Jesus occurs among the staff of imperial collaborators among whom Peter plays no salient ingroup role. By contrast, in comparison with those associated with the presumed deficient outgroup of these imperial collaborators, the salience of his role as a follower of Jesus stands out. This is clear in the evaluative perspective of the Gospel, and it is evident to readers/hearers. What is more, Peter’s triple denial can also hardly fail to call to mind Jesus’s threat of reciprocal denial in 12:9: “One who denies me before humans will be denied before the angels of God” (see p. 129). Thus, entitativity is grievously damaged, but Peter’s bitter weeping (22:62) begins to coincide with Jesus’s prediction that he would turn around to establish his siblings (22:32). His denial has hit bottom, and his reintegration into group solidarity is on the way. Luke 22:63-71. The narrative returns to the parallel scene of Jesus’s detention so precipitously that a pronoun referring to Jesus (αὐτόν) does not require a near antecedent, and those who hold him in custody are caught in the act of mocking and beating him (22:63). When they blindfold him and taunt him to prophesy by identifying who struck him (22:64-65), it is hard to conceal that they play a part in the ironic fulfillment of his predictions about his passion: “It is necessary for the son of man to suffer many things and to be rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes” (9:22). Jesus’s passion predictions continue to be fulfilled when on the next day “they” bring him before elders who function as judges of the populace. Together with the high priests and scribes they say, “If you are the messiah, tell us.” Again, Jesus’s perception of himself appears only in the dialogue, and here his response is a concession to futility: “If I tell you, you certainly will not believe; and if I ask something, you will assuredly not answer” (22:67-68). With this concession to futility (Bakhtin 1984, 212) Jesus speaks for his prosecutors and thereby puts words that are unspoken by them into their mouths: “We do not believe you!” In addition, it exposes the lack of mutuality in the proceedings and challenges their hierarchy of dominance over Jesus. He then announces the inversion of precisely this hierarchy of dominance: “From now on you will see the son of man sitting

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at the right of the power of God” (22:69). As has already been mentioned earlier, “son of man” is a reference to Jesus’s role in the time of eschatic judgment (Horsley 1989b, 109). The inversion, therefore, is that he will be judging those who now judge him. It is quite unclear how his interlocutors move from this to their conclusion: “So you are the son of God” (22:70).128 It also remains intentionally unclear what his response means: ὑμεῖς λέγετε ὅτι ἐγώ εἰμι, which could be translated as, “You are the ones who say that I am”; or “I am what you say” (22:70). This is what Bakhtin (1984, 212) calls a “submissive assimilation,” which again expresses Jesus’s concession to the futility of his trial. And it is finally unclear how this turns out to be all the testimony from his mouth that his prosecutors need (22:71). From the narrator’s evaluative point of view, the efforts of these prosecutors to expose him as culpable lack the power of persuasion, and relatedly Jesus’s identity maintains elements of awe that are to be pondered perpetually. Luke 23:1-25. Jesus’s appearances before the Roman Prefect Pilate and the Tetrarch Herod Antipas, a client ruler of Rome, comprise three scenes that reflect the dovetailing of Roman imperial systems (including collaborators associated with the high priestly coterie) in the crucifixion of Jesus. In the first tableau, in group solidarity the entire body of the ruling elite among the Israelites bring Jesus before Pilate as a party of prosecutors. Their accusations play off ironically against Luke’s characterization of Jesus (23:1). True, Jesus has been offering the people an alternative to established systems, but far from leading the people astray (διαστρέφω, 23:2), he has been turning many of the children of Israel to the Lord in the tradition of John the Baptizer (ἐπιστρέφω, 1:16). In 9:41 Jesus acts to restore people who have gone astray. In 20:20-26 the high priests, scribes, and elders sent pretenders to trip Jesus into a politically or religiously precarious remark about paying taxes to Caesar. Not only did he astutely avoid their ploy, he also profoundly intensified the issue theologically by a conundrum that leaves readers/hearers to ponder how Caesar fits into a world that is under God’s sovereignty. So readers/ hearers know not only that Jesus did not pervert the people by forbidding paying tribute to Caesar, but rather that his accusers pervert themselves by their perjury. Notably, it is the accusers who have (re)introduced the question of tribute (φόρος) into the discussion. Thus, Jesus’s implicit establishment of God over Caesar in 20:25 still hangs in the air, and this brings the extractive economic system of tribute that flowed from provinces to Rome under scrutiny. Further, his accusers claim that Jesus has said that he is “an anointed king” (23:2). Although χριστός appears in the LXX and elsewhere as an adjective, BGAD takes every reference in the New Testament to be a noun. But I am translating the anarthrous χριστόν in 23:2 as an adjective modifying βασιλέα: “ And saying that he himself is an anointed 128. Kilgallen (1999, 406–408) notes that Jesus alludes to Ps. 109:1 LXX, where a Davidic descendant sits at God’s right hand. So Kilgallen makes a possible but only slightly persuasive argument that the council interprets “I have begotten you” from Ps. 109:3 as making “son of God” synonymous with messiah, which is for them the offensive identity.

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βασιλεύς” (23:2). One obvious reason to translate χριστόν as an adjective is that it is preposterous that Jesus’s accusers would have referred to him with the titular “Messiah.” In any case, others have called Jesus “messiah,” and in 4:18 Jesus has used the verb χρίω to claim that he is anointed. There, however, he claims that as in the case of Isaiah he has a prophetic anointing: “The spirit of God is upon me because he has anointed me to proclaim good news” (see p. 67). So against the contention of his accusers (23:2), he has not claimed to be an anointed βασιλεύς. Indeed, against their interrogation in 22:67, Jesus avoided confirming that he was the anointed one, but did associate himself with “the son of man.” In the trial, Luke refrains from direct evaluation of Jesus’s identity, and the only access to it is in the dialogue. Although this allegation of his accusers has strong overtones of sedition against imperial systems, Pilate’s response rings with sarcasm and disdain: “Are you the king of the Jews?” (23:3, implying that Jesus is an absurd caricature of a king). Again, Jesus’s response is what Bakhtin (1984, 212) calls a “submissive assimilation”: σὺ λέγεις (23:3). This submissive assimilation infers that Pilate both knows the answer (of course not!) and ironically does not know the true meaning of what he is asking. Moreover, this produces an obvious polyphony (ibid., 220). Two different meanings intersect in the one word βασιλεύς. It means one thing for Pilate and another for the narrator (see ibid., 223). Further, this bears taking into consideration one more Bakhtinian observation. Jesus’s response provides what Bakhtin identifies as a loophole (ibid., 233) in that it leaves room for altering any of the possible alternative answers to Pilate’s question. So does Jesus give a tacit affirmation that he is the βασιλεύς of the Ἱουδαῖοι? Or does he assert, “You are the one saying that”? Or does he answer with his own question: “Are you the one saying this?” In the midst of this polyphony, Pilate declares to Jesus’s prosecutors, the high priests and the crowds, that he finds nothing culpable in him. The “crowds” are directly associated with the high priestly coterie and the reference is most naturally to the multitude of accusers (πλῆθος) in 23:1 rather than to the populace of the Ἰουδαῖοι. These accusers insist that he has been teaching subversively in all the Judean territory (23:5), which obviously includes Galilee given that the vast majority of his teaching occurs there. This is a totalizing accusation that passes over any details, and expresses the conflict of the high priestly party with Jesus as of supreme importance for the survival of the group of the ruling elite, over against which the group of Jesus’s followers stands as an alternative.129 Totality as a characteristic of what Bar-Tal calls an “intractable conflict”130 is equally characteristically violent, which is indicative of the group’s commitments (Bar-Tal 129.  On the totality of an accusation, see Bar-Tal 2013, 47–48. 130. The intractable conflicts about which Bar-Tal speaks are long-term conflicts. Against such long-term quarrels the totalizing accusation against Jesus’s teaching in all of Judea, including Galilee, appears as a flash in a pan. On the other hand, Lk. 23:12 expresses the political friendship between Pilate and Herod with an ingressive aorist (ἐγένετο) that implies a coalition over a longer period.

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2013, 49, 51), and although the conflict between Jesus and the ruling elite of the Ἰουδαῖοι does not meet Bar-Tal’s long-term chronology, it does meet the criterion of totalizing. This becomes concrete in the crucifixion of Jesus. On the one hand, the dialogue between Pilate and the prosecutors presents competing evaluations of Jesus from the side of external poles of his dyadic social identity. Pilate speaks to the lack of culpability on the part of Jesus (23:4); the accusers make him the enemy of the entire populace of the Judean territory (τὸν λαὸν . . . τῆς Ἰουδαίας, 23:5). On the other hand, Jesus himself reflects his own self-perception in a cloud of indeterminate statements, such as 23:3 (σὺ λέγεις), at the same time that he takes into account a competing evaluation of himself. In this trial, therefore, vindication competes with judicial conviction, although the competing evaluations are clouded with subtlety in the cryptic sayings of Jesus. Luke 23:6-12. The prosecutors’ off-the-cuff reference to Galilee (23:5) increases the orbit of imperial systems, and the second tableau brings the tetrarch of Galilee Herod Antipas on stage once more. Vigorous accusations before him from the high priests and scribes weave the collaboration of actors in imperial systems even tighter. Herod’s extensive interrogation over against their accusations notwithstanding, and in spite of his earlier desire to kill Jesus (13:31), he finds nothing indictable against Jesus (23:9-10). Nevertheless, Herod and his soldiers scorn Jesus and ridicule him in mockery as if he were a scrawny shade of a βασιλεύς by dressing him in splendid clothing as if he were a carnival king. A narrator’s aside assures readers of the collaborative intrigue of the Prefect Pilate and the client ruler Herod Antipas by calling them mutual “friends,” and this in spite of previous enmity (23:12). This is hardly to be understood in terms of personal relationships. Rather, in a political context, friendship eases reciprocal collaboration. Tacitus reflects this sense of friendship as a political strategy: “There can be no more effectual instrument of good government than good friends” (History 4.7).131 The elaboration on the association of Pilate and Antipas in Acts 4:27 corresponds rather precisely to Tacitus’s understanding of friendship on the political plane. Luke 23:13-25. Pilate’s convocation of high priests and rulers leads to the third tableau. But now the narrator adds “the people” (ὁ λαός) to those whom Pilate calls together (23:13). This introduces a much debated complication. Who are these people? In spite of the fact that Luke does not associate the people who ask for the release of Barabbas with the high priests, as does Mark (15:11), several indicators imply such an alliance. In Lk. 20:6, 19; 22:2 (ὁ λαός) the people are a separate group from the high priests and even at odds with them. Jesus’s accusers themselves also adopt a perspective of otherness toward the people as the anonymous populace (23:5; cf. 23:2). According to their accusation the people whom Jesus stirs up by his teaching are a group distinct from them. But most particularly Pilate includes 131.  Similarly, Soards (1985, 357) shows that friendship that is acquired by means of the mammon that is engendered by injustice in the parable of the Unjust Steward, is part of a system of conspiracy among the “sons of this age.”

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the people of 23:13 among those whom he addresses as “you” who brought Jesus to him in the first place (23:14). This λαός whom Pilate assembles is associated with the whole multitude (πλῆθος) of accusers who brought Jesus to him (23:1, 4). They also are clearly to be distinguished from the indeterminant λαός whom Pilate cites as those whom Jesus allegedly led astray (23:14). Obviously a close reading of the details shows that the people that Pilate assembles in 23:13 are indeed associated with the high priestly collaborators in imperial systems who act in accord with their own type of group solidarity. On one side of the ledger declarations of Jesus’s innocence mount up and reinforce one another. In addition to Pilate’s declaration of nothing blameworthy in 23:4, he also finds Jesus innocent of the accusations against him (23:14). Further he interprets Herod’s decision to return Jesus to Pilate and his accusers to mean that Antipas also found no probable cause of judicial conviction (23:15). But these judgments notwithstanding, on the other side of the ledger the accusers in solidarity with their group appeal for the release of Barabbas instead of Jesus: “Away with this man, release Barabbas to us” (23:18). Along the axis of desire, Pilate wishes to release Jesus and emphatically declares him not guilty for the third time (23:22). But he remains part of a system that also expects Roman prefects to compromise with the collaborators who are responsible for local order (Carter 2001, 37). Frequently, Pilate’s multiple declarations of Jesus’s innocence have been understood as part of a political apology. This logic holds that Luke either attempts to portray early Christianity as innocuous to Rome or Rome as harmless for early Christianity (e.g., Conzelmann 1961, 138–44; Walaskay 1983). But from a postcolonial perspective132 the notion of a political apology holds no water. On the contrary, Pilate is the epitome of unjust imperial systems. Part of the evidence against him is his twice-proposed solution to flog Jesus and release him (23:16, 22). Flogging was primarily reserved for slaves as an act of social degradation and deterrent against intractable resistance (Garnsey 1970, 128–41; Lee 2011, 102–103). But then Pilate’s proposal to flog Jesus in violation of Roman justice is multiplied in his handing Jesus over for crucifixion (see Walton 2011, 124–25). Furthermore, the injustice is intensified all the more by the polar inversion involved in Pilate’s release of a murderer instead of Jesus, infamous enough that his name, Barabbas, is remembered (23:18-19, 25). Luke 23:26. The strangely brief notice that the anonymous agents who carry out the crucifixion compel Simon of Cyrene to carry the cross of Jesus “behind” him certainly alludes to Jesus’s twice-uttered mandate that discipleship means taking up the cross and following him (9:23; 14:27), although to be sure Simon carries Jesus’s cross, not his “own” (Wolter 2008, 754). But the narrator also characterizes this Simon by noting that he is coming from a field, a detail that in all likelihood identifies him as a day laborer who would barely live at the subsistence level. So he is a person of low status who can be conscripted for an onerous task, and who thus stands out in distinction from the elite imperial collaborators who advocate the crucifixion of Jesus. 132.  For this perspective and what follows in the next paragraph, see Lee 2011, 84–106.

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Luke 23:27-31. At 23:27 readers once again encounter a multitude of the people (λαός) who remain obscure except for two notices. One is that they are “following him,” which distinguishes them as distinct from the instigators who advocated the crucifixion of Jesus. The second is that some women among them lament, with a gesture of beating themselves, which is generally associated as a gendered sign of grief among women. A note is in order by way of anticipation that the “people” will surface again after the crucifixion in 23:48. At this point, however, Jesus calls these women “daughters of Jerusalem” and tells them to lament for themselves (23:2831). Many interpreters, among whom I include myself, have taken Jesus’s remarks as a caustic rejection of the women. Even then, there would be absolutely no basis for Jerome Neyrey’s categorization of these women as “the element of Israel who continually rejected God’s messengers” (1983, 75). In fact, Walter Käser’s study of this passage over a half century ago (1963, 75) has persuaded me to alter my view radically. I now see Jesus’s saying first as a reiteration of his grave laments over Jerusalem in 13:34-35 and 19:41-44, with the latter’s notice that Jesus weeps. Far from distancing himself from the women, he associates his destiny empathetically with an even more extensive impending disaster for these daughters of Jerusalem and the populations implicated with them. To reiterate, suffering is not only integral to individual identity; it also makes us join groups we hope never to have to join, and in this sense suffering links Jesus and the lamenting women together. Second, it is clear that the passage is in intertextual interplay with texts from the Septuagint. Significantly, theories of intertextuality have shown that allusions to Scripture often evoke voices of the larger context of the precursor text, notably when the precursor is prominent in the cultural encyclopedia (“Allusions are often most powerful when least explicit”: Hays 1999, 406; see Zimmermann 2014b, 62; Ehrensperger 2005). On the one hand, the plea in Luke 23 for “mountains to fall on us” and to “hills to cover us” is close to Hos. 10:8, with the sequence of the verbs inverted. On the other, Lk. 23:29 has strong reminiscences of Isa. 54:1: “Rejoice barren woman who has not given birth, and cry out you who have not had birth pangs, because the children of the desolate woman are more than those of the woman who has a husband, says the Lord.” But this text can hardly be understood apart from voices from the larger context in Isaiah, including 51:1-3: “Look to Abraham your father and to Sarah who bore you.” But this even involves the larger context going back as far as 45:9-11: “Ask me [God] about my sons and my daughters.” In short, Isaiah is dealing with Israel in captivity, which he compares to a barren woman. The tables are turned dramatically in 54:1 when the barren woman is promised many offspring. Furthermore, 54:10 also contains the same imagery of mountains and hills as Hosea, according to which the mountains and hills can be removed more easily than the possibility that God’s mercy and covenant of peace for the restoration of captive Israel could fail. Similarly, in Hosea the prophetic judgment oracle in 10:8 is followed by a divine promise as follows: How can I dispose of you Ephraim? I will take care of you Israel. How can I treat you like Admah and like Zeboiim? I will establish you. My heart is turned, my regret throws confusion into my heart. I will surely not act according to the wrath

Commentary  199 of my anger, surely not abandon [you] such that Ephraim would be wiped out, because I am God and not a human, the holy one among you. (Hos. 11:8-9 LXX)

Significantly, the death wish in Hosea juxtaposes two constructs of reality. One is  based on the fidelity of Israel’s God, and the other is based on infidelity to Israel’s God. The outcome of this is that Jesus does not treat the lamenting women like an outgroup. As far as their destinies of suffering are concerned, Jesus and the lamenting women are in the same boat. As in Isaiah and Hosea, in the solidarity of their shared destinies of suffering, God’s fidelity and loving care determine the future beyond both Jesus’s crucifixion and the affliction of the daughters of Jerusalem. In fact, the women’s lament revives after Jesus is crucified, except that the beating of breasts not only involves the women but also extends to the entire crowd who witnessed Jesus’s execution (23:48). Luke 23:32-33. These two competing ways of construing reality, one based on the fidelity of Israel’s God and the other based on infidelity to Israel’s God, are reiterated multiple times in Jesus’s crucifixion, particularly in the accounts of the two malefactors crucified with Jesus and in the accounts of bystanders, rulers, and soldiers. The episode of the malefactors stands out in particular because just as Jesus is crucified between them, so also their story brackets a portion of his story (23:32-33; 39-43). Accordingly, the account of the malefactors is introduced only in order to be continued. Luke 23:34a. A crucial issue for understanding what occurs next is whether Jesus’s prayer of forgiveness in 23:34a belongs to the text of Luke. It is absent from some prominent early manuscripts, but in its favor it has a parallel in Stephen’s prayer in Acts 7:60. The omission of the variant is supported by the early minuscule P75, and by a correction of the uncials Codex Sinaiticus, and Codex Vaticanus. The inclusion of the variant is supported by the original hand of Sinaiticus and Alexandrinus with minor variations. The Nestle-Aland Novum Testamentum Graece includes 23:34a in double brackets, which means that in all probability the text is not a part of a purported “original” text, but still represents a very early and influential canonical tradition. Somewhat in keeping with this double-minded procedure in textual criticism, I take the route of considering Luke’s account both with and without Jesus’s prayer (Brawley 1995b, 55). Luke 23:34b-38. (a) Without the prayer, those executing Jesus cast lots for his clothing (apparently including the splendid garment that Herod put on him in 23:11). As is well known, this is an allusion to Ps. 21:19 LXX: “They divided my garments among themselves, and for my clothing they cast lots.” But the context of the Psalm also reads, “Many dogs encircled me, an assembly of those who do wrong surrounded me, they pierced my hands and feet” (21:17 LXX). Luke does not mention the piercing of Jesus’s hands and feet in the account of the crucifixion, but the appearance of the risen Jesus in Lk. 24:39-40 presupposes it.133 By casting 133.  A few manuscripts omit 24:40.

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lots for his clothing, his executors unwittingly repeat the plot of the Psalm. Luke then distinguishes the rulers who mock Jesus from the people who observe the scene. Later the characterization of these witnesses is developed in 23:48 in contrast to the rulers. Thus the rulers in particular say, “He saved others, let him save himself, if this is God’s chosen messiah” (23:35). Like many modern readers/ hearers, they are unaware that when Jesus says in 9:24, “Anyone who wants to save their own life, will lose it,” he necessarily includes himself (Tannehill 1996, 342–43). For Jesus to save himself would be to contravene his own criterion. Until this point in the crucifixion soldiers have not been mentioned, nevertheless the specific reference to them demonstrates that their presence is presupposed. They likewise taunt Jesus to save himself by picking up his alleged identity as king of the Jews from 23:3, 37, which is also reflected in an inscription on the cross (23:38). Like the rulers they also lack the awareness that according to his own maxim to save his life would be to lose it (23:37). Sardonically, these mockers clearly raise the issue of Jesus’s identity, labeling him savior, messiah, God’s chosen one, and king (on labeling see Malina and Neyrey 1988). Given their construct of reality, these labels are carnivalesque attempts to render Jesus absurd, that is, to locate him on the outside of the boundaries of the social order, as if he were a carnival king. In keeping with the aims of crucifixion, they depict him as an expendable to be blotted out permanently. By contrast, from the narrative’s construct of reality centered on God, the mockers unwittingly speak the truth on an entirely different level. This is to say, that even in the words of Jesus’s mockers, Luke presents Jesus as dying as savior, messiah, God’s chosen one, and βασιλεύς (Fitzmyer 1985, 1515). Luke 23:39-43. With this the story of the two malefactors resumes, and along with it the two ways of construing reality stand out in relief. One malefactor skeptically raises the question of Jesus’s messianic identity and repeats the taunt of the rulers and soldiers for Jesus to save himself, to which he adds himself and the other malefactor (23:39). By contrast, the other construes reality from the perspective of God’s fidelity and loving care, and then appeals to Jesus with a tacit affirmation of his messianic identity: “Remember me when you come into your βασιλεία” (23:42). The voices of the two malefactors are dialectical, and through them readers/hearers are confronted with two construals of Jesus’s identity. To be sure, Jesus affirms the construal of reality by the second malefactor with a unique promise, “Today you will be with me in paradise” (23:43). Susan Garrett (1992, 14–15) astutely bases her interpretation of this passage on its interplay with the fall of Satan in Jesus’s vision of 10:18 to the effect that in Jesus’s death at which he confidently relies on God’s fidelity and loving care to save him, he can affirm the solidarity of the repentant malefactor with him in paradise. In addition to this passage, the term “paradise” appears only two other times in the New Testament.134 Its original meaning is “garden,” but it took on a meaning of a “transcendent place of blessedness” (BDAG). Little can be added except that the repentant malefactor’s destiny is to be with Jesus beyond death (Fitzmyer 1985, 134.  2 Cor. 12:4 and Rev. 2:7.

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1509, 1511). Further, Jesus’s statement of the malefactor’s destiny in immediate terms of “today” is not so different from his fundamental proclamation that “the βασιλεία of God has come upon you” (e.g., 11:20), except that it apparently pertains also to his destiny after death. Luke 23:34a. (b) If we revisit the pericope and this time include Jesus’s prayer in 23:34a, not only does Jesus introduce the theme of forgiveness but the two ways of construing reality either from the perspective of the fidelity of Israel’s God or from the perspective of infidelity to Israel’s God become quite explicit in another way. Elsewhere I have explored the way in which the taunting of Jesus as if he were a carnival king fits into a literary feature called the carnivalesque, which in this case is an attempt to reduce Jesus and the entire notion of the βασιλεία of God to absurdity (Brawley 1995b, 42–60). Over against this, Luke presents a world that centers on God particularly by using allusions to and citations of the Septuagint. Jesus’s saying “they do not know what they are doing” in 23:34a exposes a deficient construal of reality on the part of those responsible for his crucifixion. This fits remarkably well with the two poles of reality that play off of each other from the allusion to Hos. 10:8 in Lk. 23:30. The perspective of infidelity to Israel’s God falls on those who execute Jesus. This continues all the way through those who taunt Jesus in 23:35-38 to the first malefactor who taunts Jesus in 23:39. In other words, all of those who are named in vv. 35-39 (the rulers, the soldiers, and the unrepentant malefactor) are the ones for whom Jesus prays, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (23:34a). But the last word, so to speak, is on the lips of the second malefactor who construes Jesus’s crucifixion as fidelity to Israel’s God: “Remember me when you come into your βασιλεία” (23:42), which of course is the βασιλεία of God. Luke 23:44-46. Luke expends not one word to describe Jesus’s crucifixion. It is simply presupposed. But the crucifixion is accompanied by the meteorological feature of three hours of darkness and the rending of the curtain of the temple (23:44-45). Both remain a mystery, but they are often interpreted figuratively (Fitzmyer 1985, 1513–14). Nevertheless, they are also part of reiterated inversions of normality that undermine established values—Jesus is betrayed by a kiss, an inlaw is exchanged for an outlaw, God’s anointed one is mocked and scorned, day turns into night, and sacred space is violated when the temple curtain no longer delimits it. With the exception of the address to “Father” and the present tense of the verb instead of the future, Jesus’s last words, “Father, into your hands I entrust my spirit” (23:46) are a quotation of Ps. 30:6 LXX. Here the reference to spirit is not part of a physical dichotomy between a material flesh and a non-corporeal spirit. It refers rather to the seat of life (Bovon 2012, 327). Indeed, it is the equivalent of ζωή (“life”), with which it is in synonymous parallelism in Ps. 30:10-11 LXX. Further there is a reasonable probability that this complete verse was used in the time of Jesus as a bedtime prayer: “Into your hands I entrust my spirit; you have redeemed me O Lord, God of truth” (Ps. 31:6 in the MT).135 The element of uncertainty is 135.  The use of Ps. 31:6 MT as a bedtime prayer is attested in b. Ber. 4b-5a and Rab. Num. 20:20.

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that the rabbinic tradition is attributed to Abaye who is later than Luke, and it is impossible to trace how far back the tradition of a nighttime prayer goes. Even so, the citation may have been familiar enough for readers/hearers of Luke to fill in the second half: “You have redeemed me O Lord God of truth.” In spite of dying as a victim of the warrior way of the sword, Jesus also displays his construal of reality that centers on God’s fidelity and care as a loving parent. Luke 23:47-48. After Jesus is hanged on the cross, three more affirmations balance Pilate’s three declarations of his innocence before the crucifixion. (a) The penitent malefactor asserts “this man has done nothing wrong” (23:41). (b) The centurion interprets the event by glorifying God, that is, he recognizes that by saying, “Indeed, this man practiced justice” (23:47). As elsewhere in Luke (e.g., 5:25), glorifying God means the perception of a manifestation that divine activity is at work. So for the centurion this perhaps would have included Jesus’s dying prayer in 23:34a (Karris 1986, 66–67).136 (c) As already mentioned earlier, the crowds in 23:35 are distinct from the rulers, and they are picked up again in 23:48. They also testify to the miscarriage of justice by beating on their breasts (23:48). In fact, this reprises the lament of the women in 23:27, except that this time it is no longer gendered (so also Green 1997, 813, 827): “When all the crowds who had come together at this spectacle saw the things that had happened, they turned back beating their breasts” (23:48). For Luke, affirmations of Jesus’s innocence are unavoidable before and after the crucifixion. Beyond doubt Luke presents the death of Jesus as the execution of someone who was innocent. Luke 23:49. The note about Jesus’s acquaintances and women who accompanied him from Galilee (23:49) is quite significant for the solidarity and continuity of those associated with Jesus’s ministry throughout Luke and for the group identity of his followers. Further this remark anticipates the women who witnessed the burial of Jesus in the tomb, who also prepared spices for anointing the body of Jesus (23:55-56). Luke 23:50-56. Whereas up to this point in the arrest and crucifixion of Jesus, Jerusalem’s ruling elite appear monolithically on the side of those who (from the evaluative perspective of the narrative) defy God, Joseph of Arimathea becomes a noteworthy exception who breaks up any presumption of the council’s complete solidarity. Reminiscent of Simeon in 2:25 and Anna in 2:38, he is characterized as a good man who practices justice and who is eagerly awaiting the βασιλεία of God. Further, as a member of the council, he had dissented from their decision and action regarding Jesus (23:50-51). This is to say that Luke uses both ascribed and acquired characteristics to provide evidence for the identity of Joseph of Arimathea. But now, what is left but to give Jesus a decent burial? Notably, as a member of the elite ruling class Joseph has access to Pilate. This is likely significant, because permission to bury Jesus may have been required inasmuch as victims of crucifixion could be left hanging as an “optimal deterrent” (Brown 1988, 234–36; 136.  Presuming that Jesus’s prayer in 23:34a belongs to the text of Luke.

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Marcus 2006, 78). The details that he wrapped Jesus’s body in a fine linen cloth and placed it in a hewn tomb where no one had yet been placed contrast with the lack of detail regarding the crucifixion itself (23:53). These details together with the presence and observation of women from Galilee (23:55) support the datum of the burial, the location of the tomb, and the continuity of witnesses. As early as the prologue Luke appears to have anticipated the last in this list of details, that is, the continuity of witnesses: “ Those who were eyewitnesses from the beginning” (οἱ ἀπ’ἀρχῆς αὐτόπται, 1:2). Luke 24:1-12. The behavior of the women at the tomb is strongly influenced by social conventions; namely, they are observing both Sabbath norms and burial customs (23:55–24:1). The trauma of Jesus’s crucifixion does not constrain them to violate either. So after the Sabbath delay, they have a social mandate to complete the burial process by anointing Jesus’s body with spices. In terms of what A. J. Greimas and Joseph Courtés (1982, s.v. “Program, Narrative”) call the competence phase of a narrative schema, they have the resource of spices, the obligation, and the motivation to complete their task, but their mandate faces opposition first in the form of a closed tomb and then in the absence of a body to anoint. Luke presupposes the tradition that Jesus’s tomb was sealed with a stone (Mk 15:46), and he mentions only that the women found the stone (with a definite article although no stone has been mentioned previously) rolled away (Lk. 24:2). Thus the first challenge to their ability to complete their mandate presents no obstacle. Still the narrative schema aborts in the competence phase, because there is no body to anoint (24:3). Bock (1996, 1880) maintains that the empty tomb is the most basic element of resurrection accounts. But it is also a reiterated basic element that an open tomb, including this one, with no body opens up a space for bewilderment. In Luke it engenders only astonishment (see 24:12 also), and so the women who visit it do not deduce that an open tomb with no body to anoint means resurrection. What is crucial is that two mysterious men, who are dressed in garments as white as lightning and who later are called “messengers” (ἄγγελοι, 24:23), question why these women seek “the one who lives among the dead” (24:5). For all of its dramatic forcefulness (and curiosity in it as a relic until this day), the tomb like the Mount of Transfiguration is a place where Jesus does not belong. The two messengers then explain that the tomb is open and the body is absent because Jesus has been raised (divine passive). The two then prompt the women to recall Jesus’s predictions of the necessity (δεῖ) of his suffering, crucifixion, and resurrection (24:5-7). Literarily, the women’s memory of Jesus’s words triggers the recall of the same for Luke’s readers/hearers (9:22; 17:25; 18:32-33). But then with the messengers’ proclamation and the women’s memory of Jesus’s words, the tomb plays no further role in Luke and becomes irrelevant. That is, the women’s report depends entirely on the interpretation of the two messengers (Green 1997, 836). “Because of its ambiguity . . . [e.g., the women’s inability to comprehend, or the assumption of a grave robbery] . . . the empty tomb cannot be the basis for the Christian message of Easter” (Wolter, 2008, 770, author’s translation). The aborted mandate of the women to anoint the body notwithstanding, they then undertake an obligation in a new narrative schema. Their mandate is to pass on the

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message to the nascent group of Jesus’s followers (24:9). Only then do readers/hearers discover that the women from Galilee who had already been mentioned as such in 23:49, 55, include among others Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary the mother of James. The first two names coincide with the accompanying women of 8:2-3, or vice versa 8:2-3 anticipates the women at the tomb such that continuity of the ministry of women is traced throughout Jesus’s career. Therefore, their διακονία (see 8:3) in Luke can hardly be confined to material support inasmuch as they are the first to practice the διακονία of proclaiming Jesus’s resurrection (24:9) (against Bovon 2012, 353). Nevertheless, at this point another obstacle in the competence phase of their proclamation aborts the narrative schema; because of the disbelief of the eleven, the women are unable to bring them to the conviction that Jesus had been raised (24:11). But the obstacle is not merely disbelief, because the eleven and those with them take the proclamation of the women to be λῆρος (“silly talk,” nonsense), which itself involves a social presumption underlying hierarchies of dominance of male over female witnesses. Josephus comments that in judicial cases not only is the testimony of women not to be admitted but that this is also because of the “triviality” and “insolence” of their gender (Ant. 219). On the other hand, “Luke lets the readers participate in the experience of the women” (Wolter 2008, 770, author’s translation). Readers/hearers have seen Luke’s portrayal of these women at the tomb and have heard the message of the two men in garments as white as lightning to them. Mary Rose D’Angelo (1990, 449–50) correctly depicts the cultural presumption that women are unreliable witnesses, but incorrectly attributes their unreliability to Luke. Bovon (2012, 352) holds a similar position and argues that Luke does not want the proclamation to rest on the testimony of women. To be sure, the initial interpretation of the event as a resurrection is on the lips of two male messengers (ἄνδρες, 24:4). Nevertheless, questioning the reliability of the women fails utterly in that no reader/hearer can avoid that the proclamation, which is founded on the report of the message of the two men, is propagated in unbroken continuity by the women. Further, given that these two men then cease to exist except in the report of the women, their testimony exists as a primary element. Closely related Martin Vahrenhorst (1998, 282–88) provides strong evidence that the cultural restriction on women witnesses applied only to courts of law. Thus, the evaluative perspective of the narrative is that the women are reliable (Tannehill 1996, 351). Luke locates the onus not on the women but on the apostles (24:10-11). In fact, it is on the basis of their report that Peter undertakes a visit to the tomb and to look inside. But the consequence for him is amazement rather than belief (24:12) (ibid.).137 I find it simply astounding that Luke clearly correlates the news that Jesus has been raised with the competing evaluation of the women’s message as λῆρος. Culturally speaking, in the literary world of Luke the message of the resurrection has a most essential link with tradents who rank low on the scale of social 137.  Nolland (1993b, 1188) concludes that Peter attempts to locate “a dead Jesus.” But this goes beyond what can be substantiated in the text.

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evaluation. This is remarkably similar to the origins of the entire story of Jesus among people whose identity rates on the low end of social status. Luke 24:13-35. The perspective of “those with the eleven” is then embodied in the two travelers on the road from Jerusalem to Emmaus who belong to the group of those who received the report of the women (24:13, 22). In the sequence of the narrative, these two are the first to encounter the risen Jesus who joins them on their journey as they converse about what had happened around the crucifixion. The incident is bracketed by images of nonrecognition (24:16) and recognition (24:31). The perspective of the two travelers is full of irony. Irony juxtaposes two levels of knowledge, one of which is deficient with respect to the other. Further, as is often the case in Luke the irony reveals two constructs of reality. On the level of the deficient knowledge of the two from Emmaus, including their participation in regarding the report of the women at the tomb as λῆρος, the risen Jesus is a stranger who does not know what happened. On that level they identify him by name in the third person as Jesus of Nazareth (24:19), recapitulate his mission as a prophet in deed and word, sum up his arrest, trial, and crucifixion, and repeat the report of the women (24:19-23). On the one hand, their failure to recognize Jesus points to his existence as something that has a new and different character. Of course this stands in discontinuity with Jesus as he was known before the crucifixion. On the other hand, all of what the two recount is important for the continuity of the identity of the risen Jesus with his ministry from Galilee to this event on the road to Emmaus (Mainville 2005, 198–202 and passim). Like the hopes of Simeon and Anna, and quite similar also to the eager expectation of Joseph of Arimathea (23:51), the two travelers had been looking for the redemption of Israel, but now their eager expectation has collapsed: “We had hoped” (24:21). Their journey away from Jerusalem, their retrospective summary of events, and their dashed hopes portend that the group to which they belong is in the midst of a crumbling entitativity. On the other hand, the risen Jesus engages the ironically deficient construct of reality of the two on the road to Emmaus by appealing to Scripture. One possible way texts refer to Scripture is to cite or allude to passages, but another possibility is for texts to refer to textual prototypes that they themselves do not contain. In 24:25-27 Jesus refers to Scripture as a textual prototype, and he makes no allusion to and no citation of any text. The risen Jesus’s reference to the prophets and Moses in 24:25-27 highlights for a second time in the chapter the necessity of Jesus’s suffering (as in 24:7). But this reference to Scripture also reinforces the testimony concerning Jesus’s resurrection from the mouth of the two messengers dressed in garments as white as lightning and from the women and take their proclamation to an exceedingly high level in the value system of Luke’s world (24:6-8).138 Briefly put, the reference to Scriptures is an appeal to a construct of reality with the 138.  Kristeva (1980, 36–63) points to the shift in value in texts that refer to textual systems that they do not contain. On the function of Scripture in understanding Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection, see on 24:44 (p. 207).

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fidelity and care of God at the center. Unavoidably the scriptural story of Israel with God at the center is not only full of lamentations with respect to the suffering of both individuals and Israel as a nation but also full of promises and hope for restoration. Luke portrays Jesus’s suffering as corresponding to nothing less than such a scriptural paradigm. Consequently, Jesus’s passion is also a divine necessity for the continuity of his identity (24:26). Nevertheless, with his resurrection the divine necessity shifts to restoration. Nolland interprets the risen Jesus’s reference to “glory” (24:26) as the final exaltation to the right hand of God (1993b, 1204– 205). But glory essentially means a manifestation of divine power and majesty, and here the risen Jesus who walks along the road is already such a manifestation of divine power and majesty, in other words, nothing less than glory. In the account of the journey the narrator gives the name of one of the two travelers—Cleopas—who also takes the initiative in conversing with the risen Jesus (24:18). The numeral “one” and the name are masculine. Because as they draw near to their destination the two prevail upon him to stay with them and prepare a meal for him (24:22), it is possible to speculate that the other traveler is the wife of Cleopas (Bovon 2012, 370). This broadens the possibility that the two do indeed embody the character of the group of Jesus’s followers, which included women. At the meal, Jesus assumes the role of host and, reminiscent of the feeding in 9:12-17, performs the ordinary opening of a meal by taking bread, blessing it, and giving it to them (24:30). Suddenly nonrecognition switches into recognition: “Their eyes were opened (divine passive) and they recognized him.” But equally as suddenly the risen Jesus disappears from them (24:31) (Brawley 1990a, 139–46). Their experience of Jesus’s absence and the parallels to the feeding in 9:12-17 diminish the oft repeated emphasis on the eucharist in this meal (so also Green 1997, 843, 849–50). The double phenomenon in which the recognition of Jesus’s presence is correlated with his absence then becomes an occasion for the retrospective consideration of how Jesus’s interpretation of the Scriptures enlightened the hearts of his two table companions. Moreover, it anticipates a perennial issue for the future of Christology. The experience of the presence of the risen Jesus is always correlated with the experience of his absence. This compound experience of the presence and absence of the risen Jesus also becomes the impetus for the two to reverse their movement away from the group in order to return to Jerusalem where they rejoin a group of disciples that remains gathered in Jerusalem. Because readers/hearers have been following the story of these two, they are expected to enlighten the eleven and those with them just as the women did in 24:9. But a curious revision of expectations occurs, that is, the gathered group of the eleven and those with them (which assuredly includes women since the women who were at the tomb cannot be dismissed) tells them that Jesus has indeed been raised (divine passive) and has appeared to Simon (24:34).139 This strange intrusion into the story of the travelers from Emmaus 139. The same grammatical structure (ὤφθη + Σίμωνι/Κηφᾷ) is used to report an appearance to Peter in 1 Cor. 15:5, but no narrative account of such an appearance survives.

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enables Peter to play the same role as the two travelers to corroborate the words of the two messengers to the women in 24:5 (Mainville 2005, 202–203). Luke 24:36-49. An appearance of the risen Jesus to the gathered group of the eleven and those with them reinforces the reintegrated high entitativity among the group of his followers as the decisive confirmation of the words of the two messengers in 24:5 (ibid., 203–04). From this point on the new criteria for the identity of the group are the experience of and belief in Jesus’s resurrection (Lemaine et al. 1978, 284). The risen Jesus bestows peace on the group, which has been God’s way of salvation in Luke from 1:79 (Zechariah’s canticle) and 2:14 (the message of the messengers to the shepherds) to 19:38 (the acclamation of the multitude of disciples at Jesus’s entry to Jerusalem), and 19:42 (Jesus’s lament over Jerusalem). He also calms the disciples’ fears and confronts their doubts, which arise from deficiencies in their construal of reality (24:36-39). His approach to surmount their skepticism is to demonstrate the corporeality of his risen body by inviting them to see and touch, including his hands and feet (24:40, but this is omitted from a few manuscript witnesses), which alludes to the wounds of crucifixion, although the Gospels do not describe nails piercing his hands and/ or feet in the crucifixion itself.140 But his corporeality is part of the Lukan mystery of continuity and discontinuity (Bovon 2012, 391–92). Indeed, as 1 Corinthian 15 shows, in antiquity there were concepts of distinct kinds of corporeality in the cultural encyclopedia. Paul can refer to the corporeality of earthly bodies and heavenly bodies. Similarly, Luke 24:39 even refers to the continuity of flesh and blood, which Jesus demonstrates by eating (24:41-43). Nevertheless, the eleven and those with them also perceive discontinuity when they think that they were seeing a πνεῦμα (24:37). What is primary, however, is that this account of the risen Jesus’s corporeality is an affirmation that the resurrection is God’s vindication of Jesus and that Jesus of Nazareth is the one God vindicated (Morgan 1994, 18). The risen Jesus’s last words to the eleven and those with them have three foci. First, just as with the two on the road to Emmaus, Jesus gives a christological interpretation of the Scriptures, which can be viewed from opposite perspectives. On the one hand, Scriptures from Israel’s past have an anticipatory character that projects God’s promises into a future in which God’s fidelity to divine promises is manifest in Jesus’s ministry, death, and resurrection. For the third time in the chapter, the (divine) necessity for Jesus’s suffering surfaces: “It is necessary for everything that is written in the Law of Moses and in the Prophets and in the Psalms to be fulfilled in me” (24:44). Thus Jesus’s suffering is again central to the continuity of his identity (24:46). On the other hand, the βασιλεία of God, which is at hand in Jesus’s ministry, provides an innovative hermeneutical perspective 140.  As indicated earlier, Luke does not expend a single word to describe the crucifixion. Jn 20:20, 25 refers to wounds in resurrection appearances after the crucifixion. Nolland (1993b, 1213) sees no allusion to crucifixion wounds but only to corporeality; in contrast, Wolter (2008, 790) deduces that Luke presupposes a crucifixion that involved affixing Jesus to the cross by nails that pierced his hands and feet.

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on the Scriptures: “Then he opened their mind to understand the Scriptures” (24:45). For Luke, Jesus is understood by understanding the Scriptures; the Scriptures are understood by understanding Jesus (so also Green 1997, 844, 857). Whereas no texts are cited, Jesus nevertheless derives from the Scriptures the necessity of the suffering of the messiah, his resurrection, and the mission of his followers (24:46-47). The commissioning of his followers is the second focus. Their membership in the group of believers carries a mandate to be witnesses. Further, the fundamental norm for the group is repentance for the forgiveness of sins, which is to be proclaimed in Jesus’s name to all nations (24:47-48). Significantly, this mandate radiates from Jerusalem. Commentators often note that Luke begins and ends in Jerusalem. Less apparent in commentaries is that this rests on the perspective that Luke shares with Israel that Jerusalem with its temple is the point of contact between heaven and earth. Unlike the geometrical and postmodern perceptions that the surface of the globe upon which we live cannot have a center, ancient Israelites identified the monolith that was located in the precincts of the temple141 as the axis mundi, the stone that Ezek. 38:12 calls the navel of the earth from which, like creation itself, the proclamation radiates to all the earth (Brawley 1987, 118–32). The third focus in Jesus’s last words is a promise of God. Jesus announces that he is sending “the promise of my Father” (24:49). On the one hand, this looks forward to the time when “[Jesus’ disciples] are clothed with power from on high” (24:49), which in Acts 1:4-5 clearly turns out to be the pouring out of the Holy Spirit. On the other hand, in Acts 1:4 the risen Jesus says that this promise is “what you have heard from me.” This is an analepsis that picks up Lk. 11:13 where Jesus speaks of God’s readiness to give the Holy Spirit to those who ask (Tannehill 1986, 239). Moreover, the promised Spirit completes the competence phase in the narrative program for the witness of Jesus’s followers. The competence phase has to do with the obligation, willingness, and ability to complete the narrative need (Greimas and Courtés 1982, s.v. “Program, Narrative”). The narrative need is the proclamation of Jesus’s disciples. His commission obligates and motivates; and the Spirit that God promises empowers the witness to all nations. Luke 24:50-53. Luke ends with a brief account of Jesus’s departure from his disciples at Bethany on the Mount of Olives, which is also considered to be a part of the sacred precincts of Jerusalem. His last action is to bestow a blessing, which is a “performative act that communicates God’s kindness and protection and . . . ensures continuity and faithfulness” (Bovon 2012, 411). While he gives the blessing, he departs, and a verb in the divine passive means that God took him up (ἀνεφέρετο) into heaven (24:51). For the first time in Luke, his disciples are said to worship him (24:51). Earlier in response to a temptation by the devil Jesus says, “You shall worship the Lord your God and him alone shall you serve” (4:8). By 141.  The location of this monolith (shetiyah) in the temple precincts, which today lies beneath the Dome of the Rock, is also attested in m. Yoma 5:2; b. Yoma 54b; b. Sanh. 37a.

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this criterion Jesus’s status here is extremely exalted. But this worship cannot be divorced from the worship of God in the temple, which characterizes the nascent group of Jesus’s followers (24:53). The connection with the temple is prima facie evidence that in Luke’s perspective, Jesus and his followers did not reject Israel’s traditional institutionalization (Stegemann and Stegemann 1999, 215–16). But in addition, this note of worshiping God at the end of Luke implies that his followers recognize God’s activity in everything that the narrative has presented.

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INDEX OF AUTHORS Abrams, Dominic  12, 95 Ahmad, Aijaz  17, 22, 41, 57 Ahn, Byong Mu  51 Allison, Dale  7, 125, 142 Aronowitz, Stanley  53 n.20, 87 Auerbach, Erich  9, 40 Bailey, Kenneth  40 Baker, Coleman  16 Bakhtin, Mikhail  154, 191, 193, 194, 195, 196 n.11 Bar-Tal, Daniel  13 n.8, 24, 195–6 Bauckham, Richard  117 Baumann  17, 22, 38, 55, 111, 150 Beardslee, William  108 Berg, Elizabeth  21 Berger, Klaus  52 Berger, Peter  116 Berger, P.-R.  51 Bettencourt, B. A., M. B. Brewer  96, 165 Betz, Hans Dieter  82 Bhabha, Homi  17 Blass, F., A. Debruner, and R. Funk  142 Bock, Darrell  68, 80, 85, 89–90, 92, 95, 144, 146 Beelzebul  124 demons possessing swine  101 discipleship  157 empty tomb  203 Good Samaritan  117 hierarchy  160 humility  165 Judas’s kiss  191 law as burden  126 Messiah as David’s son  181 parousia  173 wealth  155, 182 Zacchaeus  171 Boer, Roland  10–11, 60, 105, 127 allocative economics  130, 132

extractive economics  42, 107, 121, 152, 172, 173, 177 Börschel, Regina  12, 13, 18, 38, 108, 128 Böttrich, Christfried  105 Bourdieu, Pierre  23–4, 88, 90, 95, 126–8, 135 Bovon, François  80, 83, 90, 98, 101, 117, 123, 125, 136, 139, 178 continuity and discontinuity of risen Jesus  207 “elective” (democratized) kinship  60, 99, 115 n.73, 132, 168, 189 exploitation  182 hierarchy of dominance  101, 137, 141, 180 hypocrisy  87 imprisonment  135 Jesus’s blessing  208 lament over Jerusalem  142 little ones  157 norms of Jesus movement  168 Parable of the Vineyard  178 peace  176 persuasive narrative  97, 119 Pharisees  93 n.55 poor  82 “Spirit” as seat of life  201 Women at Jesus’s tomb  204 Zacchaeus  171 Boyer, Robert  9–10, 11 Braun, Adam  173, 174 Braun, Willi  145 Braund, David  11 Brewer, Marilyn  189–90, 192 Brewer, Marilyn and Norman Miller  16, 192 Brown, Raymond  202 Brown, Robert McAfee  135 Brown, Rupert  102, 103 Brutscheck, Jutta  119 Bultmann, Rudolf  113, 158 n.110

Index of Authors Callinicos, Alex accumulation of goods and justice  56, 131, 133 n.86, 136, 156, 173 naturalistic realist  2, 2 n.2 Campbell, William  12 Carroll, Scott  174 Carter, Warren  101, 162, 197 Childs, Brevard  187 Clivaz, Claire  188 Conzelmann, Hans  58, 59, 92, 197 Crossan, John Dominic  139, 144 Culpepper, R. Alan  169, 171, 173 D’Angelo, Mary Rose  204 Dawsey, James  178–9 de Jonge, Henk  53–4 Derrett, J. Duncan, 182 Derrida, Jacques  20, 133 n.86, 136 Deschamps, J.-C. and W. Doise  16, 20 Dillon, Richard  43, 47, 132 Docherty, Thomas  107 Dodd, C. H.  176, 184 n.127 Du Bois, W. E. G.  17 Du Plessis, I. I.  39 Dupont, Jacques  62, 82, 141 Ehrensperger, Kathy  20, 58, 62, 71, 190, 198 Elliott, Neil  49 Esler, Philip  18, 71, 77, 119 Evans, Craig  112–13, 174 Fitzmyer, Joseph  43, 45, 47, 50, 54, 57 act of power  72 anointing  66 centurion’s faith  90, 98 disciples’ lack of faith  158 “Hostile” lawyer  116, 117 Jesus’s “brothers”  99 Luke 5:2675 Luke 11:23  112 misunderstanding of genitive  152 re: condemnation of scribes  181 unwarranted speculations re: purity  117 Zacchaeus’s declaration as customary practice  171 ἀνάμνησις as re-presentation  187

229

Flebbe, Jochen  78 n.43 Ford, David  19–20 Freire, Paulo  11 n.7, 53 n.20, 57 Freyne, Sean  22 Friedrichsen, Timothy  134 Friesen, Steven  10, 49 n.12, 69, 92 Fulkerson, Mary McClintock  20, 23 Funk, Robert  139, 140 Gaertner, S. and J. Dovidio  16, 18, 38, 71, 77, 112, 141 Garnsey, Peter  163, 135, 197 Garrett, Susan  110, 115, 200 Girard, René  192 Ginson, Jeffrey  121 Giles, H.  97, 114, 123, 184 Gingrich, Andre  16–17 Giroux, Henry  57 n.24 Good, R. S.  78 Gowler, David  126 Grahame, Mark  15 Green, Joel  47, 75, 89, 99, 109, 111, 130, 178, 202 alternative community  168 behaving mercifully  126 children of this age vs. children of light  153 Davidic descent  181 economic debt  121 enacted parable  71 faith dramatized  163 hierarchies  82, 84, 133, 144, 163, 169 Imitation of God  86 ingroup vs. outgroup  85, 140 Jesus’s Tomb  206 patron-client  152 Re: Simon the Pharisee  94–7 Re: woman bent double  103 Re: women supporters  97 understanding Jesus and Scripture  208 Greimas, A. J. and Josef Courtés  45, 150, 203, 208 Günter, Andrea  20, 42, 43 Haenchen, Ernst  52 Hagendoorn, Louk and Roget Henke  138 Hahn, Ferdinand  91, 158

230 Index of Authors Hall, Jonathan  17 n.12, 60, 185 Hamm, Dennis  138, 160, 181 Hanson, K. C.  69, 70 Hanson, K. C. and Douglas Oakman  54, 69–70 Harvey, David  4, 21, 24, 41, 43, 149, 156 Hayat, Pierre  20 Hays, Richard  62, 190, 198 Hellholm, David  82 Hewstone, Miles  16, 18, 138 Hewstone, Miles, Mir Rabiul Islam, and Charles Judd  18, 88, 138 Hofius, Otfried  95 Hogg, Michael and B. Mullin  40, 99 Hogg, Michael and Dominic Abrams  94 Horrel, David  12, 23, 24, 123 Horsley, Richard  3 n.3, 84, 100, 103, 108, 161, 168, 184, 191, 194 Huffard, Everett  122 Hultgren, Harland  139

MacIntyre, Alaisdair  136 Mainville, Odette  205, 207 Malherbe, Abraham  130, 131 Malina, Bruce  131 Malina, Bruce and Jerome Neyrey  74, 138, 157, 163, 172, 200 Marcus, Joel  202–3 Marshall, Eireann  14 Meyer, Rudolph  72 Meynet, Roland  74, 95–6 Miller, Nancy  23 Modsala, Itumeleng  3, 22–3, 40–2, 47 Morgan, Robert  207 Moscovici, Serge and Geniviève Paicheler  193 Mowinkel, Sigmund  91 Neyrey, Jerome  11, 164, 198

Irigaray, Luce  1, 23, 24, 45, 60, 95, 127 Iser, Wolfgang  7, 8

Oakes, Penelope, S. Halsam, and K. Reynolds  14, 95 Oakman, Douglas  84 Olick, Jeffrey  4, 39 Operario, D. and S. Fiske  24, 95, 96

Jennings, Theodore and Tat-Siong Benny Liew  89 Jeremias, Joachim  187

Perkins, L. J.  174 Pilch, John  74, 79, 80 Pitt-Rivers, Julian  14

Käser, Walter  198 Kaufmann, Jean Claude  12–13, 107–9, 168, 184 Kelber  4, 39 Kilgallen, John  46, 53, 137, 157–8, 159, 180, 194 Kirk, Alan  85 Klemm, Hans  179 Klinghardt, Matthias  95 Kristeva, Julia  61, 65, 82, 205 n.138 Kvalbein, Hans  22

Reed, J. L.  45, 69 Reid, Barbara  39, 53, 55 Ricoeur, Paul  2, 13, 18–19, 84, 86, 107–8, 113, 168 Riffaterre, Michael  108, 146 Ringe, Sharon  65, 86, 110 Robbins, Vernon  40 n.1, 102, 111 n.70, 117, 166 Roberts, Keith  38, 189 Rohrbaugh, Richard  49, 69, 131, 144–5

Lee, Jae Won  20, 103, 197 Lemaine, G., J. Kastersztein, and B. Personnaz  184, 192, 207 Lepore, L. and R. Brown  16, 124 n.80 Levinas, Emmanuel  19–20, 21, 84–5 Lincott, Andrew  54, 135, 163 Lorenz, Chris  1 Lull, David  188

Sanders, E. P.  177 Sanders, E. P. and Margaret Davies  6 Sanders, James  66, 67, 140, 144 Sarasin, Philipp  40 Schaberg, Jane  39, 45 Schiffman, L.  21, 130, 148 Schneider, David  14 Schottroff, Luise  144, 145, 173

Index of Authors Schröter, Jens  3, 4, 39 Scott, Bernard  172 Scott, James, Moral economy  10 acquiescence  22 collective power  51, 70 definition of self by the other  15, 22 hidden transcripts  44 n.4, 51 mimicry  57 tax  49 Scott, Joan  20–1 Seng, Egbert130, 131 Sherman, S., D. Hamilton, and A. Lewis  124, 186, 190, 192 Smyth, Herbert  142 Snodgrass, Klyne  86, 117, 118, 122, 137, 151, 153, 164 Spaulding, Mary  53 Stagnor, C. and M. Schaller  15 Stählin, Gustav  92 Ste. Croix, G.  9–11, 24, 49–50, 69–70, 127, 131, 152, 156 Stegemann, E and Stegemann W.  7 class divisions  22, 69, 93, 131, 141, 154, 156, 178–9 criteria of honor  47 factions  10 land and resources  22, 41 Pharisees  73 ubiquitous imperialism, 17 Stegemann, Harmut  82 Stryker, S. and R. Serpe  12, 16 Sugirtharajah, Rasiah  16 n.11, 22, 23 Suleiman, Susan  61, 65, 82 Sumrain, Ghina  22, 148, 149, 191 Tajfel, Henri  11 boundaries  15, 96, 185 categorization  14–16 multiple groups  16 negative characterization  44, 46, 66, 110, 113–14, 123, 125–6, 184 self-esteem  44 stereotyping  14–15 Tannehill, Robert  59, 71, 77, 145, 167, 171 of babies  166

231

focal instance  84, 87, 111, 121, 134, 135, 144, 164 imprisonment  65 mercy  86 persuasive narrative  52 n.16, 97 promise of Spirit  123, 208 repetition with variation  77–8, 183 saving and losing life  200 socialization  47 status (of servants)  189 women at Jesus’s tomb  204 Taylor, Charles  19, 21 Terry, Deborah, M. Hogg, and J. Duck  119 Theissen, Gerd  9, 69, 72, 110, 146 Tucker, Brian  16 Turner, John  14, 81, 103, 172, 189 Turner, Jonathan  9 Vahrenhorst, Martin  204 van Dommelen, Peter  10, 11 van Knippenberg, A.  16, 192 van Knippenberg, Daan  124 van Unnik, W. C.  85 Venetz, Herman-Josef  120, 125 Vescio, T., M. Hewstone, R. Crisp, and J. Rubin  192 Vinson, Richard  55, 67, 75, 172–3, 188 Vollenweider, Samuel  115 von Bendemann, Reinhardt  27, 112 von Rad, Gerhard  47, 188 Walaskay, Paul  197 Walton, Steve  197 Weber, Max  16 n.11 Weissenrieder, Annette  59, 102 n.58 White, Hayden  1–2 Wink, Walter  73 n.38, 75 n.39, 79, 84, 93, 108 n.67, 129, 145, 158 Wire, Antoinette  72 n.37 Wittig, Monique  44 Wolter, Michael Wolter  4, 6, 50, 116 centurion’s faith  90 continuity with Israel  78 encounter with God  165 eschatic judgment  58, 99, 135 fall and rise of Israel  52

232 Index of Authors “generation”  184 Jesus’s tomb  203 Lords of Sabbath  79 Martha and Mary  119–21 Parable of Debtor  95 prodigal Son  149–50

Wright, Addison  182 Wright, D and R. Jones  72 Zimmenmann, Ruben  8, 62, 147, 150, 169, 190, 198 Zumstein, Jean  2

INDEX OF SUBJECTS allocative economy  105, 132, 182 See also extractive economy Baptism of Jesus  59–62, 91, 107, 110, 134 boundaries  15–16, 24, 39–40, 44, 97, 99, 111–12, 119, 122, 141, 170, 185, 200 carnivalesque  3, 154, 200, 201 categorization  17, 18, 55, 71, 111, 118–19, 150, 156. See also crossed categorization; decategorization; recategorization Christology  25, 206 functional  91, 96, 100, 117 collaborators with Rome  3 n.3, 16–17, 25, 49, 54, 57, 76 n.42, 88–9, 135, 164, 170–1 n.114, 174, 176, 178–9, 185, 191, 193, 194, 196–8 collective memory  4–5, 37, 39, 47, 60, 63 comparison ingroup and outgroups  14–17, 26, 77, 83, 151, 164–5, 177, 192–3 composition  5–6 concession to futility  193, 194 conflict, sociological theory  11 critique of sociological anthropology  22–3 crossed categorization  18, 119, 138 cultural encyclopedia  7–9, 14, 44, 60, 73–4 assumptions underlying dominance  113 “generation” and engendered behavior  55, 86, 93, 114, 120, 152 in intertextuality  61, 63, 198 reciprocity  85 decategorization  18, 39, 119, 138, 143 dyadic identity  11–12, 18, 60, 79, 107, 110, 116, 119, 149, 154, 164, 167–70, 172–3, 191, 196

economic systems  9 embodiment  9, 12, 15, 19–20, 65 n.30, 45, 67, 81, 94, 103, 120, 131–2, 148–9, 156, 189, 205–6 emplotment  1, 3, 18, 19 encompassment  38–9, 111 encounter with God  86, 98, 165, 185 Christological  205 enthymemes  7, 79, 121, 123–4, 176, 180 entitativity  186–93, 205 ethnicity  17 n.12, 21, 23, 56, 118 extractive economy  9–11, 42, 105–7, 121, 131–2, 152–5, 172–3, 177, 179, 182, 194. See also allocative economy faith dramatized  74, 90, 96, 100, 103, 161, 163, 170 fictive (elective) kinship  60, 115 n.74, 132, 168, 189 fictive qualities of construing reality  1–2, 5 focal instance  84 n.50, 87, 111, 121, 135, 164, 182 functionalism (sociological theory)  9 generation as process of engendering  7, 86–8, 93–4, 110, 111, 114, 120, 125, 127, 152–3 group norms  37, 40, 46, 56–8, 72, 78, 99, 103, 122, 124, 126, 132, 153, 190 group socialization theory  102–3 hierarchies and inversion of  23, 42, 47–8, 53–4, 57, 60, 65, 70, 72, 83–6, 89, 95, 127, 138, 148, 183 history as a construct  2–3 history and the cultural encyclopedia  7–9

234 Index of Subjects honor, ascribed  42, 45, 47, 62, 91, 138, 160, 175 acquired  42, 51, 62–4, 66, 69, 91, 175 honor-shame  152 hypocrisy  87, 128–9, 135, 137 intertextuality  61–4, 165, 198 intractable conflicts  24, 195 justice  10–11, 77, 86, 162–3, 179 toward the future  42–3, 158 as transcendent  133 n.87, 136 labeling  74, 138, 172, 200. See also categorization loophole  195 meta-contrast theory  95 Mise en abyme  149, 151 multiple categorization  15–17, 193 mutuality  21, 71, 84, 87, 96, 104, 105–7, 116–17, 119, 133, 190 narrative schema  45, 203–4 narrative world  2, 4–7, 25, 151 negative categorization  15, 16, 38, 44, 46, 66, 74–6, 80, 97, 102, 110, 113, 123, 125, 126, 164, 170 new covenant  74, 187–8 non-violence  84 optimal distinctiveness  186, 189, 190, 192 orientalization  39 patron-client relationships  11, 40, 63, 84, 89, 151–4, 155–7, 173, 188 peace  49, 50–2, 53, 57–8, 97, 103, 114, 175–6, 198, 207 persuasion, power of  1, 2, 8, 52, 68, 73–5, 76, 80, 94–7, 117, 119, 144, 151, 161, 194

Pharisees  73, 93–4, 126–9, 141, 147–51, 151–4, 164–5, 175 poetic narrative  2 prayer  43–4, 59, 116, 120–1, 162–4, 164–5, 177, 181, 190–2, 199, 201–2 prototype  15, 81, 103, 124, 172, 189 reality impossibility of reifying the past  4, 8 ontic  3–4 recategorization  11, 18, 71, 77, 118, 119, 150, 156, 171–2 reciprocity, balanced, general, negative  11, 84–6, 88–90, 97, 105, 114, 143–4, 152–4, 159, 173 relationality  21 salience  16, 138, 146, 192–3 segmentation  38–9, 150 self-esteem  15, 38, 40, 44, 46–7, 99, 124, 186, 192  social class  3, 9–10, 22, 24–5, 40, 42, 44, 47, 66, 85, 94, 127, 141, 152, 156, 172–3, 202 social control agents  74, 76, 78, 79, 141, 147, 151, 175 social dominance theory  95 stereotyping  14–16, 114, 124, 153, 165 submissive assimilation  194, 195 suffering and identity  13–14, 107–9, 168, 183–4, 186, 198–9, 207 totalizing characterization  55, 87, 110, 125, 128, 195, 196 transformative power  58, 71 untranslated terms  8 violation of norms  13, 72–3 n.37, 79, 122 n.79, 170

INDEX OF REFERENCES Ancient Authors Antiphon 1.1  127 Athenaeus Deipnosophists X.428B  94 Aristotle Pol. 6.1321a-42  11, 88 n.62, 135, 159 Eth. nic. 4.1.23  182 n.125 Cicero Sen. 13.45–14.46 94 Columella 12.3.6  89 n.53 Demosthenes, 1.26 

80 n.45

Herodotus 2.121C 128 6.69  80 n.46 Irenaeus Haer. 3.1.1 5 3.10.1 5 Lucian Abdicatus 5  112, 174 Symposium 13  94 Josephus Ant. 3.24 72 13.297-8 179 14:302 174 15.136 44 18.1-4 49 17.219-340, 374-87  174

18.16, 17  179 18.116-19  106 n.64 20. 180-1, 206-7  42 20.251  54, 178, 185 20.252 25 J. W. 2.165-6 179 2.427 66 162-6 73 6.300-9 176 7.375 142 Life 12 73 32-8 22 72.403 69 Philo Moses 1.155  63 Plato Rep. 382  80 n.45 Tim. 86b  80 n.45 Plutarch Quest. Con. VII.6.708  94 Tacitus History 4.7  196 Thucydides Pelponnesian War 2.61  80 n.45 6.77, 8.56  109 Vergil Aeneid 6.793-4  49 Xenonphon Anabasis 6.4.23  128 Memorabilia 2.10.1  89 n.53

236 Index of References

Biblical References Gen. 19:4-11 114 19:24 58 38:8 180 Exod. 3:6 180 3:1-6 58 4:22-23 62 12:11 133 13:2 51 17:1-7 64, 121 20:11 79 Lev. 12:8 51 24:5-9 78 Num. Deut. 1:8 130 1:31 62 4:24 58 5:14 89 5:15 138 6 64 6:13 63 7:19 80 8:2 61 8:3 62 8:5 62 10:20 63 11:2 80 18:15 110 14:1 62 25:5-6 180 32:5-20 62 Josh. 4 56 4:24 80 1 Sam. 6:3 80 2 Sam. 7:12 56 Job 2:10 80 Ps. 1 137 1:3 LXX 137 2:2 LXX 66 8:5 LXX 79

21:17 LXX 199 21:17, 19 LXX 199 30:6, 10-11 LXX 201 80:8 178 90 64 31:6 MT 201 Ps. 90:11-12 LXX 64 117:26 LXX 91, 142, 143, 175 109:1 181 Isa. 2:2 141 5:5-7 178 6:9-10 98 23 114 25:6 141 29:3 176 30:27 58 40:3-5 55 51:1-2 56 52:1-55:13 130 53:12 190 54:1 208 55:3 74 56:7 177 58:6 65 61:1-3 65, 66, 67 Jer. 2:21 178 7:11 177 31:31-34 (38:31-34 LXX) 74, 187 Ezek. 17:23, 24 139 33:14 130 34:7-9 130 35:15 130 38:12 208 47:14 130 48:1-35 130 Dan. 7:13-14 184

Mt. 3:7 93 3:11 93 5:5 63 6:45 86 12:25-32 129 26:73 192

Hos. 10:8 198, 201 11:8-9 198-99 Amos 5:6 58 Jon. 4:3 118 Mic. 4:1-3 141 Mal. 3:1 92 3:2-3 58

2 Cor. 3:3-6 187 12:4 200 n.134 Col. 4:14 5 2 Tim. 4:11 5 Philemon 24 5 Heb. 2:5 63 8:8 187

Mk 3:33-35 99 8:33 110 9:2 109 10:16 166 10:33 168 15:46 203 Jn 2:15 177 Acts 1:4-5 208 1:8 123 1:25 185 2 58 3:21 46, 180 3:22 120 3:25 56, 138 4:1 179 4:26-27 54, 66, 188, 196 4:32-35 167 5:17 179 5:38-39 63 7:60 199 23:6-8 179 Rom. 4:13 63 13:9 167 1 Cor. 6:2 63 15:5 206 n.139

Index of References Rev. 2:7 200 n.134 2:20 52 n.17 Rabbinic Literature m. Parah 3.6.11 175 m. Šeqal. 4.2 175 m. Yoma 5.2 208 n.141 6.4 175

b. Ber. 4b-5a 201 b. Yoma 54b 208 n.141 b. Sahn. 37a 208 n.141 Mek. Exod. 14:31 63 Rab. Num. 20:20 201 Early Jewish and Early Christian Jub. 17:3 63

237 19:21 63 22:14 63 32:18 63 Sir. 44:19-21 63 2 Clement 9.6 93 2 Clement 17.5 93 Testament of Abraham 11 140 Testament of Solomon 114 115

238