Responses in the Miracle Stories of the Gospels: Between Artistry and Inherited Tradition 3161540832, 9783161540837

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Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament · 2. Reihe Herausgeber / Editor Jörg Frey (Zürich) Mitherausgeber / Associate Editors Markus Bockmuehl (Oxford) · James A. Kelhoffer (Uppsala) Hans-Josef Klauck (Chicago, IL) · Tobias Nicklas (Regensburg) J. Ross Wagner (Durham, NC)

429

Jordash Kiffiak

Responses in the Miracle Stories of the Gospels Between Artistry and Inherited Tradition

Mohr Siebeck

Jordash Kiffiak, born 1977; 1998 BA in European History; 2004 MA in Religious Studies; 2015 PhD in Comparative Religions from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem; since 2007 teaching Hellenistic Greek and biblical Hebrew; since August 2015 post-doctoral researcher at the University of Zurich.

ISBN 978-3-16-154083-7 / eISBN 978-3-16-154220-6 ISSN 0340-9570 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 2. Reihe) Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de.

© 2017 Mohr Siebeck Tübingen, Germany. www.mohr.de This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations, microfilms and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was printed by Laupp & Göbel in Gomaringen on non-aging paper and bound by Buchbinderei Nädele in Nehren. Printed in Germany.

Preface The present volume is a revised and enlarged version of my doctoral dissertation, accepted by the Hebrew University of Jerusalem in July of 2015. It is the result of developments in my thinking, influenced by a number of people. It is a privilege to acknowledge these debts here. Serge Ruzer, my principal doctoral advisor, has contributed significantly to my critical thinking. His keen eye has helped sharpen my arguments at numerous points, even when we at times could not agree on some point. I have greatly benefited from Serge’s way of thinking about texts, looking for broader patterns of thought, noticing especially the way that the New Testament writings can be read as examples of Second Temple Jewish literature. Serge gave me freedom to work independently, demonstrated patience, flexibility and understanding in various capacities. This was especially evident during the three years in which I experienced significant restrictions in my ability to do research, given far-ranging health complications (three years of, alternately, carpel tunnel syndrome and tendonitis, tailbone difficulties and, finally, neck and back issues), followed by a change in my research direction large enough to require the submission of a second proposal. He has my deeply felt gratitude for his continued faith in me despite these challenges. Loren Stuckenbruck, who generously volunteered to be my second advisor, has given me extensive, detailed feedback on my research and writing. He has helped me to see gaps in my work and – equally importantly – to know proper limitations, while placing my project in the light of wider issues in the field. His constant encouragement and belief in me has, on multiple occasions, given me the needed confidence to continue. He has been especially generous with his time. And he and Lois have extended warm hospitality, hosting me, also my wife, Jo Woo, when in Munich for the purposes of discussing my work. Loren’s generosity extends to his material resources, for he took personal initiative to finance my conference participation abroad. My gratitude for tutelage goes also to Justin Taylor, who at an earlier point in my doctoral studies was one of my supervisors, alongside Serge. This is especially appropriate as Justin’s work on the representation of reality in the Gospels has been one of the inspirations for the present work. From Justin I learned much on how to read a given gospel as a piece of literature. He also read an early version of my chapter on the Gospel of Mark and provided

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helpful feedback. Beyond this, Justin’s life is an inspiration and I have learnt a good many things from him about what is important during our short stint on this earth. I thank the members of my doctoral committee at the Hebrew University, consisting of Maren Niehoff, Yair Zakovitch and Doron Mendels, in addition to Serge and Loren, for their acceptance of a widely conceived project, which universities with traditional approaches to the New Testament may not have permitted. My interest in miracle stories was inspired in part by Yair, with whom I studied the biblical stories of Elijah, Elisha, and Moses. I am grateful to Jörg Frey, who read and provided feedback on my chapter on the Gospel of John early on. Later, as one of the two external readers of the dissertation and then, in his capacity as general editor of the WUNT II series, Jörg has provided me with detailed and helpful comments on the overall project. A special thanks goes to Jörg for the hospitality shown me as a guest at the University of Zurich during the final years of my PhD. I was given borrowing privileges and a personal seat in the library and access to the Faculty of Theology’s building outside of regular hours. Interaction with various other scholars has contributed to my thinking. Steve Runge gave valuable written feedback on key sections of my work concerned with discourse analysis. Randall Buth and Stephen Levinsohn each gave me hours of their time in Jerusalem and Vienna, respectively, to discuss miracle stories in light of discourse analysis. To Randall I owe gratitude also for inspiration and years of mentoring in reading ancient Hebrew and Greek texts with linguistic acumen. On more than one occasion Michael Segal gave me valuable advice and encouragement during the long haul of doctoral research. Parts of my research, including preliminary stages, were presented at various university seminars and international conferences. My thanks go to those who interacted with my work on these occasions, including those presiding over the relevant sessions, namely, Robert Cousland, Paul Danove, David du Toit, Bruce Fisk, Jörg Frey, Loren Stuckenbruck and Samuel Vollenweider. In addition, I benefited from the comments of others when presenting parts of my research in less formal contexts, whether at my home, in a public lecture (Caspari Center), in popular level studies (Narkis Street Congregation) and in personal conversations. Prominent among those who have helped me in one or more of the foregoing contexts, in addition to other scholars I have mentioned already, are: Gary Alley, Sharon Alley, Phillip Ben-Shmuel, Leah Hananel, Christoph Heilig, Theresa Heilig, Aaron Hornkohl, Michael Jost, Jamie Kiffiak, Danny Kopp, Benjamin Schliesser, Eran Shuali, Phillip Lasater, Friederike Kunath, Franz Toth. I owe Michael Jost further thanks for proofreading many of the citations in German. To participants in the Jerusalem School of Synoptic research, whose monthly meetings I frequently attended during my years living in Jerusalem, I

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owe gratitude for inspiration, modeling and interaction on the Synoptic Problem: especially Serge Ruzer, Randall Buth, Steven Notley, David Bivin, Hana Safrai (may her memory be a blessing), Malcolm Lowe, Sharon Alley, Gary Alley, Brian Kvasnica and Yair Furstenberg. I am grateful to the library of the École biblique et archéologique française de Jerusalem for their help in obtaining important resources. My thanks go also to the librarians of the Faculty of Theology at the University of Zurich – Ute Beck, Isabel Grau and Regula Wegmann – for their kindness towards me and providing me with extraordinary access to resources. I have gratitude to Susanne Mang of Mohr Siebeck for her guidance in the processes of the formatting and copy-editing of the manuscript. I would like to express a special thanks to Henning Ziebritzki for expressing faith in me and accepting this work into the WUNT II series already at an earlier stage of writing. My heartfelt thanks go out to Chuck Kopp and Liz Kopp, also the other leaders and members of the Narkis Street Congregation in Jerusalem, past and present, for the community they have fostered, which is supportive of academic research. Without this community my research would be of lesser quality. A special thanks goes to Benny Trakhtenbrot and Anat Stolarsky for their belief in me and friendship, especially during the transition between Israel and Switzerland. David Woo and Bianca Chang, Jo’s and also my parents, have been extremely generous in financially supporting my many years of research. I do not know how I would have been able to accomplish my academic dreams without their kindness. I am grateful to each of my parents, Lee Kiffiak and Dennis Kiffiak, who made room for and encouraged me at a young age to express and defend my own ideas and later supported my academic pursuits – emotionally, financially and in other ways. For support, also dear friendship, during my graduate studies I am greatly indebted to my mom. It is a pleasure to have her as one of my best friends, one who has known my abilities, as well as my shortcomings, all through my life. My dad’s belief since my youth that I could do whatever I set my mind to has always stayed with me. I have the deepest gratitude to Jo (Joanna) Woo, my spouse of eight years and best friend of many more, for her multi-faceted help in this project. Her discerning mind and keen sense of logic, alongside her familiarity with ancient Greek and Hebrew, as well as many of the texts involved, provided me with frequent, valuable feedback on my ideas and argumentation. She has helped me come up to speed with statistical analysis, wrote a script that helped me enormously with the indices and aided me in far too many other ways to list here. Her constant belief in me and the value of this study has brought me through, despite my discouragement over various setbacks.

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Words cannot express my gratitude to God and also to my Lord Jesus. Whatever success I have had in this project I attribute especially to this divine love and help. This volume differs in two ways from the doctoral dissertation, upon which it is based. First, some material was removed. An appendix on lexicography and ancient Greek terms denoting feelings is now published elsewhere (Kiffiak, forthcoming). Similarly, a chapter on miracle stories in apocryphal gospels, notably the Gospel of Peter, is not to be found here. Second, other chapters were revised, with much material being added (approximately 120 pages). The structure of Chapter Six has been greatly revised and a substantial amount of material added. Chapter Seven now contains a fuller discussion of the stilling of the storm episode. Beyond this, the introduction and conclusion to each chapter have been enlarged and given greater detail, to better aid the reader in following the volume’s overarching lines of argumentation. To this end also the volume’s introductory and concluding chapters have themselves been revised and enlarged.

Table of Contents Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . V List of abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXI List of tables. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXV List of figures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXIX

Chapter 1: Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1

A. History of Research on Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

3

I. Establishing the paradigm for a form-critical, also redactioncritical, approach to responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1. From David Friedrich Strauss to Richard Reitzenstein . . . . 2. Martin Dibelius and Rudolf Bultmann . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3. Kenzo Tagawa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4. Gerd Theissen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5. Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . II. The paradigm suffers severe criticism, while its vestiges continue in the approach to responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1. Tradition-historical criticism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2. Narrative criticism. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3. Source criticism. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4. Genre. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

28 28 33 36 40

B. Definitions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

46

I. II. III. IV. V. VI.

3 3 3 14 16 26

“Miracle” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “Story”. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “Miracle story” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “Responses”. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “Emotion” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “Amazement,” “fear” and “being troubled”. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

47 49 50 52 52 53

C. Reference to Greek Verbs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

54

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D. Methodology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

55

E. Procedure. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

55

Chapter 2: Mark . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

59

A. State of the Question . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

61

B. Miracle Stories with Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

79

C. Number of Responses within a Miracle Story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

80

D. Elements within a Response, Vocabulary, Verbs and their Modifiers . . .

82

E. Combinations of Elements within Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

91

F. Relative Priority of Elements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

94

I. Foreground/background and mainline/offline . . . . . . . . . . . . . II. Levels of prominence in foreground material . . . . . . . . . . . . .

94 95

G. Order of Appearance of Elements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105 H. Characters Responding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109 I. Functional Roles of Respondents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113 J. Setting

114

K. Focalisation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115 L. Location within a Miracle Story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 M.Connectives Introducing Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118 N. Sub-Unit Divisions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121 O. Peak of Story and Relative Prominence of Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124 P. Distribution of Responses in Miracle Stories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127 Q. Responses in Miracles Stories within the Overall Narrative . . . . . . . . . 129

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I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII.

Prior to the first miracle story with a response. . . . . . . . . . . . . Mark 1.27–28. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mark 1.45 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mark 2.12c. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mark 3.6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mark 4.41 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mark 5.14–17 and 5.20 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mark 5.33 and 5.42d . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mark 6.49–50b and 6.51c–52 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mark 7.36b–37. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mark 9.5–6 and 9.8 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mark 10.52c. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mark 11.20b–21. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mark 16.5b–c and 16.8 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

XI 131 133 135 137 138 139 140 142 144 145 147 150 152 153 154 156 161 164 165 165 166 167

R. Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175

Chapter 3: Matthew . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183 A. State of the Question . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 184 B. Miracle Stories with Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191 C. Number of Responses within a Miracle Story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192 D. Elements within a Response, Vocabulary, Verbs and their Modifiers . . . 193 E. Combinations of Elements within Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199 F. Relative Priority of Elements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201 G. Order of Appearance of Elements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 H. Characters Responding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 208

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I. Functional Roles of Respondents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210 J. Setting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210 K. Focalisation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211 L. Location within a Miracle Story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212 M.Connectives Introducing Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213 N. Sub-Unit Divisions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214 O. Peak of Story and Relative Prominence of Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215 P. Distribution of Responses in Miracle Stories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218 Q. Responses in Miracles Stories within the Overall Narrative . . . . . . . . . 221 I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV.

Matthew 1.24–25 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew 2.14–15 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew 2.21 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew 8.27 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew 8.33–34 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew 9.8 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew 9.26 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew 9.31 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew 9.33b–34 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew 12.14 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew 12.23–24 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew 14.26 and 14.33. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew 15.31 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew 17.4, 17.6 and 17.8 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew 20.34c . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew 21.20 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

223 224 224 225 226 228 229 230 231 232 232 233 236 237 237 239 240 241 242 243 244 247 248 249 249

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XXVI. Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXVII. Matthew 28.4 and 28.8 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXVIII. Matthew 28.9b–c . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXIX. Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXX. Matthew 28.17 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

XIII 250 252 254 255 255

R. Synoptic Problem: Comparison of Matthew and Mark . . . . . . . . . . . . . 256 S. Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263

Chapter 4: Luke . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 271 A. State of the Question . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 272 B. Miracle Stories with Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 285 C. Number of Responses within a Miracle Story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 286 D. Elements within a Response, Vocabulary, Verbs and their Modifiers . . . 287 E. Combinations of Elements within Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 296 F. Relative Priority of Elements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 298 G. Order of Appearance of Elements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 303 H. Characters Responding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 310 I. Functional Roles of Respondents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 312 J. Setting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 314 K. Focalisation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 316 L. Location within a Miracle Story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 317 M.Connectives Introducing Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 318 N. Sub-Unit Divisions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 319 O. Peak of Story and Relative Prominence of Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 321

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P. Distribution of Responses in Miracle Stories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 323 Q. Responses in Miracles Stories within the Overall Narrative . . . . . . . . . 326 I. Luke 1.12 and 1.21b–22 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . II. Luke 1.29. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . III. Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IV. Luke 1.64b–66 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . V. Luke 2.9c and 2.15b–20. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . VI. Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . VII. Luke 4.36–37 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . VIII. Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IX. Luke 5.8–10a and 5.11. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . X. Luke 5.15. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XI. Luke 5.25b–26 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XII. Luke 6.11 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XIII. Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XIV. Luke 7.16–17 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XV. Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XVI. Luke 8.25b . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XVII. Luke 8.34–37a and 8.39b. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XVIII. Luke 8.47 and 8.56a. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XIX. Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XX. Luke 9.32c–33, 9.34c and 9.36b–c . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXI. Luke 9.43a . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXII. Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXIII. Luke 11.14c–16 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXIV. Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXV. Luke 13.13c and 13.17b–c . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXVI. Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXVII. Luke 14.6. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXVIII. Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXIX. Luke 17.15–16a . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXX. Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXXI. Luke 18.43b–c . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXXII. Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXXIII. Luke 24.5a and 24.8–12. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXXIV. Luke 24.31a–b and 24.32–35. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XXXV. Luke 24.37, 24.41a and 24.52–53 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

328 330 332 332 335 338 341 342 343 345 346 347 348 350 352 353 355 357 358 360 362 363 364 365 365 367 367 368 368 369 370 370 374 377 380

R. Synoptic Problem: Luke’s Dependence on Matthew or Q. . . . . . . . . . . . 385 S. Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 391

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Chapter 5: John. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 399 A. State of the Question . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 401 B. Miracle Stories with Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 411 C. Number of Responses within a Miracle Story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 412 D. Elements within a Response, Vocabulary, Verbs and their Modifiers . . . 414 E. Combinations of Elements within Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 417 F. Relative Priority of Elements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 417 G. Order of Appearance of Elements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 419 H. Characters Responding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 421 Excursus: Use of the Term Ioudaioi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 422 I. Functional Roles of Respondents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 424 424

J. Setting

K. Focalisation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 425 L. Location within a Miracle Story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 426 M.Connectives Introducing Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 427 N. Sub-Unit Divisions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 428 O. Peak of Story and Relative Prominence of Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 430 P. Belief and Unbelief in Miracle Stories and Other Episodes. . . . . . . . . . 431 Q. Responses in Miracle Stories within the Overall Narrative . . . . . . . . . . 435 I. II. III. IV. V. VI.

Prior to the first miracle story . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John 2.11c . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John 4.53 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John 5.15–16, 18 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John 6.14 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

435 436 438 440 444 447

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VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI.

John 6.19b–c . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John 9.34, 38 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John 11.45–46, 53 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intervening material. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John 20.16b, 18 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John 20.20b and 20.25a . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John 20.28–29 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John 21.7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

448 451 454 457 457 460 463 465 467 471

R. Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 473

Chapter 6: The Interrelations of the Gospels . . . . . . . . . . . . . 481 A. State of the Question . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 483 I. The Synoptic Problem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1. Two Document Hypothesis: Minor Agreements . . . . . . . . . 2. Two Document Hypothesis: contents of Q . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3. Alternative hypotheses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . II. The interrelations of all four gospels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . III. Oral tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IV. Issues of language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . V. Implications from historical Jesus research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . VI. Procedure of the analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

483 483 486 506 510 514 522 530 532

B. Miracle Stories with Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 532 C. Number of Responses within a Miracle Story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 537 D. Elements within a Response, Vocabulary, Verbs and their Modifiers . . . 539 I. General . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 539 II. The emotions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 546 E. Combinations of Elements within Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 550 F. Relative Priority of Elements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 551 G. Order of Appearance of Elements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 557 H. Characters Responding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 564

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I. Characters responding in multiple stories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 564 II. Types of characters responding and types of stories . . . . . . . . 567 I. Functional Roles of Respondents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 570 J. Setting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 573 K. Focalisation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 576 L. Location within a Miracle Story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 577 M.Connectives Introducing Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 579 N. Sub-Unit Divisions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 584 O. Peak of Story and Relative Prominence of Responses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 585 P. Distribution of Responses in Miracle Stories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 588 I. Role of responses in an unfolding narrative for distinction between epiphanic and other miracle stories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 588 II. Distribution of epiphany stories and other miracle stories within the narratives of the Gospels. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 590 III. Quality of responses and the larger narrative of a gospel. . . . . 594 Q. Statistical Analysis and the Case for Oral Tradition: Summary. . . . . . . 600 I. All four gospels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 600 II. Synoptic Gospels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 619 R. Minor Agreements in the Triple Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 626 I. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 626 II. Healing of the paralytic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 626 III. Stilling of the storm (Mk 4.35–41 || Mt 8.23–27 || Lk 8.22–25) 634 S. Material Common to Matthew, Mark and John . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 641 I. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 641 II. Walking on water . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 641 T. Social Context of Responses in the Gospel Miracle Stories – Jesus my Focus on Q. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 651 U. Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 656

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Chapter 7: Tradition History. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 663 A. State of the Question . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 664 B. On the Terms “Jewish and Hellenistic” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 684 C. Non-Jewish Miracle Stories as Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 684 I. Stories of miracles as deeds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 684 II. Stories of epiphanies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 689 D. Jewish Miracle Stories as Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 692 I. Stories of epiphanies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 693 II. Other stories. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 695 III. Jewish versus non-Jewish context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 698 E. Jewish Parallels to Gospel Miracle Stories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 699 F. Jewish Parallels to Gospel Miracle Stories – Specific Stories . . . . . . . . 708 I. Stilling of the storm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 709 1. Keying to Jonah and the storm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 709 2. Keying to the crossing of the Reed Sea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 714 G. Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 722

Chapter 8: Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 725 725

A. Results I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII.

“Miracle” and “miracle story” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “Response” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Use of responses in each gospel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discourse analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Focalisation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Literary revolution of the Gospels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Synoptic Problem: alternatives to the Two Document Hypothesis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Oral tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Three stories with Minor Agreements / “minor agreements” . . Contents of Q. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jewish versus non-Jewish context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “Minor” and “major” miracles in the Jewish sacred past. . . . .

725 728 731 735 735 736 737 737 739 739 740 740

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XIII.The stilling of the storm in light of parallel stories . . . . . . . . . . . . 741 B. Prospective. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 741 Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 743 Index of Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 767 Index of Modern Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 793 Subject Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 799

Abbreviations AB ABRL AnBib ANTC ANTJ ASNU BBMS BDAG

BECNT BETL BibInt BINS BNTC BThSt BTS BU BZNW CahRB CBQ CBQMS CBR CGTC CNT ConBNT CurBS ExpTim EKKNT FF FN FRLANT

Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Reference Library Analecta biblica Abingdon New Testament Commentaries Arbeiten zum Neuen Testament und Judentum Acta seminarii neotestamentici upsaliensis Baker Biblical Monograph Series Danker, Frederick W., Walter Bauer, William Arndt and F. Wilbur Gingrich. 2000. A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature, 3rd edn (Chicago: University of Chicago Press) Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium Biblical Interpretation Biblical Interpretation Series Black’s New Testament Commentaries Biblisch-theologische Studien Biblical Tools and Studies Biblische Untersuchungen Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche Cahiers de la Revue biblique Catholic Biblical Quarterly Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series Currents in Biblical Research Cambridge Greek Testament Commentary Commentaire du Nouveau Testament Coniectanea biblica: New Testament Series Currents in Research: Biblical Studies Expository Times

Evangelisch-katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Foundations and Facets Filología Neotestamentaria Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments

XXII GBS GTA HALOT HBl HNT Hermeneia HTKNT HTR ICC Int JBL JCP JETS JR JSNTSup JTS KEK KFW1

LBRS LCL LNTS MBI MNTS NIB NICNT NIGTC NovT NovTSup NTL NTM NTS NTTS PCNT PLAL PNTC RBL RevExp RNBC SANT

Abbreviations

XXII

Guides to Biblical Scholarship Göttinger Theologische Arbeiten Köhler, Ludwig and Walter Baumgartner. 1994–2000. The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, 5 vols (Leiden: Brill) Hermeneutische Blätter Handbuch zum Neuen Testament Hermeneia: A Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Harvard Theological Review International Critical Commentary Interpretation Journal of Biblical Literature Jewish and Christian Perspectives Series Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society Journal of Religion Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement Series Journal of Theological Studies Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar über das Neue Testament Zimmermann, Ruben (ed.). 2013. Kompendium der frühchristlichen Wundererzählungen, Band 1: Die Wunder Jesu, in collaboration with Detlev Dormeyer, Judith Hartenstein, Christian Münch, Enno Edzard Popkes and Uta Poplutz (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus) Lexham Bible Reference Series Loeb Classical Library Library of New Testament Studies Methods in Biblical Interpretation McMaster New Testament Studies The New Interpreter’s Bible New International Commentary on the New Testament New International Greek Testament Commentary Novum Testamentum Novum Testamentum Supplements New Testament Library New Testament Monographs New Testament Studies New Testament Tools and Studies Paideia: Commentaries on the New Testament Perspectives on Linguistics and Ancient Languages Pillar New Testament Commentary Review of Biblical Literature Review and Expositor Readings: A New Biblical Commentary Studien zum Alten und Neuen Testaments

XXIII SBFA SBLDS SBLRBS SBLSP SBR SemeiaSt SHBS SNT SNTSMS SNTSU SP TDNT

TUGAL WBC WMANT WUNT ZNW

Abbreviations

XXIII

Studium biblicum franciscanum: analecta Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Resources for Biblical Study Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers Studies of the Bible and Its Reception Semeia Studies Smyth and Helwys Bible Commentary Studien zum Neuen Testament Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series Studien zum Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt Sacra Pagina Kittel, G. and G. Friedrich (eds.). 1964–1976. Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, trans. by G. W. Bromiley. 10 vols (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans) Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur Word Biblical Commentary Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche

List of Tables Chapter 1: Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1

Table 1: Lexemes for amazement, fear and being troubled. . . . . . . . . .

54

Chapter 2: Mark . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

59

Table 1: Relative prominence of elements in responses . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 2: Order of appearance of elements. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 3: Distribution of responses among miracle stories, noting type of emotion. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 4: Distribution of responses in miracle stories within sections of the narrative . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

103 107 128 130

Chapter 3: Matthew . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183 Table 1: Relative prominence of elements in responses . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 2: Order of appearance of elements. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 3: Distribution of responses among miracle stories, noting type of emotion. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 4: Distribution of responses in miracle stories within sections of the narrative . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 5: Outlier responses in Matthew for emotions and miracle story types . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

202 205 220 222 259

Chapter 4: Luke . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 271 Table 1: Relative prominence of elements in responses . . . . . . . . . . . . 300 Table 2: Order of appearance of elements. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 306 Table 3: Distribution of responses among miracle stories, noting type of emotion. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 325

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List of Tables

Table 4: Distribution of responses in miracle stories within sections of the narrative . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 327

Chapter 5: John. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 399 Table 1: Relative prominence of elements in responses . . . . . . . . . . . . 418 Table 2: Order of appearance of elements. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 420 Table 3: Belief language in key reactions and responses . . . . . . . . . . . 432

Chapter 6: The Interrelations of the Gospels . . . . . . . . . . . . . 481 Table 1: Frequency of miracle stories according to types . . . . . . . . . . . Table 2: Frequency of miracle stories with responses according to types of stories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 3: Stories with multiple responses versus stories with responses Table 4: Elements in responses for parallel stories – Synoptics . . . . . . Table 5: Elements in responses for parallel stories – Synoptics and John. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 6: Exceptions to trend of emotion types and miracle types as MAs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 7: Matthew’s pre-nuclear participle for visual sensation in parallel contexts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 8: Stilling of the storm: speech as a post-nuclear participle only Table 9: Order for collocation of emotion and speech . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 10: Order for visual sensation and speech in parallel contexts . . . Table 11: Visual sensation first in a distinct series of events . . . . . . . . . Table 12: Characters who are respondents in multiple stories . . . . . . . . Table 13: Responses by established followers versus others, according to miracle types. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 14: Characters in responses found in two types of miracle stories Table 15: Types of emotions per miracle context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 16: Responses in private and other settings in two types of miracle stories. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 17: Private versus other settings in two types of miracle stories with responses. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 18: Alternative forms of focalisation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 19: Location of response with respect to the miracle . . . . . . . . . . Table 20: Location of response with respect to episode’s end . . . . . . . . Table 21: Initial connectives in responses for parallel synoptic stories . Table 22: Relation of response to episode’s peak . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 23: Relation of peak to response(s) for parallel synoptic stories. .

535 537 539 543 545 549 554 556 558 561 562 565 568 569 572 574 575 576 577 578 582 586 587

List of Tables

XXVII

Table 24: Importance of emotional criterion for distinguishing story types . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 25: Distribution of miracle types, noting response emotions . . . . Table 26: Stories with positive responses in pre- and post-resurrection contexts: each gospel individually . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 27: Unique stories with positive responses in pre- and postresurrection contexts: all gospels collectively. . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 28: Unique stories with positive responses in pre- and postresurrection contexts: all gospels collectively, with heightened criteria. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 29: Responses in the healing of the paralytic episode . . . . . . . . . . Table 30: Comparison of Mt 9.8, Mk 2.12c, Lk 5.25–26 . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 31: Responses in the stilling of the storm episode . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 32: Comparison of Mt 8.23–27, Mk 4.35–41, Lk 8.22–25 . . . . . . Table 33: Responses (initial) in the walking on water episode . . . . . . . . Table 34: Comparison of Mt 14.26, Mk 6.49–50b, Jn 6.19b–c . . . . . . . . Table 35: Second responses in the walking on water episode (Mt and Mk only) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

588 591 595 596 598 628 629 636 638 644 645 647

Chapter 7: Tradition History. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 663 Cotter’s non-Jewish miracle stories and responses . . . . . . . . . Responses in non-Jewish stories of miraculous deeds . . . . . . Responses in non-Jewish stories of epiphanies . . . . . . . . . . . . Responses in Jewish stories of epiphanies – Tanakh. . . . . . . . Responses in Jewish stories of other miracles – Tanakh . . . . . Responses in the “major” and “minor” miracle stories of Elijah and Elisha . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 7: Responses in the miracle stories of Elijah and Elisha in other versions – minor miracles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Table 1: Table 2: Table 3: Table 4: Table 5: Table 6:

685 687 690 694 697 700 705

List of Figures Figure 1: Miracle stories with responses – absolute numbers. . . . . . . . . Figure 2: Miracle stories with responses – percentages . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 3: Responses with the most common elements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 4: Amazement versus fear in responses per miracle story type . . Figure 5: Amazement versus fear in responses per miracle type and respondent . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Figure 6: Connectives introducing responses, with attention to development marking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

534 534 540 547 571 580

Chapter 1

Introduction It is clear from even a cursory look at the four canonical gospels that stories about the miraculous are not only ubiquitous but also integral to each of these texts. By miraculous I mean the deeds of power performed by Jesus and also related occurrences, such as his transformation into a glorious state, uncanny appearances by him subsequent to his resurrection, the appearances of angels in relation to his birth and to his resurrection and pronouncements about him by a voice from heaven accompanied by various remarkable visible phenomena. Among the features that link such stories together is the frequently occurring motif of various individuals’ and groups’ responses to the miracles. Though I will define the term “response” in more detail later, for the moment it is sufficient to state that with this term I refer to feelings, cognitive activity, words, physical actions and the like that people experience or express as a result of their knowledge of a miracle. What function(s) were the responses intended to serve in the respective narratives of the Gospels and in the earlier traditions about Jesus, both written and oral, upon which the Gospels drew? Do the responses simply serve as a kind of round of applause to validate Jesus? Or do they have more specific narrative functions? The work of two formidable scholars, Rudolf Bultmann and Martin Dibelius, has provided leadership at the beginning of the twentieth century to the guild of New Testament scholars on how to understand the significance of the responses. The narration of figures’ responses, they allege, serves to magnify the miracle worker and, as part of the proposed general propagandistic agenda of miracle stories, seeks to win converts. Their form-critical work has been expanded upon and to some extent modified by redaction critics in the third quarter of the century, notably by Gerd Theissen, who returns to the question of form criticism as well. But the basic trend set by Bultmann and Dibelius has not been altered. In their view the responses serve to magnify the miracle worker. Strangely, despite the rise of narrative criticism in the 1980s, which challenges the tendency of form and redaction critics towards an atomising approach to features in a given gospel, and its subsequent widely felt influence on the study the Gospels, there remains a tendency to treat the responses monolithically. The vestiges of the form criticism of Bultmann and Dibelius continue to exert their influence. There are occasional exceptions to the trend. But, by and large, when it comes to the responses both the interests and approach of form criticism and of its cousin, redaction criticism, continue to

2

Chapter 1: Introduction

rule the literary studies of the miracle stories in the Gospels, even for those who are interested in these texts in their entirety in their final form. The rule of form and redaction criticism goes unspoken. The form- and redaction-critical paradigm has rightly received criticism also with regards to its understanding of the social context and manner in which traditions about Jesus in the earliest communities of followers developed. Inasmuch as the miracle stories are concerned, criticism has focused on the undue concentration on non-Jewish social contexts and sources and the use of problematic constructs. Other criticisms pertain to the sharp delineation of almost hermetically sealed trajectories of tradition for narrative and speech material for Jesus. Yet when it comes to responses such criticism has not been followed up on. This statement is true, oddly, despite the fact that Bultmann and Theissen, admittedly, have not found adequate parallels in nonJewish sources for responses and have given only limited attention to responses in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Jewish literature. Given their ubiquity in the Gospels and potential rarity in contemporary sources, the possibility must be considered that the responses in miracle stories of the Jesus tradition may evidence features that are uniquely characteristic of it. Furthermore, use of the response motif may stem from a period prior to the written source material behind the Gospels and, if so, from a Jewish social context situated in Palestine. The present study aims to investigate the motif of responses from two principal angles. First, the potentially diverse ways it is employed in each gospel as the respective narrative unfolds (narrative criticism) deserve treatment at length. Not just individual miracle stories on their own need examination, but also their relation to one another and to the overall shape and logic of the narrative. The topic has not been addressed before. Second, the similarities and differences between the Gospels in the use of the motif will be investigated with a view to clarifying their interrelations (source criticism). Possibilities of both literary dependence and shared oral traditions are to be given due attention. The question of social setting – whether Jewish and/or broader Hellenistic – for the development of miracle stories in the Jesus tradition comes into play here. The question will be important also for a third investigation, preliminary in nature, of potential influences (Jewish or nonJewish or a mixture of both) on the story-telling patterns found in the traditions behind the Gospels (tradition-historical criticism). I offer one final note before addressing the history of research in more detail. I use the terms “miraculous” and “miracle” above with caution, aware of the intellectual freight they carry, resulting from use in contexts from the Enlightenment until the present day. But no other term than “miracle” seems adequate for use as a rubric under which I can group the phenomena I have listed in the opening sentence. I will provide, below, a fuller justification for use of the term.

History of Research on Responses

3

A. History of Research on Responses I. Establishing the paradigm for a form-critical, also redaction-critical, approach to responses 1. From David Friedrich Strauss to Richard Reitzenstein The Enlightenment spawned naturalistic explanations of the events ostensibly behind the gospel miracle stories. The watershed work of David Friedrich Strauss (1837), observing the absence of Jesus’ miracles in the Epistles, argues that they are later mythical elements added to Christian tradition. Contemporary Jewish expectation of the Messiah performing wondrous deeds greater than those of Elijah and Elisha was the catalyst, he argues, for Christian invention of the miracle stories. Historical interests henceforth give way to cultural and literary concerns. At the end of the nineteenth century papyrological and archaeological discoveries, especially at Epidaurus, 1 provided an impetus for the idea that the miracle stories in the Gospels had their closest parallel in non-Jewish, GrecoRoman sources. Supporting this line of thinking is Richard Reitzenstein’s (1910) construct of the θεῖος ἀνήρ (divine man): a Greco-Roman type who, on the basis of higher nature and virtue, has profound knowledge and vision and can work miracles. Reitzenstein’s (1906) study of literary parallels to the miracle stories of the Gospels curiously ignores the Hebrew Bible and Septuagint. 2 Rather, he focuses on the aretalogy: “a miracle story or a collection of miracle stories” whose “primary use... was praise or propaganda for the [nonJewish] deity supposed to have done such deeds.” 3 The purpose of the miracle stories in the Gospels, according to Reitzenstein, is to sing the praise of Jesus, the θεῖος ἀνήρ, and foster belief in him. 2. Martin Dibelius and Rudolf Bultmann Martin Dibelius (1919, 21931, 61971) and Rudolf Bultmann (1921, 101995), at the beginning of the twentieth century, made foundational for gospel studies both the θεῖος-ἀνήρ construct and the proposed propagandistic nature of the

1

Excavations at Epidaurus under the direction of Panagiotis Kavvadias were begun in 1879. The inscriptions in the Sanctuary of Asclepios there are of special relevance. 2 For a stinging criticism of Reitzenstein in this regard, see Bremmer (2013: 18). 3 Kee (1973: 409), citing with approval Smith (1971: 176–177; italics mine). Bremmer (2013: 17) observes that, since, “Reitzenstein was not very good in defining his subjects,” it was left to later scholars to define what aretalogies are: “mostly the epigraphical collections of the healing or punishment miracles of Asclepius or Sarapis and the cultural innovations of Isis.”

4

Chapter 1: Introduction

gospel miracle stories. 4 To win converts, they maintain, stories were told orally about Jesus’ mighty deeds, through which he was portrayed as superior among the presumed host of contemporary, divine miracle workers. These stories were brought together to form collections, aretalogies championing Jesus. The aretalogies were then mined as source material by the Gospels, notably Mark and John. Dibelius’ and Bultmanns’ individual systems of categorisation of those gospel stories concerned with miracles and their particular concepts of individuals’ and groups’ responses in such stories, despite their differences, support their respective cases for the paradigm. Dibelius is clearest on this point. First, his understanding of what constitutes a miracle story is to an appreciable extent predicated on the presumed propagandistic purpose of the episodes. To draw out this point, I begin with some aspects of methodology and categorisation that the form critics hold in common. Each of the scholars, though dividing up the greater body of material found in the Gospels along different lines, defines one of their respective categories such that it consists only of episodes narrating Jesus’ mighty deeds – “Novellen” (Dibelius) and “Wundergeschichten” (Bultmann), in each case roughly equal to what English-speaking scholarship calls “miracle stories.” 5 Just miracles performed by Jesus are in view. A threefold pattern is observed: a description of the problem or distress; a description of the action that procures the miracle; a conclusion, whose main function is to confirm the success of the miracle. Yet, neither scholar includes all stories of Jesus’ mighty deeds in their respective categories. For example, Mk 3.1–6 is excluded by both form critics, since the healing here evidently serves as a backdrop for a controversy, involving a didactic point made by Jesus. Still, Dibelius’ “Novellen” includes fewer stories concerned with Jesus’ mighty deeds than does Bultmann’s comparable category. 6 Here Dibelius’ criteria reveal how extensively the θεῖος-ἀνήρ construct informs his scheme of categorisation. He places some stories of mighty deeds among the “Paradigmen,” namely short episodes that are rounded off at beginning and end, have an edificatory style, focus on a saying of Jesus and, in essence, end on a thought useful for preaching (Dibelius 1971 [1959]: 55). “Novellen,” in con4

Note Dibelius’ book underwent revision in only the second (Dibelius 1933) and third (Dibelius 1959) editions. Bultmann’s book was revised in only the second edition (1931), though the tenth (1995) edition contains an epilogue by Gerd Theissen. 5 “Novellen” is translated with “tales,” “Wundergeschichten” with “miracle stories.” Unless otherwise noted, in what follows the English translation of Bultmann is cited directly from John Marsh’s translation (Bultmann 1963), based on Bultmann (21931). The same is true for Bertram Lee Woolf’s translation (Dibelius 1971), based on Dibelius (21933), wherever no significant difference occurs in the later revised edition (Dibelius 31959). See further, above, n. 4. 6 Dibelius (1971 [1959]: 51–52) later comments openly on this difference between him and Bultmann.

History of Research on Responses

5

trast are longer, more detailed, focused on the miracle itself, “secular” and serve the purpose of winning converts. Second, Dibelius’ concept of the narrated responses to Jesus’ mighty deeds clearly fits the θεῖος-ἀνήρ paradigm. Jesus’ healings and the like are, to Dibelius’ (1971 [1959]: 67) mind, often followed by “chorische Akklamationen des Wundertäters.” 7 This laudatory chorus motif, referred to in brief by “Chor-Schluß,” purportedly concludes the respective episode. Dibelus (1971 [1959]: 42, 54) understands the motif to be primarily verbal (“in feierndem Wort des Volkschors”), though also to some extent marked by amazement (“bestaunt und preist”). 8 He is not precise on the matter. At any rate, the choruses occur not only in some “Novellen,” but also in various miraculous “Paradigmen” as well (Dibelius 1971 [1959]: 54–55, 67, 71–72). 9 Yet, the chorus ending fits the “Novellen” best, he avers, since the concluding thought is not a preach-able point but a comment on the greatness of the miracle worker: “die Chöre… weisen… auf die Größe der Tat und die Bedeutung des Täters….” (Dibelius 1971 [1959]: 55). 10 The praises of the miracle worker narrated within a “Novelle” are envisioned as working upon the hearers of the story, bringing about a similar attitude in them (Dibelius 1971 [1959]: 56): …die Wundererzählungen der Umwelt und die urchristlichen Novellen, die in solchen Zuruf ausklingen, wollen Mission treiben, wollen für den Gott oder den Menschen, von dem sie berichten, werben. 11

Likewise, Dibelius (1971 [1959]: 94) sees the narration of amazement as inspiring the faith of the listeners: Der Glaube, den die Wundererzählung auslöst, beginnt mit dem zum Wunder gehörigen „Staunen“ oder „Sich-Entsetzen“…. 12

The envisioned effect of the responses, then, is part and parcel of the overall purpose of the “Novellen” (1971 [1959]: 93): Wohl aber konnte man durch die Erzählung solcher Novellen die Überlegenheit des „Herrn Jesus“ erweisen und die Konkurenz aller anderen Kultgötter aus dem Felde schlagen. 13 7

“chorus[es] of acclamation for the miracle-worker” “choral ending”; “approving words of the people”; “expressing wonder and praise” – on amazement see also Dibelius (1971 [1959]: 94). 9 Dibelius (1971 [1959]: 42; cf. 54) claims that “Paradigmen” end on a word or deed of Jesus or the approving words of the people. 10 “[c]horuses… point… to the greatness of the deed and the significance of the doer…” 11 “…the miracle stories of the surrounding world, and the primitive Christian ‘Tales’ which end with such an exclamation have a missionary purpose[:] to labour either for the [g]od or the man of whom they report.” 12 “The faith which the miracle-story arouses begins with the ‘astonishment’ or ‘amazement’ proper to the miracle….” 13 “But by telling such Tales, the pre-eminence of the ‘Lord Jesus’ could be demonstrated and all other rival gods who were worshipped driven from the field.” 8

6

Chapter 1: Introduction

In summary, to Dibelius’ mind miracle stories in general and the supposed Chor-Schluß – I will use this as a technical term in what follows, in italics, without translation – in particular serve to magnify Jesus and to foster believe in and praise for him among those listening to the stories told orally. Yet challenges immediately arise for Dibelius’ scheme. While later scholarship will expose broader methodological and conceptual problems underlying the form-critical enterprise, I note here some other issues specific to responses, inherent in the nature of the gospel miracle stories themselves. The first point is that Dibelius’ scheme already admits that the alleged “Paradigmen,” which serve purposes of preaching, contain the said responses to miracles. Moreover, one encounters the narration of responses to miraculous occurrences in actually four or five of the six categories of material that Dibelius divides the Gospels up into, though he does not notice this point. Not just “Paradigmen” and “Novellen,” but also episodes placed under the rubric “der Mythus,” “Legende” and possibly even “die Leidensgeschichte” narrate similar sorts of groups’ and individuals’ responses. 14 The transfiguration – one of only a few stories categorised within “der Mythus” by Dibelius, who discusses the Markan version – describes the extreme emotion and speech of the disciples upon encountering Jesus in a transformed state (Mk 9.5–6). Dibelius (1971 [1959]: 275–276), commenting on the reaction of Peter and the others, does not observe that the language used is akin to the proposed choral acclamations, filled with amazement, elsewhere. 15 The Markan “Legende vom leeren Grab,” the alleged original ending of that gospel, also contains a description of characters’ amazement and fear and, with an ironic twist, their silence in response to the encounter with an angel and his relating of Jesus’ miraculous resurrection from the dead (Mk 16.8). 16 Dibelius’ (1971 [1959]: 190–192) reference to the women’s actions fails to note the similarities, given the variation on a theme, between the literary motif here and the alleged chorus endings elsewhere. If joy, not just amazement, and praise of God, not just affirmation of Jesus, could be taken to be a Chor-Schluß, then the Lukan Easter story contains one (Lk 24.52–53). Dibelius (1971 [1959]: 200) makes no mention of the disciples’ joy and praise at the conclusion of the story, though this response to Jesus’ resurrection and ascension bares similarities to the responses to healings and the like elsewhere. 17 Equally significant, not all of the material Dibelius cites for choral acclamations are of the same quality. He attempts to explain why demonstratively

14

“mythology”; “legends”; “passion story” Cf., e.g., Mk 2.12; 7.36–37. Note, recognising Peter’s failure to appreciate Jesus’ identity, as Dibelius does, should also draw to attention the incomplete nature of statements and questions about Jesus in responses elsewhere, as in healings (e.g. Mk 1.27–28). 16 “legend of the empty grave” 17 Cf., e.g., Lk 5.25–26; 7.16–17 – also, 13.13, 17; 17.15–16; 18.43. 15

History of Research on Responses

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positive choral endings, taking the crowd near Nain’s proclamation of Jesus as a prophet (Lk 7.16) as a prime example, are rare. Dibelius’ (1971 [1959]: 72) explanation is unsatisfying: the Jesus tradition is still “shy” (“noch spröde verhält”), he avers, of a more elevated style, entailed in such endings. But his admission is already indicative that something in the paradigm he advocates is awry. Importantly, some responses to miracles are less positive than Dibelius’ propagandistic Chor-Schluß construct would allow for. For example, he fails to observe the difference between responses containing proclamations and those marked by questioning. Dibelius does not observe how the disciples’ fearful and bewildered question about Jesus in response to the stilling of the storm is qualitatively inadequate. Those listening must themselves supply the answer to the question that the disciples raise. Dibelius (1971 [1959]: 91–92; cf. 77) recognises this point, but does not intuit the degradation of the disciples’ response that is entailed, when compared to others, say the fearful proclamation of the crowd near Nain, Dibelius’ flagship positive Chor-Schluß. Related, Dibelius does not give adequate attention to potential differences corresponding to which figure responds – a point especially pertinent to group respondents versus individuals. Finally, Dibelius’ approach is reductionist in that all responses – whether verbal or emotional – are taken to be a single phenomenon, with one sole characteristic and a single purpose. Bultmann also takes the miracle stories to have an intrinsic missionary goal, with the responses they contain serving that purpose. He sees the stories as not, for example, biographical or didactic in nature but “proofs” of Jesus’ power: “…Erweise… seiner messianischen Kraft bzw. seiner göttlichen Macht” (Bultmann 1995 [1931]: 234). 18 Whereas Dibelius provides just one overall category for miracle stories, Bultmann (1995 [1931]: 247–249) gives four subcategories: “Dämonenbeschwörungen,” “andere Heilungsgeschichten,” “Totenerweckungen” and “Naturwunder.” 19 This subdivision is accepted, at times with minor structural or conceptual differences, by the majority of later scholarship. 20 Exorcisms and other healings are common, while nature miracles are few, because of how the former pertain to the per18

“proofs… of his messianic authority, or his divine power” “Exorcisms of demons;” “other healings”; “resurrections from the dead”; “nature miracles” 20 Cotter (1999: 4) accepts Bultmann’s scheme for “Jesus miracles” as well as “any miracle story, no matter what its provenance,” though subsuming the “few raising of the dead stories” under healings, resulting in three categories. Blackburn (2011: 114, 127 n. 39) accepts the four categories, but subdivides “nature miracles,” whose terminology he has reservation about, into: gift miracles, rescue miracles, epiphanies and punishment miracles. Blackburn’s (2011: 126, n. 15) one epiphany (Mk 6.45–52 || Mt 14.22–33 || Jn 6.16–21) is, to Bultmann’s (1995 [1931]: 231) mind, best understood in terms of the nature miracle: “das Seewandeln” (walking on the water). 19

8

Chapter 1: Introduction

ceived function of the stories. Given their allegedly automatic nature, exorcisms, as key proofs, proliferate: “Deshalb stehen auch die Dämonenaustreibungen an erster Stelle als Hauptbeweise der Messianität Jesu” (Bultmann 1995 [1931]: 234). 21 For Bultmann the propagandistic nature of the miracle stories is seen especially in the development of the tradition about Jesus from individual units, through collections of like material, to written gospels and related documents. The form-critical enterprise, it should be noted, is predicated on a specific theory of the interrelations of the Synoptic Gospels, called the Two Document Hypothesis, which assumes that Mark and the hypothetical document Q (from German Quelle), understood as consisting mainly of sayings and roughly equivalent to the material shared by Luke and Matthew (but not Mark), write first, independent of one another and that both of them are in turn used by Luke and Matthew, independently. While both Bultmann and Dibelius distinguish between material ostensibly focused on speech and narrative respectively, Bultmann makes a sharp, categorical bifurcation of the entire Jesus tradition along these lines: “die Worte Jesus” versus “der Erzählungsstoff.” 22 Just as aretalogies are formed from individual miracle stories, collections of sayings material also come together. The presumed end result of such trajectories are Mark and Q. The latter is a written collection of sayings by Jesus. The former is a narrative account, heavily punctuated by miracle stories. Thus, Bultmann (1995 [1931]: 256), in attempting to explain why miracle stories are rare in Q but numerous in the Gospels, consciously invokes the θεῖος-ἀνήρ construct: Bei Mk ist er ein θεῖος ἄνθρωπος, ja mehr: der über die Erde wandelnde Gottessohn. Diese mythische Beleuchtung, in die bei Mk Jesus gerückt ist…, kommt zwar zum großen Teil auf die Rechnung des Schriftstellers, zum Teil aber auch auf die Rechnung seines Stoffes und zwar vernehmlich der Wundergeschichten. 23

Mark and Q, then, each serve as the poster child of two allegedly different and unrelated streams of development in traditions about Jesus. Bultmann’s strict conceptual division between speech and narrative materials in the Jesus tradition has had a wide-ranging influence on subsequent scholarship. The responses to miracles narrated in the stories, too, fit within Bultmann’s concept of their propagandistic nature. It seems that Bultmann – though his writing on the matter is not clear – understands miracle stories to 21 “It is for this reason that the exorcisms of demons are in the first place the chief demonstrations of the Messiahship of Jesus.” 22 “the sayings of Jesus”; “the narrative material” 23 “In Mark he is a θεῖος ἄνθρωπος, indeed more: he is the very Son of God walking the earth. This mythological light in which Jesus is set by Mark… is there [in large] part on the author’s own account but also in part on account of his material, and especially of the miracle stories.”

History of Research on Responses

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have been composed by drawing on a prototypical, ordered set of components, related to but distinct from the threefold pattern mentioned above. His analysis of Mk 5.1–21 and parallels provides what may be meant as a paradigmatic analysis of a miracle story, not just an exorcism. The story, claims Bultmann (1995 [1931]: 224), contains “die typischen Züge der Dämonenaustreibungen,” all six of which are “zwar in charakteristischer Abwandlung.” 24 The sixth feature is “Eindruck auf die Zuschauer.” 25 For no other “Heilungswunder” story does he provide a longer list of typical features. 26 Analysis elsewhere presents a problem, though, as a conflicting picture is given. His first example of “die typischen Züge einer Wundergeschichte, speziell einer Dämonenbeschwörung” provides a shorter list, with just four features. 27 Here, too, however the final feature is “Eindruck auf die Zuschauer.” 28 I will use this phrase in italics or, more commonly, the single word Eindruck as a technical term in what follows. Given the two instances mentioned, still it should be noted that Bultmann’s Eindruck, like Dibelius’ Chor-Schluß, is not seen as a constituent part of a miracle story. A key aspect of the motif for Bultmann would seem to be its location at the end of a story. 29 On this conception, then, he concurs with Dibelius, though Bultmann is not more precise than to say that Eindruck auf die Zuschauer is the last of six or four typical features in the stories. Bultmann does not – nor Dibelius for that matter – catalogue instances when the motif appears earlier or when some other bit of text, following just on the heels of the motif, actually closes a miracle story. Inasmuch as Eindruck is characteristic of miracle stories, Bultmann affirms that the motif, like the type of story in which it appears, advances a propagandistic agenda. Narrating Eindruck serves both to extol the power demonstrated by the wonder worker and to elicit faith (Bultmann 1995 [1931]: 241):

24

“the typical feature[s] of exorcism of demons”; “in their characteristic order” “impression on the spectators” (Note that Marsh [Bultmann 1963: 224] gives only five features, combining [inadvertently?] Bultmann’s fifth and sixth feature.) 26 “healing miracle” 27 Bultmann (1995 [1931]: 224). “the typical characteristics of a miracle story, and especially of an exorcism” 28 Bultmann (1995 [1931]: 230) refers to this feature as typical, also, in his first example of a “Naturwunder,” though he does not refer to it again in subsequent examples, where it appears. 29 That the feature appears last, also, in his more detailed, accumulative list, concerned with all kinds of “Wundergeschichten,” indicates that Bultmann (1995 [1931]: 236–241) understands the feature to appear commonly at a story’s close. 25

10

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Endlich ist stilgemäß, dass der Eindruck des Wunders auf das anwesende Publikum beschrieben wird; dadurch wird sowohl das παράδοξον des Wunders betont wie auch eine Beglaubigung geboten. 30

For Bultmann Eindruck is primarily emotional. 31 Words for amazement, fear and being troubled are indiscriminately listed together. Here he homogenises. He refers briefly to short, generic descriptions of praise. Citing Erik Peterson (1926), he states that in the Gospels there is no “Akklamationsformel”: a stereotyped verbal utterance praising God for a miracle. Yet he does not discuss the utterances of, for example, crowds that are present. Words and phrases pertaining to verbal utterance – δοξάσαι, δοῦναι αἶνον – are listed as, seemingly, functional equivalents to the emotional, more “charakteristisch” terms for Eindruck mentioned above. Similarly, one instance of χαρῆναι is included in the list of terms for verbal utterance, without indicating awareness of the difference in kind of response. As mentioned, he hints at the possibility of belief being an aspect of Eindruck. 32 Problems arise for Bultmann’s scheme, just as they do for that of Dibelius. For, first, Bultmann too fails to note how episodes in both of the narrative categories he fixes (“Wundergeschichten” and “Geschichtserzählung und Legende”), not just the miracle stories, contain Eindruck. 33 The transfiguration and appearances of angels and Jesus following his resurrection are placed in the second subcategory. As I have already treated, aspects of some of the relevant stories which depict extreme emotional responses to miraculous occurrences involved, I will not belabour the point here. But I will address one example where Bultmann’s blind spot is evident, for a second problem in his scheme comes to light here, namely the failure to see when Eindruck is less than purely positive. Bultmann (1995 [1931]: 280) claims that Peter’s lack of knowledge and related fear at Jesus’ transfiguration in Mark (9.6) stems from “die Verlegenheit des Ver[fasser]s,” arising from this legendary story being situated in Jesus’ Galilean ministry. 34 Yet, he fails to note similar instances of insufficient knowledge and fear or amazement in response to miracles elsewhere in this gospel, for material Bultmann labels “Wundergeschichten.” 35 In this way Bultmann homogenises the response data in stories of 30

“Finally, it accords with the style of miracle stories that the impression the miracle creates upon the crowd that sees it is reported; by this means the παράδοξον of the miracle is stressed at the same time as belief in the miracle is demanded.” 31 Bultmann (1995 [1931]: 241) lists a number of characteristic words, all of which pertain to feelings. 32 Bultmann (1995 [1931]: 241) is aware that belief can be an important aspect in the stories, but does not expand on how this is communicated other than, apparently, potentially through the emotional feature that he terms Eindruck. 33 “miracle stories”; “historical stories and legends” 34 “the author’s embarrassment” 35 Mk 6.49–50, 51–52; cf. 1.27; 4.41.

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mighty deeds, just as he does in terms of the type of emotion involved. Bultmann’s focus on group respondents, as in the case of Dibelius, is another part of a homogenising tendency. Were one to give more attention to individuals who respond in some stories, variation in the descriptions of responses would more quickly come to light. A similar problem arises from Bultmann’s fixation on observers of miracles, encapsulated in the term Eindruck auf die Zuschauer. Paying attention to who responds in a given story, whether a recipient of a miracle or a mere observer – or in some cases those who only hear about a miracle at a distance – would help one notice potential variations in descriptions of responses. Finally, Bultmann is reductionist, in assuming that the key, unifying characteristic in each response, whether emotions (amazement, fear, joy) or speech (praise, questions or other statements), is that an impression has been made on the respondents. By impression, he seems to mean that the respondents positively appraise Jesus, just as their valuation of him increases. Various integral aspects of the form-critical approach will be subjected to rigorous reappraisal by subsequent scholarship. While such historical developments will be traced, below, I summarise at this juncture the problematic assumptions. As I have mentioned, the θεῖος-ἀνήρ construct, presuming a fixed term and corresponding unified concept of divine humans – the cornerstone of form-critical study of the miracle stories –, will be undermined. A core presupposition of the approach adopted by Dibelius and Bultmann is that each miracle story – or any such unit of narrative or sayings material, with the larger passion narrative being a singular exception in the tradition – should be addressed in isolation, using the text of the respective gospel essentially as it is. 36 It is to be interpreted detached not only from its current location in a given gospel but also from what might presumably be known about Jesus by those telling and hearing the stories in the performance of oral tradition. Crucial in this regard is their vision of a simple linear development of the Jesus tradition from isolated, individual units, through collections of like units, to the production of the Gospels, with little change in the material. The form critic, they assume, can access the oral form of a given story simply by removing allegedly insubstantial, easily recognisable additions from the pens of the compilers of the Gospels. Also important is their understanding of the origins of the stories about Jesus’ mighty deeds, many of which were ostensibly simply adapted from presumed folk traditions or created on an analogy with the miracle stories of competitor gods and divine men. 37 When Bultmann (1995 [1931]: 245–254) makes these claims, he concludes by insisting 36 For a recent critical assessment of the form-critical approach, see Eve (2014: 15–32); cf. Theissen (1995). 37 Some miracle stories, it is posited, may have developed from a saying of Jesus (e.g. Bultmann 1955 [1931] 246).

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Chapter 1: Introduction

that the stories may have entered the Jesus tradition equally during the “stage” of oral tradition or the later “stage” of gospel writing. The severe problems inherent in examining miracle stories in isolation will be exposed successively during the twentieth century and into the present one, involving new methodologies and conceptual frameworks – redaction criticism, narrative criticism and developments in understanding of oral tradition and social memory. Above all, later scholarship will highlight the naivety of Dibelius and Bultmann in underestimating the creativity of the author-redactors of the Gospels. Despite these developments, however, the form critics’ approach to the role of responses in miracle stories will be generally assumed, with only little revision. Another core assumption is that non-Jewish sources provide better comparative material for the gospel miracle stories than Jewish sources. This assumption will be fiercely put to the test, beginning later in the twentieth century. Yet no attention will be given to the responses in miracle stories in that regard. This inattention remains a peculiarity in scholarship, given the remarkable fact that the form critics find so few parallels in the non-Jewish literature upon which the form-critical enterprise is based for the emotional – and to a large extent also the verbal – responses in “miracle stories.” Four further problematic key elements in the form-critical paradigm are their understanding of: genre, development of the Jesus tradition, oral tradition and Jesus, the historical person. The form critics subscribe to the notion of a pure form (“die reine Form”) for particular types of material, including stories. This approach fuels their homogenising tendency, placing emphasis on what is presumed to be shared by, in our case, numerous stories of the miraculous. Later scholarship will challenge the existence of a miracle story genre before a more flexible understanding of genre is adopted. Still, even then, the important task of examining the recurrent responses in a variety of types of episodes in the Gospels, discussed briefly above, will be foregone. Various aspects of the form critics’ depiction of development from isolated individual units about Jesus, through collections of like material, to gospels will come under fire. Here I note that as criticism of the standard solution to the Synoptic Problem will rise, beginning in the middle of the twentieth century, the notion that Q is merely a collection of sayings will be duly challenged. This challenge, accompanied by more sophisticated, nuanced approaches to oral tradition, will threaten the form critics’ simplistic conceptualisation of quasi-evolutionary, aggregating processes in the tradition about Jesus. Unfortunately, attention will not be drawn to the presence of a response and related material in the narration of miracles in Q. As for oral tradition, the form critics propose: anonymous formation and transmission of oral tradition about Jesus, accompanied by the possibility of seemingly unbridled creativity; the tradition’s origin as “isolated units of tradition with no essential chronological relation or organizing framework” (Eve 2014: 31); the

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regular employment of individual traditions without any context or in the same context; uniformity in oral performance; and no media differences between speech and writing. By the end of the twentieth century this host of issues pertaining to oral tradition, along with the form critics’ model of folklore, will be found problematic. Despite responses being a dominant feature in gospel miracle stories, they are not studied for the light they might shed on the performances of these stories in oral tradition as reconceived in modern approaches. Finally, form criticism as an approach puts little stock in searching for the Jesus of history. Beyond this basic agnosticism, the tradition of miracles associated with Jesus is taken to be primarily an accretion from external influences and historically suspect. Dibelius assigns greater historical value to the sayings of Jesus over miracle stories in the tradition, while Bultmann does not place much confidence in either. During the final third of the twentieth century, a critical mass of scholarship will form that shall take Jesus to be a known worker of miracles during his lifetime. Some will even see the miracles as a key aspect of his activity. Despite this new perspective, no one will examine the responses in the gospel miracle stories for features that might be unique or uniquely characteristic of the Jesus tradition, possibly thereby revealing something of how Jesus’ earliest followers understood the miracles associated with him. The approaches of Dibelius and Bultmann, generally, to the stories in the Gospels about Jesus’ mighty deeds and other miracles and, in specific, to the responses narrated in such episodes have made a great impact on scholarship. First, their monographs on form criticism have been widely received, being revised and reprinted throughout the majority (Dibelius) or entirety (Bultmann) of the twentieth century. Second, as their approaches converge in many respects, a cumulative force for the form-critical perspective is felt. Third, where the scholars differ, reception of their ideas can maintain the alleged propagandistic nature of stories about Jesus’ mighty deeds. For, while Bultmann’s scheme of dividing up the material in the Gospels has been accepted along broad lines by the majority of subsequent scholars, 38 the style of an individual miraculous episode may be understood as “novellistisch” or “paradigmenhaft,” in line with Dibelius’ categories (Theissen 1995: 415). 39 Fourth, at the same time that their approaches gain dominance in the first half of the twentieth century, various influences move scholarly attention away from the miracle stories, which were relegated to religions- and formgeschichtliche study. 40 38

As an example of a difference, Theissen (1974) considers Mk 3.1–6 to be a “Normenwunder” (rule miracle). 39 “‘Novelle’-like”; “‘Paradigma’-like” 40 Bultmann’s (1933: 221) existential theology (cf. Martin Heidegger) was decidedly disinterested not only in miracles contra naturam but also in historical events: “Es gibt

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3. Kenzo Tagawa The first planks in the form-critical platform to be challenged are the ideas that one can reach back through the Gospels with little effort to access oral tradition about Jesus and that the author-redactors of the Gospels were lacking in creativity. At the middle of the twentieth century, the interests of a subsequent generation, notably Günther Bornkamm, Willi Marxen and Hans Conzelmann, turn to the activities of the redactors of the Gospels. It is again in fashion to consider individual stories of the miraculous in a given gospel in light of other material in it, including similar stories. The revolution, however, is only partial. For the focus is not on the stories themselves per se, but on those stories or parts of stories that seem to be unique to the gospel in question and, it is assumed, thereby stem from the redactor’s hand specifically. The interest in redaction themes demonstrates a tendency towards reductionism, like that of the form-critical predecessors, though now applied to a new task. Beyond the said differences, many assumptions of form criticism regarding miracle stories are adopted wholesale. In this climate Kenzo Tagawa (1966: 92–121; cf. 89–92) produces a thirty-page, redactional-critical study of “la formule finale des récits de miracles,” centred on Mark, yet considering Matthew and Luke also. The study is to date one of just two sustained discussions of responses in stories of Jesus’ mighty deeds, though it is little known. 41 I will refer technically to Tagawa’s concept of responses as la formule finale. Tagawa’s redaction-critical approach adopts much from the work of Dibelius and Bultmann, first of all with respect to his conceptions of miracle stories and the basic form, nature and function of responses. Tagawa limits his study to stories of healings, exorcisms and other miracles performed by Jesus. Tagawa sees la formule finale as a defining feature in gospel miracle stories. At a fundamental level he envisions this response motif monolithically, being primarily emotional. Though he distinguishes between “l’étonnement” and “la crainte,” the emotions are for him functionally synonymous. 42 In certain cases, especially in Matthew, there is also “acclamation” (Tagawa 1966: 91, 96). Yet, unlike his form-critical predecessors, Tagawa seems to intuit the relevance of references to seeing. 43 He understands responses as coming at the close of a pericope, though he does not consistently address the issue. The also nur ein Wunder: ... [die] Offenbarung der Gnade Gottes für den Gottlosen, Vergebung.” Other influential figures with similar outlook and fields of scholarly inquiry were C. H. Dodd and Adolf von Harnack. 41 “the concluding formula of miracle stories” 42 “surprise”; “fear” 43 In his own retellings of reactions to Jesus’ miracles, Tagawa (1966: 89, 92) makes references to the visual sensation of those present seeing, though in these instances such references are actually not in the text: “...ayant vu l’exorcisme...”; “[e]n voyant la guérison miraculeuse...,” referring to Mk 1.27 and Mt 12.23 || Lk 11.14, respectively.

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focus is ever on group respondents, not individuals. Importantly, he understands responses to be positive. Despite possible variations in form, the basic function of responses remains the same: amazement and fear, praise and other types of speech in response to healings and the like are general indications of the greatness of what has been performed and serve to praise the responsible party, be it Jesus and/or God. Yet Tagawa’s study constitutes an important step forward in that he pays attention to variation among responses and considers a given gospel on its own terms, albeit just for what is unique to that gospel. Differences between the possible effects of using specific components in responses – such as praise or emotion – are also considered. At the same time, addressing differences among the Synoptic Gospels comes at the price of reductionism elsewhere. Little room is allowed for possible variations on a theme within a particular gospel, as the literary features of individual stories in a given gospel are assembled together and treated in broad, generalising strokes. True to the general redaction-critical programme, he seeks to find an overarching, unified approach for each redactor. His approach focuses mostly on linguistic nuts and bolts, examined collectively – components of the responses, word choice and sentence structure. Issues of characterisation and plot fall by the wayside, as do the nuances of individual stories in relation to the responses they contain. Here, too, Tagawa follows the lead of the form critics. The response motif is understood to be a relatively unified, single motif, incorporated into each gospel in slightly modified form. I summarise his view of each gospel. Tagawa sees responses in Mark as always using verbs in the third person plural in an impersonal way. Τhus, Mark, according to his reading, does not actually intend to portray the responses of characters who are present at a miracle. Rather, the generic responses only convey the redactor’s conception of the miracle or characterisation of Jesus. It is like saying, “C’était formidable” (Tagawa 1966: 94). 44 Indeed, in Mark, as also in most cases in the Matthew and Luke on Tagawa’s reading, those responding are little more than a ploy to magnify the miracle worker. The feelings of the respondents themselves are not under consideration, let alone any potential implication of doubt or inadequate understanding. Tagawa notes that, unlike Mark, who uses a wide variety of words, some of which are Markan only (θαμβηθῆναι, ἐκθαμβηθῆναι), Matthew has less variation of terminology, θαυμάσαι being more common. Subjects, he avers, are almost always added to sentences. And la formule finale becomes a stereotypical expression “sans la propre opinion du auteur.” 45 Noting instances where emotion and speech come together (whether or not praise is specifical44

“it was tremendous” – Tagawa (1966: 90–91) has two lines of reasoning to support this claim: the responses are always impersonal, third-person plural; and they are allegedly influenced by Aramaic language, in which no subject is described and the verb is given primacy. He likens Mark’s usage to French “on....” 45 “without the author’s own opinion”

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Chapter 1: Introduction

ly indicated) and in that order, Tagawa (1966: 96) argues that they constitute a formal acclamation (cf. Peterson, mentioned above). Tagawa (1966: 93) observes the instances in Luke where praise of God occurs, following a miracle, and takes this to be the gospel’s preferred ending for the stories: “Des auteurs synoptiques, seul Luc aime terminer les récits de guérisons par une glorification de Dieu.” 46 Luke, on Tagawa’s reading, provides in such instances a doxology (in contrast to acclamation). Luke historicises and psychologises: “il précise le plus possible les sujets du verbe” and makes the reason for the emotion explicit. 47 In contrast to Matthew, Luke exhibits rich stylistic variation: “chaque fois il change de style” (Tagawa 1966: 97). 48 In summary, such attention to differences between the Synoptic Gospels, especially those of a technical nature, while being a step forward, is lacking in more important ways, particularly given the tendency towards reductionism and ignoring the particularities of individual miracle stories. 4. Gerd Theissen Whereas the form-critical studies of Bultmann and Dibelius were concerned with all the material found in the Gospels, Theissen (1974) turned his gaze specifically on the miracle tradition. His monograph contains the most detailed form-critical study of the gospel miracle stories to date, addressing also redaction criticism and to some extent even serving as a forerunner of narrative criticism, with his more integrated approach to the overall text of Mark. His book constitutes a marked contribution to the study of the gospel miracle stories, generally, as well as the responses, in specific. In the first place, Theissen justifiably incorporates more material under the rubric “Wundergeschichten” than those before him. 49 This point pertains especially to epiphanies. Theissen’s (1974: 55) etic categories of miracle stories are six or seven: “Exorzismen,” “Therapien,” “Epiphanien,” “Rettungswunder,” “Geschenkwunder,” “Normenwunder” and “Wundergeschichten, in denen der Begleiter (als Bittsteller) hervortritt.” 50 The epiphanies include episodes of Jesus’ baptism, transfiguration and post-resurrection appearances 46 “Among the synoptic authors, Luke alone loves to end the stories of healing with a glorification of God.” 47 “he specifies the subjects of verbs as much as possible” 48 “each time he changes the style” 49 “miracle stories” – unless otherwise indicated, the English translation here and in what follows is provided by Francis McDonagh in Theissen (1983). 50 “exorcisms”; “healings”; “epiphanies”; “rescue miracles”; “gift miracles”; “rule miracles”; “[m]iracle stories in which a companion is prominent” – the stories in the seventh category “verteilen sich auf Exorzismen und Therapien” (Theissen 1974: 55). The category is not given specific attention elsewhere (Theissen 1974: 94–120, 321–322 [the index of references]). Cf. also Theissen and Merz (1998), where the category is not mentioned in summary of his earlier work.

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– thus, primarily stories excluded by Dibelius and Bultmann. But, also, the stories of rescue at sea (stilling of the storm; walking on water) are epiphanies. Theissen’s taxonomy is based on which character – that is, who among the seven types he identifies – he takes to be the miracle worker’s “Gegenspieler.” 51 Thus the miracle worker, as such, is fundamental to his concept of miracles. The approach explains why de jure Theissen allows for angelophanies and theophanies in the category of epiphanies, in addition to appearances of Jesus, but de facto he addresses only the former. Similarly, only healings effected by a human miracle worker are in view, not those by an angel or God directly, such as the loosing of Zachariah’s tongue (Lk 1.59–80). The earlier form-critical approach still holds sway over Theissen here. Theissen’s taxonomy is not compatible with Bultmann’s scheme, the latter corresponding, much more to the type of miracle contained in each story. 52 The inclusion of epiphanies among miracle stories is an integral aspect of Theissen’s approach. It is an important step forward, even if one may not be able to accept his overly structured approach to categorisation of miracle stories. His key step, unfortunately, is often not addressed, let alone followed, by subsequent scholarship. Also with respect to responses, Theissen advances research. He adopts his predecessors’ basic analysis of the structure of stories about mighty deeds, though he divides the first part, for a fourfold pattern. “Vier mögliche kompositionelle Orte” are: “Einleitung,” “Exposition,” “Mitte” and “Schluß” (Theissen 1974: 82–83). 53 Of the 33 proposed “Motive” in the miracle stories of the Gospels, the final four Theissen lists pertain to individuals and groups responding, following a miracle: “Admiration,” “Akklamation,” “Ablehnende Reaktion” and “Ausbreitung des Rufes.” 54 In what follows I will refer to 51 “opposite number” (McDonagh) or “antagonist(s)” (my translation) – the seven characters are: miracle worker, sick person, demon, companion, crowd, opponent and disciples. Note that in epiphanies the miracle worker (“der Wundertäter selbst”) is his own “Gegenspieler” (Theissen 1974: 54). 52 I am not aware of other studies incorporating more material or with a substantially different taxonomy. Theissen and Bultmann agree only on the category of exorcism. Otherwise, their systems clash. Healings for Theissen include Jesus’ resurrecting others. Theissen’s “Normenwunder” are for Bultmann, if miracle stories at all, healings and, in one instance, a nature miracle. “Rettungswunder” and “Geschenkwunder” are both “Naturwunder” for Bultmann. “Epiphanien” refers mostly to material not considered by Bultmann to be miracle stories (Jesus’ baptism, the transfiguration and the Emmaus episode are for him “Legende”) and one story (walking on water) which Bultmann classifies a “Naturwunder.” 53 “four possible composition fields”; “introduction”; “exposition”; “middle”; “conclusion” 54 “motifs”; “wonder”; “acclamation”; “rejection”; “the spread of the news” – Theissen’s motif catalogue has not changed subsequently (cf. Theissen and Merz 1998: 284– 285).

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Chapter 1: Introduction

these four motifs, also the final compositional field Schluß, using the German expressions in italics as technical terms. The four motifs constitute the majority of the seven subsumed under Schluß. They constitute actions of the “Zwischenspieler” in contrast to the “Wundertäter” (2 motifs) and “Gegenspieler” (1 motif). 55 I will discuss the initial three motifs Theissen places in Schluß (“Demonstration,” “Entlassung” and “Geheimhaltungsgebot”) in a moment. 56 This conceptualisation is a marked improvement on the schemes of Dibelius and Bultmann in a number of ways. The relation between the presumed pattern underlying stories and the motifs describing responses is made explicit. The variation in responses is given more attention, with Theissen noting four distinct motifs in place of the singular Eindruck (Bultmann) and Chor-Schluß (Dibelius). More types and qualities of responses are identified, notably reporting of miracles to others and, importantly, negative responses. When moving beyond stories of mighty deeds, Theissen shows some flexibility in his otherwise thoroughly structured approach to motifs. Epiphany stories have four characteristic motifs, he proposes, that are not included in his earlier analysis of the 33 common motifs in miracle stories. One special motif in epiphanies is “die erschrockene Reaktion des Menschen” (Theissen 1974: 103). 57 This is an extreme emotional response specific to epiphanies and distinct from the motif of Admiration in non-epiphanic stories. The emotion is understood to be fear, specifically. 58 At any rate, the said extreme emotional response binds together stories of, say, the stilling of the storm and the transfiguration. Again, Theissen’s attention to nuance goes some distance to advancing our understanding of the nature and function of various responses in gospel miracle stories. Yet, in other ways, Theissen’s categorisation scheme obfuscates some important data which the earlier scholars drew to the fore. The relative importance of emotional responses, noted by both Bultmann and Tagawa, is not given the attention due it. Verbal responses are given categorical priority. I will return to this in a moment. And the data are splintered. Rather than (also) seeing a singular feature, consisting of various combinations of elements, including verbal utterances and emotions, Theissen’s categories (merely) divide the data into separate motifs for analysis. In addition, showing some continuity with form critics, Theissen leaves the picture unclear, formally, as to the significance responses have for miracle stories. This results from subsuming the four proposed motifs under a rubric, Schluß, that groups them together with the confirmation of a miracle 55 “secondary character(s)”; “miracle-worker”; “opposite number [my translation: antagonist(s)]” 56 “demonstration”; “dismissal”; “command to secrecy” 57 “the terrified reaction of human beings” 58 At one point, though, Theissen (1974: 106) refers to “das numinose Staunen der Jünger” in response to Jesus’ appearance walking on the water.

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(“Demonstration”), in addition to post-miracle actions of the miracle worker (“Entlassung” and “Geheimhaltungsgebot”). This categorisation is problematic for two reasons. First, actions of characters demonstrating they are healed (“Demonstration”) are closely akin to the narration of the healing itself (“Konstatierung des Wunders”). Thus “Demonstration” fits better in section “Mitte” (cf. Zimmermann 2014: 328–329). Second, given the relative frequency of material depicting responses, the now modified fourth category (Schluß) could justifiably be divided in two, with the two motifs representing the miracle worker’s actions being distinct from (and followed by) the four motifs Theissen identifies for responses. Despite some inconsistency in listing the four motifs under the rubric “Zwischenspieler,” 59 a unifying factor remains: the four final motifs are the actions of characters other than the miracle worker. Nevertheless, informally, Theissen, places great importance on responses – Akklamation in particular, also Admiration – for the nature and purpose of miracle stories, as much discussion elsewhere in his monograph reveals. Despite his increased attention to detail in categorisation, more could be given. Theissen is at his analytical best in isolating Ausbreitung des Rufes. His analysis of Admiration, like those before him, does not differentiate between fear and amazement. 60 Other emotions might be specified. 61 Acts of prostration, falling and the like could well be singled out as a distinct type of response. 62 So, too, might descriptions of cognition or visual sensation. Individual cases of a given feature are not treated in detail. 63 And, as with his form- and redaction-critical predecessors, Theissen does not give sufficient attention to who is responding – for example, whether an individual or group and whether a recipient of a miracle, an observer or someone who hears about it later. In another way the homogenising approach of the form critics has an even stronger influence on Theissen. His approach has a polarising tendency with respect to the quality of responses. The motifs he lists are classified as positive or negative. Admiration is associated categorically with Akklamation, the 59

E.g. the “Gegenspieler” and not the “Zwischenspieler” is the character for “Ablehnende Reaktion” in Mk 3.6. 60 “Das Admirationsmotiv umfaßt alle erzählerischen Momente, die ein Staunen, Fürchten, Sich-Entsetzen, Verwundern zum Ausruck bringen” (Theissen 1974: 78). 61 He does not identify joy, annoyance/anger, shame etc. as emotional responses. An instance of joy (Lk 13.17) is listed under “Akklamation,” though for the motif it is claimed “daß immer sprachlich artikulierte Stellungnahme... vorliegt” (Theissen 1974: 80) and no speech accompanies the joy in this context. An instance of anger (Lk 6.11), too, is mentioned, though subsumed under “Ablehnende Reaktion.” 62 Lk 5.8; 8.47; 17.16; Mt 14.33; 17.6. 63 Theissen does not provide a sustained look at the instances of the four response motifs he identifies. The few pages he dedicates to them are significantly less than those in Tagawa’s study.

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Chapter 1: Introduction

latter considered positive, as it includes “Freude... Lob... Dank... Bekenntnis....” (Theissen 1974: 80). 64 Both indicate approval. He understands Ablehnende Reaktion, which may take verbal or other expression, to be the (less common) counterpart to Admiration and Akklamation. The picture that results is simplistic. 65 The conceptual framework undergirding this approach assumes that the miracle stories – both in the oral tradition about Jesus and then within a given gospel – and the emotional and verbal responses they contain are principally a vehicle to inspire such responses in the listeners or readers towards the miracle worker. Theissen (1974: 212) describes the crucial connection between the (positive) narrated responses and the purpose of a miracle story: Pointe der Wundergeschichten ist das Wunder, darauf basierend die Anerkennung der im Wunder geschehenen Offenbarung in Admiration und Akklamation. 66

Theissen understands the placing of multiple miracle stories in a particular gospel in terms of an “aretalogical” compositional technique. Thus, despite the greater attention to detail, the form-critical scheme prevails as the hermeneutical key for the ultimately singular, integral role of responses in miracle stories. Nevertheless, when Theissen turns to redaction-critical analysis of individual gospels he shows sophistication with respect to variations in the employment of a motif. His discussion of Mark is populated with insights of this sort. Note, in this context he refers to responses generically – and with a measure of reductionism – as “Akklamationen.” 67 First, he observes that responses can vary in terms of quality. He contends that all responses in Markan miracle stories are, in fact, lacking in some respect. For example, in relation to the beginning of the Gospel up to Mk 6, Theissen (1974: 212) says: Deutlich ist, daß die Wunder nach akklamatorischer Stellungnahme drängen, deutlich aber auch, daß die bisherigen Stellungnahmen inadäquat sind… 68

A response may be inadequate on account of some element within it, as in the case of the disciples’ incomprehension described in Mk 6.52 (Theissen 1974: 170, 212). Or a question (Mk 4.41), instead of an acclamation, can demonstrate a lacking quality. A response’s inadequacy may be depicted in relation to other features in the miracle story at hand. For example, the titular 64

“joy... praise... thanksgiving... confession....” Note, the polarising tendency is true for the reasons stated, despite Theissen’s (1974: 80) initial description of Akklamation as “Beifall, Lob und Glückwunsch oder Tadel, Verwünschung, und Forderung.” 66 “The point of the miracle stories is the miracle, and based on this the recognition of the revelation which has taken place in the miracle in wonder and acclamation.” 67 This is the plural of “Akklamation.” 68 “It is clear both that the miracles are pushing for a reaction of acclamation and that the reactions so far are inadequate…” 65

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affirmations of demons in exorcism stories are qualitatively superior to the responses of human characters (1974: 170–171, 212). Alternatively, a response is deemed inadequate on account of features elsewhere in the larger narrative. Important here is what is known about Jesus “durch die „authentische“ Taufstimme” (Theissen 1974: 212). 69 Thus, the Gospel’s opening scene, an epiphany story which, I add, does not contain a response, but only a statement by the divine voice that Jesus is God’s son, sets the standard by which Theissen can repeatedly say that a given response in a later miracle story is inadequate in some measure. Second, as the last few points already indicate, Theissen observes how responses in Mark can relate to much more than just the miracle story at hand. He states (Theissen 1974: 213): Sie transzendieren den „erzählerischen Augenblick“ der kleinen Einheit und weisen über sich hinaus. 70

Thus, the question asked explicitly in Mk 4.41 finds an echo in subsequent miracle stories, in the extreme emotional responses there. The question itself is raised explicitly again in 6.3, in a context of miracles, but not in a response. And the first titular affirmation, notably missing in the responses, occurs actually in a context that is not a miracle story: Peter’s confession is, nevertheless, found to be inadequate, since it fails to recognise both that Jesus is God’s son and his imminent suffering. By calling Peter’s confession an “Akklamation,” Theissen highlights how reactions to Jesus outside of miracle stories, specifically, can play off of the frequent responses to miracles. Third, Theissen reveals how responses relate to the overall shape of Mark. Indeed, Theissen sees responses in miracle stories and related literary phenomena in other contexts (both called “Akklamationen”) as absolutely crucial to the whole Gospel of Mark. Pertinent are what he calls the “aretalogical arch” and the “mythological arch” of this gospel. As to the former, Theissen (1974: 212) states: Das ganze MkEv drängt nach Akklamation, nach Erkenntnis der wahren Würde Jesu. 71

He notes how the qualitatively lacking responses in miracle stories have a cumulative effect as the larger narrative unfolds. The insufficient responses, accompanied by the demons’ statements showing greater enlightenment and Jesus’ commands to silence, frustrate one’s expectations of the human figures (Theissen 1974: 216):

69

“from the ‘authentic’ voice at the baptism” “They transcend the ‘narrative present’ of the small unit and point beyond themselves.” 71 “The whole of Mark’s gospel pushes towards acclamation, towards recognition of Jesus’ true status.” 70

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Der Leser [sic] weiß schon um die Würde Jesu. Er [sic] erwartet von daher den Zeitpunkt, wann endlich diese Würde auch den im Evangelium auftretenden Menschen ausgeht. Sein Wissen setzt ihn in den Stand, alle tastenden Versuche, Jesu Person zu deuten, als inadäquat zu erkennen. Er weiß: nur der Sohn-Gottes-Titel erfaßt ihn adäquat. 72

A key moment at around the middle of the Gospel – Peter’s titular affirmation of Jesus – has promise, but ultimately proves inadequate. The key “Akklamation” in the Gospel comes not in a miracle story, but in the statement of Jesus’ Roman executioner (Mk 15.39), in fact, upon carrying out his grim, punitive task (Theissen 1974: 162, 214). This is the Gospel’s climax. 73 It fulfils the expectation, repeatedly frustrated in the responses to miracles. The closely related “mythological arch” is based on the “unmistakable” and “distinctive position” of three episodes – Jesus’ baptism, transfiguration and crucifixion (Theissen 1974: 215). In each case Jesus is acknowledged – by God twice, then by a human – as the Son of God. Theissen (1974: 216) sees these moments “als sukzessive Offenbarung und Anerkennung” of “der Würde Jesu.” 74 The progression culminates, again, in the “Akklamation” at the cross. A point Theissen does not state, though implicit, is that a midway point in Mark consists of two, related episodes: that of Peter’s confession and the transfiguration (God’s acknowledgement of Jesus). It is worth noting, also, that the first two of the three episodes in the “mythological arch” are miracle stories that, he specifies elsewhere, are epiphany stories. Thus, in so many ways, Theissen, showing profound sensitivity to nuance, enlightens us as to the varied use of the response motif in Mark. While, in line with his redaction-critical framework, Theissen (1974: 211) speaks, for example, of a “kompositionellen Vorgang” and “einheitliche Gestalt” for Mark as a whole, many of his considerations approach a literary perspective, with ideas of plot and climax near at hand. 75 In this sense, Theissen is an important forerunner of narrative criticism. Still, his approach has a strong reductionist aspect in three senses. First, responses are conceived of as, essentially, a single, positive motif: acclamations, accompanied by fitting emotions. Reporting, for example, is not addressed in his discussion of Mark. Second, the importance of individual characters is all but neglected. Much as in the case of Tagawa, only the response itself is taken to be meaningful, regardless of who is speaking or experiencing 72 “The reader [sic] is already aware of Jesus’ status and so is waiting for the moment when that dignity will finally be seen by the human beings who appear in the gospel. His [sic] knowledge puts him in a position to recognise that all the hesitant attempts to interpret Jesus’ identity are inadequate. He knows that only the title “Son of God” does him justice.” One should take into account not only readers, but also listeners – not only men, but women too. 73 Theissen (1974: 212–215, 219) variously states and reiterates this point. 74 “as a successive revelation and acknowledgement”; “Jesus’ dignity” 75 “technique of composition”; “unity of form”

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a feeling and so forth, so long as the figure is simply a human character and not an unclean spirit or God. 76 Taking these two points together, one could challenge Theissen’s approach by asking, for example, what role in the plot is played by the recalcitrant response of the man healed from leprosy (Mk 1.45), who in disobedience to Jesus spreads a report about the miracle. For the response consists of reporting, an element that Theissen sees as distinct from Akklamation and Admiration, while those two response possibilities are not actualised. Third, the miracle worker is taken to be all important, such that a response to an angelophany (16.8), an important text which may bring the Gospel to its close, is not given attention, because the character Jesus does not act in the story. 77 Theissen’s insightful quasi-literary analysis of Mark rests firmly on a presumed tradition-historical context, which, on account of its questionability, must be addressed here. He avers that the miracle story, as an ancient genre inherited by the oral tradition about Jesus and, later, the Gospels, originated in a non-Jewish liturgical context of oral performance. The responses of acclamation were originally made by those listening to an oral telling of an episode, as part of the “oral framework” (Theissen 1974: 159–160, 164) within which the miracle story proper fits. As the traditional form develops diachronically, the response of listeners in liturgy turns into to a response of a crowd character within the respective story. The possibility is intriguing, yet remains hypothetical for various reasons, not least of which is the proposed reconstruction of the said liturgical context. It remains undemonstrated also, for example, that verbal pronouncements are the characteristic or key component in responses and that crowds are the most common figures responding, whether in the oral tradition behind the Gospels or other literature. Also, as Theissen (1974: 160–161) himself observes, various Jewish miracle stories contain verbal responses of affirmation, though not from both recipient and observers of the miracle. And one should not necessarily expect a single thematic correlation between the function of the response motif and the social context in which oral performances of miracle stories took place. At any rate, Theissen’s observations about the qualitatively inferior responses in Markan miracle stories can be appreciated, with some modification, on grounds inherent to the Gospel itself. It is sufficient to consider how the narrative begins, a point which Theissen himself raises. In the opening story of Jesus’ baptism (Mk 1.11), an epiphanic episode, if not also in the text’s opening line (1.1), listeners and readers of the Gospel are informed that Jesus is God’s son. A development of tension occurs when characters respond 76 Theissen (1974: 215) to some extent sees in the centurion’s confession in terms of a specific character, though here the figure is seen primarily symbolically. 77 In contrast Theissen (1974: 103, 104) addresses, for example, the post-resurrection epiphany of Jesus on the road to Emmaus in Lk 24.

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to miracles pertaining to Jesus until, finally, at his crucifixion the executioner makes the key affirmation. Theissen’s analysis of the other two synoptic gospels is less satisfying. He tends to see responses as positive. 78 Room is not allowed for hesitation or otherwise deficient responses from the disciples and other characters. Here possible instances of irony or other variations on a theme are not addressed. Importantly, the responses are not considered in light of the plot of a given gospel as it unfolds, but collectively and with broad strokes. One reason for this change in approach is the belief that miracle stories in Matthew and Luke are much more episodic, with little within a given story tying it to the larger narrative (Theissen 1974: 205). His view of Matthew and Luke, then, fit closely to his general idea that miracle stories could be inserted into a gospel, in theory, in a more or less random order (Theissen 1974: 198). I turn first to Matthew. In an example that touches on a number of points just made, Theissen (1974: 166, 179) sees in the walking on water that the disciples’ concluding response of prostration and proclamation about Jesus in Matthew (14.33) replaces their incomprehension in Mark (6.51–52). This change, he claims, serves a typical redactional tendency, irrespective of a developing plot, namely producing “ein Bild von der hoheitlichen Gestalt Jesu” (Theissen 1974: 179). 79 But Theissen fails to note how, as the larger narrative develops, the disciples’ seeming comprehension at precisely this moment will later be undermined, when a voice from heaven using similar language rebuffs the disciples (Mt 17.5) in another, private, more grand epiphany. Theissen (1974: 222–223), claiming that “die Hoheit Jesu” 80 is already recognised by characters from the gospel’s beginning scenes, minimises the impact of questions in responses, especially in early miracle stories, such as the question in Mt 8.27: Während die mkn Wundergeschichten auf eine immer wieder retardierte Akklamation zielen, gehen sie bei Mt von akklamationsartigen Rufen aus. Die Hoheit Jesu ist nicht Ziel, sondern Basis für Mt entscheidenden Stücke seines Evangeliums: der großen Reden. 81

Theissen (1974: 163, 221) downplays the impact of a further question about Jesus’ identity in another response to a miracle (Mt 12.23), which characterises the crowds in a less than completely positive light. 78

E.g., Theissen (1974: 163) avers that, whereas Dibelius claims to find only one formal acclamation in the Gospels (Lk 7.16), there are five more, none of which are Markan: Lk 5.8; Mt 12.23; 14.33; Jn 1.49; 6.14. 79 “a picture of a majestic Jesus” 80 “Jesus’ majesty” 81 “Where the Marcan miracle stories move towards a constantly delayed acclamation, Matthew’s start with acclamatory cries. Jesus’ majesty is not the climax, but the basis for what Matthew regards as the crucial sections of his gospel, the great discourses.”

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In Lk 5.26 Theissen (1974: 181) again sees a later gospel improving on an “inadequate response” in a parallel story in Mark (2.12), a change arising merely from an alleged redactional tendency “to produce a clearer and more plausible narrative sequence” for a given miracle story. Alternatively, Theissen focuses on merely what is unique in Luke to find what is meaningful. As part of an envisaged redactional tendency to subordinate Jesus to God, Theissen (1974: 223) baldly writes that “[d]ie Akklamationen richteten sich auf Gott…,” 82 ignoring responses with speech about and reporting of miracles in which Jesus in particular is the focus. 83 He claims that the redactor adds the responses of individual recipients in some miracle stories, such that the response of a group of observers becomes “Antwort und Weiterführung seines [sic] Lobes” (Theissen 1974: 168). 84 But, again, looking at the narrative of Luke as it unfolds the alleged pristine quality of certain responses is thrown into question. Taking Lk 5.25–26 as an example, the response of the recipient is superior to that of the observers. For the latter, a crowd consisting primarily of religious authorities (cf. Lk 5.17), is later characterised in a very negative light – in part in a response in miracle story (6.11), in part in Jesus’ words condemning those in the Galilee who did not repent upon seeing the miracles he performed (Lk 10). In such a holistic reading the crowd responding in Lk 5.26 is like the stone that receives the seed with joy for a moment, but then fails. In contrast, Theissen (1974: 182) sees this response, like others in further miracles stories in Luke (i.e. 8.47; 9.43; 18.43), as simply a means to improve and “round off” (“abrunden”) the narrative. As to potential influences on the Gospels, the limits of Theissen’s approach, already touched on above, are revealing. He can cite no parallels for Ablehnende Reaktion, just one for Ausbreitung des Rufes and only five for Admiration. This is strange, but perhaps not surprising. Theissen fails to bring the relevant instances from Jewish texts, notably the Hebrew Bible, to the discussion. This is consistent with the fact that the θεῖος-ἀνήρ construct is still exerting great influence on the field. Yet for Akklamation, as already noted, Theissen provides numerous non-Jewish parallels. Ultimately, Theissen (1974: 168) sees a non-Jewish context for the gospel miracle stories, just as he sees the response motif serving a propagandistic purpose: Alle Wundergeschichten wollen eine Stellungnahme zum Wundertäter provozieren; sie sprechen damit Hörer und Leser an. Ihre missionarische Funktion… ergibt sich aus ihrer Struktur. 85

82

“[t]he acclamations are directed at God…” E.g. Lk 5.8–11; 5.15; 8.39; 8.47; 13.17. 84 “an answer to and extension of his [sic] praise” 85 “All miracle stories seek to provoke a response to the miracle-worker: it is with this purpose that they address listeners and readers. Their missionary function… arises out of their structure.” 83

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Theissen (1974: 159–160, 162) seems to see the move from a liturgical to a missionary social context as the moment in the development of tradition when, as he envisages it, the responses of a listening cultic assembly become incorporated into the form of the miracle stories as the responses of an observing crowd. 5. Summary Those who have made the most significant contributions to the form- and redaction-critical study of responses in gospel miracle stories converge on a number of crucial points. The first seven points pertain primarily to how one should understand a response in a given gospel miracle story, whether in oral tradition or within a gospel. Together they constitute the form- and redactioncritical approach to responses. (1) Responses are fundamental to understanding the nature and meaning of the miracle stories, however defined. (2) A response is always positive in nature, whether in oral tradition or in the confines of a given gospel (with the exception of Theissen’s analysis of Mark). (3) Responses are reduced to their one assumed essential aspect, whether emotion (Bultmann, Tagawa) or speech (Dibelius, Theissen). (4) Consideration of which particular character responds is unimportant, as is the role of the respondent (individual or group) in the story, whether as a recipient or observer of the miracle or a character that hears about it later. (5) There is a tendency (despite Theissen’s discussion of fear at epiphanies) not to distinguish between different types of emotions in responses. (6) The significance of any given response is to be found in the miracle story at hand (Theissen’s analysis of Mark being an exception). (7) Tagawa and Theissen understand that, for each of Matthew and Luke, the importance of the responses lies in what is unique there in relation to the other synoptic gospels, above all Mark. The first six of the foregoing are predicated on further points of convergence, pertaining to the presumed tradition history of the gospel miracle stories. (8) The stories and their responses have their origin in and are to be understood in light of primarily a non-Jewish context. (9) The presumed Hellenistic concept of a θεῖος ἀνήρ, also aretalogy, is foundational to understanding the gospel miracle stories. (10) A miracle worker is always in focus, even if an epiphany should be brought under the rubric of “miracle story” (Theissen). (11) Gospel miracle stories are concerned only (Theissen: or primarily) with Jesus’ mighty deeds. (12) Miracle stories, including responses in particular, serve a propagandistic purpose. Two further point of convergence undergirding points one through seven are the assumptions that: (13) the author-redactors of the Gospels make only light changes to the material they inherit; and (14) a given episode can be understood in its essentials on its own, though one should keep an eye out for

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“themes” that may come to the fore in a given section of a gospel. Again, Theissen’s study of Mark is in many ways an exception here. Finally, the redaction critics share much of their predecessor’s conceptual world with respect to three further supporting points. (15) A sharp division is envisioned between words from Jesus and narratives about him in the development of the Jesus tradition. (16) A position of scepticism or agnosticism is adopted with regards to the historical Jesus and miracles: the attribution of miracles to Jesus occurred primarily not through his contemporaries but those more distanced from him geographically and chronologically. (Or, more generally, little can be known about the Jesus of history.) (17) The possibility is not considered that the oral Jesus tradition might have had distinctive traits, whether on account of features that are unique to them or uniquely characteristic of them. The neglect is curious, given that for example emotional responses proliferate in the Gospels, though the form- and redaction-critics can find only a few examples in the sources they summon for comparison. Together these 17 points form the core of the form- and redaction-critical paradigm with respect to miracle stories and responses, a paradigm that will have a strong influence on scholarship up to the present day. As much of the conceptual framework and methodology of form criticism and redaction criticism, generally, will be challenged and/or abandoned as the years go on, a few of the points enumerated will cease to have a normative effect. Nevertheless, the specific approach to how one should understand a response in a given gospel miracle story (points 1 through 7) will strangely remain largely intact, exerting a profound normative influence on scholars involved in all sorts of sub-disciplines. This is true even when a key supporting pillar will be removed, namely Reitzenstein’s proposed θεῖος-ἀνήρ construct. Also, as redaction criticism will be overtaken by narrative criticism in the academy, other pillars will give way (points 13 and 14). Yet other points propping up the form- and redaction-critical edifice will come under sharp criticism: the proposed non-Jewish nature of the gospel miracle stories; their alleged propagandistic character; the presumed relation of miracles to the historical Jesus; and the understanding of oral tradition. Still the basic approach to the responses will remain, adopted consciously or subconsciously by scholars who otherwise utilise a variety of approaches to the Gospels and the traditions behind them. I will describe these historical developments below. But, first, I focus attention on the peculiarity of the resultant lacuna in scholarship on miracle stories. Despite the clear consensus among giants of form- and redaction-criticism on the importance of responses for gospel miracle stories, no specialised study is dedicated to them by these or later scholars. And this trend will surprisingly continue through the decades at the end of the twentieth century and into those at the beginning of the twenty-first, when the amount of scholarly publications on the New Testament reach breath-taking new levels. Moreover, roughly half of the points (1–7, 10, 11)

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that I listed above will not be subjected to detailed evaluation. Seemingly out of custom and convenience (perhaps also out of a sense of reverence for the acclaimed scholars of the past) researchers will continue to let the form- and redaction-critical paradigm exert its influence on them in relation to the response motif. II. The paradigm suffers severe criticism, while its vestiges continue in the approach to responses 1. Tradition-historical criticism 86 In the study of tradition history, the form- and redaction-critical paradigm is dealt some hard blows. Hans Dieter Betz (1961), beginning the second wave of θεῖος ἀνήρ-research, argues that θεῖος ἀνήρ was a technical term designating a common Hellenistic conception: the “Gesamtkonzeption des ‘göttlichen Menschen.’” 87 Theodore Weeden (1968) posits that Mark sought to correct a perceived heresy – Jesus as a man of power and miracles – with a theology of the cross and suffering. 88 Ferdinand Hahn (1963) modifies the hypothesis of θεῖος ἀνήρ-influence slightly: Hellenistic Judaism, presenting its ancient heroes as θεῖοι ἄνδρες, brought the concept to Christians. Severe criticism is leveled at the θεῖος-ἀνήρ construct, along with the reliance on Philostratus and the association of miracles with missionary activity. Carl Holladay’s (1977) research shows that, though Hellenistic Jews more easily attributed divinity to biblical heroes, they neither did this nor heightened thaumaturgic motifs for propagandistic purposes. Eugene Gallagher (1982) establishes that a shifting and flexible collection of categories and criteria could be used to establish an individual’s divinity. Erkki Koskenniemi (1994) shows that Philostratus’ Vita Apollonii – a key source for nonJewish parallels – was in fact reacting to and influenced by Christian tradition about Jesus. David du Toit (1997) deals the decisive blow to the θεῖος-ἀνήρ construct: the term and related phraseology do not imply divinity. 89 At the same time a number of studies find that Jewish parallels to the gospel miracle stories have greater relevance than non-Jewish ones. Earlier scholarship looks at the Jewish scriptures to provide context (Betz 1972; Betz and Grimm 1977; Glöckner 1983; Blackburn 1990). In light of rabbinic materials, Michael Becker (2002) argues that Jesus’ miracles, especially the exor86 For more detailed reference to the history of tradition-historical criticism, see Section A in Chapter Seven, below. 87 “the entire conception of the ‘divine man’” 88 Similar hypotheses of Markan corrective christology are found in the works of Johannes Schreiber, Eduard Schweizer, Ulrich Luz, Leander Keck, Paul Achtemeier, Ludger Schenke, Karl Kertelge, Dietrich-Alex Koch and Norman Perrin. 89 An important earlier study was P. Wülfing von Martitz (1964–1976).

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cisms, are eschatological, understood within a Jewish framework. Eric Eve (2002), examining a wide range of Second Temple Jewish texts, contends that both Jesus’ miracles and the gospel stories about them, being at home in a Jewish context, portray Jesus as a prophet – and more than a prophet. Roger David Aus (1998, 2000, 2010) analyses a few individual miracle stories in the Gospels in light of important parallels in the Jewish scriptures and their interpretive traditions. The final third of the twentieth century gives rise also to historical studies that make it plausible that at least a number of the gospel miracle stories did not originate in a non-Jewish, Greco-Roman context. As papyrological discoveries at the Dead Sea reinvigorate the study of the Jewish context of Christianity, the Jewishness of the historical Jesus himself is also taken more seriously. Géza Vermes’ (1973) study of “Jesus the Jew” is instrumental. Some scholars begin to argue for miracles being associated with Jesus during his lifetime, regardless of what happened historically. 90 Despite such advances as outlined above, for some the search for traditionhistorical context of the gospel miracle stories goes on more or less “as usual.” For example, Wendy Cotter’s (1999) compendium of ancient miracle stories, envisioned as the quintessential sourcebook for comparative study of the gospel miracle stories, is heavily weighted on the non-Jewish end. 91 Stefan Alkier and Annette Weissenrieder (2013a) adopt a similar approach. Yet others, while giving attention to Jewish literature, nevertheless curiously lean decidedly towards non-Jewish sources (Nicklas and Spittler 2013; KFW1; Kollmann and Zimmermann 2014). An earlier example of this sort of approach is Bernd Kollmann’s (1996) monograph, though still proceeding on the assumption of the existence of an ancient concept of θεῖος ἀνήρ. Some further vestiges of the form- and redaction-critical paradigm are at work in the study of miracle stories, generally, whether Jewish or non-Jewish sources are in view. For scholars are fixated on Jesus as a miracle worker. Similarly, stories of Jesus’ mighty deeds are constantly in view, while those episodes that are concerned exclusively with epiphanies, like the transfiguration, are left by the wayside. While Theissen’s approach to the form of stories about mighty deeds may be adopted by many, his more inclusive definition of miracle story is not. But the vestiges of the paradigm exert the greatest influence on scholars’ approach in attempts to understanding the response motif – or, more frequently, the lack of such attempts – in light of antecedent and contemporary literature and tradition. Karl Kertelge (1970) and Gail Corrington (1986), advocat90 In addition to Vermes, notable scholars in this trend include John P. Meier (1991); John Dominic Crossan (1991); Bernd Kollmann (1996); and David Flusser (2001). 91 Most “Jewish sources” listed in the index (Cotter 1999: 256–259) appear primarily (exclusively) in an appendix.

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ing the relevance of non-Jewish miracle workers, focus on a threefold pattern in gospel stories of mighty deeds, to the exclusion of characters’ responses: description of the distress or situation necessitating aid, narration of the act producing the miracle, narration of the miracle or confirmation of its reality. 92 The concept of a threefold pattern, as noted above, has its origins in the work Dibelius and Bultmann and its confirmation in that of Theissen, whose proposed fourfold pattern bears a close resemblance. Neither pattern posited identifies a response as a motif in its own right. In reply Blackburn (1990) shows that such a threefold pattern found in non-Jewish, Greco-Roman miracle stories and the Gospels is also common to ancient Jewish stories of performances of miracles. But he does not criticise the scheme itself. This is unfortunate, since it would have helped his later argument if he were to have identified responses as an additional, final category in a fourfold (given Bultmann’s scheme) or fivefold (given that of Theissen) pattern. Blackburn’s (1990: 261) observation “that given the desire to narrate certain types of miracles the [threefold] pattern in question is the inevitable result” can serve as a springboard to an important question. Since a key corollary is that narrating responses is not an inevitable part of telling miracle stories, why are responses so ubiquitous in the Gospels? At the same time, Blackburn brings to attention the possible connection between responses in Markan stories of mighty deeds and the movement from the working of a miracle to belief in the miracle worker as an authorised agent of God in the Hebrew Bible. Though his analysis is brief, I give it disproportionate attention here to serve as an illustration of how an attempt to establish a connection with a Jewish context can be hampered on account of vestiges of the form-critical paradigm. Blackburn’s analysis shows: a tendency towards reductionism, focusing on verbal responses (cf. Dibelius; Theissen); inattention to possible variations in the use of a motif; the assumption that responses (even in Mark!) are qualitatively entirely positive; and a lack of distinction between the intended effect on those reading or hearing the stories and the narration of responses inside a text. Moreover, his focus on performances of mighty deeds and, also, the miracle worker, seems especially unwarranted. For in a Jewish context explicit indication can be given that an epiphany serves to validate an agent of God in the eyes of the people (e.g. Exod 19.9). Other methodological problems arise, including the lack of specification as to the features being compared. Isolating and focusing on responses in miracle stories, in particular, would be helpful. Attention could be given also to potential ways that the authenticating strategy may be varied or challenged in the Jewish texts. Blackburn’s brief analysis is, nevertheless, suggestive. His main point of comparison seems promising and should be pursued –

92

Cf. also Fuller 1968.

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possibly some responses in gospel miracle stories serve as authentication devices. Timothy Dwyer (1996) advances the discussion by noting important differences between Jewish and non-Jewish contexts for responses. Dwyer argues for a Jewish influence on Mark’s use of “wonder,” a motif Dwyer takes to be an emotional reaction to a variety of personalities and occurrences, not seen in specific relation to miracles. On the one hand, the form-critical paradigm exercises influence in that “wonder” is reduced to a single component, emotion, in which amazement and fear are homogenised. On the other hand, Dwyer’s broad textual base includes both performances of miracles and epiphanies. “Wonder” is common in Second Temple Jewish texts, he claims, as a reaction to God and God’s acts. In non-Jewish Greco-Roman sources, “wonder” occurs at times in contexts of signs and portents, for example, but is not a typical aspect in accounts of “divine men,” a term Dwyer is not critical of. Observations by these students of the Gospels find some confirmation in the work of scholars concentrating on Jewish texts. Yair Zakovitch (1991), for example, argues that mighty deeds in the Hebrew Bible are narrated with responses to indicate that belief in God and his agent come about as a result. George Savran (2003) sees responses to theophanies in the Hebrew Bible as one of the preeminent defining features of this kind of story, with fear being typical. Examining Second Temple Jewish sources, Loren Stuckenbruck (1995), too, finds a close connection in a Jewish context between the fear of those encountering a divine being and the narration of an epiphany. The occurrence of prostration and verbal utterances, as well as reference to visual sensation, in Jewish miracle stories, epiphanic and/or non-epiphanic, is also noted by one or more of these scholars. The taxonomy of potential elements in responses takes a definite step forward in the work of Werner Kahl (1994: 141–152), despite some limitations in the scope of material analysed. As to the limitations, first, focus is on various kinds of miracle workers and stories of mighty deeds. Epiphanies are not addressed. Second the number of sources he consults for responses is only a slight improvement on previous studies and is still heavily weighted on the non-Jewish end, just as he argues that this context is the best for understanding the Gospels. He advances scholarship in his attention to variety. His taxonomy covers seven categories of responses (what he dubs “sanctioning of the preparedness”; see below), some of which could themselves well be subdivided! This is especially true of emotions and verbal appraisals, both of which, despite the work of his predecessors, he curiously subsumes under the generic, arguably ill-named category “assessment of the subject effecting the healing” (Kahl 1994: 143). Likewise praise and proskynesis are needlessly corralled into the broadly conceived “gestures and oral and written expressions” (Kahl 1994: 147). While he, like many others, does not differentiate

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between fear and amazement, he observes that such emotions can be positive or negative! More generally, he discerns that appraisals of Jesus can be less than a full endorsement. A key advancement Kahl makes over Theissen and the earlier form critics is to include response features that appear in Jewish and/or non-Jewish sources, though they are foreign to the Gospels. Some methodological problems arise for Kahl. Owing to the limited data analysed, it is not possible to place confidence in the generalisations he makes concerning whether a feature is common in a given corpus or not, alternatively attested or not. Even if one takes the generalisations at face value, another weakness is his failure to identify what features, as a group, are most characteristic of each corpus and to compare these groups of features with the same in the Gospels. (There is also the issue of the problematic use of Philostratus.) Still, even here Kahl offers observations that move comparative study forward. He notes some similarities between Jewish sources and the Gospels. Both contain responses addressing the question of competence or identity of those involved in procuring the miracle. Various instances of praise and thanksgiving in Jewish texts, notably from the Second Temple period, find a companion in some Lukan responses. Kahl also notes an interesting difference: the less than positive responses to Jesus in the Gospels contrast with the full affirmations of God and his agents in the Jewish texts. Unfortunately, Kahl’s understanding of the “morphology” of stories of mighty deeds offers little improvement on the three-fold structure of Dibelius and Bultmann (also Kertelge and Corrington) or on Theissen’s four-fold one. Kahl (1994: 233) writes, The morphology is determined by a move from a lack (of health) to its liquidation through a (miracle) performance by an active subject specifically prepared for the task.

He offers a new fourfold scheme: “lack,” “preparedness,” “performance,” “sanction.” In relation to his predecessors, the new element here is “preparedness.” Kahl fails to identify responses as a key component in the stories, though he does isolate them, collectively, as a distinct feature. For he subdivides “sanction” into two parts, the first being “sanctioning the performance,” the second being “sanctioning the preparedness” (Kahl 1994:158–160). 93 The latter comprises all kinds of responses (Kahl 1994: 160): …the sanction of the preparedness can be realized by various allomotifs, ranging from oral expressions of joy or fear to the offer of gifts, to admiration, following, or persecution.

Kahl’s approach has to date come the closest to identifying responses as a distinct and key motif in gospel miracle stories.

93 Elsewhere Kahl (1994: 45) refers to the two parts of “sanction” as “recognition of the outcome of the performance” and “[j]udgement on the preparedness.”

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With a view to specific parallel stories, some scholars have found an important point of connection between the Gospels and texts pertaining to Jewish sacred history. Thus, Roger David Aus has shown how, within a host of features linking the synoptic stilling of the storm episode with the story of Jonah, the disciples’ emotional response corresponds to that of the Gentile sailors. He, like others, points to a further connection with the Israelites’ crossing of the Reed Sea. The responses again form a link between the stories. Such literary parallelism is pertinent also to John, as Yair Zakovitch and Serge Ruzer (2014) demonstrate. Just as the miracles associated with Moses foster the Israelites’ belief in him, Jesus’ miracles inspire belief in him by various characters. Moreover, initial, partially parallel miracle stories for each figure – turning the Nile to blood / turning water into wine – lead to belief on the part of those following them. The above considerations tend to support the notion that a Jewish context is better than a non-Jewish one for the responses in the gospel miracle stories, though epiphanies have been underrepresented in previous comparative studies. It should be remembered that Tagawa (1966: 99) has noted how both amazement and fear are common responses in non-Jewish epiphany stories from Homer on. So a thorough study is needed. At any rate, for both epiphanies and other types of miracles, a monolithic approach to potential influences on the Gospels must be resisted. 2. Narrative criticism 94 The paradigm initiated by Dibelius and Bultmann is dealt further blows by narrative criticism. Around the beginning of the 1980s, a scholarly trend begins in which each gospel is studied on its own and in its entirety as a narrative. David Rhoads and Donald M. Mitchie (1982) on Mark, R. Alan Culpepper (1983) on John, Jack Dean Kingsbury (1986) on Matthew, Robert C. Tannehill (1986–1989) on Luke (and Acts) and others usher in a new era focused on such issues as: the portrayal of characters through features like contrasting similarities and differences between their actions and speech in related contexts; and the development of conflict and other complications of a story in the unfolding of the narrative on its way towards its climax. All details in a gospel are fair game (not just those unique to it and purportedly indicative of its redactor’s aims) and potentially significant in a variety of ways. Those responsible for the Gospels in their final forms are understood to be able story-tellers, using traditional material, adding some of their own, while weaving together a unique story about Jesus.

94 For more detailed reference to the history of narrative criticism, see Section A in Chapters Two through Five, below.

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Yet for responses in the miracle stories the form- and redaction-critical approach is all too often adopted uncritically. Elizabeth Struthers Malbon’s examination of characterisation in Mark is a case in point. She takes the disciples and the crowd in Mark together as “fallible followers,” a decision made in part based on a perceived similarity between them in various contexts, including miracle stories. Each is associated with “a response of amazement, astonishment, and even fear in relation to Jesus” (Malbon 2000: 85). Responses involving emotions are evidently taken to represent the same general sentiment. They represent a positive characteristic. Attention is not given to the specific way an emotional response may interact with other features in a given context to indicate a less than positive portrayal. The association with form-criticism is recognisable only upon critical reflection, for she does not identify responses to miracle stories as a motif in its own right. Here, one sees that Theissen’s redaction-critical reading of Mark, approximating a narrative-critical approach, ironically in key respects provides a better understanding of variation in the use of a motif as the narrative unfolds, than does Malbon’s reading. Another example is Kindalee Pfremmer de Long’s (2009) study of praise and the related occurrences of joy in Luke and Acts, in light of the plot of the envisaged one work in two parts (“Luke-Acts”). The study has a distinctly redaction-critical feel. What is proposed as most important to the plot happens to centre on features in Luke (praise and joy), that distinguish it from John and, especially, Matthew and Mark. The data examined are limited to this thematic material. Angelophanies in the opening chapters of Luke, stories of Jesus performing miracles and of Jesus’ resurrection appearances are episodes crucial to de Long’s argument. Yet praise and joy in the stories, often occurring in responses to the miracles, are viewed in isolation. For example, praise in stories of healing and exorcism are not compared with responses of other kinds, whether another emotion (fear or amazement), other forms of speech and/or something more distinct are involved. Praise is taken, categorically, as positive. Another problematic approach is to ignore the response motif in the miracle stories altogether, evidently assuming it to be a stamp on the traditions about Jesus procured at an earlier stage of its development, but not requiring comment in an analysis of the narrative of a given gospel in its present form. It is odd that the only study, to my knowledge, dedicated to investigating the miracle stories of a gospel in light of the unfolding of the narrative does not consider, let alone identify, the response motif as a motif in its own right. In arguing for “a unified narrative portrait of Jesus” as a “mighty teacher,” Edwin K. Broadhead’s (1992: 191) concentrated examination of the miracle stories in Mark effectively assigns zero significance to the presence of responses as a motif. The clandestine influence of an earlier generation’s form

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criticism is, nevertheless, detectable, when, for example, Broadhead (1992: 111) refers to speech following a miracle as “acclamation.” Others pay more attention to detail in and surrounding the notices of such types of emotion and related actions from characters following miracles. They note how subtle variations in the composition of a motif or a change of context can change the meaning of the motif. This is similar to the fact that words in themselves do not contain a precise meaning but are given their hue by the way (intonation etc.) they are said and the context they appear in (the surrounding words). This is seen perhaps most of all in studies of John, where narrative criticism has flourished. Alan Culpepper (1983) notes, for example, how comparison between similar miracle stories, such as the healing of the incapacitated man and the healing of the blind man in Jn 5 and 9, respectively, inform one another as the narrative unfolds. Initially the response of the recipient in the first of these stories seems ambiguous. In retrospect, however, when the response of the second recipient of healing is encountered, the characterisation of the other individual becomes negative. While some lack of complexity in Culpepper’s view of characterisation has been noted and made up for by others, the validity of the basic comparative approach remains. The problematic nature of one character’s response is in some cases only fully seen in comparison to the more positive response of another character in a similar situation later. It is perhaps revealing that responses of the healed men and related characters in the two miracle stories of Jn 5 and 9 are as far as responses in gospel miracle stories get from having formal qualities. This fact makes them stick out, on the one hand, drawing the notice of scholars, where more seemingly stereotyped responses might not succeed in garnering such attention. On the other hand, their being longer and more complex, involving interactions between the recipients of healing with other characters on the way to the final articulation of their responses, provides more details and makes them easier to interpret. The shorter, at times laconic responses of characters elsewhere, notably in the Synoptic Gospels, requires greater attention to detail in the story in question and to potential comparisons with responses of other characters in various related contexts. A rich resource published recently on the miracle stories in the canonical and other gospels, Kompendium der frühchristlichen Wundererzählungen, Band 1: Die Wunder Jesu (KFW1), has, for every miracle to which an essay is dedicated, a discussion of the narrative of the respective episode on its own terms. The contributors make a variety of literary observations at this level that offer new insights. Their considerations will be taken up in turn in the study to follow. At the same time the influence of form and redaction criticism on the volume can be seen. An initial observation is that stories are generally treated in isolation. For example, the first source to which a section is dedicated is the “Logienquelle Q.” Two stories, taken essentially from

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Luke, are discussed in this context alone. 95 Introductory chapters for each gospel treat literary questions (with varying amounts of attention to detail), including how individual miracle stories might fit into the larger narrative they are found in. But the question is not asked at length, for example, of how the stories may function jointly within the unfolding plot of a given gospel. Some individual contributors dedicate more attention to broader developments in a given narrative. Yet the trend is to focus on the episode at hand alone. Thus the value of whatever comments are made about responses in a given story are already limited. I will return to the compendium in a moment. 3. Source criticism 96 Yet further blows to the form- and redaction-critical paradigm come from those studying the sources of the Gospels. I begin with the Synoptic Problem, the question of the interrelations of Matthew, Mark and Luke, which necessarily involve direct literary dependence, on account of the amount of verbal identity shared between them in various combinations. The Two Document Hypothesis goes largely unchallenged during the first half of the twentieth century. Following William R. Farmer’s (1964) critique of the theory and promotion of the Two Gospel Hypothesis (also known as the Griesbach Hypothesis), a series of conferences are held in the 1970s and 1980s in Europe, North America and Israel to discuss the merits of the two hypotheses, with various publications resulting. 97 The Two Gospel Hypothesis holds that Matthew was used by Luke and that both were used by Mark. While the publications presenting a more comprehensive case for this hypothesis appear somewhat later (McNicol et al. 1996; Peabody 2002), dissatisfaction with the scholarly consensus of a previous generation begins to rear its head earlier already, even when the Two Gospel Hypothesis is not embraced as a superior alternative. An important example of this is the work of Edward P. Sanders and Margaret Davies (1989), who assess the advantages and disadvantages of a number of solutions to the Synoptic Problem. Another theory, promoted initially by Austin Farrer (1954), is championed by Michael Goulder (1989), followed in turn by Mark Goodacre (1996; 2002). The Farrer Hypothesis, which assumes Markan priority and posits Luke’s use of Matthew (thus dispensing with Q), makes important inroads, as 95 It is often true, too, when a story appears in two or more Gospels, that not all versions of it receive analysis. E.g. only 13 of 20 episodes in Matthew identified as miracle stories are analysed, while all 18 in Mark are. 96 For more detailed reference to the history of source criticism, see Section A in Chapter Six, below. 97 The hypotheses of others, notably that of Marie-Émile Boismard, also receive consideration in some contexts (cf. Dungan 1990).

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its appeal is evidently more widely felt than that of the Two Gospel Hypothesis. This point is illustrated by the contributions (and foreword) to the volume edited by Mark Goodacre and Nicholas Perrin (2004). Among the difficulties for the Two Document Hypothesis that inspire some scholars to look to other potential solutions to the Synoptic Problem are the so-called Minor Agreements, the places in the Triple Tradition (material common to all of the Synoptics) where Matthew and Luke agree against Mark. Principal among the defenders of the dominant hypothesis are Frans Neirynck and Christopher Tuckett. A tendency can be seen in the new wave of defence towards favouring the intellectually less satisfying argument that coincidentally similar or identical editorial changes on the part of Matthew and Luke explain their unexpected similarities. The problem is compounded, when it comes to the responses, as the form-critical perspective to disregard differences in types of emotions is uncritically assumed. Thus, in the stilling of the storm the disciples’ amazement in Matthew and Luke – unparalleled in Mark, where they are greatly afraid – appearing in a two-word phrase shared verbatim (ἐθαύμασαν λέγοντες) is found in the list of Minor Agreements drawn up by Frans Neirynck et al. (1974: 284) under the banal category “changes in vocabulary.” The change, they aver, is easy to explain, assuming coincidentally identical editorial choices. Another difficulty is taken to be the way that the hypothetical Q document is conceived. Q specialists seem to handle the data with force. This point is seen in two principal tendencies: Q is unjustifiably taken to be essentially coextensive with the Double Tradition (material uniquely common to Matthew and Luke) and the document’s narrative elements are minimised. I add that miracles, too, are neglected. The line of the form critics’ influence on Q scholarship being direct, it is no surprise that the form- and redaction-critical paradigm has a firm grip on much of Q research. Study of the hypothetical document receives renewed attention in the second half of the twentieth century, beginning in Heidelberg. The early research proceeds under the leadership of Bornkamm, a student of Bultmann and Dibelius’ successor. The Gospel of Thomas, a collection of sayings attributed to Jesus, without narrative, preserved in a Coptic translation from Greek, is discovered in 1945 and published in 1958. The discovery helps foster momentum for the study of Q, with its characterisation as a collection of sayings pursued with vigour. A common genre – collections of wisdom sayings, called λόγοι σοφῶν – is proposed for the two documents (Robinson 1964). At the same time, a distinct social context is posited for Q, which is set up against communities that are centred on the “kerygma,” the message of Jesus’ death and resurrection. In these ways the conception of Q is categorically separated from narratives, also miracles. With the heavy implementation of redaction criticism, James M. Robinson and John Kloppenborg Verbin remove narrative and miraculous elements even further from its alleged, earliest

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stratum, thus bringing the document into closer alignment with the Gospel of Thomas. In the lines of argumentation pursued, a big role is played by the form critics’ rigid concept of genre, categorical separation of sayings material from narratives, including miracle stories, and view of the historical processes in the formation of the Jesus tradition. In order to make definitive claims about the document’s contents, scholars opt for the convenient, taking the commonly agreed upon 220 or so verses or parts of verses in the Double Tradition to be Q. Here a “critical minimum” for Q (a “warranted Q”) is confused with an “actual Q” (Perrin 2004). A blind eye is turned to questions such as: how reasonable it is to claim that, if Lk can omit nearly half of Mk, Lk reproduces all of Q? Where there is a deviation from the norm, it is again in favour of sayings material and against narrative, whether Q is envisioned as smaller – Kloppenborg Verbin omits Jesus’ baptism – or larger – Harry Fleddermann (2005), doubling the conventional size of Q, adds only dialogues and speeches from the Triple Tradition. Scholarship of a previous century was prepared to have more narrative in Q, derived from material in the Triple Tradition. Miracle stories in particular, such as the healing of the leper and the stilling of the storm, were in view (e.g. Weiss 1876). As for responses, the strong tendencies of Q scholarship lead commentators away from discussing the narrative feature of the crowd’s amazement at an exorcism in Q 11.14. It seems taken for granted that this is a typical feature of ancient miracle stories, generally, and not worthy of comment. Moreover, the possibility that Jesus’ amazement at the Capernaum centurion’s faith (Q 7.9) in another miracle story is a variation on the response motif is scarcely entertained. Despite the resurgence in discussion of the Synoptic Problem and a new openness to entertain a variety of hypothetical solutions, the curious fact remains that no detailed study of the miracle stories in this regard has appeared. 98 This lack is, to my mind, especially strange for responses, given their ubiquity throughout the gospel miracle stories – a feature that might set the Gospels apart in their ancient context to some extent. I will address this point further, in the following subsection. Furthermore, as Theissen has shown, assessment of responses in the context of a given gospel as it unfolds can contribute significantly to understanding what is characteristic of that gospel and, potentially, different from the others. John’s relation to the Synoptics has also received consideration in recent decades. Three approaches are common. Some, such as Neirynck, posit that the author of John knows and uses one or more of the Synoptics directly, while minimising the possibility of oral tradition. Others see John as depend98

An essay by Reid (2011) provides the first, preliminary look at the merits of the Two Document Hypothesis and its two most well-known rival hypotheses in light of some aspects of the miracle material.

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ent on one or more of the Synoptics in a more distant manner, in some cases with secondary orality – say, the public reading of Mark – being the model adopted. Yet others, like James Dunn, argue that the similarities between all four of the Gospels are the result of the reliance on related oral tradition. Here, too, a notable lacuna comes to light, as responses in miracle stories have not been subjected to detailed analysis to shed light on the interrelations of the Gospels, though they are prevalent in the miracle stories of John, as in the Synoptics. Where comparison has been made, it is typically to point out what is different – allegedly John has responses of belief, whereas the Synoptics have emotions. But what might be common among them all, too, could be important for assessing the case for oral tradition. Among some New Testament scholars, understanding of the role of oral tradition in the formation of the Jesus tradition has undergone a much needed overhaul. Werner Kelber (1983), countering the form critics’ undifferentiated approach to written and oral texts, highlights distinctive traits of the latter. In oral performance multiple and varied renditions of the same basic material occur, while what is essential is retained. There is no linear process of development for, for example, stories that end up in the Gospels. Oral tradition is not to be understood as a singular “source,” alongside literary sources. Kenneth Bailey (1995) provides a concrete example in the modern period of a social context which provides the type of stability and flexibility in oral tradition that is reasonably ascribed to the Jesus tradition. His work shows that the traditions which get transmitted are important for a community’s identity. The form critics’ notion of wild and free invention in the oral Jesus tradition should be set aside. Rafael Rodríguez (2010; 2014) observes how the weight of multiple performances of material in the Jesus tradition, such as miracle stories, would develop a circumambient tradition. For any one performance of, say, a given story, the meaning inherent to it from “the preexisting, circumambient tradition” (Rodríguez 2014: 75) would be greater for the listening audience than any conferred meaning arising from potential innovation by the oral performer. In addition, an audience would know that the Jesus about whom a miracle story is being told is the same Jesus who taught, experienced opposition and was eventually put on trial and executed. Rodríguez draws on theory of social memory, as does Eric Eve (2014), to help elucidate the oral Jesus tradition. Through framing, a conceptual framework is provided for the encoding and retrieval of information that is to be remembered, enabling also explanation or narration of it to others. Through keying, a more recent event is linked to past event in order to remember the former and give it meaning. Some discontinuity with the past is to be expected on account of these processes. Yet other factors work towards continuity, such as rival claims concerning agreed upon events or a figure possessing a difficult reputation. Thus Jesus’ later reputation as a miracle worker – though interpreted differently by various

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groups – is best explained as having continuity with opinions about Jesus during his lifetime. These far-reaching advancements in our understanding of the oral tradition about Jesus have not yet been applied to the responses in miracle stories. Such analysis would seem to hold much potential for helping revisit the question of the interrelations of the Gospels. Even if the question were limited to the Synoptic Problem alone, assuming the Two Document Hypothesis, the reward could be significant. For the potential creative use of the response motif, Jesus’ amazement at the Capernaum centurion’s faith, may be an indication that already at the time of Q’s composition, amazement was understood in the circumambient tradition as a standard response to Jesus’ mighty deeds. The possibility gains support when – against Bultmann – one pays attention to Tagawa’s (1966: 93) and Theissen’s (1974: 79) observation that the commonly occurring responses of extreme emotion, such as amazement, in the gospel stories of mighty deeds have few parallels in the body of literature that is commonly cited for comparison. If we are dealing here with a feature that is uniquely characteristic of the gospel miracle tradition – and perhaps there are other such features – then this tradition may have taken shape early on, in a social context connected to Q. 4. Genre The paradigm championed by Dibelius and Bultmann still exerts influence on discussions of genre, despite some important advances. Ruben Zimmermann (2014: 322) has recently written on the genre of “(Früchristliche) Wundergeschichten.” 99 His approach advances the field in a number of ways. First, the term “miracle story,” ubiquitous in New Testament scholarship, is rarely defined, even in studies specialising in such stories. So by conducting an explicit, systematic and detailed discussion of the genre of miracle stories (Zimmermann 2013b: 22–32, 50–53; 2014), 100 his contribution becomes an important starting point for further discussion. Second, he incorporates flexibility in his understanding of genre. Recognising that the concept of a genre is a construct of meta-communication, Zimmermann (2014: 318) speaks of the “Familienähnlichkeit” of a group of texts. 101 Given, for example, a more detailed definition of the features of a miracle story, one can gather together a 99

“(early Christian) miracle stories” – Zimmermann uses “Wundererzählung” and “Wundergeschichte” interchangeably. 100 Note, since Kollmann and Zimmermann (2014: vi) state that their volume “steht in engen Zusammenhang mit dem ‘Kompendium der frühchristlichen Wundererzählungen’” (i.e. KFW1 and the envisaged second volume), Zimmerman’s (2014) essay on genre is brought into a close connection with the compendium, whose introductory essay (2013b) he writes also. 101 “family resemblance”

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family of similar stories, even when some of them do not contain all the features in the definition. 102 Thus, he provides a convincing theoretical basis for the inclusion of an episode from Mt 17, in which the miracle itself is not narrated. Sub-categories of miracle stories, too, are pertinent here. He insists that there is not one pure form, but allows for the possibility that a story may belong to more than one subcategory even from its inception. Third, his emphasis on understanding all Christian miracle stories as explicitly or implicitly pertaining to the working of God’s power meets a lack in previous approaches. The perspective inherent in these stories, then, matches a Jewish context better than a non-Jewish one – a point Zimmermann fails to observe. Despite these strengths, Zimmermann’s approach is nevertheless tethered to the form- and redaction-critical paradigm, evidently unknowingly. Because of the explicit detail in Zimmermann’s definition and supporting discussion and because he lays out the theoretical basis underlying the massive Kompendium (KFW1), a volume which seems to claim both comprehensiveness and authority, I provide a detailed review of how the vestiges of the said paradigm influence his work. 103 I address, first, general concerns and, second, responses. Zimmermann misses an important opportunity to ask fundamental questions about what may be appropriately identified as a gospel miracle story. Zimmermann (2014: 323) opts for a complex definition of “miracle story,” consisting of five elements: “Narration,” “Handlungsfigur und Handlung,” “Handlungsfolgen,” “Urheber – Deutung” and “Wirkungsästhetik.” 104 Zimmermann’s (2013b: 29–30) starting point is Kahl’s understanding of miracle stories, who in turn is indebted to Bultmann, as noted above. A miracle story is taken to move from a lack to its liquidation through a miracle performed by a miracle worker. Yet Zimmermann offers no rationale at this point for why one should limit the material to stories of healings, food provision and the like, let alone to those involving a human miracle worker. These points are simply assumed. Elsewhere Zimmermann (2013b: 50–51) attempts to provide a rationale 105 for the demarcation. But, in actual fact, he only makes a restatement of it. Other problems also arise. For here there is also a mismatch between the stated limitation and the actual one. It is claimed that stories in which God,

102 Zimmermann (2014: 318) speaks of “eine Zugehörigkeit aufgrund von Ähnlichkeiten bei gleichzeitigem Raum für Abweichungen.” 103 As Zimmermann’s key essays on the topic are in German, the present discussion will have an added benefit of rendering a service to many English-speaking readers. 104 “narration”; “action-characters and action”; “sequence of action”; “creator – interpretation”; “effect-aesthetics” 105 He seeks to provide a “Begründung” (Zimmermann 2013b: 31).

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without an intermediary, is the miracle worker are to be excluded. 106 But, without explanation, he then goes on to limit the study to those stories “in denen ein menschlicher Wundertäter auftritt” (Zimmermann 2013b: 50; emphasis original). 107 Ancient Jewish authors, including commentators on Jewish Scripture show awareness of the difference between a miracle performed by God alone and one wrought by an intermediary, such as an angel. So there is no reason for omitting, for example, the appearance of the young man or angel in Mk 16, who is presumably responsible for the miraculous, physical act (cf. Zimmermann’s insistence on “Handlung”) of moving the stone from the mouth of the tomb, as well as providing the women disciples with revelatory knowledge about Jesus. 108 Yet further problems of inconsistency arise. Ostensibly Zimmermann (2013b: 51) excludes the resurrection of Jesus, since it is the result of a direct intervention by God. But he then makes a logical leap from this statement to leaving out “alle Wunderberichte, die im Zusammenhang mit dem Auferstandenen stehen” (Zimmermann 2013b: 51). 109 While the grounds remain unstated, it seems that Zimmermann no longer takes Jesus, once resurrected, to be a human character in the respective stories. The implicit logical step seems evident in his use of terminology. 110 At any rate, elsewhere Zimmermann (2013b: 31) categorically excludes epiphanies. A general tendency towards the exclusion of epiphanies seems the more basic motivation for why the post-resurrection appearances of Jesus are omitted. It would explain why the transfiguration also is left out, though in each of the Synoptics, where it appears, it is a story about Jesus prior to his crucifixion and resurrection. Furthermore, the story of Jesus’ post-resurrection appearance in the Galilee and related miraculous catch of fish in Jn 21 is included in the Kompendium (KFW1), though it ought not be, as Zimmermann (2013b: 52) openly acknowledges. The stated grounds for this exception to the rule is that a similar story is told in Lk 5 about the “earthly” Jesus. Seemingly supporting grounds, though unstated, are that this is the one post-resurrection story in the Gospels that contains a mighty deed, a miraculous provision of food, while on its account the epiphany per se can receive less attention. Bultmann, too, excludes the transfiguration and includes the story from Jn 21 among miracle 106 “Eine weitere Begrenzung besteht darin, dass keine Wundergeschichten aufgenommen werden, die unmittelbar von Gott als Wundertäter erzählen” (Zimmermann 2013b: 50; emphasis original). 107 “in which a human miracle worker appears” – the mismatch is more pronounced in the later phrase: “ein direktes Eingreifen Gottes ohne Interaktion von menschlichen Figuren” (Zimmermann 2013b: 51). 108 “action”/“deed” 109 “all miraculous accounts which are related to the resurrected one” 110 Zimmermann (2013b: 52) distinguishes terminologically between the “irdische” (earthly) Jesus and “der Auferstandene” (the Resurrected One).

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stories. His reasoning, however, rests on a presumed history of the tradition – originally, the former story was about an appearance of the resurrected Jesus and the latter story developed from a saying made by Jesus prior to his crucifixion (Bultmann 1995 [1931]: 232, 246). 111 Thus, given the inadequacies in Zimmermann’s stated rationale and the inconsistencies in his procedure and on account of the similarities of his and Bultmann’s approaches, it would seem that his form-critical predecessor, along with the mass of scholarship influenced by form criticsm, exerts a greater influence on Zimmermann than he is aware of, concerning both the focus on a miracle worker and the exclusion of epiphanies. Still, Zimmermann’s writing and the contents of the compendium he edits reveal that it is difficult de facto to exclude accounts of epiphanies, especially those of the resurrected Jesus, from a collection of gospel miracle stories. Zimmermann (2013b: 53) argues for including Jesus’ miraculous exit from the tomb, accompanied by angels, in the Gospel of Peter (cited as 9.35– 11.45), since it is the only “Wundertext” in this gospel and since a goal of the compendium it to be more inclusive of non-canonical gospel material. 112 Yet, this betrays awareness that such a story, involving the activity of angels and a return from death, also the release of a human from an enclosed containing area, can reasonably be understood as a miracle story. One could add that Zimmermann’s understanding of Christian miracle stories as all involving the working of God’s power, a narrative perspective that aligns with Jewish sources, would lean in favour of looking to these sources for understanding whether epiphanies should be considered miracle stories. With a more fitting name, Zimmermann’s restriction to the selected corpus of stories could be justified. Zimmermann’s approach could be understood as a focused look at the story of a mighty deed. Such a story could well be labeled “miracle worker story” (i.e. “Wundertätererzählung”), leaving the broader term “miracle story” to include both these and other stories of miracles, such as epiphanies. The foregoing discussion highlights how the approach of Zimmermann and the compendium aligns itself with that of the form critics in yet another way, namely a tendency to treat each miracle story essentially on its own, divorced from the context of the gospel it appears in. The point is seen, first, in the selection of stories, such as Jn 21, which in its context within this gospel is clearly a story about the resurrected Jesus. Second, the point is also observed in the definition of miracle story. For, despite all the definition’s detail, nothing is stated in it about the important fact that each miracle story, as it currently stands, derives meaning from its relation to the respective larger un111

Note that for Bultmann the transfiguration, like all stories of the resurrected Jesus, belongs to the category “Legende” and not to “Wundergeschichten.” 112 “miracle text”

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folding narrative and not merely from whatever release of tension occurs within the confines of the miracle story itself. (Nor is it specified that a miracle story in the oral tradition may well derive some, if not much, of its meaning from the circumambient tradition about Jesus.) Third, this predilection for treating the miracle stories in a detached manner is seen among many of the narrative analyses of individual miracle stories in the Kompendium (KFW1). As for responses, Zimmermann’s approach takes a step backwards. Addressing “Narration,” the first aspect of his definition, Zimmermann (2014: 328) essentially adapts material from Theissen. He divides Theissen’s (1974: 82–83) four categories into ten sub-categories, called “Elemente,” with four being in “Exposition” and two being in the remaining three categories (“Einleitung,” “Mitte” and “Schluss”). Each sub-category contains one to five of 33 motifs, essentially equivalent to those postulated by Theissen. 113 He claims that a narrative must have a particular six of the 10 “Elemente” to be called a miracle story. 114 Though elsewhere his scheme brings progress, 115 113 Zimmermann adds “Erzähleinleitung” (first motif) and “Deutungsangebot” (last motif), merges Theissen’s “Auftreten von Stellvertretern” and “Auftreten von Gesandtschaften” and deletes Theissen’s “Motivation des Auftretens von Gegenspielern.” 114 Zimmermann (2014: 323) defines what he means by the criterion “Narration” thus: “Eine Wundergeschichte ist eine mehrgliedrige Erzählung, die in faktualer Erzählweise präsentiert wird.” The adjective “mehrgliedrige” refers to the essential six narrative elements (the “notwendiges narratives Grundgerüst” [Zimmermann 2014: 328]) and other optional elements. However, describing the said six sub-categories of motifs as “essential” is misleading. The description also goes against Zimmermann’s otherwise flexible approach to genre. Should the six criteria be understood as truly essential, Zimmermann’s definition of “miracle story” becomes problematic. For (versions of) six stories commonly recognised as miracle stories, being found for example in KFW1, would have to be excluded. In some cases more than one criterion are not met. In Mt 17.24–27 no miracle is narrated (“Konstatierung einer Veränderung”), nor does any motif from “Reaktionen durch Handlungsfiguren” appear. In all Synoptic versions of the feeding of the 5000, the element “Reaktionen durch Handlungsfiguren” is absent, both with respect to the miracle worker – in two cases the crowd is sent away after the next miracle story begins (Mt 14.23 || Mk 6.46), while in Lk the crowd is not sent away – and the other characters. As the blessing before eating is not portrayed as an entreaty of God for a miracle, there is in all probability no “Wunderhandlung” either (Mt 14.19 || Mk 6.41 || Lk 9.16 – identifying a potential “Szenische Vorbereitung” would not solve this problem). Even the presence of “Konstatierung einer Veränderung” is problematic. Though in Mk the sentence καὶ τοὺς δύο ἰχθύας ἐμέρισεν πᾶσιν (6.41d) could possibly be taken as “Konstatierung einer Veränderung,” because of πᾶσιν, there is no corresponding comprehensive statement in Mt (14.19) or Lk (9.16). The fact that everyone’s stomaches got full has not convinced all readers that a miracle took place. On the difficulty of identifying the happenings in the feeding story of Lk 9.10–17 as miraculous without reading them in the context of the overall narrative of a given Gospel, see Alkier (2013). In the feeding of the 4000, for similar reasons, there is strictly speaking neither “Wunderhandlung nor Konstatierung einer Veränderung.” Three other stories are without any motif from “Reaktionen durch Handlungsfiguren”: the healing of the hemor-

History of Research on Responses

45

the last of these six elements, “Reaktionen durch Handlungsfiguren,” is particularly problematic. 116 First, he labels the miracle worker’s activities subsequent to the miracle (“Schweige-/Geheimhaltungsgebot” and “Entlassung”) as “reactions.” 117 They are better understood as follow-up activities. 118 The categorisation creates confusion on the important point that in the Gospels Jesus, unlike other characters, typically does not respond to the miracles. Second, Zimmermann categorically severs Admiration and Akklamation, placed within the aforementioned essential “Element,” from Ablehnende Reaktion and Ausbreitung des Rufes, relegated to the sub-category “Erzählerkommentar,” an allegedly optional element of miracle stories. 119 But these four motifs are unified in that they pertain to the responding actions of those characters other than the miracle worker. 120 Thus, a better sub-categorisation of Theissen’s scheme would place the two motifs pertaining to the postmiracle actions of the miracle worker in a sub-category of their own and the four pertaining to the responses of other characters in yet another distinct subcategory (though the heuristic value of even these four are in need of reexamination, as noted already). Zimmermann does not incorporate the advances made by Kahl, who identifies additional sorts of responses. Alternatively, Zimmermann’s focus on emotional and verbal responses is curiously reminiscent of Bultmann’s Eindruck and Dibelius Chor-Schluß.

rhaging woman in Mt (9.20–22), the healing of the centurion’s slave in Lk (7.1–10) and the exorcism of the Syrophoenician’s daughter in Mt (15.21–28). (Note that for the last two stories the respective parallel version is also put in question, since for the “Entlassung” [ὕπαγε] not those healed, but the petitioners are sent on their way [Mt 8.13; Mk 7.29].) 115 For example, Zimmermann appropriately pairs motifs pertaining to the confirmation of the miracle (i.e. the element or sub-category “Konstatierung einer Veränderung”) and thereby creates a better division between the categories “Mitte” and “Schluß.” Thus, Zimmermann places “Demonstration” together with “Erzählerkommentar” (i.e. Theissen’s “Konstatierung des Wunders” and a motif, not the element which in Zimmermann’s scheme confusingly goes by the same name). Both are found in “Mitte.” Elsewhere, too, Zimmermann’s sub-categories can be helpful. The collection of motifs pertaining to the appearance of characters (“Begegnung mit dem Wundertäter”) is helpful. 116 “reactions by action-characters” 117 “command to silence/secrecy”; “dismissal” 118 E.g. Jesus’ commands to be silent (or keep a secret) or acts of letting other individuals depart are not actions which express that a great impression has been made on the miracle worker by the miracle. Rather such actions are focused on the subsequent behaviour of those who have received favours. On the other hand, descriptions of feelings, often extreme in nature, give voice to impression the miracle has made on the characters experiencing the feelings. 119 “narrator’s commentary” 120 For Theissen (1974: 81) Ablehnende Reaktion, in particular, is the counterpart of Admiration and Akklamation.

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Chapter 1: Introduction

Also with respect to the fifth and final aspect of his definition (“Wirkungsästhetik”), 121 Zimmermann carries on the legacy of the form-critical paradigm. He clearly understands the impact of a miracle story on the recipients in terms of their amazement, as an extension of the characters’ amazement within the miracle stories themselves. Zimmermann (2013: 13; cf. 14– 15), discussing his “new” approach, makes this point unequivocally: Ziel dieser Texte ist es, dass sich die Rezipienten gleichsam mit den Augenzeugen und Handlungsfiguren auf der Erzählebene wundern. 122

Amazement is taken as singularly positive, for all miracle stories. Emotional responses are homogenised. The individual instance of the emotion and the particular character involved in a given story are not of ultimate significance. Amazement, viewed monolithically, serves simply to acknowledge the grandeur of the deed and the doer. Theissen’s work on responses in Mark, which observes less than positive instances of amazement, is ignored. Elsewhere, in discussion of his definition of miracle story, this emphasis on amazement is coupled with one on a culminating recognition, belief and behaviour modification. 123 In this way the assumed intended effect of a miracle story on the listeners is related closely to not only the emotional but also the verbal responses of characters. The perspective is in line with his predecessors: Bultmann and Tagawa for emotion, Dibelius and Theissen for acclamation. Their paradigm exerts its influence here, even when for Zimmermann the intended effect is no longer reduced to a single item.

B. Definitions The foregoing discussion has highlighted the need for clear definitions in the study to follow. What constitutes a miracle in the Gospels? How are stories best labeled as miracle stories? What am I referring to exactly when I use the word “response”? These questions will be taken up in turn.

121

“effect-aesthetics” “The goal of these texts is that the recipients [of the stories] marvel as it were with the eyewitnesses and characters at the level of the narrative.” 123 While both discussions of his proposed definition speak of the recipients’ “Staunen und Irritation,” the former speaks of a final development as “zu einer Erkenntnis oder einer Verhaltensänderung” (Zimmermann 2013b: 32), without reference to belief, while the latter speaks of it as “zu einer Erkenntnis… und/oder zum Glauben bzw. zu einer Verhaltensänderung” (Zimmermann 2014: 322; emphasis original). 122

Definitions

47

I. “Miracle” Too often studies of the miracle stories of the Gospels begin without a precise articulation of what “miracle” entails, while proceeding on the assumption that it refers to mighty deeds – healings and exorcisms above all – performed by Jesus and other ancient figures, historical and mythical. 124 Theissen has argued for epiphanies in the Gospels – whether of God, angels or Jesus – to be included. His broad definition is noteworthy, since de facto he limits his attention to epiphanies of miracle workers. His voice has gone largely unheeded, a point that can be seen in how Bultmann’s taxonomy of miracle stories is so often adopted along broad lines, while that of Theissen is ignored or otherwise dismissed, without justification (e.g. Cotter 1999). The question of terminology and the underlying conceptions with respect to what are called “miracles” in scholarship of the ancient world has been severely problematised. As is well-known, the Gospels do not have a fixed term (or set of terms) comparable to the English term “miracle,” the German term “Wunder,” the modern Hebrew term ‫ נס‬and so forth. Robert Garland (2011) notes how the miracle terminology that is used in the Gospels – δυνάμεις, ἔργα and so forth – and its underlying concepts are alien to nonJewish Greco-Roman terminology and its embedded cultural assumptions. The terminology best fits an ancient Jewish context. Zimmermann’s observation that, implicitly or explicitly, God’s power is always the source of miracles in the Gospels also favours a Jewish context. Other studies of the gospel miracle stories, discussed in the foregoing, confirm that Jewish sources are just as likely as, if not more than, non-Jewish ones to provide insight into what we are speaking about when we use the term “miracle” in relation to the Gospels. In such a context, it would seem appropriate to use “miracle” to indicate the (result of the) activity or otherwise unleashed power of a being that is positively portrayed (God or an intermediary) who has the ability to do

124 For example, Alkier and Weissenrieder’s (2013a) volume on “New Testament miracle stories” provides no definition of “miracle.” In the preface (Alkier and Weissenrieder 2013b: 1), the editors seem to adopt a conception of “miracle” that is standard in New Testament studies, as the examples given are “healings,” exorcisms” and “miraculous gifts or favors,” while epiphanies are not mentioned – yet “apocalypses” (as a genre) are included in an attempt to “expand the miracle-discourse.” The essay by Alkier and Moffitt (2013: 315), whose title echoes the volume’s title and which offers a survey of scholarship on biblical “miracles,” seems to define them as “signs, wonders, and powerful deeds, as well as... the ability to act in ways that exceed the limits of human possibilities.” The focus is on “the miracles done by Jesus and his followers,” though topics such as “prophecy, the virgin birth, the incarnation and the bodily resurrection of Jesus” (Alkier and Moffitt 2013: 315, 326) are also addressed.

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Chapter 1: Introduction

feats that (regular) humans cannot do. 125 A human agent, of course, may in fact be the mediator of the activity/power of God. 126 Some would object to the notion that ancient Jews had a sense of the fixity of the order that God established at creation (e.g. Eve 2002: 1). Yet “fixity” is different than “immutability” – the concept of immutable laws of “nature” (established by a deist’s God) are endemic to the eighteenth-century debate and subsequent modern debates of whether or not “miracles” (understood within the deistic and similar, modern frameworks) are possible. 127 But the ancient Israelite and Jew, having no concept of “nature,” had in common the notion that God had fixed a certain order at creation. The Hebrew Bible relates that God established, for example, the foundation of the earth (Ps 24.2; Job 38.4–6); he also set a boundary for the sea (Jer 5.22; Prov 8.29; Job 38.8– 11). The fixity of the movement of the heavenly bodies, as well as the boundaries of the sea and so forth, are seen in Second Temple literature commonly enough (e.g. 1 En., 2 Bar.). Still, for Jews of this period, there was no final conflict if God exercised his prerogative and made exceptions to the rules. This sentiment is expressed aptly by Zakovitch (1987: 22), in relation to the Hebrew Bible: ‫במעשי ניסים הפורעים את סדריה הקבועים של הבריאה מוכיח ה׳ את שליטתו‬ 128 .‫בבריאה ובברואים‬

In some instances, a miracle can be identified as such precisely because God overrides the rules that God established earlier. Zakovitch’s definition of “miracle” (‫)נס‬, appropriate for the ancient Israelite and Judahite contexts as well as Jewish contexts, is even broader. It includes not just the aforementioned interruptions of the order established at creation, but also more mundane events that happen at precisely the right moment (Zakovitch 1987: 23): ‫ יצור או עצם כלשהו על בימת החיזיון בדיוק ברגע שבו הוא עונה על‬,‫הופעת אדם‬ 129 ....‫צורך חיוני‬

125

An intermediary may be a non-human being or a human that is portrayed as having in some way a more-than-human quality. For a similar definition see Basinger (2011; cf. also Zakovitch 1987). 126 It should be noted that a given human character can be portrayed in more than one light in a narrative. On one occasion s/he may be seen as human only, though having access to God’s power through, say, especially efficacious prayers, and in another s/he may appear as having in some way more-than-human qualities. 127 Such debate, which was foreign to the ancient Jewish worldview, has had a problematic hold on gospel studies over the past centuries – see Frey (1999). 128 “By performing miracles which tear asunder the constant order of the creation, God proves His control over all creation and all creatures.” Here and in what follows the English translation of Zakovitch is cited directly from Shmuel Himelstein’s translation (Zakovitch 1991).

Definitions

49

This expansion of what is commonly meant by the English “miracle” is instructive for our purposes. The definition supplies the basis, lacking in other approaches, for why it is appropriate to include some episodes among the gospel miracle stories, whether, for example, the unusual catch of a fish with a coin in its mouth at the right time (Mt 17) or someone’s restoration to health which occurs precisely when Jesus, at a distance, declares the healing (Jn 4). Thus, in discussion of the ancient Jewish context, it is best to understand a “miracle” as: a positively portrayed event (even harm inflicted on God’s enemies can be miracles!) that is caused by God, whether directly or through an intermediary. A miracle may be a theophany or the epiphany of an angel or some other heavenly being or the activity of a human portrayed as having in some way more-than-human qualities (epiphany in a narrower sense). An epiphany may bring essential knowledge and/or healing and/or provision of physical needs 130 and so forth. By beginning with a Jewish context for framing my definition of miracles in the Gospels I do not rule out the possibility that for any given story nonJewish influences or other, broader influences may be at play. But the question is where one should begin. The attempt here is to provide an emic specification for “miracle,” despite the incongruity of ancient and modern terminology, by concentrating on comparable concepts and, especially, episodes in an ancient literary context (see further, below) that help in formulating the definition. II. “Story” For the definition of “story” I draw on discourse analysis, a branch of linguistics concerned with communication at a level beyond the sentence. Robert Longacre (1996: 8) describes narrative discourse, to which “story” belongs, as concerned with “agent orientation” and “contingent temporal succession.” 131 Each gospel is to be taken in its entirety, of course, as a narrative. A unit of text within a gospel is a story, if a succession of events is principally in view. Negatively stated, I consider the criterion of contingent temporal succession to not be met when an identifiable section of material de129

“[T]he appearance of a person, creature or object at the exact moment when it is essential....” Zakovitch (1991: 29) adds, “It would appear to me that the difference between the ‘fortuitous occurrences’ in which God’s intervention is overt and direct, and those in which His intervention is not overt, is not significant.” 130 Note, for example, an angel may miraculously provide food and water of a normal quality: baked bread and a jar of water (1 Kgs 19.5–8). The same principal of a perfectly timed provision of food whose quality does not involve a breach in the laws established at creation may be at work also in miracle stories without an epiphanic element (e.g. 1 Kgs 17.6), though the occurrence involved is highly unusual. 131 For secondary parameters, see Longacre (1996: 9–11). Cf. Levinsohn (2000: 169) and Fanning (2011: 168–170).

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Chapter 1: Introduction

scribes primarily summaries of occurrences, rather than narrating successive events per se. This differentiation rests on the understanding of foreground and background in narrative and the related understanding of mainline and offline material, especially with respect to the corresponding verbal forms in Hellenistic Greek. These concepts from discourse analysis – I rely especially on the work of Stephen Levinsohn, Randall Buth and Steven Runge – will be explained in greater detail in Chapter Two, Sections F, M and O. For now, the following comments are sufficient. Generally speaking, mainline events are narrated principally by the aorist indicative, though also by other forms, such as the historical present. In contrast, the imperfect typically depicts offline material. Moreover, certain connectives, such as γάρ, can introduce offline material in narrative contexts. Thus Mk 3.10–12, concerned with healings and exorcisms, does not meet the second criterion for being a story. I will return to this text in a moment, regarding stories that contain summaries of miracles. Of course identifying a given story within a larger narrative requires further examination. At the most basic level, a new unit, here a story, begins with a new sentence, not in the middle of one. Beyond this, the boundaries of each story are determined on the basis of thematic continuity within the unit and discontinuity of themes between it and the surrounding units. Given Longacre’s definition, a change in theme often, though not always, coincides with a change in cast or a specification of time, especially when such a temporal demarcation is fronted in the initial sentence. Changes in location may also be relevant. When the boundaries of a story are the object of significant dispute in scholarship, I will address them (in Section Q of the respective chapter, below). III. “Miracle story” Given the present study’s definitions of “miracle” and “story,” outlined in the foregoing, a definition of “miracle story” can follow naturally enough. I offer the following: A miracle story in the Gospels is a unit of text using narrative discourse (defined in a linguistic framework) in which the central theme or a significant theme in the succession of events pertains to a miracle (an interruption of the order established at creation or a more mundane, precisely timed event, resulting from the activity of God or an intermediary/agent or an epiphany), whether its occurrence and/or preparation for it and/or its aftermath.

While a more restrictive definition could be defended – for example, stating merely “the central theme” without adding “or a significant theme” – a broader definition is sought, so as to incorporate as much material as reasonably possible. For I am interested in the present study to analyse all possible instances of a response to a miracle that are narrated within a story. The defi-

Definitions

51

nition, thus, is not dependent on any particular concept of genre. Though one or more concepts of genre, ancient or modern, may correspond to the term “miracle story” for one or more of the Gospels, the approach leaves open the question of the appropriateness of any such concept. 132 When a miracle is presented as a mainline event, the assessment of whether it is a significant theme in the story at hand is dependent on more subjective criteria. Thus, for example, I determine the miraculous occurrences surrounding Jesus’ crucifixion in the Synoptics, though important, to be sufficiently subordinated to the theme of his suffering in each case so as not to consider the respective episode a miracle story. 133 Alternatively, offline descriptions of miracles, often coming as summaries, typically indicate that they are insufficiently germane to the stories’ themes. Thus Mk 3.7–12 does not qualify as a miracle story. The story centres on the inhibited movement of Jesus, being followed by an ever growing crowd, with an offline explanation (introduced with γάρ), involving healings and exorcisms, as to why he enters a boat. The approach adopted here, as noted above, gives room to an ancient Jewish conception of miracle. As a result, a distinctive feature of the present approach is the inclusion of epiphanic episodes under the rubric of miracle stories. The definition is only a starting point. The analyses of each gospel to follow, then, may serve as a further means of verifying or calling into question the appropriateness of the approach. Potential similarities between epiphany stories and other stories of the miraculous when it comes to “responses” (see below) – such as the frequency of their occurrence, their constituent components and various other qualitative and quantitative features – may constitute an important case in point. Thus, I will note at various points whether and to what extent the study confirms the definition adopted here. The analysis to follow will seek also to confirm or disconfirm the categorisation of various miracles stories as epiphanic. Theissen has claimed that the stilling of the storm and the walking on water are epiphanic episodes, alongside others, such as the transfiguration. To begin with I will refer to the first two stories as both epiphanies and rescue nature miracles.

132 For the present purposes this renders irrelevant the claims of Klaus Berger (1984a, 1984b), who has called into question the existence of a miracle story genre in the ancient world, arguing, rather, that the miraculous occurs in a number of Hellenistic genres, such as “demonstratio,” “mandatio” and “petitio.” Still, in light of the foregoing discussion, the question is already raised as to whether Berger’s proposed schema is able to do full justice to the data, since it subsumes some Jewish materials under categories determined by Greco-Roman rhetorical rubric. 133 Note the most difficult case is in Mt (27.54), where the centurion’s and the others’ sight of the earthquake and related happenings, explicitly, precedes their fear and speech.

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Chapter 1: Introduction

IV. “Responses” A definition of “response” is needed that is robust enough to handle the data, which can be diverse. As a basic framework, I again adopt a linguistic approach, using discourse analysis. For the most part, the objects of study are discrete linguistic phenomena: A response is a sentence (or clause) or series of contiguous sentences (or clauses) narrating one or more characters’ (apprehension of a miracle and) actions and/or internal experience subsequent to the occurrence of a miracle.

A response may well involve the actions of different characters and/or character groups. The criterion that a response must be contained in the same sentence or contiguous sentences need not be rigidly adhered to, for sometimes relatively short intervening backgrounded material may appear in such series of clauses or sentences. Occasionally it might be allowed that events in the foreground intervene between components of a single response. A judgement on this matter will depend on literary, not linguistic, considerations. Generally, though, when events in the foreground intervene between actions of characters in reply to miracles, it is necessary to identify two distinct responses. From this point on, then, I reserve the term “response” for these formal or semi-formal phenomena under investigaion. A response may consist of various elements. The review of previous scholarship has brought to attention that emotions and speech are common responses or parts of responses. I, in part following the lead of Theissen, have thrown doubt on whether any one such feature is presented in a qualitatively consistent manner, such as in a purely positive light. Thus, for the purposes of comparison – both within a given gospel and, especially, between two or more gospels – it seems advisable to adopt a scheme that allows for variation in the quality of a given response, to be determined by consideration of the larger discourse, while breaking the response down into its constituent components based primarily on lexical semantics. This approach to identifying elements will be spelled out in more detail in Chapter Two, section D. V. “Emotion” There is a grave danger of anachronism in using the term “emotion” in reference to feelings in the ancient world (Lasater, forthcoming). The term’s introduction into modern discussion of psychology, facilitated by Scottish thinkers in the Humean tradition, corresponds to conceptual shifts in the 18th and 19th centuries. “Emotions” are understood within a conceptual framework that makes a conscious break with and is pitted against preceding anthropology and psychology. Previously, the influential thinkers in the Western tradition – including Plato, Aristotle, Augustine and a number other thinkers until early modern psychology – understood passions and affections

Definitions

53

to be movements of the soul which one should govern with reason. Modern psychology, in contrast, understands emotions to be involuntary states. A corollary is that a strict division was drawn between emotions and cognitive activity. I have argued, “One might justifiably continue to use the term ‘emotion’ if one were to be very clear about the way one uses it in distinction from its use in common parlance” (Kiffiak, forthcoming). This is the approach I am adopting here. Thus, in the study to follow, when I use “emotion” or “emotional” I do this in conscious rejection of the framework in which the term was coined and typically operates. I do not conceive of “emotions” as either involuntary or states. Nor do I take “emotions” to be without a causal relation to, let alone antithetical to, the exercise of cognitive faculties. Rather, in reference to the Gospels and the other ancient literature to be studied, I use “emotions” – as I would use “feelings” – to refer to movements of the soul that can be influenced by reason. Though room should be made for potential differences between the anthropological and psychological framework of the Gospels and, for example, that of Aristotle, Augustine and Aquinas, nevertheless the conceptual approach adopted here will be of greater advantage than using the modern notion of emotions and the framework it entails. VI. “Amazement,” “fear” and “being troubled” In a lexicographical study of Greek terminology for feelings (Kiffiak, forthcoming), focused on the gospel miracle stories, I show that semantic categories for fear and amazement are to be distinguished from one another. A further point is that terms expressing being anxious or troubled are closely related to those denoting fear (Kiffiak, forthcoming): …the categories of amazement, fear and being troubled can be meaningfully distinguished in the portions of text under consideration, with the first of these being more removed semantically from the other two.

Attention must be given to nuance, noting a few exceptions – for example, ἐκστῆναι may entail fear at times and ἐκθαμβηθῆναι occupies a space somewhere between high intensity amazement and fear. Nevertheless the categorisation scheme holds for the vast number of relevant lexemes. The results of the analysis are helpfully summarised in a table (see below, Table 1), taken as a heuristic tool, which indicates the relation between terms, according to intensity and semantic category.

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Chapter 1: Introduction

Table 1: Lexemes for amazement, fear and being troubled 134, 135 Low Amazement

Fear

θαυμάσαι

Intensity Medium

High ἐκπλαγῆναι θαμβηθῆναι ἐκστῆναι θάμβος ἔκστασις ἐκθαμβηθῆναι φοβηθῆναι πτοηθῆναι ἔμφοβος φόβος ἔκφοβος τρόμος τρέμειν

Being troubled

ταραχθῆναι

(Further semantic nuance) 136 (being overwhelmed) (being beside oneself) (being beside oneself)

(physical trembling) (physical trembling)

διαταραχθῆναι

Secondary considerations confirm the assessment. This and related terminology appearing in similar contexts (Josephus’ Ant. 1–11; Philo’s Moses) also fit into the categorisation scheme. Within the Gospels, collocations come to bear on the topic, as a strong tendency is observed for the posturing of the body upon or towards the ground to be accompanied by fear rather than amazement. The implications for the study of responses are as follows (Kiffiak, forthcoming): It is no longer acceptable to place, e.g., φοβηθῆναι and θαυμάσαι side-by-side without differentiation in a category of affective responses labelled Eindruck, Admiration or “wonder.”

In what follows, “amazement,” “fear” and “being troubled,” when referring to groups of lexemes, pertain to those so labeled in Table 1. I will discuss ἐκθαμβηθῆναι in Chapter Two.

C. Reference to Greek Verbs I generally use aorist infinitives in generic reference to verbs. 137 When use of the aorist is rare or not attested for a given verb, I use the continuative aspect 134

The table is reproduced from Kiffiak (forthcoming). In the table verbs are placed in boxes beside one another horizontally, as are nouns and adjectives, jointly. 136 Further semantic nuance, where relevant, applies only to the term contained in the same box as the phrase contained in parentheses. Light shading indicates that the “high” intensity range is not relevant for the boxes in question. 137 Similarly, Buth 2004. To my mind, the following considerations are good grounds for this procedure. First, the approach avoids the production of artificial forms of verbs, not occurring in Hellenistic literature (e.g. φοβέω*). Second, use of the infinitive is natu135

Methodology

55

infinitive (e.g. εἶναι). Rarely, for verbs that typically employ a perfect conjugation (e.g. οἶδα), I refer to them with the perfect infinitive (e.g. εἰδέναι).

D. Methodology The tasks that lie ahead involve, in the first place, narrative-critical investigation. I will undertake also redaction-, source- and tradition-historical-critical analyses. In addition, discourse analysis, a branch of linguistics, will play an important part in the study. The foregoing review of scholarship has helped to set the tenor for the ways in which the present study will seek to overcome short-comings in previous approaches, for a variety of sub-disciplines. Rather than spell out the respective methodologies here, I will do so at the appropriate junctures in the chapters that follow.

E. Procedure This being the first study dedicated to responses in the miracle stories of the Gospels, there is much work to do. For, as this chapter has shown, while responses are clearly a significant aspect of gospel miracle stories, their relevance has often been obscured on account of the lingering force of the formand redaction-critical paradigm, though a host of its weaknesses has been exposed as scholarship has advanced over the past hundred years. Indeed, vestiges of the paradigm can be seen even in the work of those who consciously adopt methodologies and approaches to understanding the Gospels that are otherwise at basic odds with the form critics. The study should begin with an analysis of each extant piece of literature on its own terms. Thus, a chapter is dedicated to each gospel – Mark (Chapter Two), Matthew (Chapter Three), Luke (Chapter Four), John (Chapter Five). In each case I will analyse the use of the response motif in miracle stories as the respective narrative unfolds, employing narrative criticism, along with discourse analysis. In this first part of the study – “towards artistry” – my attention will be shifted towards authorial creativity. How are responses used in ways specific to a given gospel in order to advance plot-lines and to serve characterisation? Not just the miracle stories themselves and the responses they contain need analysis, but also the overall narratives in which these storally more conducive to thinking and speaking abstractly about the relevant action or state. Third, infinitives were employed in comparable discourses in the ancient world. Fourth, in a majority of cases, the aorist infinitive is the most appropriate one. It can be added that various modern lexicons, also concordances, list verbs using infinitives, albeit for the continuative aspect.

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ries are situated and form an integral part. Such a comprehensive approach is necessary since, despite voluminous work published on the gospel miracle stories, for any single gospel such an investigation has not been conducted previously. At the same time, data will be collected for each gospel whose full relevance will not be appreciated until the second part of the study. The four chapters in Part One will be the lion’s share of the study. The other end of the spectrum concerns the influence of tradition on the Gospels. Analysis of the responses in this regard will occur primarily in Part Two – “towards tradition” – which consists of Chapters Six and Seven, but also in two sections earlier in the study, at the end of Chapters Three and Four, respectively. The influence of tradition is conceived of in different ways. I will evaluate the explanatory power of the three most well-known solutions to the Synoptic Problem in light of the responses at the end of Chapters Three and Four. In Chapter Six I will broaden the scope and examine the interrelations of all four of the Gospels, considering in detail also the potential role of the oral tradition about Jesus in the formation of whatever response features are held in common among the Gospels. This chapter will be lengthy as I seek to be comprehensive in the comparison of each gospel’s profile. Yet even in this chapter the question of the potential creative use of traditional motifs arises. For it is possible that the oral tradition about Jesus as a whole is innovative to some degree – that it possesses features that may be reasonably deemed uniquely characteristic of it. Finally, I will conduct, as a probative exercise, a comparative analysis of some Jewish and non-Jewish miracle stories in an effort to contribute towards answering the question of the tradition-historical influences on the formation of the miracle stories in the Jesus tradition (Chapter Seven). Here issues of definition arise again. For, the concept of miracle adopted here, involving the working of God’s power, does not fit easily in the non-Jewish context. Nevertheless, comparison with non-Jewish texts containing mighty deeds and epiphanies, along with figures’ responses to them that are roughly comparable to such features in the Gospels, will be a sufficient solution to the difficulty.

Part One Towards Artistry

Chapter 2

Mark And, in any case, as is true of all original art, what is really interesting is not the schema of convention but what is done in each individual application of the schema to give it a sudden tilt of innovation or even to refashion it radically for the imaginative purposes at hand. 1

The first task of this study is to examine each gospel, on its own terms, with regard to the responses in miracle stories. Aspects of both literary and linguistic approaches will be employed. I begin with Mark for a number of reasons. Since it is shorter and, among the Synoptics, contains fewer miracle stories, analysis of it first will allow room for the necessary theoretical and methodological discussions, the essentials of which will be assumed in later chapters. Such extended discussions fit best with Mark, anyway, since so much has been published on it. 2 The cumulative insights of literary studies will enable the present investigation to be conducted with relative agility. 3 Miracle stories play, proportionately, a greater role in this gospel, owing especially to the smaller amount of direct discourse. 4 The guiding question is whether and to what extent the response motif, seen in light of the larger narrative of Mark, has a common function, or, alternatively, diversity in its employment can be detected. As per the sentiment of Robert Alter, cited above, I am interested here not merely in describing the motif of miracle responses, identifying its various constituent elements, noting the settings and characters with which they appear and so forth, but also, and even more, in appreciating the various ways that the narrator 5 employs 1

Alter 1981: 52; cf. 62. Investigating Mk first may have an added benefit of being an easier or more valued point of entry for the majority of New Testament scholars, that is, those who assume its chronological priority. 3 See Moore (1989: 7) on some historical factors behind Mk’s centrality in literary studies of the Gospels. 4 In the first part of Mk, in particular, the stories have a prominent role. Variables are fewer, too, since Jesus, as an adult, is present in every miracle story, save one. 5 As most literary critics of Mk, I see no distinction between the evaluative norms of the narrator and the implied author. Rimmon-Kenan (2002: 89, 97) correctly understands the “implied author” as “a set of implicit norms rather than as a speaker or a voice” – even 2

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(or does not employ) this scheme of convention for a potential variety of effects as the narrative unfolds. Does the author-redactor of Mark employ the response motif with singularity of function? One might well expect an affirmative answer. In a traditional line of approach, various studies have argued for such a position. Elizabeth Struthers Malbon sees in emotional responses to miracles one of a variety of features that bring the disciples and the crowd together, portrayed as Jesus’ fallible followers. For Timothy Dwyer “wonder,” which includes emotional responses to miracles, serves to depict God’s kingdom breaking in through Jesus. While these scholars are attentive, to varying degrees, of potential differences in the employment of the response motif, they see it in its essence as a supporting some larger, unified theme. Yet there are reasons to anticipate a negative answer to the question. For at a basic level it can be seen that the miracle stories occur at different points in the narrative and, thus, are incorporated differently into the plot. For example, the first story in which Jesus performs a healing or exorcism, in Capernaum, concludes with a response of amazement and a question about Jesus’ authority and teaching. In later contexts, including responses in miracle stories, various characters offer their answers to the question of who Jesus is. Alternatively, in its extant form the larger narrative famously ends on a note of suspense – the women disciples at the tomb do not obey the angel’s command to proclaim Jesus’ resurrection. The angelophany, as a miracle story (see above, Chapter One), contains the response motif employed for a very different function than in the exorcism in Capernaum, for example. At the same time that I will conduct the stated narrative-critical analysis of Mark in this chapter, I will collect data here in such a way that they can be usefully referred to in later discussions of source-critical and traditionhistorical questions, to be addressed especially in Chapters Six and Seven, respectively (also in sections of Chapters Three and Four). Given the overall structure of the study, the said procedure is advantageous. Nevertheless, because analysis in the present chapter is at times of a very technical nature, the reader may want initially to just browse some sections, returning to them later, once the implications from the analysis in the present chapter – or in Chapter Six – have already become apparent. For the narrative-critical analysis of Mark, the most important section of the present chapter is Section Q. 6 dialogue is “quoted” by the narrator. (I note that I use her theory for a narrative that claims to be a record of fact; see below, n. 26.) This understanding helps to elucidate the problematic nature of Malbon’s (2009a: 236, n. 16) position, who cites Dawsey (1986) as another work that sees a difference between the norms of the narrator and implied author, though she does not engage the criticism of Dawsey’s position by Moore (1989: 30–34). 6 Nevertheless, before turning to Section Q, it will be of great help to read first at least Sections A–D, H–K and P.

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A. State of the Question Methodological points to be made in this section apply to some degree also to the other gospels. Thus I will consider these matters in detail here, though in the chapters to follow many observations made here will not be repeated, except to adjust the method to the material at hand. Narrative criticism, a form of literary criticism originating in the late 1970s and unique to biblical, mostly New Testament, studies, offered the first attempts at the sorely needed analysis of a given gospel’s narrative in its entirety. This method or “reading strategy,” based in large part on the (extrabiblical) literary theory of narratology, has since flourished. 7 As alluded to above, it has had a lively interaction with Mark. 8 But, to the best of my knowledge, a detailed examination of a key conventional scheme employed by the Gospels, that is, responses in miracles stories, has not been undertaken. And there is good reason to continue using a narrative critical approach, despite the fact that the broader discipline of literary theory (especially in France and the United States) is typically poststructuralist and, recently, even “posttheoretical.” 9 Edwin K. Broadhead is the only scholar, to my knowledge, to have conducted a focused and sustained literary study of the miracle stories in Mark.

7 For an overview of narrative criticism’s history and delineation of its various branches’ aims see Powell (2011). Powell (2009: 55–56) proposes that “‘narrative criticism’ can be presented as one of several types of reader-response criticism, if the latter term is taken in its broader sense.” For a review of narrative criticism’s early inroads into gospel studies, see Moore (1989). For further bibliography on narrative criticism and its application to Mk see Malbon (2009a: 8, n. 20) and Naluparayil (2000b: 291, n. 2; 292, n. 3). 8 One reviewer states, “[S]tudying Mark as a narrative text has become the state of the art,” (Breytenbach 2011: 20). 9 Moore, addressing the broader field of literary theory (and “posttheory”) and its relation to New Testament literary criticism, is correct: the guild could benefit from more studies using approaches which read “against the grain of authorial intentionality” (2007: 5). Yet, his case is overstated, as is his related criticism of the importance given to narrative criticism. Rimmon-Kenan (2002: 146) convincingly argues for the continuing relevance of narratology as “a self-conscious reflection, a conceptual framework, a set of hypotheses having explanatory power.” She acknowledges the positive effects “‘postclassical’ narratologies” have had. Yet, she avers, “Narratology, even of the classical brand, still ‘works,’ I believe, for historical and anthropological reasons...” (Rimmon-Kenan 2002: 145). A similar case can be made mutatis mutandis for narrative criticism. Moreover, as Powell (2009: 59–60) observes, “Even scholars who ultimately want to interpret the text in accord with some other literary scheme usually start with a narrative-critical analysis in order to (a) lay a foundation on which they can build with supplemental insights or (b) define the accepted or traditional literary understanding, which they might subsequently hope to contest or challenge.”

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In his view, “a unified narrative strategy... employs the miracle stories... to generate a unified narrative portrait of Jesus” (Broadhead 1992: 191). He sees Jesus characterised, principally, as a “mighty teacher.” 10 His work is to be commended for situating each story’s analysis in relation to the narrative’s unfolding. 11 While the central thesis seems overstated, his point is well taken that characterisation of Jesus is often of importance in individual miracle stories and throughout the larger narrative; and in some cases his teaching is a key part of the resultant picture. 12 The present analysis will re-examine this issue of characterisation. Also it will investigate how miracle stories contribute to the development of the narrative’s overall plot and their relation to focalisation (or point of view) – issues which Broadhead did not address. Unlike his form-critical predecessors (see below), Broadhead does not discuss responses to miracles as a motif in and of itself. 13 His vague notion of the “action” of “responding” 14 would benefit from the identification of subcategories. 15 Since for him a “motif” is not an action alone, but a combination 10

“The central focus of this portrait is the teaching ministry of Jesus” (Broadhead 1992: 209). 11 He regularly offers “extended synchronic analysis,” discussing the miracle stories within the larger narrative. 12 “Broadhead tends to import the theme of Jesus’ teaching into passages where it is not present... to overemphasize it when it is only a minor element... or to set it over against miracle working when Mark merely juxtaposes the two activities...” (Marcus 1994: 221, giving a number of examples). 13 Dormeyer’s (2013) nine-page introduction to the Markan miracle stories in KFW1, similarly, scarcely mentions responses. One might have expected discussion here more than in relation to the other gospels, on account of the importance of miracle stories in Mk. 14 Broadhead (1992: 196–197) aims for a “descriptive morphological analysis,” not a “reductionistic” one. Yet his catalogue of 13 “actions” raises the question of the descriptive nature of the analysis, especially with regards to “responding.” Rather than “victim responds” (Broadhead 1992: 154), a passive verb would better describe ἐγένετο ὡσεὶ νεκρός (Mk 9.26), which follows an exorcism. ἠγέρθη... ἐξῆλθεν (2.12) might be described as “demonstration of victim’s healing” and “victim departs,” rather than “victim responds” (Broadhead 1992: 75). Eating and becoming full in 6.42 and 8.8 are narrated as simple actions, not as responses to any specific speech or gesture (“crowd responds” [Broadhead 1992: 117, 134]). On the absence, in fact, of responses here, see below, Section Q. Other problematic instances include “opponents depart” (Broadhead 1992: 80) for ἐξελθόντες... συμβούλιον ἐδίδουν (3.6), where plotting not departing is given prominence. This is a response to a miracle. 15 “Responding” in various stories often is or includes a response to a miracle (“disciples respond”: four of seven instances; “crowd responds”: six of 12; “victim responds”: three of 10) – note Broadhead’s [1992: 132, 137, 158, 168, 194] table on p. 194 is missing four instances of “victim responds” and one of “opponent responds,” as identified in his analysis). Responses occurring within verbal intercourse is another sub-category that might be demarcated. Cf. also n. 16 below.

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of “action” and “agent,” certain “responses” of “disciples,” “crowds” and “victims,” which share commonalities, are never considered together (Broadhead 1992: 193). 16 A more robust understanding of the disciples’ characterisation will help to improve analysis of responses to miracles. 17 At any rate, when it comes de facto to such responses, Broadhead seems to be working within a residual framework created by form critics, since he occasionally identifies responses using technical terminology (e.g. he refers to a verbal response as “acclamation” [Broadhead 1992: 111]). 18 I will address the types of elements in responses to miracles toward the end of this section. Notably, it seems that a meaningful distinction between responses of amazement and fear can be made. 19 In examining the characterisation of the “disciples” and the “crowd” in light of one another, Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, a scholar known for her detailed and excellent analysis of Markan characters, concludes that “the disciples and the crowd – especially taken together – do evoke a composite image of the followers, the fallible followers, of Jesus” (Malbon 2000: 96). Her analysis addresses inter alia the emotional element in the responses in miracle stories. 20 The present research will build on her insight that for emo16

Six of the nine “role slots” identified in miracle stories – “miracle worker,” “disciples,” “crowd,” “opponent,” “victim,” “representative” (i.e. all save the narrator, God and the “witnesses” [Elijah and Moses]) – are “linked” to the “action” of “responding” (Broadhead 1992: 53–54). This action alone enjoys such distribution. The only other actions for “crowd,” “opponent,” “victim” and “representative,” pertain to entering and exiting. There are ample grounds, therefore, for addressing certain “responses” shared by a number of “agents,” jointly, as motifs in their own right. 17 Broadhead (1992: 193) speaks of “a generic portrait for the disciples.” For criticism of this idea in general and the particular importance of complexity in characterisation of the disciples in miracle stories, see discussion to follow. 18 Note Broadhead’s (1992: 14–16) general interaction with and affirmation of form critics. From his piecemeal statements, it seems he is aware of three types of responses to miracles: emotional, verbal and reporting responses. The emotional element mostly seems envisioned as something distinct. It is less clear that what I will call “reporting” is understood by him to be distinct: see, e.g., “report ‘about him’”; “to preach and to proclaim ‘the word’”; “to ‘preach’”; and, especially, “by preaching, by marveling and by spreading the acclamation of the deeds of Jesus” (Broadhead 1992: 60, 73, 100, 133, emphasis added), where “preaching” and “spreading acclamation” are seen as distinct. 19 In contrast, Broadhead attempts to distinguish between two types of fear (in Mk 4.35–5.1; 6.47–53): “cowardice” and “epiphanic fear” (1992: 94, 126; cf. 99, 149–151 [on “epiphanic” fear and fear pertaining to “failure to understand” in 5.15 and 9.6 respectively]). Amazement (ἐκστῆναι; 5.42), too, can be “epiphanic” (Broadhead 1992:107). 20 This comes as part of an analysis of “a response of amazement, astonishment, and even fear in relation to Jesus [i.e. his miracles, teaching, transfiguration, predictions and ‘Jesus himself’]” (Malbon 2000: 85). She, like Broadhead, does not follow the lead of form critics (see below) and identify responses to miracles as a motif in its own right.

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tional responses (whether to a miracle or not) an interrelation exists between the disciples and crowds. Rather than claim, however, that a common response is in view, I will argue that the narrator employs a common motif for different ends. The present research will build, therefore, albeit in a different direction, on Malbon’s (2000: 87) observation of variation in use of the motif: “...the disciples’ amazement [sic] is never noted... and the crowd’s amazement most frequently noted in response to Jesus’ healing activity.” 21 It should be added that, conversely, the disciples respond to miracles of a more rare, more powerful nature, 22 which occur in private. This will be demonstrated in the analysis to follow. The emotional elements in responses further distinguish between the crowds (and others) and the disciples: generally speaking, amazement (only) and fear or being troubled (at times, coupled with amazement) respectively. 23 Also, emotional responses to teaching are always amazement. 24 The potential significance of the omission or inversion of a motif – for example, Jesus’ amazement at the lack of faith, while performing only a few miracles, in place of the recipients’ response (Mk 6.6) – should be considered. I will diversify Malbon’s set of characters. Various region-specific crowds can be identified, as can some individual minor characters. Larger and more exclusive groups of disciples occur. As with Broadhead’s work, I will expand the field of inquiry engaged by Malbon to include plot and focalisation. Characters. 25 Examination of Broadhead’s and Malbon’s work brings the issue of Markan characters to the fore. The issue has been engaged by Justin Taylor (2011) in a number of fascinating ways in a recent study calling for far-reaching re-evaluation of the literary nature of the four canonical gospels. Taylor turns his attention to the complexity in the portrayal of Pilate and Judas, allocating a chapter to them alone. He concludes that the evident ambivalence in their characterisation is a tell-tale sign of “history” writing, reflecting the complexity and messiness of reality, and not “legend.” 26 The 21 Though Malbon refers to “amazement,” the disciples’ fear, in fact, is important in miracle stories. 22 For Malbon (2000: 87) the “three women” in Mk 16.5–8 “act like disciples.” The young man’s appearance there, likely an epiphany, is a rarer type of miracle, though not as powerful as the others the disciples are privy to. 23 Though, in making this claim I will argue, contrary to Malbon, that the women followers of Jesus are in some substantial way to be more closely associated with the Twelve then the crowds are. See below. 24 ἐκπλαγῆναι: Mk 1.22; 6.2; 10.26; 11.18. θαμβηθῆναι: 1.27; 10.24. ἐκθαυμάσαι: 12.17 (Pharisees and Herodians). φοβηθῆναι in 9.32 does not pertain, explicitly at least, to Jesus’ teaching about his passion and resurrection. 25 Cf. Rimmon-Kenan 2002: 29-42; Chatman 1978: 96–145. 26 Taylor (2011: 97, 98) clarifies: “To say that the Gospel narratives of Jesus’ trial before Pilate show typical features of ‘history’... is not thereby to affirm that everything in

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common practice, then, of painting the Jewish and Roman authorities with one brush stroke, should give way to nuance. 27 Related is the attention given, generally, to the individual in the Gospels, a topic Taylor examines in another chapter. In contrast to the literary convention of the day, in which an individual is “represented as an example of a class or type, whose moral qualities are given in advance,” the “Gospels know only the distinction between those who are re-made by their encounter with Jesus and those who stay unaffected” (Taylor 2011: 67). 28 Another keen observation Taylor makes is related: the narratives of the Gospels – without parallel in the ancient world – give realistic yet serious portrayal of individuals of low social standing. 29 Examining some minor characters as illustrative them is factually accurate,” rather, he continues, “we are recognizing that they reflect the opaqueness, ambiguity and hesitations of reality; the evangelists have not opted for a clear narrative line in which Pilate’s actions are consistent and his motives evident. A narrative of this latter kind would belong rather to the class of ‘legend.’” The general classification of “history” writing – i.e. any “discourse that claims to be a record of fact” (Taylor 2011: 97; citing Sternberg 1985: 25) – is to be distinguished from, say, the specific Hellenistic genre of historiography. Note, Taylor’s comments on Pilate pertain to all four gospels; those on Judas pertain primarily to Mt and Jn. 27 Rhoads and Michie (1982) and Rhoads et al. (1999; 2012) may serve as a representative, to some extent, of current perspectives. (Due to one important, unfortunate change [see below, n. 46] in the third edition [Rhoads et al. 2012], I have opted to interact with the second edition, which was “substantially rewritten throughout, with no page remaining unchanged” [Rhoads et al. 1999: xi]. The third edition did not undergo such revision.) For these authors the “authorities” are one of four “main characters or character-groups,” comprising also Jesus, the disciples and “the minor characters” – a more precise designation for the last group, as they envision it, would be, it seems, “suppliants” (Rhoads et al. 1999: 98). In addition to these, the one actual minor character they consider – and here their terminology becomes confused – is “the crowds.” Thus, no individual character, other than Jesus, is treated in her or his own right. In a similar way, Malbon (2009a: 120) treats Pilate under “Roman authorities,” a subset of the main character-group “authorities,” and is seen as a parallel to Herod, that is, “as a type of ‘the tyrant.’” 28 This is another “noteworthy innovation in the literature of late antiquity. For, once again, they [the Gospels] show their independence of the prevailing canons of writing. According to those canons, characters were to be represented as examples (or ‘illustrations’) of generic types. Furthermore, each of these was a moral type or, at least, was associated with well-defined moral qualities” (Taylor 2011: 66). Thus, Malbon’s view (see above, n. 27) that Pilate is portrayed as a “type” of “the tyrant” is again subject to criticism. Note, Rhoads et al. (1999: 130) seem aware that “in Mark’s portrayals... no group is fixed in its response and that a positive response from any character is welcome.” Nevertheless, their analysis has little room for the “exceptions.” 29 Here, too, the Gospels come closer to “history” writing than fiction. They are in some substantial, entirely novel way representing reality in their narratives (Taylor 2011: 37). Peter’s denial is a key case in point (Taylor 2011: 18–21). For my purposes, the immediate ramification is that more attention to the variety of responses in miracle stories is needed.

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examples, he finds they have differing, individualised responses to Jesus (not just to his miracles), on occasion negative, even tragic. 30 The tendency among narrative critics has been to see only Jesus and the disciples as “round” characters in Mark. 31 This tendency must be amended. And, at any rate, E. M. Forster’s taxonomy should give way to the more robust one of Joseph Ewen (in Shlomith Rimmon-Kenan’s revised version of it). Characters can be described in terms of three continua: “complexity, development, penetration into the ‘inner life’” (Rimmon-Kenan 2002: 41). While such an approach to characterisation has been picked up in the study of the Fourth Gospel, especially by Cornelis Bennema – a topic we will return to in due time – the study of Mark has generally benefited much less from the scholarly advances. 32 Another tendency has been to see the “minor characters,” generally, as a cohesive group. 33 This, too, should give way to important nuance. These observations can be profitably focused on miracle stories. The various responses of suppliants and/or recipients or observers reveal a wide range of characterisation, 34 for example, of the various crowds, which exhibit varying degrees of complexity (whether negative and/or positive traits), capacity to develop and revealed ‘inner life.’ Another example is the leper, who is both full of faith and yet disastrously recalcitrant to Jesus’ instructions and mission for him. Indeed, the responses play an important role in the characterisation of many characters. This will all be explored below. The final related issue pertains to the characterisation of Jesus. Again, I turn to an important insight of Taylor. Using the theory of Northrop Frye, Taylor shows how in each gospel various pericopae move through several levels of narration – even within a pericope this can happen – ranging from “the lower mimetic” to “fantasy,” “romance” and, even, the “mythic” level of

30

On the “figure that touches the tragic” in Mk 10.17–22 and parallels, see Taylor (2011: 76–77). 31 Cf. e.g. Rhoads et al. 1999: 99–103. Similarly, many interpreters view the disciples, as a group, to be the only character to develop throughout the narrative: e.g. Tolbert (1989: 195). 32 Skinner (2014: 23–24, 27–29), while recognizing the short-comings in the work of Rhoads et al., does not put the work of Malbon under a critical eye. 33 See above, n. 27, on Rhoads et al. See also Malbon (2009a), whose view of the Markan characters is more nuanced, though still largely along the same lines. She sees that the “minor characters around Jesus,” effectively treated as a major character, “occur in three sequential sets,” exemplifying faith, “fallible followership” and “suffering and service” (Malbon 2000: 204–205). Note the greater precision of Malbon’s designation. The minor characters “around Jesus” are “suppliants,” “exemplars” or, most often, both. (The “crowd” is a kind of minor character, largely aligned with the disciples [Malbon 2000: 70– 99], as discussed above.) 34 On characterisation see Rimmon-Kenan (2002: 59–71).

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narration. 35 The variation in narration level pertains especially to the miracle stories. Through use of a mythic level of narration Jesus is portrayed as a divine being. 36 Ultimately, Taylor argues that the impulse for this remarkable innovation in literary style must be found in the impression made by Jesus himself on his contemporaries. 37 Important for the present purposes is the potential for patterns in correlation between the respondents and the types of their responses, on the one hand, and the various levels of narration of the miracle stories, on the other. Plot. 38 In discussing Broadhead and Malbon’s work, I have mentioned the need for further attention to the overall plot in relation to miracle responses. Of the competing conceptions of the principal plot-line – at times radically diverging, at times only nuanced permutations – I accept, along broad lines, that of R. Alan Culpepper (2007: 49): “Indeed, much of the plot of Mark revolves around how the secret of Jesus’ identity comes to be known.” 39 35 Taylor (2011: 129–136) relates this narrative technique to that in J. R. R. Tolkien’s trilogy, The Lord of the Rings. 36 Frye’s (1957: 33) definition of myth, to which Taylor refers, is a story of a hero “superior in kind both to other men [sic] and to the environment of other men [sic]”; i.e. a story in which “the hero is a divine being... a story about a god” (emphasis original). 37 His impact was profoundly earthy and brought dignity to a great variety of individuals, especially the underprivileged; at the same time an uncanny aspect of him, “a reality beyond that of everyday,” surfaced at unexpected moments (Taylor 2011: 137). His followers, in attempting to render him “more truly” to their contemporaries, felt constrained to narrate his interactions with fisherman and the like realistically, while venturing everso-often into other narration levels, thereby creating an entirely new literary style. The phrase refers to the “masters of the modern novel,” who “aim at verisimilitude” but “may depart from realistic narrative... in order to render the real more truly” (Taylor 2011: 128). 38 Cf. Rimmon-Kenan 2002: 6–28; Chatman 1978: 43–95. 39 Petersen (1978a: 49–80, 78–79) claims “the plot... is oriented to the suspense attending the disciples’ ignorance of Jesus’ identity....” For Tannehill (1979: 61, 62), the plot is the fulfillment “of the commission which Jesus received from God” and “the title Son of God,” which has a “special connection” with the commission, “can only be understood in light of the complete Markan narrative.” Kingsbury (1983: ix, 173) traces “the development of the motif of the secrecy of Jesus’ identity” in “consideration of the plot,” the motif being one of the “two major aspects to Mark’s portrait of Jesus.” For Tolbert (1989: 288) “the major issue of the Passion narrative or recognition sequence” is “Jesus’ true identity as Son of God.” For Hooker (1991: 20) “every part of Mark’s story makes implicit claims on his [Jesus’] behalf” and the use of “titles as the climax of particular stories,” in confessions, “point Mark’s readers to the true interpretation of the story which he has been telling.” For Naluparayil (2000b: 309) the principal story line is the “disclosure of Jesus’ divine identity.” For Moloney (2002: 17) Jesus “revealed as Son of God on the cross” answers the question giving the plot movement, “can he be the Messiah?” The plot is alternatively understood, e.g., as concerning Jesus’ conflict with the disciples – especially Rhoads et al. (1999: 73); Malbon (2009a: 49); see below, nn. 46, 48. (For further bibliography on plot in Mk see Naluparayil [2000b: 295, n. 19].)

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Thus, the plot has a stronger than normal link to the protagonist’s characterisation. He is revealed “specifically as the Son of God” (Culpepper 2007: 18– 19) – on the meaning of this term, see below. 40 This pertains to the implied audience (hereafter “audience”), 41 with the climactic disclosure (primarily suspense, not surprise, is at play) 42 coming at Jesus’ crucifixion, with the centurion’s statement. 43 It is worth noting that the majority of conceptions of Mark’s plot place the climax at roughly this specific juncture – or, generally, at the crucifixion episode at any rate. 44 Yet, a closely related subplot, the 40

That Jesus’ identity in Mk is best encapsulated by “Son of God” is accepted by many but by no means all. For an overview of positions see Johansson (2011); and Naluparayil (2000a). Other narrative critics who adopt this position include Tannehill (1979: 61–62, 74–75, 88), Kingsbury (1983: 142) and Hooker (2000: 86–87). Johansson (2011: 373) notes Kingsbury “argues... that the ‘secret’ [in Mk] is a ‘Son of God’ secret rather than a ‘messianic’ secret’”; and “the veil is not lifted until the death of Jesus.” This is a better alternative to the influential theory of Wrede (1971). 41 Despite the incongruity, I, as some other critics of the Gospels, refer to an “implied audience” (like the “implied reader,” the term refers to “a construct... an ‘it’” [RimmonKennan 2002: 120]), instead of “narratee(s),” as the counter-part to the “narrator.” Two reasons support this. An extradiegetic narratee is “parallel to or identical with the implied reader” (Rimmon-Kenan 2002: 105). “Audience” captures better (than “reader”) the oral social context likely envisioned for Mk to be read in. 42 On “suspense” and “surprise” as technical terms see Chatman (1978: 59–62). 43 See Culpepper 2007: 19, 563–564. The centurion is plausibly not aware of the full meaning of his own words within the narrative (Mk 15.39). Their meaning is known only to the narrator and audience. Here I seem to depart from Culpepper’s view. For a view similar to mine see Donahue and Harrington (2002: 449). Fowler (1991: 204–209, 208) claims “we have no certainty whatsoever that the centurion’s locution is either accurate or sincere.” For Myers (1988: 394) the centurion demonstrates “the hostile response of those struggling to gain power over Jesus by ‘naming’ him.” 44 (A) The centurion’s statement (Mk 15.39): Perrin and Duling (1982: 254; cf. 253, though, on 14.61–62 and 14.72 each as “the climax”); Tolbert (1989: 288); Hooker (1991: 19, 379; cf. 392, though, re. the apparent absent “climax,” i.e., “an appearance of the risen Lord”); Matera (1999: 22); Donahue and Harrington (2002: 242, 449). (B) The tearing of the temple curtain and the centurion’s statement (15.38–39): Moloney (2002: 328–331; cf. 276, though, on 14.1–15.47, generally, as the climax). (C) The tearing of the temple curtain: Myers (1988: 390). (D) Jesus’ last breath (15.37): Naluparayil (2000b: 416; cf. 425, though, on “the women’s failure” functioning “as the climax of the failure of the disciples...”); cf. Powell (2009: 134). (E) The “death cry of Jesus... and the curtain of the temple being torn in two”: Fowler – note he nowhere uses the term climax, yet the centurion’s statement is already “a grand denouement” (Fowler 1991: 202, 208). The crucifixion scene, generally, is the climactic one for many interpreters: e.g., Tannehill (1979: 88); Hooker (1991: 19, 371–379) and Johnson (2010: 161) – though Johnson and, especially, Hooker (1991: 375) lay emphasis on Jesus’ “cry of dereliction.” Even for Malbon (2009a: 123) “the crucifixion scene is the climax,” despite her conception of the plot (see above, n. 39). Longacre (1999), approaching the question from the point of view of

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disciples’ comprehension of Jesus’ identity, does not reach its peak – suspense is held on this point until the close of the narrative, though the final attainment of the goal in the future of the narrative world is not in doubt, since it has been prophetically foretold by Jesus. 45 Both of these aspects of the plot are related to a variety of conflicts between Jesus and other human characters who, like the disciples, ultimately fail to grasp his identity – in contrast to the non-human characters, i.e. God (Mk 1.11; 9.7) and the unclean spirits (3.11; 5.7). 46 Various authorities and crowds, owing to their failure to grasp this, contribute to the achievement of Jesus’ execution, the climactic scene. 47 The disciples’ developing, though hampered, understanding of Jesus’ identity is related, of course, to their difficulty in following him, both metaphorically and physically – another important subplot. 48 discourse analysis, also identifies Jesus’ crucifixion (and his beating and mocking) as the climax of the narrative. See below, Section F. Some alternate views are as follows. For Broadhead (2001: 138) the narrative “reaches a climax in the scene at the tomb.” For Rhoads et al. (1999: 92), it seems, Peter’s renouncing Jesus and flight is the climax – i.e. the peak of the conflict with the disciples. (The conflict with the “authorities,” reaches its peak at “Jesus’ trial” before the high priest [Rhoads et al. 1999: 87; though cf. 89 – where Jesus’ execution is included]). As described below (n. 46), they now hold that the climax is in chapter one. Some see the climax midway. Mk 8.27–9.13: Morrison (2008); see n. 52, below. Mk 8.27–9.7(–8?): Burch (1931: 349, n. 6; 350; 352). Mk 8.27–30: Smith (1995: 213–217) and Bilezikian (1977: 78–79). Cf. also Standaert (1978: 48), who sees Mk 8.34–9.1 as “le point central de toute la composition du récit évangélique,” though not the climax of a plot per se. On Petersen’s view of sustained tension, see below, n. 45. 45 On the question of the original ending of Mk, see below, Section Q. For now I assume Mk to end at 16.8. Note my view here on the subplot is similar to that of Petersen (1978a: 74, 78–79), though he would see an overall sustained suspense until the end of the narrative (no climax). In a similar vein to Petersen’s, see Tannehill (1979: 84); Hooker (1991: 392); and Moloney (2002: 16). 46 Conflicts, generally are crucial to the plot (Kingsbury 1989: 27–29; Rhoads et al. 1999: 73–97; Culpepper 2007: 19–20; Malbon 2009a: 43–54). Rhoads et al., followed by Malbon, see three principal conflicts: between Jesus and “nonhuman forces,” the authorities and the disciples. Culpepper notes, further, conflicts between Jesus and crowds, his hometown and his family, in addition to forces of nature. I would add that Jesus has conflict with various individuals: e.g. the ex-leper, the woman healed of a hemorrhage, the rich man. To me the portrayal of a spectrum of human perceptions of and responses to Jesus, all of which are ultimately inadequate, is at play (and less Jesus’ “testing,” as per Culpepper [2007: 19–20]). Note, Rhoads et al. (2012: xiii) now hold the idiosyncratic view that the climax is reached in Mk 1.10–15. 47 Cf. Mk 14.1–2, 10–11, 43–65; 15.1–15. 48 This aspect of the plot that has been taken as central by some. For Rhoads et al. (1999: 90) the central conflict of the plot “is characterized by their [the disciples’] alternating success and failure” in their struggle “to be faithful to him [Jesus].” At any rate, many claim that the two major “themes” in Mk are “christology” and “discipleship.”

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Returning to the main plot-line, I turn to the significant relation between Jesus’ “titles” and the plot’s development, a development linked inextricably to his characterisation. 49 It seems that a symbiosis exists between the two. On the one hand, the designations – three in particular, Messiah, Son of Humanity 50 and Son of God – play an important role. 51 Indeed, the work’s opening line assigns (probably just) one of these titles to Jesus. The designation of Jesus as God’s son, in particular, comes in key statements in, arguably, the three crucial moments in the narrative – the opening scene (Mk 1.11); the turning point (9.7); 52 and, as mentioned, the climax (15.39). 53 The only in49 Malbon (2009a: 3–13) offers a review, largely critical, of various approaches to Jesus’ titles and characterisation. 50 “Son of Humanity” (alternately “Son of the human”) does not completely capture the full semantic possibilities inherent in the phrase ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου. Still, I believe the translation is sufficiently accurate. The traditional translation, “Son of Man,” is not the best English equivalent for the Greek phrase. It restricts the possibilities too much. 51 Cf., e.g., Matera 1999: 6, 23, 24–26; Collins 2008a: 123–148; Collins 2008b: 149– 174; Morrison 2008: 114, 293. Alternatively, Kingsbury (1983: 55, 142) sees five major titles, with “Son of God” as the key title and “Son of Man” next in importance. Broadhead (1999: 158) deems “the title of Crucified One” preeminent among 16 titles. 52 Morrison (2008) has recently argued, convincingly, that the turning point consists of Peter’s confession and its aftermath and the transfiguration and its aftermath (8.27–9.13). In contrast to the present approach, Morrison (2008: 38–39, 40–41, 51–52, 67), relying heavily on Aristotelian concepts, sees the turning point as the climax. This is true, despite the occasional use of “interim” or “mid-point climax” (Morrison 2008:44, 55, 95, 97, 140, 224) – see n. 44 above. His argument that “the twin pericopae [of 8.27–9.1 and 9.2–13] function in a Janus-like manner” (Morrison 2008: 221) will be assessed critically in Section Q. The notion of a turning point in Mk is generally accepted, being amply attested in recent scholarship – Morrison (2008: 86–89) lists only two exceptions. He surveys six alternate turning-point hypotheses. Five are of “one single turning point,” that is “one statement (usually one verse) within a defined pericope” (Morrison 2008: 89): 8.21 (οὔπω συνίετε); 8.29 (σὺ εἶ ὁ χριστός – this is the majority opinion); 8.30 (ἐπετίμησεν αὐτοῖς ἵνα μηδενὶ λέγωσιν περὶ αὐτοῦ); 8.31 (ἤρξατο διδάσκειν αὐτοὺς ὅτι...); 9.7 (οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ υἱός μου ὁ ἀγαπητός, ἀκούετε αὐτοῦ). The sixth is of “more than one turning point”: 8.27–30 and 11.1–11. Yet, others have argued similar to Morrison, though in less detail, since the 1930s. Burch (1931: 349, n. 6; 350; 352) in a less than precise way articulates that the turning point is 8.27–9.7(–8?). Standaert (1978: 45–51; 89–96) argues elaborately for 8.27–9.13 as the Gospel’s centre, subordinating 9.2–13 to 8.27–33. Idiosyncratically, he identifies 8.34–9.1 as the very centre of Mk’s “argumentation” and “composition” (Standaert 1978: 48); cf. n. 44 above. Morrison (2008: 103, n. 104) claims that the majority view is also that of Standaert; he does not comment on Burch’s view (cf. Smith 1995: 216– 217 on Burch and Standaert). The two scholars Morrison (2008: 108–110) cites for 9.7 as the turning point – Johnson (2010: 148) and Hooker (2000: 82) – do not in fact support the idea. Rather, as his analysis itself demonstrates, they see a longer section in the middle functioning as a turning point. Elsewhere Morrison (2008: 109, 111, 113–114) recognises

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stances of a voice from heaven are two of these three pronouncements. Yet, on the other hand, neither this nor the other designations are defined explicitly by the narrator at any point. 54 Rather, through the portrayal of Jesus’ own words and actions, especially his interactions with other characters, the designations are given meaning. 55 “Son of God,” having a basic royal messianic sense (cf. Ps 2.7; 2 Sam 7.14), 56 is given twists of meaning by the narrator. The primary twist is the concept of suffering, which finds its full expression at the crucifixion. 57 The idea that the narrator gives the designation a twist in the direction of grandeur (or higher “Christology,” though I prefer to avoid the anachronism inherent in the use of the term) is not foreign to Markan scholarship. Often, however, such a reading employs the proposed Hellenistic construct of a θεῖος ἀνήρ, 58 whose legitimacy in the first century has been rightly challenged. 59 “Son of God” as a royal messianic designation, also, can be understood as imbued with power or grandeur. 60 Yet, it is earlier scholarship, foas much for Hooker, but not Johnson. Others, too, see Peter’s confession and the transfiguration, together, offering (an) important revelation(s) of Jesus mid-way through the narrative, even if the term “turning point” is not used. 53 On the episodes’ interrelation see, coming from different angles, Vielhauer (1964: 161–169), Tannehill (1979: 61–62, 74–75, 88) and Myers (1988: 390–392). Other than unclean spirits (Mk 3.11; 5.7) and Jesus himself (14.[61–]62; cf. 12.6 and 13.32) only the centurion and God, twice, identify Jesus as God’s son. 54 On this point see, especially, Malbon (2009: 1–6). 55 Tannehill (1979: 61–62) inaugurated this approach; cf. also Kingsbury (1983: ix); Hooker (1991: 20); Broadhead (1999: 165–166); Matera (1999: 6); Culpepper (2007: 564); Malbon (2009a: 1–3). 56 For a review of the work of some who support this position, see Naluparayil (2000a: 203–205); cf. Johannson (2011: 371–375). Note Culpepper (2007: 19) puts emphasis on the resonances of the title in light of “divine epithets of the Roman emperors.” While acknowledging their importance, I would place emphasis on Markan interpretive moves in light of the Jewish Scriptures. 57 Naluparayil (2000a: 208) notes many scholars’ “tendency to combine the ‘suffering dimension’ with the concept of ‘Sonship.” Some do so while holding to a royal messianic conception of “Son of God,” including: Steichele (1980: 272–273); Kingsbury (1983: 99– 100); Juel (1992: 452–453, 455–456); Marcus (1992: 58, 67); Matera (1999:18–19); Culpepper (2007: 49–50, 563–564); and Collins (2008a: 130, 131, 133–134 [131]), who sees a “combination of the prophetic motifs of suffering, rejection, and even death with the royal messianic role” – a “very unusual” combination in contemporary thought. 58 On Rudolf Bultmann and later proponents of the concept, more recently Heikki Räisänen, Johannes Schreiber and William Telford, see Broadhead (1992: 15–20), Naluparayil (2000a: 197–200), Johansson (2011: 367–369, 382–383). 59 See Chapter One. 60 Cf. Marcus 1992: 87, 91–92. Other models, of course, have been advanced for understanding the portrayal of Jesus’ grandeur. But the link with “Son of God” is not always central. Among those who do make the link with the title, worthy of note are, earlier,

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cused on a less Jewish and more Hellenistic context for “Son of God,” which draws attention to the divide between: the prominence of miracles in the first half of Mark; and the focus on Jesus’ suffering in the second. 61 Jesus’ miracles, especially rescue nature miracles (which some label epiphanies), are taken as indicative of his power/grandeur. 62 The transfiguration gets special attention by some in this context. 63 To anticipate a conclusion to be made in the investigation to follow, it seems that the heavenly pronouncement of Jesus as the “Son of God,” a royal messianic designation, in the transfiguration, an episode that serves as the culmination of the mighty deeds and epiphanies of Jesus in the first half of the narrative, 64 acts a mid-way peak of the plot, the revelation of the Son of God. The twist the designation receives here is one of grandeur. 65 Interestingly, the implicit comparison is between Jesus and the greatest miracle-working prophets of the Scriptures. (Discussion of the parallelism in the relevant miracle stories, including detailed analysis for one story, and the implications can be found in Chapter Seven. There, too, I explore in greater detail the type William Wrede and Martin Dibelius and, more recently, Cilliers Breytenbach and Ludger Schenke – cf. Broadhead (1992: 13–14); Naluparayil (2000a: 202–203); Johansson (2011: 366–367, 376–377, 385–387). 61 Cf. Broadhead 1992: 13–21; Naluparayil 2000a: 194–200. Hypotheses of a “corrective Christology” correctly understood that the emphasis in Mk is on Jesus’ suffering, death and resurrection. The mistake, however, was to pit Jesus’ miracles against this. 62 In addition to the earlier scholars, just mentioned, and more recent proponents of the θεῖος ἀνήρ concept (cf. n. 58), Frenschkowski (1995: 2:212; emphasis original) argues the miracles, especially the nature miracles, “offenbaren das verborgene wahre Wesen des irdischen Jesus [reveal the hidden true being of the earthly Jesus].” On the nature miracles see also, e.g., Schenke (2000: 58–59) and Gathercole (2006: 61–64, 64), preferring “theophany” to “epiphany”; cf. Dormeyer’s (2013: 194). 63 For Hahn (1963: 312) Jesus shows in the transfiguration “was sein wahres Wesen ist” (what his true being is); cf. Schenke (2000: 62; cf. also n. 73 and references, notably to Dibelius). Note even Collins (2008a: 123, 132), for whom “messiah” and “son of God” have a royal messianic connotation, with comparable importance in Mk, allows that “certain features of the transfiguration suggest that it is the self-manifestation of a deity... [f]rom the point of view of traditional Greek religion,” while still proposing that “earliest audiences” may have seen the story “as a preview of the resurrection of Jesus.” 64 Here I depart from, among others, Culpepper (2007: 49; cf. 19): “...that Jesus’ uniqueness lay in his power... is not Marks’ view....” An alternate view is stated succinctly by Ellenburg (1995: 177): “More than in any other gospel the identity of Jesus in Mark is revealed through his miraculous deeds” – and, some would add, his transfiguration. 65 Culpepper (2007: 298), as many others, claims the voice from heaven in Mk 9.7 “serves [only] to underline” Jesus’ prediction “that he would suffer and die” and, related, “his teachings on discipleship.” I see that it is doing this and more. Many scholars, Culpepper (2007: 295) included, see in Jesus’ transfiguration a proleptic revelation of Jesus’ post-resurrection glory. Again, it seems that more is at work. See below, Section Q.

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of grandeur being attributed to the protagonist.) A subplot-line is thoroughly explored, as the responses of various human characters, including, especially, the disciples, sketch out a plethora of appreciations of Jesus’ identity, all of which, ultimately, fail to grasp his grandeur, some disastrously so. Thus, the main plot line, which serves to give further meaning to the key designation Son of God, has two main developments: one at an earlier peak, in the turning-point, (grandeur/power) and the other at the climax (suffering). Again to speak proleptically, as with the centurion’s confession at the climax, the narrator anticipates that only the audience will truly grasp what is revealed at the earlier peak, though three of Jesus’ closest disciples hear the divine pronouncement. The incident is linked (9.9) to the future of the story world, in which the three will, presumably, come to understand not only what the Son of Humanity’s rising from the dead means but also Jesus’ identity, as both the crucified and, earlier, transfigured Son of God, thus resolving of the secondary plot-line. Focalisation. 66 Though a number of scholars have looked at aspects of focalisation (or “point of view”) in Mark, to my knowledge only Joanna Dewey has offered a comprehensive analysis of Mark with regard to external/internal focalisation. 67 Dewey (1982: 101–102) finds Twelve instances in which the 66 Cf. Rimmon-Kenan (2002: 72–86), who gives a convincing argument for preferring the term over others, notably, “point of view.” Chatman’s discussion of this topic (1978: 151–161) is inferior. Focalisation can be understood in relation to narration. The difference is roughly between, respectively, “seeing” and “speaking” (Rimmon-Kenan 2002: 73). She notes, though, that focalisation has in fact three facets: perceptual, psychological and ideological. 67 Dewey (1982: 101–102), employs the theoretical framework of Gérard Genette, which envisions three sub-divisions of focalisation. Yet, her identification of only “nonfocalized” and “focalized” in Mk, accords easily with Rimmon-Kennan’s (2002) “external” and “internal” categories, respectively. Rimmon-Kennan (2002: 75) states, “External focalization is felt to be close to the narrating agent, and its vehicle is therefore called ‘narrator-focalizer.’” Her definition of “internal focalization” is less than adequate, as she resorts to examples rather than explicit specification, other than stating that “the locus of internal focalization is inside the represented events” (Rimmon-Kenan 2002: 76). She does not make explicit the difference between a narrator-focaliser giving particular attention to one character as an object and a character-focaliser. (Genette’s two sub-divisions which pertain to Rimmon-Kenan’s internal focalisation are “Narrator = Character (narrator says only what a given character knows)” and “Narrator < Character (narrator says less than the character knows)” [Genette 1980: 189, emphasis original].) A helpful, recent survey of the use of “point of view” in “biblical narrative” addresses three studies that touch on this aspect of the Markan narrative (Yamasaki 2007: 68–76, 82–84): Petersen (1978b), Rhoads and Michie (1982) and Dewey (1982). To these could have been added Fowler (1991: 66– 73) and Naruparayil (2000b: 431–517). Since the publication of Yamasaki’s book, Malbon (2009a) has addressed “point of view” in Mk. Yamasaki relies heavily on the theory of Boris Uspensky. I find Rimmon-Kenan’s three “facets” of focalisation – perceptual, psy-

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narrative is focalised through a character [i.e. not through the narrator] – Jesus (6 times); the disciples (twice); and once each for “the women at the empty tomb,” “the woman with a flow of blood,” “the Gerasene demoniac” and “the soldiers.” 68 Dewey’s work, with some modification, has important implications for the present analysis. First, some hesitation is advisable for seeing focalisation through a character when only the perceptual facet (space and time) is potentially present. One of the other two facets – the ideological or, especially, the psychological (including cognitive and emotive components) – should also be present. The hesitation stems from the fact that for the narrator-focaliser in texts in the Hebrew Bible (and/or LXX), to which the Gospels are akin, the focalised object (one or more characters) is often viewed from without, with only occasional mention of thoughts or emotions. 69 Yet the narrator-focaliser often limits the perception of the focalised in spatial terms. 70 Half of the instances identified by Dewey do not meet this criterion. 71 A negative assessment is the result, also, for Robert Fowler’s (1991: 69) view that the two feeding stories have “manipulation of perceptual point of view.” 72 chological and ideological – superior to the five “planes” of Uspensky’s “point of view,” though much there is in common. What is of primary importance to Yamasaki (2007: 95), i.e. “the narrator leading the audience to see the events of the story line as filtered through the consciousness of one of the characters, or simply through the consciousness of the narrator,” is also the concern here. “Point-of-view character” in Yamasaki’s terms is here a “character-focaliser.” 68 Dewey does not offer an explanation, other than in the case of the transfiguration, for how she arrives at her conclusions. Cf. also the criticism of Yamasaki (2007: 83–84). 69 Rimmon-Kennan (2002: 77) notes that “in many Biblical narratives” a narratorfocaliser perceives “only the outward manifestations of the object (person or thing),” citing Gen 22.3 as an example. The biblical narrator-focaliser occasionally gives a perception of a focalised object from within. But the occasional instance is not enough to establish the character as focaliser; similarly see Yamasaki (2007: 194). 70 Note the position adopted here differs substantially from that of Yamasaki (2007: 184, 190), who sees Jesus as the “point-of-view character” (character-focaliser) for the majority of a gospel (Mt and Lk; by analogy Mk). His justification is problematic: “...Jesus is the only character in the narrative whose inner life is laid bare to the audience on a consistent basis” (Yamasaki 2007: 184). In no gospel is his inner life laid bare consistently, but only sporadically. Also, for a given episode, his inner life being laid bare like this does not establish him as the character-focaliser. Internal focalisation requires – using Genette’s (1980: 189) terms to clarify Rimmon-Kennan’s classification – that “the narrator says only what a given character knows.” On this point Dewey’s approach is superior. 71 Jesus’ thoughts and emotions are not penetrated in Mk 1.9–11, 16–20; 11.15–17; 12.41–44 [and possibly not in 11.12–14]. Nor are the unclean spirit’s or the demonpossessed man in 5.2–13; nor the soldiers’ in 15.16-24. 72 Fowler uses the theory of Seymour Chatman. No penetration into the disciples’ thoughts and emotions occurs in Mk 6.35–39. Similarly, 8.1–3 contains only Jesus’ speech,

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Second, it must be determined what amount of text is sufficient for establishing the use of internal focalisation. 73 The criterion is difficult to pin down, though surely an episode having one or more character-focalisers, basically throughout, satisfies it. Notably, the two episodes with fixed characterfocalisation (Mk 4.35–41; 16.1–8) 74 and one with variable focalisation (i.e. alternates between two narrative agents; 9.2–8), having or developing character-focalisation over a large portion of text (cf. 9.4–8), are: stories of private miracles, other than healings; have responses, including the emotion of fear; and are focalised through followers. 75 In the analysis to follow I will examine in detail the said instances of focalisation. One other story, not mentioned by Dewey, possibly has internal focalisation, though the focalisation is variable (6.47–52; focalised partly through Jesus [6.45–48] and partly through the narrator [6.49–52; or, alternatively, through the Twelve]). 76 It too is a story of a private, non-healing miracle for followers with a response like fear (being troubled). Another notable instance of variable focalisation is a healing miracle story: 5.25–34, focalised through the hemorrhaging woman (5.25–29), then, probably, Jesus, (5.30–32) and, finally, the narrator (5.33– 34; alternatively, 5.30–34). Only one episode that is not a miracle story, I suggest, is a candidate for internal focalisation. 77 The proposed distinction between types of miracles, mentioned a number of times in the foregoing, is cause for return to Taylor’s discussion of levels of narration. The mythic is found in Mark, not surprisingly, only among the stories concerned with what, I suggest tentatively at this point, might be not his thoughts or emotions. Still, Fowler is right to draw attention to the contrast between those who present the problem in the two feeding stories. 73 Similarly, see Yamasaki (2007: 194). 74 My use of “fixed” here differs from that of Rimmon-Kenan (2002: 78), for whom it means focalisation that is “fixed throughout the narrative.” Mk overall has multiple focalisation. But a worthwhile distinction can be made between individual episodes with either “fixed” or “variable” (two narrative agents) focalisation. 75 Dewey (1982: 101–102) gives Mk 4.36–41; 9.2–8 and 16.1–5 as the instances of focalisation. 76 Similarly, see Fowler (1991: 67–69). The principal stories, in addition to the miraculous feeding stories, in which Fowler (1991: 67–69) sees “manipulation of perceptual point of view” are three of the four I have identified in the foregoing (Mk 4.35–41; 5.24–35; 6.47–52). Fowler also suggests, it seems, that “the perceptual point of view of the Twelve” characterises the beginning of 8.27–9.1, but 8.27–30 is dialogue between Jesus and the disciples, in which neither inner penetration nor amount of attention establishes the latter as focalisers. 77 It is Mk 14.33–42. If here Jesus is the focaliser, by 14.40 the narrator has resumed as focaliser, as he is already describing the internal workings of other characters. It is possible, but unlikely it seems to me, Jesus is the focaliser in 11.12–14, as Dewey (1982) suggests. The short scene has only one possible reference to Jesus’ thoughts or intentions.

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called epiphanies of (or, in the case of Mk 16, connected to) Jesus. In all cases, as mentioned previously, the setting is of a private nature, Jesus’ followers are the respondents, and fear / being troubled is a characteristic if not a dominant aspect of their response. Focalisation through the followers is common (in three, perhaps all instances) and occurs only in these stories. Three of four of these episodes, too, have fascinating parallels with stories from the Jewish Scriptures and its interpretative traditions (see Chapter Seven). The healings and exorcisms, on the other hand, occur almost always in public settings (or go from private to public settings). The disciples are not respondents here, but various minor characters and crowds. The characteristic emotion, when present, is amazement. Thus, it seems that the setting, characters, type of miracle and kind of response share a general correlation. This will be substantiated in detail in what follows. For now, however, it is important to note also the easy correlation, even snug fit, of these observations with the levels of narration identified by Taylor. Penultimately, I turn briefly to form- and redaction-critics’ analyses of responses to miracles. I summarise those points made by the form critics, discussed already in Chapter One, that are relevant to a literary reading of Mark in its entirety. Dibelius (1971 [1959]) and Bultmann (1995 [1931]) agree that a frequently occurring motif in Markan stories of Jesus’ mighty deeds is the positive response of the crowd. The motif is virtually reduced to either emotion (Bultmann’s Eindruck) or speech (Dibelius’ Chor-Schluß). Alternatively Theissen sees four motifs that occur in the final of four fields (Schluss) in a given miracle story, which can be of an epiphany or a mighty deed. The emotional motif (Admiration) is aligned with the verbal one (Akklamation). Both are positive and lie in contrast to a negative third, less common motif (Ablehnende Reaktion). The fourth (Ausbreitung des Rufes) pertains to the spreading of news about the miracle. Theissen, aware that other characters, beyond the crowds, respond in the stories, give little attention to who is responding. As for the emotion in responses, all scholars understand the semantic domains of words pertaining to amazement and fear as occupying the same, essentially undifferentiated field of meaning, though for epiphany stories Theissen indicates that fear is distinctively described. While Dibelius and Bultmann do they see the emotions as having different functions in the stories, Theissen does, a point that comes out in his redaction-critical understanding of Mark, which I will address in a moment. For all three scholars, responses are taken to be very important in Markan miracle stories. It should be noted again that the goals of form critics do not include understanding the literary function of the stories in the overarching and developing narrative of a given gospel. As Robert Alter (1981: 47–48) has noted in a related context, form criticism is more interested in the convention itself. Three redaction-critical studies of Mark stand out for consideration in the present context. I begin with Kenzo Tagawa (1966: 88–122) and Timothy

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Dwyer (1996), 78 both of whom give primary attention to the emotional element, taking amazement and fear as essentially the same motif. 79 For Tagawa (1966: 121) the Markan redactor applies “un motif hellénistique caractérisant l’épiphanie d’un être divin,” already present in his source material as “la formule finale habituelle des récits de miracles,” to “tous les aspects de l’activité de Jésus... et même son existence.” 80 The faith that is, thus, communicated Tagawa (1966: 121) labels “l’expérience directe de la rencontre avec le Jésus vivant.” 81 For Dwyer (1996: 197, 198, 201), “wonder” in Mark, whether accompanied by “a positive or negative connotation,” is “necessary and essential”: it is “the proof of divine activity,” namely, of “the breaking-in of the kingdom of God in the person and work of Jesus of Nazareth.” The redactor’s use parallels the motif’s propagandistic employment in “early Jewish literature,” demonstrating “that the God of Israel is the true God by the way God does things to astound people” (Dwyer 1996: 67). Both scholars offer some keen observations as to how the said emotions, found in different contexts, not just miracle stories, create links between various episodes. 82 Many of these will be taken up in Section Q, below. Yet, as is common in redaction-critical studies, the notion of a monolithic “theme” takes preeminence for both, 83 not, for example, the development of a plot. It would prove 78 Though Dwyer aims at both redaction- and narrative-critical analyses, the former interest overshadows the latter. 79 Tagawa (1966: 91, 93–94, 96) also discusses “acclamation.” He seems to intuit the significance of the visual element of responses, referencing the sight of those present in his own retellings of responses, though such are not in the text: “...ayant vu l’exorcisme...”; “En voyant la guérison miraculeuse...” (Tagawa 1966: 89 92, referring to Mk 1.27 and Mt 12.23 || Lk 11.14). On a piecemeal basis, Dwyer (1996: 96, 100, 148), too, notes other elements of responses – “Chorschluss” and “notice of spreading of the news” – and some instances in which “verbs of seeing are used with amazement.” See also Magness (1986: 94), who has “fear” (i.e. “amazement or fear or astonishment”) and “proclamation” (i.e. “the full rehearsal of the miracle or a confession of faith... or a statement of joy”) as the two features in miracle stories which constitute responses. He pays some attention to “sight” in this context (Magness 1986: 102). 80 “a Hellenistic motif characterising the epiphany of a divine being,” “the usual final formula of stories of miracles,” “all the aspects of the activity of Jesus... and even his existence.” 81 “the direct experience of the encounter with the living Jesus.” 82 Note Dwyer (1996: 20), categorises the motif’s presumed 32 instances as: “miracles or exorcism” (8), “teaching or passion predictions” (8), “empty tomb narrative” (3), “fear of various leaders” (5), “difficult to categorize” (8). 83 Thus, Dwyer (1996: 93) sees the pericope of Mk 1.21–28 as having “paradigmatic force” – it “ought to be viewed paradigmatically and programatically”; cf. also Tagawa (1966: 88). Though Dwyer (1996: 98) allows that “only as one follows the progress of the motif [of wonder] throughout the gospel will one be able to make a more complete determination” as to whether it indicates in 1.27 “the first step towards either faith or stum-

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beneficial to pay closer attention to the potential creative exploitation of conventions by the narrator in various contexts for different purposes. 84 Also, one might anticipate, the mere presence of fear or amazement is insufficient to justify including it as part of a convention. I summarise Theissen’s (1974) insights, which I have discussed in more detail in Chapter One, above. Responses in Mark vary in terms of quality and all, in fact, are inadequate, whether on account of a question (4.41) or another element in the response, such as a description of incomprehension (6.52). Alternatively, other features within the story at hand (e.g. the demons’ superior statements about Jesus) or elsewhere (notably, the heavenly voice at Jesus’ baptism). In other ways, too, responses are tied into the unfolding narrative. The question asked about Jesus’ identity in 4.41, for example, is revisited in further episodes, both in responses to miracles and elsewhere, where characters specify who they think Jesus is. In fact, responses are a crucial aspect of what one might call the unfolding plot. The recurring, inadequate responses have a cumulative effect, increasing tension as the expectations of those reading (or hearing) the gospel are frustrated. When will a character final appreciate who Jesus is? Three moments in the gospel are key. In the baptism God announces that Jesus is his son. After numerous inadequate appraisals of Jesus by humans, a mid-way point is reached in both Peter’s confession and the transfiguration. Peter’s confession, though promising, ultimately falls short, as he fails to address Jesus’ imminent suffering. To compensate, God again speaks from heaven, at the transfiguration, identifying Jesus as his son. The only human to make an adequate statement about Jesus, though, is the lone Roman centurion, Jesus’ executioner, whose quasiresponse to Jesus’ death constitutes the Gospel’s climax. Jesus’ dignity (Würde), seen in his miracles, is only finally revealed in his suffering and death. So many of these points will be adopted in the analysis to follow. As noted, Theissen’s redaction-critical analysis of Mark is in so many ways a precursor of narrative criticism of the Gospel. On the other hand, Theissen’s simplistic approach to characters and the tendency towards reducing responses to speech, accompanied by emotion, must mitigated. bling,” he identifies not so much progress as alternation between the two basic options (positive or negative wonder) from its next appearance in 2.12 until the book’s end. (Still, he sees 16.1–8 as “[t]he climax of the gospel” [Dwyer 1996: 195].) A similar criticism is offered by Thompson (1997: 576), who would see Mk as more a narrative and less “a theological statement.” 84 E.g. Dwyer (1996) makes a categorical correlation between “wonder,” the numinous and “the breaking-in of the kingdom.” While this seems true in some cases, he over generalises. It is questionable whether amazement in response to teaching should be seen in light of the numinous. Other problematic instances include Mk 5.33 (see discussion below); 14.33; 15.5, 44. Similarly, see, Black (1999: 755).

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While this chapter is focused on literary and linguistic analysis, assuming in large part coherence in the discourse of Mark, caution in the approach is necessary. Room must be allowed for the possibility of elements not sitting completely comfortably within the narrative. In the first place, such inconsistencies are a natural part of human communication, generally. Here, of course, we have the added complication of a narrative comprised largely of reworked traditional material. 85 Finally, a word on linguistics, particularly discourse analysis, is in order. An enormous amount of work and what can properly be labeled progress has been made in this field with respect to New Testament narrative texts. Rather than summarise these advances here – to my knowledge no real summary has been offered on the topic to date 86 – I will engage the relevant scholarship in some detail below (from Section F on). Suffice it to say now discourse analysis helps greatly to identify or clarify: for example, the boundaries of episodes and other portions of text; switches from background to foreground material; the relative prominence of sentences; “development” (defined below); and the peak of an episode or climax of the overall plot.

B. Miracle Stories with Responses Mark has 21 miracle stories. 87 Four additional stories contain summaries of miracles. 88 Fourteen miracle stories have responses. They are: (1) exorcism 85 See Moore (1989), already shortly after narrative criticism’s inception, on “the ghost of fragmentation past.” 86 Porter (2011: 116–117) missed the opportunity to do a much-needed service to the guild of gospel scholarship by offering a broad survey of recent contributions of discourse analysis. Within three pages he refers to nine publications he has (co-)authored and only four works of others. 87 See Chapter One for definitions of “miracle” and “miracle story.” The 18 miracle stories counted by Dormeyer (2013: 193) are essentially the same as those discussed here, though the proposed boundaries of the stories may differ, with the addition of three stories of epiphanies (Mk 1.9–11; 9.2–8; 16.1–8[+?]). Broadhead (1992: 194), who counts 21 miracle stories, includes the transfiguration but not the epiphany stories of 1.9–11 and 16.1–8(+?). He incorrectly cites three stories with summaries of miracles (“1.32–39”; “3.7–13a”; “6.53–56”) as miracle stories proper. (See, similarly, the criticism of Collins [1994: 150–151].) Broadhead takes the miracle complex in 5.21–43 as one story. This view has merit, but does not enable the kind of analysis engaged here. 88 Mk 1.32–34; 3.7–12; 6.1–6a; 6.6b–13 (containing a summary of the disciples’ miracles). The summary of Jesus’ performance of miracles constitutes the peak once (1.34a–b), perhaps twice (6.6a; alternatively 6.4 is the peak). The summary of 3.10–12 (γάρ) and of 6.13 (3 imperfects) are demoted material in the respective stories. See Section F and following, on the terminology used here. A summary of miracles that seems to occur more

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in the synagogue of Capernaum (Mk 1.21–28); (2) healing of the leper (1.39– 45); (3) healing of the paralytic (2.1–12); (4) healing of the man with a withered hand (3.1–6); (5) stilling of the storm (4.35–41); (6) exorcism of Legion (5.1–20); (7) healing of the hemorrhaging woman (5.24b–34); 89 (8) healing of Jairus’ daughter (5.21–24a, 35–43); (9) walking on the water (6.47–52); (10) healing of the deaf and mute man (7.31–37); (11) transfiguration (9.2–8); (12) healing of Bartimaeus (10.46–52); (13) withering of the fig tree (11.12– 14, 20–25); (14) epiphany 90 of the young man (16.1–8[+?]). 91 It is probable that the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law (1.29–31) contains a response (1.31c). Yet on account of doubt I will refer to it only parenthetically, where relevant, in what follows. 92 The remaining five miracle stories have nothing resembling a response. 93 One story with a summary of miracles has an inversion of the response motif: namely, Jesus’ amazement at the limited faith of those in his hometown, enabling so few miracles (6.6a). 94

C. Number of Responses within a Miracle Story A “response” in a “miracle story” is defined formally or semi-formally (see Chapter One, above). Similar literary features, not meeting the definition’s criteria, I call “reactions.” (These include Jesus’ amazement at a lack of faith, noted above, also characters’ reactions to teaching or even to summaries of miracles.) The key feature of the definition of “response” is contiguity of sentences and/or phrases. A given response may include the actions of different characters (individuals or groups), provided that they are presented in the same sentence or contiguous sentences (phrase or contiguous phrases). 95 outside of a specific story (or extend beyond it) is 6.53–56 (especially v. 56, in which the healings are related). A summary of miracles in 1.39 occurs within the story of the leper’s healing. Dormeyer (2013: 195) offers an alternative view on (6) Markan “Sammelberichten.” 89 The story is embedded in the story of the healing of Jairus’ daughter. 90 The justification for labelling this episode an epiphany is discussed in Section Q. 91 The stories’ proposed boundaries, including Mk 16.8, will be discussed as deemed necessary in Section Q, below. 92 See below, n. 156, for discussion. 93 I.e. theophany at Jesus’ baptism (Mk 1.9–11); feeding of the 5000 (6.35–46); exorcism of the Syrophoenician’s daughter (7.24b–30); feeding of the 4000 (8.1–9); healing of the blind man of Bethsaida (8.22–26); exorcism of the demon-possessed boy (9.14–29). 94 On instances of amazement in reactions to Jesus’ healings, generally, and teachings, see n. 122. Some healing(/teaching) summaries do not have any response-like feature (e.g. 1.34, 39; 3.10–12; 6.5, 12–13, 56). 95 E.g., Mk 7.36b–37, formally one response, includes the actions of the formerly deafmute man and the crowd.

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Still, some clause or clauses in a sentence may not be included as a part of the respective response, if the actions they describe precede perception of the miracle 96 or describe the occurrence of the miracle or confirmation of it 97 in a way that is not best understood as a response. Four stories contain two responses (Mk 5.14–17 and 5.20; 6.49–50b and 6.51c–52; 9.5–6 and 9.8; 16.5b–c and 16.8). 98 So 18 phenomena are here considered: Mark 1.27–28; 1.45; 2.12c; 3.6; 4.41; 5.14–17; 5.20; 5.33; 5.42d; 6.49–50b; 6.51c–52; 7.36b–37; 9.5–6; 9.8; 10.52c; 11.20b–21; 16.5b–c; 16.8. The majority (3:4) of stories with multiple responses are of epiphany and/or a rescue nature miracle. 99 Two stories (6.47–52; 9.2–8) contain more than one miracle. Note: the subdivision of verses (into “a,” “b,” etc.) typically corresponds to the presence of main clauses (finite verbs introduced with connectives that do not subordinate). I make explicit in this and subsequent chapters all exceptions, i.e. when a subdivision represents a dependent clause. Designations of three responses in Mark are exceptional: 2.12c; 11.20b–21; 16.5b– c. 100 Subdivisions within the response of 1.45 are also exceptional. 101

96 E.g., in Mk 16.5 the initial clause, describing the women’s entrance into the tomb, is not included in the response. 97 E.g., the pre-nuclear participle and the main clause in Mk 2.12 are best understood as a confirmation of the occurrence of the healing and, therefore, not as part of the response. The response is merely the ὥστε clause. 98 For the justification of understanding Mk 9.8 as a response, though it contains only visual sensation, see the discussion in Section Q. 99 One exorcism story has two responses. Note all epiphany stories with responses have two. And one of the two rescue nature miracle stories has multiple responses. 100 Mk 2.12c refers to the (post-nuclear) result clause: ὥστε ἐξίστασθαι πάντας καὶ δοξάζειν τὸν θεὸν λέγοντας ὅτι οὕτως οὐδέποτε εἴδομεν. 11.20a is a pre-nuclear participial clause (καὶ παραπορευόμενοι πρωΐ), as is 16.5a (καὶ εἰσελθοῦσαι εἰς τὸ μνημεῖον). Conversely, 2.12a–b, 11.20b and 16.5b refer to the remainder of the respective sentences. 101 Mk 1.45a: ὁ δὲ ἐξελθὼν ἤρξατο κηρύσσειν πολλὰ καὶ διαφημίζειν τὸν λόγον; 1.45b: ὥστε μηκέτι αὐτὸν δύνασθαι φανερῶς εἰς πόλιν εἰσελθεῖν, ἀλλ᾿ ἔξω ἐπ᾿ ἐρήμοις τόποις ἦν; 1.45c: καὶ ἤρχοντο πρὸς αὐτὸν πάντοθεν. Syntactic complexity arises from the coordination of two unequal clauses through the use of ἀλλά. Though the clause ἀλλ᾿ ἔξω ἐπ᾿ ἐρήμοις τόποις ἦν may, technically, be taken as an independent clause, it is best understood as a continuation of the result (ὥστε) clause (on the usage of ἀλλά to correct or replace, e.g. μηκέτι... ἀλλά, see Runge [2010: 92–100]). This approach has further justification in the present study, owing to the fact that 1.45b (as defined above) describes how the response to the miracle affects Jesus (who is never a respondent in a miracle story in Mk). The description is sandwiched between the actions of the recipient (1.45a) and the hearers (1.45c) in the response. The latter is itself unique, comprised of a sole, uncharacteristic element, “coming” to Jesus. (See sections 2.5 and 2.9 on these final two points).

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D. Elements within a Response, Vocabulary, Verbs and their Modifiers In order to identify and analyse what the narrator does, in Alter’s words, “in each individual application of the schema to give it a sudden tilt of innovation or even to refashion it radically” one must first determine what the conventions are. To this I now turn. An “element” in a response is identified, primarily, as a clause. The relevant verb, therefore, constitutes the essence of the element. Yet two verbs may be considered together as one element in the case of a redundant quotative frame, for example, συνζητεῖν... λέγοντας... (Mk 1.27) and ἀποκριθεὶς... λέγει (9.5). 102 Given auxiliary verbs, the related infinitives define the element and constitute the instances of it, for example, ἤρξατο κηρύσσειν... καὶ διαφημίζειν (1.45a). Occasionally, as in the case of a verb like εἶναι, γενέσθαι, ἐξελθεῖν or even δοῦναι, a noun (ἐξῆλθεν ἡ ἀκοὴ αὐτοῦ: 1.28; συμβούλιον ἐδίδουν: 3.6), adjective (ἔκφοβοι... ἐγένοντο: 9.6b) or participle (ἦν... πεπωρωμένη: 6.52b) may be as or more indicative of the type of element. Similarly, on occasion nouns associated with the same verb may be identified as separate (elements or) instances of a given element (εἶχεν... αὐτὰς τρόμος καὶ ἔκστασις: 16.8b). For the most part events and descriptions of states and the like are in view. In light of other responses, something contained in speech (e.g. οὕτως οὐδέποτε εἴδομεν: 2.12c) or a substantive (οἱ ἰδόντες: 5.16) may infrequently also be deemed an element, distinct from the verbal act itself. The rationale for the outlined approach will be seen more clearly in the analysis, below. I group the elements primarily on the basis of lexical semantics. Thus, for example, all verbs that at a lexical level pertain primarily to visual sensation are placed in one category. As will be seen, in a few instances the semantic sense of a word that is derived from other features in the phrase or larger discourse context can be equal to or possibly greater than the basic lexical meaning. Continuing with the example of visual sensation, it will become apparent that in some cases knowing or realising can be a more salient sense than seeing for certain lexemes (e.g. Lk 8.47; 24.31a – see Chapter Three). Nevertheless, the categorisation scheme based on lexical semantics commends itself, on account of the sheer frequency of certain related verbs, in-

102 Redundant quotative frames (i.e. for direct speech) are discussed below. For adjacent verbs pertaining to sight (Mk 9.8), movement (16.8a) or even reporting (1.45a), each verb is counted as an instance of the element. It is often the case, as in the citation from 1.27, that the spelling found in B and other manuscripts (συνζητεῖν) is followed.

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cluding specific, recurrent lexemes (and their cognates). 103 Another advantage of this approach is that it allows the analysis to identify commonalities of a more formal nature (identical and related lexemes), at the same time that variations in the use of these more formal elements can be discerned. Thus, for example, I do not categorise elements in terms of their positive or negative portrayal – an aspect of meaning that is typically derived from factors beyond the lexeme in question, such as the main verb of a phrase. Rather two instances of reporting of miracles – one more positively portrayed, in obedience to a command from Jesus (e.g. Mk 1.45a), and one more negatively, in defiance (5.20a) – are grouped together. Thus, the analysis allows for seeing how a common element is employed for different purposes in various stories. In the examples just cited, incidentally, not only the same lexemes are used, but also an identical inflection and word order (καὶ ἤρξατο κηρύσσειν). One partial exception to the proposed categorisation program is my grouping together of the few instances which I determine to be decidedly antagonistic acts, though a number of these are still linked in a more specific semantic sense, involving an explicit intent to destroy or kill. In Mark there is only one such occurrence (conspiring to destroy Jesus). 104 Another partial exception is the category of reporting, in which I include not only verbs whose lexical semantic range refers to this act specifically, but also some instances of lexemes denoting generic speech, when other contextual features warrant their inclusion. A given “element” is not to be understood as a hermetically sealed category. Rather the categories are heuristic tools. This observation means that a given lexeme may entail a secondary sense that belongs in another category. This is perhaps especially true of words denoting “emotion.” The English term is problematic for talking about texts written in Hellenistic Greek – a topic I addressed in Chapter One. I restate here that I use “emotion” in a way that does not concur with its historical origins and common, present-day usage. Fundamentally, in my usage of this and related terms I assume there to be no dichotomy between “emotion” and “thought.” To the contrary, an “emotion” may be intricately connected to thought and vice versa. Thus, for example, in a response of amazement in a miracle story the pertinent term may, in addition to denoting the said emotion, refer secondarily to related cognitive activity (or lack of understanding – cf. e.g. Mk 6.51c–52b). Nevertheless, the categories, taken as heuristic tools, typically do justice to the data 103 Chief among the recurrent lexemes in Mk is ἰδεῖν. Also relevant here are, e.g., εἰπεῖν, φοβηθῆναι (and cognates) and ἐκστῆναι (and cognates). 104 A few such instances occur elsewhere, just once in each of the other synoptic gospels and four times in Jn. Mt: conspiring to destroy (12.14). Lk: testing (11.16). Jn: seeking or plotting to kill (5.18; 11.53); harassing/persecuting (5.16); driving out (9.34b). In this way I follow, more or less, the approach of Gerd Theissen (Ablehnende Reaktion).

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being analysed. In most cases, for a given instance of a lexeme, the respective category makes a good fit. I now analyse the response elements, beginning with emotion. It is the most common element – 16 instances present in 13 of 18 responses (10 of 14 stories). 105 They cover the semantic categories of: fear (8 instances); being emotionally distressed or troubled (1); and amazement (7). 106 Fear is signified often by a verb, adjective and/or noun from the same root: φοβ*: φοβηθῆναι (Mk 4.41a [ἐφοβήθησαν φόβον μέγαν]; 5.15c; 5.33a; 16.8d) and ἔκφοβος (9.6b), indicated the more intense form of the emotion. In two instances, the relevant word also denotes physical trembling: τρέμειν (5.33a) and τρόμος (16.8b). 107 The remaining instance involves the term ἐκθαμβηθῆναι (16.5c), whose possible meaning occupies a space somewhere between extreme amazement and fear, though in the case in question fear is denoted. 108 The instance of being distressed or troubled, ταραχθῆναι (6.50b), is closely related in meaning to the terms indicating fear. 109 Vocabulary is varied for amazement. A default level of amazement is indicated by θαυμάσαι (5.20c). 110 More intense amazement is denoted by θαμβηθῆναι (1.27a) and yet even greater amazement, along with other nuances in meaning, by ἐκστῆναι (2.12c; 5.42d [καὶ ἐξέστησαν... ἐκστάσει μεγάλῃ]; 6.51c), ἔκστασις

105 All responses except Mk 1.45; 3.6; 9.8; 10.52c; 11.20b–21. Dwyer (1996: 20) finds only eight instances of “the motif of wonder” which “involve miracles or exorcisms,” including one (Mk 5.33), which does not meet my definition of “response.” Five others he places in the categories “teaching or passion predictions” (1.27; cf. 6.2); “empty tomb narrative” (16.5, 8; cf. 16.6); and “difficult to categorize” (5.20; 9.6; cf. 6.6). 106 Fear: φοβηθῆναι, φόβος μέγας, ἔκφοβος, τρόμος (cf. τρέμειν). Being alarmed: ἐκθαμβηθῆναι – or troubled: ταραχθῆναι. Amazement: θαμβηθῆναι, ἐκστῆναι, ἔκστασις (μεγάλη), ἐκπλαγῆναι, θαυμάσαι. Note the rare complex ἐκθαμβηθῆναι, present only in Mk in the New Testament, can denote a variety of emotions, ranging from surprise, excitement and amazement, to distress and alarm; cf. BDAG ad loc. (Note in Sir 30.9 ἐκθαμβῆσαι parallels ‫בעת‬.) Like BDAG, I understand ἐκθαμβηθῆναι to mean “be overwhelmed, be alarmed” in Mk 16.5, 6. (In 9.15 it signifies either being “amazed” or “very excited”; in 14.33 “distressed”.) On the semantic range of the terms ἐκστῆναι and ἔκστασις, see Kiffiak (forthcoming). In the contexts here, the sense is one of amazement (yet see n. 122, below, on 3.32). 107 Instead of τρόμος καὶ ἔκστασις in Mk 16.8, a few manuscripts have φόβος καὶ ἔκστασις (D W Π*). 108 See Kiffiak (forthcoming) for further discussion. 109 See Kiffiak (forthcoming) for further discussion. 110 In Mk 6.51c the second verb in the readings of Dc (ἐξείσταντο καὶ ἐθαύμαζον) and A N S W etc. (ἐξίσταντο καὶ ἐθαύμαζον) is a later addition. The text of B (simply ἐξείσταντο; cf. ἐξίσταντο [‫ א‬etc.]) is superior. See further below, n. 114. As an aside I note W in some responses has θαυμάσαι in place of θαμβηθῆναι (1.27a) and ἐκστῆναι (2.12c).

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(16.8b) and ἐκπλαγῆναι (7.37). 111 One response has two different emotions: fear (16.8b, 8d) and amazement (16.8b). 112 Of all the instances of emotions only once are those responding the objects of the verb. 113 Interestingly, a direct object is never specified (e.g. “they feared God”). In four stories there is an adverbial constituent intensifying the magnitude of the emotion. 114 As I discussed in Chapter One, the lexemes indicating amazement form a distinct group from those denoting fear and being troubled, which are themselves interrelated and can well be taken jointly as a group. As for distribution, amazement tends to come in (all kinds of) healing stories, 115 whereas fear and being troubled tend to come in rescue nature miracles and/or epiphanies. 116 In fact all four stories in the latter group have fear / being troubled, even when amazement is present. 117 (Both responses, wherever relevant, are in view in the present discussion of the overall story.) Fear occurs, on the other hand, in only two stories of healing and exorcism – and in one instance not without the presence of amazement also. 118 In addition, the fear in the said story is of a hostile nature – this is the one purely negative response in a miracle story that is not from Jesus’ opponents. 119 In the second story, the fear has an uncommon relation to the miracle. 120 With these caveThe terms ἐκστῆναι and ἔκστασις indicate also a sense of being “outside” oneself; and ἐκπλαγῆναι a sense of being “overwhelmed.” See Kiffiak (forthcoming) for further discussion. 112 εἶχεν γὰρ αὐτὰς τρόμος καὶ ἔκστασις... ἐφοβοῦντο γάρ (Mk 16.8). 113 Mk 16.8b: εἶχεν γὰρ αὐτὰς τρόμος καὶ ἔκστασις. Note that, shortly after, the women are the implied subject of a related verb (16.8d): ἐφοβοῦντο. 114 ἐφοβήθησαν φόβον μέγαν (Mk 4.41a); ἐξέστησαν εὐθὺς ἐκστάσει μεγάλῃ (5.42d [B ‫ א‬C etc.] – note P45 A N S W etc. do not have εὐθύς); λείαν ἐν ἑαυτοῖς ἐξείσταντο (6.51c [B – ‫ א‬L Δ have, spelling variations aside, the same text] – less likely are the versions with further amplified emotion, the next strongest reading being: λίαν ἐκ περισσοῦ ἐν ἑαυτοῖς ἐξίσταντο καὶ ἐθαύμαζον [A N S etc.]); ὑπερπερισσῶς ἐκεπλήσσοντο (7.37). Few other adverbials appear (see εὐθύς and ἐν ἑαυτοῖς in the foregoing). 115 Exorcisms (Mk 1.27a; 5.20c), resurrection (5.42d) and other healings (2.12c; 7.37). 116 Rescue nature miracles: Mk 4.41a; 6.50b. Epiphanies: 9.6b; 16.5c; 16.8b,d. 117 One rescue nature miracle story (Mk 6.49–50b; 6.51c–52) and one epiphany story (16.5b–c; 16.8) have amazement in addition to fear / being troubled in the responses. 118 Fear (Mk 5.15c) and amazement (5.20c). 119 The inverted response in a miracle summary of Jesus’ amazement at the lack of faith is relevant (Mk 6.6a). 120 The fear of the woman in Mk 5.33 pertains to her realising not that she has been healed (cf. 5.29b) – see below, Section Q – but that she has not been able to escape Jesus’ notice. (Note some manuscripts preserve an addition to the text which shows a need felt by some to make this connection more explicit: φοβηθεῖσα καὶ τρέμουσα διὸ πεποιήκει λάθρα [D etc.].) But the connection may already be indicated by the use of asyndeton, which seems to mark a close connection between the second and third pre-nuclear participles: φοβηθεῖσα καὶ τρέμουσα εἰδυῖα ὃ γέγονεν αὐτῇ.... Levinsohn (2000: 118, emphasis origi111

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ats, then, association of amazement with healings and fear / being troubled with rescue nature miracles and/or epiphanies is made stronger. Furthermore, encouragement not to be afraid and questioning as to why one is afraid occurs mostly in rescue nature miracles and/or epiphanies. 121 More generally amazement is associated with Jesus’ healings and teaching; fear is not. 122 The verbal element is also common (9 instances in 9 responses, 9 stories). 123 The majority of instances (6) have direct discourse: whether a question (Mk 1.27; 4.41b) or a statement (2.12c; 7.37; 9.5; 11.21). Jesus is often, at least partly, the focus of the utterance. 124 Jesus is commended once. 125 nal; cf. 84) discusses usage of asyndeton in non-narrative texts to mark “close connection.” This seems related since asyndeton in 5.33 is conjoining at a level lower than the sentence. 121 τί δειλοί ἐστε; οὔπω ἔχετε πίστιν; (Mk 4.40); θαρσεῖτε, ἐγώ εἰμι· μὴ φοβεῖσθε (6.50); μὴ ἐκθαμβεῖσθε (16.6). In each case it is the miracle worker and/or epiphanic character speaking. Twice the fear being calmed results from the epiphany. Note the only epiphany containing no admonition to not be afraid is the transfiguration. Only one instance occurs in a healing story: μὴ φοβοῦ, μόνον πίστευε (5.36). (Note the call to courage, without reference to fear: θάρσει, ἔγειρε, φωνεῖ σε [10.49].) Jesus’ calming words in 5.34 do not mention either fear or courage. 122 Barring a citation (Mk 12.11) and an accusation of Jesus being out of his senses (3.21) – included in Dwyer’s (1996: 20) 32 instances of “the motif of wonder” – I count 18 instances of characters’ amazement: 1.22, 27; 2.12; 5.20, 42d; 6.2, 6, 51c; 7.37; 9.15; 10.24, 26, 32; 11.18; 12.17; 15.5, 44; 16.8. Outside of formal responses, amazement occurs: in generic relation to miracles (6.2) and teaching (11.18); and in various instances of specified (10.24, 26; 12.17) or unspecified teaching (1.22; 6.2 [as noted, miracles also generically mentioned here]). Amazement is relatively rare in other contexts (5 of 18): a crowd is amazed to see Jesus (9.15) or that he is going up to Jerusalem (10.32); Jesus is amazed at unbelief (6.6); and Pilate is amazed at Jesus’ silence (15.5) or his quick death (15.44). Characters’ fear occurs 11 times: 4.41; 5.15, 33; 6.20; 9.6, 32; 10.32; 11.18, 32; 12.12; 16.8. (Note the two instances of speech related to the fear of other characters: 4.40; 6.50). Fear once pertains to Jesus’ teaching: the disciples are afraid to ask Jesus about the Son of Humanity’s fate (9.32). Fear appears in contexts other than miracles/teaching more frequently than amazement does, relatively speaking (5 of 11). The disciples’ fear, following Jesus to Jerusalem (10.32; some disciples’ amazement is contrasted here). Four times, various leaders fear: Antipas fears John (6.20); the chief priests and scribes (and the elders) fear (Jesus on account of) the crowd (11.18, 32; 12.12). One of three instances of characters being troubled is in a non-miraculous context: Jesus in Gethsemane (14.33; the other instances are 6.50 and 16.6). (Note the instance of speech related to other characters’ troubled state: 16.6.) 123 Mk 1.27; 2.12c; 4.41b; 5.17; 5.33c 6.49b; 7.37; 9.5; 11.21. Note in 6.49b the response is not verbal, per se, but merely vocal (i.e. screaming). The instance of speech in 3.6 is not included here, since it denotes a type of deliberation worth specific identification in this context. 124 Focus is on: Jesus (Mk 4.41b [here his identity in particular gets attention]; 7.37); Jesus and “the new teaching” (1.27); or Jesus, Moses and Elijah, along with the mountain location (9.5).

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Twice there are questions as to the nature of his teaching, authority and/or identity. 126 In one case, a statement meant to honour Jesus is made. 127 Alternatively, the miracle itself alone receives focus (twice). 128 Twice Jesus is the addressee of the direct speech. 129 Otherwise, speech is understood – explicitly or otherwise – to be between those speaking or, in one case, towards God. 130 In the six instances of direct speech the verb εἰπεῖν(/λέγειν) is invariably present. 131 The verbs ἀποκριθῆναι (9.5), δοξάσαι (2.12c) and συνζητῆσαι (1.27) occur, in addition. 132 The two instances of indirect speech are directed at Jesus: a request for him to leave (5.17: ἤρξαντο παρακαλεῖν αὐτὸν ἀπελθεῖν ἀπὸ τῶν ὁρίων αὐτῶν); telling him the truth about what happened (5.33c: εἶπεν αὐτῷ πᾶσαν τὴν ἀλήθειαν). 133 In the remaining instance is only Mk 7.37: καλῶς πάντα πεποίηκεν, καὶ τοὺς κωφοὺς ποιεῖ ἀκούειν καὶ [τοὺς] ἀλάλους λαλεῖν (the reading of ‫ א‬L 33, which do not have the word in brackets [B agrees with them at this point], and the reading A D N S etc., which do have τούς, are equally probable). 126 Mk 1.27 (B ‫ א‬L 33): τί ἐστιν τοῦτο; διδαχὴ καινὴ κατ᾿ ἐξουσίαν· καὶ τοῖς πνεύμασι τοῖς ἀκαθάρτοις ἐπιτάσσει, καὶ ὑπακούουσιν αὐτῷ. (Note some manuscripts have a second question here, following τί ἐστιν τοῦτο, the most notable variants being: τίς ἡ διδαχὴ ἡ καινὴ αὕτη ὅτι κατ᾽ ἐξουσίαν... [C S etc.]; τίς ἡ καινὴ αὕτη διδαχὴ ὅτι κατ᾽ ἐξουσίαν... [A].) The one question in 4.41b – τίς ἄρα οὗτός ἐστιν ὅτι καὶ ὁ ἄνεμος καὶ ἡ θάλασσα ὑπακούει αὐτῷ; (B L) – is variously formulated in manuscripts (notable is the version whose only variant from the text cited is ὑπακούουσιν [A S etc.]). Of course the motif of questions about Jesus appears in other, similar contexts: from crowds – 6.2; cf. also 6.14– 15; 8.27–29 – and from opponents – 2.7, 16, 24; 7.5. On questions in Mk, generally, see Fowler (1991) 131–134. 127 Mk 9.5: ῥαββεί, καλόν ἐστιν ἡμᾶς ὧδε εἶναι, καὶ ποιήσωμεν τρεῖς σκηνάς, σοὶ μίαν καὶ Μωϋσεῖ μίαν καὶ Ἠλείᾳ μίαν (B – ‫א‬, besides a spelling variant, has the same text; some less probable variant readings include the following excerpts: ...εἶναι, ποιήσωμεν σκηνὰς τρεῖς... [A N S]; ...εἶναι, ποιήσωμεν ὧδε τρεῖς σκηνάς... [C cf. P45]; ...εἶναι, [καὶ] θέλεις ποιήσω [ὧδε] σκηνὰς τρεῖς... [D W]). The quality of attention given Jesus is deemed insufficient in Peter’s speech; see discussion below. 128 οὕτως οὐδέποτε εἴδομεν (Mk 2.12c [B ‫א‬c L] – to be preferred to, e.g., οὐδέποτε οὕτως εἴδομεν [A S etc.]); ῥαββί, ἴδε ἡ συκῆ ἣν κατηράσω ἐξήρανται (11.21). 129 In both these instances, the direct discourse begins with ῥαββί and Peter is speaking (Mk 9.5; 11.21). The latter instance also has an indirect object for the speech verb (λέγει αὐτῷ). 130 Explicit: συζητεῖν πρὸς ἑαυτοὺς (Mk 1.27); δοξάζειν τὸν θεὸν (2.12c); πρὸς ἀλλήλους (4.41b). Implicit: 7.37. Of course here Jesus, when mentioned, is spoken of in the third person (1.27; 4.41b; 7.37). 131 Note two early manuscripts (B W) do not have λέγοντας (or λέγειν) in Mk 2.12c. 132 συνζητεῖν... λέγοντας (Mk 1.27); δοξάζειν... λέγοντας (2.12c); ἀποκριθεὶς... λέγει (9.5). 133 The speech of the woman, healed of hemorrhaging, bears some similarity to reporting (see below). But she does not make the miracle known to those who did not know about its occurrence. Jesus knows that healing power has gone out of him. 125

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a scream (6.49b: ἀνακράξαι). Adverbials do not accompany the verbs, other than to specify the addressees. 134 Verbal responses appear in all kinds of miracle stories. 135 The 10 instances of the element of seeing are present in six responses (6 stories). ἰδεῖν is used in each of the responses (2.12c; 5.14c, 16 [a substantive]; 6.49a, 50a; 9.8; 11.20b; 16.5b). 136 In addition θεωρῆσαι (5.15b) and περιβλέψασθαι (9.8) occur. The specific object is explicitly identified in six cases, with Jesus being the object in three of them. 137 Twice the object of a verb is less specific. 138 Twice a verb has no object, but what is seen is supplied in a following clause. 139 Adverbials rarely modify the verb. 140 All types of miracle stories are pertinent. 141 There are eight instances of reporting of the miracle (in 6 responses, 5 stories). κηρύξαι is used three times (Mk 1.45a; 5.20b; 7.36b). Other words or phrases occur once each: ἐξῆλθεν ἡ ἀκοὴ αὐτοῦ (1.28), διαφημίσαι (1.45a), ἀπαγγεῖλαι (5.14b), 142 διηγήσασθαι (5.16); εἰπεῖν (16.8c). Often there is an object, whether a noun (ὁ λόγος [1.45a – re. διαφημίσαι]; οὐδέν [16.8c]) or a

134 I.e., it is not specified through adverbial constituents if the speech is loud/quiet, enthusiastic, repeated etc. In addition to the addressees of direct speech, already noted, is the addressee of one indirect speech (5.17: ἤρξαντο παρακαλεῖν αὐτόν). 135 Exorcisms (Mk 1.27; 5.17), other healings (2.12c; 7.37), a mundane nature miracle (11.21), rescue nature miracles (4.41b; 6.49b) and an epiphany (9.5). 136 Note in Mk 5.16 a few manuscripts read εἰδότες (W Δ etc.) for ἰδόντες (B ‫ א‬D S etc.). 137 θεωροῦσιν τὸν δαιμονιζόμενον καθήμενον ἱματισμένον καὶ σωφρονοῦντα, τὸν ἐσχηκότα τὸν λεγιῶνα (Mk 5.15b [B] – some manuscripts [A C S etc.], with virtually the same text, read ...καθήμενον καὶ ἱματισμένον...); ἰδόντες αὐτὸν ἐπὶ τῆς θαλάσσης περιπατοῦντα (6.49a); αὐτὸν εἶδον (6.50a [A N S W etc. cf. P45] – perhaps equally possible is αὐτὸν εἶδαν [B ‫ ;)]א‬οὐκέτι οὐδένα εἶδον ἀλλὰ τὸν Ἰησοῦν μόνον μεθ᾿ ἑαυτῶν (9.8); εἶδον τὴν συκῆν ἐξηραμμένην ἐκ ῥιζῶν (11.20b); εἶδον νεανίσκον καθήμενον ἐν τοῖς δεξιοῖς περιβεβλημένον στολὴν λευκήν (16.5b). 138 οὕτως οὐδέποτε εἴδομεν (Mk 2.12c) – see also, below, n. 140. ἰδεῖν τί ἐστιν τὸ γεγονός (5.14c) – though this is quickly followed by a verb of seeing with a specified object (5.15b; see above, n. 137). Cf. also the reference in 9.9 (ἵνα μηδενὶ ἃ εἶδον διηγήσωνται...). 139 In Mk 5.16 what was seen by the swine herders (οἱ ἰδόντες) seems specified in the content of their reporting (πῶς ἐγένετο τῷ δαιμονιζομένῳ καὶ περὶ τῶν χοίρων), events also narrated earlier. The verb περιβλεψάμενοι (9.8) has no object. But the phrase immediately following makes explicit what they did not see (no others, besides Jesus; e.g. not Moses, nor Elijah, nor the cloud). 140 οὕτως οὐδέποτε (Mk 2.12c); ἐξάπινα (9.8); οὐκέτι (9.8). 141 An exorcism (Mk 5.14c, 15b, 16), another healing (2.12c), a mundane nature miracle (11.20b), a rescue nature miracle (6.49a, 50a), and epiphanies (9.8; 16.5b). 142 ἀπήγγειλαν (B A C D L) is preferable to ἀνήγγειλαν (S W etc.) and similar variants.

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dependent clause (5.16; 5.20b). 143 The verb is often modified by an adverbial expressing the wide extent of the report’s spread. 144 It should be noted that in various miracle stories Jesus commands observers/recipients not to report about the happenings. 145 In one noteworthy instance, it is made explicit that no reporting took place (16.8c) – and this despite an injunction to report (16.7). 146 Twice more there is a positive command. Once (1.43–44) it is disobeyed (1.45a); once (5.19) it is followed in a greatly amplified manner (5.20b). The positive articulation of the reporting element in a response occurs in stories of exorcisms and other healings only. 147 A statement in an epiphany story (16.8c) indicates that reporting did not take place. There are 11 instances (in 7 responses, 6 stories) of movement between locations. Twice groups flee, employing three instances of the element (φυγεῖν: Mk 5.14a; 148 16.8a; ἐξελθεῖν: 16.8a). Once someone’s departure is an act of obedience (ἀπελθεῖν: 5.20a). 149 Twice a generic description of motion away occurs (ἐξελθεῖν: 1.45a; 3.6). Once someone follows Jesus (ἀκολουθῆσαι: 10.52c). 150 Once a healed person comes to him (ἐλθεῖν: 5.33a). Three times (in 2 responses) coming to Jesus is the response of secondary respondents, i.e. those responding to reports of a miracle (ἐλθεῖν: 1.45c; 5.14c, 15a). 151 Twice a pronominal object is specified (αὐτῷ: 5.33a; 10.52c). Four times 143 πῶς ἐγένετο τῷ δαιμονιζομένῳ καὶ περὶ τῶν χοίρων (Mk 5.16); ὅσα ἐποίησεν αὐτῷ ὁ Ἰησοῦς (5.20b). 144 εὐθὺς πανταχοῦ εἰς ὅλην τὴν περίχωρον τῆς Γαλιλαίας (Mk 1.28); πολλά (1.45a [B ‫ א‬A etc.; not in D W], re. κηρύσσειν – for διαφημίζειν the notion of extent is in the verb itself); εἰς τὴν πόλιν καὶ εἰς τοὺς ἀγρούς (5.14b); ἐν τῇ Δεκαπόλει (5.20b); ὅσον δὲ αὐτοῖς διεστέλλετο... μᾶλλον περισσότερον (7.36b [B A N S W etc. cf. P45] – preferable to μᾶλλον περισσοτέρως [‫ א‬D etc.]). The other adverbial is εὐθὺς (1.28; see above). 145 Before the response (Mk 1.43–44; 7.36a) or after (5.43; cf. 9.9). In 1.43–44 and 7.36a Jesus’ command is contrasted with the reporting (1.45a; 7.36b), done contrary to his wishes. Cf. also 8.26 (with no response), where the aftermath to the command is not narrated. Related are commands to be silent to the unclean spirits: 1.25; 3.12; cf. 1.34. (A command to be silent in a non-miraculous context is in 8.30). 146 The statement about not reporting is, in fact, the final main clause of what may be the earliest extant version of the narrative. See discussion below. 147 Reporting is connected to exorcisms (Mk 1.28; 5.14b, 16; 5.20b) and other healings (1.45a; 7.36b). 148 The new location is specified in the following sentence (the city and the fields: Mk 5.14b). 149 The new location is specified in the following sentence (the Decapolis: Mk 5.20b). 150 Note the one prohibition of following (Mk 5.19). 151 In Mk 5.14c, 15a people come to Jesus upon hearing a report from the swine herders (note in 5.14c ἦλθον [B ‫א‬c A etc.] is a superior reading to ἐξῆλθον [‫ * א‬C D S W etc.]). Yet upon their arrival they are treated as primary respondents in the story, they see the exdemoniac, become afraid and respond verbally to Jesus. In 1.45c those who hear about the miracle (many people) come to Jesus. o

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adverbials occur. 152 An infinitive construction accompanies the main verb once. 153 Six instances (in 5 responses, 4 stories) of a cognitive element occur: a statement concerning knowledge (εἰδέναι: Mk 5.33; 9.6a), understanding (συνεῖναι: 6.52a; ἦν αὐτῶν ἡ καρδία πεπωρωμένη: 6.52b), thought processing (δόξαι: 6.49a) or memory (ἀναμνησθῆναι: 11.21). Vocabulary is, thus, varied. A specified object is in three of four instances a subordinate clause. 154 Once (6.49a) the object is Jesus. Interestingly, the element is presented positively just twice (5.33a; 11.21). Twice the relevant sentence is negated (6.52a; 9.6a); once structure 155 and lexical semantics indicate failure (6.52b); and context indicates that the cognitive activity in the remaining instance is less than successful (6.49a). Once a bodily motion (other than movement between locations) appears: falling (προσπεσεῖν: 5.33b – cf. service in 1.31c). A pronominal object is given (αὐτῷ: 5.33a). The gesture is performed in relation to Jesus. (I note the somewhat related instance of serving [διηκόνει αὐτοῖς: 1.31c] 156 in what may be a response.) Finally, there is one instance of conspiring against Jesus (συμβούλιον ἐδίδουν κατ᾿ αὐτοῦ, ὅπως αὐτὸν ἀπολέσωσιν; Mk 3.6). 157 Its anomalous 152 With adverbials pertaining to spatiality: πρὸς τὸν Ἰησοῦν (Mk 5.15a); ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ (10.52c); ἀπὸ τοῦ μνημείου (16.8a). With another adverbial: εὐθύς (3.6). 153 ἦλθον ἰδεῖν τί ἐστιν τὸ γεγονός (Mk 5.14c). 154 Subordinate clauses as objects: εἰδυῖα ὃ γέγονεν αὐτῇ (Mk 5.33a); ἔδοξαν ὅτι φάντασμά ἐστιν (6.49); οὐ γὰρ ᾔδει τί ἀποκριθῇ (9.6). Other object: οὐ γὰρ συνῆκαν ἐπὶ τοῖς ἄρτοις (6.52a). 155 In Mk 6.52 ἀλλά, used to correct or replace (οὐ... ἀλλά – see above, n. 101), indicates that 6.52b is something other than understanding (συνεῖναι). 156 καὶ διηκόνει αὐτοῖς (Mk 1.31c) may function merely as the indication of the healing’s efficacy and not as a response, since there is only one potential element (3 words), an action not appearing in any other response. The response bearing the closest similarity is 10.52c: καὶ ἠκολούθει αὐτῷ ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ. This response also consists of a sole movement element with a verb that otherwise does not appear in responses. By this time in the narrative, however, the verb has been well established as an appropriate reaction (and, thus, response) to Jesus, notably already in the opening story of Jesus’ activity in the Galilee (1.18; cf. also, especially, 2.14, 8.34, 10.21, 28); cf. Malbon (2000: 72–78). διακονῆσαι does not receive so strong an association with discipleship, though when the women followers are introduced at the crucifixion, they are described with both verbs under discussion: αἳ ὅτε ἦν ἐν τῇ Γαλιλαίᾳ ἠκολούθουν αὐτῷ καὶ διηκόνουν αὐτῷ (15.41). But this description and Jesus’ call to serve and his praise of the Son of Humanity’s service (10.42– 45) come much later. More decisive, it seems, is the closely preceding, entirely positive description of angels serving Jesus (1.13c). My position is closest to that of Culpepper (2007: 59); cf. Broadhead (1992: 63; 2001: 26); Malbon (2000: 49; 207, n. 35); Lau (2013: 214). 157 So B L etc. Some manuscripts read ἐποίησαν (‫ א‬C etc.) or ἐποίουν (A S P etc.).

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nature is matched by the lack of analogy to the unbridled aggression it expresses (only 5.14–17 also contains a decidedly negative response; there Jesus is simply asked to leave the region). A statement about Jesus remaining in uninhabited regions occurs in one response (1.45b). 158 Other than a copula or similarly nondescript verbs, 159 the above discussion accounts for all verbs describing events and states in the responses. 160 It is worth noting that an affirmation of recipients’ faith occurs elsewhere in some stories. 161 The question arises as to whether the same types of elements exist in the other gospels and, if so, whether they occur in similar proportionality? Also, significantly, is the differentiation between amazement and fear / being troubled relevant in the other gospels as it is in Mark?

E. Combinations of Elements within Responses Are any patterns discernible for combinations of elements within the responses? On occasion there is only one (main) 162 element type – Mk 5.42d: emotional (amazement); 9.8: seeing; 163 10.52c: movement (following); cf. Mk 1.31c. More commonly there are multiple kinds of elements in a given response – mostly two (3.6; 4.41; 6.51c–52; 16.5) or three (1.27–28; 1.45; 2.12c; 5.20; 7.36b–37; 9.5–6; 11.20b–21; 16.8). There is one response with four elements (6.49–50b) and two with five elements (5.14–17; 5.33). These 158 ὥστε μηκέτι αὐτὸν δύνασθαι φανερῶς εἰς πόλιν εἰσελθεῖν, ἀλλ᾿ ἔξω ἐπ᾿ ἐρήμοις τόποις ἦν (Mk 1.45b). 159 εἶναι: ἦν αὐτῶν ἡ καρδία πεπωρωμένη (Mk 6.52b); γενέσθαι: ἔκφοβοι γὰρ ἐγένοντο (9.6b); ἄρξασθαι: ἤρξατο κηρύσσειν... καὶ διαφημίζειν (1.45a), ἤρξαντο παρακαλεῖν (5.17), ἤρξατο κηρύσσειν (5.20); ἔχειν: εἶχεν γὰρ αὐτὰς τρόμος καὶ ἔκστασις (16.8). 160 On the dependent clause ὅσον... αὐτοῖς διεστέλλετο (Mk 7.36b) as part of an adverbial see above, n. 144. It does not describe an event per se, but constitutes tail-head linkage (cf. 7.36a) which “slows the pace” – “an oft-used highlighting device to point forward to something important” (Runge 2010: 167). 161 Mk 2.5 (re. 2.12c); 10.52a (re. 10.52c); cf. 5.34. The theme of faith appears in other miracle stories as well: 4.40; 5.36; 9.19, 23–24; 11.22–24. Jesus, too, is amazed at the lack of faith in a miracle summary (6.6a). Thus, of the 17 times the word group πίστις, πιστεῦσαι etc. is employed – see Marshall (1989: 1, n. 2) – only three are in contexts where miracles do not transpire (1.15; 11.31; 15.32). Marshall (1989: 235) quoting Karl Kertelge, affirms that in Mk faith is “the basic presupposition for access to the miracles of Jesus.” 162 For the present discussion (i.e. in Section E) the statement about the effect of the response on Jesus (Mk 1.45b) is bracketed. 163 As mentioned previously, for the justification of this instance of visual sensation as constituting a response, see the discussion in Section Q.

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observations are displayed visually in Table 1, below. A reminder: for the moment I make no differentiation between the actions of different characters or character groups within a formally defined response. The most common collocation is of the emotional and verbal elements, present in eight responses: Mk 1.27–28; 2.12c; 4.41; 5.14–17; 5.33; 6.49– 50b; 7.36b–37; 9.5–6. This accounts for eight of nine instances of the verbal element. Over half of the stories have such a combination. Direct speech occurs commonly enough with both amazement (1.27–28; 2.12c; 7.36b–37) and fear (4.41; 9.5–6). 164 Reporting appears with emotions in five responses (1.27–28; 5.14–17; 5.20; 7.36–37; 16.8), accounting for six of eight instances of reporting. Three of these responses contain amazement alone, one fear alone (5.14–17), one both amazement and fear (16.8). Successful reporting, though, when a close causal connection with an emotion exists is associated with amazement (1.27–28; 5.20; 7.36b–37; cf. 5.14–17). 165 Five other collocations appear in four responses each: emotion and seeing; 166 emotion and cognition; 167 emotion and movement; 168 seeing and verbal; 169 reporting and movement. 170 All four occurrences of faulty cognitive processing are associated with an emotion (6.49–50; 6.51c–52 [twice] 9.6). Emotional, verbal and seeing elements collocate three times (2.12c; 5.14–17; 6.49–50b). Three other kinds of triple collocations occur equally as frequently: emotional, verbal and cognitive elements (5.33; 6.49–50b; 9.5–6); emotional, verbal and reporting (1.27–28; 5.14–17; 7.36b–37); emotion, move164 This is true, too, of the questions: Mk 1.27–28 (amazement), 4.41 (fear). Where there is no direct discourse, though, the verbal element collocates with fear (5.14–17; 5.33 and 6.49–50b). 165 Twice an emotion (amazement) is the result of reporting (Mk 5.20; 7.36b–37). In 1.27–28 reporting follows amazement. In 5.14–17 the explicit mention of fear comes as a result from seeing the ex-demoniac, not from hearing a report. Nor does (explicit mention of) fear precipitate reporting, though the physical act of flight may well imply the emotion of fear. Formally speaking, however, there is no connection. The noted lack of reporting in 16.8 is causally related to the fear. 166 Seven of 10 instances of visual sensation occur with emotions: with fear / being troubled in three responses (Mk 5.14–17; 6.49–50b; 16.5) and amazement in the other (2.12c). 167 Five of six instances of the cognitive element are described in conjunction with an emotion – fear / being troubled: Mk 5.33; 6.49–50b; 9.5–6; amazement: 6.51c–52 (twice). 168 Seven of 11 instances of movement come together with emotion (Mk 5.14–17; 5.20; 5.33; 16.8). 169 Occurrences of the collocations of seeing and verbal elements (Mk 2.12c; 5.14–17; 6.49–50b; 11.20b–21) account for seven of 10 instances of visual sensation. 170 Six of eight instances of reporting appear with movement (Mk 1.45; 5.14–17; 5.20; 16.8).

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ment and reporting (5.14–17; 5.20; 16.8). Only one of the triple collocations has a consistent type of emotion. 171 Finally, I note that on average, amazement appears with fewer and fear / being troubled with more elements. 172 As for the aforementioned distinction between types of miracles stories, some further observations can be made. The four rescue nature miracles and/or epiphanies have responses of two to four elements, with one special exception (9.8 – the only response to consist of just visual sensation). As noted previously, all of the six remaining responses contain emotion, with fear / being troubled (in contrast to amazement) being predominant. Five of these responses contain, in addition, just (one or more of) the following elements: verbal, seeing and cognitive. All instances of faulty cognitive activity occur here. The remaining, exceptional response (16.8) has, in addition to emotion, movement and the one instance of unsuccessful reporting. 173 On the other hand, eight of 10 responses in the nine healing stories have one to three elements, 174 often consisting of amazement, speech, reporting, movement (each element occurs with roughly the same frequency) or a combination. 175 Seeing occurs just in one of the said responses (2.12c). Two responses (5.14–17; 5.33) are exceptions to the rule, consisting of five component types and having the emotion of fear. The first of these, along with 3.6, is unique, as noted above, owing to its hostile nature. 176 The nature of the remaining response (5.33) is also exceptional in the narrative, as the character responding (see below) does not do so immediately, but only after Jesus attempts at some length to find out who touched him. The fear pertains more to her being caught touching Jesus, despite her efforts at secrecy, than to the realisation that she is healed (cf. 5.29b). The one remaining nature miracle bears greater similarity to the healing stories. 177 The question arises as to whether such patterns are found in the other gospels. A corollary question arises, already at this point in the investigation, as to whether and where such 171 Emotional, verbal and cognitive components occur in responses that have fear / being troubled only. 172 Amazement: one (Mk 5.42d); two (6.51c–52); or three elements (1.27–28; 2.12c; 5.20; 7.36b–37). Fear / being troubled: two (4.41; 16.5b–c); three (9.5–6; 16.8); four (6.49–50b) or five (5.14–17; 5.33). 173 Mk 16.8 also has the movement element of fleeing. 174 One (Mk 5.42d; 10.52c; cf. 1.31c), two (1.45; 3.6) and three (1.27–28; 2.12c; 7.36b– 37). 175 Amazement (Mk 1.27–28; 2.12c; 5.20; 5.42d; 7.36b–37), speech (1.27–28; 2.12c; 7.36b–37; 11.20b–21), reporting (1.27–28; 1.45; 5.20; 7.36b–37) and movement (1.45; 5.14–17; 5.20; 10.52c). (In 1.31c there would only be the movement element.) 176 Note Mk 5.14–17 contains visual sensation. 177 Mk 11.20b–21 has seeing and verbal elements only. Other responses without emotion are found in stories of healing: 1.45; 3.6; 10.52c (9.8 [seeing only], occurring in an epiphany story, is a special case – see below, Section Q).

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patterns might be found in other literature, Jewish and/or other. Preliminary answers will be considered at the end of the study, in Chapter Seven.

F. Relative Priority of Elements What is the typical level of prominence in the responses, if any, for a given element? Discourse analysis will help elucidate this. First, a simple sentence count and assessment is given. Identifying the main verbs of the sentences might give a general indication of the relative priority of the elements. One response (2.12c) consists of a dependent clause only. This instance aside, responses generally consist of one to four sentences. 178 The emotional, reporting and movement elements, when present, always are (or are directly associated with) 179 the main verb. Others, too, are main verbs – verbal element (in 5 of 8 responses) and seeing ([at least one instance] in 5 of 6 responses). 180 Still, priority is likely to have a close correspondence to prominence in the discourse. 181 To this I now turn. I. Foreground/background and mainline/offline The foreground of a discourse relates to “thematic prominence: ‘this is what I’m talking about.’” 182 A narrative is a form of discourse fundamentally concerned with the chronological progression of actions and events – in Robert Longacre’s (1996: 8) terms “contingent temporal succession.” 183 Here the 178 One (Mk 5.42d; 6.51c–52; 9.8; 10.52c; cf. 1.31c); two (1.27–28; 4.41; 7.36b–37; 11.20b–21 [with the exception of the initial participle, 11.20a ]; 16.5b–c); three (1.45; 5.20; 5.33; 9.5–6); four (6.49–50b; 16.8); and, once, eight (5.14–17). 179 I.e. ἤρξατο κηρύσσειν... καὶ διαφημίζειν (Mk 1.45a); ἤρξατο κηρύσσειν (5.20b); ἔκφοβοι... ἐγένοντο (9.6b); εἶχεν... αὐτὰς τρόμος καὶ ἔκστασις (16.8b). (Similar is 2.12c, where the emotion is one of two infinitives in the result clause.) The main verbs here are discussed above, in Section D. Note 5.33 (φοβηθεῖσα καὶ τρέμουσα) does not fit this pattern. 180 Verbal: Mk 4.41b; 5.17; 6.49b; 9.5; 11.21 (cf. 2.12c – 1 of 2 infinitives). Seeing: 5.15b; 6.50a; 9.8; 11.20b; 16.5b–c. 181 I say “likely” because literary considerations play a part in this assessment. Cf. Section Q (on e.g. Mk 16.1–8). 182 Levinsohn (2000: 169, citing Kathleen Callow; emphasis original); cf. Fanning (2011: 172), referring to Helen Aristar-Dry. Callow uses “prominence” to refer “to any device whatever which gives certain events, participants, or objects more significance than others in the same context” (Levinsohn 2000: 7). 183 Longacre (1996: 8, emphasis original) classifies “all possible discourses in all languages according to two basic etic parameters: contingent temporal succession and agent orientation.” Narrative is marked for both. Cf. also Levinsohn (2000: 169) and Fanning (2011: 168–170). (Longacre [1996: 9–11] discusses secondary parameters also.) A caveat

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mainline – the “basic narrative framework of sequenced events” – is “of primary importance... and thus ‘foreground’” (Fanning 2011: 173; emphasis mine). Background information consists of offline material: non-events (“‘setting,’ ‘explanatory information,’” etc.) 184 and events outside the sequential framework. Fittingly, in Hellenistic Greek the aorist indicative is associated closely with the foreground of a narrative (Fanning 2011:173; cf. 179). 185 This verb form presents an event or action as both perfective, in terms of aspect, 186 and past, in terms of temporal location (“tense”). 187 It is the unmarked verb form for narrative discourse. The background is commonly conveyed by the imperfect, an indicative verb form which is past and has imperfective aspect (Fanning 2011: 179). 188 Connectives (see below, Section M), too, play an important role in indicating background material, the simplest example being γάρ. 189 II. Levels of prominence in foreground material Among foreground actions and events there are differing levels of prominence. When the aorist indicative, being unmarked, is the main verb of a may be made regarding “literary texts with more complex plot structures” in which “characterization, setting, symbols, etc. may assume more importance for the theme than an event line” (Fanning 2011: 173, n. 54, citing Helen Aristar-Dry) – mostly modern, especially belletristic, literature is in mind, it seems. 184 Levinsohn 2000: 169, citing Joseph E. Grimes. 185 Verbs with perfective aspect, rather than imperfective, provide the mainline of the narrative in numerous languages. For bibliography see Fanning (2011: 172–176, especially 172, n. 52, and 175, n. 63). 186 “Verbal aspect should be defined as a ‘viewpoint’ feature. This means that aspect is a matter of the speaker’s (or writer’s) portrayal or point of view... It is governed by what the speaker chooses to focus on, not by features of the objective situation... [It] is of a different semantic order than actional characteristics like duration, repetition, boundedness, existing state, and so on – features sometimes labeled Aktionsarten,” (Fanning 2011: 158). Perfective and imperfective, the two overarching aspectual categories in Hellenistic Greek, are seen in the verb forms using the aorist stem and present stem, respectively. 187 Fanning (2011: 157–178) gives a respectful yet devastating criticism of the tenseless verb system model, championed, above all, by Stanley Porter. Similar criticisms are offered by Runge (2011) and Barnard (2006), though for the latter focus should have been on indicative verbs of main clauses (cf. n. 211 below). 188 Similarly, on the imperfect in classical Greek narrative, see Rijksbaron (2002: 11– 13). Fanning (2011: 177) comments on other indicative verb forms in narratives: “Where perfects or pluperfects do occasionally appear in main clauses within narratives, they function typically like imperfects in providing background information to supplement the aorist main line story.” 189 Background material is introduced by other connectives, too, like καί and δέ (see below).

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sentence, the event/action it portrays, all things being equal, has the default level of prominence. Demotion and highlighting can happen within a sentence or intersententially. 190 As to the former, since the default or unmarked order in a sentence is VSO (verb-subject-object), 191 when clause components or subordinated clauses are fronted (placed before the verb), they are marked. The Dikian functional linguistic framework proposes “two different preverbal positions that may or may not be filled in any given clause” (Runge 2010: 190). New information receives “emphasis” (position 2 [P2]), while information that is “known or knowable” becomes a “frame of reference” (position 1 [P1]) (Runge 2010: 190, 194, emphasis mine). 192 If both positions are filled, then the “known or knowable” (P1) precedes the “new” (P2). In addition, events/actions in the common “circumstantial frames” (“circumstantial participial clauses placed before the verb of the main clause”; P1) are demoted with respect to the main verb (Runge 2010: 250). 193 When a participial clause follows the main verb, “[T]he relative importance of the information conveyed in the two clauses has to be deduced from the context.” 194 I hold the same for result clauses at the end of a sentence. 195 Still when a participial clause agrees in case with the subject of the preceding clause, “[r]ather than offering a distinct action in its own right, the participle 190 Note to avoid confusion with foreground/background, I refer to “backgrounded” mainline events/actions as “of secondary importance,” “less prominent” or “demoted” – Randall Buth (personal communication) prefers the last term. 191 Runge 2010: 181–192. This seems to be true, too, of classical Greek, in as much as Herodotus may provide an indication (Dik 1995). 192 “Frame of reference” is Runge’s term. But there is diversity of nomenclature for this feature of language: “topicalization” (the traditional term), “point of departure” (Levinsohn) and “contextualizing constituent” (Buth) – see Runge (2010: 190, n. 29) for references. The Dikian framework has been applied successfully to many languages (cf. e.g. Whaley 2011: 257–258, n. 11). 193 Levinsohn observes, “Cross-linguistically, the information conveyed in pre-nuclear subordinate clauses is backgrounded in relation to that conveyed in the main clause,” (2012: 73, emphasis original). This is not true, he notes, of post-nuclear subordinate clauses. 194 Levinsohn 2000: 184–187 (186). Note when a continuative relative clause (“linking events in chronological sequence”) follows the main verb, “[c]haracteristically, the information preceding the relative pronoun is backgrounded vis-à-vis what follows” (Levinsohn 2000: 191). Cross-linguistically, information in “post-nuclear” subordinate clauses often presents mainline events (Levinsohn 2012: 73, n. 96). 195 Runge sees final-position result clauses as “the most important part of the clause [sic; probably ‘sentence’ is meant]” (2010: 237–242 [239]; cf. 242). Buth (personal communication) sees the verbs in ὥστε clauses, when infinitives are concerned, as “somewhat off the most prominent chain of events, filling in the detail, as it were.” Levinsohn does not directly address ὥστε clauses in narrative contexts, as far as I am aware (on post-nuclear subordinate clauses, generally, cf. above, n. 193).

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relegates its action to supporting the main action... typically adding more detail or elaboration...” (Runge 2010: 262–263). 196 As to intersentential prominence, I turn to imperfect verbs as the main verbs of their respective sentences, in instances when they relate mainline events/actions. In certain cases, they provide a “more vivid, up-close portrayal of the events... They put readers as it were right on the scene as virtual eyewitnesses...” (Fanning 2011: 179). 197 Such usage is marked vis-à-vis the aorist indicative (Fanning 2011: 179). The event is highlighted with respect to the main events of default sentences. Fanning (2011: 179–181) and Loney (2005) are inclined to see a greater frequency of this usage. 198 My analysis of sentences cited by the two scholars for this position finds the sentences are often better understood as presenting background material. 199 196 “These elaborating participles... [are] less salient than the finite verbs” (Runge 2010: 262). 197 In contrast, Rijksbaron (2002:14–19, 22–23) recognises a use of – not the imperfect but – the historical present for an “eyewitness effect.” Classical usage lays largely outside the purview of the present study. However, the claims of scholars of the Gospels for such usage of the historical present in these Hellenistic texts are mistaken. 198 Fanning and Loney both draw on the work of Bakker (1997) on Thucydides. The following claim is foundational for Loney’s (2005: 10) study: “The preface to his gospel (1,1–4) most demonstrably makes the case for Luke’s ability to use the conventions of Greek historiography....” In the supporting note, however, are references to 3 sources, all from the 1980s or earlier. Thus, much scholarship is neglected, notably Alexander (1993) and, in response, Aune (2002) – Alexander (2005: 12–19) has since replied to Aune and other critics. Even Aune, offering the strongest argument for affinity to Hellenistic history writing of some kind, argues Luke’s preface is akin to those of amateur historians. His position is far from that of the earlier publications cited by Loney: works of Hellenistic historiography proper, such as that of Thucydides, “are written by authors with a social status to which Luke could never have aspired and in an elevated style he could never have emulated” (Aune 2002: 142). The question Loney and Fanning must answer is: Is a rapid alternation between “diegetic” [via aorist indicative] and “mimetic” [via imperfect] “modes of discourse” found in the writings of those authors with similar social standing and stylistic ability to Luke? 199 Fanning’s (2011: 180–181) bifurcation of uses of the imperfect – i.e. background=“general, customary imperfects” and foreground=“descriptive imperfects,” i.e. “used in regard to a specific, narrow situation in context” – takes a decided step away from his earlier work (Fanning 1990: 240–255), though there discourse analysis per se is not addressed. Where do “conative” or “inceptive” imperfects fit in? They too present events in a “specific, narrow situation in context.” Yet the “attempted or intended but not accomplished” event (Fanning 1990: 249, emphasis original) of a conative imperfective is demoted with respect to the interrupting event. This is the case in Mt 3.14, Lk 5.6 and, possibly, Mk 5.18 (cited by Fanning [2011: 181] for the “vivid” usage). Fanning (1990: 241) originally differentiated between two, mutually exclusive types of imperfects with “a narrow frame of reference” and, thus, portraying “a specific situation” (emphasis original): “either vivid narration of a situation in the past or the presentation of an occurrence in

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In other instances of the imperfect, as noted by Randall Buth (1998: 144– 145), a fade-out usage can be detected. 200 This, I suggest, includes speech verbs. 201 The “camera” of the narrator qua “film director” leaves the scene before the last mentioned event is completed. The usage demotes an episode’s final event/action, 202 though it, unlike background material, still belongs to the basic chronological sequence of events. Seven of 21 miracle stories in Mark, in fact, end like this. In all but potentially one instance (Mk 1.31c) the fade-out imperfect is (part of) the response itself: 1.45c; 3.6;

close simultaneity with another situation in the past” (emphasis mine). In Lk 9.34 – the one instance cited by both Fanning (2011: 181) and Loney (2005: 16) – a punctiliar event occurs while another event yet unfolds. The cloud is first stated to be enveloping them (ἐπεσκίαζεν). The next event (ἐφοβήθησαν), an ingressive one, occurs explicitly ἐν τῷ εἰσελθεῖν αὐτοὺς εἰς τὴν νεφέλην. Contingent temporal succession would be violated, if ἐπεσκίαζεν were taken as a “vivid” mainline event. The same is true for Lk 24.14–15a (cited by Fanning [2011]): καὶ αὐτοὶ ὠμίλουν... καὶ ἐγένετο ἐν τῷ ὠμιλεῖν αὐτοὺς.... And the imperfects in 24.15b–16 set the scene for the dialogue (24.17–27). Space does not permit a more throughout critique of Fanning’s and Loney’s examples (though on some see following notes). Others, too, are better understood as presenting background material. For more examples of imperfects denoting specific and not customary events as background material, see Runge (2011: 201–202). 200 Buth cites Lk 4.30 as an example. This usage of the imperfect seems to occur in a number of instances cited by Fanning (2011: 181) and Loney (2005: 31) as a “vivid” or “mimetic” usage of the imperfect: e.g. Mt 4.11; Mk 5.20 (i.e. a response); 11.9–10; 12.17; Lk 4.30, 37 (also a response to a miracle; see Chapter Four, below). Others could be included, possibly Lk 2.38, for example. A study dedicated to investigating this usage is a desideratum. 201 E.g. Mk 11.9–10. A word on speech verbs in the imperfect is necessary. Runge (2011: 201–201) claims they are used “in three discourse contexts... [1] to introduce an ongoing state-of-affair, such as dialoging that occurs concurrently with or preceding the main action [e.g. Mt 9.11]... [2] at the beginning of a long speech... as ingressive, inchoative, or inceptive [e.g. Mt 5.2]... [3] redundant mid-speech quotative frames... [e.g. Mk 2.27].” For each type of usage he provides a number of additional examples. Space does not permit a general assessment. Still, some of these actually evidence a fade-out usage: Mt 9.34 (a responses to a miracle; cf. 12.23, on which see Chapter Three); possibly 21.11; and Mk 4.41 (i.e. a response). Runge, does not address Fanning’s claims (or Loney’s) that the imperfect, including speech verbs, can present “vivid” foreground events. Until such time as a comprehensive study is done, the question must remain undecided. Runge’s second and third context are similar to the fade-out usage (see below) in that they probably are to be understood as the author’s choice to demote the action (see e.g. the aorist indicative as a mid-speech quotative frame in Lk 6.39). (According to convention, in the context of discourse analysis I refer to an “author.”) 202 So Buth 1998: 144–145. Further study of this usage of the imperfect is a desideratum. To my mind the possibility that such usage aids in processing – but does not mark prominence; see nn. 205 and 206 below – is worth exploring.

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4.41b; 5.20b; 7.37; 10.52c. 203 No particular element in responses is preferred for fade-out usage (see below, Table 1). The historical present (HP) presents mainline events, akin to the aorist indicative. The dissonance created, however, through its “mismatch of tense and aspect” can have one or more pragmatic effects. 204 Runge (2010: 142) argues that, given thematic discontinuity in the sentence with the HP (e.g. a new episode begins), the HP highlights the discontinuity and aids in processing. 205 Given thematic continuity, the HP highlights “a significant [mainline] speech or event that immediately follows” (Runge 2010: 137, emphasis mine). 206 For others, however, the HP always has this function of cataphoric highlighting. 207 I am inclined to follow Runge’s scheme. 208 (On clusters of HPs see Section O.) Nevertheless, Runge’s model needs some adjustment, it seems, when it comes to speech HPs in contexts of thematic continuity. He argues that some speech HPs highlight, not subsequent speech or action(s), but the speech 203

Mk 6.51c is a relevant case, though it is followed by background material which concludes the episode (6.52). Though not a fade-out imperfect, 2.12c (ὥστε ἐξίστασθαι... καὶ δοξάζειν...) is also worth mentioning, as another instance of a response given in imperfective aspect that concludes a miracle story. 204 On the “mismatch” due to its unexpected indication of temporal location and aspect in a narrative framework carried by aorists, see Runge (2011: 202–203). Fanning (2011: 184–185) takes the HP’s forward-pointing function as a result of “tense-value, not aspect, ” since he sees “a greater role for imperfects in the narrative main line.” But his objection is unwarranted, since he accepts that the aorist indicative is here the unmarked and the imperfect a marked verb form, whose markedness is based on its aspect. But more can be said. Runge (2011: 201–203) has argued, in an analysis of speech verbs, for seeing the HP functioning like an aorist indicative and not like an imperfect. 205 Similarly, for classical Greek, see Rijksbaron (2002: 24–25). A discourse device aiding in processing “has the effect of accentuating what was already there [discontinuity], helping the reader to successfully navigate the transition...” (Runge 2010: 132). 206 On forward-pointing devices, generally, see Runge (2010: 59–177). On the HP see Runge (2010: 125–143). His distinction is part of his broader “processing hierarchy” (Runge 2010: 132): a discourse-pragmatic function always entails a processing function and a semantic function, even when they are redundant; likewise, a processing function always entails a semantic function, even when it is redundant. The justification for his hierarchy seems reasonable. 207 Levinsohn 2000: 202–206; Fanning 2011: 184. Levinsohn argues that, in addition, certain authors may also attract attention to participants or locations introduced at boundaries. In such cases the “cataphoric overtones may well be present” (Levinsohn 2000: 204). This occurs, he argues, in Mt, especially, and Lk, but not in Mk or Jn. 208 Still, might it be possible that, through common usage, the HP came to be understood as a forward-pointing device generally? If this is true, then in the case of a HP at a boundary the HP would highlight the already present thematic discontinuity as well as point forward to the new topic or episode that is about to unfold.

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directly associated with the HP. Fanning and Levinsohn disagree. 209 In examining Runge’s supporting examples of speech HPs, I have found they can be well and at times better understood as pointing forward to subsequent (groups of) events. 210 At any rate, in summary the three verb forms for main-

209

Fanning (2011: 184) writes: “[T]his cataphoric function for the HP is the best explanation even for these most difficult areas of HP usage in the NT... [e.g.] its use to introduce speech (either as a single utterance or in a series of conversational interactions)....” Levinsohn (2000: 200) concurs: “...what is highlighted by the HP is not so much the speech or act to which it refers but the event(s) that follow.” Note that for Levinsohn only nonspeech HPs can serve an additional function, besides cataphoric highlighting, at boundaries; see above n. 207. 210 Runge cites five speech HPs in Jn 14.5–6, 8–9, 22 to illustrate “how significant turns in a speech are signaled by use of the HP” (2010: 138–139 [138]). In contrast, I see them as collectively pointing forward, with building anticipation, to Jesus’ lengthy discourse (14.23–16.16), now related without the interaction of his disciples (they return in 16.17–18 and 29–30). This hortatory address is introduced with aorist indicative verbs (and a redundant quotative frame; cf. Runge [2010: 139, n. 48, and 145–162]). Possibly Jesus’ statement in Mk 14.30, introduced by a HP, is, as Runge (2010: 139) claims, “the climax of the conversation.” But the high point may be verse 31, in which two speeches, one direct and one indirect, are introduced by imperfects (ἐλάλει and ἔλεγον) of a fade-out usage. At any rate Jesus’ statement certainly has prominence – but this is due at least to it being a verbinitial sentence within a conversation (see below, n. 214), to the reference to Jesus with a full noun phrase (see n. 213) and to its content. It would be better to see the HP here as pointing forward to Peter’s and the others’ reply. Runge (2010: 140) notes that 17 HPs are “in Mark 14, the most in any single chapter of Mark.” Many of these, he would allow, “build the suspense that something significant is about to happen” (Runge 2010: 139–140). (See Section O on Longacre’s idea of a “zone of turbulence” around a peak in a narrative.) The speech HP of 14.32b joins the HPs in contiguous sentences (14.32a, 33a) in pointing forward to ἤρξατο in 14.33b, as Runge seems to indicate. Thus, the speech HP of 14.32b does not highlight the speech to which it refers. To my mind there is no reason, therefore, not to see the speech HP in 14.30 as pointing forward to Peter’s and the others’ response (on a microscopic level), while also keeping the reader/audience in suspense (on a macroscopic level) waiting for “something significant” to happen. In the same way I do not see the speech introduced by the final verb in a series of four contiguous HPs in Jn 20.1–2 as the event to which they are pointing. Rather the next sentence (ἐξῆλθεν) is the target, followed by two scene-setting sentences and then two mainline events (προέδραμεν and ἦλθεν), after which another series of HPs occurs (20.5–6) pointing, climactically, towards τότε οὖν εἰσῆλθεν... καὶ εἶδεν καὶ ἐπίστευσεν. Thus the point of the first HP-cluster is not Mary’s (mistaken) claim that Jesus’ body had been removed from the tomb, but that this claim got the two disciples moving on their way to examine the tomb for themselves – a physical movement that brings the unnamed disciple, climactically, into the tomb and leads to his belief (see further section 5.18, below). Runge cites, generally, the many speech HPs in Jn (especially ch. 3) and the few in Lk and Acts as “highlighting the speech that follows” (2010: 139, 141 [141]). I, too, must decline to discuss them here in detail.

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line events/actions with the default or a greater level of prominence are the aorist indicative, the HP and, at times, the imperfect. 211 In addition to the “vivid” imperfect and the HP, a number of devices highlight the main events/actions of sentences. Only a few can be addressed here. 212 They include the redundant use of a full noun phrase – especially for Jesus – and “anarthrous references to activated participants” (Levinsohn 2000: 197). 213 In contexts of reported conversation that is “closed” and “tightknit,” for a speech that is neither first nor last, a “speech orienter” beginning with a verb gives “greater status” to the speech (Levinsohn 2000: 219). 214 Table 1 (see below) shows the relative prominence of elements within a given response in the following ascending order: (–), (+), (FD), ( ), ( +). 215 A checkmark ( ) indicates a mainline event/action (default level of prominence). A checkmark and plus sign ( +) represent a highlighted mainline event. 216 The letters FD indicate a fade-out usage of the imperfect, a demoted event/action that belongs on the general line of sequential events. A plus sign

211

The mainline of a narrative can be carried in some cases by “grammatically subordinated elements,” such as participles and relative clauses, “but for the most part we should concentrate on main clauses” (Fanning 2011: 170). Perfect indicatives and pluperfects are, seldom, the verbs of the main clauses in the Gospels. 212 Other devices will be discussed, where relevant, in the analyses to follow. Demotion of events intersententially within dialogue is treated in Section M. See further Levinsohn (2000: 197–213) and Runge (2010: 59–177). 213 Note any nominal reference to Jesus, the global very important participant (VIP), in the nominative case – including a pronoun – after Mk 1.9, other than for disambiguation, has a discursive function (Levinsohn 2000: 142–147). It may highlight the respective sentence (within an episode) or a naturally occurring boundary (beginning of an episode). 214 A “closed,” “tight-knit” conversation has “the previous addressee becoming the new speaker and vice versa,” taking up “the same topic as that of the previous speech” (Levinsohn 2000: 215). Speeches that are neither initial or final are typically “intermediate steps,” often employing an articular pronoun (ἡ δέ / ὁ δέ) as a “speech orienter” (i.e. “the clause that introduces the actual speech”) (Levinsohn 2000: 216, 218–219); cf. also, below, p. 55. When orienters begin with a verb, the relevant speeches “are presented as foreground events in their own right” (Levinsohn 2000: 220). In either case, use of a full noun phrase highlights the speech (Levinsohn 2000: 140). 215 I have not noted redundant quotative frames here. This means that the verbal element is only marked once, even when two verbs are used to describe the relevant direct or indirect speech (e.g. 1.27; 2.12c). 216 Here I consider highlighting as a result of an HP only if the HP immediately precedes the response – i.e. the HP is the last mainline event prior to the relevant mainline event(s) in the response. The HPs under consideration, then, are in: Mk 5.15a–b; 5.19b; 6.48b; 16.4a, 6–7). There are no vivid imperfects in the portions of text in question.

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(+) indicates a similarly demoted event/action via a subordinated clause. 217 A minus sign (–) represents background material – whether a state-of-affairs, an incomplete event, supporting material etc. – or a substantive. The letter S refers to embedded speech. Though more could be said on levels of dependence within less prominent material, the distinctions outlined above should suffice here. I mention, in addition, only that half of the time when there is direct speech the verbal element employs a post-nuclear participle of εἰπεῖν. 218 Once the negation of an element is included (Mk 16.8; indicated by parentheses). 219 In absolute numbers the elements presented as mainline events are: reporting (7); movement (6); emotional (5); verbal (5); seeing (4); cognitive (1). In relative numbers, the reporting (7:8) and movement (6:11) elements are most often mainline events. The emotional element is less commonly a mainline event (5:16). Highlighted mainline events are: cognitive (1:1), verbal (2:5), reporting (3:7), emotional (2:5) and movement (2:6).

217 Note in later chapters a checkmark and a minus sign ( –) indicate an elaboration on a mainline event via a post-nuclear participial clause (when it does not receive more prominence than the indicative verb it follows). 218 λέγοντες/λέγοντας: Mk 1.27; 2.12c; 7.37. Others: 4.41b (ἔλεγον); 9.5 (λέγει); 11.21 (λέγει). 219 This is the only instance of its kind – the mention of a negated common element of responses. Mk 9.8 bears some similarity, in that it emphasises that neither the cloud nor Elijah and Moses were seen any longer. However, an important positive assertion remains: ...ἀλλὰ τὸν Ἰησοῦν μόνον μεθ᾿ ἑαυτῶν. Thus, it is noteworthy that the narrative, if 16.8 is indeed its original ending, has as its final main clause the one and only negated element of a miracle response.

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Table 1: Relative prominence of elements in responses

+

–, –, –

+, +

+, –

,–

(

,

+

+

–

,

)

+

220

+,

, FD

,

+

+

+

+, FD

Movement

16.8

–

–

+

–,

S

Reporting

16.5b–c

9.5–6

–

11.20b–21

7.36b–37

–

FD

10.52c

6.51c–52

9.8

6.49–50b

+, +

+

FD

–

Seeing

5.42d

5.33

FD

+

5.20

5.14–17

4.41

3.6

–

+

Verbal

2.12c

1.45

1.27–28 Emotional

+

–

+

–, –

+

Cognitive Falling FD

Conspiring

220

+

Other

Here the finite helping verb is followed by two related infinitives (ἤρξατο κηρύσσειν... καὶ διαφημίζειν).

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Responses with just one element (5.42d; 9.8; 10.52c) are bracketed from the analysis to follow. For responses that contain multiple instances of one or more elements, I use the most prominent instance(s) of each component to evaluate which is more/most prominent in a given collocation. Emotions tend to be as prominent as speech. 221 As there are so few instances (4–5 responses each) of the remaining collocations involving emotion, it is not possible to talk about tendencies. And for no collocation is the relative prominence consistent. Nevertheless, the following observations can be made: the emotional element is roughly as prominent as seeing 222 and cognition, 223 though less prominent than reporting 224 and movement. 225 Beyond specific collocations, there are few responses in which the emotional element is not relatively at least as prominent as the other element(s) (5:12 – Mk 5.20; 5.33; 6.49–50b; 9.5–6; 16.8). 226 It is prominent – though less than one might expect – among responses in the rescue nature miracle/epiphany stories. 227 Note, again, that stories in which the emotional element is not present occur only among healings and other nature miracles, with one exception (9.8). These observations offer some corroboration, then, for what was suggested in Section D: the emotional element is the most characteristic of the responses. The few responses containing other collocations also do not demonstrate consistent relations with respect to prominence. The verbal element is more

221

Emotions with greater prominence: Mk 1.27–28; 4.41. Verbal component with greater prominence: 5.33; 6.49–50b; 9.5–6. Equal level of prominence for both elements: 2.12c; 5.14–17; 7.36b–37. 222 Emotions with greater prominence: Mk 2.12c; 5.14–17. Visual sensation with greater prominence: 6.49–50b. Equal level of prominence for both elements: 16.5b–c. 223 Emotions with greater prominence: Mk 6.51c–52. Cognition with greater prominence: 6.49–50b. Equal level of prominence for both elements: 5.33; 9.5–6. 224 Reporting with greater prominence: Mk 5.20; 16.8. Equal level of prominence for both reporting and emotional components: 1.27–28; 5.14–17; 7.36b–37. 225 Movement with greater prominence: Mk 5.20; 5.33; 16.8. Emotion with greater prominence: 5.14–17. 226 Interestingly, the only response that relegates emotions to a participle is Mk 5.33. Elsewhere it is a/the principal verb in its clause: an indicative in an independent clause – even if the clause itself does not depict a mainline event, introduced with γάρ (6.51c; 9.6b; 16.8b,d) – or an infinitive in a dependent ὥστε clause (2.12c). 227 The transfiguration is the main exception, where the emotional element is background material (Mk 9.6b). In 4.41, on the one hand, and 16.5b–c and 16.8, on the other, the emotion (or one instance of it) is at least as prominent as the other elements (and the instances of the emotional element are as numerous as the others). The emotional element appears once in each of 6.49–50b and 6.51c–52, where it is, respectively, least and most prominent, though in neither case is it a mainline event.

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prominent than seeing, 228 as is reporting than movement. 229 In all three instances of the triple collocation of emotional, cognitive and verbal elements, the last of these has or is among the components that receive the greatest level of prominence. 230 Relative prominence in the other triple collocations is even less consistent. More broadly speaking, no prototypical relative priority of elements exists, other than the fact that reporting is always at least as prominent as other components it occurs alongside. Rather, a surprising amount of variation can be seen. The seeing element, for example, appears: in embedded speech – λέγοντας ὅτι οὕτως οὐδέποτε εἴδομεν (Mk 2.12c) – as background (supporting) material – πάντες γὰρ αὐτὸν εἶδον καὶ ἐταράχθησαν (6.50) – as a demoted event – οἱ δὲ ἰδόντες... ἔδοξαν... καὶ ἀνέκραξαν (6.49) – as a mainline event highlighting a subsequent event – καὶ θεωροῦσιν... καὶ ἐφοβήθησαν (5.15) – and itself as a highlighted mainline event – καὶ εἰσελθοῦσαι... εἶδον... καὶ ἐξεθαμβήθησαν (16.5; following the HP in 16.4). It can be found also as a substantive: καὶ διηγήσαντο αὐτοῖς οἱ ἰδόντες (5.16). Still in 15 (or 16) of 18 responses at least one element is a mainline event or fade-out imperfect (2.12c; 7.36b–37; and, possibly 6.51c–52, excepted). 231 Questions to be addressed in later chapters naturally arise here. How are responses in the other gospels commonly portrayed? Do patterns exist as to the level of prominence of various elements? How is the emotional element, when present, portrayed?

G. Order of Appearance of Elements I will now analyse the order of appearance of elements in the responses to see whether any patterns emerge. Three responses, containing just one element, are bracketed from the present discussion (5.42d; 9.8; 10.52c [cf. 1.31c]). No overall trend exists for the order of appearance of elements in the responses (see Table 2, below). Still some specific tendencies can be seen. Notably, in five of six relevant responses (one instance of) movement comes in the initial position (1.45; 3.6; 5.14–17; 5.20; 16.8; the exception is 5.33). The (first instance of the) cognitive element comes second in four of five relevant responses. The instances are divided into two types: a positive state228 Verbal component more prominent: Mk 2.12c; 5.14–17; 6.49–50b. Equal prominence for seeing and speech: 11.20b–21. 229 Reporting more prominent: Mk 1.45; 5.14–17. Equal prominence for reporting and movement: 5.20; 16.8. 230 Mk 5.33; 6.49–50b; 9.5–6. 231 See above, n. 203.

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ment of cognitive activity, following sight (6.49a; 11.20b–21); a negated statement of cognitive activity in a sentence introduced by γάρ, following and explaining a prior action (6.51c–52a[–52b]; 9.5–6a). Closely related is the remaining response, in which a cognitive act follows two initial instances of the emotional element (5.33a). Ten of the 12 responses that are relevant have the emotional element (or one instance of it) in either the first (1.27–28; 2.12c; 4.41; 5.33; 6.51c–52) or last (5.20; 6.49–50b; 9.5–6; 16.5; 16.8 [third instance]) position. The exceptions are 5.14–17; 7.36b–37. 232 For three instances in which the emotion comes last, the context is supporting material introduced by γάρ: πάντες γὰρ αὐτὸν εἶδον καὶ ἐταράχθησαν (6.50); ἔκφοβοι γὰρ ἐγένοντο (9.6b); ἐφοβοῦντο γάρ (16.8). Likewise (one instance of) visual sensation always comes first (6.49–50b; 11.20b–21; 16.5b–c) or last (2.12c) in the five relevant responses, with one exception (5.15–17). 233 The one time seeing comes last it is found within direct speech. In six of the eight responses where both elements are present, the verbal one tends to follow the emotion, either immediately (direct speech in each case) – καὶ ἐθαμβήθησαν ἅπαντες ὥστε συζητεῖν πρὸς ἑαυτοὺς λέγοντας (1.27); ὥστε ἐξίστασθαι πάντας καὶ δοξάζειν τὸν θεὸν λέγοντας (2.12c); καὶ ἐφοβήθησαν φόβον μέγαν καὶ ἔλεγον πρὸς ἀλλήλους (4.41); καὶ ὑπερπερισσῶς ἐξεπλήσσοντο λέγοντες (7.37) – or with two other components in between – καὶ ἐφοβήθησαν... καὶ ἤρξαντο παρακαλεῖν αὐτὸν (5.15c–17); φοβηθεῖσα καὶ τρέμουσα... καὶ εἶπεν (5.33). 234 The exceptions are 6.49–50b (non-verbal scream) and 9.5–6 (direct speech), where the emotion follows the verbal element with another in between (visual sensation and an act of cognition, respectively). In both cases the emotion is in supportive material, introduced by γάρ (see above).

232 Just one of the 11 said responses contains only (one instance each of) two elements (Mk 4.41), so that talk of initial and final positions is not limited to mere binary possibilities. 233 Only one of the relevant responses (Mk 16.5b–c) has merely one instance each of two elements. So binary options are not primarily what is considered here. 234 A moderate pattern exists for this combination (cf. Dywer [1996: 95]; contra Tagawa [1966: 94–96]).

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Table 2: Order of appearance of elements 235 1.27–28

emotion

verbal

report

1.45

move

report

report

2.12c

emotion

verbal

seeing

3.6

move

cons

4.41

emotion

verbal

move

report

move

report

seeing

verbal

5.20

move

report

emotion

5.33

emotion

emotion

5.42d

emotion

6.49–50b

seeing

6.51c–52

other

move

seeing

move

seeing

cognit

move

falling

verbal

cognit

verbal

seeing

emotion

emotion

cognit

cognit

7.36b–37

report

emotion

verbal

9.5–6

verbal

cognit

emotion

9.8

seeing

seeing

10.52c

move

11.20b–21

seeing

cognit

16.5b–c

seeing

emotion

16.8

move

move

emotion

report

emotion

5.14–17

235

verbal

emotion

emotion

Note, “move”=movement between locations; “fall”=falling/prostrating; “cognit”=cognitive; “cons”=conspiring.

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Movement (or one instance of it) precedes reporting in all four relevant responses. In three cases no other component intervenes (1.45a; 5.14a–b; 5.20a–b). Interestingly, considering also prominence, in three cases the/a instance of each of the two elements jointly constitute contiguous mainline events: ἔφυγον καὶ ἀπήγγειλαν (5.14a–b); ἀπῆλθεν καὶ ἤρξατο κηρύσσειν (5.20a–b); ἐξελθοῦσαι ἔφυγον... καὶ οὐδενὶ οὐδὲν εἶπαν (16.8a–c). The remaining response, in which the movement is represented by a pre-nuclear participle, is similar: ἐξελθὼν ἤρξατο κηρύσσειν πολλὰ καὶ διαφημίζειν τὸν λόγον (1.45a). In three of the four responses where seeing and emotion are components (one instance of) the former immediately precedes the latter: θεωροῦσιν... καὶ ἐφοβήθησαν (5.15b–c); πάντες γὰρ αὐτὸν εἶδον καὶ ἐταράχθησαν (6.50); εἶδον... καὶ ἐξεθαμβήθησαν (16.5b–c). In each case the two elements are represented by main verbs of sentences. In the response where the order is reversed (2.12c) speech intervenes between the two elements and the visual sensation is presented within speech. In three of four relevant responses movement precedes emotion (5.14–17; 5.20; 16.8; the exception is 5.33). Ordering of components is less consistent for the remaining collocations. 236 I note only that in three of four relevant responses at least one instance of seeing appears side-by-side with the verbal element (2.12c; 5.16–17; 6.49). 237 Something further should be said about the seeing element. In addition to the three instances of it coming first in a given response (noted above), in two cases, where the (or another) instance of it appears later in a response, it is first in a distinct sequence of events/elements. 238 Such a phenomenon occurs, then, in five of six responses where visual sensation is noted: θεωροῦσιν... καὶ ἐφοβήθησαν (5.15b–c); ἰδόντες... ἔδοξαν... καὶ ἀνέκραξαν (6.49); εἶδον καὶ ἐταράχθησαν (6.50); εἶδον... καὶ ἀναμνησθεὶς... λέγει... (11.20b–21); εἶδον... καὶ ἐξεθαμβήθησαν (16.5b–c).

236 I.e. seeing and verbal (also emotional, seeing and verbal); emotional and reporting (also emotional, verbal and reporting); emotional and cognition (also emotional, verbal and cognition). 237 The same three responses, containing the triple collocation of seeing, emotional and verbal elements, exhibit no pattern for the order of their appearance nor for the number of times each component occurs. In the remaining relevant response (Mk 11.20b–21) the cognitive element comes in between. In one response the three elements – and there is just one instance each – are the only components (2.12c). 238 It is the first of two elements in supportive material introduced by γάρ in Mk 6.50. It is effectively the first element (following verbs of motion) in the response of one character group (see below) in 5.15 when they, upon seeing, change roles from hearers to observers.

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In the last three instances the same lexeme and form are used (εἶδον). Notably in three instances, the second element is an emotion (fear or being troubled: 5.15b–c; 6.50; 16.5b–c); in two others the cognitive and verbal elements follow seeing in that order (6.49; 11.20b–21). Seeing is often (4 times) represented by a verb form (aorist indicative or historical present) that has an equal level of prominence as one subsequent element (which in 3 cases follows immediately). In the response where seeing is a participle subsequent components are again aorist indicatives. Combined these factors indicate a moderate level of a formal nature for responses containing visual sensation.

H. Characters Responding Which characters respond? I am here interested primarily in the question “who?” and in characterisation in only a limited way. At least 17 characters or distinct groups of characters 239 respond in miracle stories. 240 Notably the protagonist, Jesus, never responds. 241 Bracketing for a moment the Pharisees, 239 By “distinct groups of characters” I mean: the “Twelve”; Peter, James and John; Mary Magdalene, Mary of Jacob and Salome; Jairus and his wife; and the formerly deafmute’s companions (possibly, the man, too). While Peter and, to a lesser extent, James and John (see especially Mk 3.17; 10.35–41) are developed somewhat, independently, as characters, their appearance together (at times, with Andrew) suggests they function as a group as well (1.16–20, 29; 3.16–18; 5.37–40; 9.2–13; 13.3–37; 14.33–42). The grouping of Mary, Mary and Salome is secure enough (15.40–41;16.1–8), though Salome is not with the others when Jesus is buried (15.47). Jairus and his wife are unequally yoked as a character group. The latter (5.40–43) plays no independent role; yet the former has a significant independent role. 240 The crowd in the synagogue of Capernaum (Mk 1.27–28); the ex-leper (1.45a); a generic “crowd” (1.45c; 2.12c; possibly 7.37); the Pharisees (3.6); the disciples (4.41); the pig-herders (5.14a–b, 16); the Gadarene crowd (5.14c–15, 17); the man formerly possessed by Legion (5.20a); a generic Decapolis crowd (5.20b; probably 7.37); the woman healed of hemorrhaging (5.33); Jairus and his wife (5.42d); Peter, James and John (5.42d, probably; 9.5–6 [Peter is further specified]; 9.8); the Twelve (6.49–50b; 6.51c–62; cf., probably, 11.20b); companions of the formerly deaf-mute man (7.36b [the man himself is possibly to be included]); Bartimaeus (10.52c); Peter (11.20b–21 [the Twelve, probably, are also relevant]); and Mary Magdalene, “Mary of Jacob” and Salome (16.5b–c; 16.8). See also Peter’s mother-in-law (1.31c). For explanations of the use of “possibly” and “probably” see the relevant parts of Section Q. 241 Again, see discussion above of Jesus’ amazed reaction to a lack of faith in a miracle summary (Mk 6.6). The characters, other than Jesus, present in the eight miracle stories which lack responses are also to be noted. The disciples (3–4 instances): 6.32–44; 8.1–9; 9.14–29 – possibly present throughout 8.22–26. A crowd (3–5 instances): 6.32–44; 8.1–9; 9.14–29 – implied also in 1.9–11 and 3.1–6. John the Baptiser (1.9–11). Peter, Andrew James and John (1.29–31). The Pharisees (2.1–12). Eight characters who function in the

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who become Jesus’ avowed opponents, inasmuch as the data of responses to miracles are concerned the characters divide broadly into two groups along lines of relational proximity to Jesus – (a) non-followers and (b) followers – with room for blurred boundaries. By “followers” I mean those who accompany Jesus and/or successfully accomplish the missions he gives them. This rough division has heuristic value, though answers to the questions of which characters are and to what extent positively aligned with Jesus in the narrative overall are multi-faceted and resist simplification. 242 In the second group some characters have a continuing presence in the narrative: the “disciples” 243 – characters (or groups) listed hereafter are implicitly also a part of the disciples, when without an independent role – the Twelve; Peter, James and John; Peter. Mary Magdalene, Mary of Jacob and Salome’s specified presence in the narrative is much more limited, though, retrospectively, they are to be seen as having been among the disciples. For the analysis of miracle stories, these characters (character groups) are technically labeled “established followers” (i.e they become followers – whether narrated or not – before the episode in question). (Thus, here “disciples” always refers to a larger body [of unspecified quantity] of established followers.) 244 Others, Bartimaeus 245 and probably the man possessed by Legion, 246 become followers during the episode in question. 247 The followers, generally, while exhibiting both positive and negative traits in relation to Jesus, are the closest to him, since they have forsaken all to follow him – including the

role of suppliants and/or recipients of healing: Peter’s mother-in-law (1.29–31); a man healed of a withered hand (3.1–6); the Syrophoenician woman (7.24–30); her daughter; the blind man of Bethsaida (8.22–26); possibly, his companions; the formerly possessed boy (9.14–29); and his father. 242 See discussion in Section A. 243 Use of “disciples” excludes the times in which οἱ μαθηταί refers demonstrably to the Twelve. 244 The term οἱ μαθηταί is not always used in this way in Mk; sometimes it refers to the Twelve. 245 On Bartimaeus’ response (Mk 10.52c), literally following Jesus, pertaining to discipleship see above, n. 156. 246 Jesus sends this ex-demoniac on a mission, which he fulfills to a measure far beyond what is demanded from him. It seems likely that this Gentile character is portrayed as in some way akin to a disciple of Jesus. On the verb κηρύξαι in his response (Mk 5.20b) see Section Q. 247 It is unclear how to categorise Peter’s mother-in-law, if Mk 1.31c is taken as a response. Perhaps she, too, is portrayed as becoming a follower (cf. 15.41). Alternatively, the use of language “foreshadows” (Malbon 2000: 49) the discipleship of the women followers in ch. 15. If so, then this would be the one instance of a non-follower with a purely positive response, given the heuristic division proposed. See further references to scholarlship in n. 156, above.

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women, who stay nearby at his execution. 248 Despite abandoning Jesus, 249 in a way the Twelve still have the closest relation to him, since their restoration in the story world’s future is foretold. 250 Of the non-followers, most characters appear in only one episode: the (ex-) leper; the pig-herders; the Gadarene crowd; the woman healed of hemorrhaging; Jairus and his wife; companions of the (formerly) deaf-mute man (perhaps the man himself also responds). It is probable that the crowd in the synagogue of Capernaum is to be related to the generic crowd in Mk 1.27–18 and 2.12c and elsewhere in the Gospel. 251 It is probable that the crowd in 7.37 is related to the Decapolis crowd in 5.14–17. 252 A spectrum can be seen in terms of their relation to Jesus. On the extreme negative end are the pig-herders and the Gadarene crowd who reject Jesus. On the other end are suppliants, whose approaching Jesus expresses an amount of confidence in him: the leper, the woman healed of hemorrhaging, Jairus and the deaf-mute man’s companions. Yet their relation to Jesus is complex. Both the ex-leper 253 and the companions of the formerly deaf-mute man disobey Jesus’ instructions to them. Jairus’ faith seems, implicitly, to waiver (5.36). The healed woman also has a complex relation to Jesus. 254 Somewhere in between are the generic crowds which have some positive relation to Jesus, 255 but fail, in some sense worse

248 The negative character traits of the disciples are widely acknowledged (Tolbert 1989: 176–230; (Rhoads et al. 1999: 122–129). On their assisting and following Jesus, see Malbon (2000: 72–78, 88–94). 249 The desertion of Jesus is possibly implicitly true also of Bartimaeus (cf. Mk 14.50– 51). 250 On their predicted restoration and “anticipation of [their] faithfulness in suffering” see Tannehill (1979: 82–84). Moloney (2002: 352–354) includes the women in the context of failure and restoration; cf. Culpepper (2007: 588–589). 251 Note the combination of observers (the synagogue crowd) and hearers as respondents in Mk 1.27–28; see below. 252 In support of a Gentile setting for Mk 7.31–37 is, e.g., Moloney (2002: 149). Collins (2007: 369) offers an alternative view. 253 Note the contrast between the ex-leper’s failure to carry out the mission given him and the man formerly possessed by Legion exceeding fulfilment Jesus’ command to him. 254 On the one hand she has an inordinate amount of faith, believing that even touching the clothes of an unaware Jesus will achieve her healing. On the other hand she is unwilling, probably owing to social shame or even fear on account of her unclean state, to ask Jesus face-to-face for healing – in contrast the leper is unimpeded by his uncleanness to ask, falling on his knees, for a miracle (Mk 1.40). After being healed, fear of a reprimand accompanies her approach, falling before and speech to Jesus (5.33). 255 See Malbon (2000: 72–88) on the – various, I would add – crowds’ coming to Jesus, following, hearing, receiving miracles and amazement.

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than the Twelve do, 256 in their commitment to him. In Jerusalem the festal crowd – it should be understood as containing a Galilean contingent – that celebrates Jesus’ entry (11.8–10) is later responsible in part for his execution (15.11–15). The depiction of the range of relational proximity to Jesus shared by the various respondents fits into the pattern already seen as to miracle types and response elements. Categorically in rescue nature miracles and/or epiphanies established followers respond, there being often more than one response and the/a response often containing a larger number of elements, with fear / being troubled always appearing in (at least one of) the response(s). 257 All others (new followers, suppliants and crowds) respond in healing miracles. There is usually just one response and it has relatively fewer elements, often including amazement. This emotion belongs to the crowds (4 instances) – though once to suppliants with, probably, established followers. 258 Often only one character (group) responds: Mk 1.27–18; 2.12c; 3.6; 5.33; possibly 5.42d; 6.49–50b; 6.51c–52; 9.5–6 (though Peter acts individually); 9.8; 10.52c; (11.20b–21;) and 16.5; 16.8. Occasionally two characters (character groups) respond: 1.45; 5.14–17; 5.20; probably 5.42d; and 7.36b–c. When more than one character (group) responds, a crowd tends to be one of the characters (5.42d is the exception). Non-followers and followers tend not to be respondents in the same stories. 259 This tendency, again, reinforces the general pattern that has emerged, namely that the rescue nature miracle stories and/or epiphanies are distinguished from the other miracle stories, on account of a variety of features.

256

In another sense, the disciples’ failure is more abysmal, since more has been given to them – including the mystery of the kingdom of God and the experience of more powerful, private miracles – and more is to be expected of them. 257 Established followers respond also to a non-rescue nature miracle (Mk 11.20b–21) and, likely, a healing (5.42d). 258 Jairus and his wife with, likely, Peter, James and John (Mk 5.42d). New followers do not respond emotionally. 259 The man formerly possessed by Legion and the generic Decapolis crowd in Mk 5.20 are one exception, on which see below. Peter, James and John are probably respondents alongside Jairus and his wife in 5.42d. Other than this, the disciples might be considered a part of the larger body of respondents, though it does not seem likely, to some other healing miracles (1.27–28; 1.45c; 2.12c; 7.37). Still, if so, identifying them does not seem important to the narrator.

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I. Functional Roles of Respondents Respondents play three functional roles which can be located along a cline of involvement in the miracle: recipients – receiving healing, salvation from danger, some other physical benefit (friends/relatives of the healed should be included here) or revelation – observers and those who, not originally present, hear reports. 260 This scheme also has a rough, general correspondence with the foregoing observations. First, only those with closer relational proximity to Jesus are recipients, never the crowds. 261 For the stories of rescue nature miracles and epiphanies established followers are recipients; for stories of healings and exorcisms, recipients (6 times), observers (4) and hearers (4) variously appear. The remaining nature miracle has established followers as observers. 262 As to the general correlation of functional roles and characters in miracle stories, there are few exceptions to the trends just noted. The disciples (at least Simon) are recipients once in a healing (Mk 1.29–31); 263 crowds twice in non-rescue nature miracles (6.35–46; 8.1–9). 264 Jesus is once the recipient in an epiphany (1.9–11).

260

For my purposes, an observer is a character (group) not directly engaged by the character performing a miracle or being disclosed in an epiphany. To clarify, one can conceive of an observer and non-recipient in an epiphany, whose presence on the scene is portrayed as unauthorised or unwanted, possibly occurring by happenstance. This is not the case for the transfiguration or the appearance of the young man (chapter 16). Here followers are recipients of revelation. 261 In an amazed reaction related to miracles (Mk 6.2) the crowd seems portrayed as observers. 262 I take Jesus to be the recipient in Mk 11.12–14, 20–25 (other than here he has this role only in 1.9–11). Recipients are by far the most common respondents (9 stories), whether alone (4.41; 5.33; 6.49–50b; 6.51c–52; 9.5–6; 9.8; 10.52c; 16.5b–c; 16.8 – note 4 of the 6 relevant stories are the rescue nature miracles / epiphanies – ; cf. 1.31c), accompanied by observers (5.42d), hearers (1.45; 7.36b–37) or both (5.14–17; 5.20). Observers are common enough (5 stories: 1.27–28; 2.12c; 5.14–17; 5.42d; 11.20b–21). Hearers (4 stories) appear in healing stories (1.27–28; 1.45; 5.20; 7.36b–37). Observers and hearers come together just once (1.27–28) – it is implied that news of the occurrence is passed along multiple times by word of mouth. 263 The term “disciples” is appropriate here, since all four that have been called so far are present. 264 Crowds are, not surprisingly, recipients in healing summaries. Stories with summaries: Mk 1.32–34; 3.7–12; 6.1–6a; 6.6b–13. Other summaries: 6.53–56.

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J. Setting The analysis of settings to follow – answering the question “in what geographical and social setting within the narrative world are the miracle stories situated?” – necessarily makes my examination of responses touch on the overall episode in each instance. The settings can be placed on a continuum in terms of spatial proximity to village- or city-centres. Responses to miracles take place (or begin): in synagogues (Mk 1.27–18; 3.6), in homes (2.12c, 5.42d; cf. 1.31c); in more broadly envisioned village or urban settings (5.20; possibly 5.33); on roads near cities (10.52c; 11.20b–21; possibly 5.33); in presumably relatively secluded out-door areas (1.45; 7.36b–37 – in both cases the response moves into an undefined, more public setting); in or around (a) tomb(s) (5.14–17; 16.5; 16.8); in (a) boat(s) on the “sea” (4.41; 6.49–50b; 6.51c–52); and on a high mountain (9.5–6; 9.8). A pattern emerges. The rescue nature miracles and epiphanies constitute four of the five instances on the seclusion end. And the three of these occurring in the first half of the narrative have settings that are overall arguably the farthest removed from civilisation. The settings of healings are, respectively, closer to it. This pattern holds true, generally, of the other miracle stories as well. 265 A related factor to consider is whether the scene is (portrayed as) public or private. This, too, corresponds to the general pattern noticed so far. In all rescue nature miracle stories and/or epiphanies the settings are private and the established followers alone are present. 266 It seems that the remaining story with established followers only is also private. 267 Three other stories have private settings (re. Mk 1.45; 5.42d; 7.36b–37; cf. 1.31c). Yet, in two of these the response of the recipient(s) takes the story from a private into a public setting (re. 1.45 and 7.36b–37). 268 Thus, all stories of healings, other than the

265 Other healings happen in houses (Mk 1.29–31; 7.24b–30) and outside a “village” (8.22–26) – see Marcus (2000–2009: 2:593) on the use of κώμη for Bethsaida. It is unclear where one exorcism takes place (9.14–29 – in a village?; cf. 8.27). The non-rescue nature miracles occur in “wilderness” locations in the Galilee and, probably, the Decapolis (6.35– 46; 8.1–9). Similarly, the remaining epiphany happens in the wilderness of Judea (1.9–11). 266 Regarding Mk 4.41, possibly the ἄλλα πλοῖα (4.36) contain characters other than followers – but see 4.10. 267 Perhaps in the story of the cursing of the fig tree (re. Mk 11.20b–21) the body of disciples might be conceived of as large. This may be a reason to consider it more public. But the general portrayal of Jesus’ relationship to the “disciples” throughout Mk suggests otherwise. In the four remaining stories the number of followers is clearly limited. 268 It is not clear who the αὐτοῖς (plural) are in Mk 7.36b. It might be assumed that at least one of those envisaged is the recipient. At any rate, this individual’s companions are also recipients of the miracle; see below for definition.

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resurrection story (re. 5.42d), are situated in or come into a public setting. 269 The miracle stories without responses do not show evidence of a pattern. 270 The following is a summary of foregoing observations on number of responses, elements in a given response, characters responding, their functional roles and settings. The statements are generalisations. In rescue nature miracle and epiphany stories, established followers as recipients in a private setting, far from urban centres, have responses (often more than one in a story) of numerous elements, including fear especially. In healing and exorcism stories new followers and/or non-followers (as recipients, observers or hearers) respond, frequently in a (private to) public setting, the one response having fewer elements, often including amazement. Also, only the latter story types have: more than one character (group) respond, involving notably the crowd; and responses including (successful) reporting.

K. Focalisation My consideration of focalisation again brings into the analysis the entirety of each episode, not just the response. Fixed external focalisation (narratorfocaliser) is the norm. Four of the five miracle stories with responses that have some alternate form of focalisation are the rescue nature miracles and/or epiphanies. Two stories have (close to) fixed character-focalisation (Mk 4.35–41 and 16.1–8). 271 Two (6.47–52 and 9.2–8) have variable focalisation 269 Mk 1.27–28; 1.45; 2.12c; 5.14–17; 5.20; 5.33; 7.36b–37; 10.52c. Mk 1.31c requires comment. Because of the interconnectedness of the four pericopes in 1.21–38 (see Section Q) and, especially, the fact that a crowd gathers at the house in which the private healing occurs, it is likely that knowledge of this miracle is to be understood, implicitly, as moving from a private to a public setting. Note crowds are often (one of) the respondents to miracles that occur in or come into a public setting (the three exceptions are 3.6; 5.33; 10.52c). 270 The theophany at Jesus’ baptism (Mk 1.9–11) is essentially private, though in a more restricted sense, as only Jesus seems to have sensory awareness of it. Private, also, is the exorcism story pertaining to the Syrophoenician woman (7.24–30). Jesus’ command not to “enter the village” implies a private setting for the story of the blind man of Bethsaida (8.22–26). The exorcism of the possessed boy (9.14–27) is, awkwardly, portrayed as semiprivate. The two mass feeding stories are, of course, public (6.32–44; 8.1–9). 271 Mk 4.35–41, perhaps, requires more discussion. In the opening sentence (4.35) Jesus is the subject and the disciples objects (here and after mainline events are discussed, unless otherwise specified). In three of the next seven sentences (4.36–38), however, the disciples are the subjects and Jesus the object (4.36a; 4.38b–c). In the one sentence in which Jesus is the subject he is asleep (background information; 4.38a). The other sentences relate the onset of the storm (4.37a) and give demoted/background information (4.36b, 37b). In three of the next five sentences (4.39–40) Jesus is active (3 speech verbs). The disciples are addressees once, in Jesus’ statement expressing his ideological perspective. In the other

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through the narrator and/or one or more characters (character groups). 272 In three, possibly all four, stories established followers are focalisers (Mk 6.49– 52 may be focalised through the Twelve). In one instance Jesus is a characterfocaliser (6.45–48). In three instances Jesus is one of the focalised objects (in addition are the storm [4.39c–d]; the Twelve [6.48]; the cloud and voice [9.7]). In one instance a large stone and a young man are the focalised objects (16.4, 5–7).

two sentences the wind ceases and calm begins. The final two sentences comprise the response (4.41). The disciples become afraid and they question one another about Jesus (fade-out imperfect). This attention to their psychological and ideological perspectives confirms, finally, that they are the focalisers in the story. In 16.1–8 the three women are the only active characters, with the one-sentence exception of the young man’s long(-ish) speech (16.6–7). Even this, though, highlights what follows (use of HP). In 10 sentences (16.1–4a, 5, 8; three give offline information) the women are the subjects (or equivalent: εἶχεν γὰρ αὐτὰς... [16.8b]). Only the background sentence about the stone (16.4b) does not contain the women as subjects or addressees. The rolled-away stone is introduced, literarily, through their field of vision (16.4a; especially poignant in light of the proleptic question in 16.3) as is their interlocutor (16.5b). Their thought is accessed early (16.3 [offline material]; note thought can often be represented as “speech”, especially that is aimed at “oneself,” in this and similar texts; cf. Alter [1981: 67–69]) and their emotions repeatedly throughout (16.5c, 8b,d [the last two are background material]). 272 Mk 6.47–52, closely connected to the foregoing story, is focalised initially through Jesus (6.47–48). After two introductory sentences (background material), in the first event his disciples, presumably the Twelve (see 6.7–13, 30–32 [especially ἐν τῷ πλοίῳ]; cf. 4.33–36), are seen through his field of vision (6.48a). Then his thoughts/intentions are accessed (6.48b). It seems best to understand the narrator as the focaliser in the 11 sentences of 6.49–52, despite the access to the field of vision (6.49, 6.50a [background material]), emotions (6.50b, 51c) and cognitive processes (6.52a–b) being restricted to that of the Twelve. Though more research is needed on focalisation in Hellenistic Greek, I offer the following observations. The text allocated to the Twelve’s actions, visual perception, emotions and thoughts is not extensive – note in three sentences Jesus is the subject (6.50c–51a); in one the wind is (6.51b) – and the relevant sentences are given less prominence relative to others (on which see below, n. 472). Alternatively, the Twelve are the focaliser. Mk 9.2–8 begins commonly enough, with a narrator-focaliser and Jesus focalised. Focalisation through the three disciples begins in 9.4a (ὤφθη αὐτοῖς; and Jesus is an object already in 9.4b), though one of them (Peter) is active first in 9.5 (mainline event). (Preparation for the change in focalisation may be seen already, perhaps, in 9.2 [ἔμπροσθεν αὐτῶν)].) The emotions of the three in 9.5 (ἔκφοβοι γὰρ ἐγένοντο) are important but not decisive. Jesus (Elijah and Moses too), in all probability, is entirely out of view in 9.7, as the cloud envelops the three disciples (ἐπισκιάζουσα αὐτοῖς; the reference is to the disciples, who were the subject in 9.6b) and the voice speaks to them about Jesus. Focalisation, is only fully achieved in 9.8 (καὶ ἐξάπινα περιβλεψάμενοι οὐκέτι οὐδένα εἶδον ἀλλὰ τὸν Ἰησοῦν μόνον μεθ᾿ ἑαυτῶν), when the audience is brought to see the entire episode from their perspective.

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The other miracle story (5.25–34) to have character-focalisation (5.25–29) is of a healing. After focalisation through the woman healed of hemorrhaging, the narrator returns as focaliser. 273 Further comments on focalisation in the five stories mentioned will be given in Section Q, below. What is important to note here is the clear association between a deviation from the normal form of focalisation and stories of epiphany and rescue nature miracles. Making this observation adds to the already weighty constellation of literary features that distinguish these four stories from the remaining miracle stories.

L. Location within a Miracle Story A response comes almost always immediately or shortly after the narration of the miracle. In 10 stories and for 12 miracles it follows immediately after the/a miracle. 274 In these instances the initial sentence/clause in the response is most often a mainline event/action. 275 In three cases words from Jesus intervene: a command not to tell anyone (1.43–44; 276 7.36a–b); questioning about fear and lack of faith (4.40). 277 A more complex series of occurrences (5.29b–32), involving especially a search for the healed individual, intervenes in one story. 278 Second responses to a miracle follow the interaction between Jesus/the young man and the recipient(s) (5.20; 16.8). 279 A response is virtually always the final part of a miracle story. In 11 stories the/a response comes at the close of the pericope, though it should be 273 In the story’s lengthy opening sentence (Mk 5.25–27) the woman is the subject. She is the only active character here and in the next sentences (5.25–29). Her sense of hearing is accessed (5.27). Her suffering – potentially social, psychological and emotional in addition to physical – and thoughts are penetrated (5.26, 28, 29b). Focalisation switches to a narrator-focaliser once Jesus’ thoughts, too, are accessed (5.30). 274 Mk 1.27–28; 2.12c; 3.6; 5.14–17; 5.42d; 6.49–50b; 6.51c–52; 9.5–6; 9.8; 10.52c; 11.20b–21 (though the miracle itself is not narrated); 16.5b–c; cf. 1.31c. In both cases where there are two miracles, a response follows immediately after each miracle. Thus 12 of the 15 miracles in these stories have responses so situated. 275 In eight responses: Mk 1.27; 5.14a; 5.42d; 6.49a; 9.5; 9.8; 11.20b; 16.5b–c. Two or three times it is a sequential event/action via a fade-out imperfect (3.6; 10.52c – related is 6.51c; cf. 1.31c). Once it is a result clause (2.12c). 276 In Mk 1.43–44 Jesus tells the leper also to show himself to a priest and make the appropriate offering. 277 The number of sentences that intervene are: one (Mk 4.40); one and a half (7.36a–b); two (1.43–44). There are two instances of brief, direct discourse (1.44; 4.40) and one of indirect discourse (7.36a–b). 278 Four sentences intervene. The woman’s recognition of the miracle’s occurrence is stated (Mk 5.29b). 279 Mk 5.28–19 (3 sentences) and 16.6–7 (1 sentence).

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remembered that the ending of Mark is uncertain. 280 In these instances the type of the final sentence/clause in the response varies: a mainline event/action (Mk 1.28; 9.8); a sequential event/action via a fade-out imperfect (1.45c; 3.6; 4.41b; 5.20c; 10.52c; cf. 1.31c); a result clause (2.12c); a supportive statement with γάρ (6.52b; 16.8d); or general background material (7.37). In addition, note that direct speech in the response closes three stories (2.12c; 4.41b; 7.37). Once Jesus’ comment (5.34) on the recipient’s faith closes the story (1 sentence follows the response). Once a response is followed by two sentences: Jesus commands those present not to tell anyone and to feed the resurrected girl (5.43). In one instance significantly divergent from the others, a response comes prior to a discussion about faith and prayer (11.22–25).

M. Connectives Introducing Responses In this section I consider to what extent connectives might help to demarcate the responses. Connectives 281 are ubiquitous in Hellenistic Greek. 282 Users of this language took particular interest in specifying how one sentence relates to another. Which connective introduces each response? In order to appreciate the significance of this question, it is necessary to offer a brief overview of the research on connectives. Levinsohn (2011: 1, emphasis original) states that “a connective guides or constrains the reader as to how to relate what follows to the context. Each connective places a different constraint...”; and one “cannot tell the size of the unit being linked from the connective itself.” 283 The most common connectives are καί and δέ. The constraint on καί, the “default” connective (Levinsohn 2000: 71), is continuity: two clauses are constrained “to be closely related to one another” (Runge 2010: 24). 284 δέ 280

Mk 1.27–28; 1.45; 2.12c; 3.6; 4.41; 5.20; 6.51c; 7.36b–37; 9.8; 10.52c; 16.8. On the complexity of 1.45 see above, n. 95. On the issue of the narrative’s ending see Section Q. 281 Connectives are not only conjunctions, but also particles, adverbs (τότε), phrases (διὰ τοῦτο) etc., which join clauses. 282 In English, by way of contrast, asyndeton (no connective between sentences) is often the norm. 283 Levinsohn is summarising the work of Anne Reboul and Jacques Moeschler. Traditionally, grammarians have not identified the different functions of connectives, but have attempted to find the best translation into a target language (Runge 2010: 18–19; Titrud 1992: 240). The majority of contemporary scholars working on connectives in Hellenistic Greek take the notion of different constraints as foundational. An exception is Porter and O’Donnell (2007). 284 Cf. Titrud 1992.

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constrains what follows to be processed as distinct, marking significant change. 285 (Note, neither δέ nor καί have constraints of semantic continuity or discontinuity. Contrary to a common misperception, δέ does not equal English “but” or German “aber” etc.) 286 In narrative contexts, both can introduce foreground and (καί less often) background material. In terms of foreground, 287 δέ marks development: it represents “a new step or development in the author’s story or argument” (Levinsohn 2000: 72, emphasis original). 288 Levinsohn notes three levels of usage. A “high-level usage” indicates “the episode as a whole represents a new development in the story” (Levinsohn 2000: 75). A “low-level” usage marks development within an episode. This is perhaps the most common. A “third level” occurs within “closed,” “tightknit” conversations. 289 For non-initial speeches, placing δέ and an articular pronoun (e.g. ἡ δέ) at the beginning of a “speech orienter” is the default means to present speeches as “simply intermediate steps en route to the goal of the conversation,” i.e. demoted events (Levinsohn 2000: 218, emphasis original). 290 Levinsohn (2000: 218, 219–220) argues that sometimes, by this usage, an action that responds to speech may be portrayed as such an “intermediate step.” 291 An articular pronoun (or full noun phrase) and δέ as the orienter of a final speech can indicate that the speech’s goal is not attained. 292 285 Levinsohn 2011: 2, n. 13. His position has recently changed, owing, it seems, to his interaction with others. Cf. earlier Levinsohn (2000: 76, n. 4; 82), referring to Buth (1992); cf. also Black (2002: 142–178). 286 Any adversative sense for a clause introduced with δέ – or καί for that matter – is derived from the clause’s contents, not from the connective (Runge 2010: 23–36). 287 On background see Levinsohn (2000: 90–91). 288 One of the benefits (and joys) of examining Greek cross-linguistically is noting its similarities with other languages: in the case the relation of δέ to a similar feature in Inga (Quechuan) (Levinsohn 2000: 76, n. 8). 289 On “third level” see Levinsohn (2000: 76, n. 3). On the other terms here see n. 214, above. 290 Note “the articular pronoun is used almost exclusively to refer to the addressee of the last speech” (Levinsohn 2000: 136). Any speech whose orienter is a reference to the speaker is an intermediate step, regardless of the connective. As noted previously, use of a full noun phrase highlights the speech. On the notion of demoted events, see above, Section F, II. 291 Levinsohn cites Lk 1.29 as a typical example. Jn 6.20 “is an interesting example, in that Jesus was not even the addressee of a previous speech but, rather, responds to their becoming afraid (v. 19b)” (Levinsohn 2000: 220). 292 Alternatively, it may indicate that the final speech itself is “but an intermediate step en route to a goal,” which can be achieved by an action, provided the action can be understood as resulting from the conversation (Levinsohn 2000: 225; cf. 220, 223–224). The said claims hold true primarily for Lk, Acts and Jn, which Levinsohn has examined in detail, though not always for Mt (Levinsohn 2000: 225). (Levinsohn says nothing of Mk.) The final speech is presented as having attained its goal if its orienter is a verb.

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Thus, the “third level” usage does not mark the same sort of development as in the other two levels. 293 A few other connectives should be addressed. οὖν constrains material to be interpreted as both distinct and in continuity with what precedes. 294 Context brings out the nature of the continuity: resumptive (“a return to the storyline”) or inferential (introducing “an event in logical sequence”) (Levinsohn 2000: 85–86, emphasis original). 295 ὥστε constrains what follows to be processed as both a logical inference and “a result – actual, natural, conceived, intended.” 296 The mood of the verb that follows ὥστε may be indicative or infinitive: infinitives have more of an elaborating function, like post-nuclear participles, while indicative verbs are able to stand on their own. γάρ is marked for both continuity and strengthening/support of what precedes (Runge 2010: 51–54). 297 Thus, in narrative contexts it always introduces background material. 298 Not surprisingly, given Mark’s general fondness for καί, most responses are introduced with it (13 of 18). 299 Once ὥστε introduces a response (2.12c). 300 δέ introduces responses in third-level usage (1.45; 6.49–50b – articular pronoun in each case) 301 and when switching to background material

293 Though Levinsohn does not say so explicitly, use of δέ in speeches seems to have a cataphoric sense. He states, “...what is important is not so much the individual speeches themselves, but rather the result of the conversation, which may be expressed either in the final speech or in an action that occurs in response to the conversation” (Levinsohn 2000: 218). 294 Cf. Runge 2010: 43–47; Levinsohn 2000: 81–82, 85–90; Buth 1992. 295 Note Levinsohn (2011: 2; emphasis original) later, in addressing non-narrative contexts, says simply that οὖν is “characterised as +Inferential +Distinctive.” 296 Levinsohn (2011: 7), citing Porter (1992: 234). I am not aware of any publications addressing discourse analysis which examine ὥστε in narrative. 297 Levinsohn (2000: 69, emphasis original) clarifies, “The nature of that strengthening, viz., explanation versus inference or cause, is deduced from the content of the material, not from... γάρ.” 298 Cf. Levinsohn 2000: 91–92. 299 Mk 1.27–28; 3.6; 4.41; 5.14–17; 5.20; 5.42d; 6.51c–52; 9.5–6; 9.8; 10.52c; 11.20b– 21; 16.5b–c; 16.8; cf. 1.31c. 300 Cf. a reaction of amazement to Jesus’ silence: ὥστε θαυμάζειν τὸν Πιλᾶτον (Mk 15.5); cf. Dwyer (1996: 100). 301 ὁ δὲ ἐξελθὼν ἤρξατο κηρύσσειν πολλὰ καὶ διαφημίζειν τὸν λόγον... (Mk 1.45a) is a reaction to Jesus’ speech (1.44), outside of / following the conversation, stated as an intermediate step en route to the next and final event of the response (and the pericope): καὶ ἤρχοντο πρὸς αὐτὸν πάντοθεν (a fade-out imperfect). On “acts that are an intermediate step towards a goal” see Levinsohn (2000: 220). οἱ δὲ ἰδόντες... ἔδοξαν... καὶ ἀνέκραξαν (6.49) is portrayed as a verbal (vocal) reply to Jesus’ act of walking on the water in a kind of conversation. See above, n. 291, on a similar phenomenon in Jn 6.20.

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(7.36b–37). 302 Just once (5.33), interestingly, a response is portrayed as a development (low-level use of δέ). Yet, some caution must be exercised. In all probability Semitic source materials are interfering with natural Greek usage in Mark when it comes to δέ. 303 Thus, it may be that in certain, even many, cases “development” occurs in the narrative for the author, 304 regardless of the fact that καί is employed and not δέ. 305 Still, the conclusions drawn above are important. Later chapters will investigate to what extent responses in the other gospels are introduced by something other than the default connective.

N. Sub-Unit Divisions Another relevant question is whether the responses – or other parts of an episode – constitute a distinct unit. One such unit is a paragraph. Levinsohn defines a paragraph as “a semantic or pragmatic unit characterized by having a single theme, not by the presence of certain surface features” (2000: 271). When “the primary genre of the book is narrative, many sections naturally subdivide on the ground of changes of temporal setting” (Levinsohn 2000: 274; emphasis original). 306 Changes in cast are also a common type of thematic change, changes of location less so. 307 Levinsohn states that “surface features,” nevertheless, often accompany a change of theme. Most of all, he sees a (sentence-initial) frame of reference, especially in narratives, as “supporting evidence for the boundaries,” since “it signals some sort of discontinuity and indicates the primary basis for relating what follows to the context”

302 Note in both Mk 1.39–45 and 7.31–37 the only δέ in the episode introduces the response (1.45a; 7.36b), which closes the episode. Furthermore, the responses are similar in nature: refusal to listen to Jesus’ warning not to report, followed by further responses of listeners. Still δέ is used in both cases in ways other than the low-level use. 303 Levinsohn (2000: 80) seems to agree with Buth, whom he cites, on this point. It has long been noticed δέ is sparse in Mk in light of the other gospels and, moreover, nontranslation Hellenistic Greek narratives, generally. 304 “Author” is used, according to convention in discourse analysis. 305 Levinsohn, referring to personal conversation with Buth, affirms Buth’s observation that “the threshold at which Mark perceives distinctiveness is much higher than in the other Synoptics and Acts” (Levinsohn 2000: 80, emphasis original). This means, practically, that only relatively major developments in the discourse get marked. 306 “When a temporal expression is not initial, this consistently indicates that the basis for relating to the context is not temporal...” (Levinsohn 2000: 276). 307 Levinsohn (Levinsohn 2000): 277) states: “...whereas changes of location may coincide with the presence of a boundary, such changes should not normally be cited as supporting evidence independent of changes of cast or time.”

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(Levinsohn 2000: 271–276 [271, 275]; emphasis original). 308 Even a simple redundant noun clause as a frame of reference can provide supporting evidence, though some caution is required. 309 Surface features other than frames of reference, too, can potentially provide support, including use of the HP. 310 Connectives, such as δέ, are another case in point. 311 I find that few of the episodes under consideration – only three or five (Mk 5.1–20; 5.21–43; 312 7.31–37; and, probably, 2.1–12 and 10.46–52) – are broken into sub-units or paragraphs. Sub-divisions range in number from two to three, though the one complex of healing stories in Mk 5 jointly comprises six sub-units. One should note that, besides the healing complex, the two stories containing two miracles each (6.47–52 and 9.2–8) have no subdivision. In the miracle stories under consideration, a sub-unit is usually formed by a change of cast. In Mark 5.1–20 the sub-units are: (a) 5.1–13 (Jesus and the possessed man/unclean spirits); (b) 5.14–17 (i.e. the first response: the pig herders, others from the vicinity and Jesus); (c) 5.18–20 (the formerly possessed man and Jesus). Mark 5.21–43 is subdivided thus: (a) 5.21–24 (Jesus and Jairus); (b) 5.25–29 (woman touches Jesus); (c) 5.30–32 (Jesus and disciples); (d) 5.33–34 (woman and Jesus); (e) 5.35–40a (Jesus, Jairus, three followers and mourners); (f) 5.40b–43 (Jesus, girl, three followers and par-

308

Recall that a frame of reference is a “point of departure” in his parlance. See Levinsohn (2000: 278; cf. 143) on highlighting vs. boundary marking functions of redundant noun phrases. Heavy encoding that coincides with other switches likely helps mark a boundary. But in a context of high continuity a redundant noun phrase serves to highlight. Runge (private communication) sees the issue not as an either/or dichotomy, but instead as a hierarchical relationship of entailment. The highlighting, a discoursepragmatic function, entails the processing function (discontinuity marker) of the redundant information. This processing hierarchy is discussed by Runge (2010: 132–133) in relation to the HP. 310 See Levinsohn (2000: 272–273, 275–281) on this and other potentially supporting features. 311 Levinsohn (2000: 275) states: “The conjunctions δέ and τότε and asyndeton often occur at paragraph and section boundaries, whereas καί and τέ are less frequently found at such boundaries;” still, “it is common in the Synoptic Gospels and Acts for καί to introduce episodes that do not build directly on the last episode, so the presence of καί in no way excludes a paragraph break.” Note that developments, marked by δέ, do “break the discourse into smaller chunks”; the “chunking,” though, is according to whether, in the view of the author, the discourse has taken a step forward (Runge 2010: 28). Levinsohn (2000: 72–73) discusses Mt 1.18–25, an example in which a number of developments happen within contiguous sentences in a paragraph. 312 For the purposes of this section, I consider the miracles stories in Mk 5.21–43 jointly. 309

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ents). 313 Mark 7.31–37 divides along the following lines: (a) 7.31–36a (Jesus, impaired man and companions); (b) 7.36b–37 (i.e. the response: companions [and healed man?] and public). Of the two other stories Mark 10.46–52 also shows this tendency. 314 Twice a development marker (low-level use of δέ) corresponds to a paragraph boundary. 315 In only two cases a sub-unit division corresponds to a response (5.14–17; 7.36b–37). 316 A development unit is a pair or series of mainline events (i.e. in succession, joined by καί) that collectively constitutes a development (the first sentence is introduced with, typically, δέ). The one response that begins with δέ marking a development does not constitute a development unit. 317

313 The division of the final two sub-sections requires some explanation. αὐτὸς δέ in Mk 5.40b might be understood as a speech orienter: an indicator of on-going or unresolved interaction (highlighted, owing to the full noun phrase) with those who are ridiculing him. Yet Jesus’ reaction to the mourners is demoted (aorist participle) to his interaction with the parents of the deceased and his disciples. Moreover, there is thematic discontinuity – a change of cast, the removal of the mockers (followed in 5.40c by a change of scene). Thus, I take the fronted αὐτός to be supporting linguistic marking of the sub-unit division established on thematic grounds. 314 Mk 10.46–52 may be sub-divided thus: (a) 10.46–49 (Bartimaeus calls to Jesus, but interacts with crowd; Jesus, too, interacts with crowd); (b) 50–52 (Bartimaeus and Jesus interact directly). Yet 10.50 begins with an articular pronoun, an indicator of on-going interaction – here a reaction to the crowd’s speech, even though it is to approach and begin dialogue with Jesus. Mk 2.1–12 may be sub-divided thus: (a) 2.1–5 (Jesus interacts with paralyzed man / topic is forgiveness of sins); (b) 2.6–12 (Jesus interacts with opponents / topic now includes healing). Yet 2.6–7 gives background material. And Jesus’ interaction with the opponents is brief (2.8–10a), while the story, including Jesus’ speech, returns to the man who gets healed. Thus the entire episode may be construed as one sub-unit. 315 In Mk 5.33 the story develops at a paragraph boundary (5.33–34), as the healed woman determines to tell Jesus what has transpired. The final sub-section (5.40b–43) also begins with a development, as Jesus removes all undesired persons from the premises and selects some to be with him. Note in 5.36 Jesus urges Jairus not to fear but to have faith, despite the horrible news. This development follows a new sub-section’s beginning. Many stories do not contain δέ – i.e. 1.21–28; 4.35–41; 9.2–8; 11.12–14, 20–25). In fact, only in the 3 cases just mentioned (all in one complex of miracles) is a low-level usage of δέ seen in a miracle story with a response. The instances of third level usage are: 1.45a; 3.4; 5.34; 6.49a, 50b; 10.48b, 50a, 51b; 16.6 – not all are in closed tight-knit conversations; cf. above, n. 301. δέ introduces background material in 2.6; 5.11; 7.36b; cf. 1.30. In 2.10 δέ is in embedded speech. 316 Cf. also Mk 5.33, though the conclusion, Jesus’ pronouncement (5.34), is part of this sub-unit. 317 Still, Mk 5.33 is similar to a development unit. Three mainline events, linked by καί, are introduced with δέ, and constitute the majority of an event cluster (Jesus’ reply 5.34 [where a third-level use of δέ occurs] also belongs to it).

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O. Peak of Story and Relative Prominence of Responses The relative prominence of the one or more responses within a given story should also be considered. It would stand to reason that the miracle might constitute the peak in a given miracle story. 318 But this is not always the case. In some miracle stories, the miracle is itself not related. 319 In other cases, analysis of the discourse indicates that the action/event with the greatest prominence is elsewhere. Still, in many cases, the culmination of the episode is or includes the miracle. 320 Before examining the relative prominence of responses, a few observations on indicators of prominence in narrative texts are to be made, in addition to those made in Section F, above. The event of greatest intensity or interest, the peak, 321 is typically “more extensively marked” than other significant moments in a narrative, such as an “inciting incident” or a “complication” (Levinsohn 2012: 79). The way that the culminating event or events are marked can vary. The sentence(s) constituting the peak may itself (themselves) be unmarked, while preceding material gives it (them) prominence. Use of the HP (as noted above) highlights subsequent material. A similar effect is achieved by “introducing non-event (background) information immediately before” the peak (Levinsohn 2012: 79). When the peak itself is marked, a variety of features may be employed: “heavy participant encoding” (i.e. use of “redundant” noun phrases), “backgrounding of the event that immediately precedes the climactic event,” “tail-head linkage instead of the default means of conjoining” etc. (Levinsohn 2012: 79, 80). In Mark the phrase καὶ εὐθύς seems also to serve a highlighting function. Of course there may be a combination of elements, both prior to and within the culminating sentence which indicates its prominence. In addition, there is reason to consider couplets of events, though the coupling is not marked by such discourse features as mentioned above, but rather only by a semantic correlation. Given an equal amount of marking for prominence, it may be reasonable to see that a couplet 318 Thus Barnard (2006: 8, 9), looking at “miracle stories... in contrast to pronouncements,” bases his study on the assumption that in the former “the miraculous act of Jesus and the climax of the discourse are one.” 319 The two main examples in Mk are 7.24–30 and 11.12–14, 20–25. See also 6.41 (ἐδίδου... ἐμέρισεν) and 8.6–7 (ἐδίδου... εἶπεν), where the miraculous multiplications of bread and fish are themselves not actually narrated. Jesus’ resurrection, of course, is described (16.6) but not narrated. 320 This is true of nine stories with responses (re. 1.27–28; 2.12c; 3.6; 4.41; 5.42d; 6.49– 50b and 6.51c–52; 7.36b–37; 9.5–6 and 9.8; 10.52c; cf. 1.31a–b). See discussion in following notes. 321 For the sake of clarity, I have chosen to reserve “climax” for the narrative’s overall culminating moment.

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of, for example, a command and compliance to it is jointly the peak of an episode (e.g. 4.39a–d). 322 Clusters of HPs require comment. Repeated use of the HP “has the effect of building to a dramatic peak...” within an episode (Runge 2010: 141). 323 This occurs commonly in Mark. Moreover – and this will be important below (Section Q) – generous employment of HPs in episodes tend to give global prominence to these episodes. This is a natural consequence of the clustering of discourse features. 324 The climax of a narrative may be marked by repeated HP use. In five, perhaps seven cases a response or part of one is the story’s culmination or is found within it. The response of the woman healed of hemorrhaging (5.33) and Jesus’ reply to her words are jointly the zenith in one story. 325 The final mainline event (flight) in the second response to the narrative’s closing angelophany (Mk 16.8a) constitutes the episode’s peak. 326 In another epiphany story, the one event that is the second response (9.8) is part of three sentences constituting the highpoint (9.7–8; i.e. the cloud’s appearance, the heavenly voice’s speech and the disciples’ response). 327 A culminating sentence in the story of the paralytic’s healing (2.12b–c) describes: an act of obedience (the main verb), constituting a (further [cf. 2.12a]) demonstration of healing, and the observers’ response (the result clause). 328 A brief sen322

This idea comes from Stephen Levinsohn (private communication). On the related notion of speeches grouped as couplets see Levinsohn (2012: 111). 323 “The net effect is to slow the discourse flow and build anticipation” (Runge 2010: 141). The expectation is that the HP marks a low-level boundary. But continuity in the context pushes the reader’s processing to see a discourse-pragmatic function. 324 I owe this point to Runge (personal communication). Longacre (1985), cited by Longacre (1999: 141, n. 5), that a “zone of turbulence” occurs, as marked language usage replaces unmarked usage as the norm. Rather than claim a phenomenon in and of itself (“zone of turbulence”), I take the global prominence given to certain sections of a narrative to be the result of discourse feature clustering. This can be seen in Mk 14 and 15 and Jn 20. On Mk see, especially, Longacre (1999: 146, 160–161, 168); cf. Runge (2010: 140–141) on Mk and Jn. Longacre’s (1999) analysis of HP clusters marking key moments toward the end of the narrative is more convincing: in a key peak (Gethsemane; 14.32–42), the climax (Jesus’ beating and crucifixion; 15.16–41) and, possibly, the following epiphany (16.1–8). I am less convinced of the (fewer) HPs marking peaks and “inciting incidents” earlier on (3.1–6; 5.21–43; cf. 2.1–12; 4.35–40). See further, below, Section Q. 325 These four sentences (Mk 5.33–34) also constitute a sub-section and a development. 326 Note the HP in Mk 16.6(–7), pointing forward to the events of 16.8a,c. 327 Note the HP in Mk 9.5, pointing forward to 9.7–8. The intervening background information (9.6) slows the narrative down prior to the key moment. 328 Note the HPs in Mk 2.8(–10a), 10b(–11), pointing forward to 2.12a. Use of καὶ εὐθύς (2.12b–c) probably highlights the respective sentence. It is possible that the postnuclear result clause, concluding the story, receives greater prominence than the preceding indicative verb.

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tence, part of the first response (5.15c; the emotional element), constitutes the moment of greatest intensity or interest in the story of the exorcism of Legion. 329 Possibly, the response in two other stories, a fade-out imperfect (10.52c) or a similar phenomenon (6.51c), is part of the respective peak. 330 A statement or statements of the miracle’s occurrence (Mk 1.42; 7.35a–b) or an action demonstrating healing (5.42a) may alone constitute a story’s key moment. 331 A peak may comprise a statement that the miracle transpires or action confirming it alongside a precipitating action (3.5b–c: recipient, first, obediently stretches out his hand) or other accompanying action (6.51a–b: Jesus enters the boat first). 332 Alternatively Jesus’ command(s) (1.25–26; 4.39; cf. 1.31a–b [Jesus’ performative act]) and a subsequent statement of a miracle’s realisation form a pair constituting an episode’s peak. 333 Related is 329 Note the HPs in Mk 5.15a–b (ἔρχονται... θεωροῦσιν), pointing forward to 5.15c (ἐφοβήθησαν). The story is unique in that the middle of three sections of the story (i.e. the first response: 5.14–17), contains the highpoint. But the way the story is told calls for such an understanding. The exorcism and its immediate result, the drowning of the pigs, is related briefly (5.13b–d). Nothing is said about the formerly demon-possessed man at that point and he takes an active role again only in the dénouement (5.18–20). The response of the pig herders, however, and others of the region is related in detail. Repetitions reinforce its centrality (what happened is twice reported; seeing the exorcism or the man in a normal state is mentioned three times). And conflict leads, ironically, to Jesus leaving. The onset of fear, inspiration for the demand, is the key moment (5.15c). 330 On these instances, see below, nn. 332 and 334. 331 Note in these three instances Jesus’ speech (being or including a command) which effects the healing comes in an immediately preceding sentence introduced by an HP (λέγει: 1.41b; 5.41; 7.34). In two cases (1.42; 5.42a) καὶ εὐθύς further highlights the realisation of the miracle. Note the two other HPs (7.32) in one story leading forward to the peak. In another story, too, preceding HPs (παραλαμβάνει... εἰσπορεύεται... [5.40b–c]) help bring the story to its culmination. 332 Note the HPs in Mk 3.4a, 5a (the intervening material is offline information), pointing forward to 3.5b–c. The response (3.6), a fade-out imperfect, is the dénouement. Likewise, an HP in 6.50d points forward to 6.51a–b. Possibly the sentence καὶ λείαν ἐν ἑαυτοῖς ἐξείσταντο (6.51c) should also be seen as the third event in a cluster highlighted by the HP of 6.50d. Alternatively, the disciples’ response (6.51c–52), a fade-out imperfect with accompanying background material, is the dénouement. [Note Jesus’ walking on the water is articulated, alternately: (a) with a HP (ἔρχεται; 6.48), pointing forward to the response; and (b) subordinated, as the object of visual perception (6.49a).] 333 The two mainline events of the sentences in Mk 1.25–26 are given prominence through different means: marked encoding through use of ὁ Ἰησοῦς (1.25); and a slowing down of the narrative through a series of backgrounded events (pre-nuclear participles) prior to the main verb, building suspense leading up to it (1.26). The four sentences of 4.39 are preceded by a series of HPs: λέγει... παραλαμβάνουσιν... γίνεται... ἐγείρουσιν... λέγουσιν (4.36a, 37a, 38b–c) – 4.39a being, in fact, the first mainline event expressed with an aorist indicative. The precise pairing of Jesus’ rebuke to the wind and command to the sea (4.39a–b) with statements of the ceasing of the wind and sea (4.39c–d) aid, from a

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the story of Bartimaeus’ healing, in which Jesus’ words of salvation and the statement of healing (10.52a–b) are the key moment. 334 In one unusual case Jesus’ speech (11.22–25), following the disciples’ response, is the peak. 335

P. Distribution of Responses in Miracle Stories Where do miracle stories with responses appear in the course of the Markan narrative? Miracle stories towards the beginning of the Gospel typically have responses (see Table 3). If the narrative’s opening story is bracketed, then eight, perhaps all, of the first nine miracle stories have responses. After this roughly one in two stories has a response up until the last three stories, each of which has a response. The emotion of amazement occurs in seven of 10 responses with an emotional element. It appears in every second or third miracle story until the healing of the deaf and mute man (7.31–37), then skipping six stories it appears again only in the final one. The emotion of fear, alternatively, begins in the stilling of the storm (4.35–41) and appears, thereafter, in six of seven responses with an emotional element. After the first three (consecutive) stories with responses containing fear, it occurs every third, fourth or fifth story. The four responses that do not have an emotional element are found approximately among the first and last miracle stories. Of course the angle taken here on the data has its limits – the surrounding narrative contexts must be taken into consideration. Still, this “snap shot” helps to identify some general trends.

literary point of view, in identifying all four sentences as the culminating events, though there are no surface features indicating that these sentences necessarily have more prominence than those that follow (4.40–41). 334 The marked encoding in the designation of ὁ Ἰησοῦς in Mk 10.52a and use of καὶ εὐθύς in 10.52b achieve the greater prominence for the respective sentences. Possibly the phrase καὶ εὐθύς should be seen as highlighting also the concluding, open-ended events (10.52c), that is, the response. 335 This instance is also unique in that the episode’s peak and final event, Jesus’ speech, is given as an HP (λέγει: Mk 11.22–25). It thus points beyond the episode, to further developments. At any rate, the speech is highlighted through two discourse features: marked encoding through use of ὁ Ἰησοῦς and the redundant quotative frame (ἀποκριθεὶς... λέγει), which indicates that the utterance is an attempt by the speaker to take control in the conversation.

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Table 3: Distribution of responses among miracle stories, noting type of emotion 336 Story

Miracle type

1.9–11

Epiphany

1.21–28

Exorcism

1.29–31

Healing

1.39–45

Healing

2.1–12

Healing

3.1–6

Healing

4.35–41

Rescue / nature

5.1–20

Exorcism

5.24b–34

Healing

5.21–24a, 35–43

Healing

6.35–46

Nature

6.47–52

Rescue / nature

7.24b–30

Exorcism

7.31–37

Healing

8.1–9

Nature

8.22–26

Healing

9.2–8

Epiphany

9.14–29

Exorcism

10.46–52

Healing

11.12–14, 20–25

Nature

16.1–8(+?)

Epiphany

Response

Emotion

(?)

( )

Fear / trouble

Amazement

336 The table shows if a miracle story has a response (column 3) and if the said response contains emotion(s) (columns 4–6). Highlighting identifies the five stories that do or may have an epiphanic aspect. Note the intercalated story (Mk 5.24b–34) is listed first (i.e. before 5.21–24a, 35–43), since its miracle occurs first.

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Q. Responses in Miracles Stories within the Overall Narrative The final task of this chapter is to draw together my earlier observations, situating them in the overall narrative. What role do the miracle stories and, in specific, the responses play in the unfolding of characterisation and development of plot-lines? And what effect does the implied author 337 intend to have on the (ideal) audience? 338 Alter’s interest in “what is done in each individual application of the schema to give it a sudden tilt of innovation” will be borne in mind. 339 For convenience, alongside my shorthand designations exact references will be provided. First, I offer a brief discussion of the “structure” of Mark. Many conflicting views exist – they are so numerous, in fact, that some doubt whether anything can be plausibly claimed. 340 I take as a point of departure the key junctures of the plot (see Section A): the climax, i.e. crucifixion (15.20c–41, especially, 15.39), and the turning point (8.27–9.13). From here one can easily add the dénouement (15.42–16.8[?]). In addition, similar to many interpreters, I see that following the title (1.1) and introduction (1.2–13) three sections precede the turning point: 1.14–3.6; 3.7–6.6a; 6.6b–8.26. 341 The main subsequent boundaries are 11.1 and 14.1 (see Table 4). 342 The general argument to be pursued below does not rely heavily on these additional boundaries. Nevertheless, questions can be usefully asked as to the distribution of miracle stories (16 prior to the turning point; 4 after) and responses (notably in section 3 only 2 of 6 stories have responses – why?).

337 “Implied author” is used for discussion of effects on readers (Rimmon-Kenan 2002: 87–90, 118–130). 338 Answers to this question will be presented at the end of this section. 339 As mentioned previously, among literary critics of the Gospels, I have not found any study that has given attention to the variations of the miracle response motif employed by Mark. 340 On this topic see, generally, Larsen (2004); Collins (2007: 85–93) and Morrison (2008: 2–34). 341 Cf., especially, Perrin and Duling (1982: 239–247), though I am less than convinced that summaries, head up each new section – see the judgement of Hedrick (1984: 304), cited by Larsen (2004: 151–152). Rather, sections are defined, primarily, by their content, with aid at times from boundary features at their opening (see Section N) and others, notably responses or a related motif, at their close. See further below. 342 The five major boundaries noted here (1.14, 3.7, 6.6b, 11.1 and 14.1) are held by, e.g., Hooker (1991: 27–29), Moloney (2002: 18–19) and Culpepper (2007: 35–38). I accept that “[s]tructures in the gospel [of Mk] are not necessarily entirely discrete, but may overlap or interpenetrate one another” (Dewey 1980: 38).

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Table 4: Distribution of responses in miracle stories within sections of the narrative Section

Reference

Response / Stories

Responses

Intro

1.2–13

0/1

1

1.14–3.6

4 (prob. 5) / 5

1.27–28; (prob. 1.31c;) 1.45; 2.12c; 3.6

2

3.7–6.6a

4/4

4.41; 5.14–17 and 5.20; 5.33; 5.42d (cf. 6.6a)

3

6.6b–8.26

2/6

6.49–50b and 6.51c–52; 7.36b–37

Turning point

8.27–9.13

1/1

9.5–6 and 9.8

4

9.14–10.52

1/2

10.52c

5

11.1–13.37

1/1

11.20b–21

6

14.1–15.20b

0/0

Climax

15.20c–41

0/0

Dénouement

15.42–47; 16.1–8[?]

1/1

16.5b–c and 16.8

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I. Prior to the first miracle story with a response The title (Mk 1.1) sets the expectation for the audience that what follows will concern itself with Jesus the Messiah. 343 This expectation is confirmed by the first episode (1.2–11). After the setting of the stage with background material on Jesus’ predecessor, 344 the protagonist is introduced in a terse account of his baptism and an accompanying visual and audio theophany, portrayed with more than a hint of the marvellous. 345 It is one of the most vivid and profound direct interventions of God in the book. The heavens opening, the empowering 346 spirit of God descends on Jesus. Features of the story of Elisha’s succession of Elijah are echoed. 347 Then follows one of two instances where God, the most authoritative voice in the narrative, speaks directly (also 9.7). The statements’ content in both cases is similar: Jesus is God’s “son.” Yet no fanfare accompanies the theophany. The audience is not told whether anyone other than Jesus even witnesses it. 348 Jesus’ visual perception is given some attention, though his inner thoughts and feelings are not penetrated – so he, not the theophany itself, seems to be focalised. Jesus does not respond in any way to the experience. Thus, the introduction of Jesus amidst a miracle story, a theophany in particular, in which Jesus’ sonship to God is declared, is a manifesto of sorts for the book. On the one hand key knowledge is shared between four narrative agents – God, Jesus, the narrator and the audience – and an implicit question is raised as to whether other characters already do or will come to know who 343

As per Collins (2007: 130–132), the title is original. For a different view (“a superscription... added by a scribe in the latter half of the second century”) see Culpepper (2007: 40–41 [40]). υἱοῦ θεοῦ is probably added by a later hand (Collins 2007: 130). 344 Following the imperfects and equivalent periphrastic construction in Mk 1.2–8, the next three sentences present the first actions of the narrative (ἦλθεν... εἶδεν... ἐγένετο; 1.9–11). 345 Taylor (2011: 115–116, 130–134) analyses the levels of narration at work in each of the pericopes of Mk 4.35–6.56. Here only occasional comments can be made on the issue – primarily regarding the epiphanies and rescue nature miracles. The “marvelous” features in 1.2–11 fit best in “romance,” where the “typical hero” is herself “identified as a human being,” though superior in “degree” to other humans and to her environment (Frye 1957: 33). Still, to cite Taylor (2011: 131) mutatis mutandis, “this encounter does not take place in some enchanted land... but in the... entirely real Decapolis [here: Jordan river] region....” 346 For the sake of brevity, I have anticipated the later, unfolding characterisation of Jesus as “empowered” by the spirit – an understanding that comes out especially in relation to exorcisms (see, especially, Mk 3.23–30). 347 On the parallels with stories from the Scriptures, see Chapter Seven. 348 The crowds are not mentioned after the background material is related (1.4–8); and John’s action is stated indirectly (ἐβαπτίσθη... ὑπὸ Ἰωάννου; 1.9). Effectively, it seems, only Jesus and God are on stage.

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Jesus is. 349 The formation of this nexus of shared knowledge is supported by the absence (possibly intentional) of the response motif – so common elsewhere – regarding John and the crowd. 350 On the other hand, a shroud of mystery surrounds the brief pronouncement for at least one member of the quartet: the audience. 351 What does Jesus being God’s son mean? At the least it provides confirmation of the title’s summary designation of Jesus as the Messiah. Thus he is certainly “superior in degree” to other human characters; but what else can be said? 352 The sense of mystery is heightened by, despite Jesus being focalised, the absence of any indication of how he feels or thinks about the theophany – potentially the intentional absence of a response motif, too, is at work. 353 Implications of the heavenly pronouncement will be explicated throughout the narrative. Terminologically similar identifications will occur at key junctures, in the speech of: God in the turning point (9.7), Jesus (14.[61–]62) and, ironically, a Roman centurion at the climax (15.39). 354 Prior to and during the turning point (8.27–9.13), miracles will play an important role in revealing his identity to the audience – both characterisation and plot, thus, are in view. This is true, too, of the close of the book (16.1– 8[?]), which is, like the opening story, an account of an epiphany. The next miracle story follows only a little later. First come a summary 355 of Jesus’ temptation (1.12–13), which closes off the opening section, 356 a summary introduction of his public activity (1.14–15; his miraculous deeds 349

Cf. Culpepper 2007: 68–69. Similarly, Broadhead 2001: 23. 351 God and the narrator know more than they are letting on. The sense that Jesus may too is created by the lack of penetration into his thoughts and feelings about the marvellous happenings. 352 This citation of Frye (1957: 33, 34) presents a criterion of heros in both “romance” (including “legend” and “folk tale”) and “the high mimetic mode” (i.e. “most epic and tragedy”). In the former, the hero is superior to the hero’s environment; in the latter, subject to it. As Jesus has scarcely acted by Mk 1.11, little of his qualities is known. 353 The audience would only come to such an opinion retrospectively, once it becomes clear that miracle stories throughout the narrative so often have responses. 354 Ironic, too, are similar statements made by demons/unclean spirits (Mk 3.11; 5.7). Cf. also the implicit claim of Jesus in a parable (12.1–11) and in a private discourse (13.32). 355 Properly speaking, this is not a story – three short sentences, covering a period of 40 days, employ the imperfect, describing repeated events (Mk 1.13). The initial sentence (using a HP) simply portrays motion to a new location (1.12). 356 Mk 1.14 is a major boundary because of: first, the thematic discontinuity – Jesus’ ministry in the Galilee (Collins 2007: 87–88) – second, the sentence-initial temporal reference (i.e. frame of reference; see n. 308), μετὰ δὲ τὸ παραδοθῆναι τὸν Ἰωάννην – and, third, the redundant use of ὁ Ἰησοῦς (see n. 309). Other episode-initial instances of ὁ Ἰησοῦς are 3.7; 8.27; 9.2 (in 12.35, continuity of context mitigating a break, the noun phrase highlights the speech). 350

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are not mentioned) and the second story of the narrative, Jesus’ private call of a few key followers (1.16–20). A brief word about the call story is in order. The followers will not play a key role in the immediately following stories (1.21–3.6; 357 here, when present, they are almost always tertiary 358 to the interaction of Jesus and others, especially his opponents). However, the preeminence of Jesus’ relationship to them is established – representing the disciples, generally, and the Twelve, as well as themselves constituting an inner circle. 359 And a pattern of Jesus interacting with them directly in stories of a private setting is begun. 360 Finally, Simon, Andrew, James and John are the first to react to Jesus in the narrative, though not to his miracles, which have not taken place yet, but simply to his call to discipleship. 361 II. Mark 1.27–28 So the first story of Jesus’ public activity is of his first miracle (1.21–28), which, alongside his teaching, is an indication of his authority as God’s son. 362 By word only and without invoking anyone’s name (e.g. Solomon or even God) Jesus successfully commands an unclean spirit’s silence and exit from the victim. 363 The story is characterised by the amazement of those in the synagogue – first in the introductory material describing their reaction to his teaching (ἐξεπλήσσοντο; 1.22) and then in the mainline response (ἐθαμβήθησαν; 1.27), following the exorcism, which pertains to both teaching and miraculous deed. 364 The lengthy, developed response (1.27–28), clos-

357 There is an inclusio to Mk 1.21–3.6. It begins and ends with stories of healings in a synagogue on the Sabbath. Both of these stories, too, have key responses to miracles. See below. 358 The one exception is Mk 1.35–38. 359 Note subsequently the inner circle is often just three, excluding Andrew. 360 They represent the said three character groups of established followers, despite that in this early episode the four become followers. Also Peter and, to a lesser extent, the sons of Zebedee, are characters in their own right. 361 In Mk 1.18 and 1.20b description of following (ἠκολούθησαν; ἀπῆλθον ὀπίσω αὐτοῦ) is preceded by ἀφέντες, expressing the fishermen’s forsaking their former way of life. Their immediate and complete obedience to Jesus’ commanding call seems to give the story, despite its realism, hues of what Frye (1957: 34) calls the “high mimetic mode.” (This level of narration is not among those present in Taylor’s analysis of Mk 4–6; see above, n. 345.) 362 Jesus’ conflict with this possessed man, who like the one in Mk 5.1–20 has “extraordinary knowledge” of Jesus (but no “preternatural strength”), may also “in some ways fit well into a work of ‘romance’” (Taylor 2011: 130–131). 363 Cf. Collins 2007: 166. 364 Cf. e.g. Tagawa 1966: 89; Dwyer 1996: 92, 98; Culpepper 2007: 57; Strecker 2013: 206.

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ing the episode, has emotion, speech and reporting (many of the most common elements): καὶ ἐθαμβήθησαν ἅπαντες ὥστε συζητεῖν πρὸς ἑαυτοὺς λέγοντας· τί ἐστιν τοῦτο; διδαχὴ καινὴ κατ᾿ ἐξουσίαν· καὶ τοῖς πνεύμασι τοῖς ἀκαθάρτοις ἐπιτάσσει, καὶ ὑπακούουσιν αὐτῷ. καὶ ἐξῆλθεν ἡ ἀκοὴ αὐτοῦ εὐθὺς πανταχοῦ εἰς ὅλην τὴν περίχωρον τῆς Γαλιλαίας.

The utterance raises the question of the origin of Jesus’ powerful teaching. 365 For the audience, therefore, it is confirmed that the theophany experienced by Jesus at the Jordan was not public knowledge. Ironically, the unclean spirit is aware that Jesus is “the holy one of God,” while the crowd is unsure of his identity, affirming only that he is a powerful teacher. 366 The crowd’s response to Jesus’ miracle is inferior to the disciples’ preceding reaction to his call. The prevalent amazement here is given a mixed association – it is positive yet inadequate. 367 For hearers/readers a tension is set in place as to if/when human characters will come to a greater realisation of Jesus’ identity. 368 In the meantime, knowledge of Jesus’ power to teach and expel demons spreads widely. 369 Because of its location, this miracle story and the response it contains have the possibility of being paradigmatic. 370 To a certain extent they are. Before various crowds Jesus will perform primarily healings, including exorcisms, though they may take increasingly powerful manifestations – and twice he will miraculously provide food. Crowds, likewise, when having an emotional response to a healing, will be amazed (2.12c; 5.20; 7.37; with 5.15 as an exception). And their verbal responses, including estimations of Jesus, will never adequately appreciate him (2.12c; 7.37; cf. 6.2–3, 14–15; 8.28). Yet, in another sense, the response is not paradigmatic, but rather sets a bar. 371 Some characters will respond to Jesus’ miracles in a worse – 1.45a (ex-leper); 7.36b (companions of ex-deaf/mute man) – or far worse manner – 3.6 (Pharisees); 5.14–17 (pig-herders and Gadarene crowd); cf. also 6.2–3, 5 (the crowd in 365 See also Mk 1.22: καὶ ἐξεπλήσσοντο ἐπὶ τῇ διδαχῇ αὐτοῦ· ἦν γὰρ διδάσκων αὐτοὺς ὡς ἐξουσίαν ἔχων καὶ οὐχ ὡς οἱ γραμματεῖς. 366 Cf. Theissen 1974: 170–171; Kingsbury 1983: 86–88 and 1989: 39; Hooker 1991: 65–66, 72–75. Some (e.g. Broadhead 1992: 56–62), argue that the author subordinates Jesus’ miracle to his teaching in this first public episode. 367 Contra Tagawa 1966 1966: 89–90 and Dwyer 1996: 98–99. 368 Similar are Hooker (1991: 65) and Culpepper, for whom the unclean spirit’s “disclosure” in this initial public episode concerns “the issue around which the plot of the Gospel revolves” (Culpepper 2007: 56–57 [56]). Cf. Theissen 1974: 212. 369 Jesus’ entering Capernaum and exit of the news about him provide the story’s framework (Strecker 2013: 206). 370 So Tagawa 1966: 88; Dwyer 1996: 93 (with references to others), 98–99; Strecker 2013: 207. 371 Similarly see Dwyer 1996: 98–99.

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Jesus’ hometown). Related, two pertinent phenomena (3.6; 6.6a) touch on issues of structure. Other characters, especially individuals, will respond more positively: notably the Gadarene ex-demoniac (5.20) and Bartimaeus (10.52c); probably also Peter’s mother-in-law (1.31c). Various crowds will become more confident in their opinions of who Jesus is (2.12c; 7.37). Mark 1.21–28 and subsequent developments in public settings also set a precedent for similar developments with established followers in private miracle stories. Jesus’ followers will reach a better though still imperfect understanding of Jesus. 372 Thus, this initial miracle story and the crowd’s response set a standard – unsatisfactory by the narrator’s system of values – to which later responses to Jesus’ activity, including perhaps especially formal responses in miracle stories, may be compared. 373 III. Intervening material The three pericopae that follow, together with the previous story, effectively constitute two adjacent days (in some sense paradigmatic – though, the episodes have an inciting aspect) 374 in the public ministry of Jesus and, thus, a distinct portion of the narrative. 375 The spatial continuity, too, helps establish 372

Similarly, Hooker 1991: 21. Tolbert (1989) also sees the various reactions to Jesus as a key to following the unfolding of the plot. I do not agree, however, that the Parable of the Sower (Mk 4.1–20) is a “fundamental typology of hearing-response that organizes the entire plot of the Gospel” (Tolbert 1989: 163, emphasis mine). She identifies four monolithic groups of people who allegedly fit the typology (the scribes, Pharisees and “Jerusalem Jewish leaders”; the disciples; Herod and the rich young man; “ones healed (or saved) by their faith”) (Tolbert 1989: 171). Without going into detailed criticism of the proposal, suffice it to say that here more attention is given to nuance – individual instances of response and, where relevant, development and complexity of characterisation. Other respondents, notably various crowds, are also considered. I still understand the Parable of the Sower as offering a picture of different types of reactions (to teaching etc.) and responses to miracles. But the options given in the parable are not exhaustive, nor can any one character (group) be identified exclusively with one soil type, not even the soil “along the way” (cf. Mk 15.43–46). Note, Tolbert considers miracle stories important (1989: 176–177), but, for her, reactions to Jesus’ teaching, which are the catalyst for a given miracle, are central; responses to the miracles themselves are less significant for characterisation. 374 Cf. especially Mk 1.38, where Jesus, it seems, makes a decision to continue travelling and proclaiming. 375 Narrative time slows to roughly a 24-hour period in Mk 1.21–39, covering the Sabbath and the first day of the week. Many scholars (Broadhead 2001: 25–28; Witherington 2001: 97; Donahue and Harrington 2002: 78–86; Culpepper 2007: 54, 61) note this temporally based unity (though often misconstruing it as “one day”). Moloney (2002: 55–56) focuses on 1.21–34. The crowd waits until sunset, after the Sabbath, to bring their afflicted (Collins 2007: 175). Note Broadhead (1992: 56–71; cf. 2001: 25–28) argues for three intertwined pericopae (including 1.32–39), not four (including 1.32–34; 35–39). The “tem373

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this delineation. 376 Jesus’ healing is important, often central, to all of the pericopae. A private healing story (1.29–31) may well contain a response. 377 If so, the brief response of one element (καὶ διηκόνει αὐτοῖς: 1.31c), closing the episode, is positive, recalling the angels’ recent service to Jesus (1.13c). The act portrays Peter’s mother-in-law as becoming a follower or foreshadows women followers. 378 Whatever the case may be, it is worth noting that the narrator passes by the opportunity to have the disciples 379 respond to a miracle. Hearers/readers must rather wait until the narrative portrays more of the diversity of positioning towards Jesus by various non-follower characters. 380 And the disciples’ response will come in a more private setting. No reactions are noted in the following story, containing a geographically localised summary of exorcisms and other healings (1.32–34). Still, bringing the sick to Jesus (1.32–33) is effectively an informal continuation of or fallout from 1.27–28, 381 as is the search for Jesus the next morning (1.36–37). The sense is that the town is still buzzing with talk and amazement at the exorcism. Also, owing to their faith, the crowd’s characterisation takes a positive step forward. 382 As the four episodes (1.21–38) are closely linked, the absence of a reaction in the summary (and, potentially, in the private healing story) does not seem to have a great significance. 383

poral frame of reference” (Runge 2010: 216–220) in 1.35, with a change of setting and characters, is reason to see a boundary. A fronted time reference occurs in 1.32; though the sense of continuity is stronger here, as a “genitive circumstantial frame” is used (Runge 2010: 256–261; especially 256–257 on various references to change of time). 376 Broadhead 2001: 26. 377 See above, n. 156. 378 See above, n. 247. Note that, unlike the man formerly possessed by Legion or Bartimaeus, the characterisation of Peter’s mother-in-law is minimal. Importantly, the three words do not convey whom she understands Jesus to be. As Lau (2013: 214) observes, the two finite verbs of which the woman is the subject denoted her plight (κατέκειτο: 1.30a) and her remedied condition (διηκόνει: 1.31c). 379 Again, this term is appropriate, since the two sets of brothers are the only established followers identified so far. 380 Lau (2013: 215) correctly notes that, given their concern for the sick person and portrayal as active participants in the story, “die anwesenden Schüler... eigentümlich still bleiben” (“the disciples present... remain curiously silent”) at its close. On the semi-public (or soon-to-be-public) nature of the setting, see above, n. 269. 381 Thus, in retrospect, the audience knows Mk 1.28 spoke proleptically and the crowd did not violate the Sabbath. 382 Faith as an explicit theme related to miracles is not introduced until Mk 2.5. 383 The idea that “Mark places the woman-episode at the center of the day’s activities... as an indication of the reigning presence of God” (Moloney 2002: 56) does justice neither to the placement, length and important features (notably Jesus’ teaching, the term ἐξουσία, comparison with the scribes, amazement (twice), the response, generally, and the question

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IV. Mark 1.45 The healing of the leper (1.39–45) 384 functions, on the one hand, to establish the hyperbolic presence of crowds around Jesus. 385 To this end a lengthy response of two main types of elements – movement and reporting – is employed (1.45): ὁ δὲ ἐξελθὼν ἤρξατο κηρύσσειν πολλὰ καὶ διαφημίζειν τὸν λόγον, ὥστε μηκέτι αὐτὸν δύνασθαι φανερῶς εἰς πόλιν εἰσελθεῖν, ἀλλ᾿ ἔξω ἐπ᾿ ἐρήμοις τόποις ἦν· καὶ ἤρχοντο πρὸς αὐτὸν πάντοθεν.

The most prominent element, reporting, is an ironic counterpart to Jesus’ command not to speak (in this geographical region), which itself creates the impression of a private setting for the miracle, contrasting the setting of the synagogue in the first miracle story, where amazement reigns. The second element, hearers’ coming to Jesus, brings the story into a public setting. On the other hand, the story introduces a response to Jesus that falls below amazement and asking questions about him: disobedience and disrespect. 386 No reason is given for his failure. 387 The (ex-)leper is, thus, complex, since he also demonstrates great faith in Jesus and God. 388 A dangerous option of understanding and relating to Jesus is opened up to the audience. The exleper’s failure to visit the priests, in fact, can be seen as a catalyst and foreshadowing of Jesus’ terminal conflict with them. 389

of Jesus’ identity) of Mk 1.21–28 nor to the concept of “day” that is implicit in the text (see above, n. 375). 384 Contra, e.g., Broadhead (1992: 64, 72) and Culpepper (2007: 60–61), Mk 1.39, containing a geographically broader summary of Jesus’ activity, including exorcisms, is more likely to mark a boundary than to be the final sentence of the preceding episode. Note a similar construction in 1.14 (ἦλθεν... κηρύσσων). No response occurs in this summary. As here, an initial sentence containing an aorist indicative is, at times, followed by an HP which aids in marking a boundary (cf. e.g. 4.1; 5.21–22; 6.1; cf. 2.18 [initial imperfect]). 385 On the other hand, the story demonstrates the power of Jesus’ purity. Rather than becoming impure, by touching the leper Jesus’ purity overcomes the impurity of the disease (cf. Müller 2013: 222). 386 Some (e.g. Tolbert 1989: 137, 141; Broadhead 1992: 73; Culpepper 2007: 63) would exonerate the ex-leper. Müller’s (2013: 223) take on the issue is similar to the present reading. 387 This will be the norm in the narrative when a response that is worse than Mk 1.27– 28 occurs. 388 There is no penetration into his inner life, nor, owing to the paucity of text, any character development. 389 Broadhead (2001: 29–30) agrees with the implication of conflict with the priests, but, contrary to the view presented here, would see Jesus’ command to report as an instigation of the conflict (Broadhead 1992: 74–75).

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V. Mark 2.12c The narrative returns to a public setting in the healing of the paralytic (2.1– 12). 390 Here Jesus associates his important, initially ambiguous, selfdesignation, ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου with his authority (ἐξουσία; cf. 2.28). 391 The meaning of the designation, appearing first here, will be flipped on its head in the turning point (8.31). Jesus will associate it, ultimately, with the figure in Dan 7 (Mk 14.62). The story of the paralytic introduces explicitly the themes of faith and of conflict with Jesus’ opponents – the latter carries through the next episodes, with 2.1–3.6 forming an “extended concentric structure.” 392 Still, the present episode links the foregoing (1.21–45), largely miracle stories, with the following conflict stories. 393 The conflict is centred on what Jesus can or cannot say, whether declaring forgiveness or effecting healing. 394 A response by “all” of amazement and praise to God (the seeing element occurs too, for the first time), emphasising the unique quality of the miracle, closes the pericope (2.12c): ...ὥστε ἐξίστασθαι πάντας καὶ δοξάζειν τὸν θεὸν λέγοντας ὅτι οὕτως οὐδέποτε εἴδομεν. Amazement is, thus, reinforced as the paradigmatic response to Jesus’ public healing activity. 395 Yet development has also occurred: questions about Jesus’ teaching (1.27) are replaced by confident praise of God. 396 This crowd, 397 likely related to that of

390 Probably the same house in which Peter’s mother-in-law was healed is meant (Lau 2013: 215). The door, previously mentioned with regards to crowds and healing, is referred to again (Mk 2.2; cf. 1.33). 391 ἐξουσία has been important for characterising Jesus, through a crowd’s mouth, already in Mk 1.27 (cf. 1.22). 392 Dewey 1980: 33. Dewey argues, based on vocabulary, form and content, for the pattern a b c b’ a’ in Mk 2.1–3.6. The pattern serves “to bind the incidents into an organic whole” and has a “linear or climactic development” (Dewey 1980: 119, 137). 393 See Tolbert 1989: 139–141. Still, I am not convinced by the overall parallel structure she proposes for Mk 1.16–3.6. E.g. if 1.29–34 is one episode, as she claims, then there is no good reason to see 2.13–14 and 2.15–17 as separate episodes. (As Tolbert notes, Mk 1.35–39 already does not fit the proposed structure.) Further, see above, n. 392. 394 As Klumbies (2013: 236) notes, Jesus makes both of these statements (Mk 2.5, 11) as the story unfolds. Jesus is in fact the only one to speak until Mk 2.12. 395 A number of features set the story of Mk 2.1–12 in close relation to the first miracle story (1.21–28): teaching situations that give rise to miracles, use of ἐξουσία (1.22, 27; 2.10), similar types of questions (τί ἐστιν τοῦτο [1.27]; τί οὗτος οὕτως λαλεῖ [2.7]), οἱ γραμματεῖς in opposition to Jesus (1.22; 2.6), reference to time in the verbal element (διδαχὴ καινή [1.27]; οὕτως οὐδέποτε εἶδομεν [2.12]) and amazement. Cf. Dwyer (1996: 99; cf. 102–103) on some possible, though not convincing, “structural similarities” between 1.27 and 2.12c (i.e. ὥστε... λέγοντας). 396 Dwyer (1996: 100) notes the uniqueness of this “doxology,” though he remarks on some similarities in 7.37.

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1.21–28(–34), has formulated their view of Jesus. It is better than some views that crystallise in what follows, though it does not meet the narrator’s approval. 398 VI. Mark 3.6 The last conflict story (3.1–6) in the concentric structure, the other miracle story, 399 concludes with the extreme, antagonistic response of Jesus’ opponents – the most negative response in the narrative. Uncommonly, the cause of their poor response is given: their heart condition (3.5). 400 The response has two elements, movement and conspiring to destroy Jesus (3.6), the latter being the most prominent and serving as a fade-out: καὶ ἐξελθόντες οἱ Φαρισαῖοι εὐθὺς μετὰ τῶν Ἡρῳδιανῶν συμβούλιον ἐδίδουν κατ᾿ αὐτοῦ ὅπως αὐτὸν ἀπολέσωσιν. 401 The temporal (Sabbath) and physical (synagogue) setting “forms a nice inclusio with the very first healing story.” 402 Thus, the response here contrasts significantly with the first (1.27–28): vehement opposition versus stupefaction. A contrast with the positive yet inadequate praise and amazement (2.12c) in the story opening the “controversy section” also occurs. 403 Like in that story, here too Jesus’ speech, addressing alternately the disabled person and Jesus’ opponents, constitutes the main action. 404 The only speech from other characters comes as the final element in the respective

397 Given that the hyperbolic use of πάντες is common in Hellenistic Greek, Mk 2.12c potentially remains ambiguous at the close of the story. Still, it does not seem likely (contra e.g. Dwyer 1996: 103; Klumbies 2013: 237–238) that the scribes partake in the act of praise as part of the crowd. This becomes clearer in related episodes, following shortly thereafter, in which they are still pitted against Jesus. 398 Contra Tolbert 1989: 139, 141; Broadhead 1992: 77; Dwyer 1996: 104; Klumbies 2013: 237–238. 399 Mk 2.1–12 and 3.1–6 share the unusual pattern of “miracle initiated-debate-miracle completed,” (Dewey 1980: 111; cf. 111–112 on other common features). Cf. Tolbert (1989: 139–140), despite the larger proposed parallel structure. 400 This is one of the keys that link (see Mk 2.6–8) the outer stories of Mk 2.1–3.6 (cf. Dewey 1980: 69, 103, 111). 401 Jesus’ saving life (Mk 3.4) is contrasted with his opponents’ plotting to take life (Broadhead 1992: 83) – though it is not implied (contra Broadhead) they begin on the Sabbath; cf. 1.28 (εὐθύς), 32 (see above, n. 381). 402 Tolbert 1989: 132; cf. 139, 141. 403 So Dewey 1980: 112, 118; similarly, mutatis mutandis, Tolbert 1989: 139. 404 As in Mk 2.1–12a, Jesus alone speaks in 3.1–5, first to the disabled man, then to his opponents (with a question) and finally again to the disabled man (with a command). Three consecutive instances of λέγει (3.4–5) highlight the following healing and response. At the same time, a concentric structure emerges: Jesus’ first and third utterances are commands and a double-question sits in the middle (Becker 2013: 250).

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responses (here the content is indicated obliquely). 405 The responses conclude all three respective stories (1.27–28; 2.12c; 3.6). Having explored a variety of reactions to Jesus’ teaching and miracles, employing especially the formal feature of responses in miracle stories (4, possibly all, of 5 stories have them; they play a significant role in the development of the plot), 406 the first main section of the narrative, the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry (1.14–3.6), 407 ends on an ominous note. 408 VII. Intervening material The next four miracle stories, clustered together (4.35–5.43), and a subsequent story with a summary of miracles (6.1–6a), constitute, I suggest, the latter part of the next section (3.7–6.6a). 409 A brief account of Jesus escaping the crowd (3.7–12), including a summary of healings and exorcisms, opens it. The intervening material pertains in part to Jesus’ power to exorcise unclean spirits and those who recognise it and in part to a differentiation between insiders and outsiders. Jesus’ teaching, especially the one concentrated section of his parables (4.1–34), centred on the kingdom of God, plays an important role. The section sees a widening of the characters interacting with Jesus, a further diversifying of responses, along with other reactions, and the beginnings of a focus on Jesus’ interaction with the established followers, which will take predominance later in the narrative. The section also presents a new kind of miracle (other than healing) and, generally, miracles of a greater quality. The summary statement of Jesus’ ever more numerous healings (3.10–12; introduced by γάρ), given relatively extensive treatment (see the brief mainSee Section D, above, on my categorising συμβούλιον ἐδίδουν... ὅπως... ἀπολέσωσιν (Mk 3.6) as conspiring. 406 I see, like Tolbert (1989: 131–142), though with more room for nuance, that the first section consists of a variety of initial responses to Jesus. In my view his miracles play an important role and formal responses are key. 407 Most who do not take Mk 3.7 as a major section break (for some who do, see above, n. 342; also Broadhead 2001: 7) still see 3.6 as the conclusion of some larger unit (at least 2.1–3.6) – (so Tolbert 1989: 144, 311; Iersel 1998: 117; Longacre 1999: 165; Witherington 2001: 36, 38; Donahue and Harrington 2002: 47; Collins 2007: viii). 408 There is, perhaps, an inclusio of sorts for the first major section, which begins with a fronted reference to John getting arrested (Mk 1.14a), foreshadowing his successor’s fate, and ends with an explicit reference to the danger awaiting Jesus (3.6) – the final word is ἀπολέσωσιν. On 3.6 and 6.6 (I exclude 8.21, 10.45 and 12.44 as conclusions of major sections) “looking toward the passion” (Perrin and Duling 1982: 240). 409 The redundant use of ὁ Ἰησοῦς in Mk 3.7 at the beginning of a paragraph draws attention to an already existing boundary, creating a “major break” (Levinsohn 2000: 278). That it and the phrase μετὰ τῶν μαθητῶν are fronted reinforces the break. See above, n. 356, on a similar phenomenon in 1.14. See below on 6.6. 405

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line events in 3.7–9), contains no reactions to the miracles. The demons’ recognition that Jesus is “the Son of God” appears first here. This development brings a sharper contrast, thus, between their understanding and that of the human characters reacting to Jesus’ miracles and teaching. 410 The behaviour here, in fact, of the now massive crowd puts Jesus’ corporeal safety at risk – a disturbing development in characterisation. 411 Thereafter Jesus privately selects the Twelve (3.13–19), though they will not have an active role distinct from the “disciples” until later. 412 The spectrum of others’ ideas of Jesus’ identity is further explored in the two following intertwined pericopae (3.20–35). Jesus’ family, here introduced, “go out to ‘save’ him and in the process ally themselves with his enemies [the Jerusalemite scribes].” 413 Neither character group recognises that God’s spirit dwells in Jesus – his family believes he has lost his mind; and the scribes think his power is from the Satan, the ultimate antithetical view. The irony of the alliance effects a “new sense of direction in the Gospel”: Jesus’ true house, not at all divided, is defined on the basis of doing God’s will. 414 The scribes’ opinion on his power’s origin is implicitly contrasted, again with irony, with the confession of the unclean spirits that Jesus is God’s son (3.11). The crowd is the contrapuntal, commendable character group in the intercalation. Yet, the immediately following teaching section will further refine the definition of insiders, those in God’s family. 415

410 Of a similar mind are Kingsbury (Kingsbury 1983: 86–88 and 1989: 38–39), Hooker (1991: 72–75, 110) and Donahue and Harrington (2002: 121–122), who observe, especially, the connection to the plot against Jesus initiated in Mk 3.6. Note that the demons’ declaration and Jesus’ silencing them, though background information, seem to gain some prominence by their location at the end of this unusual pericope, where so much is background material. 411 Mk 3.9 has a limiting effect on Malbon’s (2000: 71) proposed “composite portrait of followers of Jesus” (including the disciples and the crowd). 412 The larger group of disciples are referred to by οἱ μαθηταί throughout this section. See οἱ περὶ αὐτὸν σὺν τοῖς δώδεκα in Mk 4.10 (=οἱ μαθηταί in 4.34; cf. 5.31 and 6.1). On οἱ μαθηταί referring to the Twelve in 6.35, see below. 413 Shepherd 1995: 539. 414 Shepherd 1995: 538–539; cf. 532–533. Alazony (innocence of a “victim” or “ironist”) is necessary for irony. 415 There is a tension in Mk 3 and 4, since initially the crowd (ὁ ὄχλος; 3.20, 32 – distinct from the Twelve [cf. αὐτούς; 3.20]) seems unreservedly identified as insiders (those who do God’s will; 3.34–35), while in 4.10–11 a great crowd (ὄχλος πλεῖστος; 4.1) is excluded, as the followers (οἱ περὶ αὐτὸν σὺν τοῖς δώδεκα) alone are told they have been given the secret of the kingdom of God. The tension may be the result of insufficient reworking of source material. For unsuccessful attempts to harmonise the portrayals of the related crowds see Tolbert (1989: 160–161) and Malbon (2000: 83–84, 218–220). The tendency to favour the disciples over the crowd is predominant in the narrative overall.

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Jesus’ teaching is then introduced en masse (4.1–34; though see teaching interspersed in 2.1–3.6) in a series of parables. The distinction between Jesus’ disciples and the crowds is depicted within a given pericope for the first time. The disciples, in a contrastively private setting, are told that they have been given the mystery of the kingdom of God. 416 Accompanying the explicitly addressed mystery of the kingdom is the lingering, implicit mystery of Jesus – the parable-weaving source of knowledge of the kingdom – as Son of God, a royal messiah. 417 The three seed parables, especially, jointly address “the challenges to Jesus’ authority raised in Mark 2 and 3” (Culpepper 2007: 150). VIII. Mark 4.41 The following rescue miracle story (4.35–41) is a first in numerous ways, having: a character-focaliser (the disciples); the disciples and Jesus alone present; 418 a private setting throughout; 419 a miracle other than a healing; the greatest miracle yet, putting the great forces of nature into submission; an extensive parallel with a story from the Scriptures; 420 a mode of writing that “moves between several levels of narration... but tends towards the mythic”; 421 an epiphanic element; 422 fear as the emotion in a response; and the most extreme emotional response so far. The response – and with it the story – focuses explicitly on the identity of Jesus (4.41): καὶ ἐφοβήθησαν φόβον μέγαν καὶ ἔλεγον πρὸς ἀλλήλους· τίς ἄρα οὗτός ἐστιν ὅτι καὶ ὁ ἄνεμος καὶ ἡ θάλασσα ὑπακούει αὐτῷ;

(The theme of belief is present in Jesus’ comment following the miracle.) 423 The response in this, the first private miracle story, echoes that in the first 416

Mk 4.10–12; cf. 33–34. Of all characters the disciples – or followers – despite their foibles, are most to be linked to the good soil, since they are the chosen insiders. See above, n. 373 on the types of soil in the Parable of the Sower. 417 Similarly, Culpepper (2007: 138) states: “[F]or Mark Jesus himself was the secret of the kingdom of God, and the text to be interpreted was the words of Jesus....” 418 In Mk 1.29–31 Peter’s mother-in-law and, presumably, others from the household are present. NB more than the Twelve are present in 4.35–41. What precedes (4.10, 33–34) presupposes the larger body of disciples (cf. πλοῖα; 4.36). 419 There is neither reporting of the event as an aspect of a formal response here, nor reporting of it elsewhere in the narrative (and, thus, outside of a response). 420 The parallel is with Jonah 1.4–16. See Chapter Seven, below. 421 Taylor (2011: 116) observes: “[T]he story... takes place, on the whole, on a realistic level....” On Frye’s definition of “myth” see above, n. 36. 422 This is a natural corollary to the use of a mythic level of narration; see above, n. 421. 423 Many note the contrast of faith and fear in the four stories of Mk 4.35–5.43 (see 4.40; 5.33–34, 36). It is important, but not overarching and guiding. Equating this contrast with a juxtaposition of the non-follower suppliants and the disciples (Tolbert 1989: 164– 171; cf. Rhoads et al. 1999: 133) is unwarranted. The presence (4.40–41; 5.15, 33) or

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public miracle story (1.27–28), on account of the shared elements (emotional and verbal – reporting is absent here) and similar utterance: (a) question(s), 424 with similar content and shared vocabulary (ὑπακοῦσαι). 425 The fear (in the response) is best understood, it seems, as both positive and negative – positive in that it recalls the sailors’ response in Jonah 1, 426 negative in that it is coloured by the disciples’ inadequate statement or, rather, question. 427 The great fear takes the place of the great wind, which turned into a great calm. 428 The heightened focus on Jesus’ identity can be seen in the greater kind of miracle coupled with the type of question left hanging off the disciples’ lips at the story’s end. 429 The question is raised for the audience as to whether the disciples will fare better than the crowd in identifying Jesus. The odds are, on the one hand, in their favour, as they have been privy to a more powerful miracle, an epiphany. This is especially true following the teaching material, which stresses their access to the mystery of the kingdom. 430 Focalisation through the disciples, too, aids the audience in identifying with them and thereby fans the hope that they will succeed. 431 Yet, on the other hand, in Jesus’ comments (4.40) “a level of opposition” arises for the first time between Jesus and his followers (Broadhead 1992: 94). Nevertheless, perhaps the audience’s sympathy is to remain with the disciples; their inadequate response might be excused on account of their experiencing a miracle, mythithreat (5.36) of fear is common to disciples and non-disciples in these miracle stories – and elsewhere. 424 Note that the other set of similar questions made between Mk 1.27 and 4.41 – τί οὗτος οὕτως λαλεῖ; βλασφημεῖ· τίς δύναται ἀφιέναι ἁμαρτίας εἰ μὴ εἷς ὁ θεός; 2.7) – also in a miracle story, are not given in a response or by characters that are respondents in the episode, but in the middle of story, by Jesus’ opponents, the scribes, spoken internally. 425 Key shared vocabulary – ἐπιτιμῆσαι, φιμῶσαι, ὑπακοῦσαι – unites the stories on the theme of Jesus’ authority, but do not render Mk 4.35–41 an “exorcism” story (contra, e.g., Broadhead 1992: 94–96 and Dwyer 1996: 108–109). 426 See Chapter Seven on the parallel. 427 On the inadequacy of the question see Theissen (1974: 212). The contrast between fear (τί δειλοί ἐστε;) and faith (οὔπω ἔχετε πίστιν;) in Jesus’ words (4.40) is clear (see above, n. 423). But it is likely not the only factor at work. The fear in 4.41 is a response to the miracle, not the storm (Dwyer 1996: 110–111; Culpepper 2007: 156). So the fear’s negative sense comes not from a contrast with faith, but the unsatisfactory verbal response. Note, Broadhead (1992: 96–97), too, mutatis mutandis finds a dual nature for fear here. 428 Gradl (2013: 258): “Der See liegt ruhig. Die Jünger sind aufgewühlt.” 429 So Culpepper (2007: 153): owing to its superior quality, “the stilling of the storm... focuses the question of his identity (‘Who then is this?’ 4:41) even more sharply.” See also Broadhead (1992: 94, 96, 97). 430 Note though Mk 4.35 has two adverbials for time neither are fronted. Rather the pericope begins with καί and a verb, indicating the author’s choice to represent continuity with the foregoing, a link that should not be missed. 431 Similarly, Fowler 1981: 67.

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cally portrayed, unlike anything Jesus has previously performed. This response, then, is to some extent like the first (1.27–28) in that it sets a bar for future, private miracles. IX. Mark 5.14–17, 5.20 The monumental exorcism that follows (5.1–20) – the greatest public 432 miracle yet – is a lengthy story involving three scenes. The first scene closely links the story to Jesus’ first miracle, though the threat, confession – “son of the most high God” (i.e. the second and final instance of unclean spirits’ correct recognition of the protagonist 5.7) – verbal exchange and deliverance are greater. 433 The entire second scene is the response of the pig herders and inhabitants of the region. The lengthiest and most complex in the Gospel, the response includes five elements, 434 a number of which are mentioned more than once – it begins with flight (5.14–17): 435 καὶ οἱ βόσκοντες αὐτοὺς ἔφυγον καὶ ἀπήγγειλαν εἰς τὴν πόλιν καὶ εἰς τοὺς ἀγρούς· καὶ ἦλθον ἰδεῖν τί ἐστιν τὸ γεγονὸς καὶ ἔρχονται πρὸς τὸν Ἰησοῦν καὶ θεωροῦσιν τὸν δαιμονιζόμενον καθήμενον ἱματισμένον καὶ σωφρονοῦντα, τὸν ἐσχηκότα τὸν λεγιῶνα, καὶ ἐφοβήθησαν. καὶ διηγήσαντο αὐτοῖς οἱ ἰδόντες πῶς ἐγένετο τῷ δαιμονιζομένῳ καὶ περὶ τῶν χοίρων. καὶ ἤρξαντο παρακαλεῖν αὐτὸν ἀπελθεῖν ἀπὸ τῶν ὁρίων αὐτῶν.

This Gadarene crowd’s negative response is and will remain, 436 second only to the scribes’ (3.6). Fear is the corollary emotion. 437 The response is contrasted with: the better response to the first exorcism (1.27–28) and, in the 432

Not all four miracles of Mk 4.35–5.43 are escalating in terms of the magnificence of power displayed, contrary to the claims of some. The second through fourth stories do display this development to some extent. (The exorcism in Mk 5.1–20 is greater than earlier healings, owing to the severity of possession; a healing through mere touch, without Jesus’ conscious consent, follows; and, finally, a resurrection occurs.) The first story, however, is of a different type from the others and greater even than the story of the child’s resurrection. The levels of narration employed in the respective stories confirms this assessment (Taylor 2011: 115–116, 130–132). 433 Mk 5.1–20 is one of four exorcism stories (cf. 7.24–30; 9.14–29). In only it and 1.21–28 does Jesus dialogue with the demoniac, including similar vocabulary and phrasing (1.24; 5.7) (cf. Dwyer 1996: 112). 434 Note this is the second time that the element of seeing occurs (3 occurrences here). 435 Broadhead (1992: 99), too, sees Mk 5.14–17 as one response (“the crowd [sic] responds”). 436 Next in line as negative reactions are Mk 3.21, 31–32; and 6.2–3, 5–6. 437 This fear may have some positive aspect – i.e. respect of the powerful feat accomplished in the ex-demoniac (cf. Dwyer 1996: 113–114). Ultimately, however, fear is negative here, since it leads to a rejection of Jesus (so Broadhead 1992: 99). (Dwyer [1996: 114] claims the fear “occurs before they [the crowd] have even heard about the loss of the pigs.” But pig herders, specifically, bring them news in Mk 5.14. Surely one is not to assume they neglect to mention the loss of the pigs.)

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present story, the positive second response and Legion’s own recognition of Jesus. 438 These respondents fail to adequately answer the question posed by the disciples in the preceding story. 439 Notably, the local Gadarene crowd consists of Gentiles. In the third scene, the recipient and those who hear his report (also Gentiles) give a response consisting of reporting and emotional elements (5.20): καὶ ἀπῆλθεν καὶ ἤρξατο κηρύσσειν ἐν τῇ Δεκαπόλει ὅσα ἐποίησεν αὐτῷ ὁ Ἰησοῦς, καὶ πάντες ἐθαύμαζον. The ex-demoniac is the first individual character to respond since chapter one. He succeeds where the exleper failed (1.45): he obeys Jesus’ command to bring the report to where he is told. 440 He is simultaneously portrayed much like a successful disciple. 441 The generic Decapolis crowd responds similarly to, though less elaborately than, the crowd(s) in 1.27–28, and 2.12c, the last word of the story being ἐθαύμαζον. A good deal of tension is released. Still, hearers/readers expect a greater reaction to Jesus than this to occur at some point, while the question posed in the disciples’ recent response (4.41) still rings in the air. 442 X. Mark 5.33 and 5.42d The next two stories are interwoven (5.21–43) – each miracle, in turn, outdoing the miracles for non-followers that have preceded. 443 The intercalated story, the healing of the woman with the hemorrhage, contains a response whose delayed entry serves to slow down the narrative. The story, initially focalised through the clandestine suppliant, draws the hearers/readers in to identify with her in her plight and hopes – and, later, her fear. The function of the response here is unlike that in any previous (or subsequent) story. The healing, procured in relative secrecy, is followed by a statement indicating the woman’s perception of it (5.29b). The statement does not come across as a response. 444 Rather, the absence of such a response, usually following im438 The other correct identification of Jesus by demons (Mk 3.11) contrasts 3.6, being in close proximity. 439 So, too, Theissen 1974: 212. 440 His fulfillment of the command may be seen as hyperbolic. This interpretation seems more likely than a form of disobedience here – similarly see Malbon (2009: 72, 136–137). If Mk 1.31c is not a response, then the connection between the ex-demoniac here and the ex-leper is closer, being the only two individual respondents by this point. 441 So, e.g., Broadhead (1990: 100) and Culpepper (2007: 170–171), especially on the switch from ἀπαγγεῖλαι (Mk 5.19) to κηρύξαι (5.20; cf. 3.14, 6.12). Note that κηρύξαι is also used in the ex-leper’s response (1.45a). There is no complexity or penetration into inner life, only development in the ex-demoniac’s characterisation. 442 So, too, Theissen 1974: 212. 443 See above, n. 432. 444 No response or possibly one (Mk 1.31c) in previous stories has consisted of just one element and the cognitive element has not yet occurred in any response.

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mediately upon the miracle, creates suspense. Will the recipient not say or do something? (No one else can respond, because no one else, besides Jesus, knows a healing took place.) The narrator, accessing Jesus’ thoughts (5.30), takes up again the familiar role as focaliser. Jesus’ insistence to know who touched him raises the level of suspense. Additionally, the delay here creates suspense for the outer story of the intercalation, as the illness of Jairus’ daughter has brought her to the brink of death and Jesus should be rushing to heal her. Finally, the woman responds (5.33): ἡ δὲ γυνὴ φοβηθεῖσα καὶ τρέμουσα, εἰδυῖα ὃ γέγονεν αὐτῇ, ἦλθεν καὶ προσέπεσεν αὐτῷ καὶ εἶπεν αὐτῷ πᾶσαν τὴν ἀλήθειαν.

Unlike in the previous two stories containing responses of fear, here the emotion expresses an expectation of potential chastisement. 445 The negative spin put on the fear, in addition to the large number of elements (five), causes the response to bear some similarity to the negative response in the preceding miracle story. On the other hand, her coming to Jesus falling in front of him and telling him what he sought to know demonstrates positive traits. They also lie in stark contrast to the Gadarene crowds’ coming to Jesus and asking him to leave! The story’s return to narrator-focalisation may already indicate that a more positive outcome is to be expected, since Jesus is now active and he, surely, cannot fail in his quest. The woman’s composite characterisation, both in the response and elsewhere, is complex, the story concluding with Jesus’ affirmation of her faith. 446 This faith finds a contrast, initially, and is then built upon in the enveloping story. The greater faith demanded ironically from Jairus now, his daughter dead, takes its lead from the woman’s exceptional characteristic. 447 The resulting, essentially private miracle evokes a response containing one sole 445

Similarly, Broadhead (1990: 105, 108). For a different reading see Dwyer (1996: 118–119). 446 She is brave and has great faith to approach Jesus in a crowded public area as an unclean person and to touch him, expecting that even touching his clothing unawares will bring her healing. Still, significantly, she initially avoids having to meet Jesus face-to-face. This contrasts with, e.g., Jairus, Bartimaeus, the paralytic’s friends and the socially powerless leper, all of whom boldly approach Jesus to make their request. Perhaps she does not understand his compassion as she does his power. Nevertheless, she is brave, honest and, perhaps, confident in Jesus enough to step forward and divulge her secret, when her deed is found out, though she approaches full of fear. This complexity of characterisation is lost on many interpreters (Tolbert 1989: 164–165, 169–170; Broadhead 1990: 110–111; Shepherd 1995: 529–530; Dwyer 1996: 118–120; Rhoads et al. 1999: 130–133; Malbon 2000: 50– 51). 447 Similarly Edwards (1989: 205) sees the woman’s faith as “the key to its [the intercalation’s] interpretation.” Cf. Shepherd (1995: 529–530, 539) who views Jairus as contrasted somewhat negatively with the woman.

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element (5.42d) – καὶ ἐξέστησαν [εὐθὺς] ἐκστάσει μεγάλῃ – the greatest expression yet of non-followers’ emotion. The three named followers are probably among the respondents. 448 Still the focus remains largely on Jairus. 449 For the narrator, even this heightened response is inadequate – the respondents’ view of Jesus has not reached that of the unclean spirits. 450 The disciples’ question remains unanswered. 451 The story ends with Jesus’ insistence on silence and request to give food to the girl. Both the magnitude of the miracle and the extremity of the response highlight this deed as Jesus’ greatest to date in the presence of non-followers. It is, interestingly, the second miracle story to have a direct parallel in the Jewish Scriptures. 452 On account of his faith Jairus is portrayed favourably over-all, despite the inadequacy of the response. XI. Intervening material The anticlimax (or anti-peak, reserving “climax” for just one moment in the narrative), which follows thereafter in the synagogue of Jesus’ hometown (Mk 6.1–6a), begins with everyone’s amazement at his teaching. 453 Then questions arise as to his all-too-familiar identity. 454 In an ironic turn of events, the episode, concluding in a summary of miracles (6.5), ends in Jesus’ amazement (6.6a) at the lack of faith of his hometown compatriots, on account of which he can do few miracles indeed. 455 With this episode, therefore, the narrative rounds out the last of the reactions to Jesus on the negative end. 456 The occurrence of an inclusio of amazement (6.2, 6a), situated in a

448

So Broadhead 1990: 107; Dwyer 1996: 120. Note he is mentioned first in Mk 5.40 (Peter, James and John are referred to collectively: τοὺς μετ᾿ αὐτοῦ). Also of the respondents, he is the only one central to the story, the only one mentioned in the first half of the story (5.21–24). 450 Contra, in different ways, Broadhead (1990: 107, 111–112) and Dwyer (1990: 120). 451 So, too, Theissen 1974: 212. 452 See Chapter Seven. 453 Mk 6.2b: καὶ πολλοὶ ἀκούοντες ἐξεπλήσσοντο λέγοντες· πόθεν τούτῳ ταῦτα, καὶ τίς ἡ σοφία ἡ δοθεῖσα τούτῳ, καὶ αἱ δυνάμεις τοιαῦται διὰ τῶν χειρῶν αὐτοῦ γινόμεναι; The last two sentences (Mk 6.5–6a) “pick up language Mark used in the two sandwiched miracle stories that precede it,” (Culpepper 2007: 192) – δύναμις, ἐπιθεῖναι τὰς χεῖρας, ἀπιστία; cf. Dwyer (1996: 121). 454 Such questioning echoes the disciples’ question in Mk 4.41 (cf. Theissen 1974: 212). 455 Mk 6.6a – καὶ ἐθαύμαζεν διὰ τὴν ἀπιστίαν αὐτῶν – is, thus, quite comparable to the formal responses under consideration, the difference being that the specific story contains only a summary of miracles. On the irony, see Malbon (2009: 68); cf. Broadhead (1992: 115). 456 At the extreme are the opponents who want to kill him; next are some Gentiles who want nothing to do with him, despite having witnessed the effects of his liberating power; 449

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synagogue, with Jesus’ teaching and miracles in focus, recalls the first story of Jesus’ public ministry. 457 The episode, therefore, brings Mk 1.21–6.6a, being in some sense a section on its own, 458 to a close. A variety of formal responses and other reactions to Jesus have been added in Mk 3.7–6.6a to those seen earlier – from the disciples, Jesus’ family (a reaction), a specific Gentile crowd, a formerly severely demon-possessed Gentile, a larger Gentile crowd, a healed woman, Jairus, the synagogue ruler, and his wife (and three followers), and Jesus’ hometown (a reaction). Noticeably, the Galilean crowd and Jesus’ opponents do not feature in responses in this section, though their posture towards Jesus is still elaborated in some respect. A new section, with a focus on Jesus’ interaction with the Twelve, in addition to various crowds, suppliants and opponents, probably begins at Mark 6.6b. 459 The section leads to the turning point. First is an intercalation, regarding John the Baptiser’s death and the mission of the Twelve (6.6b–34). 460 The Twelve themselves are now authorised and sent to proclaim Jesus’ teaching about the kingdom of God and to exorcise demons and perform other

and then follow those familiar with him, yet skeptical and unbelieving, who nevertheless still derive some benefit from him. 457 Dwyer (1996: 121) notes some similarities. They bolster the proposed response motif inversion in Mk 6.6. 458 I have already claimed, along with others, that 1.14–3.6 and 3.7–6.6a are the first two sections. Nevertheless, it seems that there are grounds for seeing a complementary, in some sense overlapping, structure for the initial stories of the public ministry of Jesus: 1.21–6.6a – with stories of healings in synagogues on the Sabbath, involving key responses, appearing at the beginning (1.21–28), approximately the middle (3.1–6) and end (6.1– 6a). 459 In addition to thematic discontinuity, the aid of formal features in identifying the new section is limited. Unlike Mk 1.14 and 3.7, no formal feature indicates discontinuity in 6.6b (begins with καὶ περιῆγεν). Yet, 6.6a, the proposed close of the previous section, shares being an unusual and extreme variation on the motif of responses to miracles (Jesus’ surprise) with 3.6 (opponents’ plotting to destroy him), which closes the first section. This similarity has not been noted, to my knowledge, though the related themes of rejection/disbelief in the episodes are widely recognised. The less likely option for a section break, 6.1, also has a sentence-initial verb and minimal participant reference (καὶ ἐξῆλθεν). (A section break at 6.30 is unlikely, as it would sever the intercalation of Mk 6.6b–34.) 460 Typically the intertwined stories are seen as Mk 6.6b (or 7)–32 (e.g. Shepherd 1995: 522). However, only in 6.35 does a break appear (a fronted reference to change in time). At any rate, the second half of the intercalation’s outer story (whether 6.30–32 or 6.30–34) is somewhat independent of the first half – something unique in intercalations in Mk – as it is also the opening of or, perhaps, transition to the next episode.

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healings. They, too, are to expect varied responses (6.11). 461 The focus seen here on the Twelve and, generally, the followers only increases as the narrative approaches the turning point. Sandwiched in the middle is a story of just how extreme negative reactions can get, Herod’s execution of Jesus’ forerunner. Yet Herod is portrayed as complex, for he also has genuine awe for John and both is greatly perplexed by and enjoys John’s teaching. 462 This provides further foreshadowing of the book’s climax, as well as prefiguring Jesus’ radical call to discipleship, based on a self-revelation, in the turning point. 463 The concluding part of the intercalation, including the Twelve’s report of their mission (6.30–34) begins or leads into the story relating Jesus’ quantitatively greatest miracle, the feeding of the 5000 (6.35–46). Though the story is narrated at length and in detail – focusing on Jesus’ interaction with his disciples 464 – notably there is no response. 465 The episode ends with statements about everyone eating their fill, there being food left over and, finally, the disclosure of the breath-taking number of beneficiaries. The story has a clear parallel in the Scriptures. 466 It is the first public miracle story with such parallelism. This fact, alongside the magnitude of the miracle, would purport to make the greatest claim in a public context of Jesus’ stature as a miracle worker. Yet it is precisely here that one hears the crowd’s silence. It would seem the possibility of having the crowd respond is passed over by the narrator. Its absence indicates a lack of perception on the part of the masses to properly identify Jesus. 467 This notion is corroborated by that, later, this and the other feeding miracle become loci for criticism of faulty understanding (6.52; 8.14–21; cf. 8.11–13). 461 No reactions (response-like motifs) accompany the summary of exorcisms and healings they perform (Mk 6.13). 462 Notably, though John performs no miracles, Herod is the one character with authority in the narrative who shows awe (ὁ γὰρ Ἡρῴδης ἐφοβεῖτο τὸν Ἰωάννην, εἰδὼς αὐτὸν ἄνδρα δίκαιον καὶ ἅγιον; 6.20a) to either Jesus or John. I agree with Dwyer (1996: 127) that “a mixture of emotions marked the hearers of God’s messengers,” though not, with respect to the authorities, that “a holy awe surrounded both of them.” On various religious authorities’ dissimilar reactions of fear (Mk 11.18; conceived of negatively) and amazement (12.17; somewhat positive) to Jesus, see below. 463 Similarly, see Shepherd (1995: 539) and Culpepper (2007: 198). 464 Cf. Broadhead 1990: 121. 465 Only two previous miracle stories potentially lack responses: the opening epiphany story and, possibly, the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law. Explanations have been offered for the absences; see above. 466 See Chapter Seven. 467 Broadhead (1990: 123), too, takes 6.45–46 to be the end, claiming, “The concluding focus on prayer, calling and revelation rather than on acclamation of the miracle worker provides a guide to the identity of Jesus.” The view has some merit. But, the change of characters in these verses shows they more likely mark the opening of a new episode.

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XII. Mark 6.49–50b and 6.51c–52 Thereafter followers again find themselves in a private situation encountering Jesus’ power over forces of the sea in a tempest (6.47–52), with the level of narration approaching the mythic 468 and scriptural parallelism in view. 469 Now, however, with the Twelve 470 alone present, Jesus is seen as more uncanny, more powerful: he walks on the water. The epiphanic element is, thus, stronger. As the episode is focalised through Jesus initially (6.45–48), the audience sees Jesus’ mythic feat, experiencing whatever sense of surprise or shock they may feel, before the disciples are aware of anything. Thus, unlike in 4.35–41, the audience is brought to view the followers’ response from a more privileged position. 471 The narrator becomes the focaliser again, just as the followers’ response (6.49–50b) is given, 472 raised a few decibels to match the greater nature of the feat: 468 Taylor, commenting briefly on the episode (two sentences; cf. two pages on Mk 4.35–41), labels it “practically a ghost story” (2011: 133–134 [133]). The terminology is, presumably, borrowed from Frye (1957: 50), who has “ghost stories” as a “category” of the “low mimetic.” Yet this level of narration is at work only beginning at 6.49, once the Twelve’s ocular sensation and inner thoughts are introduced. It is mixed with the “ironic mode,” the Twelve being “inferior in power or intelligence to ourselves” (Frye 1957: 34). Mk 6.49–52 seems in juxtaposition, therefore, to the preceding description of Jesus’ feat (6.48), cast in the light of similar acts in the Scriptures, notably Exod 14. Full analysis of such parallelism and fuller argumentation for mythic elements is not possible in this study. Still, one point might be made here. Jesus’ initiative to walk on water and intent to pass by the Twelve – no one requests the miracle and in itself it benefits no one – have an air of self-determination, an effect amplified by his being the focaliser. He thus seems portrayed (in some meaningful way) “superior in kind both to other men [sic] and to the environment of other men [sic]” (Frye 1957: 33). Frye (1957: 30) states, “[I]n true myth there can obviously be no consistent distinction between ghosts and living beings.” The play between Jesus’ rather unremarkable perspective on his actions – he does not think, “This is marvelous!” or, “God be praised!” but wishes merely to pass the Twelve – and their perspective, while creating irony, serves to underline for the audience how vastly Jesus’ nature is underestimated. Here too, it seems, Taylor’s (2011: 116) words on 4.35–41 apply: “the story... takes place, on the whole, on a realistic level, but tends towards the mythic,” while recognising the “ghost story” element. 469 On the parallelism, see Chapter Seven. 470 Note there is just one boat for οἱ μαθηταί (6.45; cf. 6.30–32, where one boat serves Jesus and οἱ ἀπόστολοι). 471 Similarly, Fowler 1991: 67–68. Experiencing the story through Jesus’ “inside” view also informs the audience that Jesus was unable to fulfill his intention of passing the Twelve by (Mk 6.48), owing to their response. 472 The Twelve are best understood as focalised – albeit, “from within” (RimmonKenan 2002: 77) – since: (1) too little text is dedicated to their field of vision, emotions and mental processes (see above, n. 272); and (2) use of the articular pronoun in Mk 6.49a (as a reply to Jesus’ act in 6.48a [note HP]) and 6.50c makes this part of the interaction

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οἱ δὲ ἰδόντες αὐτὸν ἐπὶ τῆς θαλάσσης περιπατοῦντα ἔδοξαν ὅτι φάντασμά ἐστιν, καὶ ἀνέκραξαν· πάντες γὰρ αὐτὸν εἶδον καὶ ἐταράχθησαν.

Here a number of elements (four) join together, involving a measure of semantic redundancy for emphasis, which focus on their act of screaming. 473 Their being disturbed or thrown into confusion – the only instance of ταραχθῆναι and its cognates in Mark – is made explicit in a supporting sentence, explaining the nature of their outburst. While the audience may well have anticipated that the Twelve would have an extreme response to seeing Jesus, their misidentification of him may come as a surprise. This turn of events highlights, on the one hand, the bewildering power exercised by Jesus and, on the other, the great divide between Jesus’ identity as revealed to the audience and as understood by the Twelve. 474 In reply Jesus tells them to have courage and not to fear, he enters the boat and the storm ceases. Thereupon a statement of the Twelve’s response of an emotional and cognitive nature (6.51c–52) follows: καὶ λείαν ἐν ἑαυτοῖς ἐξείσταντο· οὐ γὰρ συνῆκαν ἐπὶ τοῖς ἄρτοις, ἀλλ᾿ ἦν αὐτῶν ἡ καρδία πεπωρωμένη. 475 The narrator’s comment on the inadequate status of the Twelve’s heart clearly casts the amazement in a negative light. 476 This is the first time that respondents have two responses in a single episode. 477 Their poor performance, therefore, is underscored. Despite Jesus’ would-be remedial self-identification, the Twelve’s amazement betrays continued misunderstanding. Like the disciples in a storm, previously, and like their outsider counterparts in less dramatic contexts, the Twelve fail to recognise Jesus for between Jesus and the Twelve (note also the HP in 6.50d) intermediate steps en route to a goal, in this case the peak of the episode (6.51a–b), in which the Twelve are not the subject. On this use of the articular pronoun see n. 301, above. 473 The redundancy is with respect to Mk 6.48a (...ἔρχεται πρὸς αὐτοὺς περιπατῶν ἐπὶ τῆς θαλάσσης). On tail-head linkage as a forward-pointing device, see Runge (2010: 163– 177). The screaming, the only such instance of the verbal element, might be better labeled vocal (and non-verbal). It is more indicative of an emotion, it seems, than of an attempt at communication. So some leeway of categorisation is needed here. 474 Fowler (1991: 67–68 [67]), failing to recognise the magnified portrayal of Jesus’ exercise of power in the stilling of the storm’s “companion story,” wrongly has the audience feeling no empathy for the Twelve by Mk 6.49. The greater display of power mitigates the extent of the audience’s censure of the disciples’ initial response. Broadhead (1990: 125– 126) also equates the two emotions of 6.50b and 6.51c, calling them both “fear” and viewing them in an equally negative light. 475 If the original text includes ἐκ περισσοῦ, which is unlikely (see above, n. 114), then the emotional response is greater than that in Mk 4.41 and 5.42d. 476 So, too, Theissen 1974: 170, 212. The critique, bearing similarity to Jesus’ early criticism of his opponents (Mk 2.6, 8; 3.5; cf. 7.6, 10.5), is sharp. 477 Earlier, Mk 5.1–20 contains two formal responses, with different characters (groups) as respondents (2 in each).

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who he is. 478 Far more than amazement is required from them, 479 though the audience’s criticism should not be scathing. 480 XIII. Intervening material In the earlier collection of four miracle stories the more powerful miracle, which was private and for followers, was related first and the greatest miracle for non-followers, last. Here the order is reversed. The switch seems to point in the direction the narrative is taking. Until roughly this point the public teaching and miracles have had centre stage – in fact by the stilling of the storm teaching and miracles to which the disciples alone are privy had just been introduced. Now the emphasis turns increasingly toward the private relationship between established followers, notably the Twelve, and Jesus. Note that in both collections of miracles the qualitatively and now also quantitatively greatest miracles for non-followers have occurred. In the resurrection of Jairus’ daughter, however, there was an extreme emotional response; in the feeding of the 5000, no response at all. Thereafter comes a summary description of the hordes that bring their sick from the surrounding area to Jesus to be healed, wherever he goes (6.53–56). No reaction to the healings is described. 481 The following material (7.1–23) constitutes the second instance of extensive teaching, now in the context of conflict with the Pharisees. 482 A focus on the Twelve again is evident (7.17– 23). 483 478

Similarly, Broadhead 1990: 141. A further pattern can be seen. The Galilean crowd and followers both initially respond in miracle stories emotionally with a question referring to command and obedience (Mk 1.27; 4.41) and next emotionally, but no longer with a question (2.12c; 6.51c). 479 The audience may have expected the Twelve would affirm here, “You are the Son of God” (cf. Mt 14.33). 480 Contra Fowler 1991: 68–69. I read this episode and its responses, not only “against the backdrop of an earlier, similar episode” (Fowler 1991: 68), though it is crucial, but also against that of other miracle stories and responses. The response here, while clearly to be criticised, is superior to many others so far (e.g. Mk 3.6; 5.14–17; cf. 6.6a). Dwyer (1996: 133–134) argues the final response is purely positive. The weakness of his argument is his understanding of γάρ in 6.52, which, contrary to his claim, supports 6.51c specifically. Γάρ can provide supporting material for non-contiguous sentences (e.g. 16.3– 4), but this is when context precludes it from relating to a contiguous sentence. 481 Broadhead (1990: 128) suggests that, thus, the pericope “highlights the onrushing crowd with its unadorned expectation of miracles.” This is possible. Reactions, however, never occur in summaries of miracles, only of teachings, as I discussed above (see nn. 94, 105 and 122). 482 The first is Mk 4.1–34; cf. also the teaching material in 2.1–3.6 ; 6.7–11. 483 It is less clear that οἱ μαθηταί here are the Twelve. They may be, simply, the disciples.

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Two miracle stories follow – one in the region of Tyre, the other, likely, in the Decapolis. The first is a private exorcism, the second, seemingly, a semiprivate healing that is soon widely broadcast. The first healing story is unique, in that the healing itself is not narrated, only its effects. 484 Rather, the mother, upon returning home, finds her child saved from the plaguing spirit. The absence of a response here may be due to one or more factors, including focused attention on the exchange between Jesus and the petitioner – which brings the issue of the Gentiles to the fore. 485 XIV. Mark 7.36b–37 At any rate, the response (7.36b–37) to the healing contains reporting, by the companions of the healed man (and the man himself [?]), and an extreme 486 expression of emotion, on the part of auditors, accompanied by verbal articulation of general and unreserved acclamation of Jesus’ miraculous deeds: ὅσον δὲ αὐτοῖς διεστέλλετο, αὐτοὶ μᾶλλον περισσότερον ἐκήρυσσον. καὶ ὑπερπερισσῶς ἐξεπλήσσοντο λέγοντες· καλῶς πάντα πεποίηκεν, καὶ τοὺς κωφοὺς ποιεῖ ἀκούειν καὶ [τοὺς] ἀλάλους λαλεῖν.

Thus a Gentile crowd, like the Galilean one (2.12c), affirms Jesus. In fact, this will be the last time that a crowd responds to Jesus’ miracles. So it may be seen as, in some sense, capping off the positive appreciation of Jesus expressed by various crowds in the first half of the narrative. 487 Still, Jesus is not identified adequately to the narrator’s liking. 488 Again, as with the exleper, the reporting constitutes an act of disobedience. 484

On similar miracles, see n. 319. Similarly see Broadhead (1990: 130–131). The fact that the exorcism itself is not narrated may contribute to the absence of the response motif; though, see Mk 5.15. It is just possible that this and the following miracle story are presented as a pair and the response (7.36b–37) to the second provides a kind of conclusion to both. Indeed, it has a similar ending to the healing of the leper (1.45), which also functions, according to some interpreters, as a cap to the series of interrelated episodes, containing notably two miracle stories and a related summary, in Mk 1.21–38. 486 This is perhaps the most extreme expression of emotion (Dwyer 1996: 136), owing to the adverbial. Though, on account of repetition, the emotion expressed in 16.5c and 16.8b,d is also extreme. 487 So Moloney 2002: 150–151. Crowds will still be amazed at Jesus later, though regarding his teaching (9.15; 11.18; cf. 12.17). 488 On the important reference to Isa 35.5–10 in the crowds’ speech see Broadhead (1990: 133) and Marcus (2000–2009: 1:479–481). Dwyer (1996: 137) claims too much: “Amazement in Mark can hardly be interpreted as indicating a lack of understanding or faith in light of 7.37....” The plot-line of Jesus as the “Son of God,” inasmuch as it pertains to his grandeur, has not yet reached its peak. More attention to detail is needed, then, concerning the understanding shown in Mk 7.37. 485

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XV. Intervening material The feeding of the 4000 (Mk 8.1–9), though slightly diminished quantitatively, has much the same form as its earlier parallel. 489 Again, in place of a response come statements of everyone eating and becoming full and of the leftovers and number of recipients. 490 I would suggest that a marked contrast is intended between the response in the preceding miracle story and the absence in this one. The Gentile crowd is portrayed as amazed in the extreme at Jesus’ healings, expressing unlimited affirmation, yet his greatest miracles – and those that liken him to the greatest miracle worker in the Jewish tradition – go unsung, the crowd left unaffected. The fact that such a miracle happens twice, with no response, solidifies this portrayal. 491 Still, both Jewish and Gentile crowds have shared in “bread from the table of the Lord” (Broadhead 1992: 143) in some sense. 492 To my mind the narrator has, with this story, effectively finished characterising the crowds, depicting their relationship to Jesus, in the first half of the narrative. The narrator’s judgment is mixed. They are impressed by and benefit from him; yet, while they think they have identified him completely, they have only succeeded in part. Their failure – though they are not alone in failing – will spell disaster for the protagonist later. This reading seems to find corroboration in the brief following episode (8.10–12). The Pharisees, pitted as Jesus opponents generally, demand a sign from heaven, ostensibly to validate his activity. Jesus, apparently exasperated, having proclaimed that no sign will be given, leaves them. The audience would be aware that the sign had just been given. Thus, Jesus’ words seem to interpret his miracles in a way similar to his parables – the outsider cannot understand. The irony, which comes in the following episode (8.13–21), is that the Twelve themselves, the alleged most privileged insiders, also do not understand the meaning of the two provisions of bread. What follows is the only healing executed in two phases. The blind person’s healing (8.22–26) seems to symbolise the followers’ need for multiple

489

Cf. Marcus 2000–2009: 1:491. Alternatively, a final statement (Mk 8.10) describes Jesus entering into a boat with the Twelve and traveling (e.g. Broadhead 1990: 134–137). Still, it seems better to see 8.10–11 as together introducing a new location and new participants. 491 Some note only the Jewish-Gentile contrast, e.g. Broadhead (1990: 136–137). Like Fowler (1981: 99) I see that the second story in the “matched pair of stories” is to be read keenly in light of the former. His focus is on the ironic and negative portrayal of the disciples, mine is on the portrayal of the crowds. The added irony of the silence in Mk 8.1–9 is that a Gentile crowd has recently affirmed Jesus’ ministry with language from Isaiah; see above, n. 488. 492 Cf. also Collins 2007: 379–380; Marcus 2000–2009: 496–497. 490

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efforts on Jesus’ part in order to open their eyes to who he is. 493 For this reason, though the miracle is public I would argue, along with many others, that the miracle pertains in fact not to relationship of the crowds or even the man to Jesus, but that of the followers to him. In such a context, the absence of a response is fitting. 494 Two episodes follow (Mk 8.27–9.1; 9.2–13) which jointly comprise the turning point of the narrative. 495 In both there is a key revelation of Jesus’ 493

Cf. Broadhead 1990: 138–139, 144. The episode’s concluding sentence relates Jesus’ sending the recipient away, forbidding him to go into the town, presumably to spread the news of the healing (Mk 8.26). 495 Morrison (2008) makes the most detailed case for taking these two episodes, jointly, as the turning point. The strongest arguments he gives are the following shared thematic features: the central focus on the revelation of Jesus’ true identity; passion and resurrection predictions (8.31 [cf. 34–35]; 9.9, 10, 12); Peter as a major character; the involvement of John the Baptiser and Elijah (and a prophet/Moses, though I find this less convincing); and the secrecy motif (8.30; 9.9). Note also the order of these features: “In both cases, the command to silence appears on the heels of a revelation about Jesus’ true identity (8:29; 9:7)” (Morrison 2008: 123). Fewer of the features Morrison (2008: 118) presents under the heading “shared vocabulary and syntactical construction” are noteworthy – ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου (8.31, 38; 9.9, 12); πολλὰ παθεῖν (8.31; 9.12); ἀναστῆναι (8.31; 9.10); αὐτοῖς ἵνα μηδενί (8.30; 9.9). Morrison (2008: 120, 150) discusses ἀποκριθείς... λέγει in 8.29b and 9.5, but fails to see the greater verbal parallelism – ἀποκριθεὶς ὁ Πέτρος λέγει αὐτῷ; καὶ ἀποκριθεὶς ὁ Πέτρος λέγει τῷ Ἰησοῦ (in both cases the use of a full noun phrase is necessitated by participant reactivation) – and its import. Runge observes that the discourse function of “redundant quotative frames” (the “use of extra verbs of speaking to ‘frame’ or introduce a speech”) when “changes of speaker and hearer” occur is “either to signal a change in direction of the speech or to highlight the salient speech of the discourse” (2010: 145, 152). (“The choice to use a second verb has the effect of slowing the discourse like a speed bump, attracting attention to what follows” [Runge 2000: 154].) Levinsohn (2000: 233) argues that in Mk, when a participle form of ἀποκριθῆναι is followed by a finite verb, “the speaker responds to a verbal or non-verbal stimulus by attempting to take control of the conversation.” This seems to be happening in both 8.29b and 9.5. The HP points forward to something following the utterance concerned. The similar context in which this verbal and functional parallelism occurs is of greater interest. In both cases, a statement made by Peter at a moment fraught with suspense is followed by a speech of an authoritative character (Jesus: 8.30–32a; the heavenly voice: 9.7b), addressing Jesus’ identity, which serves as a corrective. It could be further added to Morrison’s list of shared features that in neither episode do the disciples comprehend what is revealed to them about Jesus (8.32b–33; 9.8, on which see below). Also, I would want to specify that both episodes point to the end of the narrative (cf. ἀναστῆναι [8.31; 9.10]). Finally, the opening sentence of both episodes has a full noun phrase (8.27; 9.2) in reference to Jesus, indicating in each case a “major break” in the overall narrative (Levinsohn 2000: 278). This phenomenon (“a high-level boundary” in two successive episodes) is not only unique in Mk (cf. above, n. 356), thus further bringing the stories together. It may also function, I suggest, to mark these episodes jointly as a transitional moment of special significance in the discourse. 494

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identity. 496 In the first, Jesus’ inquiry of others’ and his followers’ opinions of who he is elicits Peter’s remarkable confession, “σὺ εἶ ὁ χριστός” (8.29). Yet, the key revelation that Jesus is God’s son is missing; also, with little delay, the confession is portrayed as inadequate on more explicit grounds. 497 For immediately Jesus begins to radically modify the followers’ understanding of what the Messiah is (8.31). The Son of Humanity must suffer, be rejected, be killed and rise from the dead. It comes to such a conflict, that Peter, in his confrontation with Jesus, is depicted as representing the forces of the Satan (8.33) – a conflict laid out at the narrative’s beginning. This key revelation will guide the plot until the climax and, further, the close of the narrative. 498 XVI. Mark 9.5–6 and 9.8 The transfiguration (9.2–8) – I will address its aftermath (9.9–13) below – is similar to the two preceding rescue nature miracles. 499 It is a private miracle for established followers, utilising in part a mythic level of narration 500 and having: epiphanic elements, a response containing the emotion of fear and a parallel in the Scriptures. Yet it sets itself apart from these miracle stories – and all others, bracketing for the moment the opening epiphany story (Mk 1.2–11) – in numerous ways: extreme exclusivity (only three followers are present); an even more remote location; no (additional) miraculous ele-

496 Morrison argues for a “Janus approach”: “The two ‘faces’ – Peter’s confession of Jesus as ὁ χριστός and the divine declaration of Jesus as ὁ υἱός μου ὁ ἀγαπητός – stand, as it were, back-to-back and look out over the narrative, one backward, the other forward” (2008: 115, 116). I see the relationship of the two parts of the turning point as being more complicated. See below. 497 So, too, Theissen 1974: 213. 498 Thus, contrary to Morrison (see above, n. 496), Mk 8.27–9.1 has more to do with what will unfold in the narrative following the turning point. Of course Peter’s confession does link the episode to the title (1.1). 499 I have called Mk 9.2–13 an episode above. This seems best, given: the continuity of many of the participants (Jesus and his three followers); same location (a mountain); the continuity of theme (especially Jesus’ speech in 9.9); and the way 9.9–13 is linked to the foregoing, i.e. by means of a fronted genitive absolute construction in 9.9 (see Runge [2010: 256–261]). Still there is enough distinctive topical material in the transfiguration (9.2–8) to analyse this scene on its own. Despite some resultant incongruity in my use of terminology I have called it (and not 9.2–13) a “miracle story.” 500 Taylor (2011: 136): “This story clearly belongs nearer the mythic mode than the lower mimetic: for a moment, a window is opened into heaven. Many details belong to the realm of myth... At one point, however, Peter breaks the mythic atmosphere and drags the narrative down to low mimetic or even ironic mode....”

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ment, other than the epiphanic; 501 a change in Jesus’ appearance; the presence of Moses and Elijah; the cloud; and the direct involvement and speech of God. It approaches the mythic level of narration more than any other part of the narrative. 502 It is, thus, the final and most grand in a series of three private miracles for insiders, a series that now reaches its peak in the turning point of the narrative. Related more generally, it is the peak of all of the miracle stories from 1.23 until the turning point. The transfiguration and Jesus’ baptism, too, share significant points of contact. They are both: prominently placed in the narrative (the opening episode; episode within the turning point); epiphany stories; and the episodes with the clearest theophanic element. The speech from God, of course, draws a strong connection between them, too. 503 There is similarity in the content of the utterances and, even, word selection and order (ὁ υἱός μου ὁ ἀγαπητός). 504 Thus the stories in general and God’s words in particular form an inclusio for the first half of the book. 505 The two differences in God’s speech are: the addressee (Jesus: σὺ εἶ [1.11]; followers: οὖτός ἐστιν [9.7]); and the collocated material (ἐν σοὶ εὐδόκησα; ἀκούετε αὐτοῦ). There are also important differences between the stories, more generally. The former story contains only one epiphanic moment (the voice and spirit, like a dove [1.10–11]); the latter contains two (Jesus with Moses and Elijah [9.2–4]; the cloud and voice [9.7]). Related, Jesus is the central focus of the epiphany, initially, in the latter. 506 The former 501 Similarly, Broadhead (1992: 149; cf. 150–151): “In other instances the revelation is veiled in the meeting of a need (6.47–53; 4.35–5.1)” – though, note the miraculous walking in 6.45–62, unlike the calming there, meets no need. 502 Similarly, Taylor 2011: 136. 503 The two episodes are the only instances in the narrative where this character (literally a voice from heaven) acts. (Malbon’s considerations are similar, noting generally, “Most of the references to God occur in the direct speech of the Markan Jesus ... Only twice does the narrator mention God directly... [1.14; 2.12]” [2009: 75–7 (76)]. But God is not active there.) 504 See, similarly, Theissen 1974: 215. Related is the shared use of vocabulary and inflection (ἐγένετο, φωνή, ἐκ): καὶ φωνὴ ἐγένετο ἐκ τῶν οὐρανῶν (Mk 1.11); καὶ ἐγένετο φωνὴ ἐκ τῆς νεφέλης (9.7). 505 I see no problem with identifying overlapping organising devices in the narrative. In the turning point there is, principally, the inclusio of theophany story and divine speech (Mk 1.11 and 9.7) and the related culmination of the miracle stories. There is also the overarching prophecy and fulfillment device, beginning with the first passion-resurrection prediction (8.31) and bringing the narrative to its close. If I were, like Morrison, to employ Janus as a heuristic device, I would have the two parts of the turning point facing, primarily, in the opposite directions. Still, notably, the transfiguration (9.7) and its aftermath (9.9, 12) direct the audience’s attention decidedly “forward,” too. 506 Broadhead (1992: 151) describes “[t]he epiphany of Jesus and the appearance of the heavenly witnesses” as “the center around which the body operates.”

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has a consistent narrator-focaliser, the latter involves character-focalisation, through established followers (as in, also, the first rescue nature miracle; see also the closing epiphany story [16.1–8]). Finally, importantly, what has only been shared between God, Jesus, the narrator and the audience is finally revealed to the three closest followers. 507 Thus, the transfiguration serves as, not only the second half of an inclusio formed with the opening episode, but also, in key respects, a culmination of the tension set up by it. The tension is not ultimately resolved here – a fitting reality for a mid-way-point episode. In total, then, the transfiguration is the peak of the series of private miracle stories for established followers, the miracle stories in general and, in key respects, the first half of the narrative. 508 507

Cf. Tolbert 1989: 204–205; Broadhead 1992: 151. That the divine statement in Mk 9.7 is the peak of the turning-point might be supported by various observations. (A) For a number of reasons the inclusio it forms with 1.11 is superior to the potential inclusio formed by the title (1.1) and Peter’s confession (8.27), which agree one with the other on Jesus being “the Messiah.” First, the authority of God’s statements is greater than that of Peter’s and – to some extent – the narrator’s (Malbon 2009: 77). Second, the parallelism of the two epiphany stories is stronger than that of the title and Peter’s confession, which share only χριστοῦ / ὁ χριστός. Third, many elements in the parallelism between the two epiphany stories – and the development of the plot outlined between them – are uniquely important to the narrative. (B) Other general considerations, may point to a greater importance of the transfiguration over the preceding episode (8.27–9.1) for the narrative overall. First, significantly, the divine voice links the episode, verbally, directly to the climax (15.[37–]39; οὖτος... υἱὸς θεοῦ), while 8.27–9.1 does not. Second, whereas Jesus rebukes Peter in the former story for his misunderstanding of the nature of Jesus’ identity (8.33; cf. 8.30); God himself does this in the latter (9.7). Third, the transfiguration is the peak of the miracle stories in the first half of the narrative. Alternatively, 8.27–9.1 contains, largely, revelations that anticipate or initiate further developments in the plot and, ultimately, the climax: namely, the conception of Jesus’ messiahship is drastically altered; Jesus predicts what will happen at the end of the narrative; Jesus rebukes Peter, the lead disciple, as the Satan, on this new key issue, presenting the ultimate oppositional stance; and Jesus makes the invitation to discipleship based on the reformed conception of messiahship. The aspects of 8.27–9.1 that may be taken as a culmination of earlier developments are, it seems, less than for the transfiguration: a human character first identifies Jesus terminologically (and to some extent conceptually) according to the values of the narrator; Jesus’ willingly reveals his destiny to other characters. Fourth, the transfiguration, generally, may be unique to the narrative in more (important) ways than 8.27–9.1. This point is related, yet distinct from, some of the foregoing points. Notably, as mentioned previously, in the transfiguration human characters, other than Jesus, hear for the first and last time the divine pronouncement that the audience was privy to at the opening of the book. (For other unique aspects of the transfiguration, see previous discussion.) This will not happen again. However, Jesus will again, for example: predict his suffering, death and resurrection; teach his disciples about his inverted values of greatness and service; reveal his identity to human characters (14.62). 508

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How do the responses fit in this narrative? To the first epiphany Peter, just as he is the interlocutor in the preceding episode (8.29, 32), is the one to respond, in speech (9.5–6): καὶ ἀποκριθεὶς ὁ Πέτρος λέγει τῷ Ἰησοῦ· ῥαββεί, καλόν ἐστιν ἡμᾶς ὧδε εἶναι, καὶ ποιήσωμεν τρεῖς σκηνάς, σοὶ μίαν καὶ Μωϋσεῖ μίαν καὶ Ἠλείᾳ μίαν. οὐ γὰρ ᾔδει τί ἀποκριθῇ, ἔκφοβοι γὰρ ἐγένοντο.

His direct discourse, however, is supported by two explanatory statements of his lack of understanding and his – and the other followers’ – fear. The fear is not described as extraordinary. It is the negative cause of Peter’s fumbling verbal response. 509 His verbal response, which evidently betrays, again, some misunderstanding of who Jesus is, leads to further development in the story. Though Peter’s words are directed at Jesus, Jesus does not reply. The appearance of a cloud and a divine pronouncement, “This is my beloved son. Listen to him,” take up a corrective 510 reply to Peter’s response. Peter’s having placed Jesus on the same level as Elijah and Moses is unacceptable; the narrator, through the contrast of speeches, draws attention to the unique status of God’s son. Remarkably, though the response motif is employed again, the followers do not actually respond to the second epiphany. The epiphany constitutes the peak in the development of human perception of Jesus towards the knowledge articulated by the transcendent characters – God and the unclean spirits/demons – and, possibly, the narrator. 511 But the response motif is used to indicate a lack of response! In place of the sort of response that has occurred in previous instances comes the statement that suddenly, looking around, the followers no longer saw anyone except Jesus only (9.8): καὶ ἐξάπινα περιβλεψάμενοι οὐκέτι οὐδένα εἶδον ἀλλὰ τὸν Ἰησοῦν μόνον μεθ᾿ 509

Similarly, Broadhead (1992: 151) proposes the narrator links “the fear of the disciples to their failure to understand.” For an alternate view see Dwyer (1996: 142–143). 510 Similarly, Broadhead (1992: 149) speaks of Peter’s “misdirected” “answer” and “improper... response”; the disciples’ “confusion” and “inappropriate” “reply,” that is, “inability... to respond properly to the revelation of Jesus’ identity”; and, generally, “this failure.” Broadhead only once addresses what about the response is in error, when he states, “Here the voice of God speaks from the clouds to articulate the proper understanding of Jesus and the proper response to the revelatory event: ‘This is my beloved Son – Hear him!’” (1992: 149; cf. 151, 153). 511 Cf. Malbon 2009: 70–83. She thus lists the instances (Malbon 2009: 82): “1:1 narrator: Son of God; 1.11 (God): my Son; 1:24 unclean spirit: the Holy One of God; 3.:11 unclean spirits: the Son of God; 5:7 Legion: Son of the Most High God; 9:7 (God): my Son.” Malbon, with some reservation, accepts the variant υἱοῦ θεοῦ in 1.1. She notes the irony of the situation, “...oddly enough, what the unclean spirits and demons say to and about Jesus is most like what (God) says in 1:11 and 9:7 and what the narrator says in 1:1” (Malbon 2009: 82).

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ἑαυτῶν. The mention of characters’ seeing, following a miracle, should lead to action(s) (5.14c–15, 17; 6.49–50a) or otherwise be associated with it (them) (2.12c). The mention of visual sensation without accompanying emotion, speech or the like indicates that the disciples fail to respond. 512 In effect, the three disciples’ visual sensation is given prominence over their earlier verbal and emotional response. The importance of this visual element is reinforced in the following and closely connected scene in which, the four of them descending from the mountain, Jesus commends his followers not to tell anyone about what they have seen until the Son of Humanity rises from the dead. 513 This emphasis on visual sensation, yet lack of accompanying elements signifying comprehension and/or appreciation, seems to leave a ringing silence in the audience’s ears. The followers fail once again. Yet the focalisation employed for this key revelation draws the audience in: either to identify with the followers and to root for their eventual success in the narrative or, later, in the future of the narrative world; and/or to succeed in their place in recognising the import of the characterisation of the protagonist in this moment.

512 The differences between the references to sight in the opening theophany story (Mk 1.10) and here (9.8) are enough to suggest that 9.8 deserves special consideration as a variation of the response motif. First, there is precedent by ch. 9 to create the expectation that following a miracle seeing should be accompanied by action(s). This is not the case, of course, in the narrative’s opening story. Second, the sentence in which εἶδον is the main verb closes the story (9.8) – a common position for responses. In contrast 1.10 is not the end of the story. Third, in 1.10–11 the seeing of a miraculous event is immediately followed by the description of another such event (καὶ φωνὴ ἐγένετο). This does not happen in 9.8, of course, nor in the third story where more than one miraculous event occurs (6.48–51). Nor is the element of seeing in a response ever separated from another element by the description of some other type of event: 2.12c (reference to seeing in speech); 5.15– 17; 6.49–50b; 11.20b–21; 16.5b–c. Mk 6.49–50b is a notable instance, since verbs of seeing are twice the main verb of a sentence; and both times they are immediately followed by another element in the response: οἱ δὲ ἰδόντες αὐτὸν ἐπὶ τῆς θαλάσσης περιπατοῦντα ἔδοξαν ὅτι φάντασμά ἐστιν, καὶ ἀνέκραξαν· πάντες γὰρ αὐτὸν εἶδον καὶ ἐταράχθησαν. Fourth, the disciples have been respondents in previous stories; Jesus never has. Fifth, the disciples have already responded in the current episode. Thus, the audience may well be expecting the disciples’ response in this final position, especially following mention of their visual perception. None is given. (It should be noted that, nevertheless, 1.10, like most instances of the element of seeing in responses [see above, n. 137], is accompanied by an explicitly identified object.) 513 In an associative manner, the conversation turns to the topic of rising from the dead and, then, to Elijah. Nevertheless, Jesus’ warning reinforces the primarily visual importance of the previous episode, just as it connects the two intertwined epiphanies to his resurrection at the end of the book.

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XVII. Intervening material The obtuseness of the followers is reinforced in the aftermath of the transfiguration (9.9–13). When Jesus commands them to delay reporting what they have seen to others until after the Son of Humanity rises from the dead, they, by means of associative thinking, get side-tracked from the epiphany to the concept of resurrection. The recent thematised references to seeing and, related, understanding (8.15–21, 22–26) are likely conjured up in Jesus’ statement, when seen now in light of 9.8. Thus, the followers, though they have seen Jesus’ transfigured, have not understood the meaning. But even with respect to their associated topic of resurrection the narrator portrays their incomprehension. 514 With this follow-up to the transfiguration, then, the hope that the followers will eventually understand its meaning is weakened already – at least, perhaps, prior to the resurrection (i.e. within the narrative). As the three accompany Jesus down from the mountain-top, the audience realises that, for the time being at any rate, only those among themselves with “eyes to see” will truly understand the meaning of Jesus’ characterisation in the narrative, a characterisation that achieved its peak of revelatory grandeur only moments ago, at its geographic peak. From here until Jesus arrives in Jerusalem (9.14–10.52) the narrative focuses on Jesus’ interaction with his followers. 515 This is seen, too, it seems, in the two miracle stories in this part of the narrative, which flank it on either side. The first (9.14–29) 516 is the only story – an exorcism – in which followers (the disciples) play some part in procuring the miracle. 517 Emblematic of this section in general, it concerns the followers’ need for instruction, especially via correction. 518 Here Jesus’ rebuke comes down hard on them – along with the whole generation (9.19). The suppliant father of the victim has mixed characterisation (earnest, yet both possessing and lacking faith), 519 but

514 Ultimately they redirect the conversation to the topic of Elijah, for which Jesus offers clarification. There is no indication that the three grasp his words. 515 Cf. e.g. Best, though for him “the centre of Mark’s instruction to his readers on... discipleship” (1981: 15) is Mk 8.27–10.45. 516 A change in characters and location in Mk 9.14 marks the boundary. 517 Yet note the role they play, earlier, in the feeding stories, which includes administering the miracles’ benefits. 518 Best (1981: 66) notes the disciples’ failure here is different than their typical “failure to appreciate who Jesus is and what he demands from them in suffering.” 519 Similarly, Marcus 2000–2009: 2:663. There is no penetration into his inner life nor any real development – his persistence is finally expressed in his cry for help (κράξας... ἔλεγεν; Mk 9.24).

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is ultimately contrasted with the disciples to their detriment. 520 An emphasis on faith marks the story (9.19, 23–24). There is no response. Rather, the story ends with the disciples asking Jesus in private to instruct them on this difficult sort of exorcism – private instruction, following the disciples’ failure, being a fitting ending to the story in this part of the narrative. 521 Peculiarly an amazement motif appears at the story’s opening, upon Jesus’ arrival. The relevant sentences bear similarity to formal responses. 522 The solutions proposed for this conundrum are many. 523 Ultimately, I have not been convinced by any of them and remain agnostic as to its meaning. The pericopae in Mark 9.30–10.45 lay out Jesus’ further predictions – first to the disciples, then the Twelve – of his own impending suffering, unjust execution and resurrection and his teaching to the Twelve on being the “servant of all” (9.35; cf. 10.44). In this context, twice the disciples are amazed at his teaching on the extreme difficulty of the rich entering the kingdom of God (10.24, 26). 524 Hereafter amazement will continue to be a reaction to Jesus’ teaching, apart from miracles. 525 That the majority of the disciples are amazed, while some of them are afraid, in view of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem (10.32) sets the scene for Jesus’ final passion prediction. 526 The cause of 520

Malbon (2000: 200, 208) sees more in common between their portrayals. Best (1981: 67–69) finds less of a connection between prayer and faith than I do in Mk (cf. 11.22–25). Related, he does not see the boy’s father in a better light than the disciples. 521 If my argument is accepted that the portrayal of the various crowds’ responses to Jesus’ miracles has already been given its final statement, then no particular explanation is needed to explain the absence of the response motif, though I have offered a possible one. It may simply be unnecessary at this point in the plot. 522 καὶ εὐθὺς πᾶς ὁ ὄχλος ἰδόντες αὐτὸν ἐξεθαμβήθησαν καὶ προστρέχοντες ἠσπάζοντο αὐτόν (Mk 9.15). 523 See Dwyer (1996: 147, 149) for options and bibliography. “The reaction... is by all accounts unique” (Dwyer 1996: 147). Even that ἐκθαμβηθῆναι denotes amazement here is an open question; cf. above, n. 106. 524 οἱ δὲ μαθηταὶ ἐθαμβοῦντο ἐπὶ τοῖς λόγοις αὐτοῦ (Mk 10.24). οἱ δὲ περισσῶς ἐξεπλήσσοντο λέγοντες πρὸς ἑαυτούς· καὶ τίς δύναται σωθῆναι; (10.26). Note the latter has both an emotional and verbal component. The wording, even, is similar to 7.37. θαμβηθῆναι and ἐκπλαγῆναι are also the two verbs used in 1.21–28, though in reverse order. Cf. Dwyer (1996: 153, n. 30) on the textual variants for πρὸς ἑαυτούς in 10.26. Dwyer (1996:154) does not think the content “but the divine authority of the teaching... stuns with wonder.” 525 Amazement at his teaching is already in Mk 1.22; 6.2. Yet in both cases a larger context involves miracles also. 526 καὶ ἐθαμβοῦντο, οἱ δὲ ἀκολουθοῦντες ἐφοβοῦντο (Mk 10.32c–d). “The text here is fairly certain...” (Dwyer 1996: 157). Here the words οἱ δέ are best understood as an articular pronoun, with ἀκολουθοῦντες as a pre-nuclear participle (cf. 6.49; 14.11). Distinction is implied between two groups, who are further distinguished from the Twelve (10.32e); so, with different reasoning, Marcus (2000–2009: 2:741–742). Various constituents of

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the reactions, probably, is knowledge of the threat Jesus faces in Jerusalem and his resolution to go there nonetheless. The fear is strictly negative. 527 (Note this is the clearest of two instances in which amazement and fear are contrasted in Mark.) 528 disciples are probably the subjects in 10.32c–d (contra Marcus – scholarly positions on the topic are many; in addition to those cited by Marcus, see Moloney [2002: 204, n. 174]). “The disciples” are the presumed subject in 10.32c, since the subject in 10.23–24 and implicitly in 10.26 is οἱ μαθηταί and only Peter and Jesus’ exchange (10.28–31) intervenes. Thus, the subject of 10.32d is a smaller group within the body of disciples (“some of them”). Similar phraseology for two reactions within one group of disciples, the latter being of a subgroup, is seen in Mt 28.17 (cf. Davies and Allison 1988–1997: 3:681–682). (In addition, as to ἀκολουθοῦντες, note no crowd follows Jesus from Mk 9.14 until now, though they come to him in two regions [9.15, 25; 10.1]; from 10.46 on [cf. 11.8] a crowd seems to join Jesus in his movement toward Jerusalem). The sense of 10.32d, then, would be, “And/though some of them, still following, were afraid.” The purpose of fronting reference to a “subgroup of a group of participants mentioned in the last sentence,” thereby temporally bringing the subgroup into focus, is in fact to anticipate “the switch of attention to the remaining member(s) of the group” (Levinsohn 2000: 228, 230, emphasis original). Thus, the Twelve, whom Jesus next takes aside, come from among the (larger) amazed group. Ambiguity in Mk 10.32d would be removed if it read, with similar meaning, οἱ δὲ ἐφοβοῦντο (ἔτι) ἀκολουθοῦντες or οἱ δὲ καὶ ἀκολουθοῦντες ἐφοβοῦντο. The position presented here has the added advantage of fitting in with a larger narrative feature in this section, Jesus’ removing the Twelve from the larger group of disciples for special teaching purposes, occurring first in 9.33–35(–50). In 10.32e(–45) Jesus “again” (πάλιν) takes the Twelve aside for special teaching (including a more detailed passion prediction, with Jerusalem now specified). 10.32.a–d is background material (all imperfects), setting the scene for this speech. By implication the larger group (with 2 unequal reactions) in 10.32c–d is the general body of disciples, from whom Jesus takes the Twelve aside. Similarly, see Dwyer (1996: 159–160; also n. 55 for bibliography) and Moloney (2002) though neither sees a sub-group of disciples in 10.32d, failing to note the distinctiveness marked by δέ. 527 In Mk 10.32–34 a death knell of sorts is sounded. Jesus’ itinerate ministry is over. Jerusalem as his final and climactic destination is for the first time explicitly articulated. Prior to this Jerusalem is only a source of those coming to Jesus, primarily his opponents (3.22; 7.1; though see 3.8 [part of the crowd]). This definitive movement offers a good explanation of the emotional reactions in 10.32c–d. The majority are amazed Jesus is walking straight into danger. This seems in some sense comparable to amazement at his various teachings, given that the larger body of disciples has been privy to his first two passion predictions (8.[27–]31; 9.31), predictions he has just now begun to help fulfill. The fear is comparable to fear elsewhere, largely unrelated to the miraculous, with similar negative connotation; see 5.36; 9.32; 11.18, 32; 12.12. For Dwyer the “motif of wonder” (both fear and amazement) here, as elsewhere, indicates “[t]he rule of God is again breaking in to save” (161). Yet he does not state what the disciples are amazed at or afraid of. 528 The other concerns the Gadarene crowd’s fear (Mk 5.15) and the general Decapolis crowd’s amazement (5.20) at the exorcism and victim’s restoration to society; cf. 11.18, where the two emotions have different sources. Note a contrast is in play, in both cases,

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XVIII. Mark 10.52c The final episode prior to Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem and its environs reports the healing of Bartimaeus (10.46–52). 529 This character, truly, may be dubbed an exemplar. He is persistent and expectant in his pursuit of healing from Jesus, much like the woman with the hemorrhage had been, yet he meets Jesus face to face. He even calls Jesus the “son of David,” evidencing some kind of greater than usual understanding of Jesus. 530 His response, too, gives this impression (10.52c): καὶ ἠκολούθει αὐτῷ ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ. It consists solely of a type of movement unique to this story, i.e., following Jesus. 531 And this act of following has not been solicited by Jesus, as elsewhere. 532 Prior to this Jesus commends his faith: ὕπαγε, ἡ πίστις σου σέσωκέν σε (10.52a). Perhaps the narrator intends for this story to be read, similar to the other story of a healing of blindness, metaphorically in large part. Many have suggested as much. The message, presumably, is something like: this is what happens when one “approaches” Jesus with faith and one’s “eyes” are truly opened – when fear is portrayed negatively. When more positively portrayed, fear / being troubled and amazement inform one another in 6.50b and 6.51c and 16.8b,d. 529 The HP in Mk 10.46a prototypically draws attention to the natural boundary (change of location). New characters are introduced shortly thereafter. 530 Malbon (2009b) offers a different reading. Note, though, another possibly also identifies Jesus as the messiah (Mk 14.3–9) and is commended for this. On the potential messianic meaning of the act of anointing there, see Evans (2001: 359); cf. Collins (2007: 641– 642). 531 On discipleship’s strong association with ἀκολουθῆσαι, see above, n. 156. Contra Malbon (2000: 75–78), the reverse is not the case – ἀκολουθῆσαι does not necessarily imply discipleship or “follower-ship.” Use of the term with respect to the crowds’ following Jesus is a case in point. Despite that Jesus often calls the crowds to him (Mk 7.14; 8.34 [including an invitation to “whomever” to follow Jesus]), their following him as a group is unsolicited – Jesus’ initial intent is to travel from town to town and speak in synagogues (Mk 1.38–39), though it is thwarted immediately (1.45). And crowds’ following is of a more reckless sort, causing some risk to Jesus’ personal safety, as is portrayed early on (3.7–10; cf. 5.24; 6.31–34). The positive view of “the crowd” in 3.20–35, despite the hindrance to Jesus and the disciples’ eating, is evidence against the foregoing claims; on which see above, n. 415. Two more clarifying points should be made in this context (contra Malbon 2000: 77–78): those described as many (πολλοί) in 2.15c are disciples (this supporting sentence [note γάρ] refers to οἱ μαθηταί in 2.15b); and Levi, easily understood as becoming a disciple in the one story he appears in, does not need to be “listed as one of the twelve” (Malbon 2000: 78) to be part of the larger body of disciples. 532 Others become disciples when positively answering Jesus’ call to follow him (Mk 1.17–20; 2.14; cf. 10.21–22). Yet the Gadarene ex-demoniac does try to follow Jesus (5.18); and he is asked to fulfill another task (5.19). It is possible, in fact, that Bartimaeus’ following of Jesus contradicts a command of Jesus (ὕπαγε; 10.52a). But it seems better to understand Jesus’ command, pragmatically, as a healing word, not a literal injunction to leave him.

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following him, even without solicitation, is the natural result. Bartimaeus is either indicative of the followers’ improved state or, alternatively, is pitted against them as the ideal follower. 533 In either case the story serves as an invitation to the audience to “see” Jesus and follow him. XIX. Intervening material Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem (11.1–11), amidst the invocation of blessing on “the coming kingdom of our father David” by “many” (probably both followers and a festal crowd is in view; cf. 10.46b) and his enactment of judgement in the temple (11.15–19) are key events in the mounting conflict with his opponents. XX. Mark 11.20b–21 The latter event is intercalated in the remaining miracle story (11.12–14, 20– 25) occurring prior to the climax. 534 The story is unique in numerous respects. First is the unique kind of miracle: the withering of a tree. This nature miracle story is the only one to have no physical benefit for humans. 535 Further, it is the result of a cursing. 536 In this story only does the miracle transpire, implicitly, while another event is narrated. Finally, only here does the peak of the episode occur after the response (or, where relevant, final response). The response, in fact, initiates, Jesus’ lengthy reply (11.22–25). 537 The response (11.20b–21) has three elements (seeing, cognitive, verbal): ...εἶδον τὴν συκῆν ἐξηραμμένην ἐκ ῥιζῶν. καὶ ἀναμνησθεὶς ὁ Πέτρος λέγει αὐτῷ· ῥαββί, ἴδε ἡ συκῆ ἣν κατηράσω ἐξήρανται. The Twelve (cf. 11.11b) and then, specifically, Peter respond. Notably this is the one story where established followers’ response(s) contain(s) no emotional element. The response functions here unlike any other, to introduce a discourse – seemingly, much like at the beginning of the discourse in chapter 13. 538 By inference the shrivelling of the fig tree symbolises the ill fate of the temple authorities; and Jesus’ comments on his and his followers’ prayer in 11.22–25, with much emphasis on faith, 533

I find this a difficult issue to take a side on. It is one of two miracle stories within which other material is intercalated (cf. Mk 5.21–43). 535 As noted above, Jesus’ walking on water itself is of no benefit to the Twelve (Mk 6.48–50), though the rescue at sea in that story, of course, is. 536 It is the only miracle in which violence or destruction occurs, at least to any object or character other than the unclean spirits – in one instance a mass death of pigs is related. 537 The final verb in the response, a historical present, also points forward. However, Jesus’ speech itself is introduced with λέγει (Mk 11.22), perhaps pointing forward to the following conflicts with the authorities. 538 Mk 13.1 has λέγει... διδάσκαλε, ἴδε..., similar to λέγει... ῥαββί, ἴδε... (11.21 [12]). 534

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contrasts his verbalised criticism of the authorities in the intercalated story (11.17). 539 A further potential implication is that Jesus’ (unarticulated) prayer for the new temple will succeed. 540 The insight from this private miracle is for the Twelve only. The time for public miracles is past. XXI. Intervening material The ensuing engagements in the temple (11.27–12.44) between Jesus and his various opponents, a more positively portrayed scribe, a crowd and some followers (the disciples[?]/the Twelve[?]) provide two occasions for instances of amazement at Jesus’ teaching. As with Jesus’ opening teaching and miracle (1.21–28) his final days of teaching still draw amazement from the crowd (11.18d); 541 yet, unsatisfactorily, that is still all he is awarded. 542 The crowd has failed to adequately recognise him; and its involvement at his trial will soon reveal this failure. One irony is that the religious authorities hesitate to act against Jesus, owing to their fear of the amazed crowd’s appreciation of Jesus (11.18; 12.12; cf. 11.32). 543 Another irony is that the opponents who first began plotting to kill Jesus, the Pharisees and Herodians (3.6), are now reduced, for the moment at least, to the same reaction of amazement (12.17b) 544 that has characterised crowds since the introduction of the Capernaum crowd – the only group of opponents to be astounded. 545 Following Jesus’ lengthy discourse in private to the inner circle of three followers (Mk 13) comes the articulation and execution of the plot to kill Jesus (14.1–15.41). Jesus’ prophecies, and those in the Scriptures, are fulfilled as he is abandoned by his followers, betrayed by one, denied by another, handed over to the religious authorities, rejected by them, condemned to 539

Similarly, Shepherd 1995: 531, 539. Collins (2007: 534) claims, “[T]he audiences of Mark would have understood the withering of the fig tree as representing a loss of power on the part of the leaders of the people.” More probably the intercalation intimates, “Within the house of Jesus one finds a house of prayer for all the nations... The reader is being led to accept that there will be another temple...,” Moloney (2002: 228); cf. Shepherd (1995: 539); Culpepper (2007: 382–383). In either case, a house of worship in which prayer for all nations occurs is envisaged. 540 This might be a new physical temple or a new community, centred on Jesus, as a temple; see above, n. 539. 541 Mk 11.18d: πᾶς γὰρ ὁ ὄχλος ἐξεπλήσσετο ἐπὶ τῇ διδαχῇ αὐτοῦ. 542 Dwyer (1996: 164) notes the connection with Mk 1.21–28. For him the amazement in both cases is positive, equally so. 543 Dwyer (1996: 164–167, 171 [165]) unnecessarily pits Mk 11.18 against 11.32 and 12.12 – claiming in 11.18 “the authority of Jesus made the leaders afraid” – owing to a misunderstanding of how γάρ constrains material. In the said text, for fear of Jesus on account of the crowd’s esteem of him the authorities deliberate as to how to destroy him. 544 Mk 12.17b: καὶ ἐξεθαύμαζον ἐπ᾿ αὐτῷ. 545 Similarly, Dwyer 1996: 175.

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death, scorned, handed to the Gentiles, mocked, spit upon, flogged and executed. 546 Ironically, as these fulfillments transpire, he is mocked repeatedly as a king until he is finally “enthroned” on the cross. 547 The peak of each of the conflicts – with Jesus’ followers, the religious authorities, the crowd(s) and, implicitly, the unclean spirits/the Satan – are found here, as is the previously foreshadowed conflict with Roman authority. 548 Generous use of the historical present in the scenes of Jesus’ beating by the soldiers and crucifixion build toward and mark the narrative’s climax (15.33–39). 549 Miraculous elements occur in the latter scene, though it is not a miracle story. 550 The climax, mentioned previously, is, following Jesus’ death, the ironic exclamation of his roman executioner: ἀληθῶς οὗτος ὁ ἄνθρωπος υἱὸς θεοῦ ἦν (15.39). The expectations of the hearers/readers, so often frustrated in the responses in preceding miracle stories, as well as elsewhere, such as Peter’s confession, are finally met, as a human character gives voice to what has been known all along. 551 Yet there is an unexpected twist; for the character does not himself understand the full weight of his words. XXII. Mark 16.5b–c and 16.8 The final miracle story (16.1–8[?]) is the second of two parts of the narratives’ extant dénouement (15.42–16.8[?]). To my mind the arguments for and against the narrative’s original ending being truncated are equally persuasive. 552 Related, 16.8b may be an incomplete sentence. 553 And just possibly 546

For some of the main prophecies, see Mk 8.31; 9.12, 31; 10.33–34, 45; 14.7–8, 18, 21, 22–24, 27, 30, 41, 49. For predictions as a key plot device in Mk see Petersen (1978a) 49–80. On the scriptural texts (Zech 9–14; Dan 7; Ps 10, 22 etc.; Isa 50, 52–53) presented as fulfilled in Mk 14–16, see Marcus (1992: 153–198). 547 On Jesus ironically portrayed as a king in Mk 15 see Matera (1982). 548 Incidentally, Pilate’s amazement at Jesus’ silence (Mk 15.5) and quick death (15.44) does not seem related in a definite manner to amazement at his miracles and/or teaching. In contrast is Dwyer’s (1996: 180–185 [185]) overall thesis “that all, believers and nonbelievers, Jews and Gentiles... of necessity marvel” at “the power of heaven.” 549 Longacre (1999: 161), noting that the HP is “[n]o longer... limited to motion, transportation and speech verbs.” 550 “The darkness of 15.33 and the torn veil of 15.38 are epiphanic elements; they indicate there is no absence of divine presence and power in the death of Jesus,” (Broadhead 1992: 181). 551 On this point see, especially, Theissen (1974: 162, 212–215, 219). 552 The majority opinion is that the narrative originally ended with Mk 16.8 (cf. Iverson 2006: 80, n. 6). Alternatively, the original ending may have been accidentally mutilated. Five lines of argumentation are key for the issue. (1) Against Magness (1986), Croy (2003: 89–96, 96; cf. 60–63) has convincingly argued that in antiquity “[e]ndings of whole and independent narratives that leave the fulfillment of an essential narrative component in serious doubt are definitely not common [and, more precisely, evidently non-extant].” The

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16.8a was originally the beginning of a new scene (or pericope). 554 I will proceed by offering two options for analysing the final periocope and, thus, the narrative’s ending. The first analysis assumes the text’s integrity. As a story with only established followers as respondents, it shares much in common with the other three such stories: a private setting, an epiphany (or at least a story with an

ending of Jonah (4.10–11), “the closest possible parallel,” which consists of an unanswered question made by God, the reaction of the prophet not being narrated, does not “subvert the book’s trajectory and constitute an anticlimax as Mark 16:8 does” (Croy 2003: 96; cf. 58– 60 – though there Croy does not bring to the fore the argument that in 16.8 it is the doubt of the fulfillment of the promise made in 16.7 not merely its lack of fulfillment in the narrative, that is so peculiar within ancient literature). Yet, Croy’s (2003: 94, emphasis original) argument is overstated: “the narrative does not allow us to assume the actualization of the young man’s promise (16:7).” The track record of prediction and fulfillment, notably re. Jesus’ predictions, does not leave “serious doubt” that Jesus will meet with the disciples; see, especially, Petersen (1978a: 77–78). The extant narrative does, however, end on a note of doubt, unique in the ancient world – doubt as to how the meeting will take place. Thus at the last moment the plot experiences a level of frustration, owing to the subversion of “the book’s trajectory.” This argument, here modified, is the strongest of the eight Croy presents for mutilation. (2) As regards γάρ, I accept the statement of Iverson: “The argument from genre [made by Croy] aids little in the discussion of Mark’s ending...” since γάρ-concluding sentences “are extremely, extremely rare at all times and in all genres [not just in narrative prose]” (2006: 93, 94; emphasis original). However, I cannot agree that “the usage of final γάρ... can be utilized with equal force to support the case for a mutilated text or the intentional, abrupt ending” (Iverson 2006: 93; emphasis mine). Rather, owing to the rarity of the phenomenon and in light of other evidence favouring truncation, the burden of proof lies with those who claim that Mark is doing something different and the final sentence has not been corrupted. (On the possible effect for the audience of ending this way, see Marcus [2000–2009: 2:1092].) (3) As one of Croy’s reviewers writes, “The fact that Mark’s Gospel was felt to have an unsatisfactory ending by at least two ancient scribes... should give one pause” (McGrath 2006: 65–66). (4) Marcus (2000–2009: 2:1092) rightly observes, “The mutilation thesis, then, combines two improbabilities,” the first being “extremely rapid deterioration or dismemberment [of the autograph].” (5) The second is “mutilation precisely at the end of a pericope” (Marcus 2000–2009: 2:1092). Though 16.1–8 as it stands forms a cohesive narrative unit, this argument is weaker, for the integrity of the sentence of 16.8d is, to some extent, brought into question by other factors (see point 2, above). Also, it is conceivable, at least, that 16.8a originally begun a new scene (or pericope). Gundry (1993: 1011) cites change of location as a consideration for this possibility. More critical, however, is the loss of a (or potential change of) participant(s) – cf. 5.14 for a possible parallel (also with the element of flight); yet there a nominal constituent is fronted, a formal feature supporting the thematic change. 553 This is a natural corollary to the argument for accidental mutilation. See especially points 2 and 5 in n. 552, above. 554 See point 5 in n. 552, above.

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epiphanic hue), 555 focus on the power at work in Jesus and a response which includes the emotional element of fear / being troubled or alarmed. As with the stilling of the storm and the transfiguration, this story, too, is focalised through the respondents. Yet the differences between this and the other three are also remarkable: the regular (male) followers – the disciples, the Twelve, the inner-circle of three – are replaced by women followers, namely Mary, Mary and Salome; 556 no parallel story in the Scriptures is to be found; and a mythic level of narration is not present – nor would one expect it to be since, importantly, Jesus himself is not present. 557 In fact, this is the only miracle story where Jesus is absent. The narrative’s close also has commonalities with its opening: first of all, obviously, a key place in the narrative (entry into / exit from the narrative world); an epiphany story with few observers (there one, here three); and a statement by a more-than-human character focused on Jesus. But the voice from heaven does not identify Jesus as God’s son here. Rather, a young man in white sitting in the tomb announces that Jesus, referred to as “the crucified one,” has risen – thus, the prophecy first made by Jesus in 8.31 and reiterated shortly thereafter in the second half of that key juncture in the narrative (9.9, 12) 558 has now been fulfilled and the prophetic words receive a fitting verbal echo. 559 555 The young man in a white robe (Mk 16.5) is to be understood as an angel; cf. Marcus (2000–2009: 2:1080, 1085, 1124–1125). Still connections between the two young men in Mk (also 14.51), especially the type of clothing, may well have symbolic meaning, pointing to “restored discipleship” (Moloney 2002: 345–346 [346]). For Broadhead (1992: 81) “the elements of an angelophany” are present, but not sufficient to have 16.1–8 constitute a miracle story. Curiously, he claims the episode “employs a suppressed tone that points not to miracles, but to the future of Jesus with his followers.” The motif of fear as a response in fact prevails here (see below) and is indicative of the nature of the episode. 556 The presence of these three named individuals may well have correspondence to Peter, James and John, the three respondents in the transfiguration. 557 The scene is on the whole realistic, though with a healthy dose of “ghost story” (on the term see above, n. 468). 558 Of course other, subsequent predictions and, starting earlier in the narrative, various foreshadowings of Jesus’ execution and resurrection also find a closure of sorts in the young man’s speech. 559 Unlike the features of the inclusio of the divine speech in Mk 1.11 and 9.7, no verbal parallelism exists between the predictions in the turning point (8.31: δεῖ τὸν υἱὸν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου πολλα παθεῖν... ἀποδοκιμασθῆναι... ἀποκτανθῆναι... ἀναστῆναι; 9.9: ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἐκ νεκρῶν ἀναστῇ; 9.12: γέγραπται ἐπὶ τὸν υἱὸν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἵνα πολλὰ πάθῃ καὶ ἐξουδενηθῇ) and here (16.6: Ἰησοῦν ζητεῖτε τὸν Ναζαρηνὸν τὸν ἐσταυρωμένον· ἠγέρθη...). Of what is shared – reference to Jesus by a noun phrase (8.31; 9.9, 12: ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου; 16.6: Ἰησοῦς ὁ Ναζαρηνός) and descriptions of his death (8.31: ἀποκτανθῆναι; 16.6: σταυρωθῆναι) and resurrection (8.31; 9.9: ἀναστῆναι; 16.6: ἐγερθῆναι) – nothing is held verbatim in common. (Part of the reason for this, it seems, is that now the need for secrecy is gone. The Son of Humanity is to be identified with Jesus

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Like the previous miracle stories with established followers, the question is again raised as to when they will finally grasp who Jesus is. This is part and parcel of a subplot, begun in the narrative’s opening theophany, and left unresolved here. This important aspect of the overall story is achieved by the response in the miracle story – or, rather, two responses which together create this effect (16.5b–c; 16.8): ...εἶδον νεανίσκον καθήμενον ἐν τοῖς δεξιοῖς περιβεβλημένον στολὴν λευκήν, καὶ ἐξεθαμβήθησαν. ... καὶ ἐξελθοῦσαι ἔφυγον ἀπὸ τοῦ μνημείου, εἶχεν γὰρ αὐτὰς τρόμος καὶ ἔκστασις· καὶ οὐδενὶ οὐδὲν εἶπαν· ἐφοβοῦντο γάρ.

They are both highlighted, the final response constituting the peak of the episode. 560 Fear / being alarmed is here all-pervasive. The initial emotion of the women, their alarm, is the key element (a mainline event) in their response to the young man’s appearance and his words (16.5) – the youth’s encouragement to them not to be alarmed is also relevant (16.6). 561 Though the second and third mention of emotion (16.8), fear, are in supporting comments, introduced by γάρ, the preponderance of these related emotions as well as repetition in quick succession bring fear / alarm to the fore, with the two responses taken together. Indeed, this effect is also achieved by ending the narrative with the short two-word sentence ἐφοβοῦντο γάρ. Amazement, too, has an accompanying presence (ἔκστασις). 562 Despite the emphasis on fear / alarm, it must be observed that the final series of two mainline events, highlighted by the foregoing historical present (λέγει; 16.6–7), are the women’s fleeing and not speaking. This mitigates against seeing the emotional element as the predominant one in the responses

the Nazarene.) Significant parts of the utterances’ contents, too, are not held in common (e.g., in 16.6, the topic of where Jesus’ body was placed [ὁ τόπος ὅπου ἔθηκαν αὐτόν]). There is also a conspicuous connection between the Jesus’ speech in 14.28 and the youth’s (16.7) – note the shared vocabulary and phraseology: προάξω/προάγει ὑμᾶς εἰς τὴν Γαλιλαίαν (cf. ἐγερθῆναι in 14.28 and 16.6). The key, new material is: ἐκεῖ αὐτὸν ὄψεσθε, καθὼς εἶπεν ὑμῖν (16.7). 560 Note that the sequence of HPs (ἔρχονται... θεωροῦσιν... [Mk 16.2, 4]; the intervening sentence, employing the imperfect [ἔλεγον], describes action simultaneous to the verb of motion, stated prior) leads to the first response (16.5b–c). Another HP (λέγει; 16.6–7) points to the second response (16.8). 561 Dwyer (1996: 187) rightly notes that μὴ ἐκθαμβεῖσθε (16.6) “is unusual and draws attention to the rare Markan word.” More common in Mk (5.36; 6.50) and certainly in other literature is μὴ φοβεῖσθε / μὴ φοβοῦ. 562 This is the one instance of fear / being alarmed or troubled and amazement – not in two responses of the same characters (6.47–52) or of different ones (5.1–20) but – of the same characters and in one response.

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– perhaps there is a “tie” then, in terms of emphasis, between the multiattested fear / alarm and the concluding mainline flight and verbal silence. The final event of the narrative is a non-event. Καὶ οὐδενὶ οὐδὲν εἶπαν clearly contrasts with the young man’s command. Interestingly, this is the one instance in which an element of a response (here reporting), as a mainline event, is negated. 563 The narrator offers an inversion of a well established motif to drive home a point: this miracle story and with it the entire narrative concludes with a signal failure on the part of these followers. The emotion here, then, is negatively coloured by the flight and disobedient silence, 564 though it may yet have some positive aspect. 565 563 The only other negated element in a response, background information, is: οὐ γὰρ ᾔδει τί ἀποκριθῇ (Mk 9.6a). 564 Dywer (1996: 188–193) views the elements of the responses in 16.5b–c, 8, consistently, as (more) positively portrayed. (A) Following Magness, he argues against the silence’s negative sense. Though, as Dwyer observes, the women’s failure to speak may well be understood by the audience to be in some sense “provisional” – they eventually told the disciples (how else did news of their encounter become known?) – it is incorrect to claim καὶ οὐδενὶ οὐδὲν εἶπαν in its context means “they told no one else, or told no one until they told the disciples” (Dwyer 1996: 192). (Note 1.44 is not a comparable instance of “double negatives related to speech” [Dwyer 1996: 189]. The negated command there is part of a larger construction [μηδενὶ μηδὲν... ἀλλά...], in which the second half corrects or replaces the first – cf. Runge [2010: 92–100].) Citing biblical texts “where silence, for a time, results from a divine encounter” (Dwyer 1996: 189), he even suggests the silence here may be an appropriate response. Such a reading does not adequately account for: (1) the tension and frustration of expectation that the extant text (taking 16.8 as the ending) fosters for the overall narrative on account of the silence (see above, n. 552); (2) the flagrant disregard for the youth’s command to speak inherent in the women’s silence (cf. Marcus [2000–2009: 2:1080; cf. 1087] on “recipients’ obedient response to the command” being the “[o]ne typical component” of angelophanies that is “conspicuously missing” here); and (3) the fact that this is the one instance in which a common element in responses is negated (1 of 2 instances of negation of elements, generally). Note Magness (1986: 100) misses the point when he claims, “Structural patterning teaches us to read the ending of Mark as a description of appropriate and positive actions....” The analysis pursued here has sought to find what Alter (1981: 52) calls “really interesting,” i.e. the manipulation of patterns for the “imaginative purposes at hand.” That the final mainline event of the narrative offers, unexpectedly, a doubly uncommon variation on two familiar themes – the failure to report, as one of the elements in a miracle response, despite the injunction to report – should be the cause of some consternation in the audience. (B) Dywer (1996: 188) seeks to distance the action of flight from the “negative connotations in Mk 5.14 and 14.50, 52” by appealing to parallels in other literature where there is “confrontation with the supernatural,” i.e. 1 En. 106.4 and, especially, Dan 10.7. This attempt fails on three grounds. (1) Flight as an element in responses in Mk is negative elsewhere (5.14; flight from Jesus – so Marcus [2000–2009: 2:1086]). Followers’ flight elsewhere is also from a positively portrayed character and is negative (14.50, 52; flight from Jesus – Dwyer (1996: 188) notes flight “is commanded in 13.14,” but the flight there is to be from a fore-

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Some further remarks on the emotional elements of the responses are in order. This is the third miracle story in which (the same) respondents have two responses, separated chronologically and textually. The initial disturbance (16.5) may not be negative, 566 though the subsequent fear and amazement (16.8) are. Such a deterioration in responses has already been seen in the two earlier cases (6.49–50b and 6.51c–52; 9.5–6 and 9.8). 567 This confirms the general portrait of followers, formed earlier in cases focused on the Twelve and the three, namely, that despite greater revelation – here evidence of an empty tomb, angelic proclamation of Jesus’ resurrection and a prediction of a future meeting in the Galilee, recalling and confirming his words to this effect – the followers do not meet Jesus’, nor the narrator’s, expectation of them. 568 The episode implies, then, that had the women properly understood who Jesus was, especially in light of what he said about himself, they would not have fled in fear and kept silent. Yet, the pattern of prophecy and fulfillment

told event conceived of as very negative). (3) In 16.8 flight is associated with the disobedient silence. In terms of prominence in the discourse (16.1–8) and the logical relations signalled by the connectives, Dwyer (1996: 192) has it exactly wrong, when he claims: “The silence is a function of the wonder, subordinate to it, and not the main feature of the narrative.” 565 The question of whether fear as a response is typical and positive in epiphany stories in Jewish and/or other literature, generally, will be addressed briefly in Chapter Seven, below. My position is not the same as that of Dwyer (1996: 193), who sees “the amazement [sic] of 16.8 as not necessarily negative or positive, but simply a function of the marvelous act of God.” The fear in 16.8 has a definite negative connotation, though it may be ambivalent, having also a positive connotation. (Note Dwyer [1996: 188], in light of formal similarities, associates 16.8 with 5.33, regarding which he wrongly claims: “her reaction is in faith... and is commended by Jesus.”) 566 It may be negative. The narrator’s system of values may suggest the women followers should have expected Jesus’ resurrection and, therefore, some other responses would be fitting, perhaps a confident exclamation of Jesus’ resurrection or sonship and/or perhaps joy (cf. Lk 24.52; Jn 20.20). Yet, the emotion here might be a common response to epiphanies, including angelophanies (so, e.g., Marcus [2000–2009: 2:1085]) – see Chapter Seven, below. 567 For stories in which two emotional reactions appear at different points, a distinction must be made for characters’ initial emotion (whether its actual presence or threat is stated or merely implied in the speech of another character) between emotions due to a danger or reality of bodily harm and those due to the occurrence of a miracle. Dwyer (1996: 192) inappropriately cites Mk 5.35–41 (initial fear at storm) and 5.35–43 (initial fear at death) as narratives comparable to 16.1–8. 568 So, for Marcus (2000–2009: 2:1087), “the women are not essentially different from the male disciples”; cf. Moloney (2002: 349) and others. In contrast Malbon (2000: 65) argues that “minimal emphasis is placed on their [the women’s] fallibility as followers in comparison with... especially the disciples.”

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in the narrative assures the audience that Jesus’ words (Mk 14.28) and, now, the aligned statement of the young man – ἐκεῖ αὐτὸν ὄψεσθε, καθὼς εἶπεν ὑμῖν (16.7) – will come to fruition in the future of the story world. 569 The likeliest options are that the young man will tell the disciples himself or, more probably, Mary, Mary and Salome’s fear-driven oral paralysis will eventually be overcome and the disciples will hear the good news from their mouths. Similarly, Peter, James and John, too, will tell others, now, of what they have seen on the mountain where Jesus was transfigured (9.9). And, since the narrative claims to be a record of fact, the narrator would have the audience understand that the foretold meeting in the Galilee has indeed taken place. Jesus’ followers have finally recognised him as the Son of God, who was revealed in glory on the high mountain and, with horrendous irony, in suffering on the cross. So how is the audience expected to respond to this tension at the story’s close? The answer may have multiple facets. The focalisation through Mary, Mary and Salome elicits the audience’s empathy, on the one hand. These followers have been some of Jesus’ most faithful. When the other disciples, including the Twelve, abandoned Jesus, denied him or even handed him over, they stayed near him. Now they have even come with the intention to pay their respects to and serve his corpse. Yet alarm and fear overwhelm them at the sight of the dazzling messenger and his message of Jesus’ resurrection. The fear also silences them in disobedience – here contrasting with the Gadarene ex-demoniac, while similar in some ways to the ex-leper. 570 The characterisation achieved is complex. By identifying with these followers, the audience is encouraged to see that God, ultimately, will bring about his purposes, despite their foibles and, even, disobedience. 571 In fact, in contrast to the protagonist, no character with a recurring role in the narrative, save his forerunner, John the Baptiser, has properly lived up to the narrator’s standards, though many characters have benefitted from Jesus. Identifying with these women followers also encourages a general sense of solidarity with all of those who have improperly identified and/or followed Jesus. On the other hand, the focalisation here, as in the transfiguration, may function, perhaps in addition, as an invitation to the audience to succeed where these followers have failed. The audience would, thus, identify themselves with Jesus (and John the Baptiser). They are called to follow Jesus 569

Petersen 1978a: 77. The ex-leper is told not to tell one group but another. He, disobediently, does the reverse. Mary, Mary and Salome are told to tell the disciples, yet they tell no one. 571 Moloney (2002: 354): “As Christian disciples continue to fail and flee in fear, they are told that God’s action in and through the risen Jesus overcomes all such failure.” “In the end, all human beings fail... but God succeeds” (Moloney 2002: 352). Cf. Petersen (1978a: 77–78). 570

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faithfully and to announce his resurrection. 572 There is, perhaps, no insurmountable obstacle to envisioning the audience identifying, alternatively, with the women followers and Jesus. A second analysis assuming the text’s mutilation, by nature hypothetical, must be tempered. The most likely addition to the extant narrative would be an appearance of Jesus to his “disciples” in the Galilee – though there might be more lost material. Given this, a number of points in the foregoing analysis would remain unchanged. The climax would in all probability still be the crucifixion account in chapter 15. 573 The followers’ general complex portrayal would not be changed, though potentially some positive development would take place. Would there be a confession on their part that Jesus is the “Son of God,” forming a fourth key moment in the narrative? It is impossible to know. Still, the fact that in his critical hour the followers had abandoned him would retain the point that God brings his purposes to fruition, despite Jesus’ followers’ shortcomings – and of those individuals positively related to him in a less formal manner – however extreme. Even a new scene beginning at 16.8 would not drastically effect the meaning of the relevant response (16.8), since, as in other stories the second response of established followers builds on the first one, a similar pattern might be expected. If 16.8 were to begin a new episode, however, a more substantial difference would result, as no other episode in Mark begins with a response to a miracle in a previous episode. The women’s attitude towards the messenger and his news might be expected to change in such a context. 574 Still an account of Jesus’ appearance to his disciples might well be expected to offer a more comic closure to the Gospel than 16.8 does. Such an ending would necessarily cast all the foregoing material in a more positive light. 575 It would be hazardous to present more than a very tentative suggestion as to what a lost ending, including an encounter in the Galilee, might evoke in the audience, in addition to their putting trust in God’s ability to bring about the divine plan. I suggest, therefore, the audience might be invited to expect restoration following their own (inevitable?) failure and, equally, to receive a commission. 576

572

Cf. e.g. Rhoads et al. 2012: 134. See above, n. 549, on the abundance of HPs there, which marks the climax. 574 Perhaps such an episode would relate the women bringing news to the disciples, despite their initial flight. 575 Rimmon-Kenan (2002: 121): “The recency effect encourages the reader to assimilate all previous information to the item presented last.” 576 This might involve a baptism in the holy spirit (cf. Mk 1.8). 573

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R. Conclusion The foregoing analysis has demonstrated that, whatever the sources and other traditional origins of the response motif may be, the author-redactor of Mark has used it creatively in writing the gospel narrative. While both miracle stories and the responses they contain are an important part of Mark’s narrative and despite the flourishing of narrative critical study of Mark, the present chapter, to the best of my knowledge, constitutes the first detailed literary analysis of the responses motif in this gospel. In addition to this basic result of the analysis, the analysis has made several additional contributions. I begin with those that pertain to definitions. First, the analysis has supported the definitions of miracle and miracle story adopted in this study (see Chapter One), especially as they relate to epiphanies. As the narrative unfolds, the Gospel of Mark makes it clear that the stories of (a) the theophany at Jesus’ baptism, (b) the epiphany of Jesus, Moses and Elijah and related theophany on the high mountain and (c) the angelophany at the tomb are to be understood as part of a larger body of episodes that includes stories of the mighty deeds of Jesus. An important factor drawing stories of healings, exorcisms, the cursing of the fig tree, epiphanic rescues at sea and other epiphanies together is the presence of responses, which consist of a similar basic form and sort of content. I will take up this point in more detail momentarily. I noted in Chapter One that Gerd Theissen’s work sets an important precedent for the approach adopted and confirmed here, though little of subsequent scholarship has followed his lead in including epiphany stories in the study of miracle stories. 577 A related point, made clear in the analysis, is that two stories – the stilling of the storm and the walking on water – while narrating Jesus’ mighty deeds, contain an epiphanic element that draws them into closer connection with the three aforementioned epiphany stories. Theissen’s approach is again an important forerunner to the argument I have made. Support for the identification of the stilling of the storm and the walking on water as stories of epiphanies is found in the shared patterns, pertaining to responses: established followers respond with fear / being troubled in private settings, while narration employs non-standard focalisation (i.e. the narrator is not the [sole] focaliser). The frequent and characteristic narration of responses in both epiphany stories and other miracle stories is strong evidence that the episodes should be treated as one group. The two kinds of stories draw on a shared, limited pool of response components. All elements occurring multiple times are found in responses of both story types. In order of frequency they are: emotion (in 13 577

Scholars who do follow Theissen’s lead have not gone as far as him in the number of epiphanic episodes they include among miracle stories.

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responses), speech (9), movement between locations (7), visual sensation (6), reporting (6) and cognitive acts (5). Often these elements are well represented, in relative numbers, in both story types. 578 The typical placement of the emotional component (absolutely in the response and relative to speech) is a further, albeit more moderate, feature drawing the kinds of stories together. Second and closely related, the analysis has confirmed the appropriateness of the definition of response I adopted in Chapter One, in as much as it pertains to Mark. Previous scholarship has concentrated on four (Theissen) aspects or kinds of characters’ actions and feelings – roughly equivalent to what I have called emotion, speech, reporting and antagonism – occurring in response to a miraculous occurrence. My analysis has identified several additional features. Movement between locations, visual sensation and cognitive acts occur regularly in connection with how characters respond to miracles. For all components, the identification of a given instance is based primarily on the governing verb in the respective clause. On account of the frequency of all the elements just mentioned, the moderate tendency for them to appear in various combinations and the fact that most of them are not categorically positive or negative, it is best to speak of one motif, namely the response motif, rather than to speak of various discrete motifs. There is, in addition, one instance each of falling and an expressly antagonistic element (conspiring to kill). Generally, I observed that miracle stories in Mark commonly have, subsequent to the occurrence of a miracle, a series of contiguous clauses that describe one or more characters’ visual perception and/or internalised and/or externalised experience resulting from the miracle. The definition is not watertight. For in the midst of the narration of characters’ perception of a miracle and resultant actions/experience a comment about the ramifications for Jesus might be narrated (Mk 1.45b). Nevertheless, this and related instances can reasonably be seen as variations of a motif. Typically, full sentences are involved, usually one to four. The confirmation of the definition of response and the identification of six main elements, noting the greater frequency with which emotions occur, builds upon the best observations of previous scholarship (see Chapter One). The approach picks up on the idea of a singular, unified motif appearing in miracle stories (Martin Dibelius, Ruldolf Bultmann, Kenzo Tagawa, also Werner Kahl). At the same time it follows the lead of Theissen, also Kahl, for identifying individual, recurrent elements. As mentioned, the three commonly occurring components related to characters’ responses envisioned by Theis578 Notably emotions occur in responses found in both epiphanic (6) and non-epiphanic miracle stories (7), as do also seeing (3 and 3, respectively) and speech (3 and 6, respectively).

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sen (Admiration, Akklamation, Ausbreitung des Rufes) roughly correspond to the emotional, verbal and reporting elements I have identified. At the same time, the present approach confirms and makes space for the observation inherent in Bultmann’s conception of Eindruck auf die Zuschauer (see also Tagawa), namely that emotions are generally the most characteristic of responses in terms of frequency. Third, the analysis showed how variation in focalisation in miracle stories aids in characterisation and seeks to affect hearers/readers. With heightened methodological rigour relative to previous studies, I have observed that five of the six Markan episodes with non-standard focalisation are miracle stories. Responses can play an important role in the alternate forms of focalisation, whether fixed character-focalisation (stilling of the storm; angelophany at the tomb) or variable focalisation (healing of the woman with hemorrhaging; walking on water; transfiguration) is in view. Building on the insights of others, notably Robert Fowler, it was noted in the analysis how the use of character-focalisation can: build tension in the plot, as in the variation of character-focalisers between the stilling of the storm and the walking on water; lead the hearers/readers to identify and sympathise with the plight, fears and hopes of characters; and/or call hearers/readers to succeed where characters fail (transfiguration and angelophany at the tomb). I offered a new perspective for aspects of focalisation in some individual stories. More importantly, the analysis provided, to the best of my knowledge, the first recognition that the four epiphanic episodes related to Jesus’ active ministry and resurrection are intertwined, in various ways, through the use of non-standard focalisation. I also provided the detailed consideration of how these joint linkages function. Fourth, I conducted in the chapter’s sub-sections the first analysis of the discourse for responses, specifically, and to a certain extent also for miracle stories, generally. By analysing the discourse it was possible to determine, for example, that emotion is the most characteristic component of the responses, not just quantitatively but also qualitatively (in terms of prominence). Some other tendencies were observed. With the most common collocation (speech and emotion) in roughly half the responses, the two components tend to have equal prominence in the discourse. In other cases, a lack of tendency was discovered. For example, no prototypical relative priority of elements exists, in responses with multiple components. 579 In light of these observations and others about the order of appearances of components and the location of responses in relation to the miracle and the end of the story, the analysis

579

In the five responses where reporting occurs, it is always (among) the most prominent component(s).

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showed that responses, far from being formulaic, are perhaps even less formal in shape than one might have expected. Discourse analysis also enabled the finding that in up to half (between five and seven) of the 14 miracle stories with responses, a response, in part or whole, constitutes the story’s peak or part of it. Consideration of a variety of features – such as the historical present and other highlighting devices – enabled the pertinent observations, as well as an understanding of how the response, in other contexts, pertains to the contours of those stories. Analysis of the discourse complemented narrative-critical analysis of the stories at numerous points, helping to flesh out, for example, what events are most significant, what features of characters are brought to the fore and, generally, what a given story’s key points are. Fifth, Justin Taylor’s observations about levels of narration in the Gospels has proved enlightening for as well as found confirmation in the foregoing analysis. Taylor notes that the level of narration approaches the mythic level in the stories of epiphanies of Jesus during his Galilean ministry. Conversely a “romantic” level of narration is found in the healing and exorcism episodes. Analysis of the responses has confirmed the distinction, since established followers respond with fear in private settings to these epiphanies of Jesus, whereas others respond – typically with amazement, if an emotion is present – in public settings to the other miracles. Moreover, the three epiphanic episodes share in common the fact that they have parallels in the Jewish Scriptures. (I did not consider such parallelism in detail, being beyond the scope here; but will return to the topic in Chapter Seven, below.) Alternation between levels of narration, therefore, is an integral aspect of both the miracle stories and the overall Markan narrative. Sixth, with the last point serving as a segue, I turn to the principal task I set before me in the analysis and the resultant findings. The analysis has explored variations in the employment of the formal feature of responses, looking for, in Alter’s (1981: 52) words, “what is done in each individual application of the schema to give it a sudden tilt of innovation or even to refashion it radically for the imaginative purposes at hand.” Such a quest has proved rewarding, as the responses are far from monolithic in either content or function. Rather the response motif is used in a variety of ways and for diverse purposes, both within individual miracle stories and throughout the larger narrative of Mark. Both plot and characterisation are primarily in view, though other literary features such as focalisation are also pertinent. As for plot, the analysis, building on the work of others, has offered some original readings of particular stories. More important, though, is the original contribution made here to seeing how plot developments in the larger narrative are fostered, in multiple ways, through the use of the response motif. As for characterisation, the depiction of both positive and negative aspects – also ambiguous ones – of the respondents themselves can be the result of narrating the

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responses. The characterisation is so often in terms of the respondents’ understanding and acceptance of who the narrator presents Jesus to be. Alternatively – or simultaneously – Jesus can be characterised in various ways through the responses of others. Jesus is worthy of the attention he receives, inasmuch as it is positive; yet he comes across, at the same time, as more than what the respondents think him to be. Often both the development of one or more plotlines and charactersiation result from the narration of a given response. As for character portrayal, some figures are painted in broad strokes: Pharisees want to destroy Jesus; Bartimaeus follows him. The picture of others appears more complicated: the disciples, with a fearful recognition of Jesus’ power, fail to grasp who he is; various crowds, while impressed by and benefitting from Jesus, succeed only in part to identify him, despite their confident appraisal of him; a man healed of leprosy, despite his faith in Jesus, goes against his command and brings about difficulty for him. Thus in as much as this analysis on responses in miracle stories sheds light on the issue, it supports Taylor’s (2011) claim that the Gospels, in this case Mark, commonly present nuanced portrayals of characters. More impressive is how responses in miracle stories form a pattern which functions to further the plot. This feature is closely related to the characterisation of Jesus. In addition to other means of depicting various characters’ estimations of Jesus, notably in their interactions with him, their responses to miracles map out a spectrum of negative to positive estimations. Even the most positive, however, ultimately fail to measure up to the narrator’s identification of Jesus in the opening miracle story. A dividing line separates those four stories in which established followers respond – namely, the stilling of the storm, the walking on the water, the transfiguration and the resurrectionrelated angelophany – from the rest. They are unique in consistently having a private setting, miracles that are epiphanic in nature and, at any rate, reveal the great power/nature possessed by Jesus, and responses that contain the emotional element of fear or being troubled. The use of alternative forms of focalisation is noteworthy: three of the stories have the disciples or the women followers as focalisers; in a fourth Jesus is a focaliser. The other stories are typically public in setting or go from private to public, portray exorcisms and other healings and the responses concerned, when an emotional element is present, have amazement – they also frequently have non-followers as respondents. Focalisation through a character in these stories is extremely rare. Among the elements in responses, then, the emotional one is key to the pattern observed, which is perhaps not surprising given that it is the most characteristic element. The first three stories pertaining to established followers, all having parallels in the Scriptures with stories of the prophets and utilising a mythic level of narration, form a series building, in terms of the miraculous power displayed, to a crescendo in the transfiguration. Both the main plot-line and a subplot-line reach a peak. Here, that is, at the turning

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point of the narrative, the narrator reveals the most magnificent view of Jesus’ nature (main plot-line), though the three followers privy to the epiphany do not comprehend it, as their responses indicate (subplot-line). Comprehension is left to the ideal audience. Yet they are not spoon-fed; they are, rather, expected to have “eyes that see” the significance of the protagonist’s characterisation. The final miracle story for established followers, too, provides some important insight – this time at the close of the narrative. While the main plotline reaches its climax in Jesus’ crucifixion, two subplot-lines – related to the questions “Which characters will recognise who Jesus is?” and “Will the followers of Jesus be faithful to his call of discipleship?” – are held in suspense right until the end. Through portraying Mary, Mary and Salome’s fearful response of flight and silence, the narrator invites the audience to believe that God’s purposes will be accomplished despite the mixed nature of Jesus’ followers and, possibly, to take up the task of proclaiming Jesus’ resurrection. Thus, the narrator of Mark employs with agility a common motif, the responses of recipients and observers to miracles, in a variety of manifestations and, indeed, in networks of relationships among the variations, at times working with broader strokes, at times refashioning the convention singularly “for the imaginative purposes at hand.” Sometimes the absence of the motif is also telling. Though an approach of caution is still required, since a convincing reason for the variation (or absence) of the motif cannot always be found. The analysis raises some intriguing questions. Are the components typically found in the Markan responses common in the responses in the other Synoptic Gospels? In John? Are there other elements common there? Do emotions play a similar role in these narratives as in Mark? Does the same pattern of private versus public, established followers versus others, epiphanies versus healings and exorcisms, fear and being troubled versus amazement, standard versus non-standard focalisation, occur in the miracle stories of Matthew, Luke and John? Is the distribution of such miracle story types and their respective responses similar to that in Mark – that is, primarily in the first half of the narrative, with a high point in a key epiphanic episode, and then an important epiphany (or epiphanies) again at the end? These questions will be taken up, in turn, for each of the remaining gospels in the next three chapters. Other important questions also arise, as to potential influences on the composition/redaction of Mark. Did the author-redactor originate the pattern in its entirety? Or did (a) source(s) used by the author-redactor contain one or more facets of the pattern observed? If yes, which aspects were found in part in the source(s) and then developed further by the author-redactor? Important here is the fact that the pattern is not pristine in the narrative of Mark. For example, two responses of fear are found in stories that are not about private

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epiphanies for established followers (the exorcism of Legion and the healing of the woman suffering from hemorrhaging). The second of these stories also features character-focalisation. These facts would tend to suggest that traditional material has been incorporated at these junctures. This observation would mitigate against the idea that the author-redactor has invented in total the pattern observed. Paradoxically, the exceptions to the rule lend support to the idea that the pattern observed, too, is traditional material that has been incorporated, perhaps without a massive overhaul by the author-redactor. Was an earlier written source primarily responsible for the differentiation between epiphany stories and others? Or was such a distinction already found in oral transmission of miracle stories about Jesus at a period contemporary to and/or preceding Mark? I will begin answering such questions already in sections dedicated to the Synoptic Problem in Chapters Three and Four, focusing there on the capability of the Two Document Hypothesis and its two most well-known rival hypotheses, respectively, to explain the data. Then in in Chapter Six – dedicated specifically to examining the interrelations of all four gospels – I will consider not only possible relations between John and the other gospels but also the possible influences of oral tradition Questions about tradition history also arise, though answering them lies largely outside the reach of the present study. Does the range of elements found in the Markan responses – especially, emotional, verbal, seeing, reporting, movement and cognitive elements – populate responses in other literature? If so, where? What differences are there? Similar questions can be asked of the location of the responses within the stories and other literary features. As noted by Cotter (1999: 1), who looked largely at non-Jewish sources, miracle stories in Greco-Roman narratives do not have a fixed form. As for emotions, where do they play the lead role in responses? Does the distinction between responses of amazement and fear, generally speaking, hold true in other works or, generally, bodies of literature? Theissen (1983: 70) observes that the emotional responses in particular have few parallels in “pre-Christian” [sic] literature, by which it is meant, it seems, nonJewish, pre-Christian literature. Thus a preliminary inquiry would suggest that a tradition-historical study of responses in miracle stories pertinent to Mark might be most profitably conducted in the context of Jewish literature. This finds immediate corroboration in the fact that a number of the Markan miracle stories themselves have parallels in the Jewish Scriptures and their interpretative traditions. Studies of Jesus’ deeds of power in relation to the Jewish Vor- and Umwelt and considerations about the concept of “miracle” in the Gospels (see Chapter One in both cases), too, offer corroboration for the notion that Jewish literature constitutes an appropriate and promising location for conducting comparative study. The questions outlined in this paragraph will be taken up in Chapter Seven.

Chapter 3

Matthew In the previous chapter I demonstrated how the response motif is used in various, creative ways in the Gospel of Mark. Employment of the motif there helps not only to characterise Jesus as the powerful Son of God but also to portray other characters in various ways, both negative and positive, and to shape the plot, not only of a given miracle story but also of the larger narrative. The question remains as to whether the same literary creativity is evident in the Gospel of Matthew. Is there diversity in the use of the response motif in Matthew, rather than its employment serving principally to offer laud to the narrative’s protagonist? On the one hand, one might expect a positive answer to the question. Miracle stories are more numerous in Matthew than in Mark. This is seen, for example, at the beginning and end of Matthew. In each place a number of epiphany stories occur, not just one. The miracle stories in Matthew also cover a longer period in the narrated world, from Mary’s pregnancy with Jesus to Jesus’ post-resurrection appearance in the Galilee. Related, some material in Matthew is not found in Mark. Thus miracle stories, at a glance, are prominent if not integral to the narrative of Matthew, appearing in creative ways. This would suggest that the various features within the miracle stories, too, have been touched by the artistry of the author-redactor. On the other hand, one might hesitate to expect a strongly affirmative answer to the question. Miracle stories in Matthew are often shorter than their counterparts in Mark. Sometimes the response in Mark has no parallel in Matthew (e.g. Mk 1.45; cf. Mt 8.4). Indeed, Heinz Joachim Held, an influential scholar of the Matthean miracle stories, seems to indicate that responses have little role here. Also, Matthew, unlike Mark, has huge sections of teaching material and, generally, proportionately less space dedicated to miracles. Such a factor, too, might suggest that the response motif would be employed less creatively in Matthew. Finally, the topic of Matthew’s sources plays a role in expectations of what the analysis in this chapter might uncover. This statement is true despite the fact that the approach to be used here is narrative criticism. For, if Matthew is literarily dependent on Mark as the majority of scholars assume, the author-redactor of Matthew may reproduce various motifs from the literary source, without (much) creative adaption for his own purposes. The result could be, for example, expressions of amazement and

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declarations about Jesus have lost the nuance they possess in Mark, such that in Matthew the responses serve generically to sing the praises of Jesus. Such expectations might be strengthened when one notices how in Matthew some miracle stories appear in constellations similar to those found in Mark, developing comparable contours for the larger narrative. For example Matthew, like Mark, contains three miracle stories during Jesus’ ministry in the Galilee, where his disciples alone are present, that contain or feature an epiphanic element. To find the answer, of course, to the question of artistry in Matthew with respect to the response motif I must conduct a close narrative critical reading of the gospel. Many corollary questions naturally arise. How common and how important are responses in the Matthean miracle stories? What are the constituent elements of the responses? Do feelings play a key role? Do the responses help distinguish between stories of rescue nature miracles and epiphanies, on the one hand, and other stories, notably of exorcism and healing, on the other? Generally, how do the miracles and responses to them contribute to characterisation and plot development? The approach here, as in the preceding chapter, will be to engage in literary and linguistic analysis of the responses in Matthew to understand the role they play as the narrative unfolds. At the same time, data are collected that will be used in discussion of the interrelations of the Gospels. Such discussion begins already in the concluding section of this chapter and of the next, where various hypothetical solutions to the Synoptic Problem are considered. Later, in Chapter Six, the data from all four gospels will be subjected to extensive comparative analysis to be conducted later. Returning to narrative criticism, the principal focus of the present chapter, the reader my opt to browse some earlier, more technical sections of the chapter, initially, and return to the relevant details while reading the key analysis of the narrative of Matthew, in Section Q. 1

A. State of the Question In terms of narrative criticism, considerably less has been written on Matthew than on Mark. 2 In particular, the Matthean miracle stories as a whole have not received concentrated attention. Still, entries in the first volume of Kompendium der frühchristlichen Wundererzählungen (KFW1) offer literary and 1 Nevertheless, even upon first reading one should give attention to detail in at least Sections A–D, H–J, P. 2 Sim (2011: 49) offers a brief review of scholarship in this regard. See also, below, n. 5.

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linguistic study of many of the Matthean miracle stories. It must be remembered that “miracle stories” are considered in the said volume to be stories of Jesus’ miraculous deeds only – a view that is not shared by the present study. Contributors make valuable observations for various 3 individual miracle stories, though the stories’ relation to the larger narrative is seldom reflected upon. The observations will be taken up in what follows. Christian Münch’s introduction to Matthew’s miracle stories, however, does not offer much by way of either literary criticism or analysis of the responses. 4 No focused treatment of the response motif in Matthew exists in the literature. I will consider conceptions of the plot of Matthew before turning to some studies that give special attention to responses in miracle stories. The various conceptions of the plot of Matthew tend to agree that it is conflict driven. 5 For Jack Dean Kingsbury (1986: 8; cf. 3) “the conflict on which the plot of Matthew’s story turns is that between Jesus and Israel, especially the Jewish leaders.” The conflict progressively intensifies until it reaches an irreconcilable level of hostility. Even the crowds, “generally well disposed toward Jesus,” are finally turned against him by the leaders (Kingsbury 1986: 3). Kingsbury has conflicted notions of the narrative’s climax. Jesus’ crucifixion, the final commissioning of the disciples or both are the peak moment. 6 Conflict with the disciples plays an important, secondary role for plot development. Since the disciples are not Jesus’ opponents, the source of this conflict of “a fundamentally different order” is not enmity but merely “their periodic failure to comport themselves in a manner that befits sons of God (5:9, 45) and disciples of Jesus (10:1, 24–25)” (Kingsbury 1986: 8). Their point of view is human and they lack faith. Kingsbury offers astute observations about how the story in Matthew develops, while his understand-

3

Fifteen of the 20 Matthean episodes identified as “miracle stories” by KFW1 are analysed in the said volume. 4 Münch (2013a: 380–382) discusses form-, redaction- and composition-critical studies of the miracle stories, but dedicates no section to narrative criticism. Münch (2013a: 380– 381, 387–388) touches upon responses when speaking of form criticism and “zur theologischen Deutung der Wunder Jesu,” briefly, but other topics receive the lion’s share of attention, such as dialogue, faith and Jesus’ power and compassion. 5 Powell (1992: 187–193) and Yieh (2004: 30–31) provide surveys of conceptions of the plot of Mt. 6 In his earlier work Kingsbury writes (1986: 8, 91) both that “[t]he death of Jesus, of course, constitutes the primary resolution of his conflict with the Jewish leaders” (“his death serves as the central event of [his] mission... for he effects the salvation of all people from their sins”) and that “28.16–20 constitutes the major climax not only of the third part of Matthew’s story but also of his entire story....” Kingsbury’s later view (1992: 347) similarly lacks precision, though it favours one location more: “the ‘cross’ is the place where Jesus’ story reaches its culmination.”

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ing of Jesus’ opponents can benefit from precision. 7 What seems lacking in his analysis, however, is attention to the character of God. Though God is rarely explicitly active, the character is still important to plot development, as can be seen, for example, from the many citations of prophetic text. Focusing on causality and looking backwards from the story’s last scene, Frank J. Matera (1987: 243) sees the plot as God’s fulfillment of his promises to Israel, Israel’s “rejection of Jesus’ messiahship and the movement of the Gospel from Israel to the nations.” Matera sees a pattern of possibilityprobability-contingency at play. The “climax of the entire Gospel” is the final episode (Mt 28.16–20). 8 Causality in the plot “produces a determinate affective response”: namely, “[t]he narrator expects the readers to worship Jesus as the risen Lord and to be confident that he is present to the church until the close of the age” (Matera 1987: 242). While Matera observes important elements of the narrative, in Matthew “causality is a less dominant principle for linking events than the motif of promise and fulfillment” (Powell 1992: 190). David Howell (1990: 111–113, 111) sees “two themes” as “central to Matthew’s plot”: those of promise/fulfillment and acceptance/rejection. The former “plotting device often takes the form of internal prolepses by ‘anticipating events which are not clearly defined but gradually come into focus as the narrative proceeds.’” 9 Promise/fulfillment also ties the gospel’s story of Jesus to the prior story of Israel, which it invokes. Regarding the acceptance/rejection of “God’s will,” Howell (1990: 113) proposes that “the correlatives acceptance/rejection give a more precise statement of this plot element than Kingsbury’s category of ‘conflict.’” This re-focusing allows for Jesus’ own conflict with temptation (Mt 4.1–11; 26.36–46) to be grouped under the same rubric as the conflict between Jesus and the Jewish authorities. Howell’s (1990: 133) analysis does not give specific attention to the motif of responses in miracle stories despite, for example, the awareness that “[i]n chapters 8–9 Matthew recounts a series of miracles which highlight the alternative responses of acceptance and rejection to Jesus’ ministry.” 10 How7 In the analysis, below, the relationship of the Pharisees, the one group of opponents to Jesus who respond in miracle stories, to other groups of opponents is spelled out with more exactness. The crowds, of course, are a different type of character, one which becomes adversarial only in Mt 27, under the influence of religious authorities. 8 Since Matera (1987: 245) uses “the great commission” to refer to the episode of Mt 28.16–20, it would seem that for him “the climax of the entire Gospel” is the episode, not just the speech of Jesus it contains. 9 Howell (1990: 112) is citing Culpepper (1983: 63). 10 On the other hand, Howell’s study has an important reader-response component. Again with Mt 8–9 as the example, Howell (1990: 135) states, “The alternatives of acceptance or rejection which are plotted in the miracle stories challenge the readers of the stories as well.”

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ell (1990: 77, 182) speaks of both “the death-resurrection of Jesus” and, more narrowly, “the rejection and crucifixion of Jesus” as the “climax.” 11 Janice Capel Anderson (1994: 147), speaking of the plot’s “many... threads,” sees Jewish leaders, the crowds, the disciples, supplicants and Gentiles all involved in important ways. “Conflict arises over which groups will recognize, understand, and accept Jesus’ identity and mission” and a related guiding line of questioning is “[W]ho will help or hinder Jesus, when, why, and how?” (Anderson 1994: 146). Anderson (1994: 147) is agnostic as to “[w]hether the passion or the resurrection scene [sic] is the precise climax of the narrative.” She gives emphasis to one of the threads: “An important part of the developing plot is how the Gentiles receive Jesus and how he begins to extend his mission beyond Israel” (Anderson 1994: 146). Her conception of the plot can be viewed as a synthesis of some ideas presented by Kingsbury, Matera and Howell. Again, as with Kingsbury, the criticism can be levelled that insufficient attention is given to the character of God. For Mark Allan Powell (2009: 70) the main plot line is “the conflict between God and Satan,” which is “resolved positively” when “Jesus dies on the cross.” 12 Two subsidiary plot lines, interwoven with the main one, are Jesus’ conflicts with his disciples and with the religious leaders of Israel. The irony is that “Jesus must ‘lose’ his conflicts with the religious leaders and with his own disciples in order for the greater conflict between God and Satan to be resolved favorably” (Powell 2009: 70). 13 A key issue in the plot is “Jesus’ divine sonship” (Powell 1992: 199), which both God and the Satan affirm, though the latter tries to redefine it (Mt 3.17; 4.3, 6; 27.40; cf. 14.33; 16.16; 17.5). Powell’s perceptive analysis of the plot can be adopted along broad lines. One should focus less on titles of Jesus in Matthew, however. I have noted previously, as have many before me, that the narrative critical task produces only limited results. Noticeably, one must forego the valuable insights from study of the Vor- and Umwelt of traditions, including narrative patterns, contained in a text. Among the Gospels this is perhaps nowhere more lamentable than in the case of Matthew. References and allusions to other Jewish texts and traditions abound in this gospel. A select few of them 11

It would seem, then, that for Howell (1990: 157) the theme of promise/fulfillment has pride of place in the plot, since “[t]he question of whether to release Jesus or Barabbas represents the culmination of Matthew’s use of the correlatives acceptance/rejection to plot his Gospel.” 12 Powell is not more precise than what is cited regarding the peak moment. His use of the word “climax” (Powell 2009: 69–70; cf. 1992: 198) is even more vague, citing Mt 26.56, 69–75; 27.15–26 in addition to the mention of Jesus dying. The conflict, not of equal powers, Powell terms “God’s plan and Satan’s challenge” (Powell 1992: 199). 13 The disciples and religious leaders are used as pawns by the Satan to thwart Jesus’ redemptive mission.

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will be treated in Chapter Seven. For now, though, I merely acknowledge once again the shortcomings of the approach used presently. I now turn to two monographs whose consideration of responses warrants attention. In his study of the crowds, 14 Robert Cousland (2002) investigates their positive and negative reactions to Jesus. He sees them as essentially welldisposed to Jesus, that is, up until his trial and condemnation in Jerusalem. His study addresses some of the miracle stories, notably those in which the crowds respond. Cousland devotes due attention to terms expressing emotion – θαυμάσαι, ἐκστῆναι, φοβηθῆναι, ἐκπλαγῆναι (this term does not appear in miracle stories) – and praise. Cousland correctly sees the characterisation of the crowds as less positive than that of the disciples and the various suppliants, yet superior to that of the religious leaders. Comparison between various characters’ responses in miracle stories contributes to this insightful analysis. Nevertheless, Cousland’s generally positive evaluation of the crowds’ responses would benefit from nuancing. The notion that an emotion experienced by a character in relation to Jesus’ teaching or miracle working “depicts a preliminary response that could, depending on the beholder, either lead to faith or away from it” (Cousland 2002: 136) does not hold true for the miracle stories. 15 Cousland’s study, which provides insights especially in 14 The use of “crowds” in the plural is warranted in the discussion of the respective character in Mt, since the plural is used so frequently in Greek, especially in early episodes (4.25; 5.1; 7.28; 8.1; 9.8, 23; cf. 8.18) (cf. Cousland 2002: 37–39). 15 The best candidate for an episode in which a character has a preliminary reaction followed by another is Mt 13.53–58 (see Cousland 2002: 127). Here amazement (ὥστε ἐκπλήσσεσθαι: 13.54), followed by extended speech (καὶ λέγειν: 13.54), gives way to rejection (καὶ ἐσκανδαλίζοντο: 13.57), a movement that is facilitated through the speech, which comes across almost as thought development. With the responses in miracle stories, on the other hand, Cousland would see the verbal element (δοξάσαι: 9.8; 15.31) as constituting the second response. In the first place, for reasons articulated in Chapter One, there is justification for taking the adjacent clauses in each instance (9.8; 15.31) together as one response. Moreover, here, as in other responses (see below, especially Section G) the emotional element is closely associated with the verbal element. In both 9.8 (ἐφοβήθησαν καὶ ἐδόξασαν) and 15.31 (ὥστε... θαυμάσαι... καὶ ἐδόξασαν – the intervening seeing element is a post-nuclear participle: βλέποντας) we are dealing with emotional and verbal elements as the main verbs in two clauses (whether dependent or independent) conjoined by καί. (In 13.54–57, the lengthy intervening speech has prominence equal to that of the amazement.) Furthermore Jesus’ reaction in 8.10 establishes a pattern: ἀκούσας δὲ ὁ Ἰησοῦς ἐθαύμασεν καὶ εἶπεν τοῖς ἀκολουθοῦσιν.... In this event cluster, introduced with δέ, the amazement and speech are closely linked (καί). An even closer association is seen between the emotional and verbal elements in the first response in a miracle story (8.27): οἱ δὲ ἄνθρωποι ἐθαύμασαν λέγοντες.... These precedents establish a pattern of close association between emotion and speech – for the former type see 9.8 (cf. 12.23 [without δέ]); for the latter see 9.33b; 14.26a [cf. 14.26b]; 21.20. Only 15.31 exhibits a different configuration.

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comparison between characters and also between episodes, will be considered further in what follows. Michael Theophilos (2011), in studying Moses typology in Matthew, addresses the ten miracle stories in chapters 8 through 9, at least six of which have responses. He sees three cycles of miracles, with the last, comprising four stories, reaching a climax. Theophilos states (2011: 148): In response to all that has been narrated thus far in chapters 8–9, those who have witnessed Jesus [sic] mighty deeds respond as follows, “the crowds were amazed and said, ‘never has anything like this been seen in Israel.’ But the Pharisees said, ‘by the ruler of the demons he casts out the demons.’”

He argues that “the positive/negative dichotomy... could... be seen to support a Matthean allusion to Moses’ life” (Theophilos 2011: 152). Again, the present chapter being dedicated to narrative critical analysis, discussion of the proposed Moses typology is deferred until Chapter Seven. I consider below, however, Theophilos’ keen observations (replacing “dichotomy” with a less polarised “contrast”) about the responses in the progression of the stories of Matthew 8–9. Finally, I turn to two redaction-critical assessments of Matthean miracle stories. The one study dedicated to the miracle stories in Matthew, that of Heinz Joachim Held (1963), is still cited by many today as the definitive treatment of the subject. Given the unique and virtually uncontested status of the study it is worth consideration here, despite the focus on and assumptions inherent in redaction criticism. With respect to responses in miracle stories, Held’s study has muddied the waters some. He argues that Matthew, in interpreting the received tradition, “has standardised his healing miracles as conversations” (Held 1963: 242). The form, he claims, is entirely changed: “Admittedly, as far as content is concerned they report miracles, yet their form, as this is what matters, is in no way in the style of a miracle story” (Held 1963: 243). This is true especially, Held (1963: 231) claims, of the opening and closing of the stories: “[t]o the formal beginning of the healing story there corresponds, as a rule, a formal conclusion and both serve as a frame for the conversation of Jesus with the suppliant.” For Held (1963: 230) the “typical concluding formulae” are not responses, but a statement of healing. He cites four examples of “the conclusion” (Held 1963: 230, emphasis original), examples that are indeed notable for their similarity in sentence structure and vocabulary, in addition to content (Mt 8.13b; 9.22b; 15.28b; 17.18c). 16 In each case the said sentence comes at the close of the respective story or scene. No response is narrated. 16 καὶ ἰάθη ὁ παῖς ἐν τῇ ὥρᾳ ἐκείνῃ (Mt 8.13b); καὶ ἐσώθη ἡ γυνὴ ἀπὸ τῆς ὥρας ἐκείνης (9.22b); καὶ ἰάθη ἡ θυγάτηρ αὐτῆς ἀπὸ τῆς ὥρας ἐκείνης (15.28b); καὶ ἐθεραπεύθη ὁ παῖς ἀπὸ τῆς ὥρας ἐκείνης (17.18c).

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On their own the data considered by Held support his argument. But the data surveyed are incomplete, the analysis impressionistic. Held briefly considers responses. But he does this to show, in a synoptic parallel within the Triple Tradition, how Luke (18.43b–c) has a response, where both Mark (10.52c) and Matthew (20.34c) do not. 17 Again, the data examined are far from comprehensive. As will be shown below, responses have an important role in many of Matthew’s miracle stories – and in this context, it can be specified, in stories of healings and exorcisms. Some of the responses, like the “concluding formulae” Held cites, are both rather formal in nature and occur in the final position in a story. 18 Held’s analysis shows the dangers inherent in focusing on what is distinctive of one gospel in relation to the others. It also reveals the weakness of looking solely for typical features of a given gospel, here Matthew. One should entertain the possibility also of how a typical feature may be given a “sudden tilt of innovation” or even be “refashion[ed]... radically” (Alter 1981: 52) for creative purposes. In examining a text with such possibilities in mind, due attention must be given to how expectations and patterns are established as the narrative unfolds – something redaction criticism is not equipped to consider. Held’s analysis will be considered again, in Chapter Six, when I turn to the question of the interrelations of the Gospels. Gerd Theissen believes that Matthew differs significantly from Mark with respect to characters’ recognition of who Jesus is. In Mark the key recognition comes towards the gospel’s end, in the mouth of the Roman executioner. In Matthew, Theissen (1974: 222) claims, “die Hoheit Jesu” is recognised by numerous characters, starting from the beginning, with the magi being a case in point. 19 This tendency is allegedly seen frequently in the miracle stories of Matthew, appearing in various ways. For example suppliants allegedly bespeak “von grenzenlosem Vertrauen” (Theissen 1974: 179). 20 Responses, too,

17

Held (1963: 223) argues that responses (“the praise of God and the publication of the miracle before all the people”), while “important” to Luke, is “an interest... on which no traceable emphasis is laid in Matthew.” Held sees a response in Lk 8.47 too, where one is absent in Mt 9.22 and, he alleges, Mk 5.33 (!). 18 Responses in healing stories can be formal, whether reporting is the main (sole) element (Mt 9.26; 9.31) or emotions and speech are key (Mt 9.8; 9.33b–34; 12.23–24; 15.31 – cf. responses in other types of miracle stories 8.27; 14.26; 21.20). Five of the six responses cited above (all save 12.23–24) occur in final position. At times a response (e.g. 8.33–34 – in final position) may bear less similarity with other responses. On all these points, see the discussion below. 19 “Jesus’ majesty.” The English translation here and in what follows is provided by Francis McDonagh in Theissen (1983). 20 “Limitless confidence.”

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play an important role in this context. The disciples’ act of reverence and declaration in Mt 14.33 are notable (Theissen 1974: 179): Nach dem Seewandel steht bei Mt nicht mehr das Unverständnismotiv, sondern es folgen Proskynese und Akklamation (14,33). 21

Theissen’s comparison between Matthew and Mark is true only to a limited extent. As I intend to show in the analysis to follow, a later episode in Matthew throws substantial doubt on the disciples’ comprehension during the walking on water episode. Their act of prostration and statement there too, therefore, are recast as inadequate. Theissen moves forward the discussion found in previous studies by asking about the role of the miracle stories within the larger framework of Matthew. A short-coming inherent in his redaction-critical approach, however, limits the effectiveness of his analysis. For when Theissen considers the individual “motifs” and “themes” found in a given miracle story in relation to those in other stories, he does so primarily with general, collective comparisons. Individual miracle stories are taken to be “rounded-off,” independent episodes. Little effort is made to understand the stories within the unfolding of the narrative they are embedded in. 22 When considering responses, specifically, the criticism can be sharpened in the following manner. Attention should be given to specific characters and how their actions might be cast in a particular, even counter-intuitive light, given prior material or how the narrative might reinterpret the characters’ traits and actions during the course of events unfolding in later episodes.

B. Miracle Stories with Responses Matthew contains twenty nine miracle stories. 23 Miracles and summaries of miracles are present in some other contexts. 24 Responses are found in nine21 “After the walking on the water Matthew does not have the Marcan motif of incomprehensibility, but of prostration and acclamation.” 22 Yet see Theissen 1974: 210-211. 23 Münch (2013a: 379) counts only 20 miracle stories in Mt. He omits the three epiphany stories in chs. 1–2, the three others in ch. 28, the epiphany at Jesus’ baptism and the transfiguration. He takes 15.29–31 to be a summary, not a story. 24 Summaries of healings (/exorcisms) occur frequently enough: Mt 4.23, 25; 8.16; 9.35; 12.15; 14.14, 35–36; 19.2; 21.14–15; cf. 10.1, 8. (On how “[v]arious summaries are connected to one another by fairly long repetitions,” see Anderson [1994: 149]. While I accept 15.29–31 as a story not a summary, I observe, like Anderson [1994: 148], that all of the “summary passages” save one [11.1; cf. 4.23–25; 8.16; 9.35; 12.15–16; 14.13–14; 14.34–36; 19.1–2] “include references to Jesus’ healing activities.”) Brief mention of an

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teen of the miracle stories, namely: the Angel of the Lord’s first appearance to Joseph (1.18–25); the Angel of the Lord’s second appearance to Joseph (2.13–15); the Angel of the Lord’s third appearance to Joseph (2.19–23); the stilling of the storm (8.23–27); the exorcism of two demon-possessed men near Gadara (8.28–34); the healing of the paralytic (9.1–8); the resurrection of the ruler’s daughter (9.18–19, 23–26); the healing of two blind men (9.27– 31); the exorcism of a mute demon-possessed man (9.32–34); the healing of the man with a withered hand (12.9–14); the exorcism of a blind and mute demon-possessed man (on collusion with Beelzebul) (12.22–45); the walking on water (14.23b–33); the healing of many (15.29–31); the transfiguration (17.1–8); the healing of two blind men in Jericho (20.29–34); the withering of the fig tree (21.18–22); the angelophany to Mary Magdalene and the other Mary (28.1–8); Jesus’ appearance to Mary Magdalene and the other Mary (28.9–10); and Jesus’ appearance to the eleven (28.16–20). What is probably a response (8.15d) in the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law (8.14–15) will be referred to parenthetically in the analysis to follow. One miracle story – the healing of the centurion’s child/slave (8.5–13) – has an inversion of the response motif, that is, Jesus’ amazement at the centurion’s exemplary faith and Jesus’ speech (8.10–12). Eight stories have neither a response nor anything similar to one. 25 The reaction of Jesus’ executioners – the centurion and those with him – to the earthquake and related events surrounding Jesus’ death bares similarity to the responses in miracle stories. All save one of the stories pertaining to rescue nature miracles and/or epiphanies have one or more responses (9 of 10 stories). Only roughly half of the remaining miracle stories contain the response motif (10 of 19).

C. Number of Responses within a Miracle Story Three miracle stories have more than one response. One has three responses: Matthew 17.4, 17.6 and 17.8. Two stories have two responses: 14.26 and

angelophany occurs at the end of one story (4.11). Cataclysmic events transpire (27.51– 54), miraculously, in the story of Jesus’ execution, including a story within a story. A story (2.1–12) with a warning dream, likely to be considered epiphanic given the nature of a preceding dream, is not considered a miracle story, owing to the very little attention paid to dreams (2.12). 25 I.e. theophany at Jesus’ baptism (Mt 3.13–17); healing of the leper (8.1–4); healing of the hemorrhaging woman (9.20–22); feeding of the five thousand (14.15–21); exorcism of the “Canaanite’s” daughter (15.21–28); feeding of the four thousand (15.32–38); exorcism of the demon–possessed boy (17.14–18); the stater in the fish’s mouth (17.24–27) – note in the latter story, the occurrence of the miracle is assumed, rather than narrated.

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14.33; 26 28.4 and 28.8. Only rescue nature miracle and/or epiphany stories, therefore, have multiple responses. 27 Sixteen further stories have one response: 1.24–25; 2.14–15a; 2.21; 8.27; 8.33–34; 9.8; 9.26; 9.31; 9.33b–34; 12.14; 12.23–24; 15.31; 20.34c; 21.20; 28.9b–c; 28.17. Thus 23 responses are the focus of this chapter. Three miracles stories with responses contain more than one miracle (2.19–23; 14.23b–33; 17.1–8). 28 In one designation of a response an exception is made to the rule of subdivisions of verses (“a,” “b,” etc.) corresponding to independent clauses (2.14–2.15a). 29 Subdivisions within 15.31 also constitute an exception. 30

D. Elements within a Response, Vocabulary, Verbs and their Modifiers As in the analysis of Mark, here too instances of an element are identified primarily as the main verb in a (subordinate or main) clause or a participial phrase. Redundant quotative frames (ἀποκριθεὶς... εἶπεν: Mt 17.4) are considered one instance of the verbal element. In addition, in one case two verbs pertaining to visual sensation are taken together as one instance of seeing. 31 Occasionally an adverbial (ἀπὸ τοῦ φόβου: 14.26b; ἀπὸ... τοῦ φόβου αὐτοῦ: 28.4) or portions of one (μετὰ φόβου καὶ χαρᾶς μεγάλης: 28.8) are taken to be distinct elements in themselves. A noun (ἐξῆλθεν ἡ φήμη αὕτη: 9.26) or an adjective (ἐγενήθησαν ὡς νεκροί: 28.4b) might be more indicative of the 26 Peter’s request for Jesus to invite him to walk on the water (Mt 14.28) is presented within a dialogue (14.27–29) that concludes with Peter leaving the boat and walking towards Jesus. (Note the articular pronoun in 14.29a, introducing Jesus’ speech, marks it as an intermediate step). Therefore it seems best not to take Peter’s speech and/or exit from the boat and subsequent actions as a response to Jesus’ uncanny appearance on the water per se, but as interaction within and to the dialogue. 27 Only two of seven epiphany stories with responses – and one of two rescue nature miracle stories – have multiple responses. 28 I do not include here occasions where the healing of two individuals (Mt 9.30; 20.34) or more (15.30) are denoted by a single aorist indicative verb, whether implicitly describing multiple acts of Jesus or not. In terms of the discourse in each case the healings together are represented as a singular event. 29 Mt 2.15b is the concluding fulfillment formula (purpose clause): ἵνα πληρωθῇ τὸ ῥηθὲν ὑπὸ κυρίου διὰ τοῦ προφήτου λέγοντος· ἐξ Αἰγύπτου ἐκάλεσα τὸν υἱόν μου. Mt 2.15a refers to the remainder of the sentence. 30 ὥστε τὸν ὄχλον θαυμάσαι βλέποντας κωφοὺς λαλοῦντας, κυλλοὺς ὑγιεῖς καὶ χωλοὺς περιπατοῦντας καὶ τυφλοὺς βλέποντας (Mt 15.31a); καὶ ἐδόξασαν τὸν θεὸν Ἰσραήλ (15.31b). 31 ἐπάραντες δὲ τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς αὐτῶν οὐδένα εἶδον εἰ μὴ αὐτὸν Ἰησοῦν μόνον (Mt 17.8).

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type of element than the relevant verb. (Unlike in Mark, there are no instances in Matthew of the content of speech or substantives constituting occurrences of elements.) Thus in Matthew I identify 10 elements in responses – emotional, verbal, seeing, reporting, movement between locations, falling, other bodily movements, antagonism, doubt and hearing – in addition to some features I label “other.” Twelve instances of the emotional element are present in 10 of 23 responses (9 of 19 stories). The range of vocabulary is limited. Two words (both from the root φόβ*) express fear – φοβηθῆναι (Mt 9.8a; 17.6) 32 and φόβος (14.26b; 28.4; 28.8) – one marks being troubled – ταραχθῆναι (14.26a) – two denote amazement – θαυμάσαι (8.27; 9.33b; 15.31; 21.20; cf. 8.10a); ἐκστῆναι (12.23a) – one expresses joy – χαρά (28.8). Joy and fear come together in one response (28.8), fear and being troubled in another (14.26). Objects of the emotions are never specified. Once an adverb – ἐφοβήθησαν σφόδρα (17.6) – and once an adjective – χαρᾶς μεγάλης (28.8) – specify greater intensity. Once an emotion (fear) acts upon characters (28.4). 33 Upon examination of the types of miracles with emotional elements in the responses, a pattern emerges. Five of the six instances of fear and being troubled occur in rescue nature miracles and/or epiphanies (Mt 14.26a; 14.26b; 17.6; 28.4; 28.8). Alternatively four of the five instances of amazement occur in relation to other types of miracles: exorcism (9.33b; 12.23a); healing (15.31); a mundane nature miracle (21.20). The remaining instance of fear is found in a story of healing (9.8) and the other occurrence of amazement in a story of a rescue nature miracle (8.27). Related, Jesus reacts with amazement to the centurion’s faith in another story of healing (8.10a). Amazement at Jesus’ teaching (ἐκπλαγῆναι: 7.28; 13.54; 19.25; 22.33; θαυμάσαι: 22.22) also fits the pattern – fear does not occur in such a context (yet cf. 9.8). 34 For Jesus’ teaching is repeatedly associated with his activities of healing and exorcism. 35 Within miracle stories encouragement not to be afraid and a ques32 There is strong support for ἐφοβήθησαν (B ‫ א‬D W etc.) in Mt 9.8a. The reading ἐθαύμασαν (C N S etc.) likely began as a perceived emendation (by a copyist or editor) of what seemed like an inappropriate emotion (fear). 33 This seems the best understanding of Mt 28.4a (ἀπὸ δὲ τοῦ φόβου αὐτοῦ ἐσείσθησαν), though the same phrase elsewhere does not collocate with a passive verb (14.26b). 34 The amazement in Mt 13.54 is also at Jesus’ healing. Note Pilate is once amazed at Jesus’ silence (27.14). 35 Jesus heals and teaches/proclaims the good news of the kingdom in synagogues (Mt 4.23; 9.35; 12.9–14; 13.53–58) and in the temple (21.14, 23–27 etc.). These tasks are also given to his disciples (10.1–8). Jesus’ paradigmatic initial teaching (Mt 5–7) is bound to his performance of healings and exorcisms, both before (4.24b–25) and after (8.1–17). Specific healings (9.1–8; 12.9–14), exorcisms (12.22–45; 17.14–20) and the cursing of the fig tree (21.18–22) are also commonly occasions for Jesus’ teaching (though see 17.1–13).

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tion as to why one is afraid occur only in the context of rescue nature miracles and epiphanies. 36 On the basis of the emotions in responses, then, rescue nature miracle and/or epiphany stories (fear) are set apart from the others (amazement). The verbal element is slightly more common than the emotional one: 13 instances in 10 responses (9 stories). The majority (8 instances) have direct discourse, most often as (a) statement(s) (9.33b, 34; 12.24; 14.33; 17.4; cf. 8.10b–12, 13a), but also as a question (8.27; 12.23; 21.20). 37 The verb consistently used in these instances is εἰπεῖν(/λέγειν). Just once does another verb, ἀποκριθῆναι (17.4), accompany it, in a redundant quotative frame. In two thirds of the instances Jesus is the sole topic of the speech, whether slander (9.34; 12.24), commendation (14.33), questions (8.27; 12.23) or another utterance is in mind (14.26). 38 In one case focus seems more on the exorcism Jesus effects than on him. 39 Once a statement is intended to honour Jesus, alongside Moses and Elijah. 40 A miracle, a withered fig tree, is the focus of one question. 41 In both cases where Jesus is the addressee a comment seeks to honour him (14.33; 17.4). Other than these, an addressee is not specified (though cf. 8.10b–12, 13a). Speech is probably to be seen as interaction between members of the group speaking, though in two cases (9.33b–34; 12.23– 24) speech of different characters (οἱ ὄχλοι and οἱ Φαρισαῖοι) may be seen, in part, as their dialogue also. Concerning indirect speech, one instance is a request for Jesus to leave (παρεκάλεσαν ὅπως μεταβῇ ἀπὸ τῶν ὁρίων αὐτῶν: 8.34b). 42 In another Jesus is understood to be a ghost (λέγοντες ὅτι 36 In six of 10 rescue nature miracle and/or epiphany stories (one of) the epiphanic character(s) states a question or makes a reassuring comment pertaining to fear: μὴ φοβηθῇς παραλαβεῖν Μαρίαν τὴν γυναῖκά σου (Mt 1.20); τί δειλοί ἐστε, ὀλιγόπιστοι; (8.26); θαρσεῖτε, ἐγώ εἰμι· μὴ φοβεῖσθε (14.27); ἐγέρθητε καὶ μὴ φοβεῖσθε (17.7); μὴ φοβεῖσθε ὑμεῖς (28.5); μὴ φοβεῖσθε (28.10). 37 Only in Mt 17.4 does the direct speech contain more than one sentence. 38 In similar phraseology Jesus’ exorcist power is slandered: ἐν τῷ ἄρχοντι τῶν δαιμονίων ἐκβάλλει τὰ δαιμόνια (Mt 9.34); οὗτος οὐκ ἐκβάλλει τὰ δαιμόνια εἰ μὴ ἐν τῷ Βεελζεβοὺλ ἄρχοντι τῶν δαιμονίων (12.24). Commendation comes as a short phrase: ἀληθῶς θεοῦ υἱὸς εἶ (14.33). Questions pertain to his identity – ποταπός ἐστιν οὗτος ὅτι καὶ οἱ ἄνεμοι καὶ ἡ θάλασσα αὐτῷ ὑπακούουσιν; (8.27 [B ‫ ;]א‬in other manuscripts [C S etc.] the last two words are ὑπακούουσιν αὐτῷ); μήτι οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ υἱὸς Δαυίδ; (12.23) – as does another utterance: φάντασμά ἐστιν (14.26). 39 οὐδέποτε ἐφάνη οὕτως ἐν τῷ Ἰσραήλ (Mt 9.33b). 40 κύριε, καλόν ἐστιν ἡμᾶς ὧδε εἶναι· εἰ θέλεις, ποιήσω ὧδε τρεῖς σκηνάς, σοὶ μίαν καὶ Μωϋσεῖ μίαν καὶ Ἠλίᾳ μίαν (Mt 17.4 [Bc]). Of the many variant readings for this speech utterance, only ποιήσωμεν (Cc D S W) vs. ποιήσω (B ‫ א‬C*) is of significance here, the remainder being variant spellings of names and variations in order of noun and numeral. 41 πῶς παραχρῆμα ἐξηράνθη ἡ συκῆ; (Mt 21.20). 42 ὅπως μεταβῇ (‫ א‬A C D etc.) is probably to be preferred to ἵνα μεταβῇ (B and W).

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φάντασμά ἐστι: 14.26a). One of two instances of praise to God – δοξάσαι (9.8b; 15.31b) – also involves indirect speech: ἐδόξασαν τὸν θεὸν τὸν δόντα ἐξουσίαν τοιαύτην τοῖς ἀνθρώποις (9.8b). The remaining instance of the verbal element is a scream: κράξαι (14.26b). 43 Rarely are there adverbials (twice) 44 or direct objects (twice). 45 The verbal element appears in responses in various types of miracle stories. Still, it is to be noted that the two instances of praise appear in stories of healing. 46 The element of seeing occurs seven times (in 7 responses, 7 stories). The principal verb involved in each case is ἰδεῖν (8.34b; 9.8a; 14.26a; 15.31; 17.8; 21.20; 28.17a). In one case an idiom is used in addition: ἐπᾶραι τοὺς ὀφθαλμούς (17.8). Twice no object is specified; once healed persons are the object; in the remaining instances it is Jesus. 47 No adverbials occur. The element is found among nature rescue miracles and/or epiphany stories and other stories. 48 Reporting happens just four times (in 4 responses, 4 stories). The words/phraseology used are: ἀπαγγεῖλαι (8.33b; 28.8); διαφημίσαι (9.31); and ἐξῆλθεν ἡ φήμη αὕτη (9.26). 49 Twice the object is specified: πάντα καὶ τὰ τῶν δαιμονιζομένων (8.33b); αὐτόν (9.31). Only once the addressees are mentioned: τοῖς μαθηταῖς αὐτοῦ (28.8). With similar wording twice adverbial constituents note the extent of the reach of reporting: εἰς ὅλην τὴν γῆν ἐκείνην (9.26) ἐν ὅλῃ τῇ γῇ ἐκείνῃ (9.31). It is worth nothing that occasionally Jesus commands silence about a miracle that has transpired. 50 Alterna43 κράξαι (Mt 14.26b), modified by ἀπὸ τοῦ φόβου, does not indicate something verbal, per se, but vocal. 44 One adverbial specifies Jesus as the addressee (Mt 17.4: τῷ Ἰησοῦ), the other describes fear as the cause of the scream (14.26b: ἀπὸ τοῦ φόβου ἔκραξαν). 45 In both cases the phrase is similar: ἐδόξασαν τὸν θεὸν Ἰσραήλ (Mt 15.31b); ἐδόξασαν τὸν θεὸν τὸν δόντα... (9.8b). 46 The remaining 11 instances have this distribution – rescue nature miracle and/or epiphany: Mt 8.27; 14.26a,b; 14.33; 17.4 – mundane nature miracle: 21.20 – exorcism: 8.34b; 9.33b, 34; 12.23, 24. (Cf. 8.10b–12, 13a [healing].) 47 With no object: Mt 9.8; 21.20. With healed persons: βλέποντας κωφοὺς λαλοῦντας, κυλλοὺς ὑγιεῖς καὶ χωλοὺς περιπατοῦντας καὶ τυφλοὺς βλέποντας (15.31; some manuscripts have κωφοὺς ἀκούοντας [καὶ λαλοῦντας]: B N 1071). With Jesus: ἰδόντες αὐτόν (Mt 8.34b [cf. 8.34a]; 28.17); ἰδόντες αὐτὸν ἐπὶ τῆς θαλάσσης περιπατοῦντα (14.26); οὐδένα εἶδον εἰ μὴ αὐτὸν Ἰησοῦν μόνον (17.8 [B* Θ 700] – among variant readings εἰ μὴ τὸν Ἰησοῦν μόνον [Bc C* S U etc.] is notable for the number and quality of witnesses). 48 An exorcism (Mt 8.34); healings (15.31); a mundane nature miracle (21.20); rescue nature miracles (9.8; 14.26); epiphanies (17.8; 28.17). 49 In Mt 9.26 ἡ φήμη αὕτη (B S N W) is a better attested reading than ἡ φήμη αὐτῆς (‫א‬ C etc.). 50 Jesus’ command to not report occurs in both stories without responses (Mt 8.4) and with them (9.30; cf. 17.9). Regarding the latter, the following response (9.31) has reporting, despite the negative injunction.

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tively, a positive command to report occurs in three other stories. 51 Twice it is obeyed, whether in a response (28.8) or in a subsequent story (28.11). 52 Once compliance or its lack is not noted (cf. 8.4). The reporting element occurs three times in stories of healing, once in an epiphany story (28.8). There are 14 occurrences of movement between locations (in 9 responses, 9 stories). Movement to a distant location, specified by an adverbial, is twice noted: ἀναχωρῆσαι (2.14b), εἰσελθεῖν (2.21b). 53 Fleeing (φυγεῖν: 8.33a; and, related, ἀπελθόντες εἰς τὴν πόλιν: 8.33b), departing quickly (ἀπελθοῦσαι ταχὺ ἀπὸ τοῦ μνημείου: 28.8) 54 and running (δραμεῖν: 28.8) 55 occur. Following Jesus does too: ἠκολούθησαν αὐτῷ (20.34c). There is one instance each of coming to Jesus (as a result of hearing about a miracle) – ἐξῆλθεν εἰς ὑπάντησιν τῷ Ἰησοῦ (8.34a) 56 – and approaching him (following a postresurrection appearance) – προσελθεῖν (28.9b). 57 Twice generic motion away is described, without adverbials (ἐξελθόντες: 9.31; 12.14). The act of taking someone with/along, occurring three times (always παρέλαβεν: 1.24b; 2.14a; 2.21a), is unique in that it conceptually involves the movement of more than one party. (It potentially connotes, in addition, some movement of the body.) In each case the object(s) are specified; once an adverbial specifies the time of the act. 58 The distribution of this action among types of miracle stories will be discussed presently, in Section E. For the other actions mentioned in this paragraph there is no significant pattern of distribution. There are five instances of bodily posturing towards the ground (in 5 responses, 5 stories). For ease of reference this element will be called “falling,” though I recognise that there is more diversity semantically. Three times the verb προσκυνῆσαι (14.33; 28.9c; 28.17a) is used, expressing prostration be-

51 Both an angel (Mt 28.7) and Jesus (28.10) command the reporting of Jesus’ resurrection. Note is the epiphany in question the content per se of what is commanded to be reported. 52 To be precise, in both cases the intent to obey is narrated (through going), though the reporting itself is only assumed later (Mt 28.16). 53 εἰς Αἴγυπτον; (Mt 2.14b); εἰς γῆν Ἰσραήλ (2.21b). In 2.21b the reading εἰσῆλθεν (B ‫א‬ C) is preferable to ἦλθεν (D N S W etc.). 54 Though ἀπελθόντες is a superior reading (B ‫ א‬C etc.), ἐξελθόντες is a notable variant (A D S W etc.) 55 The verb of the clause is further modified by μετὰ φόβου καὶ χαρᾶς μεγάλης. 56 While ὑπάντησιν τῷ Ἰησοῦ (B Θ) is the superior reading, a number of variants occur: ὑπάντησιν τοῦ Ἰησοῦ (‫ ;)א‬συνάντησιν τοῦ Ἰησοῦ (C 157); συνάντησιν τῷ Ἰησοῦ (S N W etc.). 57 Related, in Mt 14.33 in some older manuscripts (C* D P S W etc.) ἐλθόντες precedes προσεκύνησαν. The best manuscripts do not have the participle (B ‫ א‬Cc N). 58 Objects: τὴν γυναῖκα αὐτοῦ (Mt 1.24b); τὸ παιδίον καὶ τὴν μητέρα αὐτοῦ (2.14a); τὸ παιδίον καὶ τὴν μητέρα αὐτοῦ (2.21a). Adverbial of time: νυκτός (2.14a).

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fore Jesus, who is twice specified. 59 Falling on one’s face occurs once: ἔπεσαν ἐπὶ πρόσωπον αὐτῶν (17.6). The extreme description of becoming as though dead (ἐγενήθησαν ὡς νεκροί: 28.4b) 60 can justifiably be included in this grouping, though the concept of physical immobility is connoted as much as falling is and the act is involuntary. All five instances occur in stories of epiphanies (28.4b; 28.9c; 28.17a) and/or rescue nature miracles (14.33; 17.6). Various other bodily movements, of which there are five instances (in 5 responses, 5 stories), constitute a conceptually more heterogeneous group than in the case of other elements (emotional, verbal, seeing, reporting, movement, falling). Getting up occurs three times (always ἐγερθείς: 1.24a; 2.14a; 2.21a). 61 This action appears only in epiphany stories, as do two others: being shaken (σεισθῆναι: 28.4a), 62 evidently involuntary; grabbing Jesus’ feet (ἐκράτησαν αὐτοῦ τοὺς πόδας: 28.9b). (Related, see the occurrence of serving: διηκόνει αὐτῷ [8.15d].) There is a single instance of explicit antagonism, namely conspiring (against Jesus): συμβούλιον ἔλαβον κατ᾿ αὐτοῦ ὅπως αὐτὸν ἀπολέσωσιν (Mt 12.14). There is one instance of doubt (διστάσαι: 28.17), without further specification. 63 Hearing is noted twice, with a single word (ἀκούσαντες: Mt 12.24; 17.6; cf. 8.10a). Four instances remain that do not fit within the categorisation scheme used above. A generalised statement of obedience occurs: ἐποίησεν ὡς προσέταξεν αὐτῷ ὁ ἄγγελος κυρίου (1.24). 64 Once abstention from sexual relations is mentioned. 65 Naming a child occurs once. 66 The last two types of (in-)action are more social in nature than physical, cognitive or verbal. Thus they are listed here. Once remaining in a location is indicated (ἦν ἐκεῖ: 2.15a), with an adverbial of time. 67 The instance is listed here because it is not an inversion of the motif of relocating (see the analysis in Section Q, below).

59 Mt 14.33 and 28.9c (B ‫ א‬D): προσεκύνησαν αὐτῷ. Some witnesses do not have a pronoun in 28.9c (A S W etc.). 60 In Mt 28.4b ἐγενήθησαν (B ‫ א‬C* D 33) is preferable to ἐγένοντο (A Cc S W etc.). 61 διεγερθείς (Cc D S W etc.) is not preferable to ἐγερθείς (B ‫ א‬C*) at Mt 1.24. 62 The verb is modified by ἀπὸ... τοῦ φόβου αὐτοῦ. 63 Since the element of belief is important in responses in Jn (see below, Chapter Five, Section D), this otherwise anomalous element in Mt is identified specifically, to serve later comparative purposes. On the other hand the motif of belief, little faith and doubt are important in miracle stories, generally, in Mt (see below, Section Q). 64 Note this statement comes as a generalisation, prior to Joseph’s specific acts of obedience (Mt 1.24b–25). 65 οὐκ ἐγίνωσκεν αὐτὴν ἕως οὗ ἔτεκεν υἱόν (Mt 1.25a). 66 καὶ ἐκάλεσεν τὸ ὄνομα αὐτοῦ Ἰησοῦν (Mt 1.25b). 67 ἕως τῆς τελευτῆς Ἡρῴδου (Mt 2.15b).

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E. Combinations of Elements within Responses What patterns can be observed for combinations of elements within the responses? The first three responses to appear in the narrative set themselves apart as a group on account of their common constellation of elements, not found elsewhere. The responses share certain elements (bodily motion – specifically, rising – and movement – specifically, taking along/with), words and even morphology: ἐγερθείς (1.24a; 2.14a; 2.21a); παρέλαβεν (1.24b; 2.14a; 2.21a). Two responses possess verbatim phraseology (ὁ δὲ ἐγερθεὶς παρέλαβεν: 2.14a; 2.21a). In them the third and final “main” 68 element is also identical (moving to a distant location), a type of movement which does not appear in any other response. The remaining four elements, in two responses (1.24a, 25 [three]; 2.15 [one]), are each unique. 69 So the elements in these three responses are either common to two of them or all three or not shared with any other response. The three relevant stories are all of angelophanies. These three responses, then, along with the four that consist of just one element (9.26 [reporting]; 17.4 [verbal]; 17.8 [seeing]; 20.34c [following]; cf. 8.15d [serving]) are bracketed from the following discussion, leaving 16 responses for analysis. The most commonly collocating elements are emotional and verbal, occurring in seven responses. 70 Many of the instances of direct speech (6:8) occur within these responses, covering a variety of types of stories. 71 At the same time, when the collocation of emotion and speech is considered generally, the distinction between types of stories based on the emotion (fear / being troubled or amazement) is only slightly less clear. 72

68 “Main” elements are all those listed in Section D (above), besides those instances designated “other.” 69 A generalised statement of obedience, abstention from sexual relations, naming a child and remaining in a location are among the only elements that do not fit in the categorisation scheme in Section D, above. Thus, notably, the three responses have in common an absence of some of the most frequent elements (emotional, seeing, verbal, reporting). 70 The seven responses account for the majority of appearances of both elements (8:12 [emotional]; 10:13 [verbal]): Mt 8.27; 9.8; 9.33b–34; 12.23–24; 14.26; 15.31; 21.20. 71 Rescue nature miracle and/or epiphany: Mt 8.27 (question). Mundane miracle: 21.20 (question). Exorcism: 9.33b–34 (twice); 12.23–24 (twice – once a question). Unless otherwise noted, the speech is a statement. The four other instances of the verbal element in the said collocation are: indirect speech about a ghost (14.26a), a related scream (14.26b) and two instances of praise (9.8; 15.31). 72 The verbal element collocates with fear/being troubled in one healing (Mt 9.8 [praise]) and one story of rescue nature miracle and/or epiphany (14.26 [twice]). The latter story type is represented only once (8.27) in the 5 instances where amazement is present (exorcism: 9.33b–34; 12.23–24; healing: 15.31 [praise]; mundane nature miracle: 21.20).

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Emotion collocates with seeing in four responses (with no preference for the type of emotion). 73 It collocates (as fear) with falling (other than proskynesis) twice 74 and with each of movement and reporting just once (28.8 for both). It is perhaps noteworthy that just one of six relevant responses containing movement also contain an emotional component. In contrast all three responses with reporting that are relevant have movement as well. 75 The verbal element is found in five of the six relevant responses containing seeing. 76 The only triple collocation that occurs more than once is that of emotion, speech and seeing, found together in four responses. Three of these account for the instances of the verbal element other than direct speech, including the only two instances of praise. 77 Here, too, various story types are represented. 78 On average responses in stories that may be termed epiphanic have more elements than those in other stories. 79 Interestingly, five of the six of the remaining stories of rescue nature miracles and/or epiphanies, when the narrative’s first three epiphany stories are bracketed, contain the instances of physical positioning towards the ground (14.33; 17.6; 28.4; 28.9c; 28.17 – the exception is the story containing the response in 8.27).

73

Fear/being troubled: Mt 9.8; 14.26. Amazement: 15.31; 21.20. The acts of falling and becoming as dead (also shaking), not proskynesis, are those accompanied by an emotion (fear): Mt 17.6; 28.4. The three instances of proskynesis come with speech only (Mt 14.33 – though see above, n. 57, for a variant), seeing and doubt (28.17) or approach and grasping Jesus’ feet (28.9b–c). Falling collocates with other bodily motions twice (28.4; 28.9b–c). 75 Mt 8.33–34; 9.31; 28.8. 76 Mt 8.33–34; 9.8; 14.26; 15.31; 21.20. 77 Mt 14.26 (twice); 9.8; 15.31. The remaining response with the triple collocation is 21.20. 78 Rescue nature miracle and/or epiphany: Mt 14.26. Mundane miracle: 21.20. Healing: 9.8; 15.31 (praise in each case). 79 In the epiphany stories at the narrative’s opening and close, responses have two (28.4; 28.9b–c) to three or more different types of elements (1.24–25; 2.14–15a; 2.21; 28.8; 28.17). Responses in the two rescue nature miracle stories, too, have two (8.27;14.33; 20.34c) or three (14.26) different kinds of elements. Only in the transfiguration does a response (17.4) or possibly two (17.8 – if not taken along with 17.6) have only one element. The remaining response there (17.6) has three kinds of components (or four, if 17.8 is read together with it). In contrast, stories of other types of miracles have responses containing on average fewer elements: one (9.26; 20.34c), two (9.31; 9.33b–34; 12.14; cf. 12.23–24 [which also has the once occurring element of hearing]); three (9.8; 21.20) and, once, four (8.33–34). (Note two responses, containing a generic movement away may be considered as having effectively only one [main] element: 9.31; 12.14). 74

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F. Relative Priority of Elements Do any elements of the responses typically receive a specific level of prominence in the discourse? Does the relative priority of elements for a given collocation exhibit a pattern? The following analysis will show that the responses contain a moderate level of formality, particularly with respect to the relative priority of emotional, verbal, falling and seeing elements. On the other hand, the movement element does not fall into an observable pattern. A similar scheme and procedure is adopted here as in Chapter Two, Section F. In Table 1 (see below) the relative prominence of elements in a given response are represented thus: background material (–), demoted event/action via a subordinated clause (+), an elaboration on a mainline event via a postnuclear participial clause ( –), mainline event (default level of prominence) ( ), highlighted mainline event ( +). 80 In addition a plus sign (+) is used to represent a noun that acts as an adverbial (Mt 14.26b; 28.4; 28.8 [twice]). And once a check mark with a minus sign ( –) represents a post-nuclear infinitive clause (28.8). Which elements are most frequently mainline events? For those components that occur four times or more the absolute numbers of mainline events ( +, ) are as follows: movement (9); emotional (7); verbal (6); falling (5); reporting (3); seeing (1). In relative numbers the components are mainline events in the following frequencies: falling (5:5), reporting (3:4), movement (9:14), emotional (7:12), verbal (6:13), seeing (1:7). Note that if post-nuclear participles are also included ( –), then the verbal element is in absolute terms (11) the most frequent and in relative terms (11:13) the second most common. In the discussion of relative prominence within given responses to follow, the first three responses in the narrative (1.24–25; 2.14–15a; 2.21) are excluded, owing to their shared, peculiar nature, which differentiates them from all other responses. Naturally, responses with only one component (Mt 9.26; 17.4; 17.8; 20.34c; cf. 8.15d) are also bracketed from the discussion. When multiple instances of one or more components occur in a response, I compare the most prominent instance of the element(s).

80

I do not note redundant quotative frames here. The verbal element is marked once, even when two verbs describe the relevant direct / indirect speech (e.g. Mt 1.27; 2.12b).

28.17 28.9b–c 28.8 28.4 21.20 20.34c 17.8 17.6 17.4 15.31 14.33 14.26 12.23–24 12.14 9.33b–34 9.31 9.26 9.8 8.33–34 8.27 2.21 2.14–15a 1.24–25 –

Reporting

+

+

–

+

+

Hearing

–

– +

+

+ +,

+

Grasping

+

Shaking

, +,

Falling

,–

+ +

Seeing

+, + +

Emotional

– , –,

–

–

Verbal

+ ,+ –

+

– , –,

Other

+ + + Rising

, , Movement

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Table 1: Relative prominence of elements in responses

Doubt

Conspiring

Order of Appearance of Elements

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First, the general observation can be made that the single instance of visual sensation is always the least prominent component in the responses it appears in. This observation includes five responses with seeing and speech and four with seeing and emotion. In five of seven relevant responses visual sensation is denoted by a pre-nuclear participle (8.34b; 9.8; 14.26; 21.20; 28.17). The five instances of falling are always among the most prominent elements in the respective responses. In six of seven relevant responses emotions are as prominent or more than speech. 81 Beyond specific collocations, the observation can be made that in seven of 10 responses emotion is as prominent or more so than other components (8.27; 9.8; 9.33b–34; 14.26; 15.31; 17.6; 21.20). Making a distinction between stories of epiphany and other miracles does not modify the observation. No consistency in levels of prominence exists for the three responses containing movement and reporting. I make one more general observation: in five of 10 responses containing speech (one instance of) the component is a post-nuclear participle. 82 In three of four responses with the triple collocation, emotion and speech have equal prominence, while seeing is demoted (9.8; 14.26; 15.31; cf. 21.20). In two cases of the triple collocation, tendencies of the verbal (post-nuclear participle) and seeing (pre-nuclear) elements coincide, with an emotion as the main-line event: ἰδόντες... ἐταράχθησαν λέγοντες... (14.26); ἰδόντες... ἐθαύμασαν λέγοντες... (21.20). 83 The above considerations further establish that emotions receive prominence in the responses. Speech, to a lesser degree, does too. Seeing, while occurring frequently enough, is the component that is consistently demoted.

G. Order of Appearance of Elements Here I examine the order of appearance of elements in the 19 responses that contain two or more elements. I will principally show that emotion, speech, seeing, reporting and movement frequently appear in specific places within the responses, whether absolutely or with respect to other elements in common collocations. This observation is especially true for emotion, speech and

81 Emotion is more prominent than speech three times (Mt 8.27; 9.33b–34; 21.20), equally prominent three times (9.8; 14.26b; 15.31), less prominent only once (12.23–24). 82 In just two of five relevant responses movement is (among) the most prominent element(s). 83 The two sentences in full: οἱ δὲ μαθηταὶ ἰδόντες αὐτὸν ἐπὶ τῆς θαλάσσης περιπατοῦντα ἐταράχθησαν λέγοντες ὅτι φάντασμά ἐστιν (Mt 14.26); καὶ ἰδόντες οἱ μαθηταὶ ἐθαύμασαν λέγοντες· πῶς παραχρῆμα ἐξηράνθη ἡ συκῆ; (21.20).

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visual sensation. The analysis demonstrates that the responses in Matthew have a formal quality. Considerations of relative priority further support the idea. The first three responses (see Table 2, below) stand apart, as they all begin with rising which is followed shortly (1.24b) or immediately (2.14a; 2.21a) by taking along/with (παρέλαβεν), being the next main component. The last two have in common, also, a subsequent element (movement to a distant location). Considering also prominence (see Table 1, above), the three are further tied together. Rising is a demoted event (pre-nuclear participle) and παρέλαβεν denotes a mainline event. Given the unique nature of these three responses, then, they will not be considered in the discussion remaining in this section. In all five responses with movement, the component comes in the initial position. In four cases (not 8.33–34) a pre-nuclear aorist participle is in view: ἐξελθόντες (9.31; 12.14); ἀπελθοῦσαι (28.8); προσελθοῦσαι (28.9b–c). In four of six relevant responses visual sensation is initial, absolutely (9.8; 14.26; 21.20; 28.17 – for the exceptions, 15.31 and 8.33–34, it occurs in the middle or towards the end, respectively). Considering prominence as well, in each case it is a pre-nuclear participle. In five of 10 relevant responses the (or an instance of) emotion comes in the initial position (8.27; 9.33b–34; 12.23–24; 15.31; 28.4). 84 In four responses one (or two) instance(s) of the emotional element follows immediately after another, opening component (9.8; 14.26; 21.20; 28.8 [two] – in three cases it is seeing [see below]). Once the emotion comes last (17.6). 85

84 Only one of the 10 responses has merely one instance each of two elements. Not merely binary options are the norm, then, in what is presently under consideration. 85 This accounts for all instances of emotion in the relevant responses, save the second instance in Mt 14.26 [14.26c], which is in the second last position.

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Order of Appearance of Elements

Table 2: Order of appearance of elements 86 1.24–25 2.14–15a 2.21 8.27 8.33–34 9.8 9.26 9.31 9.33b–34 12.14 12.23–24 14.26 14.33 15.31 17.4 17.6 17.8 20.34c 21.20 28.4 28.8 28.9b–c 28.17

86

Rising Rising Rising Emotion Move Seeing Reporting Move Emotion Move Emotion Seeing Falling Emotion Verbal Hearing Seeing Move Seeing Emotion Move Move Seeing

Other Taking Taking Verbal Move Emotion Reporting Verbal Conspire Verbal Emotion Verbal Seeing

Taking Move Move

Other Other

Other

Reporting Praise

Move

Seeing

Verbal Emotion

Verbal

Move

Reporting

Verbal

Verbal Hearing Verbal Praise

Falling

Emotion

Emotion Bodily Emotion Bodily Falling

Verbal Falling Emotion Falling Doubt

Note “move”=movement between locations; “taking”=taking with/along; “falling”=falling/prostrating and, in one case, becoming as though dead (Mt 28.4b); “bodily”=other bodily motion. It has seemed expedient to specify in the table some special subsets of movement between locations (taking) and other bodily motion (rising and falling). (Unnecessary complexity would have resulted had the table specified the remaining instances, whether, on the one hand, movement to a distant location, fleeing, departing quickly, running, following, coming to Jesus and approaching him or, on the other, being shaken and grabbing Jesus’ feet.) Similarly, the two instances of praise are specified in the table, though in the analysis they are considered, generally, as instances of the verbal element.

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In all of the seven responses containing the collocation (8 instances), the emotion precedes the verbal element, whether immediately (8.27; 9.8; 9.33b; 12.23; 14.26 [twice]; 87 21.20) or with one intervening element (15.31 [seeing comes between]). In four cases an emotion is modified by a post-nuclear participle – ἐθαύμασαν(...) λέγοντες (8.27; 9.33b; 21.20); ἐταράχθησαν λέγοντες (14.26a). 88 (Note, for all responses, when direct speech is involved there is some propensity for the verbal element to be a post-nuclear participle [five of nine instances of direct speech: 14.33, in addition to the four instances just mentioned].) In two of the three other instances in which speech follows immediately after the emotion, parallel syntax and prominence in the discourse are exhibited: 9.8 (ἐφοβήθησαν καὶ ἐδόξασαν); 12.23 (ἐξίσταντο... καὶ ἔλεγον) – the other instance is 14.26b (ἀπὸ τοῦ φόβου ἔκραξαν). In the remaining case the intervening visual sensation is relatively less prominent than the other two elements: 15.31 (θαυμάσαι βλέποντας... καὶ ἐδόξασαν). This pattern of constituent order actually works against the association of rescue nature miracles stories (8.27; 14.26a, b) with epiphany stories (no occurrences), aligning them more with other miracle stories (healing: 9.8; 15.31; exorcism: 9.33b; 12.23; mundane nature miracle: 21.20). In all five responses where the collocation is found seeing precedes speech, whether an emotion comes between them (9.8; 14.26a; 21.20 – reproduced below) or nothing does: ἰδόντες αὐτὸν παρεκάλεσαν... (8.34b); βλέποντας... καὶ ἐδόξασαν (15.31). Seeing immediately precedes (an instance of) emotion in three of the four relevant responses (9.8; 14.26a; 21.20). In the remaining response (15.31) the order is reversed, with nothing in between. In all three relevant responses moving (one or two instances) immediately precedes reporting: ἀπελθόντες... ἀπήγγειλαν (8.33b); ἐξελθόντες διεφήμισαν (9.31); ἀπελθοῦσαι... ἔδραμον ἀπαγγεῖλαι (28.8). The first two instances have in common as well an order of relative prominence and verb forms (aorist participle preceding a mainline event). In three of four responses in which the triple collocation is found the order is as follows: seeing, emotional and verbal. In addition, as noted in the foregoing section, in two cases the elements have a common pattern of prominence and even significant verbal identity: ἰδόντες... ἐταράχθησαν λέγοντες... (14.26); ἰδόντες... ἐθαύμασαν λέγοντες... (21.20). The other instance with this order similarly has seeing as a (verbally identical) prenuclear participle and the emotion as a main event: ἰδόντες... ἐφοβήθησαν καὶ ἐδόξασαν... (9.8). These three instances, then, share much in common.

87

In Mt 14.26 two pairs of emotion and speech occur one after the other. In the remaining case (Mt 14.33), speech is a constraint on the sense of the prostration: προσεκύνησαν αὐτῷ λέγοντες. 88

Order of Appearance of Elements

207

The remaining response has the order emotion-sight-speech: ὥστε... θαυμάσαι βλέποντας... καὶ ἐδόξασαν... (15.31). A synthesis of observations on both order and prominence are useful now. On the one hand seeing in 15.31 uses the same lexeme as in the other instances and is here too the relatively least prominent component. On the other hand it has a different verbal form and aspect (continuative) and relative prominence (post-nuclear participle, not pre-nuclear). Here, again unlike in the other three responses, the emotion is less prominent than the speech. Still the four responses share in common that all three elements in the collocation appear in immediate proximity to one another, ending with speech. Also both 9.8 and 15.31 end with the verbally identical καὶ ἐδόξασαν. And for three of the responses, including the somewhat anomalous 15.31, there are only three instances of elements (also 9.8; 21.20). (In 14.26 all five instances of elements also belong to the collocation.) In summary, the collocation of seeing, emotion and speech has a pronounced formal appearance, though it occurs only four times. Something further about the element of seeing should be said. Though it only occurs six times throughout the responses, five times it is first in a distinct series of actions (of one character). It always comes with the same lexeme, form and function (pre-nuclear participle): ἰδόντες αὐτὸν παρεκάλεσαν... (8.34b); ἰδόντες... ἐφοβήθησαν καὶ ἐδόξασαν... (9.8); ἰδόντες... ἐταράχθησαν λέγοντες... καὶ ἀπὸ τοῦ φόβου ἔκραξαν... (14.26); ἰδόντες... ἐθαύμασαν λέγοντες... (21.20); ἰδόντες αὐτὸν προσεκύνησαν... (28.17a).

Either two (8.34b; 28.17a) or three (9.8; 14.26; 21.20) elements are involved – in one case there are two instances of two of them (14.26). The word ἰδόντες immediately precedes another element (emotion [3 times]; verbal; falling) that is a mainline event. Viewed alternatively, in four cases it precedes a verbal element which is either a mainline event (8.34b; 9.8) or modifies one (14.26; 21.20). In summary in the five of six responses in which visual sensation is the first component in a distinct series of actions, a strong formal pattern is observed, which bears a relation to all three of the most common collocations. Whether, then, for the absolute location of some components (notably movement and seeing being initial) or the relative order in collocations (emotion to speech; seeing to speech) a measure of formal consistency is seen in the sixteen responses just examined. But the formal nature of responses is seen most of all in the first three responses in Matthew, which I considered earlier.

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H. Characters Responding As in Section H of Chapter Two, the interest here is primarily focused on answering the question “Who?” Issues of characterisation are addressed in more detail in Section Q, below. Roughly 12 characters or character groups are respondents in miracle stories. 89 Jesus is not among them. One response is generic, with no respondents specified (Mt 9.26). Adoption of the same rubric used for analysing Mark is justified here. The Pharisees, who become Jesus’ avowed opponents, are to be treated specially. Joseph, too, is set in a category of his own. For one, as shown in preceding sections, his three responses are those that, in fact, are already set apart as a group on the basis of a shared combination of elements, words and morphology and the order of their occurrence. In addition, Joseph acts in the one period of the narrative outside of (prior to) Jesus’ adult activity. All three of Joseph’s responses cast him in a positive light. Among the category of followers, two characters (character groups), being established followers, have a continuing role in the narrative. Peter responds in one story and the “disciples,” basically equivalent to the “Twelve” (or the “Eleven”), 90 in four stories (5 responses). Others play a one-time role – Peter, James and John – or an otherwise brief role – Mary Magdalene and the “other” Mary. Worthy of note is the otherwise unspecified subgroup of disciples who doubt in the final episode. The only new followers, the second pair healed of blindness, appear merely in the respective episode. Through their response these two are portrayed positively, as are Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, for the most part, through theirs. The disciples’ portrayal, alternatively, fluctuates between essentially laudable (14.33; 28.17) and lacking, 89 Joseph (Mt 1.24–25; 2.14–15a; 2.21); “the disciples” (8.27; 14.26; 14.33; 21.20; 28.17 – note there is a further subgroup, specified in a limited way, in the last instance); the pig-herders (8.33); the “city” of Gadara (8.34); “crowds” (9.8; 9.33b; 12.23; 15.31 [here simply “crowd”]); the first pair healed from blindness (9.31); the Pharisees (9.34; 12.14; 12.24); Peter (17.4); Peter, James and John (17.6; 17.8); the second pair healed from blindness (20.34c); Mary Magdalene and the “other” Mary (28.8; 28.9b–c); and the guards (28.4) 90 The “disciples” (μαθηταί), introduced immediately upon Jesus’ commencement of his public ministry (Mt 5.1, referring to the four individuals from the preceding episode [4.18–22]), undergo a period of consolidation of number until ch. 10 (see, also, Kingsbury 1986: 109–110). Indicative of this, it would seem, are the two negative and positive examples: one unnamed disciple stops following Jesus (8.21–22); Matthew joins the disciples (9.9). From 10.1 on it becomes clear that the disciples are twelve (later eleven) in number. For the present purposes it is not crucial to differentiate between the less defined “disciples” in one miracle story (8.23–27) and the “disciples” in the remaining miracle stories in which they are respondents. On the unity of the disciples as a (single) character, see also Kingsbury (1986: 13) and Carter (1996: 215).

Characters Responding

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though tending towards positive (8.27; 14.26; 21.20). The responses of Peter and the triad of Peter, James and John, all of whom belong to the larger group of “the disciples” are less than satisfactory. The cumulatively positive characterisation of the disciples, those evidently closest to Jesus relationally, does not come about easy. And even in the majority’s final act, the demonstrative prostration before Jesus, surprisingly some still evidence doubt (28.17). Four non-follower respondents appear in just one episode each: the pigherders (8.33); the people from Gadara (8.34); the first pair healed from blindness (9.31); and the guards (28.4). “The crowds” are respondents in four stories. 91 An extreme negative response is that of the pig-herders and the Gadarenes. The guards’ response does not appear to be positive – and, from developments in a following episode, apparently has no transformative effect. Acting disobediently, the only non-follower suppliants to respond, the formerly blind men, come out in a strongly negative light. Only the responses of the crowds can be evaluated as, to some extent, positive. Their praise of God (9.8; 15.31), especially, contributes to a meritorious portrayal, though other factors mitigate against it (see below, Section Q). Returning to the Pharisees, their responses are either extremely slanderous (9.34; 12.24) or inclined towards violence (12.14). Notably in two instances the Pharisees are contrasted with “the crowds” (9.34; 12.24). Still, the crowds come out here far from being the ideal respondents. Bracketing Joseph’s responses, in the six remaining rescue nature miracle and/or epiphany stories, all respondents, save one, the guards (28.4), are established followers of Jesus (Peter; Peter, James and John; the “disciples,” including once “some” of the eleven; the two women named Mary). Alternatively, Jesus’ opponents (the Pharisees), pig-hearders and citizens of a related city, the “crowds” and various suppliants (two pairs of two formerly blind men) only respond in stories of healing and exorcism. Only here, too, does a generic statement occur about a report spreading, unaccompanied by acts of an identifiable character. Note in these stories once a pair of new followers are the group respondent. The differentiation between miracle story types established on the basis of different emotions in responses finds further support in the alternation between established followers and others as respondents. 92

91 The crowds (on the plural see above, n. 14), established as a character early in the narrative, when Jesus’ begins his public ministry (Mt 4.25; 5.1; 7.28; 8.1), are referred to as ὄχλοι [ὄχλος] in all responses (9.8; 9.33b; 12.23 [15.31]). 92 An outlier to the pattern is the mundane (non-epiphanic) nature miracle story, in which the disciples are respondents.

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I. Functional Roles of Respondents Analysis of the responses in terms of the functional roles of the respondents offers further corroboration of the pattern of differentiation among miracle story types (aside from the special case of Joseph). Established followers are always recipients in rescue nature miracle and/or epiphany stories, where they are respondents. The only other respondent in one of these stories, also a recipient, is the group of guards. In responding to the one non-rescue nature miracle, established followers are observers. Stories of other types of miracles (healing, exorcism) have respondents whose roles are more varied: hearers (the citizens of Gadara), observers (crowds [3 times]; Pharisees [3 times]; the pig-herders) and recipients (two pairs of two formerly blind men [twice]; crowds [Mt 5.31]).

J. Setting Placing the settings of the miracle stories with responses on a continuum in terms of spatial proximity to urban-centres, the data present some limited further support for the proposed differentiation between types of miracles. First I observe that the settings of the three epiphanies to Joseph add to the body of evidence placing the stories (and the responses they contain) in a category of their own. In each of the three stories, while no specific location is given, 93 the phrase κατ᾽ ὄναρ (1.20; 2.13; 2.19) is used to indicate the conceptual “location” within which the angelophany transpires. I bracket, therefore, the stories of angelophany to Joseph in what follows. Responses in the remaining epiphany stories occur on a mountain (28.17) or a high mountain (17.4; 17.6; 17.8) – presumably both are away from urban centres – near a tomb outside of Jerusalem (28.4; 28.8) and on the way from this tomb to another location, possibly urban (28.9b–c). Responses to rescue nature miracles take place in a boat at sea (Mt 8.27; 14.26; 14.33). The instance in an unknown space, while the respondents are moving between locations (28.9b–c), is the least characteristic of the pattern evident in these stories, where the setting is a secluded, uninhabited location, at times out in the elements. In contrast stories of healings, exorcisms and the shrivelling of the fig tree – for those stories with responses – typically occur in relatively more urban 93 The first story (Mt 1.18–25) gives no indication of physical location. While the second (2.13–15) can be assumed to take place in Bethlehem (cf. 2.1), no effort is made to specify the location for the angelophany (presumably at Joseph’s home). The third story mentions a location at the beginning, but it is extremely vague (Egypt: 2.19).

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settings. The setting might be a synagogue (Mt 12.14), a house (9.26; 9.31; 9.33b–34), an unspecified location in a city (9.8). A road outside a city is twice a setting, also, for a response in this context (20.34c; 21.20). There are three exceptions to this pattern. Alternatively, a response to a healing or exorcism can occur on a mountain (15.31), near tombs (8.33–34) or in a location, presumably would-be secluded (outdoors?), Jesus has retreated to in order to avoid danger (12.23–24; cf. 12.15). Considering whether a miracle story is portrayed as public or private provides an additional and stronger angle for observing the pattern of differentiation among miracle story types. Stories of epiphanies and rescue nature miracles always occur in private settings, where established followers are recipient respondents. 94 All stories of healings and exorcisms containing responses are presented as occurring completely in or at some point entering into the public sphere. 95 In these stories, as noted previously, the respondents are always characters other than the established followers. The one episode that lies somewhere between the two types of stories is the cursing of the fig tree. This is a non-epiphanic episode occurring in private with established followers responding. I note, in addition, that also for miracle stories not containing a response, there is tendency toward the pattern. 96

K. Focalisation The Transfiguration is the one miracle story which ventures into characterfocalisation. 97 The effect is to bring the hearers/readers to sympathise with 94

The one story that is less explicit on this point is the post-resurrection appearance of Jesus to the women. 95 Stories of healing and exorcism that enter into the public sphere are: Mt 8.28–34; 9.18–19, 23–26; 9.27–31. The healing of Peter’s mother-in-law, too, should be understood as an event, which subsequently becomes public knowledge (cf. 8.16–17). 96 Typically, stories of healing (Mt 8.1–4 ; 8.5–13; 9.20–22), exorcism (17.14–18) and feeding (14.15–21; 15.32–38) occur in public settings. Twice the setting is private (15.21– 28 [exorcism]; 17.24–27 [nature miracle]). While the general setting is public, perception of the one relevant theophany (3.13–17) may be private, restricted to Jesus. For discussion of this point, see below, Section Q. 97 The disciples, whether Peter (Mt 17.4) or all three (17.6, 8), are frequently active, and other events transpire in relation to them – notably Jesus’ transformation (17.2a: ἔμπροσθεν αὐτῶν), the appearance of Moses and Elijah (17.3: αὐτοῖς) and the theophany with speech (17.5). Spatiality beyond their realm of perception is never addressed and their hearing (17.6a) and seeing (17.8) are noted. Narration penetrates their inner life (17.6b). In contrast Jesus’ audio and visual perception and thoughts and emotions are not given. The story begins with a narrator-focaliser and only fully achieves character-focalisation by 17.8.

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the disciples. Hearers/readers join in the disciples’ emotional turmoil and difficulty in understanding who Jesus is and what transpired on the mountain. This effect is discussed further in Section Q, below. In some other miracle stories, also, narration of events is limited to the spatial and temporal perception of characters and their inner world of thoughts and emotions is penetrated. Yet the stories do not dedicate enough text to such facets to move from narrator-focalisation to character-focalisation. 98

L. Location within a Miracle Story The vast majority of responses (19 of 23) follow immediately upon the heels of a miracle. 99 Twice something intervenes: a fulfillment formula (1.22–23 [1 sentence]; re. 1.24–25); a command from Jesus (9.30b [1 sentence]; re. 9.31). Once, the miracle, portrayed as the object of respondents’ perception, is narrated within the response (28.17). In one instance, using the motif ironically, an additional response to an epiphany (17.8) follows an intervening act and speech of Jesus (17.7 [2 sentences]). Typically a response constitutes the closing line(s) of a story (13 of 19 stories). 100 In such cases the final sentence is a mainline event and an aorist 98

The story of the stilling of the storm (Mt 8.23–27), the next best candidate for character-focalisation, has the disciples as the main actors in only three sentences (8.23, 25, 27). And the oblique reference to Jesus (dative case) in the story’s opening clause is typical of the stories in this sequence (chs. 8–9) and elsewhere and does not signal to the hearers/readers that something is out of the ordinary. The closing look into the disciples’ inner life (8.27) is not enough to bring about character-focalisation. Other miracle stories of this nature are the healing of the first pair of blind men (9.27–31), the healing of the woman suffering from hemorrhaging (9.20–22) and the epiphanies experienced by Mary Magdalene and the “other” Mary (28.1–8; 28.9–10). Hartenstein (2013: 457) seems to argue that the story of walking on water is focalised through the disciples. But the penetration of the disciples’ inner life (14.26) is neither as rare as she suggests nor enough to constitute focalisation through them. Anderson (1994: 72) provides a list of instances of inside views of characters in Mt. She does not address the issue of whether whole episodes are focalised through characters. 99 Mt 2.14–15a; 2.21; 8.27; 8.33–34; 9.8; 9.26; 9.33b–34; 12.14; 12.23–24; 14.26; 14.33; 15.31; 17.4; 17.6; 20.34c; 21.20; 28.4 (note this is part of a story within a story); 28.8; 28.9b–c. Strictly speaking the guards’ response (28.4) comes after a backgrounded description of the angel’s appearance (28.3), not after the event of his arrival on the scene (28.2b–c). One story with two miracles and another with three, while not having a response after the second miracle (cf. 2.22; 14.29b–c), have responses (2.21; 14.26; 14.33) immediately following the other(s). In another story responses come right after both of the miracles (17.4; 17.6). So 18 of the stories’ 23 miracles have a response directly following them. 100 Mt 1.24–25; 8.27; 8.33–34; 9.8; 9.26; 9.31; 9.33b–34; 12.14; 14.33; 15.31; 17.8; 20.34c; 28.8.

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indicative (Mt 1.25b; 8.27; 8.34b; 9.8b; 9.26; 9.31 12.14; 14.33; 15.31b; 17.8; 20.34c; 28.8), with one exception (an imperfect: 9.34). A single concluding speech from Jesus follows the response in three instances (21.20; 28.9b–c; 28.17), two being among the narrative’s closing episodes. In another, a lengthy discourse by Jesus (12.25–45), with one interaction from his interlocutors, follows the response (12.23–24). In stories at the beginning of the narrative, once a fulfillment formula follows the response (2.14–15) and once further events unfold after the response (2.21).

M. Connectives Introducing Responses Here I examine whether connectives help demarcate responses. Eight of 23 responses are introduced wit καί, the default connective for narrative discourse. 101 Within three of the responses beginning with καί the actions of a second character are subsequently introduced with δέ. 102 Otherwise, where relevant, only καί connects a response’s subsequent sentences. One response (15.31) begins with ὥστε. Yet, while its opening clause (15.31a) is dependent upon the foregoing sentence (15.30c), the second clause (15.31b) is independent, beginning with καί. More commonly (14 times) δέ is the initial connective in a response. When accompanied by an articular pronoun, it indicates a third-level usage (2.14–15a; 2.21; 9.31; 28.9b–c), actions in lieu of speech as reactions in dialogue. More commonly δέ indicates that the response is a development (1.24–25; 8.27; 8.33–34; 9.8; 12.14; 14.26; 14.33; 17.4; 17.8; 28.4). 103 None of the responses introduced with δέ contain another instance of that connective, but, when more than one sentence is present, only καί. No response begins with τότε (or contains it elsewhere), despite the prevalence of the connective in Matthew. Thus only a minority of responses (10 of 23 responses in 8 of 19 stories) are demarcated at their beginning, in an identical manner, by the use of a connective other than the default καί.

101

Mt 9.26; 9.33b–34; 12.23–24; 17.6; 20.34c; 21.20; 28.8; 28.17. Mt 9.33b–34; 12.23–24; 28.17. Accompanying the connective is, twice, a noun phrase (οἱ δὲ Φαρισαῖοι: Mt 9.33b–34; 12.23–24) and, once, an articular pronoun (οἱ δέ: 28.17). 103 The best readings have δέ in Mt 14.26a (Β ‫ א‬D etc.). Others (C P S W etc.) have καί as the connective. 102

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N. Sub-Unit Divisions Do the responses constitute sub-units within their respective miracle stories? Of the nineteen miracle stories with responses, few are divided into sub-units. Four contain two paragraphs, whether both are relatively short (1.18–25; 8.28–34) or the second is considerably lengthier (14.23b–33; 12.22–45). One story has four paragraphs or scenes (9.18–26). 104 A sub-unit is often formed by a change of cast. This determines how Matthew 9.18–26 is divided: 9.18–19 (Jesus and the ruler); 9.20–22 (a woman and Jesus); 9.23–24 (Jesus and mourners); 9.25–26 (Jesus and a girl). The same factor is at play both in 8.28–34 – 8.28–32 (Jesus and the possessed men/demons); 8.33–34 (i.e the response: the pig herders, the city and Jesus) – and in 1.18–25 – 1.18–19 (Joseph and Mary); 1.20–25 (Joseph and the Angel of the Lord). The concept of a change of cast is also relevant in 12.22–45. In this story though, the events in the first sub-unit (12.22–24) are divided from the second by their type: Jesus’ lengthy speech, a quasi-monologue (12.25– 45). Alternatively, a fronted time indication can be significant for demarcating a subdivision. In 14.23b–33 this feature, accompanied by a change of location, is decisive: 14.23b–24 (evening – Jesus on a mountain, the disciples in a boat); 14.25–33 (fourth watch of the night – Jesus and disciples on the sea). The initial, brief sub-unit serves more as an introduction to an encounter, than as part of the narrative itself (much like the function of 1.18–19 in its respective story). In five cases, one in each story, a second or subsequent paragraph begins with δέ (1.20; 8.33; 9.25; 12.25 14.25). 105 Just once a subdivision corresponds to a response (8.33–34). Five responses correspond to a development unit, that is a distinct series of mainline events joined by καί (an event cluster) introduced with δέ. Two (9.8; 14.26; 28.4), three (1.24–25) or four (8.33–34) mainline events are in view. 106 (One of these instances is also a paragraph [8.33–34]). With δέ in a thirdlevel usage, two related phenomena occur (2.21; 28.9b–c), each involving two mainline events. Thus responses rarely constitute sub-units of miracle stories.

104

For the present purposes, I consider the complex of miracle stories in Mt 9.18–26 jointly in relation to the response in 9.26. 105 Two other paragraphs in one story begin with καί (Mt 9.20, 23). 106 Note a background comment (Mt 1.25a) is embedded within one development unit 1.24–25.

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O. Peak of Story and Relative Prominence of Responses What is the relation of a response to the peak of a story? I begin discussion of the highpoint in each story by looking at the use of δέ and τότε in Matthew. Stephen Levinsohn (2000: 74, emphasis original) suggests, “Matthew’s Gospel has a number of passages in which only the conclusion is introduced with δέ. This suggests that the author’s primary intent in relating the episode is to lead up to that conclusion.” In the one example Levinsohn (2000: 74) treats at length, a miracle story (Mt 9.1–8), “...δέ is used only to introduce the response of the crowds to the manifestation of Jesus’ authority.” 107 Only three of the remaining stories in which a response is introduced with δέ (8.23–27; 12.9–14; 28.8–10) contain no other instances of δέ, marking a development. 108 But even here the picture is not as clear as Levinsohn suggests. Steven Runge (2010: 37–42) argues that τότε, like δέ, is also marked for “development,” though the former has the added semantic constraint of temporal sequentiality. It would be more accurate to claim that both connectives are marked for “significant change,” which commonly constitutes a development. 109 Stephanie Black’s (2002: 250) understanding of τότε roughly confirms Runge’s claim in this regard, as she notes τότε can be used “in the speech margins of ‘climactic statements’” and to introduce “actions or events which function as a climax of the pericope in which they are found....” 110 In the four stories where a response is the one development introduced by δέ, τότε is always also present, indicating a development. 111 Still it is noteworthy 107 I note that in two manuscripts (N Θ) δέ introduces the sentence in Mt 9.4. The remaining witnesses have καί. 108 Note that δέ in Mt 8.24b introduces background material and does not indicate a development in the storyline. In 12.11 δέ, accompanied by an articular pronoun, constitutes a third-level usage (cf. Levinsohn 2000: 218), marking speech within a dialogue as a step en route to a goal. Though two manuscripts (D 1424) have καί for the connective in 12.14, the remaining witnesses have δέ. A more significant textual variant occurs in 28.9, where in a number of early witnesses (A C S etc.) δέ introduces the episode (ὡς δὲ ἐπορεύοντο ἀπαγγεῖλαι τοῖς μαθηταῖς αὐτοῦ...). Yet even in such a reading the usage of δέ would not indicate a development within story, but would be “a high-level usage, indicating that the episode as a whole represents a new development in the [overall] story” (Levinsohn 2000: 75). At any rate, the best witnesses (B ‫ א‬D W) introduce the episode at 28.9 with καί. 109 See the discussion of δέ above, in Chapter Two, Section M. 110 On the other hand, Black’s (2002: 247) idea that τότε serves “as a signal of continuity in discourse” (she follows Levinsohn [2000: 95–97] on this point) differs from Runge’s conception, which I find more convincing. 111 Levinsohn (2000: 74) notes the presence of τότε in Mt 9.6b, but fails to observe how this changes the picture of a story with only one concluding development to a story with two developments, the first being Jesus’ speech which brings about the miracle. Similarly,

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that in three stories the response (8.27; 9.8; 12.14) is the final of two developments. Also interesting is the story (17.1–8) with multiple responses, in which the second and third of three developments are responses (17.4; 17.8). Here too the final response is the closing line. In the majority of stories (13 of 19) a response or part of one is the culminating moment or found within it. A response is the peak in six stories: Mt 1.24–25 (four sentences); 8.27 (one); 9.8 (two); 12.14 (one); 14.33 (one); 17.8 (one). 112 Three times the moment of greatest interest or intensity is a portion of the response: 8.34 (two sentences); 9.33b (one); 15.31a (a result clause). 113 Once, when a response is a part of the peak, material following it

τότε in 8.26b and 12.11 introduces the miracle-producing speech of Jesus. Alternatively, in the remaining story, Jesus’ speech, following the response, is introduced with τότε (28.10). 112 In all six of these instances the response corresponds to the final development or development unit (introduced with δέ in each case) in the respective story. (NB in Mt 12.14 καὶ ἐξελθόντες is found in manuscripts D and 1424, whereas others have ἐξελθόντες δέ. A variant in one manuscript (C*) in 14.33 has οἱ δὲ ἐλθόντες, containing then the articular pronoun, in place of οἱ δὲ ἐν τῷ πλοίῳ [other manuscripts, including Cc]. The variant reading has the disciples’ response as a kind of reply to Jesus’ speech in 14.31.) The prominence of the development unit in Mt 1.24–25 is probably increased by the introduction of background material just prior to it (1.22–23), which slows the narrative down. A possible marked encoding of the participants in 1.24a (use of ὁ Ἰωσήφ) would also indicate greater prominence. A lack of the article here (ὁ), attested in some manuscripts (‫ א‬S etc.), would have the response marked as even more prominent. (NB the relative clause in 1.25a, ἕως οὗ ἔτεκεν υἱόν, following the main clause, receives more prominence than it.) Use of more than the default encoding in 8.27 for already active participants (οἱ ἄνθρωποι) highlights the sentence. Note Black (2002: 250) takes “Jesus’ rebuke of the winds and waves” in 8.26a (τότε) as the peak. Both 8.26 and 8.27 are key moments; the latter is the peak. 113 In Mt 8.33–34, the final development unit (begins with δέ) of the respective story, the introduction of a new character (πᾶσα ἡ πόλις) in 8.34a with the “attention-getter” (Runge 2010: 122–123) καὶ ἰδού marks the encounter between this group and Jesus as of greater prominence. (Conceivably the noun in πᾶσα ἡ πόλις is over encoded; πάντες would arguably be sufficient.) An offline comment in another story (9.34) coincides with the actions of a second group responding to the healing. The final mainline event (9.33b) is the peak. The story in 15.29–31 has no intersentential connectives other than καί. Nor are highlighting devices such as HP or marked encoding of participants present. Rather the story’s peak must be determined by literary means. The presentation of the problem (15.30a–b) is followed by the resolution (15.30c–31a). But in the primary sentences for both problem and resolution, post-nuclear dependant clauses, owing to their length and specificity, have equal (15.30a) or greater (15.31a) prominence. Here, too, key words are repeated (χωλούς, τυφλούς, κυλλούς, κωφούς), drawing a parallel between problem and solution. Thus the story’s high point is the amazement and visual sensation of (the results of) the healings (15.31a: ὥστε τὸν ὄχλον θαυμάσαι βλέποντας...). The following act of praising the God of Israel (15.31b) is the dénouement. The reading ἐδόξαζον that some manuscripts (‫ א‬L etc.) have in 15.31b in place of ἐδόξασαν (B A C D N S W etc.) would

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is too: 2.14–15 (two sentences, including final purpose clause with fulfillment formula). 114 Twice a healing gesture and a statement of healing or an act demonstrating the healing combined with the response constitute the high point: 9.25–26 (three sentences: healing gesture; demonstration; response); 20.34 (three: healing gesture; statement of healing; response); cf. 8.15. 115 Similar is the instance in which the speech of an angel and some disciples’ response are jointly the peak: 28.5–8 (two sentences). 116 In one case a healing gesture and speech and the statement of healing are the high point 9.29–30a (two sentences), while a subsequent speech by Jesus and the response constitute the dénouement. 117 Once events subsequent to the response are the episode’s highpoint (2.22b–23). 118 In the remaining four instances, the key moment occurs after the response and comes as speech: 12.38–45 (two speeches); 21.21–22; 28.10; 28.18. 119 In a related story, the present this, the final event of the narrative, as a fade-out imperfect, though such a reading would not alter the foregoing analysis of the story’s peak. 114 The events of Mt 2.14 are highlighted by the preceding HP (2.13: φαίνεται – note that one early manuscript [B] has ἐφάνη). Note 2.14–15 is the final development. 115 In one story the final development unit (Mt 9.25–26), is further marked as a unit by use of a fronted temporal frame of reference (9.25a: ὅτε δὲ ἐξεβλήθη ὁ ὄχλος...). (Some early manuscripts [N C S W] read λέγει in 9.24a, rather than ἔλεγεν [B ‫ א‬D etc.]. This reading would add to the prominence of the events in 9.25–26.) The closing development unit (20.34) in the other story is highlighted by over encoding of Jesus (ὁ Ἰησοῦς in 20.34a) and a preceding HP (20.33). In 8.14–15, a story with no developments, it is likely that the resolution of the problem (thus 8.15b–c) is the high point, while a possible response (8.15d) would be the dénouement. 116 Mt 28.5–8 is the story’s concluding development unit (note two early manuscripts [C W] have not δέ but asyndeton as the connective at 28.5). Further prominence is achieved in 28.5 through heavy encoding in reference to the angel and use of a redundant quotative frame (ἀποκριθεὶς... εἶπεν). That the two sentences form a pair and should be seen jointly as the story’s peak stems from parallelism between the angel’s command and the response: ταχὺ πορευθεῖσαι εἴπατε τοῖς μαθηταῖς αὐτοῦ (28.7) and ἀπελθοῦσαι ταχὺ... ἔδραμον ἀπαγγεῖλαι τοῖς μαθηταῖς αὐτοῦ (28.8). 117 The development in Mt 9.29 is marked by τότε. Two HPs in a verbal exchange point forward to this (9.28b,c). The pair of healing gesture and speech (9.29) and statement of healing (9.30a) should probably be read together as the story’s highpoint (note again a related pair in 9.28b,c with forward-pointing HPs). Futher interaction, the dénouement, in 9.30b–31 is given more than normal prominence via marked encoding in reference to Jesus (9.30b). 118 Mt 2.22b–23 is the final development unit of the respective story. The mainline events form a pair of warning and reaction and should likely be taken together as the episode’s peak. 119 Following speeches introduced with common, singular speech verbs (Mt 12.23b, 24, 25–37), the two concluding speeches (12.38, 39–45) have redundant quotative frames (using ἀποκριθῆναι and εἰπεῖν), highlighting their significance. They constitute a development in the series of interactions, introduced with τότε (12.38). In 21.21 marked partici-

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three mainline actions in a reaction of Jesus (Mt 8.10–13a) to a centurion’s faith are the high point, while the healing itself, coming last, is the dénouement. 120

P. Distribution of Responses in Miracle Stories I have noted above that there is a significant correlation of the emotions of fear and alarm with rescue nature miracle stories and epiphanies and amazement with other miracle stories. There are only two outliers to this pattern: the response in Mt 8.23–27, a rescue nature miracle story, contains amazement only; the response in 9.1–8, a story of a healing, has fear only. Still, it has also been noted that while all but one of the 10 epiphany and rescue nature miracle stories have responses, responses in only four stories contain an emotion. A few features stand out when considering the distribution of responses throughout the course of the narrative (see Table 3, below), noting the type of emotion where relevant. Though the narrative’s opening contains a number of miracle stories (all are epiphanies), emotions nowhere appear in the common responses. No primacy effect associates fear or being troubled with epiphanies. In fact this emotion will not be associated with such a story until chapter 14. Upon the start of Jesus’ public ministry (Mt 4.17), miracle stories do not appear for some time, the first one coming after the lengthy Sermon on the Mount. Of the ten stories that appear, at times in succession, in the relatively short stretch of chapters 8–9, only three have responses with an emotion. None of the first three do. Thus the opportunity for establishing a pattern at the outset is lost. What is more, the two outliers to the noted significant patpant encoding (ὁ Ἰησοῦς) and a redundant quotative frame (ἀποκριθεὶς... εἶπεν) mark the related statement (21.21–22) as the key moment in the story. Use of δέ in 21.21 is probably to be taken as marking a development within the episode (not within an exchange). The development of 28.10 (τότε) is highlighted by means of marked encoding (ὁ Ἰησοῦς). (Note the HP in this concluding sentence indicates that the episode as a whole points forward.) The concluding speech of the narrative (28.18–20) is also highlighted through marked encoding (ὁ Ἰησοῦς). There is no development in this final, short episode (δέ, with the articular pronoun, in 28.17b is a form of third level usage, indicating a response of some characters that is different to that of the larger group [subjects of 28.17a] to which they belong). 120 The development unit of Mt 8.10–13a (begins with δέ) consists of three actions by Jesus, amazement (8.10a) and two speeches (8.10b–12, 13). The first and lengthier of the speeches is linked to the statement of Jesus’ amazement, which is highlighted through marked encoding (ὁ Ἰησοῦς). The second speech, now directed at the centurion, is similarly highlighted. (For a similar sort of story in which, though, a second, concluding speech does not receive as much prominence as the first, see Lk 17.11–19.)

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tern of distribution occur amongst these stories – in fact the first two stories containing emotional responses are the outliers! This means that readers/hearers of the Matthew would likely not pick up on the pattern of emotional types of responses and types of miracle stories until, say, chapter 17 or 21, if at all. In light of the previous chapter on Mark, and to speak proleptically concerning the data from all four gospels, it seems that Matthew preserves the pattern from source material(s), which Matthew has not presented in the unfolding of the narrative in a way which preserves the pattern’s significance. A further consideration which strengthens this position is the inversion of the response motif in the story of the healing of the centurion’s servant (Mt 8.5–13). Here, in a presumed twist of convention, Jesus reacts with amazement to the centurion’s remarkable faith (rather than the centurion responding with amazement, later, to the healing). This amazement reaction and accompanying speech occurs prior to the narration of the miracle, which itself is the story’s dénouement. Such a play on convention only works when there has been significant repetition of a pattern to establish expectations, which in turn are then surprisingly exploited for creative purposes. But the story of the centurion’s servant is only the second healing story in the narrative. And no miracle story of any kind up to this point has a response with an emotion. So, even laying aside the question of what type of emotion should be associated with a healing, the inversion of the emotional response motif would be entirely lost on the readers/hearers of Matthew, 121 if their expectations were not informed by prior familiarity with other stories (written or oral) of Jesus’ healings, which had ingrained the conventional expectation of amazement in response to miracles.

121

This would be true, at least, for the first reading/hearing of Mt.

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Table 3: Distribution of responses among miracle stories, noting type of emotion Story

Miracle type

1.18–25

Epiphany

2.13–15

Epiphany

2.19–23

Epiphany

3.13–17

Epiphany

8.1–4

Healing

Response

8.5–13

Healing

(Inversion)

8.14–15

Healing

(?)

8.23–27

Rescue / nature

8.28–34

Exorcism

9.1–8

Healing

9.20–22

Healing

9.18–19, 23–26

Healing

9.27–31

Healing

9.32–34

Exorcism

12.9–14

Healing

12.22–45

Exorcism

14.15–21

Nature

14.23b–33

Rescue / nature

15.21–28

Exorcism

15.29–31

Healing

15.32–38

Nature

17.1–8

Epiphany

17.14–18

Exorcism

17.24–27

Nature

20.29–34

Healing

21.18–22

Nature

28.1–8

Epiphany

28.9–10

Epiphany

28.16–20

Epiphany

Emotion

Fear / trouble

Amazement

( ) ( )

Joy

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Q. Responses in Miracles Stories within the Overall Narrative In this section I draw together observations made above, while also noting how the responses relate to other features in the individual miracles stories and the larger narrative. A preliminary discussion of the “structure” of Matthew will allow for some general observations as to the distribution of miracles stories and responses throughout the gospel. A good proposal for Matthew’s structure would do well to take into account the five blocks of teaching material. 122 At the same time there seem to be other, potentially overlapping considerations. The opening episodes (Jesus, a child, is not an active character) are distinct. The passion and resurrection narrative forms a distinct block of material. 123 Alternatively, one can make a good case for a section focused on events, especially conflict, in Jerusalem (21.1–28.15). 124 For the present purposes, focused as they are on narrated events (in distinction to lengthy teaching sections), it will be sufficient to identify, on the one hand, the introduction, climax and dénouement and, on the other, the remaining narrative “sections” (numbered 1–6), when the lengthier teaching blocks are isolated. 125

122 The idea of the five teaching sections as indicators of structure was first argued by B. W. Bacon – see Theophilos (2011: 2–3). A (five-time) repeated formula coincides with the close of each teaching section (7.28; 11.1; 13.53; 19.1; 26.1). The idea of a chiastic structure within this material is possible, though that there is one within the entire gospel is less than convincing to me. 123 Crucial here are the opening sentences (see comments below on Mt 26.1–5) and the continuity of the involvement of Jesus’ opponents, the chief priests and the elders, into the resurrection-related episodes. 124 An even wider section (16.21–28.20) could be envisioned, concerning Jesus’ suffering, death and resurrection (see Kingsbury 1986: 78–94; France 2007: 3–4). 125 Nevertheless, the teaching blocks often belong within the framework of a story (e.g. Mt 4.23–7.29; see below).

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Table 4: Distribution of responses in miracle stories within sections of the narrative Section

Reference

Response / Stories

Responses

Intro

1.1–2.23

3/3

1.24–25; 2.14–15a; 2.21

1

3.1–4.25

0/1

7.28–10.4

6 (prob. 7) / 10

(prob. 8.15d;) 8.27; 8.33–34; 9.8; 9.26; 9.33b–34

11.1–13.2

2/2

12.14; 12.23–24

13.53–17.27

3/8

14.26 and 14.33; 15.31; 17.4, 17.6 and 17.8

19.1–22.46

2/2

20.34c; 21.20

5.5–7.27 (teaching) 2 10.5–42 (teaching) 3 13.3–52 (teaching) 4 18.1–35 (teaching) 5

23.1–25.46 (teaching) 6

26.1–27.44

0/0

Climax

27.45–56

0/0

Dénouement

27.57–28.20

3/3

28.4 and 28.8; 28.9b–c; 28.17

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The data in Table 4 (see above) allow for the following observations. In both the introduction and dénouement are three miracle stories (of epiphanies), which each contain one or more responses. Elsewhere, where there are just a couple of miracle stories (what, for heuristic purposes, are called sections 3 and 5) both have responses. In the sections with the largest concentration of miracle stories, conversely, not all stories have responses. Between the first and second blocks of teaching (section 2), the majority of the 10 miracle stories (6, probably 7) have responses. The opposite is true for the other section with numerous miracle stories (only 3 of 8 contain responses). What can account for these distribution patterns? I. Matthew 1.24–25 Following the genealogy (Mt 1.1–17) the narrative proper opens with a miraculous account (1.18–25) of the conception of Jesus, the resultant tension between the couple-to-be and its resolution through the appearance and speech of the Angel of the Lord in a dream and Joseph’s obedient response. The angel’s words help to establish the listeners’/readers’ expectations of how the plot will unfold: the child will save the people from their sins. The peak moment, the resolution of conflict, is Joseph’s response to the angelophany (Mt 1.24–25): ἐγερθεὶς δὲ ὁ Ἰωσὴφ ἀπὸ τοῦ ὕπνου ἐποίησεν ὡς προσέταξεν αὐτῷ ὁ ἄγγελος κυρίου καὶ παρέλαβεν τὴν γυναῖκα αὐτοῦ, καὶ οὐκ ἐγίνωσκεν αὐτὴν ἕως οὗ ἔτεκεν υἱόν· καὶ ἐκάλεσεν τὸ ὄνομα αὐτοῦ Ἰησοῦν.

The wording of the angel’s commands is revisited, demonstrating complete obedience. Following the general statement of obedience, two main actions are described: Joseph’s taking Mary as his wife (παρέλαβεν; cf. 1.20) and naming the child (ἐκάλεσεν; cf. 1.21). 126 Mary’s giving birth to Jesus is given less prominence than these two mainline events. The primacy effect establishes Joseph’s response as ideal. The response also establishes a symmetry between angelic command and human response. The resolution of this initial episode is given added stress in that it constitutes the episode’s peak. The resolution has the effect of demonstrating that God is in control of the unfolding events. 127

126 Similarly Anderson (1994: 154), with less attention to detail, notes “words which echo” the command. 127 Howell (1990: 117) observes, “The will of God is fulfilled in the predictive... [and] the volitional sense....”

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II. Intervening material The episode with the magi (2.1–12) introduces the element of danger that colours the remainder of the narration surrounding Jesus’ birth and infancy. Though King Herod’s character is not well-known yet, his strong emotional reaction of being troubled by the magi’s words and his furtive behaviour makes the sincerity of his expressed intent to bow before the newborn child suspect. 128 The highpoint of the episode is the magi’s extreme reaction of joy to seeing the star above the birth-place, prostration to the child and bestowal of gifts. The story closes with a briefly narrated dream-warning (demoted in prominence), likely to be understood as the communication of an angel, 129 and their obedient reaction to it. 130 No verbal parallelism between warning/command and subsequent action is present. But, the magi clearly follow in Joseph’s footsteps in this regard. The respectful conduct of these representatives of foreign power become a potent contrast to the violent opposition of the king in Jerusalem. 131 III. Matthew 2.14–15 The second (explicit) appearance of the Angel of the Lord in a dream (Mt 2.13–15) is closely linked to the first one. The recurrence of vocabulary at the appearance of the angel (ἰδού, ἄγγελος κυρίου, φανῆναι, κατ᾽ ὄναρ, εἰπεῖν – 2.13; cf. 1.20) and even sentence structure 132 ensures this. Joseph’s response to the angel’s commands is again obedient (2.14–15a): ὁ δὲ ἐγερθεὶς παρέλαβεν τὸ παιδίον καὶ τὴν μητέρα αὐτοῦ νυκτὸς καὶ ἀνεχώρησεν εἰς Αἴγυπτον, καὶ ἦν ἐκεῖ ἕως τῆς τελευτῆς Ἡρῴδου...

The language of the angel’s commands is even more closely revisited this time, in vocabulary, structure, word-order and content (2.13: ἐγερθεὶς παράλαβε τὸ παιδίον καὶ τὴν μητέρα αὐτοῦ καὶ φεῦγε εἰς Αἴγυπτον καὶ ἴσθι ἐκεῖ ἕως...). 133 The response, the peak of this short episode, further establishes the appropriate type of reply to divine guidance, here mediated through an 128 His being troubled “can be seen retrospectively... as foreshadowing Herod’s violent action...” (Howell 1990: 119). 129 This sense will be strengthened as the next episodes unfold. 130 On the rationale for this story, despite the likely epiphanic motif, not being included among the miracle stories of the study, see above, n. 24. 131 Howell (1990: 117) astutely sees here a difference of acceptance (magi) and rejection (Herod) of Jesus. 132 See esp. ἰδοὺ ἄγγελος κυρίου / ἐφάνη or φαίνεται / λέγων. Similarly Anderson (1994: 155) notes that the “introduction is almost exactly the same” in the stories of Joseph’s dreams, though giving just counts of words in common. 133 Similarly, Anderson (1994: 155).

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angel. Some lexemes and their morphology are shared in common with the first response (ἐγερθείς / παρέλαβεν). The concluding fulfillment formula creates another tie with the earlier epiphany story. It, along with Joseph’s response, promotes the notion that God is in control of the unfolding events. In addition the out-of-sequence narration of Herod’s death serves a preemptory purpose: any potential suspense from the following murderous scene (2.16–18) is precluded. IV. Matthew 2.21 The third appearance of the Angel of the Lord to Joseph (Mt 2.19–23) reinforces what is now a clear narrative pattern. The introduction of the angel, 134 his command and Joseph’s obedient response all employ the familiar vocabulary of earlier scenes. The actions in Joseph’s response (2.21) are akin to those in previous responses: ὁ δὲ ἐγερθεὶς παρέλαβεν τὸ παιδίον καὶ τὴν μητέρα αὐτοῦ καὶ εἰσῆλθεν εἰς γῆν Ἰσραήλ. The resemblance to the preceding response (2.14) is striking – he gets up, takes the child and mother and goes somewhere – including extended verbal identity (ἐγερθεὶς παρέλαβεν τὸ παιδίον καὶ τὴν μητέρα αὐτοῦ). In the present story the angel’s command and the response are very closely linked in terms of content, vocabulary and structure. 135 This third story of angelic appearance incorporates two dreams. While the second dream (Mt 2.22b) may well be presented as involving the Angel of the Lord, its brief and different style of narration (χρηματισθεὶς δὲ κατ᾿ ὄναρ) creates distance from preceding interrelated instances of detailed narration of angelophany. The language here is closer to the magi’s dream (2.12), though here the content of the warning is not as clearly stated. For reasons of doubt here, as there, as to the nature of the dream, Joseph’s reaction is not considered to be a response to a miracle. The three stories of angelophany in the narrative’s opening jointly establish for the listeners/readers what the narrator’s expectation of what is a proper response to the direct intervention of God. 136 In each case and cumulatively it involves obedience to the commands of an angel, demonstrated by the detailed following-out of specifics. The terms ἐγερθῆναι and παραλαβεῖν have played an important role both in the commands and in the responses. 134 Note, esp., the wording in Mt 2.19–20 (ἰδοὺ ἄγγελος... λέγων), minus ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ, is identical to that in 2.13. 135 ἐγερθεὶς παράλαβε τὸ παιδίον καὶ τὴν μητέρα αὐτοῦ καὶ πορεύου εἰς γῆν Ἰσραήλ (Mt 2.20). The one change (other than imperative to indicative – i.e. πορευθῆναι to εἰσελθεῖν) is deictically appropriate to the angel and narrator. The similarities are noted, more generally, by Anderson (1994: 156). 136 Similarly, Howell (1990: 120).

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Interestingly, no speech or emotion constitutes a part of any of the responses. Emotions are common enough in the first two chapters, whether narrated explicitly – being troubled, joy, anger – or implicitly – grief. 137 Even the angel’s initial words to Joseph refer to at least potential emotion (1.20: μὴ φοβηθῇς παραλαβεῖν Μαρίαν...). In the concluding episode related to Jesus’ infancy Joseph’s fear of Archelaus is narrated (2.22a). Yet in all these instances the emotions are removed, often far removed, from the laconic mode in which Joseph’s obedient responses to angelic visitation are narrated. There the listeners/readers receive details of his actions only. With the responses, as with other features of these opening stories – notably direction and prophecy through angels and fulfillment through citations from the Scriptures – the repetitions also “give divine sanction to Jesus and events of his life”; show “the reliability of anticipations”; and “provide motivation (divine motivation) for the chain of events” (Anderson 1994: 156–157, emphasis original). V. Intervening material John the Baptiser proclaims the arrival of the kingdom of Heaven, the coming of wrath and the arrival of his successor and superior, who will sift the wheat from the chaff. While Jesus is baptised (Mt 3.13–17) the spirit of God, appearing as a dove, lands upon him and a heavenly voice says, “This is my beloved son, in whom I am pleased” (3.17). The story, containing no response, ends with these words. It is unclear which characters other than Jesus, if any, may have seen and heard what he has experienced. 138 The Satan’s temptations of Jesus challenge him on the very point that was just announced to him by God – his relation to God as son (4.3, 6). Yet the Satan’s challenge to God’s plan is overcome by Jesus. When it is briefly narrated that angels serve him (4.11), there is no response on his part. 139 As Jesus also begins to proclaim the arrival of the kingdom of Heaven, he calls two pairs of fishers to follow him (4.18–22). His words are enough to secure their allegiance. Both pairs’ actions, worded in similar fashion, 140 are 137 Explicitly Herod and Jerusalem are troubled at the magi’s’ words; the magi are overcome with joy at the their being successfully guided by the star; Herod is angry at being duped. Implicitly parents mourn bitterly over their slaughtered children. 138 While the “opening” of the heavens (Mt 3.16b) is narrated in a manner suggesting the event is perceivable by all, the next event, the descent of the spirit of God in a visible form, is presented as the object of Jesus’ observation. This style of narration allows for the understanding that Jesus alone perceives the occurrence. The heavenly voice, too, as a consequence, may be understood as perceived by only Jesus. 139 The occurrence is clearly less significant than the confrontations between Jesus and the Satan. 140 οἱ δὲ εὐθέως ἀφέντες τὰ δίκτυα ἠκολούθησαν αὐτῷ (Mt 4.20) – οἱ δὲ εὐθέως ἀφέντες τὸ πλοῖον καὶ τὸν πατέρα αὐτῶν ἠκολούθησαν αὐτῷ (4.22).

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the first positive, exemplary reactions to Jesus’ ministry. 141 Description of Jesus’ commands and their reactions does not, however, demonstrate the symmetry seen in the episodes with Joseph and the Angel of the Lord. There is no expectation, therefore, that the characters following Jesus will carry out God’s plan as well as Joseph has. The next, lengthy episode (4.23–7.29) ties Jesus’ work of healing and exorcism to his teaching. As it opens, Jesus teaches in the synagogues of the Galilee, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and healing all diseases among the people. This precedes large numbers of people coming from various locations bringing those with various sicknesses, whom he heals. The stage is then set for the first extended teaching, which offers an evidently characteristic portrayal of and the essential introduction to Jesus’ public activity. Jesus is the interpreter of the Torah par excellence. He calls Israel to greater, more sincere devotion to God and Torah. In this context he also predicts that some will expel demons and perform mighty deeds in his name. Not all of those who do such things, however, will have a place in the kingdom of Heaven. Like John the Baptiser before him, Jesus predicts that some “trees,” those that fail to produce good fruit, will be cut down. They include false prophets. At the close of Jesus’ teaching, the uncommitted amazement (ἐξεπλήσσοντο) of “the crowds” is narrated, owing to the authority he taught with, which is contrasted with the scribes. 142 The extended narration of Jesus’ teaching is immediately followed by a brief account of a healing he performs (Mt 8.1–4). The request of a man with leprosy expresses an awareness of Jesus’ power to heal. No response is narrated. Rather Jesus’ command to him, the episode’s concluding sentence, reinforces Jesus’ commitment to the Jerusalem temple and Moses’ teaching. In the story of the healing of the Capernaum centurion’s son/servant 143 (Mt 8.5–13) attention is focused on Jesus’ reaction to the petitioner’s faith. The centurion’s request expresses a deep trust in Jesus’ authority to command healing and a related sense of unworthiness to host Jesus. Amazed (ἐθαύμασεν; 8.10) Jesus addresses those following him, praising the Gentile’s faith as superior to that found in Israel. Jesus then predicts that many (Gentiles) from various lands will join the Jewish patriarchs in the kingdom of Heaven, while “the heirs of the kingdom will be thrown into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth” (8.12; NRSV). Je141

See, further, Howell (1990: 130). καὶ ἐγένετο ὅτε ἐτέλεσεν ὁ Ἰησοῦς τοὺς λόγους τούτους, ἐξεπλήσσοντο οἱ ὄχλοι ἐπὶ τῇ διδαχῇ αὐτοῦ· ἦν γὰρ διδάσκων αὐτοὺς ὡς ἐξουσίαν ἔχων καὶ οὐχ ὡς οἱ γραμματεῖς αὐτῶν (Mt 7.28–29). Cousland (2002: 128) notes the inadequacy of the reaction, which indicates the crowds “remain static and uncommitted.” The model of four disciples’ reaction to Jesus (4.20, 22) is still fresh in the minds of the hearers/readers. 143 The term’s use here is ambiguous (Roth 2013: 394). 142

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sus’ amazement at the Gentile’s faith recalls the crowds’ amazement at Jesus’ teaching, a teaching unlike that of the scribes, on account of his authority. Evidently the crowds’ amazement did not express great faith and, potentially, did not express much faith at all. Those “following” Jesus – related, it would seem, to the hordes present at the Sermon on the Mount, who also brought sick individuals to him, coming in some cases from great distances – are the “Israel” targeted by his rebuke (Roth 2013: 395). The increasing and tense contrast between those of “Israel” who will belong to the kingdom of Heaven and those who will not finds expression in Jesus’ teaching, though healings and exorcisms are linked to it. Jesus’ final words, now addressed to the centurion, underscore again the issue of faith. (Note the mention of Jesus’ amazement in this story of a healing is not a play on a response motif, for this is the first time a character in a miracle story is amazed.) 144 In the brief story of the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law (Mt 8.14–15) one may observe the first response in a miracle story. Following an act demonstrating her healing, she serves him (8.15d): καὶ διηκόνει αὐτῷ. This may well demonstrate her acceptance of Jesus’ kingdom message. 145 The summary of healings and exorcisms happening after sunset (8.16–17) has a fulfilment formula, citing Isaiah with regard to the healings, as its closing piece. VI. Matthew 8.27 The challenges of following Jesus, that is discipleship, are brought to the fore in the brief exchanges between Jesus and two individuals. The same theme is continued in the story of the stilling of the storm (Mt 8.23–27), with a private setting. 146 Despite the ironic, even bizarre situation of Jesus’ sleeping in the midst of the turmoil, his words, upon being awoken, chastise his disciples for their fear and little faith. Jesus’ rebuke of the wind and the sea and the attainment of a great calm brings the episode into a mythic level of narration, as Justin Taylor has shown. 147 The level of narration akin to that found in works of “romance,” that in Matthew is associated with healings and is familiar to the hearers/readers already from the preceding two miracle stories, has been set aside for something grander. Then comes the first unequivocal response in a miracle story linked to Jesus’ adulthood (8.27): 144

The outstanding faith of this foreigner, alongside the socially marginalised leper’s faith, may contrast with the scribes (7.29), Pharisees and Sadducees (3.7), who until now have not reacted positively to John the Baptiser or Jesus. 145 She performs for Jesus the same sort of act the angels recently performed (διηκόνουν: Mt 4.11). 146 Note that the command to cross to the other side occurs already in Mt 8.18. 147 Taylor’s (2011: 115–116) analysis of the stilling of the storm in Mk applies also to the Matthean version of the episode.

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οἱ δὲ ἄνθρωποι ἐθαύμασαν λέγοντες· ποταπός ἐστιν οὗτος ὅτι καὶ οἱ ἄνεμοι καὶ ἡ θάλασσα αὐτῷ ὑπακούουσιν;

It contains speech and an emotion. In light of the foregoing stories, the disciples’ response of amazement may well, on the one hand, contrast with Jesus’ amazement at the centurion’s great faith and, on the other, display similarity to the amazement of the crowds at Jesus’ teaching, which is also related to Jesus’ authority (cf. the theme of obedience here) and identity. At the same time the disciples’ little faith pales in comparison to the centurion’s magnificent display of faith. Still, their commitment to following Jesus is clearly superior to the two individuals who failed the test and, thus, never made it into the boat in first place. 148 Notably, the response focuses on Jesus, especially his authority and identity, not on the miracle per se. 149 This focus continues a theme started in the first miracle story. The episode resonates with the themes and even events of a parallel story from the Scriptures. (The parallelism with Jonah 1 will be discussed in Chapter Seven, below.) The response comes as the highpoint of the episode. In this way, several aspects of the narrative are brought to the fore: a question of Jesus’ identity; the disciples’ complicated characterisation, including negative aspects; and the conflict between them and Jesus. VII. Matthew 8.33–34 Jesus acts but once in the mainline of the story of the two demon-possessed men (Mt 8.28–34), when he gives the brief command for the demons to leave. In contrast the men, respectively the demons, are active characters in this, the first story of an exorcism. The characterisation of Jesus reinforces what has already been stated. 150 Following the exorcism and the drowning of the pigs, the response of the Gentile swine–herders and those of the nearby city constitute the story’s second, culminating scene (8.33–34): οἱ δὲ βόσκοντες ἔφυγον, καὶ ἀπελθόντες εἰς τὴν πόλιν ἀπήγγειλαν πάντα καὶ τὰ τῶν δαιμονιζομένων. καὶ ἰδοὺ πᾶσα ἡ πόλις ἐξῆλθεν εἰς ὑπάντησιν τῷ Ἰησοῦ καὶ ἰδόντες αὐτὸν παρεκάλεσαν ὅπως μεταβῇ ἀπὸ τῶν ὁρίων αὐτῶν.

148

The listeners’/readers’ criticism of the disciples envisioned by Dronsch (2013: 403) here is too sharp. 149 See Theophilos (2011: 122) for further discussion of how “the motif of discipleship” here is “subservient to the larger motif of Christology,” including a helpful discussion of ποταπός in the disciples’ question. The force of the disciples’ question does not allow for a picture of them here as “those who understand,” contra Cousland (2002: 131). 150 καὶ ἐξέβαλεν τὰ πνεύματα λόγῳ (Mt 8.16b). Other shared vocabulary links 8.16 to the present story (more so than for 4.24). Cf. Vorholt 2013: 409.

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It contains four types of elements – movement (fleeing; coming), reporting, seeing and verbal – but no emotion. The gravity of the tragic conclusion is underscored on account of its being also the story’s high point: the citizens of the city plead with Jesus to leave their territory. 151 This is the first negative response in a miracle story. The Gentiles’ actions are perhaps surprising, given their stark contrast to the Gentile centurion’s great faith and Jesus’ praise of it and related prediction. Ironically Jesus is barred from Gentile territory, not by the two men of super-human strength, but by those who heard about the men’s deliverance from evil control. 152 Nothing is narrated further about the pair’s experience or possible reaction to all this. As in the previous miracle story, focus in the response is or becomes Jesus, not the miraculous feat or loss of pigs. 153 VIII. Matthew 9.8 Back on the other side of the sea, in Capernaum, 154 Jesus comes into conflict with the scribes (Mt 9.1–8). His pronouncement of forgiveness of sins to the paralytic brought to him (9.2), recalling the words of the Angel of the Lord (1.21), arouses an unspoken accusation of blasphemy in their minds. Jesus, knowing their thoughts, criticises them and, to confirm that the “Son of Humanity” has authority to forgive sins, heals the paralytic. The meaning of the title is not explained – and nowhere else in the narrative is its denotation clearly spelled out (8.20; 10.23 etc.; though see 26.64). Yet that it refers to Jesus is clear here and only becomes clearer as the narrative progresses. While no response from the scribes (or the healed man) is narrated, the onlooking crowds, now introduced, respond in the story’s peak moment (9.8): ἰδόντες δὲ οἱ ὄχλοι ἐφοβήθησαν καὶ ἐδόξασαν τὸν θεὸν τὸν δόντα ἐξουσίαν τοιαύτην τοῖς ἀνθρώποις.

Three components (seeing, emotional [fear] and verbal [praise]) are woven together, along with direct speech, to present one of the most spectacular and memorable responses thus far. 155 The fear would seem to be an escalation 151

On a potential chiastic structure to the story, see Vorholt (2013: 409). As characters come to meet Jesus (ὑπαντῆσαι: 8.28; ὑπάντησις: 8.34) at the story’s opening and close “hostility is the keynote of both” (Davies and Allison 1988–1997: 2:85). 153 Following the swine herder’s more broadly focused report (πάντα καὶ τὰ τῶν δαιμονιζομένων: Mt 8.33b), Jesus comes into focus. The city dwellers, seeing Jesus (ἰδόντες αὐτόν: 8.34b), conclude the episode by requesting him to leave (similarly, Davies and Allison 1988–1997: 2:85). 154 So, also, e.g. Felsch 2013: 427. 155 Contra Cousland (2002: 132), given the close connection of the fear and praise (see further, above, n. 15), it would not hold true that “the crowds’ use of δοξάζω points to a more considered and deliberate action on their part.” 152

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from the amazement that has occurred in a response (8.27) and reaction (7.28) recently. 156 Still, the disconnect between Jesus’ mention of the “Son of Humanity,” an oblique reference to himself, and the crowds’ understanding of the term as referring to “people,” generally, suggests that the response is not ideal. 157 The mention of authority here and earlier, recalls the story with the centurion (ἐξουσία: 8.9; 9.6, 8), as does the type of ailment (παραλυτικός: 8.6; 9.2, 6). The centurion from Capernaum recognised the unique authority of Jesus; the respondents in Jesus’ “own town” do not. The previous remarkable response of the disciples also failed to understand Jesus’ authority. At the same time, the previous two responses were focused on Jesus; this one is not. 158 The question is raised as to whether and when characters will recognise the uniqueness of the protagonist. Interestingly, the praise of God in this context, therefore, is portrayed as an inappropriate response. 159 This is the third miracle story in a row in which the response (or a portion of it) both comes at the relevant episode’s conclusion and constitutes the high point. As a consequence, not only is the inadequacy of the relation of the crowd in Capernaum to Jesus drawn further into center stage, but also the comparison between the respondents in the three stories is brought into starker relief. IX. Intervening material As the narrative moves to another type of encounter, a call to discipleship, it becomes apparent that two groups of three miracle stories have taken place, each followed by brief call-to-discipleship scenarios. The second triad of

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Similarly, Cousland 2002: 133. Cousland (2002: 133) also notes the inadequacy of the speech’s content, since the crowds lack “insight into his [Jesus’] identity.” The location of this story and the response it contains within the larger narrative does not suggest that “the authority given to Jesus and (implicitly) to his followers” (Davies and Allison 1988–1997: 2:96) is in mind. 158 This is noticeable in part in the use of the visual element in the response: καὶ ἰδόντες αὐτὸν παρεκάλεσαν... (Mt 8.34); ἰδόντες [no object] δὲ οἱ ὄχλοι ἐφοβήθησαν καὶ ἐδόξασαν τὸν θεόν... (9.8). 159 The initial two interactions in the story of the healing of the paralytic take the form: καὶ ἰδού (+ introduction of character) and καὶ ἰδὼν ὁ Ἰησοῦς... εἶπεν (Mt 9.2, 3–6a). Similar to the second part of this formation is the response (ἰδόντες δὲ οἱ ὄχλοι... [+ speech]: 9.8), coming right after the demonstration of the healing. (Davies and Allison’s [1988–1997: 2:86, 95] similar observation incorrectly equates the use of these related formulations as determinative of the story’s “structure.” Attention should also be given to the developments in the episode, as marked by δέ and τότε. Cf. above, Section O). This pattern underscores the fact that the content of the crowds’ speech fails to measure up to Jesus’ references to the Son of Humanity having authority to forgive sins on earth. 157

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miracles have been “linked by their common emphasis on highlighting the response of their respective audiences” (Theophilos 2011: 137). 160 X. Matthew 9.26 When Jesus associates with a socially deviant group, by pious Galilean standards, he calls another disciple, Matthew, and comes into further conflict, now with Pharisees and disciples of John the Baptiser. Into this context is introduced a petitioner, a “ruler,” whose interactions with Jesus tie together four scenes, comprising two intertwined 161 miracle stories (Mt 9.18–26). His evident boldness and trust in Jesus has him ask Jesus to raise his daughter from the dead. On the way to the man’s home Jesus is touched from behind by a woman, who hopes thereby to be healed from her hematological troubles. Jesus, turning around and seeing her, commends her faith. She becomes healed. Upon entering the house Jesus announces that the girl is not “dead” but “sleeping.” He is ridiculed by the mourners. Nevertheless, once the crowd is thrown out he successfully “raises” the girl. A generic instance of the response motif closes the set of miracle stories (9.26): καὶ ἐξῆλθεν ἡ φήμη αὕτη εἰς ὅλην τὴν γῆν ἐκείνην. The one element, reporting, describes the thorough-going spread of the news about the resurrection. The response is not employed to help characterise the ruler, who’s faith in Jesus has been established early on already (9.18). Rather, as the final of three sentences jointly constituting the story’s conclusion and peak, the response combines with the narration of Jesus’ healing gesture and the girl’s resurrection to underscore the magnificent nature of the miracle. XI. Matthew 9.31 Yet another miracle story occurs in rapid succession (Mt 9.27–31). Two blind persons, crying out for mercy and following Jesus, will not take his silence for an answer. 162 Jesus asks the two whether they trust him to be able to heal them, after they have doggedly followed him even into a house. Their trust 160 Mt 9.9–13 has a “corresponding focus” (Theophilos 2011: 138) as Matthew the taxcollector’s reaction to Jesus is related (there are no reactions in the two call episodes of 8.18–22). 161 Among the features that tie the stories together are healing through touch, use of θυγάτηρ (Mt 9.18, 22) and the focus on the girl or woman being healed at the moment of the miracle, without the (potential) presence of others being mentioned (cf. Eberhart 2013: 418). 162 Felsch (2013: 427) seems to suggest that Jesus is initially silent because the conversation should happen indoors and in private. But Jesus has had no qualms with talking to the woman suppliant, just earlier, outdoors and in public (Mt 9.22). I remain agnostic as to the sense of Jesus’ initial reluctance to dialogue with the two blind persons.

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has secured their healing, Jesus declares. 163 Thereby they join the ranks of the ruler and the woman who also, likely on the same day, 164 having boldly approached Jesus, attained their goal. Yet Jesus’ command for their silence is flagrantly disobeyed, through a response consisting of movement and reporting (9.31): οἱ δὲ ἐξελθόντες διεφήμισαν αὐτὸν ἐν ὅλῃ τῇ γῇ ἐκείνῃ. 165 It bears verbal similarities with the response in the preceding story. Thus this story, too, ends with portraying widespread dissemination, here of news of Jesus himself, though now the reporting itself is cast in a negative light. These similarities along with the motifs of initiative, trusting in Jesus and healing by touch bring the stories together. 166 Jesus’ powerful words and the healing they bring about are the key moment in this story (9.29–30a), just as his healing gesture and the resultant resurrection were part of the peak in the previous story. Here, however, the response is cast as part of the dénouement. Thus, for the first time in the sequence of miracle stories containing responses, which began in 8.27, the response is not (a part of) a story’s highpoint. Focus has shifted to the remarkable occurrences themselves, as well as to characterisation of the protagonist, whose powerful words and actions have a decisive and immediate efficacy. Unlike in the case of Joseph, no angel guides the protagonist. He is marked by authority verging on autonomy. With a word or with a movement of his hand he determines the conduct of the forces of nature and evil spirits and the properties of illnesses plaguing humans and even death. XII. Matthew 9.33b–34 The final miracle story in the sequence, again on the same day, 167 revisits the theme of conflict, raising the stakes. The story is so brief that the response, almost half the story’s length, takes special prominence. 168 This feature is On πίστις and πιστεῦσαι denoting trust (“Vertrauen”) here, see Felsch (2013: 428). The day would include at least Jesus’ conversation with John’s disciples, if not the meal at Matthew’s place. 165 Davies and Allison (1988–1997: 2:138) also emphasise the disobedience of the two. I am unsure of the reason for Jesus’ command to silence here. 166 For some further connections see Felsch (2013: 426). The connection between this story and another story of the healing of two blind men is discussed below. The chiastic pattern that Anderson (1994: 179) argues for, involving this pair and two other story doublets (Sign of Jonah: Mt 12.28–42; 16.1–4 – Feeding of 5000/4000: 14.13–21; 15.30–38) with the story of the Canaanite woman (15.22–28) in the middle, seems somewhat forced. 167 On the sewing of these two, essentially independent, stories together, see Felsch (2013: 426–427). Note that the character healed here is passive, unlike the woman healed of hemorrhaging and the two formerly blind men. 168 On various common motifs that are absent – a request for healing; a healing word or gesture from Jesus – see Felsch (2013: 428). 163 164

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compounded by the fact that the response is also the episode’s high point. Such a level of prominence for a response is familiar from many of the other miracle stories in Mt 8 and 9. The response to this exorcistic healing, which is both an exorcism and a healing, involves two distinct and contrasting groups, neither of which includes the recipient (9.33b–34): καὶ ἐθαύμασαν οἱ ὄχλοι λέγοντες· οὐδέποτε ἐφάνη οὕτως ἐν τῷ Ἰσραήλ. οἱ δὲ Φαρισαῖοι ἔλεγον· ἐν τῷ ἄρχοντι τῶν δαιμονίων ἐκβάλλει τὰ δαιμόνια.

The components are emotional and verbal. The amazement of the crowds does not necessarily portray them in a good light. Their comment seems possibly inferior to the words of the crowds who last responded to a miracle, the healing of the paralytic (9.8). There crowds at least explicitly praised God, even if there was substantial misunderstanding. Crowds both there and here, at least as unaware of who Jesus is as are the disciples, do not focus on Jesus in their exclamation. 169 Still their response qualitatively exceeds that of the other large group of respondents, who asked Jesus to leave their territory. Ironically to date the demons have done the best job of identifying Jesus (8.29). The Pharisees, on the other hand, the other respondents in the present story, are as far off the mark as possible, identifying Jesus’ power with that of the ruler of the demons. This, the second significant action of these characters in the narrative so far, is indeed dramatic. 170 With a perverted twist of irony, they may in fact be the ones aligned, unknowingly, with the demonic ruler, a possibility that will appear more probable to the hearers/readers later. The peak of the story is the crowds’ amazement and speech, while the Pharisees’ speech is given as concluding background information.

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Felsch (2013: 429) claims this story’s focus on the response of the two characters (primarily or solely) serves to confirm Jesus’ greatness (“deren Größe bestätigt”). But the characterisation of the crowds and the role this plays in the narrative are more complex. The disciples’ response, as with the actions of other key characters in miracle stories until this point, has been focused specifically on Jesus’ identity. Cousland (2002: 138; cf. 129) observes, “While their [the crowds’] astonishment leads them to remark on the healings and exorcisms they have witnessed, they have not yet begun to consider the identity of the one performing the healing....” 170 The Pharisees first significant act is to ask a question (Mt 9.11). Earlier, prior to any action on their part being given as a mainline event (John the Baptiser sees the Pharisees coming to him in 3.7), they receive criticism in speeches of both John and Jesus (3.7–10[– 13]; 5.20), as they do in their first encounter with Jesus (9.12–13). The scribes (γραμματεῖς), who are associated with the Pharisees (5.20), are also criticised by Jesus (5.20) and are compared negatively with respect to Jesus by the crowds (7.29). Through the association the Pharisees may be seen as brought into loose connection with Herod’s violent opposition to Jesus at his birth (2.4; cf. 12.14).

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In this way the series of ten miracle stories, following Jesus’ inaugural teaching, comes to its conclusion and its high point. 171 The six responses, involving the actions of six characters (the crowds, the Pharisees, the disciples, the Gentile pig-herders, the people of Gadara and two suppliants), have played a key role in portraying the range of relationships to Jesus that have emerged. But the responses have not had the only or the most important part in the portrayal. Jesus’ affirmation (8.10, 13; 9.22, 28–29) or criticism (8.26) of the characters’ level of trust has been important, as has the narrator’s comment of Jesus’ perception of the faith of some (9.2). 172 Perhaps surprisingly, the disciples are the one group criticised expressly in this regard. Nevertheless, as the stories of failed calls to discipleship show, the disciples surpass others who have sought to follow Jesus. 173 Also interesting is the ambivalent characterisation of a pair of suppliants who demonstrated trust and disobedience. Besides Jesus, the character who stands out in the series is the Gentile centurion, whose great faith is unmatched among Jesus’ ethnic compatriots in the Galilee. Other Gentiles, however, had a disastrous, unwelcoming response to Jesus’ exorcist activities. The only ones with a poorer reception of Jesus were, ironically, the various groups of religious leaders. A ruler and a woman’s suffering of hemorrhaging, like the centurion, demonstrated quality trust. The crowds have shown good intentions, but clearly something in them is lacking, in light of Jesus’ words to the centurion and the dissonance between their proclamation of praise and his own commentary on his activity. Noticeably, responses do not play a (significant; cf. 8.15d) role in the first triad of miracle stories (8.1–15). When the response motif is first employed, in the second triad (8.23–9.8), it is used to expose inadequate (8.27; 9.8) and negative (8.33–34) appreciations of Jesus. In the final four miracle stories, a response either does not help in the portrayal of any character (9.26) or presents disobedience (9.31) or inadequate appreciation and opposition (9.33b–34). In short, the response motif is employed relatively late and is not used for positive portrayal. Such portrayal, coming early, happens first through a suppliant’s request and Jesus’ reaction to it. The opposition of the religious leaders escalates in the final story to the point of the defaming of Jesus. The earlier charge of blasphemy is bested by a charge that Jesus operates through the Satan’s power, the very foe, the readers/hearers know, Jesus successfully defeated after his commission and em171 Similarly, Boring (2000: 223–224, 241). Note in the last series of miracle stories (Mt 9.18–34), the relation of the relevant characters to Jesus declines from exemplary faith to dismal rejection and calumny. 172 See Howell (1990: 133). 173 While the call scenes in Mt 8–9 bring a discipleship theme to the fore at points, it would be going too far to argue that all the miracle stories here should be understood within a discipleship context (cf. Howell 1990: 135).

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powerment from the voice from heaven. How will Jesus answer this challenge from the Pharisees? 174 The narrator will have the hearers/readers wait a while for the answer. XIII. Intervening material A summary statement of Jesus going around through the towns of the Galilee 175 is the stage for his comments about his compassion on the crowds and the need for workers. That the “sheep” are troubled and thrown about is probably to be understood as a criticism of the religious leaders in the Galilee (9.36). Jesus’ comments lead to, following a listing of the disciples, a lengthy speech by Jesus who commissions 176 and sends them out. Jesus’ second lengthy speech, directed now to his disciples, heightens the sense of tension and forthcoming conflict. On the one hand unclean spirits are the opponents. Jesus gives the disciples power to cast them out and to heal every sickness, as they continue his task of proclaiming the arrival of the kingdom of Heaven. On the other hand, harsh and even violent opposition is foretold from rulers of synagogues, kings and even whole cities. Even within families where some receive the kingdom, others will resist severely. Death is foretold, but also reward. Jesus, along with the one who sent him, is to receive allegiance greater than any familial ties. And, tying in the last miracle story, since Jesus has been called Beelzebul, then his disciples can expect no better treatment. When even John the Baptiser in prison questions whether he was correct in identifying Jesus as his successor, Jesus cites various instances of the healings he has performed as a demonstration. This context prepares the way for Jesus’ criticism of the contemporary “generation,” which, the hearers/readers may be surprised to discover, have not received either John or Jesus. Similarly, harsh words of judgment fall on the cities of Chorazin, Bethsaida and Capernaum, because they have not repented, though having seen Jesus’ acts of power. Evidently the earlier responses of amazement by crowds are not to

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For Anderson (1994: 177), too, the final story in the sequence “plants in the implied reader’s mind seeds of a conflict which will come to flower later in the Gospel.” 175 Mt 9.35 forms an inclusio with 4.23, tying the first major teaching section with a narration of Jesus’ first might deeds. Note the thematically related 7.28–29, that comes between the two parts. 176 The disciples are commissioned to heal and perform exorcisms, initially, before the listing of the Twelve. Later this commission is repeated and Jesus adds that they are to proclaim the kingdom (Mt 10.7–8).

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be understood as sufficient or acceptable. 177 Religious authorities, too, seem to get special reproach. 178 XIV. Matthew 12.14 Two stories of conflict regarding the Sabbath with the Pharisees follow. First (Mt 12.1–8), Jesus, referring to himself as the Son of Humanity, presents himself as lord of the Sabbath, when his disciples’ work on the day is challenged. 179 The question of whether healing on the Sabbath is permissible is raised by the Pharisees in “their” synagogue at the opening of the next story (12.9–14). Jesus’ answer puts emphasis on the value of doing good to humans on the Sabbath. 180 Following the healing of the man with the “withered” hand, the Pharisees engage in the first violence-oriented response (12.14): ἐξελθόντες δὲ οἱ Φαρισαῖοι συμβούλιον ἔλαβον κατ᾿ αὐτοῦ ὅπως αὐτὸν ἀπολέσωσιν. This, the story’s final development, is its highpoint. 181 The vision of future violence overshadows the story’s other aspects. The irony, of course, is that the Son of Humanity, doing good and healing on the Sabbath, will be destroyed by those plotting evil and harm on the same day. 182 Therefore Jesus’ self-description, the Son of Humanity, now takes on a sense of foreboding. 183 Jesus’ earlier predictions to his disciples already begin to find their fulfillment. The narrative moves, now, towards Jesus’ execution. But is this God’s plan? XV. Matthew 12.23–24 Aware of their intents, Jesus escapes and heals many from the crowds that follow, now instructing them all to remain silent (earlier only a few were given such a command [Mt. 8.4; 9.30]). Yet further conflict with the Pharisees ensues in an exorcism episode (12.22–45). The act of deliverance and the responses occur early on, setting the stage for lengthy interaction between 177

Similarly, Howell (1990: 138–139). A doxology (Mt 11.25–26), towards the end of the series of verbal exchange and utterances, sets up an antithesis between the wise and the children. 179 Starnizke (2013: 436) is probably right to see the concept of the Son of Humanity having authority on the Sabbath as binding both stories together. 180 On the use of ἄνθρωπος at various narration-levels in the story, helping create the said emphasis, see Starnitzke (2013: 437). 181 At the same time importance is given to Jesus’ analogy, the centre of the story’s “Ringkomposition” (Starnitzke 2013: 437). (Contra Starnitzke, the HP in Mt 12.13 does not highlight Jesus’ speech, but the following healing.) 182 Similarly, Davies and Allison (1988–1997: 2:322). 183 At the same time, a sense of the future authority of the Son of Humanity has also been indicated (Mt 10.23). 178

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Jesus and his opponents. Two characters, “crowds” and Pharisees, both respond in ways akin to what occurred in a similar exorcism, the final miracle story in chapter nine, (12.23–24): καὶ ἐξίσταντο πάντες οἱ ὄχλοι καὶ ἔλεγον· μήτι οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ υἱὸς Δαυίδ; οἱ δὲ Φαρισαῖοι ἀκούσαντες εἶπον· οὗτος οὐκ ἐκβάλλει τὰ δαιμόνια εἰ μὴ ἐν τῷ Βεελζεβοὺλ ἄρχοντι τῶν δαιμονίων.

The crowds once again are amazed and have direct speech. Here they turn their attention to Jesus’ identity. 184 Their question either expects a negative answer, that Jesus is not the Son of David, or allows for the questioners’ doubt concerning the answer. 185 The Pharisees’ utterance, however, is presented as reacting to the crowds (ἀκούσαντες), 186 though it contains the same accusation as the last time. And, in contrast to the previous similar story, this time the crowds’ actions are backgrounded, while the Pharisees’ accusation comes as a mainline event. 187 The following, extended speech by Jesus (12.25–37), directed at the Pharisees, offers the awaited answer to their challenge. 188 He justifies his exorcisms as worked by the spirit of God, just as he condemns them for their idle words, which will be judged in due time. A presumably sarcastic request by some of his opponents for a sign brings on further, scathing criticism (12.39–42). As the equation between the “generation” and the religious leaders is made explicit, earlier judgements against Galilean cities is recalled in Jesus’ words against the Pharisees. Though implicit in this instance, in both cases Jesus’ acts of power should have brought about the repentance of the recipients and observers. 189 Jesus also cryptically predicts his imminent death and resurrection, as the Son of Humanity, thus investing an important sense into this title, a sense that will only grow as time goes on. 184

“The crowds’ interest has shifted from the activity of Jesus to Jesus himself” (Cousland 2002: 138) between the similar stories of exorcism and the respective reactions (Mt 9.33; 12.23–24). 185 For Boring (2000: 285, incl. n. 261) the crowds in Mt 12.23 take “a step further in the direction of discipleship, entertaining the possibility that Jesus might indeed be the hoped-for son of David,” though “the question stops short of affirmation.” Davies and Allison (1988–1997: 335) suggest something similar. Cousland’s (2002: 138) reading is superior: “[T]he question of whether he might be the Son of David... is only broached....” 186 Similarly, Davies and Allison (1988–1997: 2:335). Note that the crowds’ emotion and speech are backgrounded, while the Pharisees’ speech is a mainline event that constitutes a development (δέ) in the discourse. 187 Cousland (2002: 139), for other reasons, also sees an “intensification” between the two stories with regards to the presentation of opposition to Jesus. 188 See, similarly, Anderson (1994: 178). 189 μετανοῆσαι, a Leitwort in the earlier context, ties the two incidents together (Mt 11.20, 21; 12.41).

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XVI. Intervening material A final, brief episode in this series pertaining to Jesus’ disciples and opponents pits the former against even Jesus’ own relatives, who have come seeking him out. It seems that only those who become Jesus’ disciples have truly entered the kingdom of Heaven. The third speech by Jesus (Mt 13.1–52), comprising a sequence of parables, is different than the earlier two in that it vacillates between public and private discourse, the latter directed to the disciples. It also, relatedly, involves interaction with other interlocutors. This movement from public to private, which happens twice, is reinforced by the nature of the parables and their interpretation. A distance is created between insiders and outsiders. 190 The envisioned division is intensified in the episode in the synagogue of Jesus’ hometown, Nazareth (Mt 13.53–58). His teaching evokes a reaction from those present that is akin to occurrences in earlier texts, including some miracle-story responses. Amazement (13.54: ἐκπλήσσεσθαι), followed by extensive direct discourse, outlining the audience’s familiarity with Jesus’ family and social standing and inability to explain the providence of his sagacity, leads to their “stumbling.” Jesus’ reply shows that he considers their reaction a dishonour to him. He performs merely a few acts of power there, none of which is described in detail. No response is mentioned. The amazement of the Nazareth audience requires further discussion as it has echoes in the narrative up to this point. Crowds were amazed at Jesus’ teaching, too, after his first speech. The disciples were amazed at his uncanny power to calm a storm. Twice crowds have been amazed at Jesus’ exorcism of demons. None of these instances, nor the response of fear to a healing, have been deemed adequate. Questions demonstrating misunderstanding and/or unbelief have been recurrent in them. The disciples alone are those with the blessed eyes and ears, the one group that has forsaken everything to follow him, though even their comprehension up to this point has been put into question. Yet a few individuals have demonstrated faith, once even amazement-inspiring faith. The retrospective story of John the Baptiser’s execution at the hands of Herod the tetrarch suggests doom envisioned by the Pharisees for Jesus, John’s successor. At the same time it serves to explain Jesus’ motivation for withdrawing to a solitary place. The possibility that the violent death of John and, if foreshadowed, also that of Jesus could be a part of God’s plan is left

190 The masses do not have eyes to see or ears to hear. Jesus disciples, on the other hand, have eyes and ears that are blessed. The various parables touch on the limited number of those who will enter the kingdom as well as the eventual judgment and the great effectiveness of the small enclave of Jesus’ followers.

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hanging. Interestingly, through a comment from Herod, Jesus’ working of acts of power is related to the concept of resurrection. When Jesus is followed by crowds, despite his implied mourning and earlier criticisms against the “generation,” he has compassion on them and heals their sick. Still, given this and his miraculous provision of food for them all, the wondrous event in the next story (Mt 14.15–21), no response of the crowds is noted. Perhaps it is not needed – the intent is to portray the limitless compassion of Jesus for the sincere, yet not fully understanding crowds. Alternatively, perhaps the crowds are too busy getting their fill, too little interested in the person providing it. Their characterisation is ambiguous, open to multiple interpretations. XVII. Matthew 14.26 and 14.33 A public miracle is followed by a private one, after Jesus forces his disciples into a boat to go ahead of him to the other side of the sea. The story (Mt 14.23b–33) opens with Jesus alone and the disciples’ boat being tossed about in a storm. 191 The private, stormy setting recalls the previous rescue nature miracle, in which these established followers responded. In the second, much lengthier scene (14.25–33) Jesus comes to them walking on the water. The disciples’ response is extreme (14.26): οἱ δὲ μαθηταὶ ἰδόντες αὐτὸν ἐπὶ τῆς θαλάσσης περιπατοῦντα ἐταράχθησαν λέγοντες ὅτι φάντασμά ἐστιν, καὶ ἀπὸ τοῦ φόβου ἔκραξαν.

Two of its three elements are stated twice (verbal/vocal and emotional). This is the first time fear has been accompanied by another emotion. Unlike earlier (cf. 9.8), here the fear (and being troubled) does not evoke praise of God but a scream. 192 The disciples clearly misidentify Jesus too. The fear is greater than the amazement in the earlier, related episode – so too is the nature of the miraculous happenings related to the storm. Narration has again entered into a mythic level. 193 Jesus replies, seeking to calm their fears. After Jesus takes up Peter’s suggestion to invite him also to come walk on the water, Peter experiences initial success! His reaction (14.30) to seeing the effects of the wind bears striking similarity to the disciples’ response to seeing Jesus walk – 191 The fronted temporal reference in Mt 14.23b (ὀψίας δὲ γενομένης) likely marks the beginning of a new episode. Re-introduction of the story’s characters, besides Jesus (14.23b–24), and the (re-)statement of the setting support this assessment. The story is closely related to the immediately foregoing, as the separation between Jesus and his disciples (and the use of προάγειν [14.22]) sets up the expectation that their reuniting will be narrated. Some (e.g. Hartenstein 2013: 454) see the story beginning with 14.22. 192 Kingsbury (1992: 15) also takes the fear to be presented negatively. 193 Taylor’s (2011: 133) identification of this episode as “practically a ghost story” does not do justice to the features it contains, as the analysis here shows.

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he sees (βλέπων); becomes afraid (ἐφοβήθη); and, beginning to sink, screams (ἔκραξεν). Peter has failed. Jesus, pulling him back up, chastises his lack of faith. The term Jesus’ uses (ὀλιγόπιστος: 14.31) recalls his earlier, similar rebuke of the disciples in the other storm at sea (8.26). 194 With the two back in the boat, the storm abates. The story concludes with a formally simple, powerful response (14.33): οἱ δὲ ἐν τῷ πλοίῳ προσεκύνησαν αὐτῷ λέγοντες· ἀληθῶς θεοῦ υἱὸς εἶ. It is the story’s dramatic highpoint. The disciples’ fear and unbelief has given way to understanding and a proper posturing towards Jesus – the first time characters succeed in this respect. 195 The change is likely due to the culmination of the entire scope of happenings: Jesus’ walking on the water; his call to Peter and Peter’s semi-success at walking on water; his saving Peter; and his return to them, now as one they know, just as the storm ceases and the world returns to normal. 196 Parallel stories from the Scriptures, especially the crossing of the Reed Sea, are invoked in the episode. (Such parallelism is considered further in Chapter Seven, below.) Looking back the hearers/readers can discern an escalation in the responses of the disciples in two very similar types of stories, in private contexts at sea. Jesus has demonstrated greater power and their type of response has followed suit, increasing in intensity and appropriateness. 197 The first miracle story with a response described the disciples’ emotions and speech, elements contained in the responses in the present story too. The concluding speech in the (final) response in both stories focuses on Jesus’ identity, the latter answering the former. 198 XVIII. Intervening material Back on dry land, the masses continue to bring their sick to Jesus, all of whom are healed (Mt 14.34–36). Yet does the silence concerning these characters’ appreciation of Jesus, in light of the foregoing, reinforce the division 194 On this and other shared elements (e.g. cry of σῶσον) see Anderson (1994: 176– 177); cf. Held (1963: 205–206). 195 Hartenstein (2013: 454) observes how the disciples’ response presents the solution to the problem set up by Herod at the start of the chain of events leading to the story. It is best not to see the disciples here as “worshipping” Jesus (contra, e.g., Kingsbury 1986: 113), but performing an act of reverence before him, prostration. 196 Hartenstein (2013: 455) argues, alternatively, that the calming of the storm has lesser importance. Still, as she demonstrates (Hartenstein 2013: 456–457), the disciples’ actions are narrated consistently in relation to Jesus. 197 Similarly Anderson (1994: 176–177); cf. Howell (1990: 142). 198 “They [the disciples] in effect give answer to the question they themselves raised earlier in another episode out on the sea...” (Kingsbury 1986: 113; cf. Carter 1996: 220). Their statement is “one of three human confessions of Jesus as the Son of God” (Anderson 1994: 177). The other two are discussed further, below.

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between insiders and outsiders? This possibility seems mitigated, at least in part, but the ardour with which the crowds seek out Jesus and the trust they have simply to touch his tassels and be healed. 199 Another conflict with the Pharisees, along with the scribes, and a related, subsequent scene of private interpretation of a parable for Jesus’ disciples again present the insider/outsider dichotomy. At the same time, while Jesus is taken aback that the disciples are still lacking understanding, their characterisation is complexified. The account of healing of a demonised child (Mt 15.21–28) is the first story, during Jesus’ adult life, to occur in Gentile territory. The petitioning mother, a Gentile, demonstrates exemplary faith – just as the petitioning centurion did earlier. 200 And – again like him – she receives commendation from Jesus for her faith (15.28a). 201 The irony is that the woman is a better exemplar of faith than the Galileans who have benefited from him. 202 She outshines the disciples too. 203 As in previous stories where the quality of the faith of the petitioner(s) was commented on (8.10; 9.22; cf. 9.2 [though, see 9.27–31]), here too any potential response of the petitioner to the healing is deemed unnecessary for narration. XIX. Matthew 15.31 In contrast, in a story of numerous healings (Mt 15.29–31), the multitude receiving benefit from Jesus responds with amazement and praise to God. The response contains three elements – seeing, emotional and verbal (15.31): ὥστε τὸν ὄχλον θαυμάσαι βλέποντας κωφοὺς λαλοῦντας, κυλλοὺς ὑγιεῖς καὶ χωλοὺς περιπατοῦντας καὶ τυφλοὺς βλέποντας· καὶ ἐδόξασαν τὸν θεὸν Ἰσραήλ.

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The story of the woman healed of hemorrhaging seems to have gotten around, as many now are healed simply by touching Jesus’ tassels. 200 See Poplutz (2013: 467) and Anderson (1994: 184). 201 In her request she also recalls the faith of the ruler, who, bowing before Jesus, requested help for his daughter. She joins the ranks of the few who have bowed before Jesus: the magi (Mt 2.11); a leper (8.2); the ruler (9.18) and the disciples (14.33). 202 The Jewish-Gentile motif is emphasised in numerous ways, including the woman’s recognising Jesus as the Son of David, and Jesus’ stark statements regarding his mission to the lost sheep of Israel and her being a dog. The actions of this woman in unclean territory also put Jesus’ prior, ritually pure interlocutors to shame (Poplutz 2013: 463; Anderson 1994: 184). 203 “She is willing to receive ‘bread-crumbs’ while the disciples do not understand about bread and the loaves of the 5,000 or the 4,000...” (Anderson 1994: 184).

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The praise to God, on the one hand, cannot be ill-placed. Yet, on the other hand, until now the greatest demonstration of faith (i.e. the centurion) 204 and the most profound response, the disciples’ recent prostration and confession in the boat, have been centred on Jesus. Tension is created. 205 Also, the greater attention is given to the crowd’s amazement, which is the episode’s highpoint. The praise of God here recalls the healing of the paralytic, where the crowds praised God but misunderstood who the Son of Humanity is. In the meantime the crowds have considered the possibility that Jesus is the Son of David (12.23). But this idea seems since then to have escaped them. The portrayal of the crowds is fully complex. XX. Intervening material The feeding of the 4000 (Mt 15.32–38) follows on the heels of this brief story of healings, as did the earlier feeding story on a similar summary of healings. 206 The intensity of the need is heightened, since the crowds have been three days with Jesus already this time and significant danger is posed if they leave him now, without any food. Jesus, not the disciples, this time initiates the exchange about provisions. Again, as in the earlier parallel story, Jesus’ compassion for the crowds is stressed, though now it is articulated by Jesus, not the narrator. Jesus’ continued compassion for the crowd, despite their many, repeated shortcomings, speaks in their favour. On the other hand the disciples, despite the earlier experience, betray no understanding of how they and Jesus might solve the problem. 207 Still, Jesus follows the already familiar procedure, narrated again in detail, and the multitude is satisfied. Again there is no response. Just the number of mouths fed is given. Perhaps their earlier praise of God is still ringing in the hearers’/readers’ ears and that is enough. Or perhaps the narrator underscores one more time, their inability to appreciate the miracle Jesus has worked for them. Upon another request for a sign from the Pharisees and, now, the Sadducees (last seen in their interaction with John the Baptiser in chapter three), Jesus repeats his statement that only the sign of Jonah (the contents are not 204 In the immediately foregoing episode, the faith of the Canaanite woman is also focused on Jesus to some extent (Mt 15.22), but less so than with the centurion. 205 Similarly, Cousland (2002: 134, 135) observes that here “the crowds offer no hint of... praise of Jesus” and their praise of God, “though in itself laudable, stops short of any sign of commitment to or of faith in Jesus.” 206 Other features, especially vast shared vocabulary, evoke the context of the earlier feeding story too – see, e.g., σπλαχνισθῆναι (Mt 15.32; cf. 14.14) and ἔρημος/ἐρημία (15.33; 14.15), appearing at the beginning. 207 “Not only does their [i.e the disciples’] faith pale in comparison with the faith of the Gentile woman, but they seem not to have learned anything from the preceding feeding miracle...” (Howell 1990: 144; cf. Anderson 1994: 187).

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specified this time) will be given (Mt 16.1–4). When, by use of metaphor, Jesus in private warns the disciples of the teaching of Pharisees and Sadducees (16.5–12 ), they again demonstrate their dullness, for which they are chastised. For the third time Jesus calls one or (here) more of them ὀλιγόπιστοι (16.8; cf. 8.26 and 14.31). But the last time the criticism was levelled at them, in the storm on the boat, the situation seemed repaired with the disciples’ prostration before and correct confession of Jesus. The complexity of their character portrayal grows. In the region of Caesarea Philippi Jesus and his disciples hold a further private conversation, again initiated by him, now concerning his identity (16.13–28). Peter, as in the recent storm at sea, stands out among the disciples, experiencing initial success in relating to Jesus in a more commendable manner. His confession that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God, receives the teacher’s affirmation, just as Peter personally receives strong commendation. This confession is linked closely to the recent, private epiphany, when the disciples, jointly, declared Jesus to be the Son of God. 208 In the stupefying next interaction, however, Peter receives the harshest criticism, being identified as the Satan, for opposing Jesus’ first open speech about his soon coming suffering and death in Jerusalem at the hands of the leadership there and third-day resurrection. God’s plan involves Jesus’ execution. Peter has now been an agent of the Satan to hinder the plan. How else will the Satan seek to thwart it? In the subsequent call for his disciples to prepare themselves for similar sufferings Jesus employs the Son of Humanity phrase in reference to himself, in his future glory. Yet, here and earlier in Jesus’ inciting revelation it is clear that the disciples understanding of him as Son of God needs modification – he must die on a cross. 209 XXI. Matthew 17.4, 17.6 and 17.8 An even smaller circle of just three disciples, appearing in this configuration for the first time, accompany Jesus in private to a high mountain (Mt 17.1– 8[–13]). The epiphany story, focalised first through the narrator and then through the disciples, contains three responses, which aid in bringing about the character-focalisation. Jesus’ form changes, his face shines, his clothes become white like light. Moses and Elijah appear then, too, and speak with Jesus. The episode thereby ventures into a mythic level of narration, leaving aside the level used commonly for episodes of healing and exorcism, namely that found in works of “romance.” At the same time the present story invokes epiphanic episodes from the Scriptures – encounters with God at Sinai, involving Moses and Elijah – that bear numerous similarities (see further, be208 209

So, too, Kingsbury (1986: 113) and Carter (1996: 221). See also Kingsbury 1986: 113.

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low, Chapter Seven). At the aforementioned profound happenings, Peter, once again standing out among his companions, responds verbally (17.4): ἀποκριθεὶς δὲ ὁ Πέτρος εἶπεν τῷ Ἰησοῦ· κύριε, καλόν ἐστιν ἡμᾶς ὧδε εἶναι· εἰ θέλεις, ποιήσω ὧδε τρεῖς σκηνάς, σοὶ μίαν καὶ Μωϋσεῖ μίαν καὶ Ἠλίᾳ μίαν.

The hearers/readers may not know whether to trust his suggestion, given his track record in such private settings, especially recently (16.23; cf. 15.15–16). And this is the first time that a response has consisted of merely speech! There is no emotion, no prostration. Nothing but Peter’s suggestion. Any misgiving is confirmed when a cloud of light “overshadows” all three disciples and a heavenly voice singles Jesus out as the one worthy of their attention, termed “my beloved son.” This proclamation, accompanied by the private setting and (a few) disciples alone being present, forms a close connection with the two rescue nature miracle stories and Peter’s recent confession. 210 Whereas Peter, acting individually, had partial success, followed by rebuke, in two of these episodes, he now has only dismal failure, incurring correction. All three respond now, physically and emotionally, with heightened intensity (17.6): καὶ ἀκούσαντες οἱ μαθηταὶ ἔπεσαν ἐπὶ πρόσωπον αὐτῶν καὶ ἐφοβήθησαν σφόδρα. The response, probably the greatest explicit expression of emotion in view of a miracle, is linked unequivocally to the heavenly voice. 211 It also further ties this epiphany to the early epiphanic stories at sea. Jesus touches the three and speaks to calm their fears. That the narrator moves between the disciples’ interaction with the heavenly cloud and voice to their interaction with Jesus, while giving a view of their inner world of feelings, brings the narration closely toward focalisation through the disciples. The character-focalisation is finally achieved fully in the concluding sentence, which relates their visual sensation. In the scene’s closing line and moment of greatest interest, a creative variation on the response motif, it seems that something is out of place (17.8): ἐπάραντες δὲ τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς αὐτῶν οὐδένα εἶδον εἰ μὴ αὐτὸν Ἰησοῦν μόνον. Similar to responses seen earlier, the disciples’ visual sensation is noted. Seeing Jesus is particularly underscored. 212 But strangely nothing is said about any changed perspective on the part of the disciples. Nothing is 210

So, too, Kingsbury 1986: 114; cf. 105. Similarly, Davies and Allison (1988–1997: 2:703, 706). Given the presence of “Son of God” in an earlier, related response (Mt 14.33), it is likely that here (17.5), too, the identification is the key content of the speech. 212 This is a rare instance in Mt of the anarthrous noun Ἰησοῦς (Levinsohn 2000: 159) – on the textual variant, see above, n. 47. The anarthrous noun and the “negation + exception/restriction” (Runge 2010: 87) statement (οὐδένα... εἰ μὴ...) are both discourse features that highlight Jesus, the object of the visual sensation. 211

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narrated, such as an exclamation about Jesus (like that made on the second boat-trip, after all had returned to normal), which would demonstrate an improved response and corresponding understanding. This is a strange kind of highpoint for a miracle story. It seems that not only has Peter received correction regarding Jesus’ identity, twice within a week and with severity, but all three characters that are privy to this epiphany are implicitly criticised by the narrator for their lack of comprehension. Still, the fact that the narrative is focalised through these weak disciples aids in bringing the hearers/readers to sympathise with them. This monumental event, narrated in a mythic level, has ventured into a dimension of reality that seems beyond the comprehension of earthbound humans. Censure of the disciples is further mitigated by Jesus’ earlier compassionate gesture of touching them and his encouraging them not to be afraid. Nevertheless, the disciples have failed in understanding who Jesus is and their failure is part of a larger development in the narrative. Hearers/readers can see here the third private miracle for disciples only, in a secluded setting, in a series of miracles being epiphanic or having an epiphanic element and increasing in grandeur. In each episode a correlating mythic level of narration has been employed. Jesus’ power over the storm inspired the first response, involving both an emotion (amazement) and a question as to who Jesus might be. In the incident of Jesus’ walking on water was brought about, eventually, prostration and an evidently insightful proclamation of Jesus’ identity. Preceding this, however was an extreme reaction involving fear-laden screaming. Here, in contrast, great fear and falling at the appearance of the cloud are later replaced by mere visual observation, accompanied by silence and no physical posturing. Though the type and level of emotion has intensified in the string of private miracle stories, the level of understanding, focused on the issue of Jesus as the Son of God, has stopped progressing. High expectations of the disciples are dashed. When will the disciples understand who Jesus is and his mission? Will they at all? Aspects of the story make it a more grand revelation than anything to date. Not just the Angel of the Lord (as in the opening chapters) makes an appearance, but Moses, Elijah and the glorious cloud, itself, containing God’s voice. At his baptism, too, a voice from heaven proclaimed Jesus’ Sonship, accompanied by a manifestation of God’s spirit. The proclamations’ similar wording, in addition to the heavenly voice motif, which only occurs in these two locations, brings the stories together. Here the heavens did not just open, but the cloud of glory itself came near. At the same time the transfiguration story recalls Jesus’ baptism. In both cases a voice from heaven says very similar things to/about Jesus (3.17; 17.5). After the first declaration, the meaning of Jesus being God’s son was immediately challenged by the Satan. Can such a threat be expected again, after the second declaration? The Satan, through Peter, has just recently op-

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posed Jesus’ understanding of being the Son of God. The three disciples present now on the mountain seem equally imperceptive, despite the heavenly voice. Are they aligned with the Satan in their appreciation of Jesus’ identity as God’s son? Will they align with the Satan in posing a new challenge to God’s plan? XXII. Intervening material In the next scene (Mt 17.9–13) Jesus, commanding the three’s silence about the occurrence, 213 again predicts the imminent suffering (likening it to that of John the Baptiser, “Elijah”) and resurrection of the Son of Humanity. Not just the three privileged disciples, but also those left behind demonstrate their failure. In the following exorcism story (Mt 17.14–20), the “generation’s” lack of faith is likened to the little faith of the disciples. Here, again an outsider/insider theme is taken up as Jesus explains the disciples’ failure to them in private. Though the petitioner and recipient himself may not be included in the censure, Jesus’ words addressed in the second person to the contemporary generation are foreboding. Perhaps then for this reason and on account of the concluding private discourse, it is no surprise that the story contains no response. 214 The disciples become sad, when hearing for the second time Jesus predict his death and resurrection. This is the first time a character in interaction with Jesus has become sad (Mt 17.23). It would seem clear that the disciples’ perspective is significantly in error. The insider/outsider motif plays a formative role, again, in the ensuing miracle story. In a private conversation with Peter, Jesus’ explanation of why he and his disciples are exempt from paying the temple tax concludes with a command to Peter to pay it anyway, in order to not “cause them to stumble.” Though the proposed miraculous means of provision of money are foretold, neither they nor any further event, including a response, are narrated. The emphasis in this peculiar miracle story remains on Jesus’ private explanation to Peter of their being, implicitly, sons of the kingdom of Heaven. Jesus’ fourth major speech, in private to his disciples, begins with a question from them as to who is the greatest in the kingdom of Heaven. His speech promotes the children, the little ones, exhorts to take all measures against inhibiting them and advocates extravagant forgiveness. These themes are revisited in the following episodes. A brief summary of Jesus’ healing many is followed by confrontations with the would-be-wise Pharisees and, then, the memory-challenged disci213 καὶ καταβαινόντων αὐτῶν ἐκ τοῦ ὄρους ἐνετείλατο αὐτοῖς ὁ Ἰησοῦς λέγων· μηδενὶ εἴπητε τὸ ὅραμα ἕως οὗ ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἐκ νεκρῶν ἐγερθῇ (Mt 17.9). 214 Similarly, Howell (1990: 146–147).

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ples, who prevent children from coming to him. One seeking Jesus’ Torahwisdom is invited to sell everything, give it to the poor and follow him. The young man, sad (19:22 λυπούμενος), cannot take up the invitation on account of his wealth. Jesus’ teaching, inspired by the incident, evokes the disciples’ extreme amazement (19.25: ἐξεπλήσσοντο σφόδρα). Nevertheless their commitment to follow (19.27–28) Jesus will be rewarded when the Son of Humanity sits on his thrown in glory. A promise of future reversal of those who are now first and last, accompanied by an illustrative parable and another prediction of Jesus’ calamitous fate and resurrection in Jerusalem, clashes with the tone of James and John’s and their mother’s request for the two’s greatness. Such misunderstanding must be corrected by further teaching from Jesus on service as the measure of greatness. XXIII. Matthew 20.34c For the second time, recalling the earliest stories of healing, two blind men cry out for Jesus’ mercy, naming him the Son of David (20.29–34). Their persistence, despite the resistance of the crowds around them, is rewarded. The crowds appear in a less than favourable light when, in an exchange with Jesus, the blind men’s request for healing is granted. 215 Throughout the emphasis falls on Jesus’ compassion (Münch 2013b: 497). 216 The short sentence describing their response of following, the only instance of such a response, concludes the story (20.34c): καὶ ἠκολούθησαν αὐτῷ. Like Peter and companions in the opening scenes of Jesus’ public ministry (4.20, 22) and, later, Matthew (9.9), these two make the decision to come alongside Jesus in his journey, likely becoming his disciples. They outshine the earlier pair healed from blindness, who responded disobediently. 217 These healed men prove to be better than the wealthy young man, too, whom Jesus recently called to follow him (19.21). Though as workers who begin their toil in the vineyard in the last hours of the day (20.1–16), they can expect to receive the same reward as those following (cf. 19.27–28) Jesus since the beginning. 215

Anderson (1994: 183) suggests that the crowds’ rebuke – accompanied by the lack of compassion (see below, n. 216) – “foreshadows their eventual switch to the side of the Jewish leaders.” Davies and Allison (1988–1997: 3:109) note the subtle irony in that when the crowd shortly hereafter calls Jesus the Son of David, it “does precisely what it seeks to prevent others doing.” 216 This is the first time that Jesus has compassion on specific individuals. It is worthy of note that the specification of his compassion occurs in connection with a miracle that produces disciples. In contrast is the crowd, who despite having experience of Jesus’ compassion (Mt 9.36; 14.14; 15.32) fail to show it to others (Anderson 1994: 183) 217 Similarly, see Anderson (1994: 181).

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XXIV. Intervening material A throng before and behind Jesus announces his entrance into Jerusalem, recognising him as the Son of David. 218 The whole city shudders, asking τίς ἐστιν οὗτος (Mt 21.10), recalling the city’s similar reaction to news of the birth of the king of the Jews (2.3), an event which saw opposition and great loss of life. 219 While Jesus’ fate will be bloody, ironically, he performs acts of healing in the temple, summarily narrated. The healings contribute, alongside Jesus’ driving out those engaged in commercial activities, to an indignant reaction on the part of chief priests and scribes that partly resembles (21.15– 16a: visual sensation; emotion; speech) responses in miracle stories. 220 The chief priests have not been active since the narrative’s beginning (2.4), there too coupled with the scribes. Jesus’ reply restates the notion that the wise do not perceive God’s workings, but children do. XXV. Matthew 21.20 The next morning (Mt 21.18–22) when Jesus, hungry, curses a fig tree and it immediately shrivels, his disciples respond (21.20): καὶ ἰδόντες οἱ μαθηταὶ ἐθαύμασαν λέγοντες· πῶς παραχρῆμα ἐξηράνθη ἡ συκῆ; The three familiar elements (seeing; emotional; verbal) have amazement at their centre. Astute hearers/readers may recall their similar amazement and question exhibiting lack of understanding (8.27) in the first story of a stilled storm or, more likely, their recent great amazement at his teaching on the implausibility of rich entering the kingdom (19.25). On the other hand, Jesus’ reply, relating faith to the ability to have a mountain move, recalls his rebuff of the disciples (17.20) at their inability to cast out a demon. 221 The disciples’ response here, then, is not cast in a positive light. 222 They do not understand the power that God works for those who trust in him. The accumulative effect of this response and others preceding it seems to indicate that amazement has not been an appropriate way to respond to the miracles Jesus performs. A contrast is 218 The crowds’ pronouncements in relation to Jesus have developed (Mt 9.33; 12.23; 21.9), as Cousland (2002: 141–142) well notes. Yet, other factors prevent any picture of a linear development (see discussion of 15.31, above). 219 “The parallels between Matthew 2 and 26–27 suggest that Jesus’ implicit rejection by Jerusalem in the opening chapters anticipates the rejection later of the Davidic Messiah and Son of God in the passion” (Howell 1990: 199). 220 ἰδόντες δὲ οἱ ἀρχιερεῖς καὶ οἱ γραμματεῖς τὰ θαυμάσια ἃ ἐποίησεν καὶ τοὺς παῖδας τοὺς κράζοντας ἐν τῷ ἱερῷ καὶ λέγοντας· ὡσαννὰ τῷ υἱῷ Δαυίδ, ἠγανάκτησαν. καὶ εἶπαν αὐτῷ· ἀκούεις τί οὗτοι λέγουσιν; (Mt 21.15). 221 On both the link with Mt 17.20 and the amazement’s inappropriateness see also Kingsbury (1986: 116). 222 Similarly Cousland (2002: 129).

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implied between the disciples, who have to pray for such acts of power to happen (21.22), and Jesus, who simply makes pronouncements and procures what is desired. XXVI. Intervening material A series of conflicts in the temple ensues between Jesus and various religious authorities (21.23–22.46). 223 Parables here undermine the authority of Jesus’ opponents. His teaching evokes amazement from the crowds (ἐξεπλήσσοντο: 22.33) and a coalition of Herod’s sympathisers and Pharisees’ disciples (ἐθαύμασαν: 22.22). 224 The Pharisees are the most active group opposing Jesus, though they ally (21.45–46) themselves with the chief priests, who along with the scribes were the first group to oppose Jesus in the temple, on the previous day. The Pharisees, along with the scribes, receive a thorough lambasting from Jesus in the presence of the crowds (23.1–39). A sequence of private teachings, including prophecies and parables, highlight the unpredictable nature of the return of the Son of Humanity with angelic forces to establish a kingdom and the need for Jesus’ disciples to carry on their work faithfully in the predicted meantime. Strangely, in the distinct, closely linked series of episodes beginning thereafter (26.1–28.20) the Pharisees all but disappear. 225 The plan of Jesus’ opponents, primarily now the chief priests and elders, who want to seize him and 223 Kingsbury’s (1986: 17) idea that the “several groups” of “Jewish leaders” can “be treated as a single character” is perhaps too strongly stated. At any rate, the various groups are (or become) certainly united in purpose – doing away with Jesus. They have in common also that they are evil (Kingsbury 1986: 18–19). On the transition from the Pharisees to the chief priests and elders as the principal opposition, see below. 224 These reactions to teaching have a similar form to some responses to miracles, though hearing not seeing is the sense noted: καὶ ἀκούσαντες ἐθαύμασαν, καὶ ἀφέντες αὐτὸν ἀπῆλθαν (Mt 22.22); καὶ ἀκούσαντες οἱ ὄχλοι ἐξεπλήσσοντο ἐπὶ τῇ διδαχῇ αὐτοῦ (22.33). The latter recalls the crowds’ reaction to Jesus’ first teaching (7.28). The crowd, unfortunately, has not demonstrated a strong positive development since then, though they have recognised that Jesus is the “son of David” (21.9). Cousland (2002: 44; cf. 128, 141) sees the repeated amazement and related phraseology as indicative of “an overall consistency” of the crowd. The consistency can well be seen as a negative trait (a lack of development), given the inadequate reaction, and in light of their progress in other respects. Moreover, the disciples recent response of amazement, less than desirable, has confirmed the unsatisfactory nature of the emotion. 225 The Pharisees appear once, in Mt 27.62. Still, it can be noted, their association with the scribes (noticeably in ch. 23, though also earlier: 5.20; 12.38; 15.1) brings them into the circle of the conspirators against Jesus in chs. 26–28. The scribes themselves appear but once in these chapters (26.57: the trial before Caiaphas). Still they have been repeatedly present among the guilty party in Jesus’ predictions of his unjust execution (16.21; 20.18; cf. 17.22).

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kill him after the feast (26.3–5), conflicts with that of God, who will have Jesus crucified during the feast (26.1–2). This plan begins to unfold as Judas takes up the role of betrayer. Jesus not only is fully cognizant of his schemes but also possesses knowledge of seemingly all that will transpire. He allows himself to be captured, after verbalising his restraint in not calling on heavenly forces to rescue him, a process of humiliation unfolds, despite a challenge to God’s plan coming, once again, through one of his own disciples. Through false accusation and condemnation to beating, crucifixion and ridicule. Along the way Pilate, the crowds and the Roman soldiers become accomplices. 226 The disciples abandon him, while Peter renounces even knowing him. Hanging on the cross, Jesus resists the Satan’s last temptation, voiced through his accomplices, the Jewish authorities, again challenging Jesus’ identity as the Son of God. 227 The Satan wills to overcome God’s plan, but God will not be thwarted and Jesus will die. After Jesus cries in a loud voice and gives up his spirit, miraculously a violent earthquake transpires, just as the temple’s curtain tears in two – the later appearance of resurrected, holy Jewish ancestors is also briefly related, disturbing the usual diachronic narration in the passion. At this point comes the reaction of the Roman executioners, possibly the climax of the narrative, if not Jesus’ death. 228 It (27.54) resembles responses in miracle stories, involving seeing (ἰδόντες) fear (ἐφοβήθησαν σφόδρα) and 226

Cousland (2002: 239) correctly notes that the narrative “does not completely condemn the crowds... [but] leaves open the possibility of forgiveness, especially as the crowds are still distinguished from their leaders after the crucifixion of Jesus, and seen as their dupes.” Yet as the foregoing analysis has indicated, Cousland (2002: 21–22) goes too far when he argues that “favourable” portrayal of the crowds is produced by “virtually all of the actions, responses and statements made by the crowds in the gospel” other than “the crowds’ involvement in Jesus’ arrest and trial.” Closer to the present analysis is that of, e.g., Howell (1990: 142) who speaks of a “mixed” portrayal of the crowds also in the early part of the narrative: their relation to Jesus is “sometimes positive... other times negative.” 227 The invitation for Jesus to escape from the cross (εἰ υἱὸς εἶ τοῦ θεοῦ...: Mt 27.40) recalls the Satan’s wording in his early confrontation with Jesus (4.3, 6). I owe this point to Michael Theophilos (personal communication). 228 The happenings around the ninth hour, following Jesus’ cry of dereliction (a mainline event and development: Mt 27.46a), are given as backgrounded information (imperfects in three sentences: 27.47–49). Then comes Jesus’ (second cry and) death (27.50), a mainline event and development, introduced with δέ. The final development in the episode is the centurion and his companions’ reaction (a finite aorist: 27.54). In this position it likely constitutes the peak of the episode and, thus, the climax of the narrative. (On other grounds, Davies and Allison [1988–1997: 3:628] see “the climax in v. 54.”) On the other hand the heavy encoding of Jesus in 27.50 (use of a full noun phrase) could suggest a greater prominence for this event than for those that follow. At any rate, broadly speaking Jesus’ death, a ransom for many (20.28), is the story’s climax, accomplishing salvation from sins (1.21) with the pouring out of blood for the forgiveness of sins (26.28). Cf. Powell (2009: 81).

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a proclamation: ἀληθῶς θεοῦ υἱὸς ἦν οὗτος. 229 The reaction is closely related to the response of the three disciples that heard God’s voice at Jesus’ transfiguration. 230 It also confirms the success of God’s plan, despite the Satan’s most recent challenge. Jesus is then buried, though not by those who have been his closest disciples. 231

XXVII. Matthew 28.4 and 28.8 The Angel of the Lord, materialising at the tomb, has not appeared since the opening episodes and there only in dreams. 232 The activity of God, evident there as here, is now intensified. 233 The story about him (Mt 28.1–8) is interwoven among other, tomb-related episodes. The storyline follows the women’s encounter with the angel. As important background information, however, the angel’s encounter with the guards, whom the religious authorities (including the Pharisees) had requested from Pilate, is told. 234 Their response is most dramatic (28.4): ἀπὸ δὲ τοῦ φόβου αὐτοῦ ἐσείσθησαν οἱ τηροῦντες καὶ ἐγενήθησαν ὡς νεκροί. The fear it contains has come to be understood as the more extreme emotion in responses. The two physical elements, depicting a development from arrest (bodily motion) to extreme incapacitation, with falling implied (thus, the element of “falling”), has only the disciples’ falling during a theophany (17.6) as an, albeit limited, precursor. 235 On the other hand, Roman soldiers experiencing fear during an earthquake immediately ὁ δὲ ἑκατόνταρχος καὶ οἱ μετ᾿ αὐτοῦ τηροῦντες τὸν Ἰησοῦν ἰδόντες τὸν σεισμὸν καὶ τὰ γενόμενα ἐφοβήθησαν σφόδρα, λέγοντες· ἀληθῶς θεοῦ υἱὸς ἦν οὗτος (Mt 27.54). 230 Davies and Allison (1988–1997: 2:706) observe various features that tie the stories together, including that “Jesus is confessed by others to be the Son of God,” a confession that is associated with being “overcome with fear” (ἐφοβήθησαν σφόδρα: 17.6; 27.54). Yet, given the contrast of glorification and humiliation, they state (Davies and Allison 1988–1997: 2:706): “We have here pictorial antithetical parallelism, a diptych in which the two places have similar lines but different colours.” 231 Powell (2009: 71) astutely observes that in light of John receiving a decent burial from his disciples (Mt 14.12), the lapse of the Twelve in this regard serves “to expose the depth of those disciples’ unfaithfulness.” The presence of the women at the cross and the burial underscores their complete failure. 232 The angels appearing briefly in Mt 4.11 do not play a narrative role comparable to that of the Angel of the Lord. 233 So Powell (2009: 73–74). 234 Powell (2009: 72–73) discusses the many ironies of the chief priests and Pharisees’ request for a guard, many of which deepen the pathetic portrayal of the disciples, who are in no condition to pull off the envisioned potential hoax. 235 Becoming as though dead is “an ironic fate for those entrusted to guard the dead” (Powell 2009: 74). The choice of σεισθῆναι serves “to create a wordplay” (Davies and Allison 1988–1997: 3:666) with σεισμός (Mt 28.2). 229

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recalls the reaction at Jesus’ execution and the surrounding miraculous events. 236 While this information explains the lack of involvement of the guards and thereby sets the stage for the women’s encounter, any potential initial response of the women is not narrated. Upon return to the main story line the angel immediately speaks to the women, attempting to verbally calm or prevent their fear and announcing Jesus’ resurrection in words which may well bring about “shock of recognition through repetition.” 237 He instructs them to see the place where his corpse had laid and to quickly go and tell the disciples about his resurrection and their meeting in the Galilee. Their response to the heavenly messenger has three elements (28.8): καὶ ἀπελθοῦσαι ταχὺ ἀπὸ τοῦ μνημείου μετὰ φόβου καὶ χαρᾶς μεγάλης ἔδραμον ἀπαγγεῖλαι τοῖς μαθηταῖς αὐτοῦ.

The resultant characterisation is mixed. On the one hand, like Joseph in the opening stories of angelophany, they obey the angel’s commands – they go quickly, with the purpose of announcing to the disciples. Identity and similarity of word choice and word order 238 makes their obedience stand out all the more clearly, recalling Joseph’s obedient responses in the opening chapters. On the other hand, the presence of fear would seem to betray some lack of trust or even disobedience, given the angel’s greeting. (Joseph was never afraid in his responses to the Angel of the Lord.) It is not specified that the women do not look at the place where Jesus had lain. This might also indicate a lack of full compliance. 239 At any rate the fear is mixed with joy, a positive trait. 240 This is the first time for the appearance not only of joy but also of such a complex mixture of emotions. In sum these women are doing what they have been told and there is an expectation of positive developments to come. 236

Similarly Davies and Allison (1988–1997: 3:666). Anderson (1994: 158–170, 170). She traces anticipations of the resurrection (Mt 16.21; 17.9b; 17.23; 20.19; 26.32) and of the meeting in the Galilee yet to come (26.32) given earlier in the narrative. 238 Mt 28.7[8]: ταχὺ πορευθεῖσαι [ἀπελθοῦσαι ταχὺ] + εἴπατε τοῖς μαθηταῖς αὐτοῦ [ἀπαγγεῖλαι τοῖς μαθηταῖς αὐτοῦ]. Davies and Allison (1988–1997: 3:668) note the use of ταχύ in this regard. 239 The story sets the expectation that the women will see the tomb (Mt 28.1). And responses in miracle stories until now have had the element of seeing frequently enough. These considerations further support the notion that the absence of reference to the women’s seeing the resting place of Jesus’ body might be indicative of it not happening. 240 Powell (2009: 75) places too much emphasis on the “potential for negative results” regarding joy, citing Mt 13.20–21. In all other occurrences when joy is described (i.e. not simply the greeting χαῖρε / χαίρετε), it is positively portrayed (2.10; 5.12; 13.44; 18.13; 25.21, 23). Note furthermore Jesus’ greeting hereafter (28.9). 237

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XXVIII. Matthew 28.9b–c Once again established followers of Jesus experience an epiphany of him, evidently in private (28.9–10). Hearers/readers may well sense that when Jesus appears, his word χαίρετε (28.9), though a typical greeting, implies more. Rather than a response of joy to this epiphany, however, the women’s response is described entirely in physical terms (three elements: movement, bodily motion, falling) (28.9b–c): αἱ δὲ προσελθοῦσαι ἐκράτησαν αὐτοῦ τοὺς πόδας καὶ προσεκύνησαν αὐτῷ. They have not fallen on their faces, let alone fallen as though dead. Rather they have prostrated themselves, clutching Jesus’ feet. This act recalls the prostration of the magi in one of the opening stories, also the disciples’ response to the epiphany in chapter 14. Here however, no gifts are available to give and no words are spoken. Rather the simple and graphic act of grabbing his feet bespeaks a sense of total surrender and acceptance of their Lord’s power and role as representative of God, a theme that will presently appear in Jesus’ concluding words to the narrative (28.20). It is possible that here the act of proskynesis indicates worship. It would seem that their fear has lessened, too, though perhaps not disappeared (cf. 28.10). Jesus’ reply to their gesture, in word choice and content similar to the angel’s speech, seeks to calm/prevent their fear and sends them again to the disciples. The repetition raises the expectation for and certainty of the momentous encounter between Jesus and those disciples who abandoned him. 241 Will he be as compassionate on them as he has been repeatedly to the crowds? There can be little doubt. 242 The narrator foregoes the opportunity to describe any further response from the women, choosing instead to mention their departure, briefly, as a point of departure in the ensuing episode (28.11: πορευομένων δὲ αὐτῶν...). It is to be assumed that they continue on their way with the same goal of reporting in view. Are they still filled with joy or fear or both? This is no longer of paramount importance. Their act of prostration before Jesus’ feet and the resonances that act has in the wider narrative are the central image of the women that the narrator leaves with the hearers/readers. In place of a further response, the present episode reaches both its highpoint and conclusion in Jesus’ reassuring words. Jesus is incomplete control, despite all appearances. God’s plan is succeeding triumphantly. 241 Similarly, Anderson (1994: 171). Jesus’ speech, a development (τότε) and the episode’s peak (highlighted through heavy encoding of Jesus), also points beyond the episode (HP: λέγει) (cf. Levinsohn 2000: 199–200). 242 “...Jesus’s desire for the disciples to be recovered – and, indeed, his reference to them as ‘my brothers’ (28:10; cf. 12:46–50) – conveys a strong sense of his faithfulness to these errant disciples in a way that contrasts sharply with their faithlessness to him (Powell 2009: 74).

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XXIX. Intervening material The troop of soldiers’ interactions with the chief priests and the elders (Mt 28.11–15) reveals that the guards’ recent response, seemingly involuntary, to the appearance of the angel was not to produce good fruit. The whole scene is akin to a response. 243 While the two women named Mary left the tomb only to encounter Jesus, the soldiers left it to meet with his adversaries, those responsible for his death. Likewise, as the women, it is implied, will bring a report of the resurrection to the disciples, the soldiers bring a report to Jesus’ opponents. 244 The religious leaders convince these soldiers by means of bribery to spread a false rumour. This is a surprise. Nowhere in the narrative until now, just at its close, has an epiphany been so unsuccessful in procuring from its recipients a reaction that is in line with the values of the narrator. The episode’s closing line inverts a motif borrowed from responses in miracle stories: a false report gets spread around. 245 Bringing the conflict with the religious authorities to an unpredicted dénouement, the episode “reveals that the forces of evil are both unconscionable and powerful” (Powell 2009: 79). Within the future of the narrative world (“to this day”: Mt 28.15), too, it is indicated that the recalcitrant religious leaders succeed in their “evil obstinacy” (Powell 2009: 78), continuing to turn the people against Jesus and his disciples. XXX. Matthew 28.17 When the 11 disciples meet the risen Jesus in the Galilee (28.16–20), seemingly in private, their arrival is conveyed in terms that bespeak obedience. 246 Their brief response is the story’s second and third sentences (28.17): καὶ ἰδόντες αὐτὸν προσεκύνησαν, οἱ δὲ ἐδίστασαν. The element of seeing, focused on Jesus, recalls responses in earlier private epiphanies (14.26; 17.8; cf. 8.34). The act of prostration has been key for the portrayal of some positive posturing toward Jesus, whether in petitions (8.2; 9.18; 15.25; cf. 20.20) or, more potently, in responses in epiphany stories (14.33; 28.9b–c; cf. 4.9–10), 243 If Mt 28.11–15 appeared in Jn, one would be justified in analysing it in its entirety as a response. But in the present gospel it does not seem advisable to view such a long, complicated series of interactions as a response. 244 Powell (2009: 78) notes this parallel and the fact that both the soldiers and the disciples are commissioned to spread what they have been taught (Mt 28.15, 20). On the other hand, the soldiers’ act is like reporting (see below). 245 καὶ διεφημίσθη ὁ λόγος οὗτος παρὰ Ἰουδαίοις μέχρι τῆς σήμερον [ἡμέρας] (Mt 28.15b). 246 They go to the mountain in the Galilee, just as Jesus instructed (Mt 28.16). The obedience recalls not only Joseph’s obedience in the opening episodes (esp. 1.24) but also the disciples’ earlier obedience (esp. 21.6; 26.19).

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as well as already in the narrative’s opening scenes (2.2, 11). Worship of Jesus may, as with the women’s recent response, be implied. 247 Still, a number of things are peculiar in the present response. First, Jesus’ appearance is narrated, as it were, within the response. Second, the 11 are uncharacteristically split into two groups. 248 Third, both a favourable action, prostration (the larger group), and an unfavourable one (the smaller one) occur. The latter, disbelief or hesitation, appears here for the first time within responses. Why do some disciples doubt? No answer is given. But the portrayal of ambiguity, despite a larger portion of positive traits, has not been foreign in previous characterisation of the disciples, especially with respect to their “little faith.” 249 As in the previous epiphanic episode, Jesus’ concluding speech is the moment of greatest interest. Here it is also the majority of the story and the close of the overall narrative: Jesus’ command to make disciples of the nations. His vision recalls the prominent figures in miracle stories who have been not only receptive to him but full of faith. 250 There is hope that, in the envisioned future of the story world, there will be great success, even if the disciples, like their master, must also expect to face severe opposition, even violence, from within and without the group. Just as Jesus, in speaking to the two Marys, characterised the disciples in terms they did not deserve, here too in his commissioning he expresses a moving, unwarranted, loyalty to and trust in them. 251 The presence of doubt in their midst, though it surprisingly and inappropriately lingers after all they have been taught and have seen, will evidently not hinder the greater power remaining among them, at work in them, the power of Immanuel, “God with us,” who remains with the disciples until the age’s end. God’s plan has and will succeed.

R. Synoptic Problem: Comparison of Matthew and Mark In this section, I begin to step beyond narrative-critical and linguistic analysis, turning my attention to the interrelations of the Gospels, specifically here to the relation between Matthew and Mark. The conventional solution to the Synoptic Problem – that is the problem of the network of various literary agreements and disagreements between Matthew, Mark and Luke and the 247

So Kingsbury (1986: 118). In Mt 28.17 the articular pronoun denotes a sub-group (BDAG: ὁ, ἡ, τό, definition 1.b.). So Davies and Allison (1988–1997; 3:681–682). See further, above, pp. 162–163, n. 526. 249 Mt. 8.26; 14.31; 16.8; 17.20. Note the collocation of ὁλιγόπιστος and διστάναι in Jesus’ rebuke of Peter (14.31). See, similarly, Kingsbury (1986: 16). 250 Poplutz 2013: 466. 251 Similarly, see Powell (2009: 80). 248

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resultant necessity to posit some form of literary dependence – is the Two Document Hypothesis (hereafter 2DH). The hypothesis posits that two sources, independent of each other, namely Mark and the hypothetical document Q, were each used by both Matthew and Luke, who wrote without knowledge of one another. Of the two most well-known rival hypotheses only one disagrees with the 2DH on the issue of Mark’s chronological relation to Matthew. The Two Gospel Hypothesis (2GH) rejects Markan priority. 252 It argues, instead, that Matthew was written first and was used as a source by Luke. Mark, writing last, used both Matthew and Luke. (No literary sources outside of the Synoptics are posited.) Thus, it is appropriate to focus the question of the respective merits of the 2DH and the 2GH on the possibility of Mark using Matthew or the reverse. A similar approach has been adopted by Duncan Reid (2011), in his preliminary study of the miracle studies in light of the Synoptic Problem. This is the topic I will address here. I leave a discussion of the third hypothesis (the Farrer Hypothesis) until the corresponding section at the end of the next chapter. It should be noted that the principal proponents of both the 2DH and the 2GH do not give much room for oral tradition to play a role in their hypothetical reconstructions of the Synoptics’ source material. I will treat the topic of oral tradition in detail in Chapter Six. A number of the features analysed, shared by Matthew and Mark, do not strongly favour either hypothesis for the direction of literary dependence. In order to tighten the focus of this analysis, therefore, I will offer only a survey of such features, before turning to data that bears a greater significance for my question. First, there are some common features of a general nature. As with Mark, the definitions of response, miracle and miracle story proposed in Chapter One have found support in the analysis of the narrative of Matthew (see further Section S, below, on these claims). Moreover, miracle stories commonly have responses in Matthew (19 of 29 stories) as in Mark (14 of 21). Indeed, the frequency is similar (66% [Mt], 67% [Mk]). In Matthew, like in Mark, two stories of rescue at sea – for various reasons, some shared between the gospels others not (see below) – appear to be epiphany stories as much or more than stories of Jesus’ mighty deeds. In both gospels the epiphany stories, constituting a minority among miracle stories, typically contain responses (9:10 [Mt], 4:5 [Mk]). Stories with multiple responses are commonly (3:4 in Mk) or uniquely (3:3 in Mt) epiphany stories. Second, considered collectively the majority of responses in Matthew align with those in Mark in terms of their constituent components and the frequencies with which they turn up. Matthew contains, with comparable frequencies, the main components found in Mark, with the exception of the cognitive 252

On the 2GH, see especially, McNicol et al. (1996) and Peabody (2002), who present a case, respectively, for Lk’s use of Mt and for Mk’s use of the other two.

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element – thus, emotional, verbal, seeing, reporting and movement. 253 In addition, Matthew contains five instances of falling, prostration and the like, whereas Mark has only one. Both have just one instance of express antagonism. Some responses in Matthew have elements not found in Mark: hearing (2 instances), unbelief (1), and various bodily motions (5), notably getting up. Matthew has one instance of joy, though the emotion does not occur in Mark. Still, the basic types of emotions are the same, namely amazement and fear / being troubled. They occur with similar frequency and do not or strongly tend not to appear in the same response (in Mt each emotion is found in five responses, respectively; in Mk each emotion is found in six responses, respectively, and one further response contains both emotions). Third, both Matthew (for responses other than those in chs. 1–2) and Mark share some tendencies with regards to collocations and order. Again general trends for the responses, taken in the aggregate, are in view. For example, in both Matthew (7 of 23 responses have the collocation) and Mark (8 of 18) the components most commonly occurring together are emotion and speech – always (Mt) or typically (Mk) in this order – though the collocation occurs relatively more frequently in Mark. The component of movement between locations always (in 5 of 5 responses in Mt) or very commonly (in 5 of 6 responses in Mk) comes initial in a response. Where relevant, (an instance of) the emotional element comes in the initial position with some frequency (in 5 of 10 responses for Mt; in 5 of 12 for Mk). In each gospel, for responses in which there are multiple elements including seeing, this component often comes first in a distinct pair or series (5 times out of 6). Three instances each occur in a parallel context (Mt 8.34b || Mk 5.15b–c; Mt 14.26 || Mk 6.49; Mt 21.20 || Mk 11.20b–21), though the type and order of the elements following seeing are never identical in both gospels. One further instance in Matthew (9.8) and two in Mark (6.50; 16.5b–c) occur also in parallel contexts, though without a counterpart in the other gospel. (The last instance [Mt 28.17a] occurs in a story unique to this gospel.) None of the data in this or the preceding two paragraphs, individually or taken together, would pose a significant challenge to either the 2DH or the 2GH. The same is true for the categorically different phenomena found in chapters one and two of Matthew. The first three miracle stories in Matthew have responses that differ in nature from the remainder of responses in this gospel and in Mark. Some components’ types, their lexemes, order, relative prominence and even inflection are fixed (ἐγερθεὶς [...] παρέλαβεν). Nothing comparable to this is found in Mark. Such fixity, with other components and/or lexemes, is unknown in miracle stories in both Matthew and Mark. The sto253

For reporting there is a notable difference in terms of absolute and, especially, relative frequency: four of 19 responses (Mt) vs. six of 14 (Mk).

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ries themselves are unique among the two gospels: angelophanies that occur during sleep to a character (Joseph) belonging to a generation preceding Jesus’ public ministry. Of the shared features that have greater significance for the Synoptic Problem, the double pattern of settings, characters and miracle types is worthy of special attention. For the adult life of Jesus, in the unfolding of the narrative of Matthew, as in Mark, stories of epiphanies pertaining to Jesus’ adult ministry are meaningfully distinguished from other miracle stories on the basis of responses, with established followers responding in private contexts, usually away from urban centres, and other characters in settings that are characteristically public or become public and commonly in or around cities and towns. (In both gospels, parallelism with miracle stories from the Scriptures, associated with ancient prophets, is present for the three epiphanic episodes in the Galilee.) At the same time, some important differences between the two gospels in relation to the same pattern reveal that the 2GH is inferior to the 2DH. In Mark two additional features aid in making the differentiation between the stories involving epiphany stories and those with only other kinds of miracles. Most notably is the association of amazement with healings and exorcisms, on the one hand, and fear / being troubled with epiphanies, on the other. The use of non-standard forms of focalisation also facilitates the distinction. But in Matthew neither of these features is pertinent. There is just one story with character-focalisation in this gospel. More important is lack of distinction between miracle story types on the basis of emotional responses, though both amazement and fear appear frequently in response to various miracles. The fascinating data require further discussion. With respect to frequency alone, both Matthew and Mark in fact have in common a tendency for fear / being troubled to occur in epiphany stories (5 of 6 instances in Mt; 6 of 9 in Mk) and amazement to appear in other stories (4 of 5 instances in Mt; 5 of 7 in Mk). Interestingly, the two responses that are outliers to the pattern in Matthew (i.e. amazement in a rescue nature miracle story and fear in a healing story) occur in parallel instances where Mark has emotions that fit the observed pattern. These data are represented below in Table 5. Table 5: Outlier responses in Matthew for emotions and miracle story types Healing of the paralytic Stilling of the storm

Matthew fear (9.8) amazement (8.27)

Mark amazement (2.12b) fear (4.41)

At the same time, each of the four outliers to the pattern in Mark (fear alone in two responses in stories of exorcism/healing; amazement alone in a re-

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sponse in a rescue nature miracle story; amazement alongside fear in a response in an epiphany story) occur where Matthew has a parallel story but does not produce an exception to the pattern, whether because no response exists at all (cf. Mk 5.33), the response contains no emotion (Mt 8.33–34 || Mk 5.14–17; Mt 14.33 || Mk 6.51c–52) or the emotion is fear (and joy) not fear and amazement (Mt 28.8 || Mk 16.8). Furthermore, responses in stories that differ enough as to be conceivably unique 254 to Mark (7.36b–37) and Matthew (15.31) have emotions that fit the pattern. The same is true of a response in a story unique 255 to Matthew (9.33b–34). Instances of emotion that are unique to Matthew (21.20) and Mark (5.20), respectively, in shared response contexts also fit the trend. With only two exceptions to the pattern of emotions and miracle types in Matthew, the pattern is actually more pronounced – strictly in terms of frequency – than in Mark. In Matthew, however, the pattern plays little role in the unfolding of the narrative. This is the result, especially, of the fact that both outliers to the pattern (see above, Section P) are the first two responses to occur! They also constitute two of only three responses among the first series of ten miracle stories that contain emotion. 256 It is not, perhaps, until the transfiguration (17.6) or even the angelophany at the tomb (28.4; 28.8) that fear may come to be associated closer with the epiphanies than with healing and exorcism. 257 Rather, in Matthew, other features assist in holding the private epiphany stories together, notably the response component of falling/prostration, which occurs in five of the six epiphany stories related to Jesus’ adult life. 258 (A more minor way that the pattern in Matthew differs from that in Mark is the instance in which non-followers are respondents in an epiphany story [Mt 28.4].) 254 Some would claim that Mt 15.29–31 and Mk 7.31–37 are versions of the same story. If this is the case, owing to the extremely few agreements of wording or even content, there is no reason to assume literary dependence between the two gospels for this story. 255 The story in Mt 9.32–34 bears many similarities to that in 12.22–45 which has a parallel in Lk (11.14–36) and, in part, in Mk (3.22–30). 256 One may say that the flow of the narrative in Mt actually obscures the pattern of differentiation. 257 Possibly a recurring pattern of constituent order (emotion-speech) in responses also works against the association of rescue nature miracles stories with epiphany stories and for their association with the other miracle stories. 258 Four interrelated features – beyond similarity of characters and settings – bring epiphany stories together in various constellations, with a cumulative effect of bringing all the stories into relation with one another: references to the little faith and/or doubt of Jesus’ disciples (Mt 8.26; 14.31; 28.17); Peter’s stepping out from among the disciples and acting on his own (14.28–31; 17.4); proclamations about Jesus being God’s son (14.33; 17.5 – the proclamations answer a question from 8.27); prostration and falling (14.33; 17.6; 28.9b–c; 28.17). For details, see above, Section Q.

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Another literary feature, not present in Mark, brings complication to the presence of the pattern in Matthew. Jesus’ amazement at the centurion’s faith (Mt 8.10) in a story of healing fits the pattern, when the amazement is taken as a play on the response motif. The problem is Jesus’ amazement is rendered unintelligible as a play on the motif to the hearers/readers because of its location in the narrative. The potential inversion of amazement occurs in a story that precedes every story in which there is a response with an emotion! The foregoing considerations make a strong case for understanding the differences between the two gospels to be a result of Matthew unwittingly preserving a pattern from a source or sources. The evidence thus points towards Matthew’s dependence on Mark. The analysis here, then, provides some considerable hitherto unknown evidence against the 2GH. These data must, of course, be put in their proper place in relation to the remainder of the data bearing on the Synoptic Problem. 259 Still, the 2GH, when compared to the 2DH, has less going for it than against it. At the same time, the analysis offers a challenge to the 2DH, at least as it is conventionally conceived. The challenge comes from two angles. First, the analysis raises the possibility of oral traditions influencing Matthew. For if 259

A strength of the 2GH is the way it comfortably sits with the statements of early Christian writers like Papias and Clement of Alexandria (both preserved by Eusebius). Farmer (1990: 129) writes, the 2GH “…enjoys the support of the historical evidence critically evaluated.” The 2GH also accounts for the Minor Agreements (agreements between Mt and Lk against Mk in the Triple Tradition) better than the 2DH does. For direct literary dependence is the solution: Lk uses Mt. Similarly, the 2GH accounts well for characteristic Matthean phraseology appearing in Lk. The 2GH enjoys concord with the principal of Occam’s razor, for no hypothetical sources are posited. Among the 2GH’s known weaknesses is the fact that at times Lk seems to preserve material that is more primitive and, arguably, earlier than Mt’s version; and Mt’s version seems in places later than Mk’s. There is, naturally enough, debate as to what qualifies as “earlier.” Sometimes the plot of an episode in Mk (and Lk) is superior to that in Mt’s shorter version. (E.g. For the healing of Jairus’ daughter, Mt has the petitioner’s daughter has already died when he comes seeking help from Jesus, whereas the narrative suspense in Mk and Lk is not only greater, but also it seems part and parcel of the miracle complex’s make-up.) The views of Jesus in Mt and Mk are often appealed to in this connection. Pertinent to responses in miracle stories, Peter Head (1997: 90–91) argues that the Twelve’s prostration before Jesus and proclamation of him as the “son of God” in Mt’s version of the walking on water (Mt 14.33) is a development in a trajectory of heightened appreciation of Jesus beyond what is found in Mk (6.51b-52), amazement and a lack of understanding. This is a strong argument. Still, it needs to tempered by the fact that, as the narrative of Mt later reveals (see above, Section Q), the disciples’ response in Mt also demonstrates misunderstanding. To be sure, ideal hearers/readers could identify with the prostration and proclamation of their communities’ apostles. Nevertheless, in a reading of Mt, they would be doing this reading against the grain or, at least, ironically. The hearers/readers have greater understanding at this moment than do the characters in the story.

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Matthew is unwittingly preserving a pattern pertaining to the correlation between types of responses and types of miracles stemming from an earlier tradition, then it is a tradition upon which Mark also draws. If this earlier tradition is, in part or in whole, an oral tradition, then the way in which the 2DH is traditionally conceived needs alteration, possibly substantial. If the earlier tradition is only literary, then the procedure of Matthean authorredactor becomes improbable, since Matthew would have: (1) reproduced Mark’s pattern (a) in material shared with Mark where Mark did not have it and (b) in material new in Matthew; and (2) actually improved on the pattern found in Mark overall, removing outliers from four contexts found in Mark and creating only two new outliers (both in shared contexts). Q, as commonly envisioned, contains one miracle story with a response. The amazement in the story of exorcism would explain one, probably two instances in Matthew (12.23–24; cf. 9.33b–34). But the other changes to the pattern inherited from Mark (and only Mark) would remain inexplicable. The literary-source solution may already appear less satisfactory than simply positing oral tradition. But there is more. The problem for the 2DH is further complicated by the fact that the only other miracle story in Q, given its conventionally conceived extent, contains a variation on the response motif. In the healing story related to the Capernaum centurion Jesus reacts with amazement to the petitioner’s faith. (While the ironic sense inherent in the amazement is not felt in Matthew, because of the story’s location in the narrative, it is felt in Luke, as the next chapter will demonstrate.) The story in Q presumes a context in which hearers/readers of the story can sense the irony. This observation lends itself comfortably to the possibility that Q, as an oral-derived text, was understood by hearers/readers in light of related oral performances in the Jesus tradition, which provided much inherent meaning. 260 In such a circumambient tradition stories about Jesus’ (and/or others’) miracles may have commonly employed responses, including specific kinds. With responses of amazement occurring commonly in oral performances of the stories, the audience would come to expected the feature, hence the irony in the Capernaum centurion story. Conversely, excluding influence of oral tradition would seem to leave one in a difficult position. A traditional literary context which would provide the expectation of amazement in response to a healing would have to be a strong one. Such a tradition, as noted by Gerd Theissen, has not been identified by comparative study. I will return to this question, as a probative exercise, in Chapter Seven. The other solution is to envision Q as being a larger document, including more than two miracle stories. Since Mark-Q overlaps are already conceded 260

See Chapter Six, below, on theory of oral tradition and social memory undergirding my claims here.

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on the 2DH, one might look for stories of healing and exorcism occurring in all three Synoptic Gospels with (a) amazement in a response of at least one of the gospels and (b) strong grounds in the story for literary dependence between Matthew and Luke which could be explained by yet another Mark-Q overlap. The healing of the paralytic is a potential candidate. It will be analysed in Chapter Six. Thus, the comparative analysis of responses in Mark and Matthew while helping to rule out one potential solution to the Synoptic Problem, the 2GH, actually creates some difficulties, too, for the most commonly held hypotheses, the 2DH.

S. Conclusion The analysis in this chapter has demonstrated that in Matthew the response motif is employed creatively. The narrator wields it in various ways and for diverse purposes. In order to make this discovery I had to pay attention to how any one instance of the response motif relates not only to aspects of the miracle story at hand but also to other aspects of the narrative as it unfolds. While this point remains the primary result of the analysis, important corollary points have been made. I begin the summary by considering the key definitions. First, this analysis of Matthew, like that of Mark (see Chapter Two, Section R), has confirmed the appropriateness of the definitions set out in Chapter One for miracle, miracle story and response. In applying the term miracle story to Matthew, it behooves one to include not only the episodes of healing, exorcism, miraculous provision of food and so forth, but also stories of the appearance of angels, Jesus’ transfiguration and the post-resurrection appearance of Jesus. Analysis of the presence and nature of descriptions of one or more characters’ response to a miraculous occurrence constitutes an important part of the case for epiphany stories being miracle stories in this gospel. I will return to this point in a moment. As noted in Chapter One, Gerd Theissen’s work represents a key precedent for the approach I have adopted and confirmed in the analysis, though subsequent scholarship has tended not to follow suite and include epiphany stories among miracle stories. The analysis has confirmed also that, due to the fact that the stories of the stilling of the storm and the walking on water are closely connected with epiphanies of Jesus in other contexts and with the appearances of angels, the said two episodes are best understood as epiphany stories. Again, Theissen’s work is a precedent to the argument presented here. In the foregoing analysis, observation of patterns of established followers as respondents and private settings in epiphanic episodes has helped to establish this connection. So, too, has the observation that acts of falling, prostration and related bodily movement

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toward the ground are, beyond the walking on water episode, distinctive of responses to episodes that are usually categorised distinctly as epiphanies. Various other narrative features further draw the stilling of the storm and the walking on water into a familial relationship with the other epiphany stories – features such as the interconnectedness between the disciples’ question about Jesus’ identity (Mt 8.27), their declaration of Jesus as the Son of God (14.33) and God’s criticism of the evidently faulty understanding behind their declaration (17.8). The frequent presence of responses in Matthew in both epiphany stories and other miracle stories constitutes evidence that the stories should be considered together. The frequency is especially true of epiphany stories: nine of 10 stories have one or more responses. For the most part, too, both of the said types of stories draw on a common body of response elements. The exceptions are the initial three miracle stories, all angelophanies, whose responses have stereotyped phraseology not found in other stories. Otherwise the responses in epiphany stories – i.e. the stilling of the storm, the walking on water, the transfiguration, the angelophany at the tomb and the two stories of Jesus’ appearances after his resurrection – draw on the same basic pool of components that are found in responses in the other miracle stories. Five of the main six components in responses in miracle stories occurring after chapter two are held in common by both types of stories. In order of frequency they are: emotion (in 10 responses), speech (10), visual sensation (7), movement between locations (6), falling and the like (5), reporting (4). The one exception to the rule (falling etc.) is one of the less frequent. Notably, emotions of amazement and fear / being troubled are a key element linking the epiphany stories with the others. At times formal features such as the order of the components, their relative prominence and even lexical forms draw the two types of stories together. An example is the ordered pair of movement and reporting (compare Mt 8.33b, 9.31, 28.8). Another is the frequent use of ἰδόντες as the first element in a distinct series of actions (8.34b, 9.8, 14.26, 21.20, 28.17a). The analysis has proved the definition of response, too, to be justified. While earlier scholarship typically identified up to four kinds of actions of characters in response to a miracle, in the foregoing additional related features have been identified. Noteworthy are movement between locations, visual sensation and a set of actions including falling and prostration. Each of these three elements occur more frequently in Matthew than reporting, one of the four types of responses identified by Theissen. Various formal features of references to visual sensation (its appearance before speech in relevant collocations, its frequent initial location absolutely and the use of ἰδόντες) make the element of particular interest in the present context. Owing to the frequency of the numerous elements, the various combinations in which they occur and the fact that the most common elements are not categorically posi-

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tive or negative, one is justified in speaking of a single motif, namely the response motif, rather than various discrete motifs. Second, as in the previous analysis of Mark the analysis in this chapter has shown how attention to focalisation through characters can enhance one’s appreciation of how the narrative portrays the characters involved. In the one episode that ventures beyond narrator-focalisation, the transfiguration, the responses of Peter, James and John pay a key role in focalising the narrative through them. Focalisation through the three disciples elicits the sympathy of the hearers/readers for them, as they fail to comprehend the grand vision of Jesus they have experienced. To the best of my knowledge this aspect of the transfiguration in Matthew has not been examined before. Third, in sub-sections of this chapter I have provided the first application of discourse analysis to the responses and, in various respects, to the miracle stories of Matthew. Analysis of the discourse has helped to establish, for example, that emotions do not simply occur frequently in responses but also receive prominence in them. Conversely visual sensation, appearing less commonly, consistently receives less overall prominence. Examination of connectives, high-lighting devices and other features has proved invaluable for identifying the high points of the respective stories and, thus, enabling a better appreciation of how the responses relate to other parts of the stories. Notably, in the majority of stories a response or part of it belongs to or constitutes the relevant episode’s peak. This is an especially important aspect of stories in Mt 8 and 9, where various characters’ appreciation of Jesus get centre stage, being also contrasted with one another. By way of contrast, less prominence is given to responses in the narrative’s final two miracles stories as focus is centred on the reassuring and authoritative speech of the resurrected Jesus. A moderate level of formality in the responses has been identified in part by discourse analysis. In addition to an analysis of the order of appearance of elements and the location of responses within the stories, discourse analysis has helped identify the formality, through observation of recurrent relative priorities of elements and common relations of the responses to episodes’ peaks. Fourth, the analysis of Matthew has given rise to observations that dovetail with those made by Justin Taylor in his examination of levels of narration in the Gospels. Taylor observed that a mythic level is employed in certain miracle stories, namely those epiphanic episodes that occur during Jesus’ ministry in Galilee, while a “romantic” level of narration accompanies stories of Jesus’ miraculous healings and exorcisms. As in Mark, so too in Matthew the nature of the responses fits this distinction. Established followers respond in private settings to epiphanies of Jesus, while other characters respond in public settings to the therapeutic miracles. Furthermore, the three epiphanic episodes, as noted in passing, have parallel stories in the Scriptures, involving the prophets of old. This feature, which further links the said three stories togeth-

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er, will be considered more fully in Chapter Seven, below. The pattern of alternating between levels of narration in the miracle stories, therefore, is deeply ingrained in the fabric of Matthew’s overall narrative. Fifth and most importantly, the analysis in this chapter has identified various specific ways that Matthew creatively incorporates the miracle stories and with them the response motif in its narrative, furthering the plot and aiding in characterisation. The narrative employs the response motif in a variety of ways to further the main and subsidiary plot lines. Taking the principle movement in the plot to be “the conflict between God and Satan,” (Powell 2009: 70), I observed the distinct role Joseph’s three responses in stories of angelophany at the narrative’s beginning play in establishing both the conflict and an expectation of an eventual positive resolution. Through verbal parallelism and similarity of content between angelic instruction to Joseph and his responses his obedience is underscored. The fact that near identical phraseology appears in each of the three responses adds further to this notion of unwavering submission to God. God’s plan is successfully unfolding despite diabolical, horrifically violent opposition. Such a device – parallelism between command and response – in an epiphany story does not occur again until the narrative’s close, where the command of the Angel of the Lord, who appears again at long last, is obeyed by the women disciples. Alternatively responses in miracle stories during Jesus’ adulthood help create conflict in two interwoven subplot lines: Jesus’ conflicts with his disciples and with the religious leaders. The disciples respond in epiphany stories, where Jesus is often the/a epiphanic character. The religious leaders and other characters respond in stories of healing and exorcism. In the bulk of the narrative – Jesus’ ministry prior to arriving in Jerusalem – an escalating series of three revelations in private contexts with the disciples as respondents is intermingled within a larger body of stories of healings and the like in primarily public contexts in which, when a response occurs, characters other than established followers respond. As the magnitude of Jesus’ power and glory is increasingly revealed, the disciples move from amazement and raising the question of Jesus’ identity (stilling of the storm) through fear and screaming to prostration and a confession that Jesus is the Son of God (walking on water). Their act of reverence and proclamation is then thrown into doubt by Peter’s botched verbal attempt at respecting Jesus alongside Moses and Elijah, followed by Peter, James and John’s fear at the sound of a heavenly voice that chastises them and, then, disappointingly, their silent looking at Jesus (transfiguration). Commands by the Angel of the Lord were followed immediately by a description of Joseph’s obedience in detail. Here, in contrast, the command of God himself, unmediated, to listen to Jesus is followed by a note that the disciples merely look at Jesus. Through the responses of Peter, James and John in the third story, these disciples and their other comrades among the Twelve are characterised as unable to understand the mean-

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ing of their own earlier confession that Jesus is the Son of God, a confession repeated by the heavenly voice. The three epiphany stories are closely tied in to Peter’s proclamation about Jesus in the vicinity of Caesarea Philippi. Peter’s interactions with Jesus, when discussing his identity and mission with the disciples, also there receive mixed review. Peter receives the keys to the kingdom but is also rebuked as the tool of the Satan. As I noted briefly, all three epiphanic episodes in the Galilee also find parallels in stories from the Scriptures – stories involving Jonah, Elijah and Moses. I will return to this point, giving it greater attention, in Chapter Seven. The tension that results in the series of three epiphany stories and related episodes is further exacerbated as the narrative approaches the climax, Jesus’ death on the cross. Ironically, tension in this subplot line serves to bring about resolution in the main plot line, as Jesus’ death brings about God’s defeat of the Satan. Conflict with the disciples is resolved only in the larger narrative’s dénouement. Following the introduction of Jesus’ ministry with a lengthy teaching block, a series of ten miracle stories follows. Responses, which occur in many of them, join in with a host of other features in the stories to portray various characters’ reactions to Jesus. As the first two or three stories do not portray characters responding, the presence or absence of responses does not come across as crucial for characterisation or development of conflict. Where they do occur, the responses show, for example, how some reject him (a group of Gentiles), others disobey him (two men healed from blindness) and the crowds are impressed by him, while yet not completely appreciating him as they ought. Through a feature related to responses – Jesus’ amazement at and commendation of the Capernaum centurion’s faith – this petitioner is singled out as the principle positive example. The oppositional words of the Pharisees in response to an exorcism, on the other hand, who are the last characters to respond in the final, culminating story, establish themselves as the negative example par excellence. In three of the four healing/exorcism stories with responses that remain, the crowds and/or the Pharisees are the respondents. The Pharisees’ negative stance towards Jesus escalates in the first of these miracle stories, through a response, as they take counsel to destroy him. Characteristic of the crowds’ response is amazement, also seen in the response to the final miracle story in the series of ten. In the final story in which they are respondents, the crowds praise God for the many and varied healings they see. But contrast between this response and that of the disciples in the boat in a miracle story located in close proximity, who prostrate themselves and proclaim Jesus to be the Son of God suggests that the praise, while not ill-placed, is insufficient. Closing the period of Jesus’ teaching and miracle ministry, outside Jerusalem, is the response of two men healed of blindness. Their following Jesus recalls both the disciples’ obedient reaction to Jesus’ original call and the disobedient response of the earlier pair of similarly healed suppliants.

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Jesus’ crucifixion, where implicitly God defeats the Satan, is marked by cataclysmic, miraculous events, again ironically, and prominently accompanied by a response-like motif. The executioner becomes afraid and proclaims Jesus to be the Son of God. After the crucifixion miracle stories return in full force. Through the three epiphany stories and the responses of various followers, the conflict between Jesus and them is brought to resolution. The women followers not only obey the Angel of the Lord’s command, like Joseph at the beginning, but also prostrate themselves before Jesus in a subsequent encounter. The act recalls the position of reverence the magi adopted before Jesus. In another encounter with Jesus the Twelve, too, prostrate themselves before him. Implicitly their prostration now, at the end, mends the rift stemming from their earlier act in the boat, accompanied by misunderstanding of Jesus. Neither the Twelve nor the women followers speak to Jesus as they bow before him. This time commentary about Jesus is made by Jesus himself. Jesus will mystically remain ever with his disciples. Yet some doubt. Jesus’ concluding words, however, assure that God will ensure his plan is successfully carried out through the disciples, just as Jesus with compassion and faithfulness has restored them, despite their foibles, and now commissioned them for the great task of making disciples of all people groups. Three epiphanies at the opening of the narrative are mirrored by three at the end. Joseph’s obedience to angelic command, essential to the first three, has no counterpart in the closing story. Obedience to Jesus’ commissioning of the Twelve is left to the future of the story world. Characterisation, too, is a function of the employment of responses. Subtlety and context can play a large part in whether a response is to be understood positively or negatively. The quality of the response does not rest primarily on the components found in it. Responses that are similar in content and even wording can draw different pictures. For example, of two responses in adjacent stories in which reporting of a miracle occurs one response is benign or positive (9.26), another inappropriate (9.31). In another story, the component of reporting (28.8), correlating to an angelic command, undoubtedly helps portray the respondents in a good light. Components that may seem inherently positive are at times given a spin that presents the actions as lacking in some respect. Notably, by following the larger narrative, hearers/readers discern in retrospect that the disciples lacked understanding in the walking on water episode at the very moment that their actions either resembled those of earlier, positively portrayed characters (prostration before Jesus, like the magi performed) or seemed otherwise to appear worthy (a proclamation that Jesus is the Son of God). The appearance of praise in a response, too, is no guarantee that the respondents are without mixed portrayal. In one instance the reason for the crowds’ praise of God (9.8) is contrasted with Jesus’ earlier statement about his authority as the Son of Humanity and, thereby, deemed insufficient, the result of misunderstanding. In the other the

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adequacy of the crowds’ praise (15.31) is put into doubt on account of comparison with an impressive response by the Twelve in a nearby context. The observations made in this paragraph about characters’ speech deserve underscoring. The function of characters’ verbal utterances following miracles – what earlier form-criticism deemed to be acclamation – has turned out to be varied and sophisticated in Matthew. It is not a strictly positive feature. In the same way, similar responses can play different roles in the development of conflict in the narrative. Two similar responses, each having the same ordered set of respondents and very similar content – crowds: amazement and speech; the Pharisees: (hearing and) speech, involving a functionally equivalent accusation – are used for different purposes. The first (9.33b– 34), the high point in the series of ten miracle stories, establishes the Pharisees as the antagonistic respondents to Jesus’ miracles, at the same time contrasting them with the curious and impressed crowds. The series of miracles opening Jesus’ ministry leads to conflict. The second (12.23–24), following a greater expression of opposition by the Pharisees (12.14), provides an opportunity in the narrative for Jesus to reply to the accusation levelled at him earlier. He replies at length. Placing Jesus’ reply here, not earlier, allows for the opening series of miracles to end in the Pharisees’ expression of antagonism, not Jesus’ defence of himself. Characterisation of Jesus – a classic concern of form-critical study of the responses in miracle stories – still proves to be a function of many responses. This may be true in any given case, even when the response serves equally or more the portrayal of other characters or the development of plot lines. For example, the disciples’ prostration and proclamation about Jesus in the boat, following his walking on water, serve in part to help cast Jesus’ actions are remarkable and portray Jesus as worthy of admiration. The irony is that only the ideal hearers/readers understand the full implication of his actions for his identity. Only they can approve of the disciples’ response and move beyond it to adoration of Jesus that involves true comprehension. Sixth and finally, in the concluding section of the chapter, I compared the responses in Matthew and Mark for the purposes of addressing the Synoptic Problem. To the best of my knowledge this is the first detailed analysis of miracle stories, specifically, dedicated to solving the problem of the interrelations of the Synoptics. The comparison of Matthew and Mark showed both impressive similarities and some important differences between the two. In both gospels the most frequently appearing components in responses are largely the same: emotional, verbal, seeing, movement, reporting. Mark has, in addition, a common cognitive element not present in Matthew; in Matthew falling and similar posturing towards the ground are common, unlike in Mark. The most interesting feature held in common between the two gospels is a pattern with respect to emotions and types of stories – fear / being troubled in epiphany stories and amazement in other miracle stories. Settings (private vs.

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public, respectively; far vs. close to urban settings) and characters (established followers vs. other characters) helps solidify the distinction between the two types of stories and responses. Curiously, though the pattern is integral to the Markan narrative, it does not play a significant role in the unfolding of the narrative in Matthew. The evidence suggests that, assuming direct literary dependence between the two gospels, Matthew is dependent on Mark. Analysis of this body of evidence, therefore, speaks against the Two Gospel Hypothesis, which posits Matthean priority, and for the commonly accepted Two Document Hypothesis. In summary, the examination of the responses in Matthew leads to the conclusion that their nature and function in the narrative occupies a space somewhere between artistry and inherited tradition.

Chapter 4

Luke In the previous two chapters my analysis of the response motif in the miracle stories of the Gospel of Mark and the Gospel of Matthew has shown that variation and even artistry are among the hallmarks of the motif’s employment in the respective narratives. In both gospels, the motif, far from being simply a means of offering a veritable round of applause for Jesus, is used in a variety of ways, both to portray various characters in a positive or negative light and to shape the plot of not only the specific story at hand but also the greater narrative. Specific elements in responses – even praise – can be used for diverse purposes. The question remains as to whether the same creativity in the use of responses is evident in Luke and, if so, to what extent. Is the response motif employed in Luke primarily to proclaim the praises of Jesus and the God he represents? In the case of Luke one might well expect that the use of responses would line up with the traditional form-critical understanding, namely that the responses serve to portray Jesus positively and thus arouse admiration for and belief in him among the hearers/readers of the Gospel of Luke. A number of responses to miracles have praise in this gospel, as many interpreters, both redaction critics and narrative critics, point out. Paul Achtemeier, for example, in his redaction-critical analysis claims that the typical conclusion in a Lukan story of a miracle performed by Jesus is giving glory to God and, thereby, acknowledging the source of Jesus’ power. Such praise validates Jesus. Similarly Kindalee Pfremmer de Long’s (2009) narrative-critical study of “praise responses” in both miracle stories and other contexts throughout the greater narrative of Luke and Acts argues that praise indicates that characters recognise that events, no matter how surprising, constitute the fulfilment of the restoration foretold by Israel’s prophets. Miracles Jesus performs as well as epiphanies of Jesus or angels, whose appearance is also in relation to the protagonist, inspire the praise. Thus praise of God consistently orbits around Jesus, bringing validation to him, his words and his deeds. On the other hand, the case for praise being a typical feature of responses in Luke has been overstated. Relatively speaking praise is not common – only eight of 35 responses contain praise, while merely three have joy. Furthermore, as I have demonstrated in the chapter on Matthew, the presence of praise in a response does not guarantee that the said response is used exclu-

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sively or even primarily to portray Jesus positively. Indeed, there are reasons for which one might well expect that in Luke the response motif is employed artfully. Luke, the longest gospel, contains the most miracle stories. They span a longer period of narrated time, beginning with angelophanies around the births of John the Baptiser and Jesus and concluding with Jesus’ ascension to heaven. Also unique are Luke’s collections of lengthy epiphany stories, integral to the overall plot, at the narrative’s opening and ending. One might expect that the types of miracle stories relate to one another in ways unique to Luke, since this gospel has, for example, only two epiphanic episodes during Jesus’ Galilean ministry (not three, as in Matthew and Mark). Significantly, the most miracle stories with responses are in this gospel. Only a careful investigation of the relation that each instance of the response motif has with other elements of the story at hand and the response’s role within the larger narrative can answer the question of where and to what extent the narrator employs the motif for exalting Jesus, in addition to whatever other purposes there may be. To analyse how responses affect the unfolding of the narrative I will again utilise literary and linguistic approaches. At the same time I collect data throughout the sections of the chapter for comparison of Luke with the other gospels, for the purpose of shedding light on the interrelations of the Gospels. I engage in such comparative study, first, in the final section of analysis in the present chapter, while considering the Synoptic Problem, particularly potential lines of literary dependence, given Markan priority. Fuller comparison between Luke and the rest of the Synoptic Gospels, as well as John, is provided in Chapter Six.

A. State of the Question Narrative critical study of the Gospel of Luke has not been prolific. This seems due in part to the uniqueness of Luke among the Gospels, given its special relation to Acts. Many see Luke as the first volume of a two-part work, with Acts being the second volume. 1 Few of these scholars engage in an analysis of the narrative of Luke on its own. 2 Undertaking a narrative critical analysis of both Luke and Acts, on the other hand, is a daunting task –

1 On Lk and Acts as one composition see, e.g., the many contributions to the volume edited by Verheyden (1999) on the unity of “Luke-Acts.” 2 Some conceptions of the plot of “Luke-Acts” do not allow for analysis of Lk on its own (cf., e.g., below, n. 22). For the present purposes it is not crucial to decide whether Lk is an independent work or part of a larger work. To my mind the story of Lk is complete without Acts, though the latter continues the storyline (cf. Parsons and Pervo 1993).

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the two books comprise one quarter of the entire New Testament. Not surprisingly, there are few narrative critics who have cast their nets that wide. 3 No detailed literary study, to the best of my knowledge, has been dedicated to the Lukan miracle stories. Again, contributions to the first volume of Kompendium der frühchristlichen Wundererzählungen (KFW1) provide literary and linguistic analyses of a number of these stories, inasmuch as “miracle story” is taken by these scholars to mean stories of Jesus’ mighty deeds. 4 I have found various observations made by contributors to the volume concerning the role responses have in individual episodes insightful and I will take these up in turn in the analysis to follow. The introductory essay to the Lukan miracle stories by Ruben Zimmerman (2013a) provides observations as to how some episodes fit into the wider narrative. Zimmerman notes how a text from Isaiah predicting healing is taken up by Jesus in the inaugural speech of his ministry, in the synagogue of Nazareth, just as a similar Isaianic prophecy is later invoked in Jesus’ reply to John the Baptiser’s inquiry as to whether Jesus really is “the coming one.” Jesus’ work of healing and exorcism is framed, therefore, at the outset of his adult life as both the fulfilment of scripture and integral to the narrative. Reference in Jesus’ inaugural speech also to Elijah and Elisha’s healing activities strengthens the expectation. Zimmermann also observes, for example, how two later episodes – about the resurrection of a widow’s deceased only son and a healing associated with the centurion of Capernaum, a Gentile official – also harken back to Jesus’ opening speech in Nazareth. 5 Still, Zimmermann’s brief analysis is primarily redaction-critical. And he provides no focused discussion of the Lukan responses, neither those of praise and joy nor the others. Indeed, what is completely lacking in scholarship is a literary study of how the responses in these stories – alongside other aspects of the stories – fit into the larger unfolding narrative of Luke. Before considering a few studies that give focused attention to some of the responses in Lukan miracle stories, I first turn to the plot. Discussion of various scholars’ conceptions of the plot will be lengthy, for reasons that will soon become apparent. Among the few who permit a study of the narrative of Luke on its own, most conceptions of the plot can be divided into two groups: conflict with the religious authorities, with the climax at Jesus’ crucifixion (Kingsbury; Pe-

3 Robert Tannehill (1986–1989) is notable for his literary study of both books, as a single continuous narrative. 4 Contributions to KFW1 analyse 14 of the 20 Lukan episodes they deem to be miracle stories. 5 In a brief comment, Zimmermann (2013a: 520) also shows appreciation of the fact that the first story of a miracle performed by Jesus, in Capernaum, occurs directly after and in close relationship to the episode containing Jesus’ opening speech in Nazareth.

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tersen); 6 the fulfillment of the redemptive/salvific purpose of God, with the climax being the resurrected Jesus’ instruction to his disciples (Green; Culpepper). 7 Robert C. Tannehill’s vision of the plot of “Luke-Acts” as “God’s comprehensive saving purpose as it encounters human resistance” (1986– 1989: 1:44) seems to straddle both options. Tannehill’s analysis of Luke on its own suggests the gospel’s plot is similar to that of “Luke-Acts,” though there is less focus on the “comprehensive” aspect. 8 The envisioned plot is inextricably linked to the promise/fulfillment device used throughout the narrative and in a concentrated way at the beginning. The hopeful “previews of salvation” (Tannehill 1986–1989: 1:15) announced by Gabriel, Mary, Zechariah and Simeon receive a sobering hue through Simeon’s private words to Mary. Jesus will be resisted and cause “the rising and falling of many in Israel” (Lk 2.34). A violent fate for Jesus is also foreseen – truly a strange plan of God. The predicted conflict, extending even to Jesus’ disciples, does not find its resolution in Jesus’ execution and resurrection: “Changing the disciples’ perceptions involves a rather lengthy process which covers the whole of Luke 24” (Tannehill 1986–1989: 1:278). Through a series of appearances and despite continued resistance, Jesus opens the disciples’ eyes to recognise him and their minds to understand the scriptural prophecies about him. The culmination of this process turns the disciples into

6 For Kingsbury the plot is “conflict between Jesus and Israel, made up of the religious authorities and the people” (1991: 71) and “reaches its culmination” in “the episode of Jesus on the cross” (1994: 377). Conflict with the disciples, next in importance for the plot, finds resolution in Lk 24 (Kingsbury 1991: 21, 35, 136–137). In the vision of Petersen (1978: 85), for whom the “principal plot device” is “repeated confrontation and rejection,” the plot consists of “confrontation between an accredited agent of God and the people of God in their sanctuaries (synagogues and temple), with the confrontation climaxing in the legal rejection of [Jesus] by the official representatives of the people of God....” 7 For Green (1997: 10, 832), while the main plot line, “the redemptive purpose of God for all people,” culminates in Acts, Lk 24 “narrates the climax of the Third Gospel.” The disciples’ “enlightenment is possibly [sic; read: “possible”] only in light of the resurrection of the crucified one (ch. 24)” (Green 1997: 397). Though Culpepper (2000: 21) does not address plot per se, he notes that “many of the themes” in Lk “could be subsumed under the rubric of the fulfillment of God’s redemptive purposes.” He sees 24.44–49 serving “to bring closure by recapping major themes of the Gospel,” of which the “fulfillment of Scripture,” notably “all” the things written about Jesus, is key (Culpepper 2000: 486). 8 While Tannehill (1996: 28) states, “We can ask about an overall plot in Luke...,” to the best of my knowledge, his commentary does not provides a precise statement of it. Still, interpreting Simeon’s words, he offers a statement similar to that in his earlier work on Luke-Acts (quoted above): “The audience can now anticipate that the story concerns God’s comprehensive saving purpose as it encounters human resistance” (Tannehill 1996: 73). His analysis of the narrative of Lk, however, de facto puts most emphasis on the disciples’ difficulty in understanding God’s saving purpose.

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Jesus’ witnesses (Tannehill 1986–1989: 1:294). Tannehill’s analysis of the plot will be adopted here, with some minor modifications. 9 Tannehill’s articulation of the plot can be complemented by Mikeal C. Parsons’ analysis of how the motif of promise and fulfillment is sewn into the fabric of the gospel’s narrative. Parsons’ analysis deserves consideration at length, partly because it requires some modification, but also and more importantly on account of its particular contribution to the understanding of the overall plot. This contribution has special significance for the present analysis, owing to the role that various responses in epiphany stories in Lk 24 play in bringing about the gospel’s high point. Central to Parsons’ analysis is the distinction between narrative prolepses and analepses and the observation that the former occur often prior to Jesus’ passion, while, in contrast, the latter appear commonly afterwards. The narrator’s use of the motif of promise and fulfillment helps to identify the climax of the narrative among the analepses. 10 The climax of the narrative is nowhere precisely predicted. 11 But it is closely related to the said motif: the moment in which Jesus successfully gets through to his followers in explaining that important earlier points in the narrative were indeed the fulfillment of scripture. The disciples’ faulty attempts at understanding – that is their responses to the epiphanies in Lk 24 – are finally overcome by Jesus’ own act of opening their minds (Lk 24.45–59). To understand the use of analepses and prolepses, Parsons seeks to differentiate between four different ways that promises are articulated in the narra9 For example, Tannehill (1986–1989: 1:44) posits that from Simeon’s statement onward “[i]t remains to be seen whether and how God’s saving purpose can be realized in the face of human resistance.” Yet the text admits of no real question as to “whether,” only “how.” The preface states confidently that the account written concerns “the things that have been fulfilled” (τῶν πεπληροφορημένων... πραγμάτων: 1.2). Similarly, see Parsons (1987: 91). 10 To my mind this is the best of two readings of Parsons’ work. Parsons (1987: 80, 93), calling 24.50–53 “the dénouement,” seems to see the narrative’s climax primarily as Jesus’ teaching in Lk 24.44–49: “A major tension in the plot is resolved when the disciples finally understand this [i.e. that the events of the passion were necessary] through the teaching of the risen Christ. The turning point comes when Jesus announces their mission in 24.47– 49.” The first one, possibly two, of the “three major plot devices or strategies” Parsons (1987: 77, 80) identifies – “conflict,” “prophecy and fulfillment” and the “journey motif” – coincide at this key point. However, elsewhere Parsons (1987: 87) seems (inexplicably) to allow for the irreconcilable view that “the references to the fulfillment of scripture are to the high points of the Gospel plot.” In such a scenario the prolepses in the majority of the book and the analepses at the end would designate Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection as the high points, perhaps with one of them receiving greater focus than the other. 11 The key prophecy by Simeon (Lk 2.34), which I mentioned above, envisages both the falling and rising of many. The latter does not occur until the final chapter.

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tive: citations from or reference to scripture, speech of “heavenly beings,” speech of “living prophets” and comments from the narrator. Parsons finds that, for scriptural fulfilment, prolepses occur up until Jesus’ passion. The only three analepses occur in Luke 24, along with one prolepsis. It should be noted that while specific passages of scripture are cited, the Scriptures are often invoked en masse. “Interesting also is the fact that, with few exceptions, the references to the fulfillment of scripture are to the high points of the Gospel plot” (Parsons 1987: 87). 12 Of these, Jesus’ death and resurrection receive focus. 13 Parsons’ (1987: 87) examination of “prophecies credited to heavenly beings” reveals a pattern similar to the one found for scriptural fulfilment. Prior to the crucifixion are prolepses; afterwords is an important analepsis. (A prolepsis through the mouth of Jesus, now a heavenly being in Luke 24 by Parsons’ analysis, also occurs in that chapter.) Parsons claims that all instances of reference to “prophecy of a living prophet,” that is a prophet that is a character in the narrative, are proleptic in nature. He then suggests “that predictions by prophets serve functions other than providing textural closure to the Gospel, that is, to establish reliability on the part of the chief protagonist and the narrator” (Parsons 1987: 89). In narrator contrast the “[o]nly two significant internal prolepses... found in the commentary of the to the narratee” (Lk 9.31, 51), involving the “exodus and journey motifs,” refer to the final sentences of the narrative and thereby help to bring about “closure” (Parsons 1987: 90). Parsons’ analysis has much to commend it. I offer here a few constructive comments in an effort to hone the examination of the data. The categories Parsons uses could benefit from greater precision. The angels’ words in Luke 24.6–7 are not a prophecy. Rather they are a reminder of at least two predictions that Jesus made (9.22, 44 – possibly also 18.31–33). It would be more accurate, therefore, to label the relevant category “reference to promise and fulfillment in the speech of heavenly beings.” Likewise the category “prophecy of a living prophet” might be better termed “reference to promise and fulfillment in the speech of (prophesying) human characters.” Saying “human 12 Parsons (1987: 87) cites Maddox (1982: 142) with affirmation: “The only specific events seen as fulfillment are the high points of the story: Jesus’ mission, death, resurrection and ascension....” I omit references to Acts in the citation, as just Lk is relevant in the present context. On the greater relevance of Jesus’ death and resurrection, see immediately below. I will make one important further caveat regarding Maddox’s claim below. On Parsons’ calling these events the “high points” of the plot, see above, n. 10. 13 Parsons (1987: 85–86) table seven, “Fulfillment of Scripture,” does not properly represent the fact that five of nine texts he lists from Lk find their fulfillment in Jesus’ suffering, death and resurrection: i.e. all three analepses (24.26, 44, 46) and two of five prolepses antecedent to the passion (18.31[–33]; 22.37). A different subject is found in each of the remaining prolepses (3.4–6; 4.18–19; 21.22; 24.47).

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characters” allows for retaining Jesus’ speech before and after his resurrection in the same category. 14 The foregoing brings to attention the fact that in a number of instances the nature of the reference to a promise-fulfillment scheme blurs the boundaries of the categories. Notably eight of nine instances Parsons records for citations from the Scriptures pertain to Jesus’ speech, whether predicting events (18.31–33; 21.22; 22.37; 24.47) or explaining how they fulfill prophecy (4.18–19; 24.25–26, 44, 46). The remaining instance is the one time the narrator does not speak through a character (3.4–6). The situation is even more complex. From the reference in 18.31–33 to the upcoming suffering and resurrection from the dead of the Son of Humanity as being a fulfillment of scripture (cf. 24.25–26, 44–46) it follows that the preceding predictions by Jesus to these events are also to be understood in relation to scriptural fulfillment (9.22, 44; cf. 24.7). 15 Again the pair of angels’ speak (24.6–7) about the fulfillment of Jesus’ predictions (which in turn involve scriptural prophecy). In light of this situation, it seems advisable to allow instances to be included in more than one category, where relevant. The exception would be the category of comments from the narrator (that do not invoke the Scriptures or recall speech of other characters). Still, Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem is at the outset cast in terms of promise and fulfillment, having as its final goal his departure (ἔξοδος [9.31]; ἀνάλημψις [9.51]) there. And this motif involves various promise-fulfillment categories (scripture; human characters; the narrator in other contexts). When such distinctions are made one sees with respect to human characters, in the data considered by Parsons, the same pattern of prolepses prior to the passion and analepses, with one exception (24.47), after it. Thus promise and fulfillment in the mouths of human characters does, in fact, help to bring the plot to its resolution. Moreover, in consideration of the plot one might, as does Tannehill, give special attention to the chorus of voices in “previews of salvation” in Luke 1–2, which include not just angelic characters, but humans also. 16 Simeon’s prophecies, in particular, are crucial for plot development. 17 Likewise, the interpretative speeches in chapter 24 play a key role in the plot. Finally, for some categories the field of data could profitably be broadened. There are more prophecies by human characters than Parsons accounts

14 What is more, reference to Jesus as a “prophet” would seem inadequate by the standards of the narrative. See below, Section Q. 15 Note, especially, the repeated reference to the “third day” in Lk 9.22; 18.33; 24.7, 21, 46. 16 Perhaps also Jesus’ speech in Luke 4 plays an important role for plot development. 17 See, e.g., Tannehill (1986–1989: 1:44), discussed above, and de Long (2009: 133), discussed below.

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for. 18 Regarding scriptural fulfillment, Parsons limits the data to explicit citations. But important instances of allusions and more subtle utilisations of scriptural texts occur. 19 As one of the more clear examples, Jesus refers again to an Isaianic prophecy when inquirers are sent from John the Baptiser (Lk 7.22; cf. 4.18–19). Beyond the two internal prolepses provided by the narrator that Parsons addresses, there are a host of implicit analepses. These come often as indications that a certain, destined time is taking place. Implicitly God through the Scriptures or some other means – at a time in the narrative world external and prior to the narrative – has promised that a given event should occur. 20 I add here, as a reflection stemming from the foregoing discussion, that in an important way the main plot line lines up with the explicitly stated purpose of the writing – so that the hearers/readers may know the certainty of what they have already learned about (1.4). This emphasis on attaining knowledge and understanding (ἐπιγνῶναι [1.4; 24.31]; γνῶναι [24.35]; συνιέναι [24.45]) is found, then, in both stated purpose and plot. The foregoing discussion, while lengthy, brings to attention the importance of the disciples’ understanding for the resolution of the plot. Responses to the epiphanies in Lk 24 bear heavily upon this resolution, a point that will be discussed in detail in what follows. Kindalee Pfremmer de Long’s (2009) study of “praise responses in the narrative of Luke-Acts” examines 17 occurrences of praise in Luke – I limit my comments in what follows to the Gospel. Eight of these are, in whole or in part, what in the present study are termed responses in miracle stories: Lk 1.64; 21 2.20; 5.25–26; 7.16; 13.13, 17 (by my counting two separate responses); 17.15–16; 18.43; 24.50–53. Three are in epiphany stories (1.64; 2.20; 24.50–53), the remainder in stories of healing and/or exorcism. De 18

E.g. Lk 11.29–30; 12.50; 13.32; 22.16. Litwak (2005), who gives a detailed look at the beginning, middle and end of “LukeActs” in light of not just citations and allusions but also “echoes,” does not find a paradigm of scriptural promise-fulfillment to be suitable for an understanding of the data in their entirety. Rather, he argues, the various uses of the scriptures seek to establish “continuity between Jesus and his followers and Israel in the past” (Litwak 2005: 206). While he has made a good case for many, perhaps the majority, of such subtle references to the scriptures of Israel as doing something beyond a prophecy-fulfillment paradigm, still there are some instances where a such a paradigm is at work. While they may be quantitatively the minority, in terms of plot analysis they have, at some key points, qualitative superiority. 20 See, e.g., the use of πλησθῆναι/πίμπλασθαι (which in the aorist sounds similar to πληρῶσαι and its cognates; cf. πληροφορῆσαι [Lk 1.1]) in Lk 1.23; 1.57; 2.6. 21 Zechariah’s speech (Lk 1.67–78), which de Long includes alongside 1.64 as an instance of praise, is presented by the narrative as prophecy (1.67). Clearly the opening blessing connects the prophecy with other utterances by human characters in Lk 1–2 (Mary, Simeon). But the prophetic aspect of his speech is more definitive than the blessing. 19

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Long (2009: 133) argues that “that the motif of praise of God responds to and marks for the reader key moments in the divine visitation, which unfolds according to the plot synopsis offered by Simeon.” While the plot analysis can not be accepted in its entirety, 22 de Long makes a number of valuable observations on how the use of the motif of praise helps to give shape to the narrative of Luke. De Long notes the close relationship between joy and praise in the narrative. 23 She observes how characters’ praise – also joy – works alongside the promise-fulfillment motif to create tension with respect to recognition (de Long 2009: 134): Through the praise motif... the narrative introduces tension related to recognition. In various ways, the unfolding of the divine visitation... surprises characters. And the greatest surprise is Jesus’ death in Jerusalem. Not even his disciples can understand this dark moment in the plot until divine revelation brings recognition....

The tension she describes is seen most clearly in broader developments throughout the narrative, especially with respect to the disciples’ recognition of God’s activity through Jesus. Her arguments for the alleged tension in individual episodes are not always convincing, though Zechariah’s silence turning to praise at the narrative’s opening is an important exception. 24 22

For de Long (2009: 132) the “plot of Luke–Acts” – one work in two parts, is in view – “centers on two major subplots: the restoration of Israel’s glory (the Gospel and the beginning of Acts) and the conversion of the Gentiles (in the latter part of Acts). What unites these two strands in terms of plot is the person of Jesus and his identity as messiah, particularly related to his death and resurrection.” Both envisioned subplots, she argues, reach their peaks in Acts. Beyond citing the analysis of the plot of Lk, outlined above, which is in conflict with de Long’s conception, I briefly make the following observations. De Long’s (de Long 2009: 132) analysis relies too heavily and woodenly on the occurrence of specific vocabulary – i.e. the instances of ἐπισκέψασθαι (Lk 1.68, 78; 7.16; Acts 15.14) and the related noun, ἐπισκοπή (Lk 19.44) – in an attempt to identify “four major contexts in which divine salvation appears in the plot,” that is “Jesus’ birth, his healing ministry, his approach to Jerusalem (involving issues related to Jesus’ identity), and conversions of the Gentiles.” (There are actually not “four references to the visitation” [de Long 2009: 132], given this vocabulary, but five.) Still de Long’s comments on the resolution in Lk 24 of tension established earlier in the unfolding of the narrative are insightful and will be addressed in the analysis below. 23 De Long (2009: 146–147) states: “…joy in response to God’s work may function implicitly as praise of God, and conversely, it imbues praise of God with the quality of joy,” though praise is more frequent than joy after Lk 1. On her allowance for joy not being associated with praise (and not being positively portrayed), see below, n. 28. 24 De Long (2009: 183) claims that “[w]ith regard to narrative structure,” four of five miracles stories in Lk containing responses of praise (excluding 7.11–17) “involve narrative tensions analogous to the silence of Zechariah in the infancy narrative.” This claim holds true for 13.11–17, but not for the other three stories, where the response comes right

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Recognition is linked to comprehension of the Scriptures (de Long 2009: 134): “Thus praise responses mark... also characters’ recognition that events within the narrative – however surprising they may be – constitute the restoration anticipated by Israel’s prophets....” She makes an insightful corollary observation: “By contrast, silence and blame indicate characters’ failure to recognize and participate in the fulfillment of these hopes” (de Long 2009: 134). That recognition of God’s plan is not automatic – neither certain nor immediate – de Long (2009: 277) describes as the “key paradox” in the narrative. Given this, it is curious that she limits herself, with respect to healing effected by Jesus, to analysis of five stories. The vast majority of such stories, if not all, have responses. Important questions might be asked as to why, for example, praise occurs in a response in one episode but not in another. 25 Similarly de Long’s astute observation that the “surprising” way God’s plan unfolds is often an obstacle to characters’ recognition of it and the resulting praise raises the intriguing possibility of a correlation between amazement in responses and a lack or limited amount of recognition. Unfortunately, de Long gives no sustained treatment of responses of amazement, though in some contexts amazement is presented in contrast to praise and/or joy. 26 De Long gives some attention to how characters’ positive response of praise in

after the healing. (While tension in Lk 17.11–19 exists on account of the lack of response by some recipients, it does not represent a structure similar to that found in the stories of Zechariah.) See the analysis in Section Q, below. 25 Also, what is implied if a story has not only a delay of praise but actually no praise at all? 26 I note here briefly ways that some characters’ amazement indicates a lack of knowledge about what God is doing, in contrast to other characters’ praise: observers’ amazement (1.63b) at Zechariah’s behaviour is supplanted by the latter’s praise, when his speech is restored (1.64b) (the other characters’ amazement turns into their and others’ fear, memory and questions [1.65–66]); those who hear the shepherd’s report are amazed (2.18), while the shepherds confidently praise God (2.20); similarly, Simeon praises God (2.28–32), while Joseph and Mary stand nearby, amazed (2.33). (Related, in 1.21b–22b observers’ amazement/wondering at Zechariah’s delay in the temple turns into knowledge [not praise] that he had a vision.) If a distinction between praise and amazement is established at the beginning of the narrative, then a complex situation is created when praise comes together with amazement and fear in 5.26. This may suggest limited understanding, alongside praise. Likewise in 9.43 amazement accompanies knowledge of God’s greatness – something at least akin to praise. The episodes in ch. 24 jointly constitute a special case: the amazement of Peter and the others (24.12, 22), who do not believe (24.11) the report of the angelic witness to Jesus’ resurrection, does turn to praise (24.53) eventually, but in the meantime joy and amazement – and unbelief – come together in their response (24.41) to an appearance of Jesus.

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one episode does not secure their positive portrayal in further episodes. 27 But, not noted by de Long, there are cases where praise is simultaneously accompanied by features showing a lack of understanding. 28 Responses, in general, do not neatly fit within binary categories. 29 She notes how sometimes characters’ visual sensation is noted prior to praise. 30 As de Long observes, individual praise is sometimes followed by corporate praise in healing stories (5.25– 26; 18.43; cf. 13.13, 17). 31 But the instances are too infrequent, too sporadic, to establish, as she argues, a narrative pattern. 32 A study by Karl Allen Kuhn (2009) on appeal to the emotions in biblical narrative is noteworthy in the present context, as his one lengthy case study is of Luke 1–2. An important point of departure is the observation that the Gospels are full of explicit reference to emotions (2009: 9):

27 De Long (2009: 188): “Their [religious leaders’] praise in 5:26 raises the possibility that they might accept the work of God for themselves, but their continued resistance suggests the opposite….” Similar questions arise about the portrayal of the crowds. Complexity of characterisation arises for crowds, too, as their joy in God (Lk 13.17) and praise of God (7.16; 18.43) seems tempered by (some of ) Jesus’ reproaches against “this generation” (9.41; 11.29–32; 17.25; though see 7.31) and other features of the narrative – see the discussion in Section Q, below. 28 E.g. the utterance accompanying praise in Lk 7.17 does not adequately identify Jesus. (See Section Q, below.) This creates a complex situation. Both the release of some tension and the forming of other tension. De Long (2009: 8. 135, n. 3; emphasis original) consciously allows for occurrences of joy being “not... positive” or “ambiguous,” but takes instances of praise to be “more clearly positive”. 29 While recognising the importance of Simeon’s words about rising and falling (Lk 2.34) as an organising principle for the plot, my analysis of responses in miracle stories, allows for shades of grey between the two idealised poles than does de Long’s study (2009), which mostly envisions either acceptance (praise) or rejection (silence or blame). 30 I.e. Lk 17.15–16; 18.43 (de Long 2009: 190, 191). But judging from other responses (e.g. 8.34) it follows that mention of characters’ visual sensation in the narrative is not always tantamount to indicating their “recognition of divine mercy” (192) or being able to “see the saving work of God,” contra de Long (2009: 192, 194; emphasis original). 31 Contra de Long (2009: 189), more caution should be exercised in relation to Lk 13.17, since speech is not necessarily implicit in the crowd’s response. The contrast is between joy (crowd) and shame (Jesus’ opponents). Note the praise explicitly lacking in another story (17.18) is related to (9 other) recipients of healing, not to corporate praise following the praise of an individual. 32 E.g. in discussion of Lk 13 de Long (2009: 188–189; cf. 149) curiously claims, “By this point in Luke, the reader has been conditioned to expect a communal response of praise....” I find few precedents of “communal” praise (1.58; possibly 2.20; 5.26; 7.16). Prior to this point, individuals (1.46–55; 1.64 [a response; cf. 1.67–79]; 2.28–32, 38; ) just as commonly praise God, without a community simultaneously or subsequently joining in as a chorus.

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The Gospels are filled with emotion and emotional characters. Emotional reactions (both positive and negative) to the announcement of Jesus’ birth in Luke’s and Matthew’s infancy narratives, Jesus’ miracles, Jesus’ teaching about the kingdom of God, and the reality of Jesus’ resurrection reveals that from the evangelists’ perspective emotion is a fundamental dimension of human response to the in-breaking of God’s reign in Jesus....

Many of the contexts he speaks of, perhaps the majority, are what the present study terms miracle stories. His use of the term “response,” though more general in scope, and the fundamental place that emotion has in “responses” are also noteworthy. Kuhn is aware, too, “that writers can reliably produce in readers an awareness of a character’s affective states by characterizing a situation whose construal is assumed to give rise to them.” 33 Unfortunately, Kuhn does not make a differentiation between explicit and implicit reference to characters’ emotions in his methodology and subsequent analysis. 34 In practice Kuhn gives attention to characters’ explicitly described emotions, but not as much as one might expect. 35 Claire K. Rothschild argues that the narrative of Luke-Acts exhibits stylistic features characteristic of rhetoric found in Greco-Roman historiography. In her treatment of appeals to eyewitnesses in Luke in particular, many of the texts she looks at are responses in miracle stories or contain them. 36 Rothschild notes, “Credibility was awarded the ancient historians able to demonstrate they had access to eyewitness reports of the events they narrate” (2004: 222). A literary device used in service of establishing this credibility Rothschild calls the “amplification of eyewitnesses,” that is an author’s portraying through narration the amplified quantity (“numerous”) and quality (especially the “powerful” status) of witnesses (Rothschild 2004: 215). She draws due attention to the “multiplication of eyewitnesses” in Luke, noting 20 instances. In contrast, revealingly, she provides only four instances of the “promotion of eyewitnesses” in Luke, though she discusses 14 such instances in Acts. Indeed, in Acts, the actions (or presence) of various socially promi-

33 Kuhn (2009: 25) cites with approval the judgement of cognitive psychologists Andrew Ortony, Gerald Clore and Allan Collins. 34 Kuhn’s (2009: 32–55) section on methodology (“How Biblical Narratives Move Us”) is divided into “plotting” and “characterization.” A discussion of explicit and implicit reference to characters’ emotions could reasonably appear in one or both of these. 35 Kuhn skips past explicit emotions with no discussion. For example Kuhn (2009: 99– 102) only scarcely mentions the “holy fear” of those who witness the miraculous loosing of Zechariah’s tongue, though he spends over two pages discussing the cause and nature of their earlier amazement. 36 Eight of the 20 portions of text Rothschild treats in Lk for “multiplication of eyewitnesses” (see below) are responses or parts thereof: Lk 1.65–66; 4.37; 5.15; 7.16–17; 8.37; 9.43a; 13.17; 24.8–9.

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nent characters who are either positive 37 or moderately favourable 38 towards the young movement of Jesus followers seems to lend support to the narrative claim that the events portrayed are from credible sources – perhaps also generally known or verifiable – and, thus, they happened as written. Rothschild’s section on “certain exceptions to the amplification of eyewitnesses” discusses nine texts, all from Acts. One is left with the impression that there are no exceptions to the rules in Luke. In Luke however, regarding the “promotion of eyewitnesses” the majority of the events, including the miraculous, occur in the presence of those who are not distinguished socially; and named individuals of social status with a positive connection to Jesus are rare. 39 Sometimes those who are low on the social scale are the sole eyewitnesses, such as the shepherds, for example, who alone are the recipients of the grand angelophany at Jesus’ birth. Also, with respect to miracles specifically, though it is often noted that many observe or later hear about them, some miracles occur in the presence of only a few characters and news of them stays private, at least within the confines of Luke. Notable here, as in one or more of the other three gospels, are Jesus’ calming of the storm, the transfiguration, the angelophany at his tomb and his resurrection appearances. These key miracles take place precisely when the “multiplication of eyewitnesses” device is not at work. One of the “special manifestations of the rhetoric of eyewitnesses” Rothschild observes is, allegedly, the “regular emphasis on seeing over hearing” (2004: 240, 241). But she cites only Luke 24.11–12 and Acts 12.12–17 in support of the claim. 40 Seeing and hearing often come together, not in any hierarchical scheme, in both Luke (2.20; 7.22; 10.23–24; cf. 4.20–22; 8.10) 37

Such characters include important government officials – the eunuch over Queen Candace’s treasury and the proconsul Sergius Paulus – and otherwise dignified characters – Cornelius, Publius, possibly Lydia and various, unnamed, socially prominent women (Acts 17.4, 12). Note Rothschild does not discuss all of these characters. 38 Characters here include the proconsul Gallio, the tribune Lysias, the proconsul Festus, King Agrippa II, Queen Bernice. Note Rothschild does not discuss all of these characters. 39 Rothschild (2004: 268) discusses the named “women who provided financial support for Jesus’ ministry” in Lk 8. The unnamed centurion of Capernaum in Lk 7 who receives a miracle, however, escapes her attention. Thus, in Lk there are no counterparts to Sergius Paulus and Publius from Acts, who receive miracles and either believe in the teaching about Jesus or receive his representative cordially. 40 Rothschild might have cited, e.g., Lk 23.8. Her discussion of the text elsewhere shows she misses the relevant point: Herod did not “desire to meet Jesus and to hear his case himself” (Rothschild 2004: 269). After hearing about Jesus, he wanted to see Jesus perform a sign (see also Lk 9.9). Note Rothschild insists that emphasis “on seeing, not as a part of any doctrine of merit or theological argument... but as a part of an authenticating defense for a historical account, is unique in the NT to Luke-Acts” (2004: 245).

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and Acts (2.33; 4.20; 8.6; 22.14–15; cf. 19.26; 28.26–27). Still, Rothschild seems to have intuited something important with regards to seeing. In as much as this pertains to responses in miracle stories, the analysis below will consider the element of seeing, which occurs more frequently than references to hearing. As to whether this feature fits best within Hellenistic historiography as opposed to biblical modes of telling history is a question that cannot be entertained here. 41 One redaction critical study is to be mentioned. In Luke, Paul Achtemeier (1975: 553) argues, more so than in any other gospel “miracles can be the basis of belief in God,” a point “perhaps... most clearly seen in the way Luke characteristically concludes such narratives.” 42 The “typically Lucan ending of a miracle of Jesus” – also termed “the typically Lucan response to a miracle of Jesus” – is “glorifying God,” which indicates the “source of Jesus’ power” (Achtemeier 1975: 552, 561). According to Achtemeier (1975: 533) “there are regular references to the praise of God by those who witness the miracle of Jesus, or by the one who benefitted from it (5:25; 7:16; 9:43; 13:13; 17:15; 18:43)....” While these six instances might be deemed “characteristically” or “typically Lucan” by redaction critical standards, the claim that they have a “regular” occurrence can not be maintained. 43 Achtemeier (1975: 554) argues that in miracle stories “fear” (which is “a usual reaction in Luke to manifestations of the divine”) is, like the praise motif, “also a characteristic reaction... (5:26; 7:16; 8:35, 37; cf. also 24:5)” connected with faith. But two of the four instances he cites (8.35, 37) can hardly be examples wherein characters’ “reaction to miracles is to see God behind the activity of Jesus, thus acknowledging Jesus to be the one whom God has chosen to do his work” (Achtemeier 1975: 544). Still, Achtemeier’s specific focus on fear – and not generic “wonder” or Admiration – is noteworthy. He does not discuss responses of amazement, an important corollary issue needing consideration. The question of whether and which responses of praise and/or fear to miracles may indicate that the miracles are an important basis of belief must be revisited, giving attention to the flow of the larger narrative. Lastly, Achtemeier notices the importance of reference to seeing in the context of

41

Rothschild assumes, but does not argue, that Hellenistic context is where appeals to seeing in historiography are more characteristically to be found. 42 Achtemeier (1975: 556) claims further: “In Luke as in Acts, acceptance of the call to follow Jesus, whether as a disciple or in faith, is intimately connected with the miraculous activity of Jesus.” 43 By Achtemeier’s (1975: 547) count Luke has 20 miracle stories. Note Achtemeier avers that “in one instance, such a reaction [praise of God] is specified by Jesus as the proper response (17:18).” The instance is not so clear.

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miracles. 44 Since most of his examples concern the alleged redaction of Luke’s sources, a more comprehensive treatment is needed here. I offer a final remark about narrative-critical approaches to responses in miracle stories in Luke, especially appropriate here, given the mention of Achtemeier. There is a tendency to look at what is distinctive in Luke in relation to the other Synoptic Gospels. The approaches, then, often have the feel of redaction-critical studies. This is true of works focused on themes especially related to responses (de Long) and others (Tannehill; Culpepper). Thus, studies that otherwise give nuanced analyses of individual episodes in which praise appears – including finding negative aspects of the portrayal of the characters offering the praise to God – tend to be uniform in their positive assessment of the act of praise itself. 45 At the same time, the instances of fear that occur in angelophanies and other epiphanies, in particular, are often taken for granted as part and parcel of the type of story they are found in and passed by with scarcely any comment. Rather than criticise these approaches here in detail, I will address the issue at hand, where relevant, in the analysis below (see, especially, Section Q).

B. Miracle Stories with Responses Luke has 27 miracle stories. 46 Some other stories contain miracles or summaries of miracles. 47 The 24 miracle stories with responses are: Gabriel’s appearance to Zechariah (1.8–23); Gabriel’s appearance to Mary (1.26–38); healing of Zechariah’s mouth (1.59–80); angelophany to shepherds at Jesus’ birth (2.1–20); exorcism in the synagogue of Capernaum (4.31–37); call of the first disciples (5.1–11); healing of the leper (5.12–16); healing of the 44

“Formal analysis also indicates Luke’s predilection for adding a reaction of the crowd, usually to praise God for what they have seen...” (Achtemeier 1975: 549–550). How “usual” reference to seeing is will be discussed below. 45 Cf. e.g., Tannehill 1986–1989: 86, 145; Culpepper 2000: 29–30; de Long 2009: 181– 183. 46 Zimmermann (2013: 513) counts 20 miracle stories in Lk. The present study includes four stories in chs. 1–2 and three more in ch. 24 as miracle stories. Also in contrast to Zimmermann, I do not consider the healing in ch. 22 to constitute a miracle story (see below, n. 47), but the transfiguration is to be counted as one. 47 The story of Jesus’ arrest contains a healing (Lk 22.47–53). Summaries of miracles appear in Lk 4.40–41; 6.17–19; 7.21; 9.11. Descriptions of some of Jesus’ disciples relate healings and exorcisms that are not narrated elsewhere (8.2–3). Speech of the disciples (9.9; 10.17; cf. 19.37) or Jesus (7.22; 10.13) also refers to miracles. The way the scene of Jesus’ crucifixion is narrated, notably the prominence given to the darkening of the sun and the tearing of the curtain in the temple, presents it almost as though it were a miracle story (see further, below, Section Q).

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paralytic (5.17–26); healing of the man with a withered hand (6.6–11); resurrection of the widow’s son (7.11–17); stilling of the storm (8.22–25); exorcism of Legion (8.26–39); healing of the hemorrhaging woman (8.42b–48); healing of Jairus’ daughter (8.40–42a, 49–56); transfiguration (9.28–36); exorcism of the possessed boy (9.37–45); exorcism of a mute demonpossessed man (on collusion with Beelzebul) (11.14–36); healing of the crippled woman (13.10–21); healing of the man with dropsy (14.1–24); healing of the 10 lepers (17.11–19); healing of Bartimaeus (18.35–43); angelophany to Mary Magdalene, Joanna and Mary of James (24.1–12); Jesus’ appearance to Cleopas and another disciple (24.13–35); Jesus’ appearance to the Eleven and the others (24.36–53). 48 In the analysis I will refer parenthetically to what is probably a response (4.39c) in the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law (4.38–39). For the healing of the centurion’s slave (7.1–10), Jesus’ amazement at the petitioner’s faith is an inversion of the response motif (7.9). Just one story has nothing akin to a response. 49

C. Number of Responses within a Miracle Story Nine miracle stories have more than one response. Two have three responses: Luke 9.32c–33, 9.34c and 9.36b–c; 24.37, 24.41a (two genitive absolute clauses) and 24.52–53. Seven have two: 1.12 and 1.21b–22b; 2.9c and 2.15b– 20; 5.8–10a and 5.11; 8.34–37a and 8.39b; 13.13c and 13.17b–c; 24.5a (two genitive absolute clauses) and 24.8–12; 24.31a–b and 24.32–35. Fifteen other stories have one response: 1.29; 1.64b–66; 4.36–37; 5.15; 5.25b–26; 6.11; 7.16–17; 8.25b; 8.47; 8.56a; 9.43a; 11.14c–16; 14.6; 17.15–16a; 18.43b–c. Thus 35 responses are the object of study in this chapter. The majority (5:8) of stories with multiple responses are epiphany stories. 50 Four stories contain two (1.8–23; 24.13–35; 24.36–53) or three (9.28–36) miracles. Seven responses are exceptions to the rule with respect to the denotation of verse subdivisions (“a,” “b,” etc.), which otherwise correspond to independent clauses (sentences): 2.15b–20; 5.8–10a; 5.25b–26; 9.32c–33; 13.17b–c; 24.5a; 24.41a. 51 Subdivisions within one response are also an exception (9.32c–33). 52 48

Though Lk 24.13–52 constitutes one episode, it is here divided into its two scenes. I.e. the feeding of the five thousand (Lk 9.10–17). 50 Two exorcism stories and one story of a miraculous provision of fish also have more than one response. Note five of eight epiphany stories have multiple responses (the other three stories each have one). 51 Lk 2.15a designates the initial clause with ἐγένετο and a temporal expression (καὶ ἐγένετο ὡς ἀπῆλθον ἀπ᾿ αὐτῶν εἰς τὸν οὐρανὸν οἱ ἄγγελοι; cf. Levinsohn [2000: 177]). While 9.32a refers to the first sentence, I use 9.32b to indicate the pre-nuclear participle of 49

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D. Elements within a Response, Vocabulary, Verbs and their Modifiers The elements in responses in Luke correspond primarily to verbs, as was the case in both Mark and Matthew. Still in Luke there are numerous instances where a noun, adjective or adverbial is as much or more of an indicator of the type of element. 53 Rarely, an element corresponds to an adverbial alone, a substantive or the content of speech. 54 Redundant quotative frames are taken as one instance of the verbal element. 55 In two further cases a set of two verbs is taken as one element. 56 So in Luke I identify 12 elements in responses – emotional, verbal, seeing, reporting, movement between locations, falling, other bodily movements, cognitive, belief, testing, hearing and finding. Some other features I label “other.”

the second sentence (διαγρηγορήσαντες δέ). Two pre-nuclear participial phrases are jointly referred to by 5.25a (καὶ παραχρῆμα ἀναστὰς ἐνώπιον αὐτῶν, ἄρας ἐφ᾿ ὃ κατέκειτο). So 2.15b, 5.25b and 9.32c refer to the remainder of the respective sentences (and verses). Similarly, 13.17a indicates the initial subordinate clause (καὶ ταῦτα λέγοντος αὐτοῦ) and 13.17b refers to the remainder of the sentence (κατῃσχύνοντο πάντες οἱ ἀντικείμενοι αὐτῷ). 5.10a (ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ Ἰάκωβον καὶ Ἰωάννην υἱοὺς Ζεβεδαίου, οἳ ἦσαν κοινωνοὶ τῷ Σίμωνι) is a sentence fragment which belongs to the preceding verse (5.9). 5.10b represents the remainder of the verse (i.e. the one complete sentence in the verse). The responses 24.5a (ἐμφόβων δὲ γενομένων αὐτῶν καὶ κλινουσῶν τὰ πρόσωπα εἰς τὴν γῆν) and 24.41a (ἔτι δὲ ἀπιστούντων αὐτῶν ἀπὸ τῆς χαρᾶς καὶ θαυμαζόντων) each consist of two pre-nuclear genitive absolute clauses. 24.5b and 24.41b refer to the remainder of the said sentences (and verses). 52 Lk 9.32c: εἶδον τὴν δόξαν αὐτοῦ καὶ τοὺς δύο ἄνδρας τοὺς συνεστῶτας αὐτῷ; 9.33a: καὶ ἐγένετο ἐν τῷ διαχωρίζεσθαι αὐτοὺς ἀπ᾿ αὐτοῦ; 9.33b: εἶπεν ὁ Πέτρος πρὸς τὸν Ἰησοῦν· ἐπιστάτα, καλόν ἐστιν ἡμᾶς ὧδε εἶναι, καὶ ποιήσωμεν σκηνὰς τρεῖς, μίαν σοὶ καὶ μίαν Μωϋσεῖ καὶ μίαν Ἠλίᾳ, μὴ εἰδὼς ὃ λέγει. 53 Noun as subject: φόβος ἐπέπεσεν (Lk 1.12); ἐγένετο... φόβος (1.65a); ἐγένετο θάμβος (4.36a); ἐξεπορεύετο ἦχος (4.37); θάμβος... περιέσχεν (5.9); διήρχετο... ὁ λόγος (5.15); ἔκστασις ἔλαβεν (5.26); ἔλαβεν... φόβος (7.16a); ἐξῆλθεν ὁ λόγος οὗτος (7.17). Noun as object: ἔδωκεν αἶνον (18.43c); κλινουσῶν τὰ πρόσωπα (24.5a). Noun in genitive or dative: ἐπλήσθησαν φόβου (5.26c); ἐπλήσθησαν ἀνοίας (6.11a); φόβῳ μεγάλῳ συνείχοντο (8.37). Adjective: ἐμφόβων... γενομένων (24.5a); ἔμφοβοι γενόμενοι (24.37) – cf. participle accompanying εἶναι: καιομένη ἦν (24.32). Adverbial: ἔθεντο... ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτῶν (1.66a); συμβάλλουσα ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτῆς (2.19). 54 Adverbial: ἀπὸ τῆς χαρᾶς (Lk 24.41a). Substantive: οἱ ἀκούσαντες and τῶν λαληθέντων (2.18); οἱ ἰδόντες (8.36). Content of speech: εἴδομεν παράδοξα σήμερον (5.26); οὐχὶ ἡ καρδία ἡμῶν καιομένη ἦν (24.32). 55 These are indicated below. 56 Lk 2.19: πάντα συνετήρει τὰ ῥήματα ταῦτα συμβάλλουσα ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτῆς. 1.66: ἔθεντο... ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτῶν λέγοντες....

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The 32 instances of the emotional element occur in 25 of the 35 responses (20 of 24 stories). They divide into six categories: fear (13 instances – 1.12b; 1.65a; 2.9c; 57 5.26c; 7.16a; 8.25b; 8.35d, 37a; 8.47a; 9.34c; 24.5; 24.37 [twice]); being troubled (2 instances – 1.12a; 1.29a); 58 amazement (11 instances – 1.21b; 2.18; 4.36a; 5.9–10a; 5.26a; 8.25b; 8.56a; 9.43a; 11.14c; 24.12c; 24.41); joy (13.17b; 24.41; 24.52); “burning hearts” (24.32); humiliation (13.17a); anger (6.11a). With two exceptions fear appears as a word from the root φόβ*: φοβηθῆναι (2.9c [ἐφοβήθησαν φόβον μέγαν]; 59 8.25b; 8.35d; 9.34c); φόβος (1.12b; 1.65a; 5.26c; 7.16a); φόβος μέγας (8.37a); ἔμφοβος (24.5a; 24.37). One exception (πτοηθῆναι: 24.37) 60 appears in tandem with ἔμφοβος. The other exception (τρέμειν: 8.47a) occurs alone. Being troubled is signified with ταραχθῆναι (1.12a) and διαταραχθῆναι (1.29a). Words of various roots indicate amazement: θαυμάσαι (1.21b; 2.18; 8.25b; 11.14c; 24.12c; 24.41); ἐκπλαγῆναι (9.43a); θάμβος (4.36a; 5.9–10a); ἐκστῆναι (8.56a); ἔκστασις (5.26a). 61 Joy comes as χαρά (24.41; 24.52) or χαρῆναι (13.17b). The occurrence of praise may also indicate joy (see below). Anger is referred to by πλησθῆναι ἀνοίας (6.11a); “burning hearts” by ἡ καρδία ἡμῶν καιομένη ἦν (24.32); and humiliation by καταισχυνθῆναι (13.17b). Those responding are at times the object of the verb (fear: 1.12b; 1.65a; 7.16a; cf. 8.37a [related passive verb] – amazement: 4.36a; 5.9–10a; 5.26a). 62 Rarely is the source of the emotion explicitly indicated, whether within the respective clause (6 or 7 instances) or in a post-nuclear participial clause

57 NB I take ἐφοβήθησαν φόβον μέγαν (Lk 2.9c) as but one instance of fear. On a variant reading, see below, n. 59. 58 Because being troubled is rare in responses in Lk, I note also its appearance in comments by Jesus in 24.38. 59 In Lk 2.9c Codex Vaticanus reads ἐφοβήθησαν σφόδρα; cf. ἐφοβήθησαν φόβον μέγαν σφόδρα (W). 60 πτοηθέντες (A D P S etc.) is probably preferable to θροηθέντες (B P75) in Lk 24.37. Both are superior to φοβηθέντες (‫ א‬W). The basic sense of fear is retained with θροηθῆναι (BDAG: ad loc). NB I count πτοηθέντες δὲ καὶ ἔμφοβοι γενόμενοι as two instances of the emotional element of fear. While the verbs may constitute a pleonasm, I allow for the possibility that they do not. 61 Some early manuscripts do not have the phrase καὶ ἔκστασις ἔλαβεν ἅπαντας in Lk 5.26 (D S W). 62 Fear – with accusative: ἔλαβεν δὲ φόβος πάντας (Lk 7.16a) – with ἐπί and accusative: φόβος ἐπέπεσεν ἐπ᾿ αὐτόν (1.12); ἐγένετο ἐπὶ πάντας φόβος τοὺς περιοικοῦντας αὐτούς (1.65a) – cf. φόβῳ μεγάλῳ συνείχοντο (8.37). Amazement – with accusative: θάμβος... περιέσχεν αὐτὸν καὶ πάντας τοὺς σὺν αὐτῷ... ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ Ἰάκωβον καὶ Ἰωάννην υἱοὺς Ζεβεδαίου, οἳ ἦσαν κοινωνοὶ τῷ Σίμωνι (5.9); ἔκστασις ἔλαβεν ἅπαντας (5.26) – with ἐπί and accusative: ἐγένετο θάμβος ἐπὶ πάντας (4.36a).

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(twice) – all but three of the instances pertain to amazement. 63 (In a motif related to responses, the object of Jesus’ amazement in a miracle story is explicitly noted: his suppliant [ἐθαύμασεν αὐτόν: 7.9a].) Only once (8.25b; cf. 24.32) is Jesus specifically identified as the cause of the emotion. He is mentioned as part of the cause in another instance (13.17c). In only one other instance does an adverbial accompany an emotion (again amazement). 64 One upshot is that fear / being troubled very often (13:15) occurs without further specifications, whereas amazement does only about half the time (5:11 or 6:11). Lastly, it should be noted that twice joy is an adverbial for another element (unbelief: 24.41a – movement: 24.52) and once amazement, as a post-nuclear participle, constrains the way that an act of relocation is to be processed (24.12c). As for distribution, a pattern can be seen with respect to types of miracle stories. Fear / being troubled is the most common emotion in responses in epiphany stories and/or the rescue nature miracle story (7 of 9 stories). It is worth noting that one or more responses in all such stories have an emotional element. When fear / being troubled is not present, either joy alone is (24.52) or “burning hearts” alone (24.32). When other emotions are present alongside fear / being troubled, either amazement alone (1.21b [cf. 1.12]; 8.25b) or amazement alongside joy and/or praise (2.18, 20 [cf. 2.9c] with praise; 24.41 [cf. 24.37] with joy and praise) occurs. In other types of miracle stories, when the emotional element is present in (a) response(s) (11 of 15 stories – 13 of 15 if praise is considered an indication of joy), amazement is the most common (6 stories). Fear is less common (4 stories). Six stories contain either joy (1) or praise (5); thus, it is possible that joy is as frequent as amazement. Humiliation and anger each occur in one story. In five stories amazement alone occurs. With one exception (8.37) fear occurs in conjunction with praise (1.64b–65; 5.25b–26; 7.16) – in 5.25b– 26 amazement accompanies them both. Joy appears alongside humiliation in one story (13.17). Anger appears alone (6.11a). Twice praise occurs where no (other) emotion does (17.15; 18.43b–c). To paint in broad strokes, then, one 63 Unless otherwise indicated, amazement is the relevant emotion in what follows. With accusative: τὸ γεγονός (Lk 24.12c). With ἐπί and dative: ἐπὶ τῷ λόγῳ (1.29 – being troubled); ἐπὶ τῇ ἄγρᾳ τῶν ἰχθύων ὧν συνέλαβον (5.9–10a); ἐπὶ τῇ μεγαλειότητι τοῦ θεοῦ (9.43); ἐπὶ πᾶσιν τοῖς ἐνδόξοις τοῖς γινομένοις ὑπ᾿ αὐτοῦ (13.17c – joy). With περί and genitive: περὶ τῶν λαληθέντων ὑπὸ τῶν ποιμένων πρὸς αὐτούς (2.18). With a postnuclear participle introducing direct speech: λέγοντες ὅτι εἴδομεν παράδοξα σήμερον (5.26 – fear); λέγοντες πρὸς ἀλλήλους· τίς ἄρα οὗτός ἐστιν ὅτι καὶ τοῖς ἀνέμοις ἐπιτάσσει καὶ τῷ ὕδατι, καὶ ὑπακούουσιν αὐτῷ (8.25b). The instance of an adverbial of time is probably relevant also: ἐν τῷ χρονίζειν ἐν τῷ ναῷ αὐτόν (1.21b). (See also two dependent clauses in one instance: ὡς ἐλάλει ἡμῖν ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ, ὡς διήνοιγεν ἡμῖν τὰς γραφάς [24.32].) 64 Lk 24.12c: πρὸς ἑαυτὸν θαυμάζων. Note B and L have πρὸς αὐτὸν θαυμάζων.

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sees that whereas fear is characteristic of epiphany and nature miracle stories, other stories can be roughly divided into two kinds, in which either amazement alone or joy/praise, often accompanied by some (other) emotional response, occurs. I note also that amazement comes as a reaction to Jesus’ words or teaching in some contexts. 65 And Jesus’ teaching is associated with his healings and exorcisms. 66 The verbal element is the next most common, with 26 instances (in 18 of 33 responses, 17 of 24 stories). Redundant quotative frames are noted in the list that follows by the phrase “with εἰπεῖν,” provided in brackets. There is a notable presence of verbs or a verbal phrase for praise, directed to God (11 instances in 8 responses/stories): δοξάσαι (Lk 2.20; 5.25b, 26b; 67 7.16b [with εἰπεῖν]; 13.13c; 17.15; 18.43b); αἰνέσαι (2.20); δοῦναι αἶνον (18.43c); εὐλογῆσαι (1.64b [with εἰπεῖν]; 24.53). 68 The object is always stated: τῷ θεῷ (18.43b); τὸν θεόν (the others). 69 In one case direct speech is offered. 70 In another the grounds for and, likely, the content of the praise (two verbs) are given. 71 Only once is there an adverbial (μετὰ φωνῆς μεγάλης: 17.15). Some instances of praise (5.25b; 17.15; 18.43) may indicate joy. 72 65 Amazement occurs at Jesus’ words/teaching: Lk 2.47; 4.22, 32; 20.26. I note one more instance of amazement in a miracle story (not a response): 9.43b. Beyond these contexts, Jesus parents’ are greatly amazed at the adolescent’s behaviour (2.48) and amazed at the wonderful things said about him as a child (2.33). Only three other instances of amazement occur in Lk: at Zechariah confirming his child’s name (1.63); at Jesus’ seemingly inappropriate eating habits (11.38) at the women followers’ report (24.22 – this report of a report occurs within direct speech). 66 A response in an early miracle story of Jesus’ ministry associates his teaching to his driving out demons (4.36). Jesus’ teaching is coupled with his exorcisms (and other healings) early on (Lk 4.14–4.44). See below, Section Q. 67 Some early manuscripts do not have the phrase καὶ ἐδόξαζον τὸν θεόν in Lk 5.26 (D S W). 68 NB ἐλάλει appears in Lk 1.64b. I do not count it as a separate instance of the verbal element, though strictly speaking we are not dealing with a redundant quotative frame. The post-nuclear participle εὐλογῶν (see above) clarifies what type of speech occurs. The preferred reading in Lk 24.53 is εὐλογοῦντες (P75 ‫ א‬B C* L YC) – αἰνοῦντες καὶ εὐλογοῦντες (A CC S U W etc.) is likely a later development. 69 In Lk 2.20 the implied object of δοξάσαι is the same as αἰνέσαι. 70 Lk 7.16b (using ὅτι recitativum): ἐδόξαζον τὸν θεὸν λέγοντες ὅτι προφήτης μέγας ἠγέρθη ἐν ἡμῖν καὶ ὅτι ἐπεσκέψατο ὁ θεὸς τὸν λαὸν αὐτοῦ. 71 Lk 2.20: δοξάζοντες καὶ αἰνοῦντες τὸν θεὸν ἐπὶ πᾶσιν οἷς ἤκουσαν καὶ εἶδον καθὼς ἐλαλήθη πρὸς αὐτούς. 72 Praise is associated with a variety of emotions in the responses of some characters: joy (Lk 24.52–53); fear (7.16); and both fear and amazement (5.26). Still, the distinct association of joy and praise at the narrative’s opening (1.47, 58; 2.10–14 [20]; cf. 1.14, 44) may have an enduring effect of a default association to praise. Thus, the praise response of characters, where no emotion is explicitly stated (5.25b; 17.15; 18.43), might be

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As for the other 15 instances of the verbal element, occurring once are: εὐχαριστῆσαι (17.16a) and ζητῆσαι (σημεῖον ἐξ οὐρανοῦ) (11.16). Otherwise verbs (or at least their roots) tend to be generic: εἰπεῖν (5.8; 5.26c; 8.25b; 9.33b [twice]; 11.15; 73 24.32; cf. 7.9); λαλῆσαι (2.15b); 74 συλλαλῆσαι (4.36b [with εἰπεῖν]); διαλαλῆσαι (6.11b); ἐρωτῆσαι (8.37a). Twice silence is noted: σιγῆσαι (9.36b); οὐκ ἴσχυσαν ἀνταποκριθῆναι πρὸς ταῦτα (14.6). 75 This terminology (other than thanks) can express antagonism – speech (11.15); request (9.37a; 11.16); discussion (6.11b) – or be otherwise associated with it – silence (14.6). The last instance may pertain also to humiliation (cf. 13.17a). The addressee is often explicitly identified in the clause describing the speech: πρὸς ἀλλήλους (5 times); Jesus (4 times). 76 Where relevant, there are only two exceptions (9.33b [second instance]; 17.16a) to the rule that the content of the speech is indicated, mostly directly (9 times), 77 though at times indirectly (3 times). 78 With one exception (5.26c; cf. 14.6), Jesus is largely (4.36b; 6.11b; 8.25b; 8.37a; 11.15, 16; 24.32) or partially (2.15b; 5.8; 9.33b) the topic of the utterance. Once a post-nuclear participle, indicating lack of comprehension, specifies the nature of the speech. 79 (Alternatively, three seen an expression of joy. In addition, the early association of praise and joy has a primacy effect on hearers/readers; see below, Section Q. 73 45 P reads ἐλάλησεν ὀχυροὶ λέγοντες in Lk 11.15 in place of εἶπαν (B) / εἶπον (P75 ‫א‬ A C D N S U W etc.). 74 In Lk 2.15b ἐλάλουν (B ‫ א‬W) is to be preferred to εἶπον (A D P S etc.). In ‫ א‬εἰπεῖν occurs as a post-nuclear participle, making a redundant quotative frame. 75 A few manuscripts read οὐκ ἴσχυσαν ἀποκριθῆναι (‫ א‬Λ etc.) in Lk 14.6. D reads οὐκ ἀπεκρίθησαν. 76 To one another: ἐλάλουν πρὸς ἀλλήλους (2.15b); συνελάλουν πρὸς ἀλλήλους (4.36b); διελάλουν πρὸς ἀλλήλους (6.11b); λέγοντες πρὸς ἀλλήλους (8.25b); εἶπαν πρὸς ἀλλήλους (24.32). To Jesus: ἠρώτησεν αὐτὸν (8.37a); εἶπεν... πρὸς τὸν Ἰησοῦν (9.33b); ἐζήτουν παρ᾿ αὐτοῦ (11.16); εὐχαριστῶν αὐτῷ (17.16a). Cf. 5.8 where the preceding nuclear verb identifies Jesus as the addressee. 77 Direct speech is always relatively short (1–2 sentences): διέλθωμεν δὴ ἕως Βηθλέεμ καὶ ἴδωμεν τὸ ῥῆμα τοῦτο τὸ γεγονὸς ὃ ὁ κύριος ἐγνώρισεν ἡμῖν (Lk 2.15b); τίς ὁ λόγος οὗτος ὅτι ἐν ἐξουσίᾳ καὶ δυνάμει ἐπιτάσσει τοῖς ἀκαθάρτοις πνεύμασιν καὶ ἐξέρχονται; (4.36b); ἔξελθε ἀπ᾿ ἐμοῦ, ὅτι ἀνὴρ ἁμαρτωλός εἰμι, κύριε (5.8); εἴδομεν παράδοξα σήμερον (5.26c – using ὅτι recitativum); τίς ἄρα οὗτός ἐστιν ὅτι καὶ τοῖς ἀνέμοις ἐπιτάσσει καὶ τῷ ὕδατι, καὶ ὑπακούουσιν αὐτῷ; (8.25b); ἐπιστάτα, καλόν ἐστιν ἡμᾶς ὧδε εἶναι, καὶ ποιήσωμεν σκηνὰς τρεῖς, μίαν σοὶ καὶ μίαν Μωϋσεῖ καὶ μίαν Ἠλίᾳ (9.33b); ἐν Βεελζεβοὺλ τῷ ἄρχοντι τῶν δαιμονίων ἐκβάλλει τὰ δαιμόνια (11.15); οὐχὶ ἡ καρδία ἡμῶν καιομένη ἦν [ἐν ἡμῖν] ὡς ἐλάλει ἡμῖν ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ, ὡς διήνοιγεν ἡμῖν τὰς γραφάς; (24.32); cf. also λέγω ὑμῖν, οὐδὲ ἐν τῷ Ἰσραὴλ τοσαύτην πίστιν εὗρον (7.9). 78 Accusative infinitive clause: ἠρώτησεν αὐτὸν... ἀπελθεῖν ἀπ᾿ αὐτῶν (8.37a). Relative clause: τί ἂν ποιήσαιεν τῷ Ἰησοῦ (6.11b). Other: σημεῖον ἐξ οὐρανοῦ ἐζήτουν παρ᾿ αὐτοῦ (11.16). 79 Lk 9.33b: μὴ εἰδὼς ὃ λέγει.

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times [direct] speech comes as a post-nuclear participle specifying the way that falling [5.8] or an emotion [5.26c; 8.25b] is to be understood.) Other than this, no adverbials occur. 80 Of the nine total instances of direct speech, there are two suggestions (cohortative statements: 2.15b; 9.33b), one command (5.8), two questions (4.36b; 8.25b) and four instances of statements only (5.26c; 7.16b; 11.15; 24.32; cf. 7.9). The 18 occurrences of seeing appear in 14 responses (12 stories). All but two instances use the verb ἰδεῖν (Lk 1.12; 1.22b; 2.15, 17, 20; 5.8; 5.26c; 8.34a, 35a, 36; 8.47a; 9.32c; 9.36c; 17.15; 18.43c; 24.12b). 81 Once θεωρῆσαι (24.37) occurs. In the remaining case a phrase – αὐτῶν... διηνοίχθησαν οἱ ὀφθαλμοί (24.31a) – expresses visual perception as much as cognitive activity. 82 The same is true of one instance of ἰδεῖν (8.47a). For the sake of ease of analysis, these two instances will be referred to as occurrences of seeing, though the cognitive aspect will also be addressed in discussion. (The sense of sight may be implicitly evoked in an instance of a physical element [κλινῆσαι τὸ πρόσωπον: 24.5].) In two thirds of the instances, the object of the sight is specified, whether a relative pronoun (twice), single noun phrase (6 times), or a more complex noun phrase or structure (4 times). 83 Twice Jesus is a/the object (9.32c; 24.37). Only three adverbials occur – one each pertaining to time, location and manner. 84 In nine of the instances seeing is presented independently. Not infrequently it is the content of another element – verbal (2.15b; 2.20; 5.26c), cognitive (1.22b; 24.37), reporting (9.36c). Once it is a substantive (8.36). Once it is an infinitive expressing the purpose of an act of relocation (8.35). Once, coming after the nuclear verb, it specifies the way the emotional trouble is to be understood (1.12). Note speech in Lk 8.37a is followed by a dependent explanatory clause: ὅτι φόβῳ μεγάλῳ συνείχοντο. 81 In Lk 1.29a a less probable reading has ἰδοῦσα διεταράχθη (A Cc S W etc.); cf. διεταράχθη (B ‫ א‬W etc.). 82 The phrase describes regaining the ability to perceive who Jesus is. The “eyes” being “restrained” (24.16) and “opened” are both linked (causally – explicitly in 24.16) to recognising Jesus (ἐπιγνῶναι). The opening of the eyes is linked to the disciples visually observing Jesus break bread (Lk 24.30b; cf. 24.35). The phrase αὐτῶν... διηνοίχθησαν οἱ ὀφθαλμοί is not merely, then, a metaphor for cognitive activity; visual sensation is also implied. (Note two variations: διηνύγησαν [‫ ]*א‬and ἠνύγησαν [D].) 83 Neuter relative pronoun: οἷς... εἶδον (2.20); ὧν ἑώρακαν (9.36c). Noun phrase: ὀπτασίαν (1.22b); παράδοξα (5.26c); τὸ γεγονός (8.34a); τὸ γεγονός (8.35a); τὰ ὀθόνια μόνα (24.12b – this reading [P75 B ‫א‬c W] is preferable to τὰ ὀθόνια κείμενα [A etc.] and τὰ ὀθόνια κείμενα μόνα [S etc.]); πνεῦμα (24.37). More complex structure: τὸ ῥῆμα τοῦτο τὸ γεγονὸς ὃ ὁ κύριος ἐγνώρισεν ἡμῖν (2.15b); ὅτι οὐκ ἔλαθεν (8.47); τὴν δόξαν αὐτοῦ καὶ τοὺς δύο ἄνδρας τοὺς συνεστῶτας αὐτῷ (9.32c); ὅτι ἰάθη (17.15); 84 Time: σήμερον (5.26c). Location: ἐν τῷ ναῷ (1.22b). Manner: καθὼς ἐλαλήθη πρὸς αὐτούς (2.20). 80

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The reporting element occurs 15 times (in 11 responses, 9 stories). Three times verbs of movement, without agency specified, indicate the spread of news: ἐξεπορεύετο ἦχος περὶ αὐτοῦ (4.37); διήρχετο... ὁ λόγος περὶ αὐτοῦ (5.15a); ἐξῆλθεν ὁ λόγος οὗτος... περὶ αὐτοῦ (7.17). The λόγος/ἦχος is about Jesus (4.37; 5.15a [probably]; 7.17). 85 When the act of communication is inherent in the verb, various words are used: ἀπαγγεῖλαι (8.34b, 36; 8.47b; 9.36c; 24.9; cf. 847b); κηρύξαι (8.39b); ἐξηγήσασθαι (24.35); γρωρίσαι (2.17); 86 διαλαληθῆναι (1.65b); λαληθῆναι (2.18); εἰπεῖν (24.10b; 24.34). In five of these 12 instances addressees (or absence thereof) are specified in the relevant clause. 87 For the passive verbs once the agent is identified (2.18; cf. 1.65b). With two exceptions, the content of the report is represented in these instances, whether simply or in more detail. 88 In nine of the 12 instances Jesus himself, whether explicitly or implicitly, is a limited (4 times) or significant (5 times) part of what is reported. 89 Such a tendency, then, is found in 12 of 15 total instances. Adverbials accompany the verb occasionally – indicating mostly the physical extent reached by the reporting (5 of 15 instances), though also noting time (once) and marking an alternative (once). 90 In one instance it is made explicit that reporting did not take place (9.36c). 91 Mostly reporting is portrayed as an act by itself (not an aspect of another element). 92 85 Recent precedent (Lk 4.14; 4.37 [a response]) with similar phrasing makes it highly probable that the περὶ αὐτοῦ in 5.15a also refers to Jesus. 86 Superior manuscripts have ἐγνώρισαν (B ‫ א‬D W etc.); cf. διεγνώρισαν (A P S etc.). 87 Addressees: πρὸς αὐτούς (Lk 2.18); ἐνώπιον παντὸς τοῦ λαοῦ (8.47b – note the best witnesses [P75 B ‫ א‬Cc D W etc.] do not have the additional αὐτῷ [C* P S etc.]); τοῖς ἕνδεκα καὶ πᾶσιν τοῖς λοιποῖς (24.9); πρὸς τοὺς ἀποστόλους (24.10b). Lack thereof: οὐδενί (9.36c). 88 Demonstrative pronoun: ταῦτα (24.10); ταῦτα πάντα (24.9). Simple noun phrase: πάντα τὰ ῥήματα ταῦτα (1.65b). Prepositional phrase: περὶ τοῦ ῥήματος τοῦ λαληθέντος αὐτοῖς περὶ τοῦ παιδίου τούτου (2.17). Relative clause: πῶς ἐσώθη ὁ δαιμονισθείς (8.36); ὅσα ἐποίησεν αὐτῷ ὁ Ἰησοῦς (8.39b); δι᾿ ἣν αἰτίαν ἥψατο αὐτοῦ... καὶ ὡς ἰάθη παραχρῆμα (8.47); οὐδὲν ὧν ἑώρακαν (9.36c – with preceding noun); ὅτι ὄντως ἠγέρθη ὁ κύριος καὶ ὤφθη Σίμωνι (24.34 – alternatively this is direct speech with ὅτι recitativum); τὰ ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ καὶ ὡς ἐγνώσθη αὐτοῖς ἐν τῇ κλάσει τοῦ ἄρτου (24.35 – also with accusative noun phrase). When the content of reporting is not given in the relevant clauses (2.18; 8.34b), it is specified in the preceding sentence (2.17 [see above]; 8.34a [τὸ γεγονός]). 89 Significant part – explicit: Lk 2.17; 8.39b; 24.34, 35 – implicit: 2.18. Limited part – explicit: 8.47b – implicit: 9.36c; 24.9, 10. No part: 1.65b (the character of Jesus has not been introduced yet); 8.34b (cf. τὸ γεγονός [8.34a]), 8.36 (πῶς ἐσώθη ὁ δαιμονισθείς). 90 Physical extent: ἐν ὅλῃ τῇ ὀρεινῇ τῆς Ἰουδαίας (Lk 1.65b); εἰς πάντα τόπον τῆς περιχώρου (4.37); ἐν ὅλῃ τῇ Ἰουδαίᾳ... καὶ πάσῃ τῇ περιχώρῳ (7.17); εἰς τὴν πόλιν καὶ εἰς τοὺς ἀγρούς (8.34b); καθ᾿ ὅλην τὴν πόλιν (8.39b). Time: ἐν ἐκείναις ταῖς ἡμέραις (9.36c – note this is a negative instance of reporting). Alternative: μᾶλλον (5.15a). 91 The term used (ἀπαγγεῖλαι: Lk 9.36c) makes it clear what type of speech (reporting) is at stake. This is not the case in 1.22a (οὐκ ἐδύνατο λαλῆσαι αὐτοῖς). Also, the expecta-

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There are 17 instances of movement between locations (in 12 responses, 11 stories). Bearing some conceptual similarities are: following Jesus (ἀκολουθῆσαι: 5.11; 18.43b – each time with αὐτῷ), coming to him in response to reports of miracles (συνελθεῖν [5.15b]; ἐξελθεῖν [8.35a]; ἐλθεῖν [8.35b]), coming upon his inquiry as to who touched him (8.47a) and returning to him after seeing a miracle (ὑποστρέψαι: 17.15). Fleeing (φυγεῖν: 8.34a), going hastily (ἦλθαν σπεύσαντες: 2.16a) and running (δραμεῖν: 24.12a) occur. Seven more instances of relocating (ὑποστρέψαι: 2.20; 24.9; 24.33a; 24.52 – ἀπελθεῖν: 5.25b; 8.39; 24.12c) occur. An adverbial indicating direction or destination of movement appears six times. 93 In six cases the movement is constrained by a post-nuclear participle (mostly with ὑποστρέψαι and δραμεῖν). 94 Twice infinitive clauses indicate the purpose of motion. 95 Once a prepositional clause expresses the manner of movement. 96 There are five instances of activity involving adopting some lower body posture with respect to another character (in 5 responses, 5 stories). The verbs used are various: προσπεσεῖν (5.8; 8.47b); πεσεῖν ἐπὶ πρόσωπον (17.16a); κλινῆσαι τὸ πρόσωπον (24.5a); προσκυνῆσαι (24.52). For convenience and despite some incongruity of terminology, I will refer to these instances as “falling.” The posture of respect is performed before angels (24.5a) and Jesus (5.8; 8.47b; 17.16a; 24.52). The person receiving homage is explicitly indicated in the respective clause, with one exception (24.5a). 97 Twice another

tion has not yet been established at this early stage in the narrative that characters report to others what they experience in miracle stories. 92 Once, as a post-nuclear participle, reporting specifies the nature of the act of movement (Lk 8.39b). Reporting is the cause of amazement once (ἐθαύμασαν περὶ τῶν λαληθέντων ὑπὸ τῶν ποιμένων πρὸς αὐτούς: 2.18). Once reporting is an attribute of those individuals who are the object of the act of “finding” performed by others (24.34). 93 With destination: εἰς τὸν οἶκον αὐτοῦ (Lk 5.25b); πρὸς τὸν Ἰησοῦν (8.35b); ἐπὶ τὸ μνημεῖον (24.12a); εἰς Ἰερουσαλήμ (24.33; 24.52). With location departed: ἀπὸ τοῦ μνημείου (24.9). Note the related instance of καθ᾿ ὅλην τὴν πόλιν (8.39b) which occurs in a post-nuclear participle, modifying ἀπῆλθεν. 94 With speech: ὑπέστρεψαν... δοξάζοντες καὶ αἰνοῦντες τὸν θεόν... (Lk 2.20); ἀπῆλθεν... δοξάζων τὸν θεόν (5.25b); ὑπέστρεψεν... δοξάζων τὸν θεόν (17.15); ἠκολούθει... δοξάζων τὸν θεόν (18.43b). With reporting: ἀπῆλθεν... κηρύσσων... (8.39b). With emotion: ἀπῆλθεν... θαυμάζων... (24.12c). 95 Lk 5.15b: συνήρχοντο... ἀκούειν καὶ θεραπεύεσθαι ἀπὸ τῶν ἀσθενειῶν αὐτῶν. 8.35a: ἐξῆλθον... ἰδεῖν τὸ γεγονός. 96 Lk 24.52: ὑπέστρεψαν... μετὰ χαρᾶς μεγάλης. 97 With dative: τοῖς γόνασιν Ἰησοῦ (Lk 5.8); αὐτῷ (8.47b). With accusative: αὐτόν (24.52). With a prepositional phrase: παρὰ τοὺς πόδας αὐτοῦ (17.16a).

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element (speech), as a post-nuclear participle, modifies the physical act of respect. 98 An adverbial specifying direction occurs once. 99 Other bodily motions occur five times (in 3 responses, 3 stories). Bending over “for the purpose of looking” (παρακῦψαι [BDAG: ad loc.]) semantically different from falling and related actions, occurs once (24.12b). There are two instances of standing up – ἀναστῆναι (24.12a; 24.33a; cf. 4.39c) – the latter with an adverbial. 100 Bringing (καταγαγεῖν: 5.11) and leaving (ἀφεῖναι: 5.11) an object also occur. 101 (See also the instance of serving [διηκόνει: 4.39c].) Verbs for cognitive processes occur nine times (in 8 responses, 8 stories). Characters realise or recognise (ἐπιγνῶναι: 1.22b; 24.31b), suppose (ἐφάνησαν ἐνώπιον αὐτῶν ὡσεὶ λῆρος τὰ ῥήματα ταῦτα: 24.11a – δόξαι: 24.37), 102 ponder (διαλογίσασθαι: 1.29), remember (μνησθῆναι: 24.8) and lay up in their memory (ἔθεντο... ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτῶν λέγοντες...: 1.66a) 103 or treasure up in their memory (πάντα συνετήρει τὰ ῥήματα ταῦτα συμβάλλουσα ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτῆς: 2.19). Once a lack of awareness is noted (μὴ εἰδέναι: 9.33b). The exceptional structure in 24.11a aside, in all instances the object is specified, by means of a noun phrase (3 times) or something more complex (5 times). 104 Twice τὰ ῥήματα ταῦτα (2.19; 24.11a; cf. 1.65b) denotes the content of the cognition. Twice Jesus (24.31b; 24.37) and once his words (24.8) are the object of cognitive activity. The only adverbials occur in 24.11a. 105 Beyond these nine instances, as noted above, two occur-

Lk 5.8: προσέπεσεν... λέγων· ἔξελθε ἀπ᾿ ἐμοῦ, ὅτι ἀνὴρ ἁμαρτωλός εἰμι, κύριε. 17.16a: ἔπεσεν ἐπὶ πρόσωπον... εὐχαριστῶν αὐτῷ. 99 Lk 24.5a: κλινουσῶν τὰ πρόσωπα εἰς τὴν γῆν. 100 Lk 24.33a: αὐτῇ τῇ ὥρᾳ. 101 The objects are: related: καταγαγόντες τὰ πλοῖα ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν ἀφέντες πάντα (5.11). Note: a case could be made for including the two verbs of Lk 5.25a (standing: ἀναστὰς ἐνώπιον αὐτῶν; picking up an object: ἄρας ἐφ᾿ ὃ κατέκειτο) as part of the response. Yet, a statement of the effectiveness of a healing often precedes the response (e.g. in stories that occur prior to this point – 4.35b, 39b; 5.6–7, 13c). So it is probably not until the familiar motif of praise occurs (5.25b), associated with the man’s movement, that the response truly commences. 102 The best manuscripts have τὰ ῥήματα ταῦτα (P75 B ‫ א‬D etc.), not τὰ ῥήματα αὐτῶν (A S W etc.). 103 On λέγοντες referring not to speech but to thought, see, e.g., Lk 5.21[–22]. 104 Noun phrase: πάντα συνετήρει τὰ ῥήματα ταῦτα συμβάλλουσα... (Lk 2.19); ἐμνήσθησαν τῶν ῥημάτων αὐτοῦ (24.8); ἐπέγνωσαν αὐτόν (24.31b). Infinitive clause: ἐδόκουν πνεῦμα θεωρεῖν (24.37). Relative clause: μὴ εἰδὼς ὃ λέγει (9.33b). Thought represented as speech: ἔθεντο... ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ αὐτῶν λέγοντες· τί ἄρα τὸ παιδίον τοῦτο ἔσται; (1.66). Other dependent clauses: ἐπέγνωσαν ὅτι ὀπτασίαν ἑώρακεν ἐν τῷ ναῷ (1.22b); διελογίζετο ποταπὸς εἴη ὁ ἀσπασμὸς οὗτος (1.29b). 105 Lk 24.11a: ἐνώπιον αὐτῶν and ὡσεὶ λῆρος. 98

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rences of the element of seeing (8.47a; 24.31a) pertain as much to mental as to visual perception. Two responses (in 2 stories) each have an instance of disbelief (ἀπιστῆσαι: 24.11; 24.41). 106 Once an object is given (αὐταῖς: 24.11). The one adverbial is an instance of an emotion (ἀπὸ τῆς χαρᾶς: 24.41 – discussed above). Only one element is expressly antagonistic, namely, testing Jesus (πειράσαι: Lk 11.16). (Related are the instances of the verbal element in 6.11b, 11.15, 16, mentioned above.) 107 Hearing occurs 3 times, in 2 responses/stories (ἀκοῦσαι: 1.66a; 2.18a, 20), with the object noted once. 108 Finding someone (εὑρεῖν: 8.35c; 24.33b – ἀνευρεῖν: 2.16b) is a component once in a response in each of three stories. 109 Finally, five responses each contain an instance of information that does not fit in the foregoing schema of categorisation. These instances are best labelled as “other.” 110

E. Combinations of Elements within Responses What sort of patterns are observable in the responses for combinations of elements? In seven responses there is only one type of (main) 111 element

106 Belief, important in Jn generally and in responses there in particular (see the following chapter), does not have the same nature in Lk or play a comparable role in the narrative. At any rate doubt seems to have more of a cognitive sense in Lk (not the case in Mt). ἀπιστῆσαι, thus, might have been included among the instances of the cognitive element. On the other hand, for purposes of comparison later, it is identified on its own as disbelief. 107 Antagonism in these cases is indicated by the speech’s content (Lk 6.11b, 11.15) or another verb (11.16). 108 In Lk 2.20, the object is a relative pronoun (neuter plural). 109 A variant for ἀνευρεῖν in Lk 2.16b is εὑρεῖν (‫א‬c D W etc.). The object is in each case stated at some length: τήν τε Μαριὰμ καὶ τὸν Ἰωσὴφ καὶ τὸ βρέφος κείμενον ἐν τῇ φάτνῃ (2.16b); καθήμενον τὸν ἄνθρωπον ἀφ᾿ οὗ τὰ δαιμόνια ἐξῆλθεν ἱματισμένον καὶ σωφρονοῦντα παρὰ τοὺς πόδας τοῦ Ἰησοῦ (8.35c); ἠθροισμένους τοὺς ἕνδεκα καὶ τοὺς σὺν αὐτοῖς, λέγοντας ὅτι ὄντως ἠγέρθη ὁ κύριος καὶ ὤφθη Σίμωνι (24.33b–34). 110 Three responses contain a sentence constituting background information: ἐξελθὼν δὲ οὐκ ἐδύνατο λαλῆσαι αὐτοῖς (Lk 1.22a); καὶ γὰρ χεὶρ κυρίου ἦν μετ᾿ αὐτοῦ (1.66b); ἦσαν δὲ ἡ Μαγδαληνὴ Μαρία καὶ Ἰωάννα καὶ Μαρία ἡ Ἰακώβου καὶ αἱ λοιπαὶ σὺν αὐταῖς (24.10a). (A statement of a character’s inability to speak [1.22a] has a limited resemblance to reporting [see above, n. 91].) In another case, the additional information provided is a temporal frame preceding the main verb: καὶ ἐγένετο ἐν τῷ διαχωρίζεσθαι αὐτοὺς ἀπ᾿ αὐτοῦ (9.33a). In the fifth instance, respondents’ presence in a given location (the temple) is noted: ἦσαν διὰ παντὸς ἐν τῷ ἱερῷ (Lk 24.53). 111 For the present discussion (Section E) some statements (Lk 1.22a; 1.66b; 9.33a; 24.10a; 24.53) designated as “other” (see above, Section D) are bracketed.

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(emotional: 2.9c; 8.56a; 9.34c; 9.43a; 13.17b–c [twice] – verbal: 13.13c; 14.6). With 32 instances of emotions appearing in 25 responses, it is no surprise that they frequently occur in conjunction with other components. The most common collocation is of emotion and speech: both elements are found in 12 responses. (Two thirds [18:27] of the instances of the verbal element, then, occur in responses with emotion). These data and much of the others discussed in this section can be seen in Table 1 and Table 2, below. Seven of the instances of praise are relevant, showing no strong preference for a particular emotion. 112 In the remaining relevant responses amazement occurs more frequently than other emotions. 113 The collocation is found in stories of both epiphany and other sorts of miracles. 114 A collocation of seeing and emotion occurs in nine responses. Amazement and fear / being troubled are equally represented. 115 Thirteen of 18 instances of visual sensation appear in a response with emotion. Worthy of note is that all of the first 10 instances of seeing come in responses with emotions. This establishes a pattern early on. Seeing and speech come together in eight responses. (Twelve of 18 instances of seeing occur in responses where a verbal element is present.) In four responses praise is involved. 116 Thus only four responses with praise do not mention visual sensation. 117 In the seven responses that have both reporting and