The Theological Role of Paradox in the Gospel of Mark 9781472551009, 9780567170057

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Library of New Testament Studies

492 Formerly the Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement Series

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

The Theological Role of Paradox in the Gospel of Mark

Laura C. Sweat

LON DON • N E W DE L H I • N E W YOR K • SY DN EY

Bloomsbury T&T Clark An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

50 Bedford Square London WC1B 3DP UK

1385 Broadway New York NY 10018 USA

www.bloomsbury.com First published 2013 © Laura C. Sweat, 2013 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Laura C. Sweat has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work. ‘Tell all the truth but tell it slant’ (J 1129/ F 1263) by Emily Dickinson. Reprinted by permission of the publishers and the Trustees of Amherst College from The Poems of Emily Dickinson: Reading Edition, edited by Ralph W. Franklin, Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Copyright © 1998, 1999 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College. Copyright © 1951, 1955, 1979, 1983 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by Bloomsbury Academic or the author. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. eISBN: 978-0-56717-005-7 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. Typeset by Free Range Book Design & Production Limited

To my parents, Ann and Bob Sweat With love

Contents Abbreviations Acknowledgements Introduction

ix xiii 3

I. Parables 1. Paradox Introduced

13

2. A First Paradox: Concealment and Revelation

28

3. A Second Paradox: Scripture Both Countered and Confirmed

63

4. A Third Paradox: Sowing Abundant Waste

77

II. PASSION 5. Paradoxical Proclamations: Waste and Bounty at Bethany (14.1-11)

93

6. Challenging Scripture and Concealing Action: A Paradoxical View of Gethsemane (14.27-42)

115

7. Climactic Concealment and the Wastefully Sent Son: Golgotha (15.22-39)

133

8. The Promise of Paradoxes: The Empty Tomb (16.1-8)

159

Conclusion

177

Bibliography

183

Index of Modern Authors

197

Index of Ancient Sources

201

Abbreviations AB A. B. ABD ABR ABRL ACCS ACNT Anab. Ant. ANTC Apoc. Abr. AUSDDS AYB BBR BDAG BETS Bib BibInt BJ BJRL BNTC BT BTB BZ BZNW C. Ap. CB: NT CBQ CBQMS CCSL CD CGTC CJT CTJ CurTM Disc. EBib

Anchor Bible Analecta Biblica Anchor Bible Dictionary Australian Biblical Review Anchor Bible Reference Library Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture Augsburg Commentary on the New Testament Anabasis Antiquities of the Jews Augsburg Commentary on the New Testament Apocalypse of Abraham Andrews University Seminary Doctoral Dissertation Series Anchor Yale Bible Bulletin for Biblical Research Bauer, Danker, Arendt, Gingrich, Greek-English Lexicon Bulletin of the Evangelical Theological Society Biblica Biblical Interpretation De Bello Judaico Bulletin of the John Rylands Library Black’s New Testament Commentaries The Bible Translator Biblical Theological Bulletin Biblische Zeitschrift Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Contra Apionem Commentaire Biblique: Nouveau Testament Catholic Biblical Quarterly Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series Corpus Christianorum Series Latina (Cairo) Damascus Document Cambridge Greek Testament Commentaries Canadian Journal of Theology Calvin Theological Journal Currents in Theology and Mission Discourses Etudes bibliques

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Theological Role of Paradox

EKKNT Evangelisch-katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Enc Encounter Ep. Epistles ExAud Ex auditu ExpTim Expository Times FoiVie Foi et vie Gos. Thom. Gospel of Thomas HBT Horizons in Biblical Theology Hist. History HTS Harvard Theological Studies ICC International Critical Commentary Int Interpretation IRT Issues in Religion and Theology JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JETS Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society JR Journal of Religion JSHJ Journal for the Study of the Historical Jesus JSNT Journal for the Study of the New Testament JSNTSup Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament JSOTSup Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series JTS Journal of Theological Studies JTSA Journal of Theology for Southern Africa Jub. Jubilees LCL Loeb Classical Library Ep. Arist. Letter of Aristeas Lex Law LNTS Library of New Testament Studies LSJ Liddell-Scott-Jones, Greek-English Lexicon LSTS Library of Second Temple Studies Nat. Naturalis historia NIBC New International Biblical Commentary NovT Novum Testamentum NovTSup Supplements to Novum Testamentum NTL New Testament Library NTR New Testament Readings NTS New Testament Studies OED Oxford English Dictionary OTT Old Testament Theology PSB Princeton Seminary Bulletin Pss. Sol. Psalms of Solomon RB Revue biblique RelS Religious Studies SBLDS Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series ScEs Science et esprit SE Studia evangelica

Shab. SJT SNTSMS SNTSU SNTW SP Somn. STDJ Str-B TDNT Tim. TJ TT Vit. Phil. VTSup WBC WMANT WUNT ZNW

Abbreviations Shabbat Scottish Journal of Theology Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series Studien zum Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt Studies of the New Testament and its World Sacra Pagina Somnium Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah Strack-Billerbeck Theological Dictionary of the New Testament Timaeus Trinity Journal Theology Today Lives of Eminent Philosophers Supplements to Vetus Testamentum Word Biblical Commentary Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche

xi

Acknowledgements This book began as a doctoral dissertation submitted to the faculty at Princeton Theological Seminary in 2011. As such, I first extend my heartfelt thanks to Princeton Theological Seminary’s Biblical Studies Department for their generous support. My dissertation committee deserves much praise for reading drafts with care, responding with grace and precision, and pushing me forward to articulate my thoughts more completely and thoroughly. Loren Stuckenbruck joined the committee late in its term, and provided clear eyes and wise advice for tightening and furthering the argument. Beverly Roberts Gaventa amazed me with her ability to read quickly and thoroughly, always asking thought-provoking questions. The chairman of my dissertation committee, C. Clifton Black, deserves more gratitude than I can ever bestow. From the early days of my M. Div. programme he has served as my teacher, mentor, advisor, pastor, editor, and friend. Without his encouragement, patience, scholarly acumen, virtual red pen, and astute theological reading of Mark, I would never have begun this venture, much less seen it to completion. Numerous others have helped me along this journey. Many thanks are due to Bloomsbury – T&T Clark for accepting this project into the Library of New Testament Studies series, and to Caitlin Flynn for her guidance. I am especially grateful to my colleagues at Seattle Pacific University who encouraged me to seek publication of this project, particularly Rob Wall, Daniel Castelo, Sara Koenig, and David Nienhuis. Also, Chapters 2 and 7 benefited from the observations of the Society of Biblical Literature’s Mark Group at the Annual Meeting in 2010. Steve Perisho was a superb reference librarian at Seattle Pacific, tracking down essential texts, both ancient and modern, near the conclusion of the project. All translations of ancient texts are my own, unless otherwise noted. Finally, the editorial assistance of Janelle Wagnild and Natalie Johnson was invaluable. These voices have served only to strengthen the argument; the faults that remain are mine alone. Finally, knowing that I will neglect important witnesses, I would like to acknowledge many who have sacrificed their time and energy by continually supporting me in various ways: fellow faculty at Seattle Pacific University, especially Ruth Ediger, Mikyung Kim, Cindy and Doug Strong, Tracy Williams, and Zhiguo Ye, as well as Ginger Stauffer, Sabrina Kimrey, and Grayson Holmes. Ultimately, though, it is my family that has made the greatest sacrifice. Their support and prayer have made this project – indeed, this associated calling to teach – possible. My parents in particular have

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offered consistent and unflagging accountability and encouragement. I dedicate this book to both of them as a small token in return for their amazing and unceasing love, with awe and thankfulness to the One who dazzles us with truth told on a slant.

Tell all the truth but tell it slant – Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The truth’s superb surprise As lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind, The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind –

Emily Dickinson1

1. R. W. Franklin (ed.), The Poems of Emily Dickinson (Reading edn; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999), 1263.

Introduction Paradoxes have long been used as instructional tools, serving a variety of functions. A paradox may perplex one’s interlocutor, as in the classic question: ‘Which came first, the chicken or the egg?’ Paradoxes can also express an apparent contradiction that can be resolved with more knowledge. One example of this type can be taken from chemistry: dilute nitric acid corrodes steel, but concentrated nitric acid does not. With a chemist’s understanding of the mechanics involved, this paradox dissolves.2 Other paradoxes, often in literature and theology, point to meaning found between two terms of contrast. For example, in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Polonius claims that Hamlet’s emotionally driven speech is ‘madness, yet there is method in’t’ (2.206). Polonius does not seek to explain either Hamlet’s madness or his method, but finds both of these, paradoxically, in Hamlet’s manner of expression.3 This type of paradox does not require further knowledge, for its purpose lies not in its resolution. Instead, both terms point to a further truth beyond them. Such are the paradoxes in the Gospel of Mark. Indeed, one of the most provocative aspects of the theology of the Second Gospel is its penchant for paradoxes. It is common for Mark’s readers to highlight the paradox that emerges from the evangelist’s portrayal of discipleship: those who save their lives will lose them, yet those who lose their lives, for Jesus’ sake and the sake of the gospel, will save them (8.35). Whoever wants to be first must be a servant or a slave to all (9.35; 10.44). In this way, ‘the kingdom is attained by paradox’.4 The disciples’ desire for greatness demonstrates their incomprehension and further highlights the paradoxical life of the disciple: one who is chosen by God (13.26), suffers persecution (13.9-13; cf. 10.30) and must become a servant, a slave, or a

2. This process is a mechanism called passivation: the steel reacts to the more corrosive nitric acid by producing rust, which resists further reaction. Rust then protects the fresh steel beneath it. With the dilute nitric acid, however, rust does not form. Instead, a less oxidized form of iron is produced, which then can be further oxidized (and therefore breaks down) in an aqueous solution. Thus, the original ‘paradox’ is resolved with additional knowledge. 3. This example also demonstrates that paradox is closely related to irony, as Chapter 1, below, shows. 4. U. C. von Wahlde, ‘Mark 9.33-50 – Discipleship: The Authority that Serves’, BZ 29 (1985): 49–67 [54].

4

Theological Role of Paradox

child (9.35-37; 10.15) rather than a wealthy person (10.21-26) to enter God’s kingdom.5 Furthermore, Mark’s understanding of christology is also expressed in paradoxical terms, as the Son of God, the King of the Jews, finds his throne on the cross and his sovereignty in suffering (e.g., 8.31; 15.26, 32).6 Werner Kelber illustrates Mark’s paradoxical presentation of Jesus with the following summary, worth quoting in full: Jesus announces the kingdom but opts for the cross; he is King of the Jews but condemned by the Jewish establishment; he [calls] followers but speaks in riddles; he is identified as Nazarene but rejected in Nazareth; he makes public pronouncements but also hides behind a screen of secrecy; he saves others but not himself; he promises return but has not returned; he performs miracles but suffers a non-miraculous death; he is a successful [exorcist] but dies abandoned by God in powerlessness; he dies but rises from death. His beginning is nebulous and his future status is indefinite, and at the moment of Messianic disclosure he still speaks enigmatically of himself in the third person (14:62; cf. 8:31; 9:31; 10:33-34). If there is one single feature which characterizes the Markan Jesus it is contradiction or paradox.7

Based on these observations, Kelber concludes that Mark does not present two opposing or conflicting views of Jesus, so that Jesus’ miraculous, powerful authority is present in the first half of the Gospel (1.1–8.26) while the second half of the Gospel presents his powerlessness in passion and death (8.27–16.8). Instead of a theology of glory and a theology of suffering, Kelber claims, Mark presents one paradoxical Gospel about one paradoxical Jesus.8 5. Scholars who note this generally paradoxical nature of discipleship include Ernest Best, Following Jesus: Discipleship in the Gospel of Mark (JSNTSup 4: Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1981); John R. Donahue, The Theology and Setting of Discipleship in the Gospel of Mark (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 1983); Marvin W. Meyer, ‘Taking Up the Cross and Following Jesus: Discipleship in the Gospel of Mark’, CTJ 37 (2002): 230–8; and Narry F. Santos, Slave of All: The Paradox of Authority and Servanthood in the Gospel of Mark (JSNTSup 237; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003). 6. Both christology and discipleship are obvious themes to explore in the Second Gospel because questions about them are presumed or stated in Mark’s narrative: Jesus asks, ‘Who do you say that I am?’ (8.29) and says, ‘If anyone wishes to follow me …’ (8.34). Two recently published studies connect these very themes: Suzanne Watts Henderson, Christology and Discipleship in the Gospel of Mark (SNTSMS 135; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), and Cédric Fischer, Les disciples dans l’Evangile de Marc: une grammaire théologique (EBib n.s. 57; Paris: Gabalda, 2007). 7. Werner H. Kelber, ‘Conclusion: From Passion Narrative to Gospel’, in The Passion in Mark: Studies on Mark 14–16 (ed. Werner H. Kelber; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976), 153–80 [179]. 8. Ibid.; cf. 176. Other scholars who have noted the Gospel’s paradoxical christology by implication, if not by name, include Dorothy A. Lee-Pollard, ‘Powerlessness as Power: A Key Emphasis in the Gospel of Mark’, SJT 40 (1987): 73–88; Francis Watson, ‘Ambiguity in the Markan Narrative’, King’s Theological Review 10 (1987): 11–12; Philip G. Davies, ‘Mark’s Christological Paradox’, JSNT 35 (1989): 3–18; C. Clifton Black, ‘Ministry in Mystery: One Evangelist’s Vision’, Christian Ministry 22 (1991): 15–18; Mark I. Wegener, Cruciformed: The Literary Impact of Mark’s Story of Jesus and His Disciples (Lanham, MD.; University Press of America, 1995); esp. 154–7.



Introduction

5

If, as Ernest Best has argued, discipleship in Mark means ‘following Jesus’, there will be consistency in the way Mark describes both Jesus’ life and the life of a disciple. Indeed, Mark depicts both in paradoxical terms.9 At the same time, the descriptions of discipleship listed above are not only grounded in the Gospel’s christology (e.g., 8.31-39) but are also central to the evangelist’s description of God’s kingdom which has drawn near in Jesus (1.14-15; e.g., 9.35-37).10 This indicates that the paradoxical nature of Mark’s language about the kingdom of God, the Son of God, and the life of the disciples who follow the son in God’s kingdom, all originate in the action of God. Therefore, it follows, as this book argues, that Mark speaks about God’s activity in a paradoxical manner. While there has been a comparative lack of scholarship on God in the Gospel of Mark, in lieu of studies on discipleship and christology, this situation is slowly changing.11 Previous studies have focused on the understanding of God in the New Testament (NT) in general,12 as well as particular studies of God in the Gospel of Mark.13 John Donahue was one of the first Markan scholars to embrace Nils Dahl’s call to NT interpreters to work towards theo-logy ‘proper’: to understand more about the God to whom the texts of the NT bear witness. Donahue’s article begins by highlighting the occurrences of the term qeo/v throughout the Gospel, and

9. Best, Following Jesus; idem, Disciples and Discipleship: Studies in the Gospel according to Mark (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986). 10. See Jens Dechow who finds the focus of the Gospel of Mark to be on the theocentricity of the kingdom rather than the christocentricity of the eu)aggeli/on (Gottessohn und Herrschaft Gottes: Der Theozentrismus des Markusevangeliums [WMANT 86; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2000]). 11. For a recent overview of scholarship, see Larry W. Hurtado, God in New Testament Theology (Library of Biblical Theology; Nashville: Abingdon, 2010), esp. on the Gospel of Mark, 18–20. 12. Nils A. Dahl, ‘A Neglected Factor in New Testament Theology’, Reflections 73 (1975): 5–8. See also Jouette M. Bassler, ‘God (NT)’, ABD 2:1049–55; A. Andrew Das and Frank J. Matera, eds., The Forgotten God: Perspectives in Biblical Theology: Essays in Honor of Paul J. Achtemeier on the Occasion of His Seventy-fifth Birthday (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002); Ferdinand Hahn, ‘The Confession of the One God in the New Testament’, HBT 2 (1980): 69–84; Pheme Perkins, ‘God in the New Testament: Preliminary Soundings’, TT 42 (1985): 332–41. 13. M. Eugene Boring, ‘Markan Christology: God-Language for Jesus?’ NTS 45 (1999): 451– 71; Paul Danove, The Rhetoric of the Characterization of God, Jesus and Jesus’ Disciples in the Gospel of Mark (JSNTSup 290; New York: T&T Clark, 2005); John R. Donahue, ‘A Neglected Factor in the Theology of Mark’, JBL 101 (1982): 563–94; idem, ‘Jesus as the Parable of God in the Gospel of Mark’, Int 32 (1978): 369–86; Ira Brent Driggers, Following God through Mark: Theological Tension in the Second Gospel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007); Gudrun Guttenberger, Die Gottesvorstellung im Markusevangelium (BZNW 123; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2004); James S. Hanson, The Endangered Promises: Conflict in Mark (SBLDS 171; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2001).

6

Theological Role of Paradox

then focuses on its instances in Mark 12.14 He finds the most concentrated set of statements about God in the Gospel there, and he concludes that Mark emphasizes some important ‘universalizing’ characteristics of God (e.g., ‘God is one’, 12.28), implying a community directed to a Gentile mission within a Jewish theological framework (e.g., 12.25-26; 12.28-34).15 This provocative beginning of scholarship on the theo-logy of the Second Gospel sketches the outlines of Mark’s understanding of God and how that theology is shaped by the evangelist’s social context. Paul Danove and Ira Brent Driggers have both written dissertations on the centrality of God and God’s activity in the Gospel of Mark.16 First, Danove’s work is similar to Donahue’s in his focus on lexical markers within the text. Danove concludes that the early identification of Jesus with God in Mark 1 eventually provokes the audience to identify solely with Jesus in God’s absence.17 Second, Driggers’s work is similar to Danove’s in that it also seeks to be narratively comprehensive, covering the breadth of the Gospel from beginning (1.1) to end (16.8). Driggers looks primarily at those areas in the narrative in which God is engaged with the disciples.18 As it turns out, the subject of ‘the disciples’ limits the discussion in a direction contrary to that from which Driggers’s questions begin. Instead of focusing primarily on God and bringing the disciples in alongside, the opposite occurs in Driggers’s treatment, as the disciples take centre stage.19 Danove and Driggers serve as examples of the way in which narrative and reader-response oriented studies have examined God as a character in

14. While looking for nominative forms of qeo/v is not the most comprehensive way to discover the activity of God, it is a start. Mark uses qeo/v as the subject of the following verbs, in that God is: one who forgives sins (2.7), who joins a couple in marriage (10.9), who alone is good (10.18), who speaks to Moses, declaring his identity as the ‘God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob’, thus showing that God is ‘of the living’ and not of the dead (12.26-27), who is one (12.29), who is the Creator (13.19), and who forsakes Jesus, according to Jesus’ cry (15.34; Donahue, ‘Neglected Factor’, 565–6). 15. Ibid., 580–1. 16. Hanson’s published dissertation could also be included in this list, as he too explores how God’s promises are both fulfilled and endangered throughout the Gospel (The Endangered Promises, esp. 44). Both Hanson and Driggers follow Donald Juel’s theological perspective on Mark, particularly as articulated in A Master of Surprise: Mark Interpreted (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994). 17. Danove, The Rhetoric of Characterization, 52. This perspective becomes theologically and literarily problematic at Golgotha; see Chapter 7, below. 18. Driggers, Following God, 2–3, and passim. 19. Driggers does note some of the theological ‘tensions’ in the Gospel, primarily through the terms he has chosen to describe the ways in which God works: through ‘invasive’ action and ‘transcendent’ action (e.g., Following God, 4). Unfortunately, Driggers’s terminology fluctuates throughout his project. At points, God’s ‘invasive’ action begins to be identified with human action in some perplexing ways, for which Driggers’s analysis of Mark’s anthropology does not account (e.g., 80–1, 86, 99–100).



Introduction

7

the Second Gospel.20 Other scholars have considered various themes about Mark’s portrayal of God. Gudrun Guttenberger’s monograph follows this path. Guttenberger describes Mark’s view of God under five topics: God as Lord of history, God as Lawgiver, God as Almighty One, God and evil, and the interrelationship between God’s transcendence and uniqueness, on the one hand, and Mark’s christology on the other.21 She describes this last category, namely, God’s transcendence and uniqueness, as the core (Grundtenor) of Mark’s conception of God.22 Interestingly, this central claim leads her to argue that Mark presents God as the ‘Lord of history’ who at the same time is distant from it,23 directing the Gospel’s events by fulfilling scripture.24 Finally, one of the recent studies on God in the Gospel of Mark is by Joanna Dewey and Elizabeth Struthers Malbon in the Theological Bible Commentary. The driving questions of this work as a whole are: ‘What does each biblical book say about God? How does the book describe God and portray God’s actions? Who is God in these biblical books?’25 While Dewey and Malbon say that the narrative of Mark is theologically driven,26 they seem to be primarily focused on christology and discipleship, as much of twentieth-

20. See also C. Drew Smith, ‘“This Is My Beloved Son: Listen to Him”: Theology and Christology in the Gospel of Mark’, HBT 24 (2002): 53–86. 21. Die Gottesvorstellung im Markusevangelium, 49–332. 22. Ibid., 115. 23. Ibid., 335. 24. Ibid., 49–116; esp. 115. This understanding of God in Mark runs into particular problems when it has to account for the presence of evil, as Guttenberger understands. She claims that God makes space for evil to succeed in Jesus’ death, but that this death is then wholly negative, redeemed only by the resurrection (ibid., 285–7). 25. Gail O’Day and David L. Petersen, eds., Theological Bible Commentary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2009); these questions are cited on the book’s jacket. The introduction states, ‘For some of the volume’s contributors, the exegetical theological engagement leads to reflection on primary theological themes (e.g., the nature of God, what it is to be human, the nature of human community), while for others this engagement leads to theological reflection through the lens of a particular biblical book on a range of topics (war and peace, justice, poverty) that were important topics in biblical times and remain so today’ (viii). O’Day and Petersen are surely correct about the diversity of theological topics available, as well as the myriad methods at hand to address them. At the same time, the questions on the book jacket – which are more specifically about God – appear to be slightly disconnected from the broad theological concerns raised by the editors in the introduction. It seems as though this disconnect continued to pose problems for the volume’s contributors, if the commentary on Mark is any indication. 26. ‘Mark’s theology is a narrative theology and a theology focused on God (Gk. theos)’ (Joanna Dewey and Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, ‘Mark’, Theological Bible Commentary, 311–24 [311]). Further, ‘Because the Markan Jesus’ proclamation and his ministry in life and death are centered on God and the inbreaking of God’s rule, theology, not christology, is foundational for the narrative theology of the Gospel of Mark’, (ibid., 324).

8

Theological Role of Paradox

century Markan scholarship has determined.27 It is not that these concerns are not theological; indeed, they are. However, christology is not identical to theology, nor does a christological concentration absolve interpreters from asking about God’s actions as portrayed in Mark’s narrative. Though Jesus is God’s agent and also God’s son in the Gospel of Mark, the narrative makes distinctions between Jesus and God (e.g., 13.32). One primary distinction is that Jesus’ activity is present for all to see, to embrace, to ignore, or to reject: attempts to conceal Jesus’ action often fail (e.g., 1.45; 7.36). God’s activity in the Second Gospel, however, is more concealed, as attested both directly and indirectly in the Gospel.28 Understanding the paradoxical language that highlights Mark’s theology illuminates the reticence of Mark’s discussion of God’s activity, as well as the significance of its placement within the Gospel. Discussions of God’s mystery, transcendence, and unknowability have grown in popularity in recent years. Certainly a study about God in the Gospel of Mark fits alongside these discussions well.29 This book provides some exegetical grounding for the broader theological concepts including the mystery of God, but it also supplies some of the ways in which Mark describes this mysterious God. In other words, the focus here is primarily on the theological language of the Gospel of Mark. How should one talk about a mysterious God? Mark’s answer: in paradoxes. In order to explore the Second Gospel’s theological language, this analysis considers representative passages from across the narrative, including both parables and portions of the passion narrative. Unlike previous studies of God’s activity in Mark which tend to include the entire narrative of the Gospel, the following exegesis focuses on select passages. However, many passages of the Gospel are brought in alongside the chosen texts, since different texts in the Second Gospel explore the same themes with diverse emphases. Therefore, while the work does not begin with Mark 1, this does not mean that Mark’s 27. Throughout their commentary, Malbon and Dewey refer to God primarily in light of ‘God’s rule’. They note in the introduction that the foundational conflict in the Gospel is between God and Satan (ibid., 311), though this can be mentioned in only a few places in their commentary (e.g., 1.1213; 3.23-30; 4.15; 8.27–9.1), and they note that God is the one who is powerful over the elements so that miracles, whether healings or feedings, may occur (e.g., ibid., 315). It is hard to see how this exegesis, as presented, supports their conclusion that theology, not christology, is foundational. Kingsbury also demonstrates this tendency to equate theology with christology: ‘Christology lies at the heart of Mark’s gospel story because Jesus is the protagonist … Although the goal of this article is to explore the figure of God, we nevertheless begin with Christology’ (‘“God” Within the Narrative World of Mark’, 75). Unfortunately, Kingsbury’s essay never develops theological claims that reach beyond Jesus’ interactions with other characters in the narrative. 28. In fact, it is on this ‘distinction’ that the discussion of 3.19b-27 turns. If Jesus acts like God in dramatically obvious ways, then is God acting through Jesus? Mark’s answer to this question is in the affirmative, though he does not deduce the proof of this conclusion. 29. The clearest recent explication of these themes in theology more broadly is Steven D. Boyer and Christopher A. Hall, The Mystery of God: Theology for Knowing the Unknowable (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2012).



Introduction

9

paradoxical language only emerges in the parables of Mark 4. Yet, paradoxical language about God can be seen most clearly through these parables; only after beginning there can we turn and see how Mark sets up these paradoxes in the first few chapters of the Gospel. Taking its cues from Mark’s theological claims, this book proceeds via classic historical-critical methods with a literary-critical emphasis. Instead of a focus on method, the foundational framework of this analysis comes from the identification of particular paradoxes in the language of Mark’s Gospel. Therefore, this work is divided into two parts. Chapter 1 begins by defining the term ‘paradox’, which, along with terms like parable and irony, is a term that illuminates Mark’s account of God’s deeds throughout the Gospel. The first part of this book identifies Mark’s paradoxical descriptions of God’s activity in the parables of Mark 4, and particularly in the text of Mk 4.10-12, in three specific categories. The first paradox describes how Mark portrays God’s revelatory acts as consistently accompanied by concealment. The various ways in which divine action confirms, yet counters, scripture comprise the second characterization of Mark’s paradoxical language. Finally, Mark describes God’s actions in ways that paradoxically indicate both wastefulness and goodness. This terminology of wastefulness and goodness describes the act of sowing in the parable of the sower (4.3-9, 14-20), though it originates from the descriptions of another character in Mark’s Gospel (14.3-9). These wasteful and good deeds are further illuminated by the ongoing, yet defeated, presence of evil. The second part of this book demonstrates that this paradoxical language is not confined to parabolic discourse, but rather is widely attested across Mark’s passion narrative. Through the actions of the women at Bethany (14.3-9), at Gethsemane (14.27-42), at Golgotha (15.22-39), and at the empty tomb (16.18), Mark continues to depict God’s activity with the use of the three paradoxes noted in Mark 4. This analysis seeks to demonstrate that Mark’s paradoxical language about God allows the evangelist to tell truths at a slant, lest they dazzle readers with their brightness (9.2-8) or confound readers with their darkness (15.22-39).

I

PARABLES

Chapter 1 Paradox Introduced This book explores how the Gospel of Mark uses paradoxes to describe God’s activity. This first chapter embarks on that journey by defining the key term of the investigation, paradox, as two independently valid statements that are jointly inconsistent or self-contradictory.1 This definition of the term paradox is a modern one, dating back to the eighteenth century in popular use, but its concern with inconsistencies is present in classical texts as well. The first part of this section considers these historical matters of lexicology in more detail. Correspondingly, this definition of ‘paradox’ also shares some commonalities with other terms that have been used to interpret Mark’s Gospel: parable and irony. The second part of this section examines these terms in order to show how ‘paradox’ compares with them. Despite their distinctions, parable, paradox, and irony all describe literary phenomena that have often been interpreted fruitfully for theological purposes, as this investigation demonstrates. Furthermore, analyses of Mark’s use of ambiguous, provocative, or contradictory language have been confined to his understanding of christology and discipleship.2 As a result of this isolation, the interpretation of Mark’s expressions of christology and discipleship has been impoverished by a neglect of Mark’s creative narration of God’s presence and activity. The Second Gospel

1. Donald Mackenzie, Christianity – The Paradox of God (New York: Fleming H. Revell Company, 1933), 67; Roy Sorensen, A Brief History of the Paradox: Philosophy and the Labyrinths of the Mind (Oxford: OUP 2003), 120; James Anderson, Paradox in Christian Theology: An Analysis of its Presence, Character, and Epistemic Status (Paternoster Theological Monographs; Milton Keynes, UK: Paternoster, 2007), 5–6. The OED defines paradox under this denotation thusly: ‘An apparently absurd or self-contradictory statement or proposition, or a strongly counter-intuitive one, which investigation, analysis, or explanation may nevertheless prove to be well-founded or true’, (2a) and ‘A proposition or statement that is (taken to be) actually self-contradictory, absurd, or intrinsically unreasonable’ (2b); see OED Online (Oxford: Oxford University Press; June 2010). Cited 13 October 2010. Online: http://dictionary.oed.com. 2. This assessment is true for much of the inquiry into the Second Gospel in general. For example, John Drury says: ‘The central and major concern is Jesus – or, Christology. He is known, after his baptism, by what he does and says … The parables of chapter 4 are fundamentally structured by the same forces that have driven the narrative: Jesus is the agent of the gospel power which, thrown into the historical world, is denied and opposed on the way to ultimate achievement’ (The Parables in the Gospels: History and Allegory [New York: Crossroad, 1985], 50). See the section below, on parable and irony, as the works cited there reflect this focus on christology.

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articulates all three of these ideas, christology, discipleship, and theo-logy,3 in paradoxical language, although the present thesis concentrates solely on the latter.4 Expressing his understanding of God through inconsistent portraits, Mark demonstrates yet another way in which this Gospel surprises, withholding its mysteries and yet challenging its readers to explore further.

Section I: A Brief History of ‘Paradox’5 Unlike terms for ‘parable’, the Gospel of Mark does not use the term ‘paradox’ to refer to any aspect of its theological vision. Therefore, this section is most concerned with what modern readers of Mark understand by the English word paradox, and how that insight compares with ancient denotations of the word. This survey demonstrates that the author of the Gospel of Mark could certainly have been familiar with the theological ideas inherent in the term paradox (e.g., mystery, riddle, revelation, and contradiction) and sought to present such a vision of God and God’s son, Jesus, in a narrative that highlights many of these different components. This study gravitates toward the term paradox precisely because of its resonance for modern readers of the Gospel; it helps to unify threads of theological emphasis which have too long been separated in analyses of Mark, namely, theo-logy, christology, and discipleship. As a quick survey of the Oxford English Dictionary demonstrates, the definition of ‘paradox’ has gone through its own complicated history. The term is used in contexts that describe either a response to an event or various types of philosophical argumentation. These different usages of the word have developed over time, but there are logical threads connecting them. The original denotation of the word, paradox (para/docov), is ‘an unusual event contrary to belief and expectation’.6 It is commonly used with this meaning throughout ancient texts.7 For example, Polybius contends that ‘this very unexpectedness [au)to\ ga\r to\ para/docon] of actions’ is the focus of his narration of history. He concentrates on this ‘unexpectedness’ for the purpose of challenging and stimulating his audience (1.1;

3. Nils Dahl coined this italicization, describing theo-logy as an inquiry into what NT documents say about God, as distinct from other theological explorations like christology, ecclesiology, soteriology, or eschatology (‘A Neglected Factor in New Testament Theology’, Reflections 73 [1975]: 5–8 [5]). 4. See Introduction, above. 5. This section’s title comes from the similar title of Sorensen’s book, A Brief History of the Paradox. The definition I explain in this section will include the role of paradox in analytical philosophy, but it will not be confined to such a semantic range, unlike his book. 6. G. Kittel, ‘para/docov’, TDNT 2:255. 7. For diverse examples, see Aristotle, Rhet. 2.21; Josephus, War, 1.195; Plato, Laws, 7.821a; Plutarch, Solon, 20; Josephus, C. Ap. 1.53; Diogenes Laertius, Vita, 4.7.



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prokale/sasqai kai\ parormh~sai).8 Because the word, para/docov, comes to denote the surprise that one feels at this unusual event, it can also be used to describe something ‘strange’, ‘wonderful’, or ‘incredible’ (cf. Lk. 5.26).9 This basic definition is found throughout the lexica for ancient Greek literature.10 At the same time, even within ancient literature, there is a slight shift in the connotation of paradox. In the field that would become known as analytical philosophy,11 the word has a very prescribed meaning.12 For example, Epictetus describes how some philosophers make their arguments in order to reject other logical claims. Epictetus presents three propositions and demonstrates how the validity of two of the statements invalidates the third.13 In summarizing Epictetus’s account, Roy Sorensen says: ‘His presentation is the fully modern one of presenting a paradox as a small set of propositions [that] are individually plausible but jointly inconsistent.’14 Here, the key element is no longer ‘surprise’ or ‘unexpectedness’ but, rather, how the statements are constructed or combined in an argument in order to be logically consistent or inconsistent. To this end, para/docov is also used to refer to philosophical riddles that are constructed to teach students how to spot inconsistencies in logic.15 To summarize, the use of para/docov in classical and Hellenistic Greek texts seems to denote something unexpected, surprising, or inconsistent, whether that element is a statement, a belief, an argument, or an incident. Narry Santos, in his study on paradox in the Gospel of Mark, shows how Mark satisfies the conditions of this definition in the construction of his authority/servanthood paradox.16 According to Santos, Mark seeks to astonish his audience by presenting the unconventional and surprising authority of Jesus (1.27) as servanthood (8.34-38; 10.45) in contrast to the reign of ‘those who seem to rule over the Gentiles’ (10.42-45).17

8. Polybius, Histories 1.1. Polybius’ account of the Roman conquests, intended to describe the history of the ‘whole’ age and not merely isolated events (1.4), is substantially tied up with these ‘unexpected’ events. These events themselves are sewn together by the thread of ‘Tu/xh’ (which sometimes indicates ‘Chance’ [1.63], and at other points, ‘Fate’ [1.4]). 9. Cf. Lucian, Somn. 14. 10. See TDNT, ‘para/docov’, 2:255; BDAG, para/docov, 763; LSJ, para/docov, 1309. 11. This field included ancient philosophy and metaphysics. 12. See Aristotle, Metaphysics, 4.1012a; idem, Nicomachean Ethics, 1146a. 13. ‘Of the following propositions, any two imply a contradiction to the third. They are these: That everything past is necessarily true; that an impossibility is not the consequence of a possibility; and that something is a possibility which neither is nor will be true’ (Epictetus, Disc. II.19.2-3 [trans. Elizabeth Carter; London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1910], 110). 14. The full passage is Epictetus, Disc. II.19.1-14; Sorensen, A Brief History, 120. 15. Sorensen, A Brief History, 168. 16. Narry F. Santos, Slave of All: The Paradox of Authority and Servanthood in the Gospel of Mark (JSNTSup 237; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2003), 2. 17. Ibid., 15. I return to Santos’ argument below.

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Theological Role of Paradox

For centuries, a paradox remains ‘something contrary to received opinion’, ‘something unexpected’, or something surprising. As Thomas Hobbes claims in 1656: ‘The Bishop speaks often of paradoxes with such scorn or detestation that a simple reader would take a paradox either for a felony or some other heinous crime … whereas perhaps a judicious reader knows … that a paradox is an opinion not yet generally received.’18 In other words, Hobbes claims that a paradox is not something negative; it is simply heterodox. Essentially, a paradox is a surprising opinion: surprise and unexpectedness are still the dominant meanings. Nevertheless, within the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, a shift occurs in the connotation of the word. In a sermon on Mt. 16.21,19 Bishop Samuel Horsley points to a different understanding and use of the word, ‘paradox’.20 He strives to differentiate between the terms ‘paradox’ and ‘contradiction’, in order to explain the (divine) necessity of Jesus’ suffering, death, and resurrection.21 Horsley states that both the terms paradox and contradiction ‘consist of two distinct propositions; and so far they are alike: for, of the two parts of a contradiction, the one or the other must necessarily be false – of a paradox, both are often true, and yet, when proved to be true, may continue paradoxical’.22 In other words, two statements may be independently accepted as valid. If this is the case, and they are proven to be true at the same time, the result is not a contradiction but a paradox. Horsley concludes his argument by claiming that paradoxes are the result of our finite human perception: ‘An intellect to which nothing should be paradoxical would be infinite.’23 This use of the term, ‘paradox’, provides a clear connection to the idea of philosophical contradiction that has been missing so far in the previous historical survey. The more common definition from this point forward, as Horsley demonstrates, states that a paradox occurs when two opposing claims are in fact proven to be valid. While a paradox can refer to philosophical phenomena in many other fields, there seems to be a particularly strong penchant for paradoxes in the study of theology. The doctrine of the Trinity, creatio ex nihilo (and the relationship between good and evil), the nature of epistemology and the gospel, anthropology, christology, soteriology, and 18. Besides offering a common understanding of ‘paradox’, this quotation also sheds some light on the place of ‘paradox’ in the life of the Church of England, at least for this bishop, in the nineteenth century (Thomas Hobbes, The English Works of Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury, Volume 5: The Questions Concerning Liberty, Necessity, and Chance [Aalen: Scientia, 1841 (repr. 1966)], 304; cited in OED Online, paradox, n. and adj., 1a). 19. ‘From that time Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things from the elders and the chief priests and the scribes, and be killed, and rise on the third day.’ 20. Samuel Horsley, ‘Sermon 19’, in Sermons, Volume 2 (New York: T. & J. Swords, 1811), 67–85. 21. In fact, Horsley grounds the paradox of Jesus’ passion in the broader theological paradox of the ‘liberty’ of humanity and the ‘foreknowledge and providence of God’ (ibid., 73). 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid.



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eschatology all are described by this category.24 The clash of ideas attested in a paradox occurs in theological debates precisely because of human finitude. Therefore, a theological paradox results from a clash of equally valid, contradictory claims due to an analysis within a temporally finite world. This is approximately the definition that begins this chapter on theological paradoxes: a paradox occurs when claims are held together even when they are ‘individually probable, but jointly inconsistent’. It is important to note that this definition of paradoxes is predicated on the assumption of human finitude. At the same time, the theological claim is that God’s infiniteness is not simply greater than our finitude, it is also qualitatively different. Therefore, when defining paradox in terms of human finitude we are primarily claiming that God is simply going to remain a mystery to humans, and this is part of what it means to be God.25 Some scholars trace the popularization of this now common definition to the philosophy of Søren Kierkegaard.26 This analysis will take advantage of both of the historical definitions of the lexeme ‘paradox’ – namely, ‘something contrary to expected opinion, or something surprising’ and ‘a clash of equally valid, contradictory claims’ – but it will place much greater significance on the latter. Paradoxes in Mark might be unexpected or surprising as in the earliest definition, but they often include contradictory elements.27 According to the following analysis, Mark places significance on situations in which pairs of claims are treated as valid even though they are inconsistent.

24. See list in Vernon C. Grounds, ‘The Postulate of Paradox’, BETS 7 (1964), 3–21 [6–15]; also, Anderson, Paradox in Christian Theology, 1. Mark’s paradoxes, of course, need not fall only along these classical theological divisions. Indeed, it is important to note that this book highlights three paradoxes within Mark’s narrative that inform the reader’s understanding of God’s activity. This does not mean that Mark is void of affinities with some of these more general or classical theological paradoxes (cf. 13.19, where Mark affirms God’s role in creating the world): it simply means that these three highlighted paradoxes are particularly significant in the text. 25. See Boyer and Hall, The Mystery of God, 7–8, and Chapter 2, below. 26. Santos, Slave of All, 2n.6; Grounds, ‘The Postulate of Paradox’, 5; Mackenzie, Christianity, 6. I find C. Stephen Evans’ discussion of Kierkegaard’s exploration of paradox persuasive, particularly as Evans explores this understanding of paradox and contradiction in light of Hegelian philosophy. To describe the nature of the Kierkegaardian paradox, Evans points to a passage in Kierkegaard’s papers and journals that connects a ‘self-contradictory expression’ to the only way in which humans are able to explain ‘the highest’, or the transcendent (Søren Kierkegaard, Søren Kierkegaard’s Journals and Papers [ed. and trans. Howard J. Hong and Edna H. Hong; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1967–68], 3:3656). Indeed, ‘the paradox is essentially related to being human’ (Søren Kierkegaard’s Samlede Vaerker [ed. A. B. Drachman, J. L. Heiberg, and H. O. Lange (Copenhagen: Gylendals Publishing, 1901–06)], 7:494). Cited in C. Stephen Evans, Kierkegaard’s ‘Fragments’ and ‘Postscript’: The Religious Philosophy of Johannes Climacus (Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press, 1983), 207–45 [esp. 214, 221]. This understanding resonates with Parker Palmer’s assessment, quoted below. 27. The paradox considered below with these characteristics concerns the parable of the mustard seed, which is paradoxical in both senses of the term, as the conclusion of the parable is unexpected and surprising and contains claims that are individually probable but jointly inconsistent. See Chapter 2.

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Scholars have previously pointed to the paradoxes – inconsistencies or self-contradictions – in Mark’s view of discipleship and his understanding of christology. In the former, the Markan Jesus states that one saves a life by losing it, yet loses life by saving it (8.34-39). The latter christological paradox is apparent in Mark’s passion narrative, as the Son of Man, who is the Son of God, the king of Israel (1.1, 11; 9.7; 15.26, 32) is crucified, and thereby, is enthroned.28 In this book, I examine how such paradoxes are not limited to christology and discipleship, but rather include Mark’s understanding of God and God’s work in the kingdom as a whole. In summary, Mark develops a narrative in which statements that appear to contradict one another are nevertheless true at the same time.29 A final useful explication of the term ‘paradox’ is defined by Parker Palmer as follows: The dictionary defines paradox as ‘a statement that seems self-contradictory or absurd but in reality expresses a possible truth.’ Niels Bohr, the Nobel Prize-winning physicist, says essentially the same thing with the most lucid words I’ve read on the subject: “The opposite of a correct statement is a false statement. But the opposite of a profound truth may be another profound truth.”30

Bohr’s comments echo Samuel Horsley’s sermon, above, as his quotation focuses on the heart of paradoxes for Mark: they are his way of expressing in narrative form what is too vast for the human mind to understand (Isa. 55.9; Job 38.1–41.34; cf. Mk 8.33; 13.24-27, 32).

Section II: Mark’s Cryptic Gospel: Parable, Irony, Paradox Paradoxes are not the only way in which Mark’s language reflects his theological interests. In a Gospel well known for its ambiguity, its secrecy, and its mystery, Mark employs a variety of literary expressions to accomplish these enigmatic ends. The Second Gospel uses parables, irony, and paradox in order to tell this mysterious and cryptic story of the ‘good news’ of the kingdom’s advent. While the concept of paradox is related to both parable and irony, identifying distinctions among the three terms highlights the different ways in which Mark’s narrative creates a sense of confusion, ambiguity, revelation and illumination. Furthermore, while all three of these terms have been used to

28. See Introduction, as well as Chapter 7, for further reflection on these topics. 29. M. Eugene Boring attributes the ability to make contradictory affirmations to Mark’s narrative, as opposed to discourse (‘The Christology of Mark: Hermeneutical Issues for Systematic Theology’, Semeia 30 [1984]: 125–51 [137–8]). 30. Parker J. Palmer, The Promise of Paradox: A Celebration of Contradictions in the Christian Life (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2008; orig. 1980), xxix. Palmer adds in an endnote: ‘These words are attributed to Bohr in many secondary sources, though I have been unable to find them in his published works. But their authenticity is largely confirmed by a remark made by his son, Hans Bohr’ (n. 6).



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describe the Gospel’s christology, they have rarely been part of a discussion of the Gospel’s understanding of God, or of the theology of the text as a whole. At this point, language of paradox can make a significant contribution to Second Gospel studies, as it is through the juxtaposition of equally valid yet opposite claims that Mark describes God’s activity. Considering parable and irony individually, however, makes the contribution of understanding paradoxical language distinct. The parables of the synoptic tradition have been of interest to interpreters for centuries. Modern scholarship on the parables traces its roots to the landmark study of Adolf Jülicher. His work has two main themes. First, he classifies the parables in terms of similitudes (Gleichnisse), simple parables in the narrow sense (Parabel), and example stories (Beispielerzählungen). To study similitudes, one looks for the point of comparison that connects the portrayal and reality. Strictly defined, parables are imaginary stories that take place in the past and refer to an external reality (e.g., the parable of the sower, Mk 4.38). Lastly, example stories differ from similitudes and simple parables because the example story provides the actual illustration of the reality or truth it seeks to demonstrate, rather than pointing to an external reality (e.g., the parable of the Good Samaritan, Lk. 10.30-37). In his second main point, Jülicher discounts centuries of allegorical interpretations of the parables by defining the difference between parable (which makes one point) and allegory (which makes multiple points).31 While Jülicher’s classification of parables remains generally accepted, one cannot say the same for his claims about parable and allegory. Madeleine Boucher points out that this distinction between parable and allegory causes Jülicher to determine that parables are instruments of clarity, while allegories are instruments of obfuscation.32 Boucher disagrees with this assessment, particularly based on the parables’ literary context in the Gospel of Mark (e.g., 4.10-12).33 In the fourth chapter of Mark, Boucher finds an example of parables being used to veil, rather than clarify, while an allegorical interpretation of the parable (4.14-19) is used to encourage understanding, not prevent it. Not all parables are intended to obscure meaning,34 but Boucher’s point is that

31. See Adolf Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu (2nd edn; Tübingen: Mohr, 1899), 1:58–80 (similitude); 92–111 (parable); 112–15 (example story); 59, 74 (parables make one point which should be broadly applied); Dan O. Via, Jr., The Parables: Their Literary and Existential Dimension, (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1967), 2–25; Madeleine Boucher, The Mysterious Parable (CBQMS 6; Washington, D.C.; The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1977), 3–5. 32. Boucher, The Mysterious Parable, 8. 33. She says: ‘The parable, then, may be defined as follows: it is a structure consisting of a tropical narrative [one that includes tropes, or metaphors], or a narrative having two levels of meaning; this structure functions as religious or ethical religious speech’ (ibid., 23). 34. In fact, Matthew’s and Luke’s apparent changes to Mark’s passage in 4.10-12 (Mt. 13.1017; Lk. 8.9-10; cf. Acts 28.23-28) point precisely to such a belief. For Matthew and Luke, parables are for revelation, at least to the disciples, not for concealment. The other evangelists resolve Mark’s paradox.

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parables require interpretation as part of their literary form (e.g., Mk 4.34): in other words, they are not self-interpreting.35 Jülicher’s definition, namely, that parables ‘illustrate the unfamiliar by the commonly familiar, to guide gently upwards from the easy to the difficult’, indicates his perception of the forthright nature of parables.36 Jülicher’s definition of a parable may be fruitfully compared with other classifications. C. H. Dodd’s seminal work, The Parables of the Kingdom, is based on a course he taught at Yale University Divinity School in 1935.37 Much of his work focuses on the relationship between parables and the nature of Jesus’ non-parabolic proclamation of the kingdom. Even so, within the first few pages, Dodd defines ‘parable’ in a clear and succinct manner: At its simplest the parable is a metaphor or simile drawn from nature or common life, arresting the hearer by its vividness or strangeness, and leaving the mind in sufficient doubt about its precise application to tease it into active thought.38

Dodd avoids the debate about the allegorical function – and therefore, the understandability – of the parables by stating that the mind of the listener remains in sufficient doubt about the parable’s meaning, such that this mind is ‘tease[d] into active thought’. Such a statement does not indicate that parables are either easily comprehensible or riddlingly difficult. Therefore, this definition seems to fit the characteristics of parables as they are presented in the Gospel of Mark.39 John Donahue extends C. H. Dodd’s definition of the term, ‘parable’, beyond a category of speech so that it operates as a metaphor in the Second Gospel as a whole, pointing to Jesus’ relationship to God.40 Donahue begins from the presupposition that the term, ‘parable’, does not describe merely a

35. Boucher, The Mysterious Parable, 25. Boucher claims that this is part of Jülicher’s mistake: because he judges allegory as a later addition to the already existing Jesus tradition, he is unable to see the evangelists’ parables except through the lens of this later allegory (ibid., 5). 36. Jülicher, Die Gleichnisereden, 1:146. Translation adapted from David B. Gowler, What Are They Saying About the Parables? (New York: Paulist, 2000), 4. 37. C. H. Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom (rev. edn; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1961), vii. 38. Ibid., 5. See also Joachim Jeremias’s statement of this definition: parables ‘are drawn from life, but in a number of cases, they exhibit unusual features, intended to arouse the attention of the hearers, and on which generally a special emphasis is laid’ (The Parables of Jesus [trans. S. H. Hooke; 2nd rev. edn; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1972], 29–30). 39. The second evangelist uses the term parabolh/ in 3.23; 4.2, 10, 11, 13, 30, 33, 34; 7.17; 12.1, 12; 13.28. While the precise parable indicated is not narrated at 3.23 (and is vague at 7.17), it seems that parables can function both as riddles and as revelation in Mark (see Joanna Dewey, The Markan Public Debate: Literary Technique, Concentric Structure, and Theology in Mark 2:1–3:6 [SBLDS 48; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1979], 152). 40. Donahue, ‘Jesus as the Parable of God in the Gospel of Mark’, Int 32 (1978): 369–86.



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form of speech. Rather, parable can serve as a ‘way of reading’ the Gospel.41 The important factor of this ‘way of reading’ is the impact it has on the reader’s imagination, an impact that, Donahue contends, does not occur with prose.42 In this sense, parable has become ‘an independent hermeneutical and theological category’; therefore, ‘Mark’s Gospel can be presented as a narrative parable of the meaning of the life and death of Jesus’.43 Because ‘Mark’s Jesus points to the mystery of the divine-human encounter, [and] he is a paradigm of that encounter’, he functions as a parable of God’s action in the kingdom.44 Jesus’ humanity marks him as one who is ‘drawn from nature or common life’. The astonishing reactions that characters in the narrative have towards him show that he ‘arrests the hearer by vividness or strangeness’. Finally, the hearer is ‘teased into active thought’ through the ‘creation and shattering of illusions’, particularly those concerning Jesus’ resurrection and the empty tomb.45 41. Donahue elaborates that this way of reading ‘means that the Gospel’s presentation of Jesus is always “open ended” and always calls for revisioning and restatement’ (ibid., 375). Paul Ricoeur has undertaken an influential reading of biblical narrative through metaphor in ‘Biblical Hermeneutics’, Semeia 4 (1975): 29–148. John Dominic Crossan responds to Ricoeur’s Semeia essay in his Cliffs of Fall: Paradox and Polyvalence in the Parables of Jesus (New York: Seabury Press, 1980), 1–24. For seminal work on parables and metaphor, see: Amos N. Wilder, Early Christian Rhetoric: The Language of the Gospel (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1964 [repr. 1971]); Robert Funk, Language, Hermeneutic, and the Word of God (New York: Harper and Row, 1966); Via, The Parables. Norman Perrin provides an excellent overview and analysis of this literature and its predecessors in his ‘Parables and Hermeneutics’, in Parable and Gospel (ed. K. C. Hanson; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 35–50; repr. from ‘The Modern Interpretation of the Parables of Jesus and the Problem of Hermeneutics’, Int 25 (1971): 131–48. Donald Juel’s essay (‘Encountering the Sower: Mark 4:1-20’, Int 56 [2002]: 273–82) draws similar conclusions about the historical and literary directions of scholarship on the parables in the twentieth century. 42. According to Funk (Language, Hermeneutic, and the Word of God, 136). This statement is far too great a generalization, in my opinion. Apocalyptic literature, for example, certainly seems to have as its goal the invigoration of the imagination (see John J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination [2nd edn; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998], 282–3), but it does not all fit within the genre of poetry. On the other hand, I agree with Donahue’s underlying point, perhaps made more clearly by Sallie McFague: ‘There are no explicit statements about God; everything is refracted through the earthly metaphor or story. Metaphor is, I believe, the heart of the parabolic tradition of religious reflection as contrasted with the more propositionally oriented tradition of regular or systematic theology’ (Speaking in Parables: A Study in Metaphor and Theology [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975], 16). 43. Donahue, ‘Jesus as Parable’, 370. Similarly, Bernard Brandon Scott: ‘The parable for Mark is a secret bearer of the kingdom, and his Gospel’s narrative is a hermeneutical context for the parables. Mark’s Gospel not only proclaims the kingdom of God but is also like parable a bearer of the kingdom’ (Hear Then the Parable: A Commentary on the Parables of Jesus [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989], 55). 44. Donahue, ‘Jesus as Parable’, 379. McFague also refers to Jesus as the parable of God. She wants to take both this christological and theological understanding of parable and the general nature of Jesus’ parables as ‘models of theological reflection’, so that ‘we have a form that insists on uniting language, belief, and life’ (Speaking in Parables, 3). The original insight that Jesus can be understood as a parable of God comes from Leander E. Keck (A Future for the Historical Jesus: The Place of Jesus in Preaching and Theology [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980], 244). 45. Donahue, ‘Jesus as Parable’, 379–85.

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Theological Role of Paradox

The analysis of the Gospel of Mark through this parabolic way of reading causes Donahue to mention the other two terms of this triad, irony and paradox, for consideration. Donahue claims that using ‘situational irony and paradox’ is one of the ways that the Gospel ‘arrests the hearer by vividness or strangeness’.46 In fact, Donahue gives an excellent example of what it means to consider Mark’s presentation of Jesus paradoxical. Notice the opposed pairs: The day of the Lord’s rest becomes the day of the Lord’s labor (2:27-3:5). Clean is declared unclean (7:1-23); children who do not ever bear the yoke of the kingdom (the law) are to enter God’s Kingdom (10:13-16). The one who rules is to be the lackey, the last will be first (10:42-45), the appointed followers are blind, and the blind see. Jesus’ way to death is really his way to being raised up.47 In condemning him, Jewish officials are condemning themselves to judgment (14:62-63); in seeking to preserve their priesthood, they destroy its function – the veil is now split, their role as mediators is ended (15:38). Jesus is mocked as a false prophet at the very moment his prophecy about Peter is being fulfilled (14:65, 72). Pilate and the bystanders ironically call him king (15.2, 32), while the centurion expresses the true meaning of his kingship (15:39). A woman anoints him, but it is really for his burial (14:3-9). The women and Joseph take great pains to bury him whom no tomb will hold. He is risen, but he is not here.48

Aspects of Donahue’s analysis fit better as ‘irony’ rather than paradox, as noted in the definition of irony, below.49 Nevertheless, he shows clearly how Mark’s expression of Jesus’ ministry through his narrative is ambiguous and mysterious, embracing expressions of irony and paradox. Donahue finds that these terms can be fruitfully subsumed under the term ‘parable’. However, not every parable has irony or paradox at its root.50 While a paradox demonstrates the opposing nature of two valid claims, parables, instead, are inherently metaphorical: they function as comparisons, not necessarily as contradictions. In this way, understanding the use of paradoxical language can make a contribution to the interpretation of Mark’s theology in two ways that extend and diverge slightly from Donahue’s language of parables. First, one should note that while Donahue’s language of comparisons is entirely appropriate for understanding how Jesus can be compared to God, it is less helpful 46. Ibid., 380. 47. I see some influence of the Fourth Gospel in Donahue’s wording here (cf. Jn 3.14; 12.30-32). 48. Donahue, ‘Jesus as Parable’, 382. 49. Donahue recognizes this in his comment on Pilate, but it can apply to some of his other points, as well. For example, his identification that Jesus is being mocked as a prophet while his prophecy about Peter’s denial is being fulfilled is dramatic irony: Mark’s audience knows that Jesus is really a prophet, because it sees both story lines at the same time. For Mark’s audience there is not a self-contradiction in these two terms, as a paradox implies. 50. Crossan disagrees here, as his analysis of parables emphasizes their paradoxical – in the sense of surprising and perplexing – character (Cliffs of Fall, 1–24); see also the discussion in Scott, Hear Then the Parable, 61.



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for understanding God alone, as God is ultimately beyond comparison. Furthermore, Mark’s portrayal of God is certainly tied together with his christology, but it is not limited to that christology.51 Mark’s narrative testifies that God is revealed in Jesus, but that does not imply that God is not also active beyond Jesus.52 In this way, exploring paradoxical language points to the manner in which Mark illuminates God’s own action. My qualification of Donahue’s language is not that he inappropriately speaks of parables when he would be better served by speaking of paradoxes. Instead, Donahue makes claims about Mark’s concept of God by looking closely at Jesus, in other words, by using Jesus’ humanity and actions as the basis for a comparison to God. The fact that a parable’s most basic function is a comparison of two things means that Jesus functions as one element of comparison, where the other element is God. In this way, Dodd’s literary definition of the ‘parable’ reinforces the theological assertion that Jesus serves as the representation of God on earth (cf. Mk 9.7). In order to understand Mark’s language about God as distinct from what the evangelist says about Jesus, one cannot use comparative language. Mark emphasizes God’s sovereignty and transcendence, and so there is nothing besides God’s son with which one may compare God. Ultimately, while Jesus may be a parable of God, Mark cannot describe God’s own action parabolically because God may not be the focus of a comparison.53 At the same time, it is generally admitted that all theological language is done by comparison and analogy. Therefore, it not just that God’s actions lack an appropriate comparison, it is also that Mark’s portrayal of God’s actions includes strikingly opposing claims, which can function to clarify or confuse Mark’s audience as to the nature of that divine action. As this book seeks to examine Mark’s language about God’s activity, expressed in parable and in prose, the term ‘paradox’ fits the overall topic of this inquiry better. Even so, parable and paradox both point to Mark’s penchant for cryptic language, although they may describe God’s activity in light of different literary forms. The third expression that describes Mark’s enigmatic language is irony. Interpreters like Donahue, who are sensitive to the diversity of expression in Mark’s narrative, highlight not only the parabolic modes of speech in the Gospel, but also the ironic aspects that characterize Mark’s narration. While scholars have noted irony in Mark’s narrative for quite some time,54 51. See below, passim, and particularly Chapter 7. 52. See also Driggers, Following God through Mark, 96–9. 53. The parables of the kingdom of God, of course, focus on the ‘realistic’ aspect of the comparison and the light that can be shed on God’s action from the comment about ‘nature or common life’. 54. For example, see H. B. Swete, The Gospel According to Mark (London: MacMillan and Co., 1898), 140; E. P. Gould, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to St. Mark (ICC; Edinburgh, T&T Clark, 1896), 129, as cited in Glyndle M. Feagin, Irony and the Kingdom in Mark: A Literary-Critical Study (Mellen Biblical Press Series 56; Lewiston: The Edwin Mellen Press, 1997), 2n.3.

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Jerry Camery-Hoggatt has written one of the most technical examinations of it.55 His work seeks to bridge the hermeneutical horizon between the first century and the twentieth by integrating sociological analysis with literary criticism. Irony is the link by which he connects these two methods. Camery-Hoggatt defines dramatic irony on the basis of his monograph’s subtitle (Text and Subtext), because dramatic irony points to the difference between the text, on the one hand, and the subtext, on the other. Irony requires these two different levels of narrative, because dramatic irony is created by a tension between them.56 What the characters in the narrative do not know, the reader does. Donahue’s article, ‘Jesus as the Parable’, also addresses the interrelatedness of irony, paradox, and parable. He defines (situational or dramatic) irony and paradox as follows: While the intensity and nuances of paradoxes and especially irony are pointed out by literary critics, we are working with the generally accepted understanding of irony as language or situations which ‘express a meaning directly opposite that intended’ and paradox as ‘a seemingly self-contradictory statement, which yet is shown to be (sometimes in a surprising way) true.’ Common to both devices is a reversal of surface expectations created by the text.57

The distinction between what the characters know and what the readers know is absolutely essential for irony. At the same time, it is also the central feature that distinguishes irony from paradox. While both paradox and irony involve contradictions in meanings, Donahue’s claim about the commonalities between the two techniques neglects the fact that ‘in paradox the conflict of meanings occurs at the level of the … text and therefore is not a contradiction between the two levels of meaning’.58 While it is common for interpreters to use irony and paradox interchangeably,59 as Camery-Hoggatt does in reference to ‘Mark’s ironic paradoxes’,60 the distinction between them is important for the present project to maintain. Irony refers to the interplay between a narrative’s characters or situation, and the narrative’s reader. Paradox, on the other hand, is a broader term that refers to contradictions that can occur on the narrative level 55. Irony in Mark’s Gospel: Text and Subtext (SNTSMS 72; Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1992). The technicality mentioned above refers to the primary function of that author’s project: to define a method and technique for identifying and explaining irony within the narrative and its connections to the text’s social context (1–89). 56. Ibid., 2. 57. Donahue, ‘Jesus as Parable’, 381. Donahue also quotes himself as saying: ‘Irony is the rhetorical medium through which Mark conveys his message of faith’ (‘The High Priest’s Question and Jesus’ Answer’, in The Passion in Mark [ed. Werner H. Kelber; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976], 61–82 [79]) and, further, cites Werner H. Kelber: ‘If there is one single feature which characterizes the Markan Jesus, it is contradiction or paradox’ (ibid., 179). 58. Feagin, Irony and the Kingdom, 13. 59. For an example, see Robert C. Tannehill, ‘Tension in Synoptic Sayings and Stories’, Int 34 (1980): 138–59 [150]. 60. Irony in Mark, 9.



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but are even more evident for the reader. We can turn to Mk 4.10-13 for an example of the distinction between paradox and irony in the Second Gospel. The characters present, those around Jesus with the Twelve, hear that they have been given the mystery of the kingdom of God (4.10). Something has been revealed to them. Yet, this revelation is also hidden: they are also the ones who are reprimanded for not understanding the parables (4.13). The contrast is present on the narrative level, because those who are given a mystery show no comprehension.61 At the same time, the audience’s distance from this discussion allows it to see the paradox of God’s activity, in revelation and concealment, as more prevalent throughout the entire scene than the characters can recognize. When the mockers at the cross sarcastically hail Jesus as King of the Jews (15.18), Mark’s audience recognizes such a proclamation as an example of truthful irony. The nuances and paradoxes in Mk 4.10-13 are more subtle. Camery-Hoggatt rightly denies that Mk 4.10-12 provides an example of irony.62 In Mark 4 the audience does not know much more than the characters.63 The planes of the narrative have collapsed: there is no room for dramatic irony, for the reader is as blind as the narrative’s characters. Instead, both characters and audience are given a glimpse of one of the theological paradoxes to which the narrative testifies. The preceding section may be summarized as follows: one of the ways in which paradox is different from parable is in the former’s focus on contradiction or inconsistency. Parables are varied in their form and content, but they involve a form of comparison, taking a more familiar insight and comparing it to a less familiar one. Even the ‘parabolic’ way of reading the Gospels in which scholars since Amos Wilder (1964) have been engaged64 does not focus on self-contradiction, inconsistency, or even juxtapositions in terms. Rather, the

61. Chapter 2, below, notes that part of the challenge in this text is in understanding what kind of mystery those around Jesus have been given. In Boyer and Hall’s terms, this is a revelational, dimensional mystery: the disciples have a mystery revealed to them, but they do not have the capability to understand it fully (see The Mystery of God, 11–12). 62. Irony in Mark, 127. Camery-Hoggatt maintains that Mk 4.10-12 are not ironic despite the claims of Carey Moore (‘Mark 4:12: More Like the Irony of Micaiah than Isaiah’, in A Light Unto My Path [ed. Howard Bream, et. al.; Gettysburg Theological Series 4; Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1974], 335–44), Jerry Gill (‘Jesus, Irony, and the “New Quest”’, Int 41 [1980]: 139–51), and Bruce Hollenbach (‘“Lest They Should Turn Again and Be Forgiven”: Irony’, BT 34 [1983]: 312–21). 63. See Stephen P. Ahearne-Kroll, ‘Mysterious Explanations: Mark 4 and the Reversal of Audience Expectation’, in Between Author and Audience in Mark: Narration, Characterization, Interpretation (ed. Elizabeth Struthers Malbon; New Testament Monographs 23; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2009), 64–81. Joel Marcus disagrees, noting statements that include the reader in the Gospel: the proclamations of Jesus’ divine sonship as well as the narratival inclusion of 13.14 (‘let the reader understand’; The Mystery of the Kingdom of God [SBLDS 90; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986], 92). 64. Early Christian Rhetoric: The Language of the Gospel (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1964; repr. 1971) and his retrospectives on this piece and its influence in idem, The Bible and the Literary Critic (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), xi, 20–1.

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parabolic nature of a narrative is apparent in its elasticity of meaning, its surprising character,65 its ability to point beyond itself in a comparison, and its thought-provoking effect. Nevertheless, paradox in the sense in which it is relevant to this project focuses on the unresolved contradiction between two valid claims, which is distinct from a parable. Of course, as we will see in Chapters 2, 3 and 4, paradox can be expressed in the form of parable. It is certainly possible for Mark to use both parable and paradox to express God’s action (see Chapters 2–4, below). Mark also employs both irony and paradox in the Gospel (see especially Chapters 7–8, below). The terms are not opposed, but they are distinctive. Irony, like parable and paradox, requires an interaction between two elements. However, this interaction occurs on different levels than it does in a paradox. In a paradox, there seems to be no obvious solution (or any solution at all) to the conflict between two terms. On the other hand, by noticing the irony present in a narrative, the reader resolves the conflict between the two levels, the narrative level and the level of the (implied) reader. In a sense, irony reinforces a reader’s knowledge. Paradox emphasizes ignorance. These three terms all contribute to the observation that Mark’s narrative is not a simple, straightforward accounting of events.66 Mark’s Gospel delights in enigmas, in surprise, in complicated contradictions. Since each of these three narrative elements may be addressed by these terms of parable, irony, and paradox, their correlation makes sense, but so does their distinction. Having three different words to describe features of Mark’s narrative allows interpreters to refine their observations, requiring discernment in their choice of expression. Scholars of Mark’s Gospel have identified the strongest interrelation of parable, irony, and paradox in their explorations of Mark’s christology. We have already mentioned John Donahue’s excellent study on ‘Jesus as the Parable of God’ in Mark, in which Donahue associates a parabolic reading of the Gospel with its portrayal of Jesus. Camery-Hoggatt’s study of irony is also focused on the christological character of its expression, particularly in the trial and passion scenes.67 Finally, Santos has used paradox as a way to 65. So, in a sense, it is correlative with the first definition of paradox, something contrary to common opinion, and therefore, surprising. 66. William Wrede discounted such a historicist description years ago (The Messianic Secret [trans. J. C. G. Grieg; Cambridge; James Clarke & Company, 1971]), but it still has adherents in some circles. 67. Camery-Hoggatt follows Donald Juel’s lead of identifying the irony in the prologue (1.1-15) and the passion (14–16.8) of the Gospel. See Camery-Hoggatt, Irony in Mark, 8; Juel, An Introduction to New Testament Literature (Nashville: Abingdon, 1978), esp. 182–96. Although Camery-Hoggatt would not have been able to take advantage of its resources for his dissertation, Juel’s A Master of Surprise: Mark Interpreted (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994) contains similar resources for identifying irony in these same narratives. Furthermore, in an essay that seeks to understand the title ‘Son of Man’ in light of its narratival use in the Gospel, rather than its historical origins, Harry Chronis says: ‘The [phrase] “Son of Man” serves essentially as a paradoxical incognito. It belongs to a whole pattern of speech that the Markan Jesus employs to resist disclosure of his identity as “the



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understand Mark’s christological presentation of authority and servanthood.68 Claiming both ancient and modern definitions of paradoxes, Santos finds that authority and servanthood are apparent opposites, and they are to take their audience by surprise at their astonishing nature. The Gospel’s statements about authority and servanthood oppose the general opinion about how one in leadership or ‘authority’ should act. Santos limits his inquiry of paradox to these points of christology. In this Gospel, a paradoxical christology is only the beginning.

Conclusion: Profound Paradoxes Several scholars69 have maintained that Mark’s odd theological expressions serve to exhort his audience to a change of action, behaviour, or thought. In other words, Mark’s goal is transformation. While I certainly would not deny that Mark is interested in the power of transformation in a life of discipleship (8.34–9.1), I contend that Mark’s method of communicating christology, theology, and discipleship in general is predicated on the understanding that such ambiguity, or assertion of contradictory certainties, is the only way to express a sovereign God in a fallible, temporal world. Understanding God is more than Mark’s audience can manage, and indeed, more than its author can pen. So this story takes winding turns and creative routes, marked by street-signs of enigmas, secrecy, and mystery. Contradictory statements are simultaneously true. In this way, the audience may find, in the words of Niels Bohr, that the opposite of one profound truth is not a falsehood: it is another profound truth.70 The following exegesis of Mark 4 illuminates such truths portrayed in theological paradoxes.

Son of God”. And it allows Jesus – a systematic theologian might say – to conceal his person while he reveals his work’ (Harry L. Chronis, ‘To Reveal and to Conceal: A Literary-Critical Perspective on “the Son of Man” in Mark’. NTS 51 [2005]: 459–81 [459]). Interestingly, Chronis conflates this paradoxical understanding of the Son of Man title with a parabolic function, so that one may ‘see and hear’ more than seems to be present if one has eyes to see and ears to hear (478). 68. Santos, Slave of All, summarized in 16–26; developed with respect to 1.1–16.8 in 61–266. 69. E.g., Santos, Slave of All, 272; Camery-Hoggatt, Irony in Mark, 179–81. 70. See Palmer, The Promise of Paradox, xxix.

Chapter 2 A First Paradox: Concealment and Revelation This chapter explores the first of three paradoxes within the narrative of the Second Gospel: Mark describes God’s activity as both concealing and revealing. Mark uses the terminology of concealment and revelation in 4.22, when he says that nothing ‘is concealed [krupto/n] but that it might be revealed [fanerwqh|~], nor is anything secret [a)po/krufon] but that it might come to light [fanero/n]’. This general statement directs Mark’s audience to the telos of this paradox: revelation in its entirety. Presently in God’s kingdom, concealment and revelation coexist, in contradistinction to one another, but they are not to last forever. The promise of a clear, non-paradoxical, future revelation tantalizes. While the rest of Mark 4 highlights the present nature of this paradox, Mk 4.22 explicitly uses this language of opposites to illuminate the final resolution. This light-giving telos in the middle of Jesus’ parabolic teaching invites readers to explore the boundaries of the concealed revelation. Investigation of Mark’s concern with God’s activity in concealed revelation begins by considering Mk 4.10-12, with its inviting and harsh words. Secondly, we return to these explicit statements of concealment and revelation in the parabolic statements of 4.21-22, as well as the rest of Jesus’ parables in Mk 4.23-32. Each of these latter parables highlights God’s activity in a paradoxical way, as the parable describes particularities of God’s kingdom. God is active, but that activity, claims Mark, is demonstrated by a revelation that is also concealed, whether with respect to sight and blindness, appropriate measures, seeds and farmers, or trees and vegetables. In this kingdom of God, normalcy is kindred to strangeness, and concealment to revelation.

Section I: Jesus and Those Around Him (Mark 4.10-12) Mk 4.10-12 poignantly attests to the pattern of Mark’s paradoxical speech of concealment and revelation and is the first and primary text to explore.1 1. Greg Fay notes that this paradox of concealment and revelation does not stand on its own but in fact is intrinsically related to the incomprehension of the disciples. Fay finds support for both of these themes primarily in 4.10-12, 21-25, which he argues are structurally highlighted in Mk 4.1-34 (see below on the audience of Mk 4.10-12; Fay, ‘Introduction to Incomprehension’, CBQ 51 [1989]: 65–81). On this point, I agree with Fay, but I see this paradox reaching more broadly, involving both ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’.



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There, between the parable of the sower and its interpretation, Jesus and ‘those around him’, including the Twelve, are separated from the crowds along the lakeshore. In this ostensibly private setting (kata\ mona/n: 4.10), the group asks Jesus about ‘the parables’, and Jesus replies that ‘the mystery (musth/rion) of the kingdom of God’ has been given (de/dotai) to them. To ‘those outside’, however, ‘all things come in parables, in order that they may see indeed and not perceive, hear indeed and not understand, lest they turn and be forgiven’ (4.11-12). This text is one of the most theologically challenging and problematic texts in the Gospel of Mark, if not in the whole NT. The image of God portrayed here seems to focus on a God who gives revelation to some, and intentionally excludes others. Going against modern (and ancient) notions of justice, fairness, and equity while, at best, privileging ideas of election, the implicit divine activity in this text evokes strong reactions from Markan interpreters.2 Indeed, it is confounding that a text claiming that somehow, in conjunction with God’s activity, ‘those outside’ are prevented from embracing repentance and forgiveness is located in the same Gospel narrative with texts that prioritize evangelization (cf. 1.38; 3.14-15; and chiefly, 13.10).3 One wonders how it is possible to call such frightening news good (cf. 1.14-15).4 Such exegesis of Mk 4.10-12 misses an important theological point because it does not recount the whole story. The interpretation of this passage described above overlooks Mark’s prevalent usage of paradoxes in his Gospel. I contend that Mk 4.10-12 expresses Mark’s paradoxical theology, displaying the evangelist’s description of God’s activity as a concealed or veiled revelation. Such a paradox becomes evident in this provocative passage through an examination of the hints of God’s action as expressed in Mark’s literary setting and in specific verb forms, described in the first two sections below. Moreover,

2. See Craig A. Evans for an analysis of the history of tradition of Mk 4.10-12, as he examines how ancient interpreters and translations struggled with or embraced its theological implications (To See and Not Perceive: Isaiah 6:9-10 in Early Jewish and Christian Interpretation [JSOTSup 64; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1989]). In the early church, an antidote to the sting of this passage was the identification of Israel with ‘those outside’ (cf. Rom. 11.25). Since Mark does not identify any sociological group exclusively as insiders or outsiders, I do not find such a solution ultimately helpful in interpreting the use of Isa. 6.9-10 in the Second Gospel. 3. In fact, this contrast may be one reason why Howard Clark Kee describes the Markan community as both ‘esoteric and evangelistic’ (Community of the New Age: Studies in Mark’s Gospel [repr.; Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1983], 163). While 4.14-20 seems to describe the inconsistent reactions the Markan community meets while evangelizing, it remains striking that evangelization is encouraged in light of a text that appears, at least on first glance, to reflect a strong sense of divine determinism. 4. Joel Marcus phrases a variant of this question: ‘Why should God, or Jesus … want people not to understand his word, want them to reject it and therefore be condemned? Is the God in whom Mark believes so radically different from the one described in 1 Tim 2:4, who “desires all people to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth?” (RSV alt.)?’ (Mark 1–8: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 27; New York: Doubleday, 1999], 305–6).

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a paradox of concealment and revelation is seen in the results of God’s action, through the gift of mystery and parables. Finally, this interpretation of 4.10-12 concludes by reflecting on the results of the paradox of granting such gifts of mystery and parables to so-called insiders and outsiders, as both groups have a role to play in the coming kingdom. For some background, one should note that other biblical texts present God as one who both reveals and conceals actions, information, or presence.5 Dan Via points out that this paradox of revelation and concealment has its roots in the Old Testament: In some OT texts (see Deut. 29:29; 30:11, 14), there is a mysterious dimension of God that remains unrevealed, but what is revealed is clear and perceptible to human beings. Other OT texts, however (see Isa. 6:9-10) relate the hidden and the revealed in a different way. The hidden does not remain in heaven with God while that which is revealed on the earth is clear, but rather the concealed or hidden dimension extends into the world, veiling the revelation, and making it problematical.6

This ‘problematical’ aspect of revelation is precisely evident in Mark’s use of Isa. 6.9 in 4.12. A recondite revelation is part of God’s activity, who is beyond human logic (cf. 1 Cor. 1.18–2.5) and, thus, is expressed through paradoxes in the Second Gospel. The ‘hidden dimension’ of heaven emerges on earth, veiling God’s revelation and making it appear paradoxical. Yet, both revelation and concealment are important aspects of God’s kingdom (Mk 4.11). Section (a): A Setting Apart We begin by exploring the literary context of Mk 4.10-12. Between 4.9 and 4.10 Mark shows a definite shift in Jesus’ setting. This shift alludes to the context of God’s action and its occurrence in public or private. In Mk 4.10 Jesus has moved away from the large crowd by the lakeshore (4.1-2) and is speaking privately (kata\ mona/n) to a small group who asks him about the parables.7 In Mark it is common for Jesus to withdraw with his disciples after a time of public teaching or ministry (7.17-23; 8.14-33; 9.28; 10.2331).8 This pattern of private versus public teaching contributes to the motif

5. Samuel L. Terrein’s biblical theology is the most consistent exploration of these themes throughout the biblical canon (The Elusive Presence: Toward a New Biblical Theology [Religious Perspectives 26; San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1978]). 6. Dan O. Via, Jr., The Ethics of Mark’s Gospel – In the Middle of Time (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 174. 7. See 6.47; 9.2, 8; cf. i1diov; 4.34; 6.31-32, 35; 7.33; 9.28; 13.3. See also general motifs of withdrawal at 1.35; 3.13; 5.37; 14.12-50. 8. Note also that 8.14-33 is a particularly interesting example of private withdrawal after public teaching, because it is immediately followed by public teaching on discipleship (8.34–9.1) and then the privately witnessed transfiguration (9.2-8).



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of secrecy in Mark, for it seems that some teaching is appropriate to certain contexts, and not others. This concept is presented, for example, in 4.33-34, where the narrator states that Jesus teaches in parables to ‘them’, implying the crowd, but that he ‘explains all things’ to his disciples. Therefore, with Jesus’ separation from the crowd, Mark signals that he is about to present ‘private’ teaching, presumably to an ‘insider’ group of disciples. According to Mark, this revelation is occurring in a concealed environment. Nevertheless, the literary setting thwarts such a precise, dichotomous presentation. Mark does not say that Jesus is surrounded only by the Twelve (3.14-19; cf. 3.13), or a small group of the Twelve (Peter, James, and John; e.g., 5.37; 9.2-8), or even the disciples.9 Instead, this group is described as ‘those around him (oi( peri\ au)to/n) with the Twelve’ (4.10). There is no way to know who ‘those around’ Jesus might have been. In fact, their precise identity is less important than the observation that Mark has no interest in presenting this group as a defined, easily replicable set. This point is significant in considering the audience of Jesus’ words, as we will do in the final section on 4.10-12, below. Based on these short notes about the literary setting of Mk 4.10-12, Jesus’ teaching in private settings here, as more broadly in the Gospel, indicates a level of concealment. In this way, he appears to be hiding this revelation of God’s activity from the crowds. On the other hand, because the identity of the group around Jesus is so ambiguous, Mark implies that this divine revelation is granted to more than just the disciples. Pairing a presentation of concealment that does not entirely conceal with revelation that does not fully reveal10 means that however God is active in these verses, both concealment and revelation are simultaneously involved. Section (b): Vague Verbs While the paradoxical nature of concealment and revelation may be evident in the literary setting of Mk 4.10-12, the way this paradox is used to present God’s action becomes most apparent when one examines the verbs associated with God’s activity. These verbs continue to express God’s activity in revealed concealment: they are vague about agency and their meaning is obscure. These somewhat anonymous listeners around Jesus ‘ask Jesus about the parables’. The content of Jesus’ response to this request for more information

9. In this passage in Mark 3, one can see two different groups: a larger group of Jesus’ followers, who answer the general summons up the mountain (3.13), and the group of Twelve who are given a particular apostolic commission (3.14-19). Such an inherent division in the groups is implied in 4.10 and 10.32, though the division in terms need not be rigidly observed (e.g., ‘the disciples’ may sometimes indicate only the Twelve, particularly in the passion narrative). 10. See below on the relationships between the ‘mystery’ and the parables, as well as the identity of the outsiders (4.10-11).

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about the parables in this concealed environment is perplexing. In fact, it seems to be a non sequitur.11 Jesus says, ‘To you has been given the mystery of the kingdom of God, but to those outside, all things come in parables …’ (4.10-11). The two verbs in this sentence have characteristics that demonstrate divine action. In this verse, there are two verbs in passive forms: de/dotai (‘has been given’) and gi/netai (‘come’). The use of passive verbs here is a challenge to interpreters who are interested in discerning God’s action.12 The verb de/dotai is used to describe God’s act of ‘giving’ the mystery of the kingdom of God. As this ‘gift’ is of God’s kingdom, it appears that the giver must also be God.13 As a result, many scholars have considered de/dotai to be a divine passive.14 In this way, Jesus claims that God has already given something to those around him. This gift is a revelation. However, it appears that the use of the passive voice at this point conceals God’s action just as much as it reveals it. Ultimately, whether God

11. See also Mk 7.1-13, where the Pharisees and scribes ask Jesus why his disciples do not ‘live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat food with defiled hands’ (7.5). Jesus’ response does not answer this question directly. Instead, he offers a quotation from Isa. 29.13, saying that Isaiah ‘prophesied well’ about them, as ‘their heart is far from me’ even though ‘this people honors me with their lips’ (7.6). Only after the controversy (7.14-23) does Jesus explain what Mark glosses as ‘all foods [are] clean’ (7.19). 12. Jeremias may not have been the first to call de/dotai a divine passive, but he has certainly been the most cited (Joachim Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus [2nd rev. edn; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1972], 15; 15n.15; 16n.20). See also Aloysius M. Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom: A Redaction-Critical Study of the References to the Kingdom of God in Mark’s Gospel (CBQMS 2; Washington: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1972), 85. E. M. Sidebottom disagrees and believes that de/dotai should not be considered a divine passive, but this logic seems to be based on an independent decision about what God can and cannot do, rather than a grammatical or literary conclusion (‘On the Divine Passive’, ExpTim 87 [1976]: 200–4). 13. See also M. Eugene Boring, who notes that ‘the view that the ability to hear and understand is God’s gift is not peculiar to Mark. The Qumran community, too, saw itself as God’s elect community of the last days, and the author of the Hodayot praises God ‘for having uncovered my ears to marvelous mysteries’ (1QHa 22.19-21; cf. 1QM 10.11; Mark: A Commentary [NTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2006], 124n.71); C. L. Mearns ‘Parables, Secrecy, and Eschatology in Mark’s Gospel’, SJT 44 (1991): 423–42 [432]. 14. See Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom, 85. However, Wrede staunchly argues that there is no apparent connection between 4.10-12 and its context (The Messianic Secret [trans. J. C. G. Grieg; Cambridge: James Clarke & Company, 1971], 58, against Bernhard Weiss’s contention that there is). Without direct reference to Weiss and Wrede, this argument is revisited by Marcus, who agrees with Weiss’s conclusion over Wrede’s, primarily based on the perfect tense of de/dotai. Marcus claims that this tense implies that the mystery has already been given (The Mystery of the Kingdom [SBLDS 90; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986], 45). Wrede anticipates that this is the best defence for such a suggestion (cf. Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu [2nd edn; Tübingen: Mohr, 1899], 1:124); however, he argues that 4.10-12 has been completely divorced from the subject matter of the kingdom of God (‘there is simply no longer any concrete picture of a kingdom of God here at all’), thereby distancing the mystery from the parables as well (The Messianic Secret, 59). It is not clear how Wrede reconciles this view with the fact that the mystery is ‘of the kingdom of God’.



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is the one who gives this mystery is a matter open to interpretation.15 Mark is a master of implication over clarification. This is an example of how Mark’s manner of speaking about God remains oblique, concealed behind revelatory language about Jesus, the advent of the kingdom, and other aspects of the good news. A reader may start to see evidence of what Via called God’s ‘concealed or hidden dimension extend[ing] into the world’, which makes the revelation that is present ‘problematical’.16 To this end, God’s activity is even more concealed, perhaps even questionably present, in the second verb in the passage, gi/netai. The observation that ‘all things come in parables’ offers no direct agent as to the cause of such communication. Furthermore, even the meaning of this phrase is unclear. In some ways, it appears that ‘those outside’ end up seeing the world ‘parabolically’, and in this instance, such sight is not a good thing. The parables, according to this passage, cloud vision and obstruct hearing such that perception and understanding are prevented. Given the paraphrase from Isaiah 6 and the consequences for those outside (preventing repentance and forgiveness), it seems that the only one with such a power of prevention would be God (cf. 2.7-10), though it is surely possible for humans to collude in it. Nevertheless, even if such activity of God is revealed, it is done in such an indirect fashion that Mark’s readers are unsure how God is active here. In fact, such insecurity may be Mark’s point. The paradox of God’s activity in revelation and concealment displaces any confident notion about what God is doing in this particular situation. This vagueness of expression is especially important to recognize when the consequences of the proclamation are so severe (4.12). In fact, scholars’ interpretations of Mk 4.10-12 reflect the paradox of God’s recondite, yet revealed, activity. As we will note, interpreters articulate such observations through the classic paradox of divine and human agency, implying that where God is active, humans are not, and vice versa. In some ways, this opposition of divine and human things comes from the Gospel of Mark itself (8.33). In other ways, however, Mark brings together two opposite perspectives and insists that they both are necessary, as we see below. The fact that scholars find evidence for an emphasis on divine agency, on the one hand, and human agency, on the other, points to the ambiguity inherent in this text. God’s action is concealed in such a way that its revelation clouds perception about when and where God is active, and when and where humans are active with respect

15. Similar constructions occur at two additional points in Mark’s Gospel. Jesus’ paradigmatic proclamation in Mk 1.14-15 claims: ‘the time has been fulfilled (peplh/rwtai) and God’s kingdom has drawn near’ (1.15). While there is no explicit agent supplied for the fulfilling of the time, God is most likely responsible for such completion, as the fulfilment of time is joined together with the nearness of God’s kingdom. Later in the Gospel, in Jesus’ teaching about how difficult it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God, Jesus makes it clear that God is the one who enables entrance into this kingdom, even to the point of accomplishing the impossible (10.24, 26). 16. See above, and Via, The Ethics of Mark’s Gospel, 174.

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to the central features of this narrative: the reception of God’s gifts in terms of mystery and in terms of the lack of understanding produced by the parables. The first interpretive option is similar to aspects of the broad outline above: the quotation from Isa. 6.9 (Mk 4.12) and its placement in this context in Mark demonstrate ‘deliberate divine intention’ to give to some and not to others.17 Even if ‘human response’ has a role to play, that role remains undefined, circumscribed by the i3na that begins the quotation from Isaiah.18 If God uses the parables in order to prevent perception, understanding, repentance, and forgiveness, then it seems that there is a limit to what humans can do in order to change this situation.19 Several interpreters argue that the rationale for such a deterministic theology may be found in the Markan community’s situation of persecution20 or in the assumed failure of the Markan community’s proselytizing, especially among Israel.21 In other words, by claiming that everything happens under God’s control releases the community from the sole responsibility for its struggles (particularly in proclaiming ‘the word’, as implied by 4.14-20). To this end, 17. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 300; idem, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 51. See also Eduard Schweizer, who says, ‘It is actually God’s will for these parables to create a division: To some they give complete understanding of God’s secrets, but to others they seal themselves’ (The Good News according to Mark. [trans. Donald H. Madvig; Richmond: John Knox Press, 1970], 93). The following scholars echo this theme: Ambrozic (The Hidden Kingdom, 227); Adela Yarbro Collins (Mark: A Commentary [Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007], 249); and Ira Brent Driggers (Following God Through Mark: Theological Tension in the Second Gospel [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007], 44). A different variant on this theme comes from scholars whose interpretations of the parable of the sower and 4.10-12 are fatalistic: ‘God confirms the believer in his belief, and the unbeliever in his disbelief’ (Madeleine Boucher, The Mysterious Parable [CBQMS 6; Washington, D.C.: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1997], 61; Klyne Snodgrass, Stories with Intent: A Comprehensive Guide to the Parables of Jesus [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008], 163). On this point, Tolbert mediates between the two extremes. She minimizes the importance of repentance, saying that whether the people repent or not, God will ‘restore’ the kingdom, but she also emphasizes the need for people to ‘hear’ (Sowing the Gospel: Mark’s World in Literary-Historical Perspective [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989], 350). 18. This i3na makes the human response to the proclamation fall in line with the quotation of Isa. 6.9: humans are blind, though seeing, and deaf, though hearing, in order to seal their own destiny (see below on the narrative audience of 4.10-12). 19. Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 119, 121. 20. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 306; idem, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 121–2. 21. On the use of Isa. 6.9-10 to explain ‘the rejection of Jesus and the apostolic witness to him’, see Evans, To See and Not Perceive, 165. Since the other citations or allusions to Isa. 6.9 in the NT (Mt. 13.13b-15; Lk. 8.10b; Jn 12.40; Acts 28.26-27; Rom. 11.7) seem primarily focused on Israel’s rejection of the gospel, some interpreters read this context into Mark (e.g., Joachim Gnilka, Das Evangelium nach Markus (Mk 1–8:26) [EKKNT; Köln: Benziger, 1978] 1:163). This is particularly true for the non-Synoptic citations. As we note below, however, the Gospel of Mark as a whole does not demonstrate a definite concern for the hardening of Israel, in contrast to texts like Rom. 9–11. Some of the Markan Jesus’ most judgemental rhetoric is primarily reserved for the leaders of Israel (e.g., 2.6-11; 3.1-6, 20-30; 7.1-13; 10.2-9; 11.15-19; 11.27–12.40; although see 6.1-6a). The crowd continues to hear Jesus gladly even into Jerusalem, and while they cry for his death (15.13-14), his closest followers betray him to that death (14.10-11, 17-21, 50, 66-72).



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the community could have confidence that all things are in God’s hands.22 The latter conclusion is supported by an interpretation of this passage that emphasizes a motif of fulfilment from prophecy: as God willed obduracy through Isaiah’s prophetic proclamation, so God has done again through Jesus’ parables.23 Along the same lines, Joel Marcus has identified parallels between this passage and the Treatise of the Two Spirits at Qumran (1QS 3.13–4.24). These parallels focus on God’s enablement (du/namai) of the senses of hearing and sight: ‘One is able or unable to hear only as God wills.’24 Furthermore, Marcus highlights the fact that whoever is ‘around’ Jesus (4.10) has been chosen by him to be there (cf. 3.13-14), thus making their inquisitive response to him neither a surprise nor a product of their own volition.25 Accordingly, Mk 22. A strong belief in God’s sovereignty in the face of difficult circumstances is a common point in apocalyptic literature (e.g., 1 En. 9.5; 39.8; 41.1; 45.2-6; 62.6-7). Nevertheless, it is not true that apocalyptic literature attests a deterministic theology without remainder except, perhaps, at Qumran (most famously, 1QS 3.13–4.24; see D. S. Russell, The Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic, 200 BC–AD 100 [Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1964], 230–4 and Emmanuel O. Tukasi, Determinism and Petitionary Prayer in John and the Dead Sea Scrolls: Ideological Reading of John and the Rule of Community (1QS) [LSTS 66; London: T&TClark: 2008], 16– 17). Even in 1QS 4.3-14, however, the community demonstrates that humans have defined ethical responsibilities: a strong emphasis on God’s absolute sovereignty apparently highlights the necessity of ethical action, rather than the opposite anthropological claim. For an assessment of Qumran literature, see Phillip S. Alexander, (‘Predestination and Free Will in the Theology of the Dead Sea Scrolls’, Divine and Human Agency in Paul and His Cultural Environment [eds John M. G. Barclay and Simon J. Gathercole; London: T&T Clark, 2007], 27–49), where Alexander argues that the texts from Qumran never ‘logically’ contradict a doctrine of strict determinism but implicitly acknowledge an ‘experience’ of human freedom that stands in tension with their theological assertions (see esp. 47–9). See also E. H. Merrill, Qumran and Predestination: A Theological Study of the Thanksgiving Hymns (STDJ 8; Leiden: Brill, 1975). The Book of Watchers (1 En. 1–36) also pairs texts that attest to supernatural origins of evil (e.g., 7.3-5) and human causes (8.2-3). A similar juxtaposition is alluded to in T.Jud. 20.1-2. See further George W. E. Nickelsburg, ‘Apocalyptic and Myth in 1 En 6–11’, JBL 96 (1977): 383–405 [385]; idem, 1 Enoch: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001; and Gabriele Boccaccini, ‘Inner-Jewish Debate on the Tension between Divine and Human Agency in Second Temple Judaism’, Divine and Human Agency in Paul and his Cultural Environment, 9–26. 23. Evans, To See and Not Perceive, 165. 24. Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 107. See also idem, ‘Mark 4:10-12 and Marcan Epistemology’, JBL 103–4 (1984): 557–74 [559, 561]. See 1QS 3.13–4.24; 11.3-7, as well as statements in the Hodayot (e.g., 1QHa 21.4-5). Marcus notes that these themes are more broadly apparent in apocalyptic literature as well (e.g., 1 Enoch 41.8; 1QHa 21.19-21; 22.6-7; CD 2.13, and see n. 42). 25. Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 90n.53, disagrees with C. F. D. Moule (‘Mark 4:1-20 Yet Once More’ in Neotestamentica et Semitica: Essays in Honour of Matthew Black [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1969], 95–113 [98–103]), who ‘denies that 4:11-12 has any “predestinarian” implications’. However, a challenge to Marcus’ interpretation is not based on the fact that Jesus has called people: of course he has (1.16-20; 2.13-14; 3.13-19). Nevertheless, there is no evidence that those called also include ‘those around him’. The awkward language seems to support the fact that it was important to Mark – for an unknown reason – to broaden the group around Jesus so that those listening were not only the Twelve (4.10). If true, this assessment would be similar to other sections of the Gospel where Mark resists presenting one social or ethnic group monolithically (e.g., the scribe in 12.28-34).

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4.10-12 attests to an understanding of divine action that effectively dominates and overshadows human response. On the other side, scholars who find Mk 4.10-12 to be a fairly strong statement against divine activity, predestination, or determinism figure prominently in the history of research on this text. Some interpreters claim that Mk 4.11-12 expresses a view of Heilsgeschichte that they find throughout scripture: God’s revelation (here, presumably, the [mystery of the] kingdom of God: 4.11) has a history of both rejection and acceptance. So it has been ‘from the beginning’ (Gen. 3.1-19) and so it shall be until the end (e.g., Rev. 20.11-15).26 Therefore, it is not surprising that this rejection would take the classic (Isaianic) form of eyes that do not perceive and ears that do not understand. Such rejection has been the prophet’s life (cf. Mk 12.3-5). There are certainly commonalities between Israel’s rejection of God and the way that many characters act in Mark’s Gospel (cf. 12.1-12). At the same time, this assessment presumes that Isa. 6.9 and its citation in Mk 4.10-12 are focused on human action and humans’ rejection of God.27 In the tradition of Jeremias and Bultmann,28 Bradley Trick claims that the parables bring people to a point of decision: they must abandon Jesus, or reconsider his teaching and actions.29 Eugene Lemcio claims that the ‘hardened hearts’30 are less about God’s revelation and more about the human response. In other words, 26. See Francis J. Moloney, The Gospel of Mark: A Commentary (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2002), 90; Eugene Lemcio, ‘External evidence for the structure and function of Mark 4:1-20, 7:1423 and 8:14-21’, JTS 29 (1978): 323–38 [336]. The scriptural examples, above, are my own. 27. On this point, see John L. McLaughlin’s analysis of the permutations of the hardening motif in the Book of Isaiah as a whole (‘Their Hearts were Hardened: The Use of Isaiah 6,9-10 in the Book of Isaiah’, Bib 75 [1994]: 1–25) and Geoffrey D. Robinson’s study of the human aspects of (spiritual) blindness and deafness in Isaiah (‘The Motif of Deafness and Blindness in Isaiah 6,9-10: A Contextual, Literary, and Theological Analysis’, BBR 8 [1998]: 167–86). 28. For instance, Jeremias: ‘One thing above all becomes evident: it is that all the parables of Jesus compel his hearers to come to a decision about his person and mission’ (The Parables of Jesus, 230); Rudolf Bultmann: ‘The Reign of God, demanding of man decision for God against every earthly tie, is the salvation to come’ (Theology of the New Testament [Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2007], 1:21). 29. Bradley Trick, ‘Misinterpretation as Interpretive Key: Jesus’ Use of Ambiguous Parables to Harden Hearts’ (paper presented at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, New Orleans, LA, 20 November 2009). To give Trick credit, his comment was made about Mt. 13.1117, which is markedly different from the parallel account in the Second Gospel. While Trick’s statement may be true in Matthew, broadly speaking, and useful for a homiletical application of the parables, it does not seem to cohere with the presentation of parables in the Gospel of Mark. Only once is someone verbally ‘brought to the point of decision’, and that is not by a parable, per se, but rather by a healing (9.23-24). While everyone in the Gospel at some point ‘makes a decision’ against Jesus, it is less clear that this decision-making is the focus of 4.10-12 and seems more that the parables function as a double-edged sword (cf. Heb. 4.12; Rev. 1.16), pushing some out and pulling some in. 30. Even though Mk 4.12 does not mention hardened hearts (cf. pwrw/siv th~v kardi/av: 3.5; pepwrwme/nhn e1xete th\n kardi/an u(mw~n;: 8.17; sklhrokardi/a: 10.5), many interpreters use this terminology to summarize the effects of Isa. 6.9, on account of Isa. 6.10: ‘The heart of this people has grown fat’ (LXX) or ‘Make the heart of this people fat’ (MT).



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based on Lemcio’s interpretation, an ignorance of God’s ways and actions in the world is ‘culpable’, and humans, even the elect, are responsible for their knowledge and ignorance.31 Others have argued that 4.11-12 is not an example of predestination because later in Mark’s narrative, the disciples are treated as blind outsiders who do not understand (cf. 4.13; 6.52; 8.14-21). This would indicate that they were, in fact, not distinguished from ‘those outside’ by virtue of receiving the mystery of the kingdom, and therefore would be subject to the same consequences.32 Mary Ann Tolbert is probably the interpreter who most consistently focuses on the human agency present in Mk 4.10-12. While she discusses the cosmic framework of Mark’s story and God’s interaction in this narrative world33 early in her monograph, Sowing the Gospel, she shifts her emphasis to human agency in her comments on 4.10-12 in particular. In the literary context of the parable of the sower and its interpretation, Tolbert highlights the ‘human faults’ that are responsible for unfruitful ground (cf. 4.4-7, 15-19) and the ‘human initiative’ of the ‘faithful ground’ that is fruitful (4.8, 20).34 In doing so, she emphasizes the exhortations to hear and the responsibilities people have concerning the causes of unfruitfulness. In Tolbert’s analysis, because the parable of the sower and its explanation surrounds Mk 4.10-12, the human agency of the parable ultimately trumps any stress on divine action in 4.10-12.35 Another scholar who staunchly defends human agency in Mk 4.10-12 is Klyne Snodgrass.36 Snodgrass states, ‘It is not God who seeks to thwart turning and forgiveness but the people.’37 Mark is not … about ‘divine hardening’ and certainly not about ideas of predestination. The focus is on human responsibility and willingness to hear and on not repeating the pattern of 31. Lemcio, ‘External Evidence’, 335. 32. Mary Ann Beavis, Mark’s Audience: The Literary and Social Setting of Mark 4.11-12 (JSNTSup 33; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1989), 150. See below on the audience of Mk 4.10-12. 33. She perceptively says, ‘In the Gospel of Mark the evidence of … divine activity or purpose is often indirect, but at the same time it is all-pervasive … Perhaps the greatest irony of the Gospel of Mark is th[e] constant, frustrating human failure in the face of cosmic victory’ (Tolbert, Sowing the Gospel, 112–13). 34. Ibid., 159, 194. 35. Methodologically, this is exactly the opposite of the approach I take: precisely because of a striking emphasis on divine action in 4.10-12, I look for further instruction about God and God’s ways in the material surrounding this passage, namely, in the parables. In this way, Mark’s understanding of God’s and humanity’s activity receives a more balanced – indeed, a paradoxical – portrayal. While the goal of the balance is achieving a better hearing of both the parable of the sower and the comments in Mk 4.10-12, a result of this equilibrium is finding a third way between scholarly extremes. 36. Snodgrass explains many of these claims in his latest work, Stories with Intent. He expresses similar points in an earlier article, ‘A Hermeneutics of Hearing Informed by the Parables with Special Reference to Mark 4’, BBR 14 (2004): 59–79. 37. Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 161. Here, Snodgrass is citing Ulrich Luz (Matthew 8–20: A Commentary [trans. James E. Crouch; Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001], 247), but Snodgrass is applying the assessment to Mk 4.10-12.

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Israel’s refusal to hear the messengers of God (cf. 12.1-12). People place themselves inside or outside by the way they respond to the message, and their position is not then permanently determined.38

Snodgrass has combined some of the motifs we have seen above in constructing his interpretation. Landing strongly on the ‘human agency’ side of the fence, he combines the motif of hearing from the parable of the sower and its interpretation (4.3, 9, 15-19) with a heilsgeschichtliche analysis of humanity’s dealings with God.39 Scholars on both sides of this classic paradox of divine and human agency make important exegetical observations about Mk 4.10-12 and its context, lying in between the parable of the sower and its interpretation. The divide in scholarship not only demonstrates that there is evidence for highlighting God’s activity in this text, but also that this divine action is not the end of the story. It seems as though scholars who focus primarily on the language of 4.10-12 itself highlight God’s deterministic activity, while those who highlight the parable of the sower and its interpretation demonstrate how much the parabolic, hortatory language changes the emphasis of the passages. Of course, it is not only the classic paradox of divine and human agency that is evident here. Indeed, it is true that within the Gospel of Mark, ‘human responsibility and divine control over human destiny are not recognized to be mutually exclusive opposites’;40 38. Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 163. Emphasis is original. 39. Snodgrass says further, ‘The focus in all three [Synoptic] accounts is not predestination but revelation and whether one responds to revelation. This is to take nothing away from the sovereignty of God or God’s involvement in enabling people to hear, but this whole context and especially the allusion to Isaiah 6 puts the focus on human responsibility’ (Stories with Intent, 172). It seems that Snodgrass has taken his cue from Mark’s repeated references to ‘hearing’ (4.3, 9, 12, 15, 16, 18, 20) and concludes that the parable of the sower is ‘based on the ideas in Isa. 6:9-13’ which ‘function as irony, as provocation to bring about hearing and obedience’ (161, emphasis original). 40. Heikki Räisänen, The Idea of Divine Hardening: A Comparative Study of the Notion of Divine Hardening, Leading Astray, and Inciting to Evil in the Bible and the Qur’an (Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 25; Helsinki: Finnish Exegetical Society, 1972), 95; see also, Beavis, Mark’s Audience, 151. Beavis discusses this conciliatory conclusion and then continues further: ‘The dichotomy of “divine hardening” versus human “hardness of heart” may have been less relevant to Mark and his audience than it is to us; the more prominent, and less irreconcilable, opposition is between succumbing to or resisting the influence of Satan’ (Mark’s Audience, 154). While it is possible that the distinction between divine hardening and human hard-heartedness may not have been as significant to Mark, the previously cited works particularly among Jewish groups show that it was a discussion taking place before and during Mark’s era. A similar contradiction bothers Paul as he ponders God’s action and Israel’s rejection of the gospel in Romans 9–11. More problematic, however, is Beavis’ statement about the role of Satan. Mark surely embraces a theology that understands evil in both supernatural and mundane forms (see, e.g., 1.21-17; 5.120; 7.1-23). Mark certainly says that Satan’s influence should be resisted (3.23-30): about this there is little debate. Nevertheless, if the influence of Satan is the driving force in 4.10-12, it is buried so far beneath the surface of the passage as to remain altogether impotent. On this topic in general, see the debate between Ernest Best (The Temptation and the Passion: The Markan Soteriology [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965; repr. 1990]), who argues



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nevertheless, human things are opposed to divine things (Mk 8.33), so emphasizing both human and divine action requires the language of paradox. In fact, this division in scholarship reflects Mark’s paradoxical presentation of God in Mark 4: divine and human actions remain perplexing and unclear throughout the passage, in both parable and proclamation. Examining the diversity of scholarship on this passage illuminates this particular ambiguity of divine and human agency as it is expressed in Mk 4.10-12. However, this illumination does not solve the ambiguity. Taking into account both the testimony of Mk 4.10-12 and the surrounding literary context, namely, the parable of the sower and its interpretation, there is evidence for both divine and human agency. Both participate in the mysterious reign of God attested to by the parable, and both also are active in the giving and receiving of the mystery of the kingdom and in receiving all things in parables. The vagueness of verbs in this text points to the fact that it is difficult to establish with certainty who is active, and when they act. This ambiguity has a theological point, in that it paradoxically both accuses and saves God from the charge of keeping some from repentance and forgiveness by withholding some gifts and granting others. Section (c): Dubiously Generous Gifts While the previous section focused on the verbs of Mk 4.10-12, here we shall explore the function and use of two nouns, ‘mystery’ and ‘parables’. These nouns are particularly significant for two reasons. First, as noted in the preceding section they are the products of God’s activity, and therefore, they should illuminate aspects of that divine action. Second, they demonstrate how this paradox of concealed revelation functions: it has a mystery that is revealed yet remains mysterious, and it contains parables that cloud and deafen while serving as instruments of revelation. Because the terms ‘mystery’ and ‘parables’ are so important to the interpretation of this passage, this section considers how they have been defined in scholarship and how they function as evidence of this hidden-and-revealed paradox. First, the Markan Jesus declares that those around him with the Twelve have been given to\ musth/rion of God’s kingdom. In this context, the mystery appears to refer to God’s plan from the foundations of the world, granted to

that Satan is defeated during the temptation account (1.12-13) as retold in parables (3.23-30), with the rest of the Gospel as just a ‘mopping-up’ enterprise, and James M. Robinson, who sees Mark as oriented towards a cosmological apocalypticism where the demons and supernatural forces continue to hold centre stage (The Problem of History in Mark, [London: SCM Press, 1957]). John Riches seeks to bridge the gap between these perspectives, claiming that the Gospel itself explores tendencies in both directions (Conflicting Mythologies: Identity Formation in the Gospels of Mark and Matthew [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000]). For more on this, see Chapters 4–5, below.

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those around Jesus.41 The precise content, or even definition, of this mystery remains unclear. Such a gift, indeed, such a revelation, has a price. In this case, this mystery is given as a mystery and remains a mystery.42 It is given, or revealed, but it makes no difference in Mark’s narration of the story.43 In that sense, this mystery remains hidden. Those around Jesus are not given answers, or understanding, as 4.13 makes abundantly clear.44 Instead, they 41. This definition of to\ musth/rion is developed from 4QInstruction 417.6, 11-13, 18. The ‫ רז נהיה‬contains the whole eschatological horizon: past, present, and future. The ‘mystery that is to be’ in 4QInstruction both refers to God’s dominion and action in creation, as well as functioning as a means by which one may acquire knowledge and construe appropriate ethical action (4Q417.1.i.8; 4Q423.3; 4Q416.2.iii.15-19; see Matthew J. Goff, The Worldly and Heavenly Wisdom of 4QInstruction [STDJ 50; Leiden: Brill, 2003], 31, 33, 55, 69, 73). Adela Collins prescribes a christological focus to this definition, such that the mystery is similar to the proclamation of Jesus in Mk 1.15 (Adela Yarbro Collins, Mark, 249), while Joel Marcus specifies the definition of this mystery further as the coexistence of the new age within the old (The Mystery of the Kingdom, 49; Mark 1–8, 303). Raymond Brown expounds a similar definition in The Semitic Background of the Term ‘Mystery’ in the New Testament (Facet Books – Biblical Series 21; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1968), and, likewise, with an emphasis on the revelatory effects of mysteries, see Markus N. A. Bockmuehl, Revelation and Mystery in Ancient Judaism and Pauline Christianity (WUNT 36.2; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1990; repr. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997), 124–5 and, as above, Goff, Worldly and Heavenly Wisdom and idem, Discerning Wisdom: The Sapiential Literature of the Dead Sea Scrolls (VTSup 116; Leiden: Boston, 2007), 9–103. Samuel I. Thomas expands the sociological and lexical understandings of ‘mystery’ language within the Qumran corpus (The ‘Mysteries’ of Qumran: Mystery, Secrecy, and Esotericism in the Dead Sea Scrolls [Early Judaism and its Literature 25; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2009], 10–14, 182–6). Other scholars connect the definition of the mystery with Jesus himself, or Mark’s christology (e.g., Edward F. Siegman, ‘Teaching in Parables: [Mk 4.10-12; Lk. 8.9-10; Mt. 13.10-15]’, CBQ 23 [1961]: 161–81 [173]; Via, The Ethics of Mark’s Gospel, 190; Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom, 92–4; Joachim Gnilka, Die Verstockung Israels: Isaias 6,9-10 in der Theologie der Synoptiker [München: Kösel-Verlag, 1961], 44; William Wrede, The Messianic Secret, 60, 80; R. Alan Culpepper, Mark [Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2007], 138; Harry L. Chronis, ‘To Reveal and to Conceal: A Literary-Critical Perspective on “the Son of Man” in Mark’, NTS 51 [2005]: 459–81 [471]; Boucher, The Mysterious Parable, 82). 42. For astute theological reflection on this point, see Steven D. Boyer, ‘The Logic of Mystery’, RelS 43 (2007): 89–102 and Steven D. Boyer and Christopher A. Hall, The Mystery of God: Theology for Knowing the Unknowable (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2012). 43. This point has been made as long ago as 1901 (Wrede, The Messianic Secret, 59) and as recently as 2009 (Stephen P. Ahearne-Kroll, ‘Mysterious Explanations: Mark 4 and the Reversal of Audience Expectation’, Between Author and Audience in Mark: Narration, Characterization, Interpretation [ed. Elizabeth Struthers Malbon; New Testament Monographs 23; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2009], 64–81). See also Quentin Quesnell, The Mind of Mark: Interpretation and Method through the Exegesis of Mark 6,52 (A. B. 38; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1969), 210; Boring, Mark, 124. 44. As Adela Collins says: ‘Mark expresses the idea of the perception of a phenomenon (without the phenomenon necessarily being understood), whereas Matthew and Luke refer to a knowledgeable understanding of this phenomenon’ (Mark, 247). Her conclusion is based primarily on the pluralization of the term ‘mystery’ in Matthew (13.11) and Luke (8.10) as well as the disciples’ ability to understand. This ability is expressed clearly in Mt. 13.51 ([‘“Have you understood all these things?” They said to him, “Yes”’.]; cf. 13.16-17). It is also supported by Luke’s addition of gnw~nai to the phrase in Mark: ‘He [Jesus] said: “to you has been given to know [gnw~nai] the mysteries of the kingdom of God”’ (8.10). Mark does not express any such confidence that God’s gift conveys knowledge, nor that the disciples will understand.



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are given this mystery, which embodies the paradox of God’s activity by concealing its contents (particularly from Mark’s audience) and revealing its presence. The precise definition of the musth/rion of the kingdom of God, as noted above, is debated in scholarship. Some interpreters understand this ‘mystery’ to have christological or eschatological referents, while others deem that Mark does not provide a way to determine the content of this ‘mystery’. Exploring these definitions is important to the task of understanding the paradox of concealment and revelation. The reception of the ‘mystery of the kingdom of God’ by those around Jesus with the Twelve appears to set this group apart, implying that they have received some knowledge forbidden from others. This appearance may not in fact be true. However, seeking to understand what this knowledge is, or if there is such divisive knowledge, is significant for analysing how paradoxes work in this section of Mark. In other words, if the musth/rion is something that the narrative audience in Mark understands, but Mark’s authorial audience does not, then it does not constitute a paradox.45 If both audiences are left in the same place concerning this musth/rion, partially enlightened and partially darkened, then it is yet another instance of the paradoxical nature of God’s activity in concealment and revelation. The most common understanding of ‘the mystery of the kingdom of God’, notably by exegetes who interpret 4.11-12 within the literary context of Mark 4, is that ‘mystery’ refers to christology or God’s kingdom. As Adela Collins summarizes, ‘The mystery of the kingdom of God is the divinely willed way in 45. Mark’s narrative audience is the audience Mark describes within the narrative of the Gospel itself. Mark’s authorial audience is the audience (both real and ‘ideal’) reading or hearing the Gospel. The authorial audience is brought into the narrative at one explicit point: Mk 13.14 says, ‘Let the reader understand.’ However, if the narrative audience understood the mystery in Mk 4.11 and the authorial audience did not, we would have an example of a verse that operated as an interpretive antithesis to 13.14, privileging the narrative audience over the authorial audience. The use of this terminology can be traced to Seymour Chatman, Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1978). For a landmark study in Gospels scholarship using narrative criticism, see R. Alan Culpepper, Anatomy of the Fourth Gospel: A Study in Literary Design (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983). For thought-provoking critiques of the method and its application from two different perspectives – the first emphasizing deconstruction and postmodernism, the second emphasizing the importance of historical-critical work – see Stephen D. Moore, Literary Criticism and the Gospels: The Theoretical Challenge (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1989); John Ashton, ‘Narrative Criticism’, in Studying John: Approaches to the Fourth Gospel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), 141–65. Francis Watson, on the other hand, claims that ‘literary approaches to the Gospels’ hold the most theological promise, escaping from a theologically bankrupt historical-critical approach (‘Literary Approaches to the Gospels: A Theological Assessment’, Theology 99 [1996]: 125–33). Of course, not all ‘literary’ methods share such a concern for theological issues as Watson advocates, nor are so historically-deficient as Ashton fears. For examples of the use of narrative critical methods in analysing the Second Gospel, see David Rhoads, Joanna Dewey, and Donald Michie, Mark as Story: An Introduction to the Narrative of a Gospel (2nd edn; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999) and Stephen H. Smith, A Lion with Wings: A Narrative-Critical Approach to Mark’s Gospel (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996).

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which the rule of God will manifest itself and come to fulfillment through the agency of Jesus.’46 Of course, such a broad definition of the ‘mystery’ of the kingdom seems reasonable but lacks precision: it could encompass the entirety of Mark’s Gospel. Other commentators also maintain a broad definition: the mystery relates to ‘the knowledge … of the kingdom as the rule of God, imminent and indeed already exercising its power’.47 Nevertheless, a few scholars seek to narrow down this meaning of mystery so that it is intimately connected to its literary context within the parable of the sower. Joel Marcus concludes that the mystery ‘has been given’ in the immediate context of 4.11-12 – in the parable of the sower and its interpretation (4.3-9, 13-20) – so that the mystery becomes synonymous with the exegesis of the parable. For Marcus, the mystery is the coexistence of the new age within the old.48 In other words, it is mysterious that the arrival of God’s kingdom is not an immediate eschatological triumph over its opposition. Instead, it begins gradually, taking all by surprise, even at its telos (cf. 4.30-32).49 Other scholars focus the meaning of the mystery christologically, so that God’s action in giving the mystery is equated with God’s action of giving or sending Jesus. In 1972, Aloysius Ambrozic declared, ‘Exegetes are fairly unanimous in their answer to this question [of the definition of musth/rion]: the mystery of the kingdom consists in its dynamic presence in the person of Jesus.’50 Ambrozic is mistaken about the scholarly consensus, and then interprets the ‘mystery’ through the lens of Col. 1.26-27, so that a mystery that has long been hidden is now revealed in Jesus, the ‘hidden Messiah’.51 He 46. Collins, Mark, 249. Collins indicates that the mystery is identical or similar to the proclamation of Jesus in Mk 1.15. 47. Vincent Taylor, The Gospel according to St. Mark: The Greek Text with Introduction, Notes, and Indexes (2nd edn; New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1966), 255. 48. Marcus, Mark 1–8, 303; idem, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 45. 49. See below for an exegesis of Mk 4.30-32 that emphasizes its surprising nature. See Marcus for the overarching point presented here (The Mystery of the Kingdom, 49). Against Marcus, however, the advent of the kingdom might be a divine ‘mystery’, but this would not be a ‘secret’ or a ‘surprise’ to an audience familiar with a theology like that expressed in apocalyptic literature: ‘It is no novelty to Hebrew thought that the varied success of God’s kingdom on earth is seen as a divine mystery’ (Brown, Semitic Background, 35). In other words, God’s activity in the world has always met with varied reactions. F. C. Synge extends this conclusion even further, saying that the mystery is not really a mystery to the ‘arounders’, (those around Jesus), but it is a riddle to the ‘outsiders’ (‘A Plea for the Outsiders: Commentary on Mark 4:10-12’, Journal of Theology for Southern Africa 30 [1980]: 53–8 [55].) A different variation on this theme is expressed by Schuyler Brown, who claims that the word, musth/rion, originally (likely ‘for the historical Jesus’, though he does not specify) meant a ‘mystery … perceptible only through the God-given insight of faith’, but that this meaning shifts to being a ‘secret’ because its content changes so that it is not incomprehensible, simply ‘deliberately withheld’ from the crowds (4.14-20; ‘“The Secret of the Kingdom of God” [Mark 4:11]’, JBL 92 [1973]: 60–74 [66n.32; 68; 74]; contra Gnilka, Die Verstockung Israels, 80). 50. Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom, 92. 51. Ibid., 94. See also Gnilka, Die Verstockung Israels, 44. For theological reflection on the Pauline sense of mystery, see Jean Paillard, In Praise of the Inexpressible: Paul’s Experience of the Divine Mystery (trans. Richard J. Erikson; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2003).



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concludes that ‘the content of the mystery of the kingdom and of the messianic secret is the same: the kingdom is brought into being by Jesus’ obediently going to the cross’.52 This assessment leads into the second explication of the ‘mystery of the kingdom of God’, which equates this mystery with the main character of the Gospel: Jesus. The ambiguity of the referent of this mystery, whether it is the eschatological in-breaking of God’s kingdom or the person of Jesus demonstrates the obscurity of God’s revelation that is granted in Mk 4.10. Wrede is the first in modern scholarship to connect the mystery of the kingdom of God (4.11) to the ‘messianic secret’. The Second Gospel seems to have in mind several different ‘secrets’, and Wrede seeks to investigate them all.53 The messianic secret, that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, is the primary secret. Based on 4.12, the meaning of parables is another secret, but ‘also secret in a pre-eminent sense is the necessity of Jesus’ suffering, dying, and rising’.54 For Wrede, all secrets are integrated – or conflated – into the messianic secret. Perhaps this observation pushes him to the conclusion that the mystery of the kingdom is also to be identified with Jesus. Other interpreters share this christological identification of the mystery, serving the ends of either paraenesis or theological explanation.55 Schuyler Brown identifies the problem with the majority of these christologically-focused definitions. The messianic secret cannot be the equivalent of the mystery of the kingdom of God. The disciples and those around Jesus are ‘given’ the mystery of the kingdom in Mk 4.11, but they do not express any understanding of Jesus’ identity until 8.27-30, and even then this understanding is but partial.56 Because they embody several significant qualities of ‘those outside’, including opacity when it comes to understanding Jesus, it seems that ‘they have a different kind of incomprehension for which the messianic secret cannot account’.57

52. Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom, 99–100. 53. Wrede’s five categories are: demons exhorted to secrecy (1.25, 34), secrecy exhorted after miracles (5.43; 7.36), disciples exhorted to secrecy (8.30), crowds commanding Bartimaeus to be quiet (10.46-52), and secrecy concerning Jesus’ whereabouts (7.33). Wrede is not clear which category the parable theory (and therefore the messianic secret) would fit into; in fact, it seems that because Wrede advocates treating the secrecy theme as a unity, the messianic secret and all its manifestations (including 4.10-12) includes all of these categories (The Messianic Secret, 34–6). 54. Wrede, The Messianic Secret, 60, 80. ‘Jesus does not indeed make a secret of his suffering and resurrection with his disciples, but it remains a secret to them’ (ibid., 81). To this end, Wrede excuses the disciples for not understanding the secret because he contends that they were not supposed to comprehend it yet. However, this interpretation struggles with verses like 4.13, which reproach the disciples and others for their incomprehension. 55. Culpepper, Mark, 138; Chronis, ‘To Reveal and to Conceal’, 471. Boucher believes that the ‘mystery’ language explains the theological problem of Israel’s rejection of the gospel (The Mysterious Parable, 82) as well as paraenesis for the Markan audience (ibid., 82–3). 56. Brown, ‘“The Secret of the Kingdom of God”’, 62. 57. Ibid.

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If Mark understood the ‘mystery of the kingdom of God’ to have more specific content than ‘the activity of Jesus in the kingdom of God now at hand’,58 or ‘the plan of God from the foundations of the world’,59 then apparently he expects his audience to know this coming to the narrative.60 There is little provided in the narrative itself to supplement the definition of this ‘mystery’ with any degree of specificity.61 In fact, beyond questioning what the content of the given musth/rion is, some scholars debate whether the term expresses any identifiable content at all.62 In such a case God’s revelation would be so concealed that its content might as well be void. Given the fairly consistent use of the term, musth/rion, and its Hebrew equivalents (‫ רז‬and ‫)סוד‬,63 it seems reasonable to attribute to it the general definition of ‘God’s plan from the foundations of the world’, with no need for the recipients of this mystery to understand it fully. Not only is this meaning of the term like the revelations given in Dan. 2.27-30, but it is also a common revelatory motif in apocalyptic literature. Whatever God or the angelic mediator reveals is not meant for understanding or comprehension (e.g., the apocalyptic mysteries like ‘the measure of the wind’, [4 Ezra 4.5]) but rather demonstrates important characteristics about God and those who receive divine revelation.64 Indeed, even if the ‘mystery of the kingdom of God’ is ‘God’s plan’ from the beginning of time until the eschaton, that definition does not further inform Mark’s audience about the content of the mystery. Nor should it. The ‘mystery of the kingdom of God’ is not an ‘investigative mystery’ to be solved, such that when one knows the mystery, the mystery

58. cf. Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom, 92. 59. See 4Q417.6, 11-13, 18. The ‫ רז נהיה‬is the object of meditation and study in this sapiential text. With such an eschatological focus, however, it is apparent that this mystery, like the musth/rion of Mark 4, is both revealed and concealed. There is a sense in which the addressee of 4QInstruction can understand something of the revealed mystery of the plan of God in the past (at creation), and the addressee can acquire wisdom and contemplate the mystery that is to be, but the addressee will not fully understand it, as it is not fully revealed (4Q417.1.i.6-8, 10-11; Goff, Worldly and Heavenly Wisdom, 33, 38–9, 55). 60. See Wrede, The Messianic Secret, 59. 61. This assessment can be contrasted with Quesnell’s, who believes that the mystery of the kingdom is clearly to be understood in the context of the early church as the resurrection. Because of this particular ‘mysterious’ content, Mark’s audience was in a better position to understand this mystery than were the characters in the narrative (The Mind of Mark, 211, 220). While the resurrection is a historical and theological mystery, it does not follow that this is the mystery that the disciples receive in 4.11. 62. Collins (Mark, 247) and Marcus say that the phenomenon is to be understood later, as in Dan. 2.27-30 (The Mystery of the Kingdom, 45). For an argument for ‘secrecy’ in general, rather than a content-oriented mystery, see J. R. Kirkland, ‘Earliest Understanding of Jesus’ Use of Parables: Mark 4:10-12 in Context’, NovT 19 (1977): 1–21 [12]; Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 163. 63. See Brown, Semitic Background, 2–30; Gnilka, Die Verstockung Israels, 155–85. 64. See Michael Stone, ‘Lists of Revealed Things in Apocalyptic Literature’, in Magnalia Dei, The Mighty Acts of God: Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Memory of G. Ernest Wright (ed. Frank Moore Cross, W. E. Lemke, P. D. Miller; Garden City: Doubleday, 1976), 414–52.



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vanishes altogether.65 This kind of mystery belongs in Agatha Christie novels, but it is relatively rare in religious discourse.66 Instead, musth/rion in the NT, and particularly in the Gospel of Mark, is not the opposite of knowledge.67 After all, the following two verses after those around Jesus receive the gift of the mystery focus on insight and understanding (4.12-13) and whether one has such or is prevented from obtaining it.68 Instead of being a mystery which its recipients are supposed to solve completely, this mystery appears to qualify as what Steven Boyer calls a ‘dimensional mystery’.69 A dimensional mystery ‘can be revealed and yet still defy understanding not for any quantitative reason … but because of an intrinsic [quality] that transcends narrowly rational explanation’.70 Instead of seeking the ‘answer’ to the mystery such that no mystery remains, or revelling in an agnostic apophatic theology,71 engaging a dimensional mystery means that knowledge is meant to be exercised to its fullest extent. However, the mystery can never be exhausted because its dimensionality exceeds, by definition, the capacity of its recipient.72 To this 65. For this language of ‘investigative mystery’ and the following discussion, see Boyer, ‘The Logic of Mystery’, 89–102 and Boyer and Hall, The Mystery of God, 4–13. 66. In fact, interpreting the musth/rion as an investigative mystery seems to promote a ‘God of the gaps’ theology, where things about the world or God’s activity in it remain a mystery until knowledge catches up with them, debunking their ‘mysterious’ qualities and showing them to be as ‘logical’ as they should be (for a similar criticism, see Boyer, ‘The Logic of Mystery’, 93). Tolbert apparently understands the musth/rion in Mk 4.11 in an investigative manner as she claims, ‘Perhaps, for the author of Mark, Jesus’ early commands to secrecy and his explanations to insiders with only parables to outsiders (cf. Mark 4:11-12) were meant as necessary preconditions for his later revelations of identity (14:62) and his passion, much as secrecy concerning the identity of the guilty party in some murder mysteries provides the necessary motivation for the detective’s quest and ultimate revelation of truth’ (Sowing the Gospel, 87; emphasis mine). 67. Again, this is similar to 4QInstruction (cf. 4Q417.1.i.18-19). 68. Verbs of perception or understanding in these two verses alone include: ble/pw, o(ra/w, a)kou/w, sunih/mi, oi1da, ginw/skw. 69. The nineteenth-century novel, Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions, by Edwin A. Abbott (Boston: Roberts Brothers, [1885]) illustrates dramatically the nature of a dimensional mystery. In the novel, the main character, A. Square, seeks to describe his two-dimensional world to his readers who live in ‘Spaceland’, our three-dimensional world. Amid prescient social commentary and astute geometry, Abbot points out the characteristics of a two-dimensional world to his threedimensional audience. As those who are three-dimensional, we can exhaustively understand the two-dimensional nature of Flatland. However, while Flatlanders are able to observe everything that is two-dimensional about Spaceland (e.g., height and width), they would never be able to ‘know’ the third dimension (e.g., depth). This third dimension would remain a mystery to them, though they have understood all they could. It is with this analogy that Boyer explains what he means by a ‘dimensional mystery’ (‘The Logic of Mystery’, 96). 70. Boyer, ‘The Logic of Mystery’, 97. 71. Such as exemplified in Delwin Brown, ‘Knowing the Mystery of God: Neville and Apophatic Theology’, American Journal of Theology and Philosophy 18 (1997): 239–55. Cited in Boyer, ‘The Logic of Mystery’, 92n.16. Boyer’s assessment is not about apophatic theology in general, but rather about particular executions of it. 72. In Boyer’s words: ‘Knowledge is not just a matter of organizing clear and distinct ideas, but also a matter of acknowledging and finally of entering into an unfamiliar medium or dimension – almost of entering into a new world. Reality displays a depth or thickness that reason can enter into, without ever expecting to master or exhaust or domesticate’ (‘The Logic of Mystery’, 99).

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end, the Twelve and those around Jesus are still exhorted to understand the parables (4.13), even if the gift of the mystery does not immediately give them the insight to comprehend.73 There is a sense in which vv. 11-13 have the same effect on Mark’s reader: they puzzle and baffle, creating division and debate, which is precisely what divine mystery does. In this sense, giving the mystery of the kingdom embodies God’s action of concealed revelation: the giving reveals, while the mystery conceals.74 The paradox of God’s activity remains. Our analysis concludes in a way that echoes Via’s quotation at the beginning of this chapter: God’s hiddenness breaks on to the scene in such a way as to make even the given mystery more mysterious.75 While musth/rion relates to the action of giving, a second term is connected to the potential divine action of having all things ‘come’ (gino/mai) in ‘parables’. The corollary to to\ musth/rion in 4.11 is ai( para/bolai, the vehicles through which the outsiders experience everything (ta\ pa/nta).76 These two terms do not parallel each other: both insiders and outsiders hear parables, while only insiders are given the mystery.77 These terms have seemed like opposites in the history of scholarship, where parables were presumed to be clear, forthright statements and a mystery is the antithesis.78 However, both of these terms embody the paradox of a concealed revelation and demonstrate the ramifications of it. The previous discussion of ‘mystery’ shows that while revelation is given to those around Jesus, it is concealed in the form of a mystery. The parables simply extend this observation, showing that revelation is concealed both to outsiders and to insiders. Both mystery and parables are a product and an agent of this paradox of concealed revelation. 73. In a sense, those around Jesus are both culpable and not culpable for not understanding the parables: what they have received is not an answer, but a mystery. God’s paradoxical activity of concealing while revealing creates another, anthropological paradox, as humans are responsible for understanding a revelation, but not responsible (or able) to break through the concealment surrounding the revelation. 74. Given Mk 8.34–9.1, it is likely true, however, that Mark would like his audience to know, as J. Louis Martyn summarized, ‘kata\ stauro/n’, which Martyn bases on 2 Cor. 5.16-17. See ‘Epistemology at the Turn of the Ages’, in Theological Issues in the Letters of Paul (Nashville: Abingdon, 1997), 89–110. Of course, knowing kata\ stauro/n is given specific content in the discipleship-oriented discourses in Mk 8.34–10.52. 75. See Via, The Ethics of Mark’s Gospel, 174. 76. Fay contends that to\ musth/rion and ai( para/bolai are not opposites. Instead, ‘parables have a dual purpose: they reveal and conceal, not indiscriminately, but selectively and conditionally (cf. vv. 11-12, 24-25)’ (‘Introduction to Incomprehension’, 76). In other words, Jesus teaches in one way (in parables), and this singular method of teaching is received differently depending on one’s membership in a particular group (insider vs. outsider). While Fay is correct that Jesus’ teaching is consistently ‘in parables’ in Mark 4, this interpretation runs aground when it encounters the very centre of Fay’s own argument: the disciples’ incomprehension. 77. For example, see the chart in Marcus, Mark 1–8, 302. At the same time, however, Jesus’ reproach in 4.13 implies that those around him are to have somehow understood the parables differently than ‘those outside’. This lack of understanding where one expects understanding is part of the paradox. 78. See the discussion of Adolf Jülicher’s scholarship on parables in Chapter 1, above.



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While scholars have long operated under the presupposition that Jesus’ parabolic language is simple, clear, and straightforward, Mk 4.10-12 makes such an interpretation problematic.79 For those outside, having everything come ‘in parables’ appears to be for the purpose of preventing insight, understanding, and ultimately, repentance and forgiveness (4.12).80 Such harsh consequences imply that parables are a means of communication which darken the senses of the outsiders (and even the insiders) who hear them. In a sense, a larger reading of Mark supports this claim. Jesus speaks in parables in a few scattered passages in the Gospel (3.23; throughout ch. 4; 7.14-17; 12.1-12; 13.28-31).81 In each of these, the parables are products of various implicit or explicit confrontations between different groups in the Gospel.82 In this way, parables do function to blind and deafen outsiders. As Ambrozic says, there can be no doubt that [Mark] looks upon [the parable] as a dark saying … By means of its unintelligibility it also participates in the destructive aspects of the coming kingdom: in the hearts of those outside it produces utter darkness and impenitence. Its primary message is the kingdom of God, a reality which is already present in a hidden manner, but is still waiting to manifest itself with power.83 79. This is one reason why Mk 4.10-12 is often attributed to the hand of the evangelist, and not to the historical Jesus (see Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, 15–18). 80. Wrede comments that parables ‘conceal the divine truth’ much in the same way that Jesus is concerned to conceal his own messiahship (The Messianic Secret, 65). Parables are an important means for this concealment because ‘an essential feature of this form [is] to be incomprehensible: it permits the audience to perceive something, to be sure, but in such a way that they do not grasp its significance’ (ibid., 57). Wrede’s support for this exegesis can be found in Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu, 1:118–48. 81. Mk 12.12 seems to be an exception on first glance: those who hear Jesus’ parable of the vineyard (12.1-10) understand that this parable is told ‘against them’. Nevertheless, this is another indication of ‘seeing and not perceiving’ because they can see their role in the parable, but they do not perceive Jesus’ role in the drama as the beloved son as indicated by the continued debates in Mark 12. 82. In Mk 3.23, Jesus explicitly addresses the ‘scribes who came down from Jerusalem’, countering their charge that he is possessed by Beelzebul (3.22). Mk 7.14-17 is similar, in that it is an address to a crowd after Jesus has another encounter with the scribes and Pharisees (7.5). In the narrative, the parable of the vineyard (12.1-12) follows on the heels of a question by the chief priests, scribes, and elders in Jerusalem. They want to know from where Jesus’ authority comes (11.27-33). Jesus speaks directly ‘to them’ in parables (12.1). While the parables do not resolve debates, the parable of the vineyard (12.1-9) provokes these Jerusalemites to try to arrest Jesus, clearly pointing to the coming events of Jesus’ passion (12.12). The parables of Mark 4 and 13.2831, however, are told to crowds in general, or Jesus’ followers in particular. Since Jesus’ disciples also function as antagonists (e.g., 8.33) or deserters (14.50), it is possible that these settings show the parables in situations of conflict as well. 83. The Hidden Kingdom, 91. I think Ambrozic is accurate in suggesting that a parable, for Mark, is a dark saying, through which light enters (4.21) only by the mystery of the kingdom (ibid., 90) and the presence and teaching of Jesus (4.34). Nevertheless, Ambrozic’s understanding of a ‘present but hidden’ kingdom has more in common with Matthew’s parable of the weeds and the wheat (13.24-30, 36-43) than with Mark’s parable of the sower (although Marcus shares this assessment of the parable of the sower as well [The Mystery of the Kingdom, 49–50]). The kingdom is here, and yet it is future. The victory over evil is complete, and it has yet to be consummated.

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In fact, Mk 4.34 implies that the interpretation of parables is so difficult, and their meaning so hidden, that only Jesus can reveal it to the disciples. Of course, this may be less than comforting to a reader of Mark who finds Jesus’ explanation of the parable of the sower (4.14-20) just as perplexing as the original parable. Furthermore, Mark’s narration of the parables is not quite so univocal. In Mk 4.33, it seems that Jesus speaks in parables in order to teach in a manner understandable to at least some of the crowds, for he speaks ‘as they were able to hear’ it. In this paradoxical way, parables can both convey revelation while still concealing it.84 Moreover, parables are not only methods of concealment. Within the narrative, Jesus’ opponents ‘know’ that the parable of the vineyard (12.1-10) is about them (12.12). The reality is that this revelation serves an oblique purpose: they continue in their plans to trap Jesus (12.13) and eventually to kill him, thereby unknowingly fulfilling the revelation (14.1-2; 15.37-38). Even this is serving God’s will (cf. e.g., 8.31; 16.6-7).85 Mark portrays God as both concealing this divine plan (8.31; 9.31; 10.33-34) primarily through parables and silence, and revealing it through Jesus’ teaching and the opponents’ proclamations. This is the crux of the paradox of the concealment and revelation of God’s activity: at the centre of this paradox, Jesus’ opponents serve in the enactment of God’s will in the same way that his followers do. While the earlier exegesis in this chapter focused on the verbs of these perplexing verses in Mark 4, this section has centred its discussion on the

84. See also Ambrozic, who claims that 4.33 directly counters the statements of 4.11 (The Hidden Kingdom, 51). Ambrozic says further: ‘Since [the parables] spoke of God’s kingdom and its coming, realities of their nature ineffable, they revealed and concealed at the same time. To quote E. Jüngel, “the parable can conceal only because it is designed to disclose”’ (ibid., 77). In fact, Ambrozic draws these lines of revelation and concealment into the Markan community: ‘Some of [the parable’s] darkness continues to cling to the parable even within the community, for what it proclaims has yet to be fully manifested’ (ibid., 106). This assessment is entirely appropriate, for the time of concealment paired with revelation lasts until the eschaton (4.22; cf. 13.26-27). Boucher expands Ambrozic’s claims by connecting the parables’ incomplete obscurity (and inherent revelation) to the necessity that the ‘revelation … is meant to be brought to light by the hearers themselves’ (The Mysterious Parable, 53). See Donald Juel, who emphasizes Jesus’ agency in leaving the audience at his mercy ‘as the one who obscures and reveals’ (‘Encountering the Sower: Mark 4:1-20’, [Int 56 (2002): 273–82)]: 282). 85. In some ways, the passion narrative of Mark may be a narrative exposition of Joseph’s words in Genesis: ‘What you meant for evil, God used for good’ (Gen. 45.5-8; 50.20; see R. W. L. Moberly for commentary on the Genesis text, though not in relation to Mark: The Theology of the Book of Genesis [OTT; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009], 241–44). Craig Evans echoes this theme: ‘without the hardened heart, Jesus would not have been rejected and put to death; and had he not been put to death, there could have been no resurrection and no Christian gospel. The logion in 4.11-12 must be seen in this light’, demonstrating the necessity of ‘outsiders’ (4.11) for the execution of God’s plan (To See and Not Perceive, 103; see also Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 147).



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nouns; namely, mystery and revelation. Both nouns demonstrate that God’s activity can be revealed and yet remain a mystery. God’s action is concealed through parables, yet reveals misunderstood knowledge, both with and without Jesus’ help. God’s gift of the mystery and the divine vehicle of the parables serve to demonstrate the paradox of concealed revelation to the different audiences mentioned or implied in Mk 4.10-12. Section (d): Questionable Audiences With a ‘mystery’ being given to one group, and all things coming in parables to another group, one might wonder about the identities of these groups. In fact, the identity of those ‘inside’, the group around Jesus, and those ‘outside’, who are prevented from repentance and forgiveness, is one of the primary exegetical and theological concerns of those who interpret this passage. Given the different identities interpreters attribute to ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’, it is apparent that the groups are not always exclusive: some commentators find that their boundaries are porous or their identities overlap. Exploring the identities of these groups is important because they also point to God’s paradoxical activity in concealment and revelation towards all the characters in the Gospel. Interpreters designate a wide range of options for ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’ in Mk 4.10-12. The insiders seem fairly easy to identify. They are often called ‘the disciples’, based on 4.10,86 the ‘good soil’ (4.8, 20),87 the Christian community,88 or ‘those around Jesus’ in Mark ch. 3. One scholar has simply

86. Kirkland, ‘Earliest Understanding of Jesus’ Use of Parables’, 14; Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom, 65; Taylor, Mark, 257. One of the most creative analyses of insiders and outsiders comes from Synge, who paraphrases Mk 4.11: ‘To you, “arounders”, publicans and sinners, Gentiles, is given the revelation of the universality of the Kingdom of God’, (Synge, ‘A Plea for the Outsiders’, 58). To say that this is not what Mk 4.11-12 proclaims is an understatement. While Jesus has come for tax collectors and sinners (cf. 2.15-17), there is no direct link to them from the ‘insiders’. Glossing ‘sinners’ glibly throughout the Gospel is also problematic, as Mark says, ‘The Son of Man has been betrayed into the hands of sinners’ (14.41). No group in the Gospel is always assessed positively, though ‘those who do God’s will’ come closest, as they are described as Jesus’ true family (3.31-35). 87. Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 157. Donald Hartley uses ‘wisdom’ as his boundary marker and claims that those inside possess wisdom and knowledge of the kingdom of God (based on 4.11), but those outside are lacking these possessions (The Wisdom Background and Parabolic Implications of Isaiah 6:9-10 in the Synoptics [Studies in Biblical Literature 100; New York: Peter Lang, 2006], 258). Hartley has also written one of the more cryptic statements about the dividing line between insiders and outsiders: ‘Outsiders are ontologically-functionally fat/hard-hearted while insiders (believers) may be functionally-ontologically fat/hard-hearted’ (301). 88. Schweizer, The Good News according to Mark, 92.

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identified the insiders as ‘those who ask for more’ and the outsiders as those who are not interested.89 The identity of ‘those outside’ is much more contentious than the insiders, however. Whoever is ‘outside’ is denied repentance and forgiveness, according to 4.12. Therefore, it is common for scholars to describe ‘those outside’ as those who have already refused Jesus, 90 who should have responded to Jesus’ call or teaching and did not,91 or simply those who are not disciples or are members of the crowds.92 One of the primary problems in describing ‘those outside’ by the characteristics listed in 4.10-12 is that the logical outsiders, Jesus’ opponents, are not the only characters who exhibit a lack of insight or understanding. In fact, Mk 4.13 is the introduction of a common Markan theme: the incomprehension of the disciples (cf. 4.41; 6.52; 8.14-21; 8.32-33; 9.6, 10, 32; 10.35-38; 14.27-31).93 The tension between the positive assessment of Mk 4.11, which portrays others with the Twelve as the recipients of God’s gift, the mystery of the kingdom, and these negative assessments of the disciples’ comprehension of Jesus’ identity, ministry, and mission, has confounded interpreters.94 The context of 89. Moloney, Mark, 90. This seems similar to Luke’s narrative of the crowd’s response to Paul at the Areopagus (Acts 17.32-34). While it is true that asking questions and inquiring after Jesus is considered to be a positive characteristic in the Second Gospel, commentators may emphasize this quality of ‘response’ more than the narrative does (see, e.g., Morna Hooker, The Gospel According to St. Mark [BNTC; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1991], 126). On this point, Boring is strongly critical: ‘This [waiting for the crowd’s response] is difficult to imagine either historically or in the Markan story line: Does Jesus tell a parable, then ask for those who want to know more to step forward (as “inquirers” come forward as the hymn is sung at the conclusion of an evangelistic sermon), and to such inquiring minds he then gives the additional teaching?’ (Mark, 126–7n.75). Of course, given the pattern that Eugene Lemcio identifies, private instruction following public teaching is common in Mark (not only 4.13-20 but also 7.14-23; 8.14-21) and has other precedents in prophetic and apocalyptic literature, possibly mollifying Boring’s scepticism (Lemcio, ‘External Evidence’, 323–38). 90. Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom, 54; J. Coutts, ‘“Those Outside” (Mark 4,10-12)’, SE 2 (Berlin: Akademie, 1964), 155–7; Lucien Cerfaux, ‘La connaissance des secrets du Royaume d’après Mt., XIII, 11 et parallèls’, NTS 2 (1955–56): 238–49 [239]; Etienne Trocmé, ‘Why Parables? A Study of Mark IV’, BJRL 59 (1976–77): 458–71 [460]; Beavis, Mark’s Audience, 83. 91. Rikki E. Watts, Isaiah’s New Exodus in Mark (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), 208; Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 157. 92. ‘Practically universal opinion identifies [those outside] with all those who do not belong to the narrow circle of Jesus’ disciples’ (Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom, 54). Gnilka, in particular, points out the differentiation between the crowd and the disciples throughout the Gospel, thus rendering ‘those outside’ as ‘the crowd’ (Die Verstockung Israels, 84–6). One of the more creative interpreters of Mk 4.10-12 is Frank Kermode, who dedicates his Norton lectures to ‘those outside’, among whom he numbers himself, not being a member of the biblical studies guild (The Genesis of Secrecy: On the Interpretation of Narrative [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979]). 93. Nevertheless, it is an overstatement to call the incomprehension of the disciples ‘the predominant motif of the gospel’ (Fay, ‘Introduction to Incomprehension’, 77). 94. See, e.g., Driggers, Following God Through Mark, passim. Redaction critics were particularly burdened with the challenge of the Markan disciples. For an overview, see C. Clifton Black, The Disciples According to Mark: Markan Redaction in Current Debate (JSNTSup 27; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989), 39–63. One of the first explorations of narrative criticism in Second



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Mk 4.11-12 is also complicated by the presence and absence of the crowd. The crowd receives Jesus’ teaching (4.1-2), as they are able to hear it (4.33), but their identity as insiders or outsiders seems vague at best. This is added to the inherent vagary of the awkward phrase, ‘those around [Jesus] with the Twelve’ (4.10). There is no way to define sharply the sociological identity of this group.95 These questions challenge interpretations of this passage that conclude that the groups of insiders and outsiders are determined, fixed, and unchanging in the narrative. There are two primary solutions to this challenge. The first solution is to envision porous boundaries between insiders and outsiders, such that one could move between the two groups. The previous paragraph’s discussion of the disciples’ lack of understanding tends in that direction: because the disciples demonstrate their opacity, perhaps their hearts have also been hardened (cf. 8.17-18) as part of this ‘adulterous and sinful generation’ (9.19). In a different fashion, a second solution proposes that the disciples seem to function in an intermediate place between the insiders and outsiders. They have a ‘certain perception’ of Jesus’ identity, but they do not understand him to be the Son of God.96 In this way, the disciples do not understand, like the outsiders,97 but they are a privileged group, recipients of the revelation of the mystery of the kingdom who have been chosen to be in fellowship with Jesus in his ministry (1.16-17; 3.13-19; 6.7-13, 30-31).98 To this end, it is unclear which option Mark has pursued in relating insiders and outsiders. Some say he has essentially erased the distinctions between the two groups,99 while others find that he leaves the groups distinctive but sees membership in one or the other as based on individual response.100 Still other Gospel studies also concerned the disciples (Robert C. Tannehill, ‘Disciples in Mark: The Function of a Narrative Role’, JR 57 [1977]: 386–405). 95. See the first section of this chapter, above. 96. See also Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 99; idem, ‘Mark 4:10-12 and Marcan Epistemology’, 562n.18. 97. Wrede comments that the disciples show lack of faith, astonishment, fear, and lack of understanding. All of these motifs are related and correlative with ‘those outside’, such that Wrede comments, ‘The Gospel of Mark exhibits nothing in the way of progress in the understanding of the disciples’ (The Messianic Secret, 103, 107). 98. Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom, 65. While Ambrozic says rightly that ‘the disciples are never said to understand’ (63), he incorrectly states that the disciples ‘grow in the knowledge of Jesus’, unless he interprets Peter’s response at Caesarea Philippi as this ‘growth’. While Peter’s confession of Jesus as o( xristo/v is certainly significant, this can only represent a growth in Peter’s understanding of Jesus if it also accompanied by a regression (8.32-33). 99. Thus, Via: ‘Because outsider and disciple are defined by the narrative in very similar ways – each of them as other than they are – the irony of the narrative erases the normal difference in meaning between insider and outsider’ (The Ethics of Mark’s Gospel, 181). 100. See Culpepper, Mark, 138; John R. Donahue, The Gospel in Parable: Metaphor, Narrative, and Theology in the Synoptic Gospels (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1988), 44; Beavis, Mark’s Audience, 154–5; Robert Arida, ‘Hearing, Receiving, and Entering TO MUSTHRION/TA MUSTHRIA’, St. Vladimir’s Quarterly 38 (1994): 211–34 [213–15]. Boring finds a homiletical purpose to the porous character of the groups’ boundary: ‘The Markan narrative as a whole will illustrate that insiders behave as outsiders, outsiders as insiders, and that no one may smugly assume he or she is “in”. The address is to the reader, not to the crowds on the lakeshore’ (Mark, 123).

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scholars question if he currently envisions more than two groups based on 4.1112 and its context.101 The ambiguous portrayal of the disciples in the narrative is not the only way in which Mark negates the boundaries between insiders and outsiders. The groups also cannot be divided along traditional ethnic lines, since some of those who ‘understand’ who Jesus is are Gentile (most famously, 15.39)102 and some of those who are Jewish demonstrate both knowledge and understanding (see 12.28-34). Yet, the converse is also true (e.g., 15.15, as Pilate does not act on his understanding; 2.6 and passim, as much of the Jewish leadership opposes Jesus). As we have noted, Mark’s audience is caught between the insiders and outsiders. Because Mark’s readers are not explicitly given ‘the mystery of the kingdom of God’,103 they are at risk of being outsiders. At the same time, the audience is more privileged than most of the characters in the narrative. They know that Jesus is the Son of God from the beginning (1.1),104 have heard God’s voice at Jesus’ baptism (1.11) and transfiguration (9.7), and know that Jesus’ passion and resurrection predictions prove true in a way that it appears the disciples cannot (8.31-33). 101. Watts sees five groups in all, two of which are insiders (crowds around Jesus in 3.32, 34; those around Jesus with the Twelve in 4.10), one of which is outsiders (‘those outside for whom the parables function as judgment’, 4.11-12), and two of which are undefined or undecided (the crowd who hears Jesus’ teaching in 4.2 and the enigmatic ‘them’ in 4.34). This latter group is repeatedly enjoined to ‘hear’ (cf. 4.1, 3, 9, 33; Isaiah’s New Exodus in Mark, 200–3; see also M. D. Goulder, ‘“Those Outside”: Mark 4:10-12’, NovT 33 [1991]: 289–302). Boring seems to resist this assessment; for him there are ‘two groups, and only two’, as at Qumran. Yet, the boundaries between these groups are porous because while ‘there is an apocalyptic perspective … God is not captive to any system’ (Mark, 123, 128n.76). 102. This statement recognizes the traditional interpretation of 15.39, in which the centurion does perceive that Jesus is God’s son. As Donald H. Juel has demonstrated, this is not the only way in which to read the text: in light of the ironic confession of others in the Gospel (14.61; 15.32), so in 15.39, ‘testimony is offered, but by people who say more than they know’ (Mark [ACNT; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990], 228). In this context, I want to highlight the fact that Mark’s audience hears of a Gentile executioner confessing what, to them, is an appropriate confession of Jesus’ sonship (1.1, 11; 9.7). As we shall see, below (Chapter 7), the centurion’s own cognizance of Jesus’ sonship is less important than his statement of it. This, too, is similar to Jesus’ opponents’ reaction to the parable of the vineyard: they see and do not perceive, as the centurion does. 103. This interpretation presumes that there is a known content to the mystery which can be given (see discussion above on the term ‘mystery’). 104. Some manuscripts do not contain the phrase ‘son of God’ in 1.1. The absence of ui(ou~ qeou~ in Sinaiticus (original reading) and Origen (and several ninth century mss., one Sahidic ms., and the Georgian version, as well as further variation in Irenaeus and Epiphanius) is not determinative for the audience’s understanding of Jesus as God’s son, as demonstrated by other citations in the Gospel. On the reliability of the textual tradition in 1.1, which we may never be able to determine with confidence, see advocates of the shorter text (Peter M. Head ‘A Text-Critical Study of Mark 1,1’, NTS 37 [1991]: 621–9; Bart Ehrman, ‘The Text of Mark in the Hands of the Orthodox’, in Biblical Hermeneutics in Historical Perspective: Essays in Honor of Karlfried Froehlich [eds Mark Burrows and Paul Rorem; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991], 143–56) and the longer text (Boring, Mark, 29–30; John R. Donahue and Daniel J. Harrington, The Gospel of Mark [SP 2; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2002], 60).



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Perhaps it is not the ‘knowledge’ or understanding of the mystery that forms the boundary between insider and outsider.105 While the insiders (if they are ‘around Jesus’) have the benefit of participating in the revelation of the kingdom of God that is Jesus himself,106 the ultimate distinction between insiders and outsiders is God’s action toward both groups. To the former, God gives the mystery of the kingdom; to the latter, the text implies that God gives ‘everything in parables’, preventing repentance and God’s forgiveness. The horrible conclusion of the latter ‘gift’ seems to imply that the groups cannot be mixed very easily if the prevention of repentance and forgiveness is just as final as the judgement upon ‘blaspheming the Holy Spirit’ (3.29).107 Nevertheless, God’s action also transgresses the boundaries between insiders and outsiders, as God pushes the disciples away from Jesus in the passion narrative (14.27). While God’s action may be consistent with the disciples’ own instability (cf. e.g., 14.37-41), God acts in a similar way, at least at this point, towards both disciples and outsiders, hardening both against the coming kingdom.108 By separating insiders and outsiders so severely in 4.10-12, yet proceeding to treat them similarly throughout the Gospel, Mark demonstrates that God acts paradoxically. This divine hardening could serve several purposes within Mark’s Gospel. First, hardening, whether it amounts to confirming Jesus’ opponents in their ‘obduracy’ or divine action toward the disciples (or even Jesus himself: 14.36),109 can be used for christological ends.110 For example, the passion 105. Contra Evans, To See and Not Perceive, 102; Kirkland, ‘Earliest Understanding of Jesus’ Use of Parables’, 14; in agreement with Watts, Isaiah’s New Exodus in Mark, 206; Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom, 62. This is in line with Jesus’ evaluation of the composition of his family: those who do the will of God (3.35). 106. Watts, Isaiah’s New Exodus in Mark, 206. Of course this benefit seems primarily due to Jesus’ calling them to participate (1.16-20; 3.13-14). Similarly, Driggers, Following God through Mark, 25–8; Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 90n.53. It is worth noting, however, that not everyone called by Jesus appropriately responds (cf. 10.17-22). Furthermore, Ambrozic has argued that because Jesus’ enemies do know things without explanations they think they understand him, and therefore they seek to kill him (cf. 3.6; 11.18; 12.12; 14.61-64). After all, ‘the demons know who Jesus is, and the enemies know who he claims to be. This knowledge makes them instruments of his death’, (The Hidden Kingdom, 62). 107. This connection to Mark 3 is another important reason why some scholars have concluded that ‘those outside’ are the same opponents of Jesus in ch. 3 (cf. e1cw: 3.31). Snodgrass’s argument that Mark could have made this statement from Isa. 6.9 even ‘harsher’ by including the quotation from Isa. 6.10 (whether the Hebrew, which Snodgrass quotes, or the LXX), seems odd, to say the least, particularly given Mark’s possible allusion to Isa. 6.10 in Mk 8.17-18 (see Beavis, Mark’s Audience, 91). The quotation from Isaiah, as Mark paraphrases it, includes the allusion to the end of v. 10. Since repentance and forgiveness are already prevented, it is unclear how extending this quotation could (cf. Mt. 13.14-15; Acts 28.26-27) ‘emphasize that Jesus taught to prevent understanding’ (Stories with Intent, 159). 108. Again, this is in contrast to the proclamation of the good news in Mk 1.14-15. The proclamation of repentance and forgiveness in Mark 1 functions much like the exhortations to hear in Mk 4: hardened hearts do not prohibit paraenesis. 109. See below, Chapter 6. 110. Evans, To See and Not Perceive, 101, 103.

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narrative demonstrates that the disciples must remain obtuse to Jesus’ ministry and teaching in order that the will of God be accomplished in Jesus’ death.111 Second, as this chapter argues and the following chapters support, God’s activity can be described throughout the Gospel as revelation and concealment. This is particularly evident in 4.11-12, as God reveals the mystery of the kingdom and then, through the parables, apparently conceals it from those who, if they could see rightly, would ‘understand’. Such concealment is God’s hiddenness breaking into the world, blinding where one might hope for illumination. Nevertheless, as other Markan interpreters have also observed,112 Mark does not end with 4.10-12 or its apparent theological inferences. Instead, a few verses later, additional purpose (i3na) clauses (cf. 4.12) give the hiddenness that is so pronounced in Mk 4.12 a definite telos: revelation (4.22). While this revelation will not be complete until the parousia (13.26-27),113 contemplating the character and activity of God among humanity without noting both the concealing and revealing actions radically limits one’s view of Mark’s theology.114 Without attention to this paradox of God’s activity, it is all too easy to assume that one part of the paradox – whether concealment or revelation – is absolute. This creates an assumption that may limit or even mistake the text’s interpretation. In summary, Mk 4.10-12, a very compact and challenging passage, indicates God’s activity paradoxically, as a concealed revelation, through its literary context, its use of particular verbs, and the important vocabulary of mystery and parable. The paradox of God’s activity reaches its apex through the importance that outsiders play in the drama of the coming kingdom. Contextually and linguistically, Mk 4.10-12 portrays God’s activity as irreducibly paradoxical: offering a concealed revelation, giving a mystery not yet understood. Mark continues describing God’s revealed concealment through the puzzling parables of the latter half of Mark 4.

Section II: Jesus and the Kingdom (Mark 4.21-32) After the parable of the sower and its interpretation (4.3-9, 13-20), Mark relates a few statements that seem to have the character of general teachings. The first 111. See arguments below, Chapters 5–8. This reading disputes that of Tolbert, who claims that the passion of Jesus was not the will of God but rather the work of those who oppose God (Sowing the Gospel, 202–3). Such an emphasis on the absence of God misunderstands what Mark will claim: as we shall see, Mark shows God’s agency throughout the passion narrative. 112. See, in particular, Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 233; Boring, Mark, 128; Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom, 59. 113. See also Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 120 (esp. n.175); Mearns, ‘Parables, Secrecy, and Eschatology in Mark’s Gospel’, 431; Boring, Mark, 128. 114. To date, Via has probably explored this paradox most systematically; see The Ethics of Mark’s Gospel, 171–95, and his recapitulation and slight expansion of this argument in The Revelation of God and/as Human Reception in the New Testament (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity International, 1997), 95–113.



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words of these verses, kai\ e1legen (‘and he said’), are precisely the linking words of the following parables (4.24, 26, 30), showing that these sayings (4.21-25, 26-29, 30-32) belong together as a set.115 Given the similarities between these texts in Mk 4.21-32, it is appropriate to consider them together, examining the paradox of divine activity to which they attest. As we have seen in our examination of 4.10-12, the parables in Mark both conceal and reveal the nature of divine activity. The following exegesis of these passages demonstrates how the parables of Mark 4 support this overarching paradox. This analysis is split into two sections: the first concerns 4.21-22, and the second focuses on specific observations drawn from different logia (4.21-25, 26-29, 30-32). These passages reflect on the ultimate telos of concealment and revelation. The images of light and darkness, paired with terms of concealment and revelation, suggest that normal appearances yield extraordinary results in the kingdom. These results themselves remain unclear or hidden in their application to Mark’s audience. Finally, these passages note the presence and implications of the paradox of ignorance and knowledge, which is intimately connected with the paradox of concealment and revelation. These texts continue to illuminate and expand the outlines of the paradox in Mk 4.10-12 through their parabolic manner of expression. Section (a): Revealed Hiddenness (4.21-22) As we noted at the beginning of this chapter, vv. 21-22 describe concealment and revelation in general terms.116 A lamp is not supposed to be placed under a basket or under a bed, thus wasting its light. Instead, it is placed on a lampstand (luxi/an).117 In other words, the purpose of a lamp is to give light to as much of the surroundings as possible. Mark highlights the oddity of this picture even more clearly by stating that the lamp does not ‘come’ (e1rxetai) in so that it might be hidden.118 The absurdity of placing a lamp beneath a basket or a bed points to the irrationality of hiding a revelation. Verse 22 addresses this very topic, as it claims that ‘there is not anything that is hidden [krupto/n] except

115. In classical Markan Redaktionsgeschichte language, the phrase ‘and he said’ denotes the seams in this pericope. 116. Verses 21-22 stand out from the surrounding parables due to the fact that they utilize different imagery: the images come from the household, rather than from the field (see Benoît Standaert, L’Evangile selon Marc: Composition et Genre Litteraire [Lire la Bible 61; Nijmegen: Stichting Studentenpers Nijmegen, 1978], 210). Furthermore, the first parable takes up the sense of sight, in contrast to hearing, which has been the focus of the chapter so far (4.3-20; see C. Clifton Black, Mark [ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon, 2011], 124). 117. The Matthean, Lukan, and Thomasian versions all explain why placing the lamp on a lampstand is better: so that those going in may see the light (cf. Lk. 8.16; 11.33; Gos. Thom. 33) – or that it might give light to all in the house (Mt. 5.15). 118. Marcus argues that this ‘coming’ resembles Jesus’ own ‘coming’ in the Gospel (1.7, 9, 14, 24, 29, 39; 2.17; 3.20; The Mystery of the Kingdom, 131).

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that it might be [e0a\n mh\ i3na] manifested’.119 While the purpose of concealment may still be incongruous to Mark’s audience, the end result, or telos, of it is clear: concealment leads to revelation. While things appear to be paradoxical now, one day the paradox between revelation and concealment will dissolve, and only revelation will remain (4.22).120 This general statement about the final result of the paradox of God’s activity in concealment and revelation stands in contrast with the language of 4.10-12 and, indeed, the rest of ch. 4, where the paradox itself reigns supreme. At the same time, Mark does not explain how much humans will comprehend about the revelation that is granted. If the revelation is akin to the mystery that is granted in Mark 4.11, then there is no guarantee that understanding follows the end of the paradoxes. While paradox may dissolve, the dimensional mystery remains.121 While the parabolic statements of 4.21-22 declare an eventual end to the paradoxical reality, within the rest of the Gospel it is clear that this end will not come until the eschaton.122 Despite Wrede’s claims that secrets would be resolved after the resurrection (cf. 9.9),123 Mark 13 demonstrates the continued concealed and revealed nature of God’s action. Through perplexing ‘signs’ (13.5-8) and in the presence of false prophets and false christs (13.20-21), the Spirit will be present with those who persevere under trial, even giving them the words to say under pressure (13.9-13). Furthermore, the present tense of the concealment (‘nothing is [e0stin] hidden’) in the first clause of v. 22 supports the view that concealment persists in the presence of revelation. Mark imparts his theology in paradoxical ways so that his audience may understand God’s

119. This use of i3na is one of several ways in which this passage is reminiscent of 4.11-12. See Marcus, Mark 1–8, 318; idem, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 127–9. 120. Marcus states the negative implication of this: ‘at least for a time, God’s truth must be hidden’ (The Mystery of the Kingdom, 60). He also says: ‘Mark resolves this tension [between vv. 21 and 22] partly by causing v 21 to serve v 22 … now v 21 means that a lamp does not come to be hidden permanently under a bushel or a bed, but in order to be placed on a lampstand eventually. The hiddenness which at first appeared to be senseless turns out to have its own strange logic’ (The Mystery of the Kingdom, 143). 121. See Boyer and Hall, The Mystery of God, 30. The authors point out that even the angels in God’s throne room hide themselves from the overpowering ‘otherness’ of God (see Isa. 6.1-8). 122. It is possible to see a glimpse of the untangling of christological paradoxes in the brief comment about the Son of Man’s parousia (13.26-27). Whether theological paradoxes are resolved seems to be unclear in Mark. 123. Wrede, The Messianic Secret, 67. See also Boring: ‘In the narrative framework of Jesus’ ministry, this [verse] pointed to the Easter revelation; in Mark’s own time, while interpreting the past hiddenness of Jesus’ ministry, it also pointed to the Parousia, where Jesus’ messiahship will be revealed to all’ (Mark, 135). However, Boring does allude to the paradoxical nature of these verses later (136). See further, C. L. Mearns, ‘Parables, Secrecy, and Eschatology’, 431, 441. Mearns also claims that by not narrating the resurrection Mark ‘thrusts the emphasis forward’ so that he ‘heightens the parousia expectation’ (434). Instead, it seems that Mark has described a paradoxical way of understanding which concerns the time of Jesus’ ministry and encompasses the time preceding the parousia, such that the resurrection does not dissolve theological paradoxes (see below, Chapter 8).



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activity in the past, in their present, and as Mark 13 demonstrates, even in their future. Section (b): Hidden Revelation (Mark 4.21-25, 26-29, 30-32) Immediately following the verses that emphasize the present ‘coming’ of the lamp and the promised future clarity, the Markan Jesus repeats the need to hear, much as he does before and after the parable of the sower (4.23; cf. 4.3, 9, and repeated references to hearing in 4.15-20). Mk 4.24-25 then reiterates some of the themes of Mk 4.10-12, using a similar manner of theological reflection.124 Through four passive verbs (‘it will be measured’ [metrhqh/setai]; ‘it will be added’ [prosteqh/setai]; ‘it will be given’ [doqh/setai]; and ‘it will be taken’ [a)rqh/setai]), these verses describe what is most likely God’s action. Not only do these verses echo the language in 4.11 of ‘something being given’ (de/dotai), but these verbs are also conjugated in the future tense, extending the future implications of 4.22. Returning to a person the measure he or she has given is an action of eschatological judgement, executed by God.125 This means, however, that God is also the one who ‘takes away’ what others do not have. Here, these verses contribute to the paradox established in 4.22: like the verbs of 4.11-12, these passive verbs conceal their agency, while at the same time revealing God’s activity in future judgement. Verse 4.25 begins with the phrase, ‘whoever has’. The verse does not illuminate what the person ‘has’: e1xei has no object.126 Therefore, it is unclear what is being taken away from the one who does not ‘have’, and how, if someone does not have something, it can be taken from him or her. Such a paradox, taking from one who has nothing, echoes the hiddenness and revelation apparent in 4.10-12. These verses continue to demonstrate how Mark’s manner of speech conceals and reveals God’s activity.

124. Much like 4.10-12, vv. 24-25 apparently split the audience into two groups: the ‘measuring’ words – ‘with the measure you measure, it will be measured to you, and it will be added to you’ (4.24) – are directed ‘to you’, just as the mystery of the kingdom is given ‘to you’ (4.11). The second statement, however, is more general: ‘whoever [o3v] has, it will be given to her [au)tw|~], and whoever does not have, whatever she has will be taken from her [au)tou~]’ (4.25). 125. The action of ‘measuring’ (metre/w) is commonly attributed to God or God’s agents in apocalyptic texts, and it usually refers to knowledge and ability which God has and humans do not (see Isa. 40.12; Dan. 5.26; 2 Bar. 59.5-11//1 En. 60.11-22; 1 En. 41.3-7; 4 Ezra 4.5-8; 5.36-37). Such ‘secret’ measures can be the content of revelation (as in 1 En. 60) or instead may note the limits of human knowledge (as in 4 Ezra 4.5-8). See further Stone, ‘Lists of Revealed Things in Apocalyptic Literature’, 414–52. 126. Similar uses of e1xei are reflected in ch. 3, e.g., te/lov e1xei (3.26; the end has [come]). Marcus resolves this ambiguity by assuming two different groups are addressed in vv. 24-25, and that what the individual lacks in v. 25 is ‘the things of God’, though he or she has ‘the things of humans’ (cf. 8.33). In other words, 4.24-25 simply recapitulate the same division of 4.11-12 (The Mystery of the Kingdom, 156–7).

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In contrast to these general comments about the nature of concealment and revelation, Mk 4.26-32 offers two parables with specific thoughts about how this paradox works in God’s kingdom. While God’s activity per se might be difficult to discern in these parables, both are introduced (vv. 26, 30) in different ways as illustrations of God’s kingdom. Both parables attest to the paradox of concealment and revelation within the divine kingdom by describing situations that begin with normal appearances and end with extraordinary results. This shift in an ‘outcome’ beyond what is expected, whether it is the harvest of a field or the growth of a tree, demonstrates that there are concealed aspects even in the revealed normality of activities in the kingdom. The first of the two parables explores the paradox of concealment and revelation with respect to Jesus’ passion, while the second focuses more generally on the surprise inherent in hidden revelation itself. In the parable of the growing seed, a farmer begins by throwing (ba/lh|) seed (to\n spo/ron) on the ground (4.26).127 Time passes in which the farmer does nothing with the seed, and yet, the seed sprouts and grows, though the farmer ‘does not know’ (ou)k oi3den). As this sentence is missing a direct object, it is unclear exactly what the farmer does not know, but one presumes that this ignorance concerns how the seed sprouts and grows. This inference is supported by the fact that the following verse describes the steps of the plant’s growth which the earth produces by itself (au)toma/th): ‘the blade, the ear, then the full grain in the ear’ (4.28). This horticultural unfolding seems logical; indeed, some interpreters have deemed that the point of this parable is to emphasize the divinely ordained passage of time.128 Even in the final verse, the ignorant farmer sends out the sickle when the grain is ripe, because the harvest has come (4.29).129 There seems to be little surprising about this parable. The kingdom seems rather normal, or even boring. On this reading, the hiddenness and revelation in this parable seems to be more of a description of the kingdom of God than God’s action. This would not be irrelevant, of course: as the kingdom (1.15) and the gospel (1.14) are both God’s, they likely reflect these same paradoxical dynamics in Mark’s manner of speaking. Nevertheless, as with many things in Mark, there is more than meets the eye in this parable. In the final verse that seemed so normal, one sees 127. While this parable uses many of the same images as the parable of the sower (4.3-9), they do not overlap in any vocabulary. 128. See Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 186–9. Boring disagrees (Mark, 138), though he offers no rationale. Both Boring and Marcus agree, however, that the image of sowing prior to the harvest reflects the experience of preaching prior to the eschaton. 129. The difference between the farmer’s ignorance, and therefore his humanity, versus his harvesting, which mimics divine judgement has provoked readers to identify him in various ways. Indeed, Bede claims that the farmer represents a Christian in 4.26, but that he represents God in 4.29 (CCSL 120.486 §§1916-46; cited in Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 169n.19). Marcus himself concludes that the man is best understood as a representation of Jesus (ibid., 185).



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the phrase, ‘when the fruit allows’ (o3tan de\ paradoi~ o( karpo/v). An idiomatic meaning in ancient texts for paradi/dwmi is ‘allow’.130 This is a normal denotation for the active voice of paradi/dwmi, however, this verb is pregnant with significance in the Gospel of Mark. This verb is used in Mark almost exclusively in reference to John the Baptist’s or Jesus’ arrest, or to the betrayals that Jesus predicts will befall the early Christian community.131 Interpreters have consistently been perplexed by this parable’s account of what seems like a farmer’s normal day.132 Sometimes these odd images in parables function as metaphors for other figures, whether God, or Jesus, or humans in general.133 It seems reasonable to understand this parable as somehow connected with Jesus’ impending passion, even though the denotations of paradi/dwmi differ here.134 This passion-oriented sense seems further indicated by the actions noted in the parable itself. When the fruit is ripe, the person (a1nqrwpov) who tossed the seed upon the earth (4.26) ‘sends’ (a)poste/llei) the sickle (dre/panon) immediately (eu)q\u\v) because the harvest has come (4.29). In the Gospel of Mark, as we saw above, the activity of ‘sending’ is reserved for God and Jesus. In fact, based on Jesus’ words in 9.37, where he calls God ‘the one who sent me’ (to\n a)postei/lanta/ me), and the parable of the vineyard (12.1-10) where the master of the vineyard sends one envoy after another, one could argue that ‘sending’ is God’s primary action in Mark. Furthermore, in Old Testament (OT) texts, wielding a sickle (to\ dre/panon) is an act of divine judgement. The Markan passage’s strongest OT parallel is with Joel 4.13.135 This prophetic passage effectively reverses the prophecy of Isa. 2.4 and Mic. 4.3. For those prophets, swords are beaten into ploughshares in preparation for a time of peace. In Joel, ploughshares become swords in

130. See LSJ (Intermediate), paradi/dwmi, 595: ii. This usage is often used with o( qeo/v or oi( qeoi/ as the subject (BDAG, paradi/dwmi, 763; citing Herodotus, Hist. 5.67; 7.18 and Xenophon, Anab. 6.6.34). 131. See Mk 1.14; 3.19; 4.29; 9.31; 10.33; 13.9, 11-12; 14.10-11, 18, 21, 41-42; 15.1, 10, 15. Mk 7.13 is the only other exception; there, Jesus and the Pharisees are discussing the ‘tradition’ (th|~ parado/sei) that they ‘hand down’ (paredw/kate). In a different way, however, betrayal remains the theme in ch. 7, for here, ‘tradition’ betrays (paredw/ken) scripture (7.9, 13). For a similar focus on the term paradi/dwmi as an interpretive key for Paul’s theology in Romans 1, see Beverly Roberts Gaventa, ‘God Handed Them Over: Reading Romans 1:18-32 Apocalyptically’, ABR 53 (2005): 42–53. 132. Brendan Byrne’s comment is telling: ‘This parable has been the despair of interpreters from the beginning’ (Costly Freedom: A Theological Reading of Mark’s Gospel [Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2008], 90). 133. The most famous, indeed, obvious, example of this practice would be the interpretation of the father of the prodigal son (Lk. 15.11-32) as God. 134. Again, the voice in 4.29 is active, whereas many of the passion predictions use the passive voice. 135. The other allusion to Joel 4.13 in the NT, Rev. 14.15, uses this image of reaping the harvest to indicate eschatological judgement of ‘the earth’ (see also Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 191).

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Theological Role of Paradox

preparation for war (3.9-12). Such an activity is soon accompanied by cosmic apocalyptic imagery as the sun, moon, and stars all grow dark (3.15; cf. Mk 13.24-27) after the wickedness of the people has been identified and judged (3.13). Therefore, this farmer’s actions are aligned with God’s in sending and wielding a sickle.136 While the farmer does not know how the seed grows, he still harvests it at the right time, even if in ignorance. With a loose allusion to Jesus’ future betrayal inherent in the fruit’s ripening, the farmer stands for Jesus’ opponents who judge and crucify him. In a sense, the parable in 4.26-29 serves as a hidden passion prediction wherein God’s activity through Jesus’ enemies is revealed to be part of the kingdom.137 However, this revelation takes place in an opaque manner, maintaining the paradox of concealment and revelation of God’s activity. The normal appearances of God’s kingdom yield abnormal results, allowing the concealed revelation to come to the surface. The final parable of Mark 4, the parable of the mustard seed, also presents a common situation with unusual consequences.138 The beginning of the parable suggests that its point will be about the contrast in size between the mustard seed and the resulting plant. While the difference in size between any seed and plant is significant, the surprise in the parable comes in the second parallel clause, as seen in Table 2.1.

o3v o3tan sparh|~ e0pi\ th~v gh~v … mikro/teron o1n pa/ntwn tw~n sperma/twn … (4.31)

‘which, when it is sown in the earth … is the smallest of all the seeds …’ (4.31)

o3tan sparh|~ … a)nabai/nei kai\ gi/netai mei~zon pa/ntwn tw~n laxa/nwn … (4.32)

‘when it is sown … it grows up and becomes greater than all the vegetables …’ (4.32)

Table 2.1 The two parallel clauses that introduce the main part of the parable both consider the time when the mustard seed is sown. The first clause describes the

136. One caveat: this is not to imply that, for all time, a human wielding a sickle (or similar actions) should be conceived of as being aligned with God. However, the parable demonstrates that the farmer is acting appropriately with the seed; in the parable’s context, it needs to be harvested. 137. Adela Collins finds that the parable of the mustard seed, rather than the parable in 4.26-29, ‘alludes to the suffering and death of Jesus’ because of its ‘parody of messianic expectation’ (Mark, 241). 138. As Donahue says, ‘The familiarity of the images tells us that the kingdom is near; the improbability of the images tells us that it also transcends our attempts to define it’ (The Gospel in Parable, 38).



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seed itself, the smallest of the seeds of the earth (4.31).139 In strict parallelism, one might expect the second clause to follow with the insight claiming that the mustard seed would grow to be ‘greater than all the trees’ or plants or other growing things. Instead, the mustard seed grows and is ‘greater than all the vegetables’, or perhaps ‘all the garden herbs’, for la/xanon can refer to either.140 This odd picture continues, as this plant which is ‘greater than all the vegetables’ has ‘large branches’ so that it is able to provide ‘the birds of heaven’ with shade. This is an entirely incongruous picture.141 God’s kingdom looks like a tiny seed which yields a crop that outperforms – indeed, performs contrary to – its specifications. God’s kingdom demonstrates the same kind of paradoxical juxtapositions that God’s action does. Tension between knowledge and ignorance marks the final aspect of these parables’ depictions of God’s paradoxical activity. It becomes apparent that the tension between human knowledge and human ignorance highlights the anthropological side of the theological paradox of concealment and revelation.142 In the parable of the growing seed, the farmer who throws the seed upon the earth (4.26) does not do anything special with it for the seed grows by itself. Moreover, the farmer remains ignorant (ou)k oi)~den au)to\v) of the seed’s growth (4.27). However, the farmer’s ignorance does not prevent him from participating in the harvest at the right time (4.29). Even though the farmer finds that the growth and development of the crop is concealed from him, he ‘sees’ through to the revelation of the harvest. Concealment and revelation, ignorance and knowledge, paradoxically converge.

139. Marcus believes that this parable should also be interpreted in a manner which implies two levels, such that the stage of hiddenness is that of Jesus and church, and manifestation is church and parousia (The Mystery of the Kingdom, 213). These conclusions are primarily based on an allegorical reading of the parable, interpreting the identity of the seed as the word and the early church as its proclaimer (ibid., 213–14). 140. BDAG, la/xanon, 587. Boring says that the mustard seed can produce a tree of 9–10 feet in height, though he provides no evidence for this (Mark, 139). Drury claims that Mark’s botanical knowledge is ‘wrong. He is not realistic or naturalistic. The mustard seed is not the smallest of seeds, its plant far from the greatest of shrubs.’ But John Drury contends that these matters are irrelevant, because the point of this parable, and the parables of Mark 4 in general, is their eschatological focus (‘of a decidedly futuristic sort’): ‘As the absurdity holds, so does the apocalyptic vision’ (The Parables in the Gospels: History and Allegory [New York: Crossroad, 1985], 60). See also Black, Mark, 128. 141. Matthew seeks to ‘correct’ this image by adding an additional stage of growth in which the ‘vegetable’ or ‘garden herb’ would become a tree (Mt. 13.32), while Luke leaves out any reference to a laxa/non and simply says that the seed will grow into a tree – even a great (me/ga) tree in some manuscript traditions (Lk. 13.19: see P45, A, W, Q, Y, f(1)1.13, 33, the majority text, lat, syph, bopt). 142. It remains unclear whether Mark thinks knowledge arrives only by revelation. Caesarea Philippi is a good example of this caveat. Unlike Matthew’s revelatory approbation of Peter’s statement, ‘You are the Christ’, Mark describes reactions in the language of exorcisms (Mt. 16.17; Mk 8.32-33). Knowledge in Mark comes in many forms and from myriad sources. Mk 4.33-34 by itself, however, seems to imply that revelation has its source in God alone. Drury adopts this perspective as a summary of the Gospel’s epistemology (The Parables in the Gospels, 60).

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Theological Role of Paradox

Conclusion We end this analysis where we began, with the promises of Mk 4.22. This verse focuses on the theological aspects of the paradox of hiddenness and revelation: nothing is hidden, except that it will be made manifest. God will take the hidden things of the world and reveal them on ‘the last day’, but even this revelation may be more than humans can handle (cf. Mk 13.26-27). For now, like the descriptions of ‘the mystery that is to be’ in 4QInstruction, Mk 4.10-12 attests paradoxical language that describes God’s involvement in both the things that are hidden and those that are revealed. Stated even more strongly, God hides and reveals the kingdom, the divine presence, and the roles that Jesus, insiders, and outsiders play in this unfolding drama. Therefore, humans are also drawn into this paradox. In response to hiddenness – and perhaps even in response to revelation – humans display ignorance. The disciples, in particular, are a good example of this, as they do not understand Jesus most of the time in Mark’s Gospel (e.g., 4.13; 6.52; 8.14-21). At the same time, Jesus, through God’s activity of giving the mystery of the kingdom (4.11) continues to hold out hope for those around him to understand, and continues to exhort them to hear (cf. 4.23). God’s hiddenness ultimately leads to revelation (4.22). The observation that this hiddenness now occurs jointly with revelation illuminates the paradox of the parables’ manner of speaking about God, showing that what may appear to be normal (4.21-32) yields surprising results in God’s kingdom.

Chapter 3 A Second Paradox: Scripture Both Countered and Confirmed In this second paradox Mk 4.10-12 returns to the spotlight as we focus on the paraphrase of Isa. 6.9, 10b1 in Mk 4.12. Mark’s use of Isa. 6.910 demonstrates a paradox of divine activity, similar to the paradox of concealment and revelation discussed above. Here, God is portrayed2 as confirming the words of scripture by countering these words. The present chapter explores this theme in a tripartite manner. The first section focuses on the text of Isaiah 6 in Mark’s Gospel and in Isaiah, observing what ‘scripture’ says in Isaiah before examining how it functions in Mark. This section concludes by noting that Isaiah itself demonstrates the confirmation and reversal of the themes of blindness, deafness, and hardness of heart that are evident in Isaiah 6. Therefore, Mark has precedent for treating scripture in this manner. The second part of this chapter demonstrates how the narrative of the Gospel of Mark illustrates that the words of Isa. 6.9-10 are confirmed through the repetition of these common themes (sight, hearing, the state of one’s heart). The next section considers the opposite side of this paradox, examining how themes like repentance and forgiveness counter Mk 4.12 and its negative proclamation. Finally, this last section concludes with an analysis of how the allusion to Isa. 6.9-10 affects, and is affected by, its literary context as it is situated between the parable of the sower and its interpretation. It becomes clear that the setting of this scripture passage significantly counters a straightforward reading of God’s action in Isaiah 6. In this way, Mark shows that even scripture itself demonstrates a paradoxical understanding of God’s action, as God’s own words (Isa. 6.9-13 [MT]) are at once fulfilled and emptied throughout the Gospel’s narrative. That, in a word, is a paradox.

1. While this is the most accurate notation of the verses from Isaiah present in Mark, I refer to them most often as Isa. 6.9-10 for the sake of convenience. 2. This portrayal often occurs through the agency of Jesus, as will become evident, below. This is not surprising, as Jesus is clearly designated as God’s son and agent at key points in the Gospel (e.g., [1.1]; 1.11; 2.1-12 [see below]; 9.7)

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Theological Role of Paradox

Section I: The Text of Isaiah 6.9-10 in Isaiah and Mark In the history of scholarship on the Gospels, few texts have been maligned as much for their grammar, their history, and their theology as Mk 4.12. Scholars have questioned the origin of Mark’s quotation, both in terms of its text (Hebrew? Greek? Aramaic?) and in terms of whether it should be considered Jesus’ words or Mark’s words. Stated most plainly, interpreters of this passage have debated whether words that claim that some are prevented from repenting and forgiving could ever be considered to be the words of Jesus.3 T. W. Manson developed one of the more ingenious theories about how Mk 4.12 could be understood as the words of the historical Jesus, or at the very least, as deriving from a more theologically intelligible Aramaic original. He proposed that Mark mistranslated the Aramaic ‫( ד‬meaning ‘unless’) when he wrote i3na.4 While Manson’s hypothesis is creative, it does not make the text in Mark any easier to interpret: Mark contends that ‘everything comes in parables … so that [i3na]’ people might not perceive and understand. I3na does not mean ‘unless’, so, short of changing the Greek text of Mark, interpreters are still left with a thorny challenge: the Markan Jesus seeks to prevent the understanding of ‘those outside’, whoever they may be.

3. For example, see C. H. Dodd, who claims that ‘this whole passage [including 4.14-20] is strikingly unlike in language and style to the majority of the sayings of Jesus’ (The Parables of the Kingdom [rev. edn; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1961], 3). As Quentin Quesnell says, ‘Verses 10-12 (13) are ordinarily discussed and rejected as unthinkable in the mouth of Jesus, as contradictory to the very idea of teaching in parables, or any teaching at all’ (The Mind of Mark: Interpretation and Method through the Exegesis of Mark 6,52 [A. B. 38; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute 1969], 74). For a discussion of this assessment, as well as a summary of the others that will follow it, see J. Arthur Baird, ‘A Pragmatic Approach to Parable Exegesis: Some New Evidence on Mark 4:11, 33-34’, JBL 76 (1957): 201–7, esp. 201–2. Many nineteenth- and twentieth-century interpreters determine that this passage cannot reflect the views of the historical Jesus, because it implies that Jesus taught in allegories (cf. 4.13-20) or that his understanding of parables was less concerned with clarity and more about parables’ mystery and opacity; thus, Adolf Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu (2nd edn; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1899) 1:74. This debate over whether Mk 4.10-12 represents the words of the historical Jesus or Mark’s redaction is also the background of several articles published in the Journal of Theological Studies in the early 1970s (John Drury, ‘The Sower, the Vineyard, and the Place of Allegory in the Interpretation of Mark’s Parables’, JTS 24 [1973]: 367–79; John W. Bowker, ‘Mystery and Parable: Mark 4:1-20’, JTS 25 [1974] : 300–17; both of which respond to C. F. D. Moule (‘Mark 4:1-20 Yet Once More’ in Neotestamentica et Semitica: Essays in Honour of Matthew Black [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1969], 95–113). Jeremias claims that 4.11-12 may preserve Jesus’ words, because he believes T. W. Manson’s claim that Mark’s quotation stems from the Isaianic Targum, therefore demonstrating that the saying had its roots in Aramaic-speaking Palestine (Joachim Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus [2nd rev. edn; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1972], 15–18). Nevertheless, such a linguistic affinity, even if it could be proved, does not correspondingly prove a connection to the historical Jesus. 4. T. W. Manson, The Teaching of Jesus: Studies of its Form and Content (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1935), 75–80.

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While Manson seeks to solve a theological problem, there are textual difficulties with the ‘citation’ of Isa. 6.9-10 that Mark quotes. Certainty concerning the origin of Mark’s verses is impossible. As one can see from Table 3.1, the Isaianic verses in Mark do not align perfectly with extant texts from the MT or the LXX, though they have commonalities with both and with the language of the Targum. The vocabulary of Mark’s verses echoes the Septuagint (including the translation of ‫‘ ידע‬to know’ into i)dei~n, ‘to see, perceive’). Even so, there are four differences from the LXX text: Mark’s quotation from Isa. 6.9 is in the third person indicative, rather than the LXX’s second person; clauses are reversed, with seeing before hearing; Mark has abbreviated the quotation to form parallel i3na/mh/pote clauses; and Mark ends with kai\ a)feqh|~ au)toi~j (‘it may be forgiven them’) instead of kai\ i)a/somai au)tou\j (‘I will heal them’).5

Hebrew (MT) Isa. 6.9-106

Targum

LXX Isa. 6.9-10

Mk 4.12

‫דׁשמעין מׁשמע‬ ‫ולא מסתצלין‬

a)koh|~ a)kou/sete kai\ ou) mh\ sunh~te

(i3na) ble/pontev ble/pwsin kai\ mh\ i1dwsin,

‫והון מהזא‬ ‫ולא ידעין‬

kai\ ble/pontev ble/yete kai\ ou) i1dhte.

‫הׁשמן לב־העם‬ ‫הּזה ואזניו הכּבד‬ ‫ועיניו הׁשע‬

‫טפיׁש לביה דעמא‬ ‫רקי יהונדואו ןירה‬ ‫ועינוהי טמטים‬

kai\ a)kou/ontev a)kou/wsin kai\ mh\ suniw~sin,

e0paxu/nqh ga\r h( kardi/a tou~ laou~ tou/tou kai\ toi~v w)si\n au)tw~n bare/wv h1kousan kai\ tou\v o)fqalmou\v au)tw~n e0ka/mmusan

‫פן־‬ ‫יראה בעיניו‬ ‫ּובאזניו יׁשמע‬ ‫ּולבבֹו יבין‬ ‫וׁשב ורפא לֹו‬

‫דלמא‬ ‫יחזון בעיניהון‬ ‫ובאודנהון יׁשמעין‬ ‫ובליבהון יסתצלון‬ ‫ויתובון טיׁשתביק‬ ‫להון‬

mh/pote i1dwsin toi~v o)fqalmoi~v kai\ toi~v w)si\n a)kou/swsin kai\ th|~ kardi/a| sunw~sin kai\ e0pistre/ywsin kai\ i)a/somai au)tou/v

‫ׁשמעּו ׁשמוֹע‬ ‫ואל־ּתבינּו‬ ‫ּוראּו ראֹו‬ ‫ואל־ּתדעּו‬

mh/pote

e0pistre/ywsin kai\ a)feqh|~ au)toi~v.

Table 3.1 5. On these variances, see Craig A. Evans (To See and Not Perceive: Isaiah 6:9-10 in Early Jewish and Christian Interpretation [JSOTSup 64; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1989], 92) and Joel Marcus (Mark 1–8: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 27; New York: Doubleday, 1999], 300). 6. For a more complex and elaborate chart comparing the MT, LXX, Targum, and instances of Isa. 6.9-10 in Mt. 13.13-15, Acts 28.26-27, Mk 4.12 and Lk. 8.10 see Joachim Gnilka, Die Verstockung Israels: Isaias 6,9-10 in der Theologie der Synoptiker (vol. 3 of Studium zum Alten und Neuen Testament; eds Vinzenz Hamp und Josef Schmid; Munich: Kösel-Verlag, 1961), 14–15.

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Theological Role of Paradox

Against these four differences, Mark contains three distinct agreements with the Targum of Isa. 6.9-10: the Targum uses third person indicatives; like the LXX the verbs are in the indicative, not the imperative (as in the MT);7 and the Targum concludes with the Aramaic equivalent of kai\ a)feqh|~ au)toi~j. However, contrary to both the Targum and the LXX, with the addition of i3na before the actual quotation from Isaiah Mark has essentially restored the harshness of the Hebrew text. This grammatical change places the responsibility on God for the blindness and deafness. Furthermore, Mark’s text is different in one way from all the other ancient versions in that he reverses the order of the first clause, discussing sight before hearing. Based on these differences, Mark’s text of Isa. 6.9-10 may simply be categorized as a paraphrase. Viewed in this way, Mark is not tied to any particular text type, but has adapted Isaiah as needed. This apparently freer use of Isa. 6.9-10 does not reflect negatively on the significance of Isaiah for Mark.8 Instead, such allusion to scripture through paraphrase is consistent with the rest of the Second Gospel as well (cf. esp. 1.2, where Mark ascribes Exod. 23.20//Mal. 3.1 and Isa. 40.3 to ‘the prophet Isaiah’). Since Mark has changed the text of Isa. 6.9-10, alluding to it instead of quoting it, it is possible that he has also changed the purpose of the passage. Some examination into the text’s role in Isaiah is important for understanding how or whether Mark has altered the text’s meaning or significance. To this end, as the next section seeks to explore the themes of understanding and misunderstanding, and of soft and hard hearts, in the Gospel of Mark, we can see that the themes of Isa. 6.9-10 are interpreted and re-interpreted throughout the Book of Isaiah itself. In this way, it should become clear that there is a precedent for understanding divine speech like Isa. 6.9-10 as both confirmed, as well as countered, in the Book of Isaiah. In an excellent article on the reception and use of Isa. 6.9-10 and its themes in the Book of Isaiah,9 John McLaughlin claims that this text stands apart from much of the prophetic tradition by its assertion of divine causality for the ‘hardening of human hearts’ (cf. Isa. 6.10 MT).10 However, as McLaughlin 7. Nevertheless, the LXX uses future indicatives to render the Hebrew imperatives, while Mark uses present indicative verbs. 8. On the significance of Isaiah in Mark’s narrative see the now classic works: Joel Marcus, The Way of the Lord: Christological Exegesis of the Old Testament in the Gospel of Mark (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992) and Rikki E. Watts, Isaiah’s New Exodus in Mark (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997). For more information on the use of various forms of Isaiah 6 in early Jewish texts and in the early church, see, respectively Gnilka, Die Verstockung Israels, 155–85; and Martin C. Albl, ‘And Scripture Cannot Be Broken’: The Form and Function of the Early Christian Testimonia Collections (NovTSup 96; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 237–53. 9. John L. McLaughlin, ‘Their Hearts Were Hardened: The Use of Isaiah 6,9-10 in the Book of Isaiah’, Biblica 75 (1994): 1–25. 10. The verb is ‫הׁשמם‬, a hiphil imperative: ‘Make the heart of this people fat.’ By contrast, the LXX, renders the verb e0paxu/nqh, ‘the heart of this people has become fat.’ Mark echoes this language in 3.5; 6.52; 8.17; and 10.5, even if the verbal parallels are not exact (cf. 10.5: pro\j th\n sklhrokardi/an u(mw~n). See further on ‘confirming scripture’, below.



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says, this ‘divine hardening is presented as the means of ensuring punishment for past sins by preventing repentance. In this respect, the motif has greater continuity with biblical traditions of divine agency against Israelites than with Yahweh’s hardening the hearts of Pharaoh and other non-Israelites’.11 McLaughlin sees this motif of divine hardening confirmed (cf. 29.9-10; 44.18; 63.17), reversed (32.3-4a), and countered (42.6-7), in the Book of Isaiah based on the changing situation of the prophets and the community.12 In other words, the Book of Isaiah repeatedly picks up the motif of hardened hearts to explain the community’s attitude towards God, and God’s stance towards them, in the Book of Isaiah. God can harden (e.g., 63.17: ‘Why, O Yahweh, do you cause us to stray from your ways, and harden [LXX: sklh/runw] our hearts so that we do not fear you?’) or soften (e.g., 32.4 LXX: ‘The heart of the weak ones will devote itself to hearing’) Israel’s heart as the situation requires. Neither hardening nor softening is a one-time event. Finally, McLaughlin argues that the use of the language of repentance in Isa. 6.5 implies that the people have done something of which they need to repent. In Isaiah, these sins are listed in chs 1–5. Divine hardening occurs not to produce some punishment deemed necessary because of the capriciousness of a spiteful god, but rather to prevent the people from escaping the just punishment which they deserve.13 Isaiah’s use of the theme of hardened hearts, both in its confirmation and in its countering, provides a precedent for a similar use of these themes of hardening hearts, blinding eyes, and deafening ears in the text of the Second Gospel. Furthermore, the connection between these themes and the possibility of repentance all of which McLaughlin sees in Isaiah, is recapitulated in Mark. The next two sections in this chapter explore the confirmation and countering of these same themes from Isaiah in the Gospel of Mark.

Section II: Scripture Confirmed In Isa. 6.9 (cf. Mk 4.12a-b), the prophet draws a contrast between the use of one’s senses and the result of perception and understanding. Sight and hearing is not the problem in these texts: what happens with this sight and hearing makes the difference. After all, sight is not truly sight unless one can perceive what one sees (cf. the man who sees trees walking, 8.22-26). Similarly with 11. McLaughlin, ‘The Use of Isaiah 6,9-10’, 9. 12. Ibid., 12–25. 13. Thus: ‘The prophet is not the agent of an arbitrary and perhaps even malevolent deity who goes beyond simply punishing human refusal to repent and actually instigates the refusal which elicits the punishment.’ Nevertheless, ‘at the same time, the idea of divine hardening of hearts is more than just a theological explanation of persistent human recalcitrance which refuses to attribute the latter to either an ability to reject divine “grace” or to demonic forces outside the realm of Yahweh’s power’ (McLaughlin, ‘The Use of Isaiah 6,9-10’, 6n.14). The paradox remains.

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hearing: what difference does hearing make if the sounds are not intelligible? In biological terms, if the eyes and ears are functioning well, but perception and understanding are inhibited, the problem is in the brain. For Isaiah, however, the problem is in the heart: the prophet either makes the heart fat (MT) or the heart of the people grows fat (LXX). Mark repeats the terms of Isaiah 6 throughout his Gospel. In these recapitulations, he uses this language of hardened hearts.14 These accusations or predictions are sometimes directed at Jesus’ opponents, as in Mk 3.4, where Jesus is grieved at the Pharisees’ ‘hardness of heart’ (e0pi\ th|~ pwrw/sei th~v kardi/av au)tw~n). Jesus’ assessment seems justified in the narrative, as the Pharisees leave ‘immediately’ and plot with the Herodians to kill him (3.6). This is reiterated when Jesus rebukes the Pharisees in the controversy over divorce. There he says: ‘For your hardness of heart [sklhrokardi/an] [Moses] wrote this commandment’ (10.5).15 In this way, hardness of heart is not only a reaction to scripture, but it is also deemed to be the purpose of parts of scripture.16 In a sense, understanding scripture as a means by which God can harden hearts draws a parallel between the use of scripture in Mark and the use of parables in Mk 4.11. God’s words (in Isaiah) and Jesus’ words (in parables) both testify to God’s paradoxical action in blinding and deafening, as well as healing and restoring.17 This connection between scripture and parables points to an alliance between God’s words and Jesus’ words, for Mark’s Gospel refers to Jesus’ words on the same level as scripture. For example, in Mark 13 Jesus claims that even though creation – even heaven and earth – might pass away, his words will not (13.31). Particularly as one nears Jesus’ passion, narratives are told to highlight the consistent fulfilment of his words (11.1-6, 12-14, 20-21; 14.12-16). The statement that Jesus has told the disciples ‘all things’ (pa/ nta) beforehand (13.23) is a source of comfort. Therefore, the fulfilment of Jesus’ words is also at stake when considering how Mark demonstrates God’s activity in fulfilling scripture. Since Jesus is Mark’s sanctioned interpreter of scripture (9.7), one learns to interpret scripture with the help of Jesus’ words. At this point in Mark, this parallelism is simple: Jesus’ words and scripture speak in unison. As this chapter’s next section demonstrates, this is not always the case in this Gospel.

14. The kardi/a is the seat of rational thought (e.g., Mk 11.23; Mt. 24.48), emotion (e.g., Mt. 5.27; 6.21), and will (e.g., Lk. 21.14). Thus, the hardening of the heart ostensibly prevents any anthropological receptivity to God’s revelation (Mark) or prophetic word (Isaiah). See Rudolf Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament (London: SCM Press; 1952), 1:220–7; Johannes Behm, ‘kardi/a’, TDNT, 3:608–14. 15. This general statement of hardened hearts may be connected to Jesus’ teachings about the sinfulness of the ‘whole generation’ (cf. 8.38; 9.19). 16. The dialogue in Mark 10 makes explicit what the similar controversy in ch. 7 leaves implicit: for Mark, scripture does not speak univocally. It speaks as interpreted through Jesus. 17. The support for the latter half of this paradox is in the next section, below.



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Scripture continues to be confirmed: the quotation from Isaiah 6 continues to reverberate through the narrative in surprising ways. At various points in the Second Gospel, Jesus’ accusations of hardened hearts are directed not at his explicit enemies (chief priests, scribes, elders, Herodians, and Pharisees)18 but rather at the disciples. Following its paraphrase in Mark 4, the first allusion back to Isaiah 6 is stated in the voice of the narrator, who explains the disciples’ terror at Jesus’ walking on water and joining them in the boat by claiming that the disciples ‘had not understood about the loaves, but their heart was hardened’ (6.52). This comment follows the second episode of Jesus’ power over a storm (6.42-52; cf. 4.35-41) and the first of the two feeding narratives (6.35-44; cf. 8.1-10). The fact that the disciples’ lack of understanding (sunh~kan) is connected to their hardness of heart (h( kardi/a pepwrwme/nh) implies an allusion to Mk 4.12. Furthermore, after the second miraculous feeding, when Jesus and the disciples are in the boat again,19 the conversation turns to the ‘yeast of the Pharisees and of Herod’ (8.15) and thus, to the ‘loaves’. This time Jesus gives voice to a reproof: ‘Do you not yet comprehend [noei~te] or understand [suni/ete]? Has your heart been hardened [pepwrwme/nhn e1xete th\n kardi/an u(mw~n]?’ These passages demonstrate that Isa. 6.9-10 is applied to groups beyond the ‘outsiders’ and includes insiders like the disciples.20 The scriptural text is not only confirmed; it is extended to include more than its original audience. The final recapitulation and confirmation of the language of Isaiah 6 in Mark’s Gospel reverts back to the use of the senses. The taunts of Jesus’ enemies at Golgotha are reminiscent of this language: ‘Now let the Christ, the

18. Each of these groups is mentioned in various passion predictions or statements about Jesus’ death (cf. 3.6; 8.31; ‘people’ in general are included at 9.31; the Gentiles are specified at 10.33). 19. See Christopher Burdon for an excellent description of the setting of the sea and the boat, along with ‘the road’, as the primary places of the disciples’ misunderstanding (Stumbling on God: Faith and Vision in Mark’s Gospel [London: SPCK, 1990], 43). 20. Observations like these push interpreters like Frank Kermode to the conclusion that there are no insiders in Mark’s Gospel: there is only the illusion of being an insider (The Genesis of Secrecy: On the Interpretation of Narrative [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979], 33–4, 45–7). See also Burdon: ‘We now meet Mark’s sharpest reversal of expectation – and possibly the escape from our dilemma if we object to this whole business of division – which is that everybody is an outsider’ (Stumbling on God, 33; cf. Robert W. Fowler, Let the Reader Understand: Reader-Response Criticism and the Gospel of Mark [Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001, orig. 1991], 169). Ambrozic draws attention to the disciples’ misunderstanding in 9.30-36, as well, which continues the theme of the disciples’ misunderstanding (The Hidden Kingdom: A Redaction-Critical Study of the References to the Kingdom of God in Mark’s Gospel [Washington: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1972], 80). Evans isolates the disciples’ misunderstanding to the concept of Jesus’ messiahship (To See and Not Perceive, 102). While this certainly contributes to the problem, the disciples’ obtuseness can also be interpreted more broadly, in that misconceptions about messianism are one aspect of the way Mark speaks about God’s activity at the kingdom’s advent. For more on this topic, see above, Chapter 2.

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King of Israel, come down from the cross, in order that we might “perceive” [i1dwmen] and believe’ (15.32).21 The ‘perception’ that the chief priests and scribes claim they will have is the same word that is used for the perception that is prevented in Mk 4.12. While they see Jesus on the cross, this sight does not translate into perception, and therefore, cannot evoke faith.22 All of this information demonstrates that Isa. 6.9, 10b is not an isolated account in Mark’s narrative. Mark repeats its themes of perception and hard-heartedness, both with respect to those one would suppose to be outsiders and to others one would suppose to be insiders.23 This repetition confirms God’s words in scripture. The same response occurs to these words that occurred in Isaiah: eyes are closed, ears are shut, and hearts are hardened. As in Isaiah, obscuring senses and perception can happen to Israel (‘insiders’) as much as it can to outsiders. Also as in Isaiah, Mark considers God to be the instigator of these actions, attributing their consequence to this greater end: Jesus’ death by crucifixion.

Section III: Scripture Countered Mark’s narrative also demonstrates a deliberate reversal of Mk 4.12 concerning themes of sight and blindness.24 In some important miracle stories in the

21. While i)dei~n in this verse is usually translated ‘see’, to highlight the connection with 4.12 I have chosen ‘perceive’. Metaphorical sight – understanding – is at stake here. 22. We consider Mk 15.32 in detail in Chapter 7, below. It is worth noting here, however, that the centurion’s ‘sight’ (whether in jest or in earnest) of Jesus as the Son of God (15.39), dead on the cross, is precisely from one who would have been deemed ‘an outsider’: a Gentile centurion. 23. This statement is in contrast to those who think Mark’s theology is inconsistent on this point: Heikki Räisänen, The ‘Messianic Secret’ in Mark’s Gospel (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990), and Eduard Schweizer, The Good News According to Mark (Richmond: John Knox Press, 1970), 93. I am in agreement here with Madeleine Boucher (The Mysterious Parable [CBQMS 6; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1977], 42), Joel Marcus (The Mystery of the Kingdom of God [SBLDS 90; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986], 3–6), and Mary Ann Beavis (Mark’s Audience: The Literary and Social Setting of Mark 4.11-12 [JSNTSup 33; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1989], 87–130), who see in these verses theological themes consistently found throughout Mark. 24. See discussion of McLaughlin’s article (‘The Use of Isaiah 6,9-10 in the Book of Isaiah’) above. Craig Evans lists the ‘obduracy’ texts in Isaiah as 29.9-10; 42.18-20; 43.8; 44.18; 63.17, while the restoration texts include Isa. 32.3-4; 35.5; 42.7, 16; 49.9; 61.1 (see also: 29.18, 24; 54.13, cf. 30.21). Evans summarizes the themes of Isa. 6.9-10 as an understanding of God’s sovereignty (and therefore, he concludes, a strong statement of monotheism) as well as an anthropological statement about a community. In this, he believes that a community must allow a prophetic word to be spoken about it, because if it directs the word externally, it proves its heart is hardened. This may make sense of the narrative fluctuations of the themes of Isaiah 6, however it does not take seriously God’s actions preventing repentance and forgiveness (Evans, To See and Not Perceive, 16, 46, 52).



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central part of Mark’s narrative, Jesus heals people from illnesses that inhibit their senses (deaf-mute: 7.31-37; blind men: 8.22-26; 10.46-52). Sometimes Mark places these healings in the context of fulfilling other prophecies from Isaiah (e.g., Isa. 35.5 in Mk 7.37).25 Also, one of these healings demonstrates that faith in Jesus – spiritual perception, perhaps – precedes and plays a role in producing physical sight (10.52; cf. 5.34). This narrative reverses the order of Isaiah 6, where there is no insight despite physical vision (as in 15.32). In fact, the placement of the two stories of healed blind men appears to function in Mark’s narrative in a way which highlights the disciples’ own blindness.26 Even though some are blinded by the parables so that they do not see and perceive, others are granted surprising sight, and therefore see to follow Jesus along the way (10.52). This pattern of countering the themes of Isa. 6.9-10 demonstrates that God’s action is not limited to one scripture text, or even scripture quotations at all (cf. 7.23). Scriptural passages that testify to God’s granting the ability to hear (7.37) and also withholding the ability to hear (4.12) appear to be fulfilled at the same time. Again, God acts paradoxically, and Mark testifies to this paradoxical action by juxtaposing passages that counter one another when paired. The prevention of repentance (e0pistre/fw) and forgiveness (a)fi/hmi) is the final motif in Mk 4.12. This is the stark repercussion of ‘all things coming in parables’. As in the preceding analysis of Mark’s language of perception and hardened hearts in the Gospel, one can find aspects of the Gospel’s narrative which confirm the language of Isaiah 6, and other aspects which counter its implications. While previous interpreters have deemed Mark to be ‘inconsistent’ on these points,27 this analysis finds that Mark’s perceived inconsistencies serve a broader theological purpose. In the passage immediately preceding Mark 4, there is language about forgiveness that both confirms and counters the words of 4.12. There in Mark 3, Jesus follows his ‘parable’ about Beelzebul by making apparently contradictory statements about forgiveness:

25. See also Marcus: ‘… when the eschaton arrives this hiddenness will give way to an age of disclosure. Especially interesting for comparison with Mark 4:11-12, 21-22 are texts from Isaiah (29:18, 24; 32:3; 35:5) that imply that the new age will bring a reversal of the sentence of insensibility found in Isa 6:9-10 and quoted in Mark 4:12. At that time, the blinded eyes of 6:910 will be opened, the closed ears unstopped; indeed, Isaiah 32:3 uses the same rare word that is found in 6:10, s`` (“to be smeared over, blinded”), to describe what will no longer be true of the eyes of those living in the messianic era. Thus, for Isaiah as for Mark the harsh sentence of Isaiah 6:9-10 is not God’s final word about his revelation of himself to the world’ (The Mystery of the Kingdom, 146–7; transliteration original). 26. See Norman Perrin, ‘Towards an Interpretation of the Gospel of Mark’, in Christology and a Modern Pilgrimage (ed. Hans Dieter Betz; Claremont, CA: New Testament Colloquium, 1971; repr. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974), 1–78. 27. See above n.22.

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‘all sins will be forgiven [a)feqh/setai] to the “sons of men”,28 and whatever blasphemies they blaspheme’. (3.28) ‘but [de/] whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will never have forgiveness [e1xei a1fesin] but is guilty of an eternal sin’. (3.29)

This comparison is striking. Whoever ‘the sons of men’ are, they have been told that all of their sins will be forgiven, even when they blaspheme. Yet, whoever – with no limitations – blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will never receive forgiveness. Either these statements refer to two different groups, or their language is more limited than it seems at first glance. In the context of these verses, the blasphemy against the Holy Spirit is equivalent to confusing Jesus’ work with Satan’s, rather than with God’s. Presumably, ‘those [metaphorically and physically] outside’ (3.31-32) are guilty of this blasphemy. Nevertheless, in this text, much like 4.10-12, it is hard to understand to whom the different groups refer: are the ‘sons of men’ Jesus’ followers? Or is it a vague group like that introduced in 4.10? Or, does it simply refer to humans in general, thereby potentially contradicting the statement in 3.29? As Mark does not use the language of ‘sons of men’ elsewhere in this Gospel, it is difficult to answer these questions. These verses remain paradoxical: forgiveness is guaranteed, at least to some people. But forgiveness is withheld from all who blaspheme against the Holy Spirit. We can see a preview of Isaiah 6 in this paradoxical picture of forgiveness: there are ways to be denied repentance and forgiveness; namely, by blaspheming the Holy Spirit.29 Blasphemy and forgiveness are connected in one additional text in the Gospel. When friends lower a paralysed man through a roof, Jesus astonishes his audience by forgiving the man’s sins (2.4-5). Some of the scribes witness this and ‘question in their hearts’, saying that by speaking this way, Jesus commits blasphemy (blasfhmei~). Jesus’ debate with these scribes foreshadows the one with similar opponents in Mark 3, as both groups ironically think that Jesus’ claims are theologically perverse. This twist of irony reinforces the authorial audience’s knowledge: they know that Jesus’ words truly speak for God (cf. 9.7). While the scribes in Capernaum think that Jesus is blaspheming, their misunderstanding of Jesus’ authority (1.27; cf. 11.27-33) causes them to be the ones who commit blasphemy.30 This irony concerning blasphemy is paired 28. It is hard to tell what Mark means by this phrase. It is likely that he is just using it in the sense of ‘people’ or ‘mortals’ (e.g., Ezekiel’s use of ‘Son of Man’ = ‘O Mortal’) but it is also possible that Jesus is addressing a sub-group here, so that ‘sons of men’ resembles the early Christian use of a)delfoi/. On account of this ambiguity, I left the translation as literal as possible. Lk. 12.10 has the singular (ei)v to\n ui(o/n tou~ a)nqrw/pou) instead. 29. Michael D. Goulder pushes this connection even further. By arguing that those who, by implication, blaspheme the Holy Spirit in 3.29 are the same group that is prevented from understanding the parables in 4.12, Goulder finds that the Isaiah paraphrase in 4.12 explains the blasphemy of ch. 3 (‘“Those Outside”: Mk 4:10-12’, NovT 33 [1991]: 289–302 [298]). 30. For further ironic contrasts with respect to blasphemy, see 14.64, where the high priest recapitulates the conversations of Mk 2.1-28 and 11.27-33, by claiming that Jesus’ parousia predictions about the Son of Man are blasphemy.



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with a paradoxical concern about forgiveness. The scribes ask: ‘Who can forgive sins except the one God?’ (2.7). In doing so, they claim that forgiveness is God’s proprietary action. Jesus’ following actions demonstrate their incorrectness, for as the Son of Man he has ‘authority to forgive sins upon the earth’ (2.10).31 In Mark 2, Jesus manifests the divine ability to forgive, which is precisely what he claims is withheld from ‘those outside’ in 4.12. The irony of the text – that Mark’s authorial audience knows Jesus, as the Son of Man, ‘has authority’ to forgive sins (2.10) – only serves to increase the paradox, as Jesus approves and prohibits forgiveness from the ‘sons of men’ (3.28-29).32 On the other side of the coin from forgiveness, however, is repentance (4.12). When Mark summarizes Jesus’ teaching at the beginning of the Gospel, Jesus’ primary exhortation is: ‘Repent, and believe in the gospel’ (1.15) now that the kingdom has drawn near. This echoes the purpose of John’s baptism of repentance and will be recapitulated when Jesus commissions the disciples to go out to teach, exorcise demons, and to preach repentance (6.12).33 In Mk 4.12, however, repentance is prohibited from some. At the beginning of the Gospel, it is exhorted of all. Again, we see Mark’s unrelieved paradoxes at work. Mark’s readers notice God’s activity in countering scripture most easily when this action is strangely paired with a scriptural confirmation. Through scripture, Jesus’ words, that some will not see and perceive come true throughout the Gospel, but they are most profoundly embodied in Mark’s passion narrative. On the other hand, others who should not be able to see and perceive become able to do so (again, cf. 15.39). Another example of this countering and confirmation concerns Jesus’ words. Jesus’ proclamation of repentance and forgiveness begins the Gospel (1.14-15) and is stated again in Mark 6 at the disciples’ commissioning (6.12).34 This announcement only comes into question when Jesus claims that forgiveness may also be prohibited (3.29). Since, as we have seen, Jesus’ words are considered to be on a par with scripture, conflicts among Jesus’ words can point to this same dynamic: Jesus’ own proclamation can be both confirmed and countered. In this way, Mark also positions scripture passages in tension with Jesus’ words about repentance 31. This is one of the few uses of the term Son of Man outside passion or parousia predictions. The only other use occurs in Mk 2.28: ‘therefore, the Son of Man is lord [ku/riov] of the Sabbath’. 32. This language of irony and paradox refers to the definitions established in Chapter 1, in that irony reinforces the authorial audience’s knowledge by highlighting the narrative audience’s ignorance. Paradox, however, underlines the ignorance of both the narrative and authorial audiences. 33. Ambrozic follows this line of thought by claiming that for Mark, ‘non-understanding and impenitence are two aspects of the same reality: that of being imperviously closed to God’s saving action in Jesus Christ’ (The Hidden Kingdom, 83). In other words, these final two expressions concerning the contradictory fulfilment of scripture could be expressed as ‘aspects of the same reality’, because both a lack of understanding and a lack of repentance mean that one is distant from Jesus’ true family (3.31-35). 34. Mark’s summary of their proclamation is repentance, without mentioning forgiveness.

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and forgiveness (4.12; cf. 1.14-15; 2.1-12; 3.28-29). It is critical that we not dismiss these instances as ‘inconsistencies’, because some passages include both sides of the paradox: forgiveness is always possible, and forgiveness is not possible for all things (e.g., 3.28-29). God’s activity is both consistent with, and in tension with, the statements of scripture and Jesus’ words about the coming kingdom, confirming and countering the themes found in Isa. 6.9-10: perception and knowledge; forgiveness and repentance. Although this analysis has focused on the way in which Mark’s narrative sometimes reiterates, and sometimes reverses, various themes from Isa. 6.9-10, these themes do not tell the whole story. In fact, a focus on themes may neglect the literary structure of the Gospel itself. Considering the literary placement of Mk 4.12, between the parable of the sower (4.3-8) and its interpretation (4.1320), brings to light another way in which the affirmation of Isaianic scripture is countered in the Gospel. Through the literary placement of this scripture passage, Mark illustrates that both scripture and Jesus’ words are required to tell the complete story about God’s activity in the kingdom. The rest of the Gospel shows what this brief passage cannot prove, but to which it can only allude: both scripture and Jesus’ words – occasionally in tension with each other – are necessary to illustrate God’s paradoxical activity in this divine kingdom that has drawn near but has not yet been realized (1.14-15). As noted in Chapter 2, the placement of Mk 4.11-12 has long been deemed inconsistent with the flow of the narrative. When those around Jesus ask him a question ‘about the parables’ in 4.10, Jesus’ exclamation in 4.13 seems to suit their query: ‘Do you not understand this parable? How will you also understand all the parables?’ If anything, Jesus’ response seems even harsher in light of the fact that this group, characterized by misunderstanding, has just been given the mystery of the kingdom of God and has been set apart from those who are prevented from understanding (4.11-12). Of course, Mark’s audience may actually take comfort in the fact that the narrative audience requests explanations of Jesus’ perplexing parables; nevertheless, they may be less reassured when they learn that these explanations are sometimes just as inexplicable as the parables themselves (4.14-20).35 35. Many of the potential questions about the meaning and significance of the parable of the sower remain unanswered at the end of the parable’s interpretation. Indeed, there has been a shift in scholarship towards the direction for which I am arguing; namely, that parables are not clear, simple, straightforward explanations of God’s kingdom. See also Snodgrass’s critique of Jülicher, where he says, ‘Parables are not necessarily simple, and no literature is self-interpreting’ (Stories with Intent: A Comprehensive Guide to the Parables of Jesus [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008], 6). This need for aid in interpretation is demonstrated in the parable scholarship that has been amassed through the years, as few have come to the same conclusion about what these parables mean. Along the same lines, there are now many studies about the hermeneutics of reading parables: see, e.g., Amos Wilder, Early Christian Rhetoric: The Language of the Gospel (rev. edn; New York: Harper & Row, 1971); Robert Funk, Language, Hermeneutic, and the Word of God: The Problem of Language in the New Testament and Contemporary Theology (New York: Harper & Row, 1966); John Dominic Crossan, Cliffs of Fall: Paradox and Polyvalence in the Parables of Jesus (New York: Seabury, 1980); Bernard Brandon Scott, Hear Then the Parable: A Commentary on the Parables of Jesus (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989).



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Jesus’ quotation of Isa. 6.9, 10b seems to imply that one group (‘the outsiders’) will never understand anything worth seeing or hearing, lest they repent and find forgiveness. The parable of the sower, and particularly its interpretation (4.13-20), does not support this conclusion. Instead, the parable demonstrates that most groups (‘soils’) do understand ‘the word’, at least for a time (those among the rocks, those among the thorns, and those among the good soil). Only those that fall ‘along the path’ (para\ th\n o(do/n: 4.4) do not sprout. At the same time, the lack of germination for the seeds ‘along the path’ is not attributed to something about their characteristics or about God’s own activity, as 4.12 implies. Instead, Satan is the explicit cause of their lack of growth. This claim counters the quotation of Isa. 6.9-10, which emphasizes God’s sovereignty and does not allow for another cause of spiritual imperception behind the assumed interplay of divine and human agency. The fact that there is not an immediate correlation between the quotation of Isaiah 6 and the parable of the sower may imply that these texts are grouped together to highlight their distinctions as well as their similarities. Here, Jesus’ words, and Jesus’ words as communicated through scripture, seem to be set up to counter to one another: those represented by seeds or soils hear, and it makes a difference, at least for a time, while ‘outsiders’ continue to hear without any understanding. This countering is in contrast to the confirmation and recapitulation of the themes of Isaiah 6 throughout Mark. Instead, Jesus’ words in the parable of the sower and its interpretation serve to moderate the harsh message of Isa. 6.9-10. Mark presents God’s action in a paradoxical manner through the means of scripture and Jesus’ words, as Isaiah 6 is countered by the testimony of the parable of the sower and its interpretation.

Conclusion The text of Mk 4.12 brings to light several different points. From a linguistic perspective, Mark alludes to Isa. 6.9, 10b, rather than precisely quoting it. This treatment of the text emphasizes its important themes: spiritual blindness, deafness, and hardness of heart. These themes occur not only in Isaiah 6 but also throughout the Book of Isaiah. Interestingly, they are not only reiterated, but they are also reversed in various texts throughout that prophetic book. This pattern is significant because the same process takes place in the Second Gospel. Highlighting these same themes concerning vision, hearing, and the heart, it is easy to see how many of the characters in the Gospel fulfil and confirm this scriptural word. God hardens the hearts, and people harden their own hearts against the coming kingdom. At the same time, themes from Isa. 6.9-10 are also countered in the Gospel of Mark. The blind see, and some see well enough to follow Jesus ‘along the way’ (10.52). The repentance and forgiveness that are prohibited in Mk 4.12 are exhorted in 1.14-15 and

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promised in 3.28. The final counter to the quotation of Isa. 6.9-10 is in the literary context: here, the parable of the sower counters a reading of 4.12 that emphasizes only the exclusivity of revelation to one group and its concealment from others. Instead, as scripture is both confirmed and countered by other scripture, as well as by Jesus’ own words, Mark again presents God working in a paradoxical manner.

Chapter 4 A Third Paradox: Sowing Abundant Waste The passages we have considered so far in Mark 4 are the literary context for a pericope that is famous in its own right: the parable of the sower and its interpretation (4.3-9, 13-20). The parable of the sower is one of the most easily recognizable and well-known Synoptic parables (cf. Mt. 13.1-9; Lk. 8.4-8), and it is also attested, in a relatively similar form, in the Gospel of Thomas (9). In Mark, Jesus himself emphasizes this parable as important for understanding ‘all the parables’ (4.13). Upon a first reading, this parable seems to have little to say about God’s activity: God is never mentioned.1 Nevertheless, the audience likely interpreted the sower as a metaphor for God, or for God’s agent, Jesus. Noticing the divine activity demonstrated by the sower illuminates paradoxes similar to those in the rest of Mark 4.2 In examining the parable itself, it is clear that the sower sows carelessly, not accounting for the seed. Such careless sowing produces a litany of waste as one soil after another fails to produce a harvest. The parable demonstrates, however, that good results accompany

1. Sallie McFague highlights this objection, and responds by saying: ‘We must be precise when we speak of how assertions are made about God in parables. They are not in direct propositions but with what Philip Wheelright calls “soft focus” or “assertorial lightness”. This is the case because, as Wheelright says, “the plain fact is that not all facts are plain”’ (Speaking in Parables: A Study in Metaphor and Theology [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975], 16). See also Christopher Burdon, Stumbling on God: Faith and Vision through Mark’s Gospel (London: SPCK, 1990), 31. 2. McFague explores the challenge of developing theological understandings from parables. Discussing the parable of the prodigal son (Lk. 15.11-32), she says: ‘For what counts here is not extricating an abstract concept [e.g., “God’s love knows no bounds”] but precisely the opposite, delving into the details of the story itself, letting the metaphor do its job of revealing the new setting for ordinary life. It is the play of the radical images that does the job. If we want to talk about what this parable has to say about God, we must do so in terms that do not extrapolate from that moment when the father, waiting these many months, finally sees his son, and we must do so in terms that dig into the details of that moment. Thus the radical contrasts and the concrete images are not embellishments but are the meaning, for there is no way to the meaning except through them’ (Speaking in Parables, 15). The present exegesis of the parable of the sower follows McFague’s admonitions, seeking to attend to the details of the text’s presentation of the sower and the field so as to then discern the theological manner of speech without being an allegory. For it is ‘only through the details, the parable itself [that we are] brought to an awareness of God … that has the shock of revelation’ (ibid., 5).

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this wasteful sowing, as the excellent (kalh\n) soil produces a grand harvest. Therefore, the sower’s scattering of seeds generates both significant waste and a good harvest. Good results continue to accompany waste in the Markan Jesus’ interpretation of the parable (Mk 4.14-20). If the seed is allegorized as the word (4.14), then it seems that sowing the word across all the soils is a good thing, yet the results of the parable’s interpretation are the same: in poor soil, the word is wasted, and only the good soil bears lasting fruit.3 Mark’s paradoxical presentation of this divine sowing is further shaped by its literary context. In the interpretation of the parable, the sower’s scattering the word across all soils is presented in contrast to the divine activity in 4.10-12, where something (the ‘mystery’) is withheld from one group, but given to another. Finally, the activity of the sower is also paradoxical because of his relationship to the obstructions in the field. Mark’s narrative, especially in Mark 3 and 4, demonstrates that the presence of evil in God’s kingdom is also a paradox: Satan is defeated (3.27) but Satan is still present and active (4.15; 8.33). The paradoxical presence of evil (defeated yet active) in the sower’s field – and correspondingly, around Jesus – highlights the wastefulness of the sower’s actions, and yet the sower continues to bring good alongside the waste.

Section I: The Portrait of the Sower The first part of this analysis focuses on the character of the sower, because his character is analogous to God’s action. The parable of the sower begins with the injunction, ‘Listen! Look, a sower went out to sow’ (4.3). Fulfilling his title, this sower goes out (e0xh~lqen) to sow. This is the only time that the sower is mentioned explicitly in the parable.4 The most striking characteristic of the sower, then, is his action in sowing the seed. He sows in several unfruitful places, as well as good soil. The following interpretation highlights 3. See C. Clifton Black: ‘Mark 4.3-8 ends on an exhilarating note that forces reconsideration of the entire parable. Without evident reason the contrast between cause and effect is vast: between careless, failure-ridden sowing and bountiful produce’ (Mark [ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon, 2011], 119). 4. Although mentioned only once, the sower’s action is integral to the parable’s unfolding and the results of the seeds. See also Joel Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom (SBLDS 90; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), 20–1. John Donahue disagrees, claiming that calling this parable the ‘parable of the sower’ is a misnomer, because the sower is not an active character in the parable (The Gospel in Parable: Metaphor, Narrative, and Theology in the Synoptic Gospels [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1988], 33; see also Klyne Snodgrass, Stories with Intent: A Comprehensive Guide to the Parables of Jesus [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008], 169). Donahue and Snodgrass argue that the sower is unimportant because the parable does not describe him in detail, and on that point, I agree with them. What that conclusion misses, however, is that it is not the intrinsic characteristics of the sower that are important; instead, what the parable highlights is the sower’s activity in the field. This is where one finds the sower’s significance.



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what I claim are the God-like characteristics of the sower’s activity and argues that the portrayal of the sower gives the audience another glimpse of God’s paradoxical deeds. As prolegomena to this discussion, it is notable that the definite identity of the sower remains a mystery, like most characters in Jesus’ parables. Even though Jesus offers an interpretation of this parable in Mk 4.14-20, he does not illuminate the identity of the sower. This narrative ‘gap’ has been filled in a variety of ways.5 Some have determined that the sower is God, others Jesus, others an early Christian preacher, and finally, some claim that interpreters should remain agnostic on the issue.6 There is certainly support for understanding the sower to play the role of God in the parable: diverse texts from the OT and the pseudepigrapha describe God as a farmer, sower, or vinedresser.7 Whether God or God’s agent is understood to take on the 5. See Joel Marcus for this terminology. He defines a narrative gap to be ‘a deliberate ambiguity in the narrative’ rather than a blank, which is ‘an inadvertent failure to supply necessary information’ (‘Blanks and Gaps in the Markan Parable of the Sower’, BibInt 5 [1997]: 247–62 [247]). On gaps, see originally Seymour Chatman, who defined gaps as places where ‘the author selects those events he feels are sufficient to elicit the necessary sense of continuum’ and leaves the audience to fill in the gap that is left out (Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film [Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1978], 28–30 [30]). 6. Adela Yarbro Collins claims that while the sower represents God in the tradition, within Mark, it parallels Jesus’ ministry (Mark: A Commentary [Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007], 246); see also M. Eugene Boring, who argues the same from the opposite direction – the sower’s action resembles Jesus’ action, and he is God’s representative (Mark: A Commentary [NTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2006], 117). Snodgrass seems to assume that if one grants an identity to the sower, it should be that the sower is God, but he does not provide significant arguments for this choice (Stories with Intent, 167–69). Marcus argues staunchly for the sower’s identification of Jesus in his dissertation (The Mystery of the Kingdom, 38–9, also see below), following Joachim Gnilka (Das Evangelium nach Markus [EKKNT; Köln: Benziger, 1978], 1:160) and Jan Lambrecht (Once More Astonished: The Parables of Jesus [New York: Crossroad, 1981], 102–4). See also Vincent Taylor, The Gospel According to St. Mark: The Greek Text with Introduction, Notes, and Indexes (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1966), 251. However, in Marcus’ article, ‘Blanks and Gaps’, though he privileges the identity of Jesus over God or an early Christian preacher, he sees a greater cause for the ambiguity of the ‘gap’ (252–6; see also John Painter, Mark’s Gospel: Worlds in Conflict [NTR; London: Routledge, 1997], 78). Robert A. Guelich claims that exploring the identity of the sower is a misplaced exercise, because the parable does not emphasize him (Mark 1:1–8:26 [WBC 34A; Dallas: Word Books, 1989], 192, 221). 7. On God’s control of the land, see Gen. 26.12; Deut. 29.10–30.5; LXX Ps. 106.3337; on God as farmer, see Isa. 5.1-7; Jer. 12.15, 17; the book of Hosea [esp. 1.4; 10.1, 8, 12; 2.24-25]; Zech. 10.8; 1 En. 62.7-8; 4 Ezra 8.5-6, 41-45; 9.29-37. Collins independently lists a similar categorization of texts in which ‘sowing’ is mentioned, not to determine the audience’s expectations with respect to the sower’s identity, but rather to ‘investigate whether the imagery of the parable was used in specific ways in its cultural settings’ (4 Ezra 8.37-41; 9.30-31; 1 En. 62.7-8; 1QH 14.14-16; Plato, Tim. 9.92-93; Seneca, Ep. 38.2; 73.16; Hippocrates, Lex. 2.264-65; Diogenes Laertius, Vit. Phil. 7.40; see Mark, 243–6). Gnilka too has a list of analogous scriptures (Job 4.8; Isa. 61.3; Hos. 8.7; 10.12; Sir. 7.3; Markus, 158n.11). Léonard Ramaroson also has a similar list, focusing on God as ‘sower’ (Jer. 31.27; Hos. 2.25; 1 Pet. 1.23; 1 En. 62.8; 4 Ezra 7.50; 8.6, 41; 9.31, 33) even though he ultimately concludes that Jesus is the sower in the parable (‘Sur Trois Textes Des Synoptiques’, ScEs 47 [1995]: 287–303).

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role of the sower, the sower’s actions in the parable (4.3-8) and the parable’s interpretation (4.14-20) revolve around a perplexing abundance of waste. Furthermore, the way in which the parable describes the sower’s activity in Mark 4 is remarkably similar to the portrayal of the master of the vineyard’s activity (Mk 12.1-10), suggesting an overlap in these roles. One of the easily-missed details about the parable of the sower is the pattern of pronouns it employs. This pattern is also echoed in Mk 12.1-10, in the parable of the vineyard. In Mark 4, the seed is never mentioned: it is referred to by pronominal implication (o3, a1llo, a1llo, a1lla; vv. 4, 5, 7, 8). In the parable in ch. 12, one servant is sent by the master of the vineyard to collect the harvest (12.2), then another (a1llon), and yet another (a1llon), and still others (a1llouv), until the parable reaches its climax with the sending of the beloved son (12.6). Since the master of the vineyard is responsible for sending these servants much as the sower is responsible for sowing these seeds, the roles enacted in these parables appear to be equivalent. In Mark 12, the master (ku/riov) of the vineyard sends the beloved son, who is understood to be Jesus (12.6, 10-12).8 Essentially, this ku/riov represents God (see 9.37). In light of the parallel structure between the parable of the sower and the parable of the vineyard, the sower is aligned with God.9 Therefore, the sower’s action should reflect God’s activity. It comes as no surprise that the sower’s activity, representing divine action, is expressed in a paradoxical manner. In spite of the fact that God is often portrayed as a farmer, a vinedresser, or a sower in other ancient texts, it is important to note that of all the texts we examined above, only the Second Gospel narrates another figure who could also be the sower of the seed.10 In fact, most interpreters since Jerome and Chrysostom have identified the sower as Jesus.11 Joel Marcus correlates the sower’s ‘going out’ (e0xh~lqen) with Jesus’ ‘going out’ in previous passages

8. For further reflection on this parable and its implications, see below, Chapter 7. 9. Although Jacques Dupont suggests that the sower’s primary identification should be God, he bases this claim solely on the supposition that, because the parable is about God’s kingdom, God should be the principal actor. This analysis does not take into account the fact that God is not the only one with a role to play in this kingdom (‘La Parabole du Semeur’, FoiVie 66 [1967]: 3–25 [10–11]). 10. While 1 Enoch 37–71 does attest to the figure of the Son of Man, he is primarily an eschatological judge to be revealed at the end of all things, rather than one who participates in God’s action in the visionary’s present time. 11. Cited in Stephen L. Wailes, Medieval Allegories of Jesus’ Parables (Berkeley: University of California, 1987), 98. See also Donald Juel, ‘Encountering the Sower: Mark 4:1-20’, Int 56 [2002]: 273–82 [277]. Contrary to the comparison between the sower and the vineyard owner above, Mary Ann Tolbert claims: ‘The two parables in Mark present in concise, summary form the Gospel’s view of Jesus: he is the Sower of the Word and the Heir of the Vineyard. The first emphasizes his task and the second his identity; together they make up the Gospel’s basic narrative Christology’ (Sowing the Gospel: Mark’s World in Literary-Historical Perspective [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989], 122), and see discussion above.



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in the Gospel (1.38; 2.13; cf. 2.17).12 Of course, given the close ties between God and Jesus in the Gospel (Father-Son, messenger, agent, true teacher [12.13]), one would expect overlap between figures who could represent either God, or Jesus, or both.13 If Jesus’ activity reflects God’s (see 1.2-3, 9-11; 2.7-10; 3.23-27; 4.35-41; 11.27–12.44), then the sower’s action mirrors God’s, regardless of whether there is evidence for precise identification of the figure as God or Jesus. The connections between the parable of the sower and the parable of the vineyard within Mark, as well as citations from the OT and pseudepigraphal texts show that there is significant internal and external evidence setting a precedent for portraying God as sower. Extending this precedent to God’s son makes the sower’s action still representative of God’s activity.14

Section II: The Parable: Careless Sowing Yields Waste and Good Harvest Thus far, it is apparent that the portrayal of the sower’s action should somehow reflect God’s own activity, either directly or indirectly. Consistent with the results of previous chapters of this study, one can see paradoxes in the results of the sower’s action. While the sower only does one thing, sowing, this action produces two different, and indeed, paradoxical results. Depending on the soil, the sower either produces no harvest, or a plentiful harvest. With the same careless action, the sower establishes that both waste and abundance result. This overview allows us to consider the details of the parable of the sower (Mk 4.3-9). The parable itself describes four different soils, each producing four different results. In fact, the parable – quite apart from the interpretation in 4.14-20 – tells the story of the growth of a plant through the progressive results that occur in each soil: from nothing, to a quick sprout, to the plant itself, and finally, to the plant and its fruit for harvest. Instead of watching individual seeds make this progression (cf. 4.28), this parable describes the different kind of growth plants experience based on the qualities of their soil. The first seed falls by the road (4.4). While it is implied that this seed would not survive because

12. Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom, 38. It is important to note, however, that Mark’s use of this verb is not uniform. While Jesus is the subject of a form of e0xe/rxomai nine times, and five times is part of a compound subject of this verb with his disciples, the verb is also used to describe exorcisms nine times, and throughout the Gospel it is used to describe many people leaving various situations: the healed leper (1.45) and the healed paralytic (2.12); Pharisees (3.6; 8.11); those around Jesus who think he has lost his mind (3.21); those who arrest Jesus (14.48); and the women who flee from the empty tomb (16.8). 13. Collins: ‘the analogous Jewish texts suggest that the sower represented God in the original context of the parable. In the context of Mark, he probably represents Jesus as the agent of God’ (Mark, 246). 14. In fact, Mark often talks about God’s activity as concealed in Jesus’ actions.

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of the lack of soil (cf. the second seed), the reason it does not sprout is because the birds consume it (4.4). The second seed, given the longest description in the parable, is incapable of surviving for several reasons. It is sown in rocky soil, which is not promising for a harvest. Since there is not enough earth, it grows very quickly (4.5): yet, its rapidity is based on an underdeveloped root system that cannot tolerate the sun’s heat (4.6). And so it withers. The third seed falls among the thorns.15 While these thorns do not keep it from growing, they do ‘choke’ the plant so that it cannot bear any fruit. The seeds’ fortunes are narrated in rapid progression. If the parable delayed description of these results to its conclusion, then the audience might expect a reversal of fortunes for the apparently unprofitable soils in light of the identity of this particular sower. After all, Mark’s audience knows miracles occur when the kingdom comes near (cf. 2.1-12; 3.1-5). As this reversal does not occur, it seems as though any harvest in this field is in doubt until Jesus states that seeds fall in the excellent soil (kalh\n gh~n) and produce an incredible harvest (3.8). The first indication that the last soil will produce different results lies in the plural pronoun (a1lla). Differentiating these ‘seeds’ from the previous ‘seed’, the sower brings forth a bountiful harvest, even if there is no explanation given for why he would sow outside of the good soil in the first place.16 The sower’s sowing and the varied interactions of soil and seed are the central features of this parable. It is important to consider more closely the sower’s action in sowing. There have been many debates over the historical accuracy of this sower’s agricultural practice.17 However, it is now generally conceded that the parable 15. In an interesting variation, the Gospel of Thomas depicts this soil as thick not only with thorns but also with worms, which end up eating the plants that sprout (Gos. Thom. 9). This result would destroy the progressive description of the plant’s growth, which Mark narrates. 16. Whether the eventual harvest at thirty, sixty, and one hundred-fold overwhelms the unproductive soils is one of the unresolved interpretative questions of this parable. 17. For the classic argument, see Joachim Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus [2nd rev. edn; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1972], 11–17. For a nuanced assessment of much of the debate, see P. B. Payne, ‘The Order of Sowing and Ploughing in the Parable of the Sower’, NTS 25 (1978): 123–9. While Payne is content to allow the historical debate over ploughing and sowing to conclude with agnosticism, he does claim, against Jeremias, that ‘the parable, if anything, suggests that seeds falling on the path, shallow earth, and among thorns were not sown there intentionally but inadvertently’ (128). See originally Gustaf Dalman, ‘Viererlei Acker’, in Palästina Jahrbuch 22 (1926): 120–32 [esp. 121–2]; idem., Arbeit und Sitte in Palästina (Hildesheim: Olms, 1987; orig. Gütersloh, 1932), 2:205–15. Jeremias follows Dalman, and is questioned by K. D. White (‘The Parable of the Sower’, JTS 15 (1964): 300–7). Jeremias’ rejoinder is in ‘Palästinakundliches zum Gleichnis vom Säemann (Mark iv. 3-8 par.)’, NTS 13 (1966–67): 48–53. See rabbinic sources: Shab. vii.2 reads ‘sowing, ploughing, reaping …’ assuming an order. However, BT Shab. 73B, questions this order of ploughing after sowing, and the Tosefta Berakoth reverses it to follow the order of ploughing and then sowing (see John Drury, The Parables in the Gospels: History and Allegory [New York: Crossroad, 1985], 57). Some commentators also cite Jubilees 11, where some seed is consumed by birds that the cruel being Mastema has sent (Jub. 11.10-11). The young Abram is then able to drive the crows away with the authority of his verbal command (11.1922). This story is used not to validate a particular method of farming, but rather to demonstrate



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does not provide enough information for its hearers to know, for example, whether the sower had already ploughed the ground or whether he was planning to plough after he sowed. If the latter interpretation is accurate, the seeds falling in the apparently bad soils would have a good chance for survival. The effect of this interpretation is to render the sower’s actions of sowing beside the road, or among the rocks, or among the thorns, relatively reasonable. Ploughing after sowing would rid the field of obstacles and give the seeds a chance to live. However, the downside of this interpretation, despite its claims to historical accuracy and common sense, is that it flouts the logic of the parable itself.18 It is striking that the sower demonstrates no concern either for the fate of the seed or for his seemingly ineffective methods of sowing. The parable’s organization promotes this conclusion, as noted above, because the results from each of the different kinds of soils are narrated immediately after their sowing (contrast 4.27-29) so that hearers are not left in suspense about the outcomes.19 The sower’s actions, particularly in light of the all-too-typical results of the seeds (sprouting in the good soil, not in the bad), imply that the sower has been careless with the seed.20 Given the sower’s association with God or Jesus, the sower’s carelessness in sowing could be surprising: one may reasonably assume that Mark’s audience would regard such loss of seed as extremely detrimental to a farmer. Abram’s ingenuity as he adapts a plough to correct the situation (11.23-24; see Michael P. Knowles, ‘Abram and the Birds in Jubilees 11: A Subtext for the Parable of the Sower?’, NTS 41 [1995]: 145–51). With these primary sources in mind, Drury (The Parables in the Gospels, 37–9) follows White, while Marcus follows Jeremias (The Mystery of the Kingdom, 41). 18. As Drury succinctly observes, ‘The strongest reason for rejecting Jeremias’ exegesis needs no research and is simple: if it is right, it makes nonsense of the parable from start to finish’ (‘The Sower, the Vineyard and the Place of Allegory in the Interpretation of Mark’s Parables’, JTS 24 [1973]: 369). In his later book on the parables, Drury expands this comment: ‘If the farmer ploughed up the path he was too late [to plough the seeds] because the birds had eaten the seed. Seeds planted on shallow ground do not in fact spring up “immediately” … If he ploughed up the thistles he either killed them by doing so, which spoils the parable: or ploughed in their seed with the sad results which fit the parable but make his husbandry so ineffective as to be incredible. We are either being presented with a farming method so inefficient that no one … would use it for long … or the sower is a parable which resorts to the bizarre nonsense of riddle in order to jolt the hearer into perception, not of agriculture but of the mystery of the gospel’ (The Parables in the Gospels, 58). 19. A gifted sower might be able to make a harvest arise from dry ground (cf. Isa. 32.15-20; 35.1-2). But that is not the point of this parable. 20. So Juel: ‘As with Jesus’ preaching so also in the parables, little is offered to inspire confidence in the activity of the farmer. He is careless with his seed, and the prospects of success are threatened at every turn: birds (Satan), poor soil (lack of commitment), weeds (cares and riches). There appears little likelihood that the sower’s efforts will prove fruitful. Yet they do – beyond everyone’s expectations’ (A Master of Surprise: Mark Interpreted [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994], 56). Interestingly, even Jeremias claims that ‘the Sower in Mark 4:3-8 sows so clumsily that much of the seed is wasted’ (The Parables of Jesus, 11). See also Frederick H. Borsch, ‘Waste and Grace: The Parable of the Sower’, The Historical Magazine of the Protestant Episcopal Church 53.3 (1984): 199–208 [207].

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With a finite amount of seed, would he not want to sow it only in good soil? Surely he would want to minimize the chances of crop failure.21 This farmer, moreover, does not save seed for future sowing. He does not even keep it all for the good soil. If the good soil produces a sufficient harvest, why sow in the poor soil at all (4.8)? While the Gospel as a whole attests to similarly surprising activities,22 this wastefulness is not the whole story for the parable of the sower. The divine action of sowing the seed results in an elaborately described waste on account of no soil, poor soil and harsh sun, and soil with weeds and thorns. Yet, even though the sower plants wastefully, this very same action of sowing in the good soil produces an abundant harvest. God’s action in sowing seed produces both waste – plants that do not bear fruit – and good, bountiful harvest. Most of our focus so far has been on the parable itself, as told in Mk 4.39.23 The parable is also followed closely by an interpretation provided to assist ‘those around [Jesus] with the Twelve’ in their understanding (4.10, 13). For the present argument it is not necessary to analyse all of the interpretation,24 but it is important to note its first detail. After reprimanding those around him for their lack of understanding and asserting that understanding this parable is central to all the parables, Jesus says, ‘the sower sows the word [to\n lo/gon]’ (4.14). While ‘the word’ as a term is not used in a systematic manner throughout the Second Gospel,25 it seems to refer most often to Jesus’ words in 21. See Gottfried Quell, ‘spe/rma, ktl’, TDNT 7:536–47 [541–2]; also Juel, ‘Encountering the Sower’, 277. 22. In Mark 4 alone such similar actions include God’s giving of the mystery of the kingdom to those who do not understand, and hardening the hearts of others so that they will not repent (vv. 10-12); the calculus that the giver will receive in proportion to what is given for the kingdom (vv. 24-25); a paradoxical horticulture in which a seed that one expects to grow into a large cedar actually becomes a vegetable still able to provide shelter for those beneath it (vv. 30-32); and allusions to the passion narrative and its place in the kingdom (vv. 26-29). 23. Madeleine Boucher thus summarizes the general consensus of scholarly interpretation of the parable of the sower: ‘Three basic interpretations have been proposed in recent exegesis: [1] that the parable has to do with the kingdom, and speaks of the contrast between its none too promising beginnings and its final breaking-in with splendor, thus encouraging those with little hope; [2] that it has to do with the labor of Jesus or his disciples, and speaks of the contrast between its present failure and its ultimate success, thus reassuring those beset with doubt; [3] and that it has to do with the preaching of Jesus, and exhorts the audience to hear and do the word – as Mark would have it’ (The Mysterious Parable [CBQMS 6; Washington, D.C.: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1977], 47). Boucher is correct: most interpreters read the parable as it concerns the kingdom or Jesus. While the interpretation provided here does not discount either of those conclusions, it expands them to raise questions about the presentation of God, the sovereign, who is responsible for the kingdom’s enactment. 24. See, e.g., Birgid Gerhardsson for connections between the parable and the interpretation and a provocative interpretation of both through the lens of the Shema (‘The Parable of the Sower and its Interpretation’, NTS 14 [1968]: 165–93). 25. In 1.45, lo/gov refers to a proclamation of Jesus’ healing power, while in 2.2 it is the content of Jesus’ own preaching (or to Jesus’ or God’s words in general: 7.13; 8.32, 38; 9.10; 10.24; 13.31). It is also used in an ordinary way to refer simply to a saying or a statement (e.g., 5.36), while in 7.29, the dividing word is directed back at Jesus.



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general. Yet, the use of lo/gov is often in situations of conflict, such that Jesus’ words serve as a dividing line between people.26 For example, while many hear Jesus’ words (2.2), some consider them blasphemy (2.7) while others glorify God (2.12). This divisive response resembles the word’s journey in the parable of the sower’s interpretation, as all soils hear, but only the good soil bears fruit. At other times in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus’ word illuminates (4.33) or confounds (9.10; 10.22, 24) the disciples. Finally, Jesus’ word, and God’s word (7.13), are powerful and long-lasting (13.31), even though they can be overturned (7.29). While few characters in the Gospel produce the ‘fruit’ mentioned in the parable’s harvest (4.20), Jesus’ word is not rationed only to them.27 His words will last forever (13.31) and are distributed generously despite misunderstanding and negative consequences (12.13). In this way, the scattering of the ‘word’ in the parable of the sower’s interpretation expresses the limitless presence of this word despite its profligate sowing. What was wasteful in the parable takes on a positive aspect when the audience realizes that the quantity of ‘the word’ is not limited. However, in the parable, the soil overpowers the seed in three of the four soils. Despite the goodness inherent in the concept of proclaiming or spreading ‘the word’, the word is still effectively wasted in these soils. God’s act of sowing in the parable’s interpretation28 is equally paradoxical: even a sowing that seems positive and generous produces waste and good results.

Section III: Waste and Goodness Qualified: The Literary Context To consider the Markan Jesus’ interpretation of the parable of the sower (4.1420) in detail, it is best to take into account its immediate literary context, especially since the parable and its interpretation are interrupted by Mk 4.1012. In our previous chapter we noted how the parable of the sower affects the reading of 4.10-12. Here, let us consider the opposite of that claim: by its position between the parable of the sower and its interpretation, Mk 4.10-12 affects how this larger parabolic narrative is read. As we have seen, the verses in 4.10-12 are remarkably challenging. One of the ways in which they pose a hurdle for their audience is their claim that God gives ‘the mystery of the kingdom’ to some while withholding this gift from others who see and hear but do not understand. Nevertheless, the parable of the sower’s interpretation declares precisely the opposite: the word 26. Those who hear the lo/gov are most often those whom one would presume to be Jesus’ enemies: the crowd (2.2); the Pharisees (7.13; 11.29); the Syro-Phoenician woman (7.29); those ashamed of Jesus (8.38); and the Pharisees and the Herodians (12.13). 27. The most likely candidates for such identification are those who present faith that results in Jesus’ healing (e.g., 2.5; 5.34; 9.23-24; 10.52). 28. The language of ‘the parable and its interpretation’ refers to the parable of the sower (4.3-9) and the interpretation that Jesus gives it (4.14-20) once he realizes that those around him do not understand it (4.13).

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(the seed) is proclaimed (planted) everywhere. In fact, one intriguing aspect of the interpretation of the parable is that it pluralizes all the pronouns related to the seeds (ou(~toi, vv. 15, 16; a1lloi, v. 18; e0kei~noi, v. 20) and says clearly that each group ‘hears’ (o3tan a)kou/swsin; vv. 15, 16, 18, 20) the word. Every group except the first responds to hearing this word in some way. This is in contrast to 4.12, where ‘all things come in parables’ to ‘those outside’, preventing repentance and forgiveness. While ‘those outside’ do indeed hear (a)kou/ontev a)kou/wsin), they hear a word that clouds rather than clarifies. The literary context of the parable intensifies the paradoxical ramifications of God’s activity. The parable of the sower and its corresponding interpretation join with the passage in 4.10-12 to offer two different ways to understand God’s activity, particularly as this activity concerns the proclamation of ‘the word’. In the parable’s interpretation, the reasons that the seed/word does not sprout and come to fruition are enumerated: Satan’s activity (4.15), persecutions (‘on account of the word’ [dia\ to\n lo/gon]; 4.17), and ‘the cares of this age’ (4.18). These causes are of mixed agency: some are brought about by external agents (e.g., 4.15, 18), while others appear to be causes internal to the hearer (4.17).29 In 4.10-12, however, outsiders do not understand because of the cryptic way in which they receive information: through parable. As we saw above, these parables themselves originate in God’s own action. The causes that prevent fruitfulness are not internal to the person, nor are they external causes originating with Satan. Instead, in 4.10-12, they are external causes of divine origin. Such a juxtaposition is, indeed, paradoxical. It highlights the wasteful results of God’s action: if God is preventing repentance and forgiveness of those outside, why should they receive the word in the first place? It seems as though Mark attests to God’s activity in both sowing seed and hardening soil. The story of the parable of the sower and its interpretation points to these jarring contrasts. The seed is wasted in the sowing, as the sower scatters carelessly in soils that return nothing. At the same time, because the word is scattered to all soils, the potential for good results should increase compared to giving the word to only a few. In the middle of this story, complicating both sides of this paradox, is the statement that God is the one acting for and against some, if not all, of the soils, by simultaneously giving the mystery of the kingdom and hardening hearts.30 Paradoxically, waste must result from the sower’s sowing of the word. 29. Such a combination of sources for the origin and activity of evil (internal vices and external forces) is reflected in contemporary Jewish apocalyptic texts as well. Martinus de Boer categorizes apocalyptic literature into ‘cosmological’ and ‘forensic’ understandings along similar lines (The Defeat of Death: Apocalyptic Eschatology in 1 Corinthians 15 and Romans 5 [JSNTSup 22; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988]). See also the discussion among Best, Robinson, and Riches, described below. 30. This has provided important homiletical ore which has been mined over the centuries. As the parable notes, one cannot tell who will be ‘good soil’ and bear fruit. After all, the rocky soil begins well, just as the good soil does, but the former withers while the latter prospers.



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The connections between the parable (4.3-9), its allegorical interpretation (4.14-20), and the so-called hardening theory (4.10-12) illuminate the wastefulness of the sowing and the good effects of the proclamation in light of God’s own action in blinding eyes and hardening hearts. Additionally, the juxtaposition of the parable and its interpretation with Mk 4.10-12 highlight one theme that was also mentioned in Mark 3: the presence and activity of evil forces in God’s kingdom. A consideration of God’s activity would be incomplete without noticing the activity of forces arrayed against God’s kingdom. These forces may certainly include humanity.31 Yet, these agents are often portrayed as a combination of human and non-human forces. There are internal and external forces of evil arrayed against the work of the sower and his seed; there are also different understandings of the continuing presence of evil in the Second Gospel. By some accounts in Mark, evil has been vanquished, and the kingdom of God marks God’s own victory. The excellent harvest is imminent. At the same time, other accounts, like the parable of the sower, acknowledge the continuing reality of evil – embodied in Satan and demons, and also in humans – within God’s kingdom. Satan is first mentioned in the temptation account in the Gospel (1.12-13) and is the focus of the Gospel’s first parable beginning in Mk 3.23. In Mark 3, Jesus chastises the scribes who have come down from Jerusalem. They incorrectly think that he must be possessed by Beelzebul, the chief of demons, because he is able to cast out demons. If they were right, Jesus declares, he would be casting out his allies, and such a ‘divided house’ or ‘divided kingdom’ is not able to stand. Instead, in the last verse of this section, Jesus parabolically proclaims that he, as the ‘stronger’ man (cf. 1.7), has bound the ‘strong man (Satan)’; therefore, he has plundered Satan’s house (3.27).32 Ernest Best has argued that this parable refers to the result of the temptation account in 1.12-13, demonstrating that Jesus conquered Satan.33 Best calls the rest of the Gospel a ‘mopping-up enterprise’, because Jesus has already ‘bound’ Satan.34 31. Mark’s narrative as a whole demonstrates this. While the Son of Man may go ‘as it is written of him’, it would still be better if his betrayer ‘had never been born’ (14.21). Jesus’ human enemies include the scribes, the Pharisees, the elders, the chief priests, the Sadducees, and even ‘people’ in one passion prediction (9.31). 32. For a recent examination of this text, see Elizabeth E. Shively, The Apocalyptic Imagination in the Gospel of Mark: The Literary and Theological Role of Mark 3:22-30 (BZNW 189; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2012). 33. See Ernest Best, The Temptation and the Passion: The Markan Soteriology (SNTSMS 2; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965; repr. 1990). 34. Ibid., 11–12. Best discusses Satan’s activity in the parable of the sower and in the two storm scenes in the boat (4.35-43; 6.45-52), saying that this refers to Satan’s activity in the community. Best claims that Satan could not have been defeated in the cross and resurrection and still afflict the community, therefore, Satan may as well have been defeated in the temptation account. To explain Satan’s continued activity, Best says that Satan may only have been bound for a time (during Jesus’ lifetime), or that Mark was inconsistent on this point, or that Satan was simply a metonymy for evil spirits in general (ibid., 184). None of these solutions seems to fit all the evidence Mark provides.

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James Robinson has argued against Best, claiming that cosmic powers opposed to God are present throughout Mark’s narrative, particularly at Jesus’ baptism and crucifixion.35 John Riches, on the other hand, interprets Mark in line with both Best and Robinson, showing how Mark’s narrative displays tendencies to accept the inauguration of Jesus’ final victory over Satan (Best) while leaving the ultimate consummation of this victory, and the cessation of Satan’s activity to the future (Robinson).36 The alignment of the parables of Mark 3 with the forces gathered against God’s kingdom underscores Riches’ analysis. God’s kingdom, heralded by Jesus, triumphs over Satan and evil (3.23-27). Yet, Satan and opposition to God’s kingdom remain active despite the kingdom’s advent (4.15-19). In fact, one of the most striking features of the parable and its interpretation is the sowing of the seed and the spreading of the word in the face of residual obstacles. The sower, and by analogy, God, does not seek to avoid obstacles to the seed’s growth or to engage these obstacles, in contrast to Jesus’ engagement with demons during his exorcisms. Instead, both internal and external forces of evil dominate over some of the seeds. The sowing of seed in this situation is hopeful in light of Jesus’ victory over Satan. At the same time, it is wasteful if Satan’s defeat is not complete, because he takes the seed before it has a chance to sprout (4.15). Mark’s understanding of the defeat, yet continuing activity, of opposition to God is reflected in this paradox that finds good in the context of waste.37 The literary context of Mark’s parable of the sower emphasizes the diverse nature of evil that confronts the kingdom of God.38 This opposition to the kingdom is expressed by forces like Satan, internal vices (e.g., falling away during persecution), or a blindness and deafness that is facilitated by God (4.12). In the face of such obstacles, the sower, whether God or Jesus, scatters seed broadly, resulting in both wastefulness and more significantly, a good harvest even in the presence of evil.

35. James Robinson, The Problem of History in Mark (London: SCM Press, 1957). 36. John Riches, Conflicting Mythologies: Identity Formation in the Gospels of Mark and Matthew (SNTW; Edinburgh; T&T Clark; 2000). Best himself identifies the different origins of opposition to Jesus in the Gospel (demonic forces/Satan, sin/human heart, God’s hardening) but does not use this analysis to clarify his understanding of the temptation story and its ramifications for the narrative as a whole (The Temptation and the Passion, 43). 37. We revisit this argument and the ongoing significance of Jesus’ opponents in the Second Gospel, particularly as attested by Mark 13, in Chapter 5, below. 38. Ambrozic also notes the multifaceted portrayal of evil in the Gospel, particularly identifying how Jesus’ opposition functions in light of the passages in Mark 3 and 4. Comparing 3.23-30 with 4.11-12 (rather than the parable of the sower, as above) and 12.1-9 (the parable of the vineyard), Ambrozic declares: ‘Two causes of the enemies’ rejection are juxtaposed: their guilt is stressed in 3:23-30 and 12:1-9, but the sovereign will of God is emphasized in 4:11-12. Mark does not attempt to work out an intellectually satisfying harmonization of these aspects of the enemies’ spiritual ruin; but he is clearly aware of them’ (The Hidden Kingdom, 66).



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Conclusion The parable of the sower and its interpretation provide new opportunities to understand the paradoxical portrayal of divine agency in the Gospel of Mark. Any sower should know that seeds sown on a path, in rocky soil, and in thorny soil have little or no chance of sprouting. As the sower does not confine himself to soils with greatest potential, it seems illogically wasteful to have used precious seeds in these soils, when one could realize a larger harvest by sowing more seeds in the good soil. At the same time, the parable’s interpretation mentions spreading the word to all those who hear. Such extravagant generosity is something that Jesus exhibits throughout the Second Gospel. However, the sower’s abundant sowing is tempered by the statements in 4.10-12. The placement of these verses between the parable of the sower and its interpretation generates an additional paradox such that the divine action of the sower is contrasted with God’s activity in deafening those who hear so that they do not understand. Instead of portraying forces opposed to God as the agent of misunderstanding, as the parable’s interpretation demonstrates (4.15-19), 4.10-12 professes that incomprehension is caused by God’s own action. This portrayal of the sower is also affected by the paradoxical illustration of evil in Mark’s narrative: Satan is declared to be both bound and active and God’s wasteful action is questioned. Essentially, the wastefulness of God’s sowing is produced by the continuing activity of evil, which Jesus has already defeated. The sower’s action, and by analogy divine activity, results in both waste and a good harvest, and these consequences remain paradoxically intertwined as Mark presents the author of this new kingdom’s advent in ways that humans cannot logically understand.

II

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Chapter 5 Paradoxical Proclamations: Waste and bounty at Bethany (14.1-11) At the advent of the Second Gospel’s story of Jesus’ betrayal, suffering, crucifixion, and resurrection, Mark describes the actions of an anonymous woman who embodies the proclamation of the gospel (14.9). Anointing Jesus’ head with costly perfume, the woman demonstrates actions that reflect the same careless regard for material value that we see in the wasteful sowing of the parable of the sower (see above, Chapter 4). Furthermore, she bestows this costly gift on Jesus’ head, causing him to proclaim that she has in fact done a ‘noble deed’ (kalo\n e1rgon; 14.6) in anointing Jesus beforehand for his burial (14.8). Jesus’ interpretation is not the final conclusion about the woman’s gift, however, as Mark’s audience knows that Jesus’ resurrection follows his burial. Anointing a living Jesus for burial in a tomb that will be emptied is ultimately a waste of resources, even if it is a divinely sanctioned waste (14.8-9; cf. 4.3-9). This paradox of goodness and wastefulness reflects the same kind of interaction visible in the parable of the sower and its interpretation (Mk 4.3-9, 14-20: carelessly scattered seed, extraordinary growth). Furthermore, the literary context of the parable of the sower and the literary context of the dinner at Bethany (14.3-9) are also similar in another way: both narratives are located between comments about the activity of those opposed to God in the Gospel, whether that opposition is primarily Satanic (e.g., 3.27; 4.15) or mainly attributed to humans (14.1-2, 10-11). In either case, this activity of evil serves as background for Mark’s paradoxical descriptions of God’s wasteful and good actions, as divine deeds clearly point to the te/lov of Jesus’ life in both his death and his resurrection. Although our analysis now concentrates on the passion narrative, we should recall that in the Second Gospel as a whole, Mark remains reticent to speak about God’s activity in any direct manner. Scholars who have sought to isolate God as a character have often come to the conclusion that though the Gospel’s theology is important, that theology is synonymous with christology more often than not.1 It is true that Mark tends to speak of God’s activity 1. For examples, see: Paul L. Danove, The Rhetoric of the Characterization of God, Jesus, and Jesus’ Disciples in the Gospel of Mark (JSNTSup 290; New York: T&T Clark, 2005), 28–55; Ira Brent Driggers, Following God Through Mark: Theological Tension in the Second Gospel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007); Philip Reubin Johnson, ‘God in Mark: The Narrative Function of God as a Character in the Gospel of Mark’, (PhD diss., Luther Seminary, 2000), esp. 2–10; Jack Dean Kingsbury, ‘“God” Within the Narrative World of Mark’, The Forgotten God:

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behind or through humans, particularly Jesus.2 This correlation between God’s activity and the actions of human beings is especially important in the incident at Bethany.3 Specifically, as our analysis demonstrates, Mark’s narrative of the actions of Bethany’s anonymous woman reflects descriptions of God’s paradoxical actions in the terms of waste and goodness that emerged in our analysis of Mark 4 (vv. 3-9; 14-20). Furthermore, Mark’s description of God’s activity through or behind certain characters makes a profound statement about the evangelist’s understanding of discipleship. Mark’s Gospel is well-known for its paucity of reliable role models, except Jesus.4 At the same time, minor characters in Mark’s Gospel give glimpses into the life of discipleship that Jesus embodies (8.34-38).5 Perspectives in Biblical Theology: Essays in Honor of Paul J. Achtemeier on the Occasion of his Seventy-Fifth Birthday (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002), 75–88; Kisun No, ‘The Narrative Function of God in the Gospel of Mark’, (PhD diss., Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, 1999). 2. Elizabeth Struthers Malbon calls this phenomenon ‘deflected Christology’, as Mark’s statements or thoughts on God’s activity are presented as statements from Jesus, reflected more broadly on a theological plane (Mark’s Jesus: Characterization as Narrative Christology [Waco: Baylor, 2009], 129–94). Stephen C. Barton also observes that Mark often demonstrates discipleship without discussing it in the Second Gospel’s narrative, particularly in the action of the anonymous woman at Bethany (‘Mark as Narrative: The Story of the Anointing Woman (Mk 14:3-9)’, ExpTim 102 (1991): 230–4 [231]). 3. One might call the episode at Bethany an enacted parable, as Jesus teaches from the woman’s action. Nevertheless, this story is not just narrated for its pedagogical value. The way Mark tells the story, the woman enters the scene and acts upon Jesus. Therefore, it is an action outside the realm of his control that dictates the content of his teaching. While this happens a few times in the Gospel (e.g., 5.25-34), the fact that someone is portrayed as acting upon Jesus also foreshadows the rest of the passion narrative, as Jesus’ authority (cf. 1.21-27) is tempered by his passivity and reception of God’s will (14.32-42; 15.5). For a different view, see William Sanger Campbell, ‘Engagement, Disengagement, and Obstruction: Jesus’ Defense Strategies in Mark’s Trial and Execution Scenes (14.53-64; 15.1-39)’, JSNT 26 (2004): 283–300. For more on this discussion, see below, Chapter 6. 4. This statement is in contrast to one that claims that ‘without the roles of these women [the bleeding woman of 5.24b-34; the Syro-Phoenician woman in 7.24-30; the widow at the temple in 12.41-44; the woman at Bethany, 14.3-9] the reader does not have an embodied model for reader identification’, as it seems clear that the model to follow is the one who does lose his life to save it – and others (8.35; 10.45; 15.32) – in the Gospel narrative (Willard M. Swartley, ‘The Role of Women in Mark’s Gospel: A Narrative Analysis’, BTB 27 (1997): 16–22 [16]). A more nuanced view of the role of both male and female disciples as ‘fallible followers’ of Jesus is presented by Elizabeth Struthers Malbon (‘Fallible Followers: Women and Men in the Gospel of Mark’, in In the Company of Jesus: Characters in Mark’s Gospel [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2000], 41–69). 5. These minor characters usually include the friends of the paralytic (2.1-12), Jairus (5.2123, 35-43), the bleeding woman (5.24-34), the Syro-Phoenician woman (7.24-30), the father of the epileptic and possessed boy (9.14-29), Bartimaeus (10.46-52), and the impoverished widow (12.41-44; see below), as well as the anonymous woman at Bethany (14.3-9). See Mary Ann Beavis, ‘Women as Models of Faith in Mark’, BTB 18 (1988): 3–9; R. Alan Culpepper, Mark (Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2007), 486; Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, ‘The Major Importance of the Minor Characters in Mark’, in In the Company of Jesus, 189–225; Christopher D. Marshall,



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One provocative way of understanding Mark’s anthropology comes from this observation about the narrative: by reflecting God’s activity onto the human plane, Mark bridges the gap between the ‘things of God’ and the ‘things of humans’ (8.33) to show the presence of God’s activity even when God is absent as a character in the narrative.6 In Mk 14.3-9, the evangelist presents a paradox by having different characters draw opposite conclusions about the woman’s action at Bethany: bystanders call it ‘waste’ (a)pw/leia: 14.4), while Jesus commends the woman’s noble deed (kalo\n e1rgon: 14.6), done for him. Indeed, the woman’s ‘good deed’ points Mark’s audience to God (cf. Mt. 5.16, as explored below). This difference in opinion does not necessarily point readers of this Gospel to a paradox; instead, Mark’s audience may consider this to be yet another chance for Jesus to demonstrate his superiority over his opponents (see, e.g., 11.27–12.34). Nevertheless, such an analysis misses the complexity of Jesus’ own explanation. Jesus himself points, not only to the goodness, but, at least indirectly, to the ‘wastefulness’ of the anointing (14.8). Again, waste and goodness are found together in the woman’s actions, as with the sower of Mark 4. Many readers of the Second Gospel have seen a reflection of Jesus’ own self-giving in the woman’s apparently sacrificial actions.7 My argument offers a slight shift in that claim, however. It has long been noticed that the woman’s act of anointing at Bethany is intercalated with stories of Jesus’ enemies plotting his death. Mark situates his presentation of God’s activity on the eschatological horizon in his description of the ongoing presence of evil. The result is very similar to what we see in Mark 4: the interplay between God’s paradoxical activity and evil casts the deeds of the woman at Bethany in a new light, just as it did the sower (see above, Chapter 4). Intercalated between the chief priests’ plotting and Judas’ betrayal, the woman’s action in anointing Jesus is ominously tinged. Jesus’ death is certain: he even alludes to it in interpreting her deed (14.8). Moreover, Jesus’ Faith as a Theme in Mark’s Narrative [SNTSMS 64; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989], 75–176; Joel Williams, Other Followers of Jesus: Minor Characters as Major Figures in Mark’s Gospel (JSNTSup 102; Sheffield; JSOT Press, 1994). 6. In a sense, the encounter between Jesus and an anonymous woman at Simon’s house in Bethany is a narrative exploration of the paradox of hiddenness and revelation (see Chapter 2, and below, Chapters 6–8) as it points to God’s hidden activity in this woman’s deed. Later Christians would call this the Spirit’s influence in their lives (cf. Mk 13.11). 7. This is clearly stated by Barton: ‘Mark wants to cast the anonymous woman as a Christfigure. Her extravagant love expressed in an act of self-giving which provokes conflict is an anticipation in the narrative of what will happen to Jesus himself’, (‘Mark as Narrative’, 232). Similarly, see Culpepper, Mark, 285; Joachim Gnilka, Das Evangelium nach Markus, (EKKNT II/2; Zürich: Benziger, 1979), 2:226; Eduard Schweizer, The Good News according to Mark. (trans. Donald H. Madvig; Richmond: John Knox Press, 1970), 291; Larry W. Hurtado, Mark (rev. edn; NIBC 2; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1989), 230; Francis J. Moloney, The Gospel of Mark: A Commentary (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2002), 281–2; Morna Hooker, The Gospel According to St. Mark (BNTC; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1991), 330; Camille Focant, L’evangile selon Marc (CB: NT 2; Paris: Cerf, 2004), 516.

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resurrection is also certain, if his words are true (e.g., 8.31; 9.31; 10.33-34).8 Therefore, the literary context invokes questions concerning the necessity and the purpose of this anointing. Moving from an eschatological to a temporal horizon, the anointing appears as a magnificently good act, part of a gospel proclamation that goes out to all the nations (13.10; 14.9) and as wasteful as sowing seed in rocky soil (4.4-5). The costly anointing of the Christ to be resurrected accentuates the paradox of waste and goodness. Moreover, waste and goodness function as theological correlates to the christological paradox of a crucified messiah. To consider these themes, the exegetical material in this chapter is divided into three sections. The first and last sections focus on the narrative context of Jesus’ encounter in Simon the leper’s house in Bethany, while the middle section highlights salient aspects of that incident itself. Opposition to Jesus consistently remains in the background of the scene (14.1-2, 10-11), but it is the woman’s gift and her action that provokes a response from those dining at the house (14.3-9). This response is presented both in terms of a critique of wastefulness and praise of a good deed. By his narrative placement of the woman’s action, Mark reminds the audience that even in this antagonistic context, they have seen such sacrificial giving before (12.41-44; cf. 10.1730) and they will see it later in the narrative (15.22-39). The positive and negative aspects of such sacrifice shown in Mark correspond to the diverse presentations of opposition to Jesus and its activities in the Gospel.9

Section I: Secrecy and Satan When Chapter 4, above, examines the parable of the sower and its interpretation in light of the discussions of opposition to God and Jesus in the Gospel, a pattern emerges. Before, during, and after this parable and its interpretation, Jesus speaks of evil – both the activity of Satan and evil activity not connected directly to Satan’s action – in a variety of ways. This intercalation demonstrates one way in which Mark 4 and Mark 14 are parallel to one another. Mk 14.3-9, much like Mk 4.3-9, 14-20, shows how a parabolic or narrative character can reflect God’s action in the context of opposition. To review, the parable of the sower and its interpretation in Mark 4 identify several kinds of situations that prevent seeds (or, ‘the word’: 4.14) from being fruitful. Even though all the seeds/soils ‘hear’ the word, only one set produces a harvest. Others are prevented from bearing fruit through either external means, like Satan’s activity (4.15), or ‘desires’ that ‘enter’ (ei)sporeuo/menai: 4.19), or through internal means, like having only ‘temporary’ roots (4.17).10 Despite the guarantee of a harvest, this parable 8. See 13.31 on the validity of Jesus’ words, and the final section, below. 9. As the woman mirrors God’s action, Judas embodies the depth of deception by Jesus’ enemies, though both the woman and Judas continue, paradoxically, to do God’s will. 10. Joel Marcus, The Mystery of the Kingdom of God (SBLDS 90; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), 28.



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demonstrates that one may find opposition to God active both inside and outside of humans.11 This forthright statement about the presence of obstacles and opposition in God’s kingdom in the parable of the sower corresponds with Jesus’ discussion about Satan’s activity in his first parable (3.23-27). According to Ernest Best, the second half of this parable claims that Satan has now been bound (3.27), preventing him from acting further against Jesus, at least in the Gospel.12 At the same time, the previous three verses demonstrate that Satan’s reign in fact has not yet come to an end, as he has not risen up against himself (3.24-26). This apparent contradiction shows that God’s activity is not the only mystery in the Gospel of Mark: the activity of Satan and opposition to God in general manifests the same types of paradoxes.13 If Satan has not been ‘bound’ (3.27) or subdued, then some of the seed will go to waste, being subjected to the powers of evil. If Satan has been bound – which, as Jesus’ exorcisms demonstrate, to some degree he has – then God’s activity is generous, sowing seeds beyond what might be fruitful. As Best points out, however, there is a dearth of evidence for the presence of external evil (e.g., Satan) at the conclusion of Mark’s Gospel; in fact, it is mentioned once after Mark 4 (namely, Mk 8.33).14 Apart from this passage,

11. As noted in Chapter 4, above, this discussion of the activity of opposition to God is in contrast to 4.10-12, which emphasizes the activity of God. It is striking that God’s activity in preventing understanding seems in line with the deeds of both external and internal evil forces in preventing the seed (the word) from taking root (translating hearing to understanding). As Chapters 2 and 4 demonstrate above, it is hard to know which text should triumph in this discussion: is God accountable or are humans responsible for the lack of harvest in the first three soils listed? Instead of offering a solution to the question, it appears that Mark offers the possible options in a paradoxical form. 12. This is Best’s hermeneutical key, explored in The Temptation and the Passion: The Markan Soteriology (SNTSMS 2; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965; repr. 1990), 11–12. 13. In a sense, both of these paradoxes (on the divine and diabolical sides) are due to the finitude of human perspectives and the cosmic character of the kingdom of God. Nevertheless, there is pedagogical value for both paradoxes. On the didactic purpose of the paradox of the defeat and continuing reality of evil, see below, as well as John K. Riches, ‘Conflicting Mythologies: Mythical Narratives in the Gospel of Mark’, JSNT 84 (2001): 29–50 [esp. 48–9]. See also Joel Marcus, ‘The Beelzebul Controversy and the Eschatologies of Jesus’, in Authenticating the Activities of Jesus (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 247–77. 14. See Best, Temptation and Passion, 28–9. John K. Riches develops a line of reasoning between that of Best and of Robinson, as mentioned in Chapter 4, above. He argues that Best and Robinson – and those who follow Robinson, like Marcus – assume that Mark reflects a unified ‘mythology’, particularly concerning the presence and activity of evil in the Gospel. Instead, Riches finds that Mark pulls from conflicting mythologies of the origin and activity of evil, both of which together make more sense of the Gospel as a whole (Conflicting Mythologies: Identity Formation in the Gospels of Mark and Matthew [SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000], xi–xiii; 12; 145–6). While Best’s statement about the paucity of references to Satan is lexically true, it neglects the full scope of Mark 13, which implies a cosmic clash between good and evil (God and Satan), though Mark does not use those words.

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claims Best, the evil is focused internally:15 Jesus’ enemies, whether chief priests, scribes, Herodians, Pharisees, Sadducees, or people in general (cf. 9.31) are the perpetrators. This element is also present in Mark 3, as ‘those near’ Jesus (oi( par’ au)tou~: 3.21)16 come out to seize (krath~sai) him. Early in the Gospel, the Pharisees are working together with the Herodians on a conspiracy to destroy (a)pole/swsin) Jesus. While Mark’s audience first hears of these plans in ch. 3,17 the plans come to fruition in Mark 14 with Judas’s approach to the chief priests to betray Jesus (14.10-11). Best claims that the plot in Mark is driven by this narrative of betrayal and death as brought about by the human actors and not connected to cosmic forces of evil.18 Turning to the passion narrative, we see similarities: Jesus’ opponents are the ones responsible for his demise. Mark describes the setting of the final chapters of his narrative as ‘two days before the Passover and the feast of Unleavened Bread’ (14.1).19 The threshold of this feast announces the culmination of the plans of the chief priests and the scribes, as they plot ‘in secret’ to seize (krath/santev) Jesus so that they may kill him (a)poktei/nwsin: 14.1). The use of this verb, krate/w, is one of the key connections between Mark 3–4 and Mark 14. Unlike other verbs relating to Jesus’ arrest, trial, and death (e.g., paradi/dwmi; see above, Chapter 2), krate/w is not uniquely employed for Jesus’ enemies attempts to seize him.20 Those near Jesus, implying his relatives, want to seize him in 3.21, and his enemies want to seize him in 14.1: a parallel setting between these episodes is thus created. God’s paradoxically

15. These terms indicate that the evil is internal or external to humans. Best uses this terminology throughout his book, and others (e.g., Riches and Marcus) have followed him. 16. This likely refers to Jesus’ relatives, especially based on the parallel with 3.31-32, where Jesus’ mother and brothers are ‘seeking’ him, just as Jesus’ enemies do (8.11-12; 11.18; 12.12; 14.1, 11, 55; even 16.6). At the same time, there may be an inherent wordplay between these ‘near’ (para/) Jesus and their attempts against him (3.21), compared with those ‘around’ (peri/) Jesus and their reception of the mystery of the kingdom of God (4.11). 17. Although the sayings about the bridegroom and feasting imply Jesus’ departure, they are not explicit about his death. Mk 3.6 is the first verse which connects Jesus’ departure with his death, planned by Jesus’ enemies. 18. Best wants to read Mark without introducing Satan into passages where Mark does not mention him: such interpolation assumes that Mark holds the view that Satan is ‘responsible for all temptation’, which Best thinks is untrue of Mark as well as of first-century (‘contemporary’) Judaism (Temptation and Passion, 33). 19. Culpepper summarizes Mark’s sense of irony by beginning the passion narrative in this context: ‘While the people celebrate God’s deliverance of their forebears, the religious leaders plot to kill God’s deliverer’ (Mark, 482). 20. Mark uses a form of krate/w fourteen times in the Gospel. Of these fourteen, six refer to ‘seizing’ Jesus (3.21; 12.12; 14.1, 44, 46, 49) with an additional two referring to seizing the naked young man at Jesus’ arrest (14.51) and to seizing John the Baptist at his arrest (6.17). In another category of usage, Jesus takes the hand of a woman (1.31) or a child (5.41; 9.27) who is ill or dead, and raises them (e0gei~rw). This usage of krate/w in miracle stories, and particularly in miracle stories that foreshadow Jesus’ resurrection through the use of the verb e0gei~rw (16.6), implies that ‘seizing’ Jesus will not be the last act in the drama: there is more to come, as the passion-andresurrection predictions have attested (echoed again at 14.28; see Chapter 6, below).



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wasteful or generous action is revealed, parabolically, through the action of the sower in the parable, in the context of those who want to seize Jesus and also those in the group around Jesus who would not bear fruit for a variety of internal and external reasons. Similarly, in Mark 14, an anonymous woman publicly demonstrates God’s paradoxically wasteful action and good deeds in the context of the secretive (14.1; see 7.22) actions of the chief priests and the scribes. The blatant generosity of the woman’s surprising action is a direct contrast with the self-serving interests Mark suggests belong to the chief priests and the scribes. This comparison and Jesus’ approbation emphasize the goodness of her offering. At the same time, if the plans of Jesus’ opponents come to fulfilment as Mark’s audience knows they will, the woman’s action is indeed a waste: Jesus’ resurrection is as certain as his betrayal and death. The presence of Jesus’ enemies makes such an end result a clear reality.

Section II: A Wasted Good Deed This section focuses on the description and action of the woman at Bethany, who is in Simon the leper’s house. While Mark does not describe her in any detail, he does give his audience a significant amount of information about her gift to Jesus and the manner in which she donates it. After examining the gift itself, we shall observe the different responses the dinner guests give to the woman’s action. These assessments and their literary context describe the wastefulness and goodness of the woman’s action. Finally, this section considers the literary context of this encounter between Jesus and the woman: not only does it occur at the beginning of the passion narrative and in the context of Jesus’ enemies’ plans to seize him, but it also occurs at the conclusion of Jesus’ eschatological discourse (13.1-37) and interactions with the Temple, which began in Bethany (11.12–13.2). This particular narrative location means that this anonymous woman’s actions can be compared with those of another anonymous woman, who ‘gives her life’ (12.44) at the Temple. They can also be contrasted with the actions of a rich man, who is unable to give away his wealth in order to follow Jesus (10.22). Section (a): Costly Gift The scene in ch. 14 begins with Jesus dining in the house of Simon the leper.21 An anonymous woman comes into the room, and she has an ‘alabaster 21. The tradition history of this narrative is extremely complex. For an overview of scholarship as well as an argument for the historical authenticity of the encounter through details from all four accounts, see Kathleen E. Corley, ‘The Anointing of Jesus in the Synoptic Tradition: An Argument for Authenticity’, JSHJ 1 (2003): 61–72. For a chart comparing the traditions, see Culpepper (Mark, 483–4), C. P. März (‘Zur Traditionsgeschichte von Mk 14, 3-9 und Parllelen’, SNTSU 6–7 [1981–82]: 89–112) or a Gospel parallels (Kurt Aland, ed.,

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container of perfume of nard, genuine and costly’.22 With this alabaster jar, the woman performs two actions: shattering the jar (suntri/yasa th\n a)la/bastron) containing the costly perfume, the woman pours it (kate/xeen) on Jesus’ head (14.3). Alabaster containers have stoppers so that the ointment contained in them can be carefully rationed. By breaking the thin neck of the jar, the woman demonstrates that this ointment will only be used once, on Jesus’ head. 23 When she pours the perfume out (kataxe/w: 14.3), she foreshadows God’s action in Jesus, as Jesus’ blood is poured out at his death (e0kxe/w: 14.24).24 The perfume is, as mentioned above, ‘nard, genuine, and costly’ (na/rdou pistikh~v polutelou~v: 14.3). Nard, an exotic fragrance for perfumes, could range in price from 40–100 denarii per pound (Pliny, Nat. 12.43).25 Spikenard Synopsis Quattuor Evangeliorum: Locis Parallelis evangeliorum apocryphorum et patrum adhibitis [15th rev. edn; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1996], 426–8). J. F. Coakley has a point, however, in considering the Johannine tradition to be the earliest (‘The Anointing at Bethany and the Priority of John’, JBL 107 [1988]: 241–56). This book does not discuss the tradition history because the indeterminate historical origin of this pericope has little effect on the interpretation of the text within the narrative of the Second Gospel. In other words, whether John or Mark contains the ‘original’ story of a woman anointing Jesus, or whether the ‘original’ is none of the four stories attested in the Gospels, Mark’s presentation of the woman, and his manner of speaking about her activity and its relationship to Jesus is what is at stake for this argument. 22. As Moloney says, ‘The woman is not described, but everything about her action is extravagant’ (Mark, 280). 23. Alabaster refers to the shape, not the material, of the jar. While there were different designs of containers, appropriate for the basic as well as the extravagant fragrances, ‘some of the designs however were clearly made to help preserve as long as possible the highpriced perfumes. The bottles were small and ended with a narrow neck that kept fragrances from too much contact with air and from being poured too quickly’, according to Béatrice Caseau (‘Eu)wdi/a: The Use and Meaning of Fragrances in the Ancient World and Their Christianization (100–900 AD)’, [PhD diss., Princeton University, 1994], 16). See also Mikal Dayagi-Mendeles, who states that the thin necks were as much intended to prevent evaporation of the liquid as much as to limit how much was used at a time (Perfumes and Cosmetics in the Ancient World [Jerusalem: Israel Museum, 1989], 105; idem and Angel Félix, Timeless Beauty: Ancient Perfume and Cosmetic Containers: Selections from the Collection of the Israel Museum, Jerusalem [Museum Guide; Inter-American Development Cultural Center, January 12 to February 28, 1995], 13–14). 24. See also Jerome, Homily on the Gospels, 2.39; cited in Thomas C. Oden and Christopher A. Hall, eds, Mark (ACCS 2; Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1998), 198. 25. According to Pliny, nard prices varied according to the size of the leaves (Nat. 12.43). For a comparison, the best variety of myrrh (stacte) ranged from 3 to 50 denarii per pound (Nat. 12.70). Cinnamon, the most expensive export Pliny discusses, is priced at 1,000 denarii per pound, ‘but this was raised to half as much again after the forests had been burnt, so it is said, by infuriated barbarians; but it is not absolutely certain whether this was incendiarism provoked by injustice on the part of those in power or was due to accident’ (Nat. 12.93; Rackham, LCL). Furthermore, casia (the root and bark of the plant that produces cinnamon) could easily be employed for unguents, and Pliny says that ‘no substance has a wider range of price – the best – qualities sell at 50 denarii a pound and the others at 5’. Dealers also sell ‘Daphnis’s casia, with the further designation of near-cinnamon, and they price it at 300 denarii’ (Nat. 12.97-98; Rackham,



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grows in the Himalayas, so high production and transportation costs account for its price in the eastern Roman empire in the first century.26 The other two descriptions of the perfume, pistiko/v and polutelh~v, are difficult to interpret. Pistiko/v is a word used in the NT only here and in the same phrase in Jn 12.3.27 The meaning is likely derived from one of the following sources: pisti/v (faith, trust), the verb pi/nw (to drink), or the name of a particular plant, as in pista/kia (‘pistachio tree’),28 or picçita, the East-Indian name for the plant identified as spikenard.29 Of these options, the first derivation seems to be the most likely. As an adjective, pistiko/v then means ‘unadulterated’ or ‘pure’.30 Of course, given its derivation from pisti/v, one wonders whether ‘faith’ or ‘trust’ plays a covert role in this passage. It is odd to describe the perfume itself as faithful or trustworthy, but it also seems evident that this woman’s act, however interpreted, is an act of devotion, belonging to the sphere of action called ‘faith’.31 While the word would not be defined as ‘faithful’ here, the allusion it makes to the ‘faithfulness’ of her conduct should not be missed.32 The final description of the perfume describes the ointment as costly (polutelh~v). This assessment is corroborated by the woman’s objectors (14.4-5; see below). The use of the adjective, polutelh~v, resonates with various passages in Israel’s scriptures. Describing something of great value, this word is primarily (11 out of 17 times) used to describe stones, which are usually gemstones or precious stones. These stones are used to adorn the Temple (1 Chron. 29.2) or to beautify a young woman (Est. 5.3). One use

LCL). Pliny does state that ‘unguent of cinnamon fetches enormous prices; to cinnamon is added behen-nut oil, wood-balsam, reed, seeds of rush and balsam, myrrh and scented honey. This is the thickest in consistency of all the unguents; its prices range from 35 to 300 denarii. Spikenard or leaf-unguent is made of omphacium or else behen-nut oil, rush, costus, nard, ammomum, myrrh, and balsam’ (Nat. 13.15; Rackham, LCL). 26. Dayagi-Mendels, Perfumes and Cosmetics, 106. 27. H( ou(~n Maria\m labou~sa li/tran mu/rou na/rdou pistikh~v poluti/mou h1leiyen … (Jn 12.3). 28. See Matthew Black, who argues that pistiko/v is a transliteration of the Aramaic ‫פסתק‬ (An Aramaic Approach to the Gospels and Acts [3rd edn; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1967], 223–5). 29. See BDAG, pistiko/v, h/, o/n, 818. 30. Ibid. See also Focant, who describes this derivation as the ‘moins mauvaise solution’ to the problem (Marc, 517). 31. See Marshall for an explication of the faith of minor characters in various pericopes in Mark, although he does not mention the woman at Bethany. Instead, he focuses on incidents where explicit, rather than implicit, faith language is used (Faith as a Theme in Mark’s Narrative, 78–132). 32. Of course, Mark’s audience only knows to interpret her conduct as faithful in light of Jesus’ explanation, as we can see, below. Because the woman’s motivations and knowledge remain unknown, without some kind of interpretation readers are at a loss as to how to understand her actions. Discipleship as a corollary to faithfulness is discussed below.

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of the adjective poloutelh~j with ‘stone’ imagery stands out. In Isa. 28.16 (LXX), the prophet states, Therefore, says the LORD, ‘Behold, for the foundation of Zion I will place a costly [polutelh~] and chosen [e0klekto\n] stone, a precious cornerstone [a)krogwniai~on] for its foundation. And the one who trusts [o( pisteuw~n]33 in it [e0p’ au1tw|] is not put to shame [kataisxunqh|]~ .34

Portions of Isa. 28.16 are quoted in Rom. 9.33 and in 1 Pet. 2.635 in conjunction with other ‘stone’ imagery from the OT (e.g., Ps. 118.22 LXX; Isa. 8.14). While Mark does not make such connections, he does quote Ps. 118.22 in 12.11: ‘the stone the builders have rejected has become the head of the corner’. This ‘stone’, Jesus, is clearly precious and costly, based on the parable of the vineyard in 12.1-10.36 Even though the lord of the vineyard (12.9) seems to act illogically in sending his son, the rationale given is that the vineyard tenants will surely ‘respect’ him (12.6). He is the ‘beloved’ (12.6). This costly and precious stone, however, is cast off by the ‘builders’ and by the ‘vineyard tenants’, just as the woman’s use of this costly and precious perfume is denigrated by the onlookers. Given the location of these texts near the beginning of the passion narrative, Mark’s audience may recognize a ‘costly cornerstone’ anointed with ‘costly perfume’ in preparation for its costly destruction. The adjectives describing the anonymous woman’s gift emphasize the luxurious value of this perfume. With exotic origins, purity of form, and a significant expense, it is clear that the woman has poured a momentous offering onto Jesus’ head. Without further interpretation, however, it is unclear whether this action is wasteful and inappropriate, despite its origins in apparent devotion, or if it is good and generous, despite its cost. This becomes the debate between those who watch the scene unfold and Jesus himself. As we consider these reactions in the next section, the outlines of the paradox between wastefulness and goodness emerge.

33. In light of the discussion of pistiko/v above, it is significant that the language of pisti/v also occurs in Isa. 28.16 LXX. 34. At this point in Isaiah, the LXX tradition is relatively different from the MT, which reads, ‘Therefore, says the LORD God, I am laying a foundation for Zion, stone upon stone, a costly cornerstone, laying a sure foundation, “The one who trusts need not hasten.”’ 35. 1 Peter 2.6, however, omits the term polutelh~j. 36. This interpretation remains valid even (or perhaps especially) in light of the debate over the translation of ‘head of the corner’ in Ps. 118.22. While it makes the most sense for a stone rejected by the builders to be the capstone, the point here is less dependent upon the particular kind of stone than the stone’s movement from obscurity or rejection to prominence. See Michael Cahill, ‘Not a Cornerstone! Translating Ps 118,22 in the Jewish and Christian Scriptures’, RB 106 (1999): 345–57.



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Section (b): Presenting the Paradox: Divergent Interpretations This story is similar to other narratives in the Gospel where an event provides an occasion for Jesus to teach, often in a setting of controversy (cf. 2.1-12).37 By submitting to the woman’s anointing, Jesus participates in her action. He also defends her against the charges of ‘some’ around the table (14.4, 5). These people are indignant with the woman (cf. 10.14, 41). The objectors’ primary protest does not concern the appropriateness of the action of her anointing but instead focuses on the ‘waste’ (a)pw/leia) of the perfume (14.4), its costly value, and their assessment of how the proceeds of its hypothetical sale might relieve poverty (14.5).38 As the woman does not offer her own explanation of her conduct, Mark’s audience relies on the assessment of those present.39 Pouring almost a year’s salary (300 denarii; 14.5) onto Jesus’ head seems illogical at best, and it is easily seen as a waste of money that could be better used, as characters in the episode note. These objectors offer their own appraisal of appropriate good deeds: sell the perfume and give the money to the poor (14.5). The term for this waste (a)pw/leia) of perfume is derived from the same root as a)pollumi. While both of these terms can refer to waste and loss in the sense of squandering resources, more commonly they imply utter or complete (eschatological) destruction or loss.40 Joel Marcus and Susan Miller both make the connection between the ‘utter loss’ of the woman’s perfume and the upcoming loss of Jesus’ life.41 In fact, Mark has already used a)pollumi 37. See Rudolf Bultmann (The History of the Synoptic Tradition [trans. from 3rd German edn, John Marsh; New York: Harper & Row, 1963], 11–69), for a form-critical analysis of these sayings and narratives. One need not accept the premises and goals of form-criticism (see, e.g., its lucid critique by Richard Bauckham in Jesus and the Eyewitnesses: The Gospels as Eyewitness Testimony, [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006], 246–9) in order to appreciate the patterns that generic categories can provide. 38. Most commentators point out that Jesus’ statement seems to echo Deut. 15.11: ‘For the poor will never cease from the land’, which provides the impetus for generosity with the poor (e.g., Joel Marcus, Mark 8–16 [AYB 27A; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009], 941). At the same time, the language of Deut. 15.11 (LXX) and Mk 14.7 are quite different. Furthermore, at this point in Mark’s narrative, on the eve of Passover, generous giving is even more important as it is exhorted as part of the feast (Culpepper, Mark, 485). 39. However, Elaine Wainwright rightly recognizes that the repetitive use of the pronoun au3th (14.6, 9) does reiterate the importance of her action (‘The Pouring Out of Healing Ointment’, in Toward a New Heaven and a New Earth: Essays in Honor of Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza [ed. Fernando F. Segovia; Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2003], 157–77 [168]). 40. See Intermediate LSJ, ‘a)po/llumi’, 101; A. Oepke, ‘a)po/llumi’, TDNT 1:394–7; Marcus, Mark 8–16, 935; Susan Miller, ‘The Woman Who Anoints Jesus (Mk 14:3-9): A Prophetic Sign of the New Creation’, Feminist Theology 14 (2006): 221–36 [227]. 41. Marcus, Mark 8–16, 935. Miller claims that ‘the critics fail to see that paradoxically the loss of the perfume corresponds to the abundance of God’s giving. The paradoxical nature of the Gospel reveals that losing life means gaining the abundant life of the new age. The woman’s gift, therefore, shows insight into the nature of Jesus’ mission’ (‘The Woman Who Anoints Jesus (Mk 14:3-9)’, 227). While I consider the question of the woman’s ‘insight’ below, here it is interesting

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to refer to Jesus’ death in Mk 3.6 and 11.18. This connection is maintained throughout the account, as Jesus’ interpretation of the woman’s act is dependent on ensuing actions surrounding his life and death. While Mark does not specify the identity of the woman’s objectors,42 it is likely that they were either the disciples (cf. Mt. 26.8)43 or a broader crowd similar to those who heard his teaching in the Temple (cf. Mt. 12.37).44 If these objectors include the disciples, they have heard Jesus’ teaching based on the ‘poor [ptwxh/] widow’ who gives ‘everything she had’ (pa/nta o3sa ei1xen) to the Temple treasury (12.41-44). In that context, Jesus comments that this society, and especially the Temple establishment, does not know how to treat the poor (12.38-40; see also 7.9-13).45 In this sense, Jesus’ rebuke that they ‘are able to do good for [the poor] whenever’ they want, has a sharp edge to it (14.7). His previous teaching has shown that they, as a collective group, have not ‘done good’ for the poor. Therefore, they have no basis to charge this anonymous woman with wastefulness. In this way Jesus’ rebuke counters the absolute goodness of giving to the poor for which the bystanders advocated. On the other hand, Jesus’ own explanation of the woman’s action demonstrates her own generosity towards him, rather than towards the poor. Jesus indirectly commends the woman, telling her mockers that she has done a ‘noble deed’ (kalo\n e1rgon; 14.6). This noble work is ‘what she has’ (14.8: o3 e1sxen). With unexplained motives, the woman acts well towards Jesus, who honours her action and defends her against those who dismiss her. This gracious action in which she has engaged is greater than alms for the poor (14.5): it is wasteful but its goodness, as defined by Jesus, is appropriate. In fact, the term ‘noble deed’ (kalo\n e1rgon) seems to be used as a fairly specific term, referring to works of charity, in Second Temple Jewish texts (e.g., Tob. 1.16-17; Ep. Arist. 18). According to rabbinic texts, these good deeds were different from almsgiving because they could not be accomplished simply with a monetary donation.46 Furthermore, in the NT as a whole, ‘good deeds’ describe the expectations of a true disciple

to note that Miller has conflated the paradox of discipleship (saving life loses it, and losing life saves it: 8.35) with the irony evident on the surface of this text at Bethany. Here, Mark’s audience notes that the woman’s action in fact does precisely correspond to God’s giving in Jesus, and that both of these actions are paradoxical: hopefully, Mark’s audience does not make the same error of judgement the objectors do. 42. Barton claims that the anonymous woman and her anonymous objectors encourage readers to ‘identify with one or the other of the two parties’, (‘Mark as Narrative’, 233). I see more complicated options (see below). 43. See Marcus, Mark 8–16, 935. 44. Gnilka claims that the woman’s critics are from a broader group than just the disciples, but he also understands their comments to be directed not only at the woman, but also at Jesus because he permitted the action (Markus, 2:223–4). 45. See further, Section III below. 46. Moreover, good deeds could benefit the living and the dead, while almsgiving only benefits the living (see citations in Str-B 4.1.536-537).



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of Jesus (e.g., 1 Tim. 6.18; Tit. 2.14; Heb. 10.24). At the same time, they also often serve a revelatory function: by witnessing a disciple’s (or Jesus’: Jn 10.32-33) good deeds, an observer has an opportunity to see God (see Mt. 5.16; 1 Tim. 5.25). In this way, the woman’s good deed in anointing Jesus also points to God. However, as we can see, in Mark’s paradoxical language her anointing Jesus includes both her good deed and her wastefulness, just as God’s action also displays goodness and waste. This pattern of interpretation which presents waste on the one hand and bounty on the other is similar to what we see in the parable of the sower and its interpretation (4.3-9, 14-20). The parable itself depicts the sower being wasteful with the seed, scattering it everywhere without thought for its harvest. The interpretation of the parable, however, demonstrates the generous sowing of the word that is given to all, though it only bears fruit in some.47 Jesus claims that the woman has anointed his body as a preparation for burial (14.8). In this way, he articulates a definite purpose for her actions. He approves her gift with praise that is rare in the Gospel’s narrative: her story will be told in conjunction with the gospel’s story, as a memorial to her (14.9).48 Although it is clear that the woman sacrifices for Jesus in a way that stands in striking contrast to many of the characters in the Gospel, her motivation in anointing Jesus remains uncertain. Mark does not provide enough explicit description of the woman to determine why she would engage in this activity. In spite of this lack of information, there has been much discussion in recent years about whether the woman understands the significance of anointing Jesus, and if she does, what that means about her identity. In other words, if the woman actually understands Jesus’ mission and ministry, as many commentators since Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza49 have assumed, then she is the only human within the narrative besides Jesus himself who has done so (with the possible exception of John the Baptist; 1.2-11).50 According to this 47. See above, Chapter 2. 48. Marcus claims that this sleight of hand – a memorial for the woman, rather than for Jesus – is a subtle way for the evangelist to allude to Jesus’ resurrection, for he will not need his own memorial, though he will need a burial (Mark 8–16, 942). This connection to Jesus’ resurrection is similar to the argument advanced below. 49. In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins (repr.; New York: Crossroad, 2002), xliii–xliv. A telling quotation: ‘The unnamed woman who names Jesus with a prophetic sign-action in Mark’s Gospel is the paradigm for the true disciple. While Peter had confessed, without truly understanding it, “you are the anointed one”, the woman anointing Jesus recognizes clearly that Jesus’ messiahship means suffering and death’ (xliv). Here, not only do we have a linguistic problem that the words for messianic anointing are not used in this passage but there is no evidence that this woman ‘recognizes’ anything ‘clearly’ about Jesus’ messiahship (cf. Wainwright, ‘The Pouring Out of Healing Ointment’, 157–77; Marcus, Mark 8–16, 936; Boring, Mark, 383n.81). 50. For example, William Swartley states, ‘This woman of Bethany has been rightly lauded for her spiritual perception, sympathetic tenderness, and depth of devotion … This woman, indeed the only human in the passion narrative, is in touch with the theme of the section, Jesus’ suffering and death. Hence the narrative makes explicit the point that this woman perceives and affirms one of the narrator’s main theological emphases – the necessity of Jesus’ suffering and death’,

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interpretation, the woman should be considered a prophet, analogous to other OT figures who perform such functions of anointing.51 There is much that is alluring about these readings. Not only would they grant Mark’s narrative a positive model of discipleship besides Jesus: they would also highlight the role of a woman in Jesus’ ministry.52 Nevertheless, this passage gives no evidence that the woman who enters the room with an alabaster jar understands the significance of what she is doing, whether that significance is anointing Jesus as king,53 or anointing his body for burial (14.8), or both (15.2, 9, 12, 18, 26, 32).54 In fact, like many of the minor characters in Mark’s Gospel, the woman’s interpretation of the events remains a mystery to Mark’s audience (cf., e.g., 2.1-12). This ambiguity implies that, for Mark, the woman’s identity and character are not the focus of this scene.55 Instead, with the centre of attention on the woman’s action, Mark shows how she reflects characteristics of God’s kingdom. The only individuals who offer an interpretation of the woman’s actions are ‘some’ people that are present (14.4) and Jesus himself (14.6-9). Since the woman’s actions are limited to the possession of the alabaster jar and the pouring of the perfumed oil on Jesus’ head, there is no evidence in word or act that she understood the implications of what she was doing. The anonymous woman does not need to know or understand Jesus’ passion, death, and resurrection in order to act in a way that acknowledges the coming of God’s kingdom.56 The woman’s ignorance makes her no less a ‘model of (‘The Role of Women in Mark’s Gospel’, 20). Joanna Dewey also identifies what she sees as the woman’s dual ‘prophetic’ role, both in acting as a prophet who anoints a king (e.g., 1 Sam. 10.1; 16.13) and in foreseeing Jesus’ death (‘The Gospel of Mark’, in Searching the Scriptures: A Feminist Commentary [ed. Elizabeth Schüssler Fiorenza; New York: Crossroad, 1994], 501). 51. For a list of these citations (e.g., Exod. 29.7; 2 Kgs 9.3), see Wainwright, ‘The Pouring Out of Healing Ointment’, 165. Mary Ann Beavis states a mild form of this premise that is more accurate, in that Jesus ‘interprets the woman’s action as prophetic’, (‘Women as Models of Faith in Mark’, 7). 52. See Moloney, Mark, 281. 53. Moloney clearly states that in v. 3, ‘the theme of Jesus as a king, unmentioned to this point in the narrative, is broached. It will gather momentum as the passion narrative develops’ (Mark, 281). There is a lexical roadblock for interpreters who want to emphasize the woman’s role as a prophetess anointing a king who is journeying to Jerusalem: the verb used for messianic or kingly anointing in the LXX is xri/w, while Mark uses kate/xw for the verb and emphasizes that the anointing material is mu/ron (14.3, 5, 8), a perfume used in cosmetic treatments or in burial rituals, not an oil. See also Boring, Mark, 383n.81. 54. The anointing may serve both purposes for Mark in the sense that kingship is developed as a theme in the passion narrative. However, neither Mark as the narrator nor Jesus as the interpreter make such a conclusion about the woman’s actions abundantly clear. On Jesus’ role as king in Mark, see F. J. Matera, The Kingship of Jesus: Composition and Theology in Mark 15 (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1982). 55. Here, Mark’s narrative is in contrast to Lk. 7.36-50, where the woman’s identity as a ‘sinner’ (7.38) is much more central to the theme of forgiveness. 56. Of course, as the parables of Mark 4 make clear (esp. 4.26-29), the kingdom itself is inseparable from Jesus’ passion, death, and resurrection. However, the woman does not need to have a full knowledge of what will occur to be able to imitate divine action here.



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faith’.57 Indeed, in contrast to one’s knowledge, perception, or understanding, one’s action seems to be central to, if not the primary measure of, one’s discipleship (see 3.35).58 Therefore, in praising her ‘good deed’, Jesus lauds the generous sacrifice of this woman as exemplary. Section (c): Generous Actions and their Complications In contrast to the critiques of those reclining with Jesus and Simon, the reader is to interpret the woman’s action as reflecting God’s wasteful action: much as God carelessly sows seeds in soils unfit for harvest, this woman pours expensive perfume on the head of a man for a reason unacknowledged by her. As this section explores, it is still wasteful to anoint a body – that will not remain dead – with priceless perfume. In this way, Jesus challenges, and indirectly confirms, the perspectives of the bystanders. It is easy to consider this narrative in the same light as many of the other controversies in the Second Gospel: Jesus’ argument trumps his opponents’ viewpoint. While that is true here, it is not the whole story. Jesus’ statements do not conclude by presenting only one view of the woman’s action. In fact, he points to the goodness and wastefulness inherent in her act of anointing. As we have seen, the woman’s action itself is magnificently good.59 The cost of the perfume paired with the woman’s unreserved action (breaking the bottle, pouring out the liquid) shows that she gives generously (see 12.44, below). Whatever the motivation for this offering, it certainly surpasses expectations. Yet, the interpretation Jesus gives to the woman’s conduct is perplexing, as well. She has anointed Jesus’ body for burial, beforehand (14.8). Not only does the woman’s action foreshadow Jesus’ suffering and sacrificial service (10.45), but Jesus also interprets it to pay respect to his death.60 Indeed, the timing of this engagement at Simon’s house draws one’s attention to that very death. Coming at the beginning of Mark’s passion narrative, immediately after the plotting of the chief priests and the scribes (14.1-2) and before Judas’s betrayal (14.10-11), it is increasingly clear that

57. See Beavis, ‘Women as Models of Faith in Mark’, and Malbon, ‘The Major Importance of Minor Characters in Mark’, 215–17. The language of characters being ‘models of faith’ comes from both Beavis and Malbon; however, they do not articulate that the woman is a model of ignorance and faith, in that her ‘faith’ is demonstrated in her action, not in her thoughts or words. 58. Similarly, Barton, ‘Mark as Narrative’, 233. 59. Moloney, Mark, 280. See also John Painter, Mark’s Gospel: Worlds in Conflict (NTR; London: Routledge, 1997), 181; Gnilka, Markus, 2:223; Miller, ‘The Woman who Anoints Jesus (Mk 14:3-9)’, 221. 60. In itself, this is an explanation that can take on wasteful or positive interpretations (e.g., L. Susan Bond, ‘The Rhetoric of Gender and the Rhetoric of Folly: The Incompatibility of Two Feminist Approaches’, Enc 61 (2000): 297–319 [316–17]).

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the passion predictions (8.31; 9.31; 10.33-34) are going to be fulfilled. Jesus’ reminder to his dinner companions that they will not always have him (14.6) is reminiscent of one of the first allusions to Jesus’ death in the Gospel. There he declares that just as wedding guests enjoy the feast while the bridegroom is with them (cf. 14.3) but fast when the bridegroom departs, so, by implication, will his disciples ‘fast’ when he leaves (2.19-20).61 The point of all of these proclamations, whether parabolic or predictive, is never only Jesus’ suffering and death. Each of the three explicit passion predictions (8.31; 9.31; 10.33-34) also predicts his resurrection.62 Jesus’ resurrection, however, is what points to the true aspect of the anonymous woman’s wasteful action. Is there a point in lavishly anointing a body that does not stay in the tomb?63 In that sense, even the purpose Jesus offers for the woman’s action is a wasteful one. At the same time, the paradoxical relationship between goodness and wastefulness continues. Jesus’ approbation of the woman’s action (kalo\n e1rgon: 14.6) reiterates her good deed over her opponents charges of wastefulness (14.5). Moreover, his affirmation of her place with respect to the gospel is a magnificent proclamation made in conjunction with the wastefulness of the purpose he offered. In the manner of an official teaching (a)mh\n de\ le/gw u(mi~n: 14.9),64 Jesus says that ‘wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in her memory’ (14.9). This declaration is as generous as the woman’s gift. It is astonishing for Jesus to connect the anointing by the woman to Jesus’ and God’s activity in the gospel and its proclamation (1.14-15). No one else in the Gospel receives such commendation. As her actions mimic the paradoxical good and wasteful actions of God (as portrayed as the sower, 4.3-9, 14-20), the woman has embodied one of the ways in which Mark talks about the advent of the gospel. Furthermore, she will be part of its paradoxical proclamation whether she knows it or not: her good deed is proclaimed, and her name is unknown.

61. It is interesting that the language of ‘ability’ (using lexical terms related to duna/mai) is used in these parabolic phrases. The wedding guests are ‘able’, or ‘unable’ to fast, depending on the presence or absence of the bridegroom. See below, Chapter 6. 62. See also 9.9, as well as foreshadowing in the raising up of children (5.41; 9.27). See first section, above. 63. In fact, anointing Jesus’ body is precisely the purpose of the women’s trip to the tomb at the conclusion of the Second Gospel, and they are unable to fulfil this task – and they are also apparently unable to fulfil the new task they are given (16.1: i1na e0lqou~sai a)lei/ywsin au)to/n; 16.7: a)ll\ u(pa/gete ei1pate). 64. See also 3.28; 8.12; 9.1, 41; 10.15, 29; 11.23; 12.43; 13.30; 14.9, 18, 25, 30. Of these citations, the most relevant might be 12.43 and 14.25, as Jesus connects the sacrificial offering of the widow at the Temple (see below) and with his own offering and ultimate redemption in the kingdom of God (see, similarly, Barton, ‘Mark as Narrative’, 232).



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Section (d): Gracious Echoes and Wasteful Wishes Other texts in Mark help illuminate this paradoxical polarity between goodness and wastefulness in the woman’s action and the responses to it. Jesus’ parabolic use of an impoverished woman at the Temple treasury (12.41-44) provides both an echo and a contrast to the generosity and wealth of the anonymous woman in ch. 14. The ultimate foil for both the waste and the good deeds of these women (at the Temple and at Bethany), however, is the rich man Jesus encounters in Mk 10.17-22. There, Mark’s audience learns the significance of sacrificial giving, as well as God’s gracious action to make things right (10.23-30).65 This section briefly considers both of these narratives and how they compare to and contrast with the actions of the anonymous woman at Bethany. Section (1.) The Widow (12.41-44) Expanding this analysis to include its broader literary context again, it is possible to see how a woman at the Temple in Mark reflects the paradox of waste and goodness in the same way as the anonymous woman at Bethany. Like the latter, this woman’s action is lavishly generous; she remains silent; and Jesus provides the interpretation of the scene. In Mk 12.41-44, a widow gives two coins to the Temple treasury, as mentioned above.66 Even though Jesus has spoken and acted against the Temple (11.15-19) and the hypocrisy of the scribes who take advantage of the widows’ poverty rather than providing for it (12.38-40), Jesus still commends the woman’s action, at least on the surface of the narrative. Jesus predicts the Temple’s destruction immediately after he sees her offering (13.1-3), but her actions are laudable because Jesus declared them to be, and they mirror his life and teaching. Though she had little to give (1/64th of a day’s wage), she gave her all, her ‘whole life’ (o3lon to\n bi/on au)th~j: 12.44; cf. 8.34-38), as Jesus will soon do as well (15.24-37). Furthermore, Jesus’ interpretation completes Mark’s narrative positioning of the widow at the Temple, much as it did of the anonymous woman at Bethany.

65. Even this gracious divine action appears to be wasted upon the rich man, much like Jesus’ love, as the unnamed man goes away grieving rather than following Jesus (10.21-22: see below). 66. See Moloney (Mark, 281), and Malbon, who also recognizes the connection between the stories of the two women and the eschatological discourse between them (‘The Major Importance of Minor Characters in Mark’, 215–17). Painter makes a positive connection between these women and contrasts them with the Temple establishment: ‘Like the widow who gave her two coins (12.41-44), this [anonymous] woman gave all. Mark has enclosed chapter 13, with its warning of doom and destruction for the temple and the nation, with these two stories about “true devotion”, “true religion” of two women, two stories of hope in the midst of despair’ (Mark’s Gospel, 181). Nevertheless, one point of Painter’s description requires emendation: the anonymous woman at Simon’s house did not give ‘all she had’ (12.44). Instead, she did ‘what she could’, (14.8), which was equally commendable.

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In other words, the text about the faithful widow comes immediately after Jesus’ condemnation of the scribes (12.38-40) and how they take advantage of widows, rather than caring for them (see e.g., Ps. 94.1-7; Isa. 10.1-2). Some scholars claim that the widow’s contribution should be read in this light, namely, the fact that a widow must give her last two coins to the Temple means that the religious institution is depriving the poorest of what little they have, and reinforcing the wealth of the rich (an economic reading of 4.24-25, perhaps).67 Jesus acknowledges that the woman may be ‘wasting’ her money, giving to this lost cause, by noting the destruction of the Temple (13.1-2).68 Nevertheless, she also acts generously and self-sacrificially, giving her ‘whole life’ (12.44). In this way, she is described like the woman at Bethany, acting out the same paradox of wastefulness and goodness through which Mark illuminates God’s activity. Section (2.) The Rich Man (10.17-22) Finally, one additional story completes this comparative group of passages marked by wasteful and noble actions. When Jesus and his disciples are on the way to Jerusalem, a man runs up to Jesus, kneels in front of him, and asks: ‘Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?’ (10.17). After the man claims that he has kept all the commandments ‘from [his] childhood’ (10.20), Jesus loves him and gives him one new command: ‘Go, sell what you have, and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven, and come, follow me’ (10.21). The man left, grieving (lupou/menov), because he was wealthy. He was not willing to make the sacrifice of selling all that he had. In this case, such bountifulness is precisely the action that Jesus’ dinner companions in Bethany expected of the woman: give to the poor. While neither engages in such acts of generosity, the woman is commended and the man leaves,

67. See Addison G. Wright, ‘The Widow’s Mites: Praise or Lament? – A Matter of Context’, CBQ 44 (1982): 256–65 [261–3]; R. S. Sugirtharajah, ‘The Widow’s Mites Revalued’, ExpTim 103 (1991): 42–3. Stephen D. Moore creatively – though not quite persuasively – re-imagines the widow at the Temple and the woman at Bethany as the purveyors of the true (‘non-imperial’) apocalypse. He claims: ‘what the widow’s action prefigures, if anything is not so much Jesus’ self-divesting investment – the Markan cross, in the end, is merely a bold entrepreneurial wager that yields an eschatological empire – but rather the expenditure without reserve exemplified by yet another anonymous woman in the narrative, the one who “wastes” on Jesus the “alabaster jar of very costly ointment of nard” (14:3-4), and whose tale is told almost immediately after the (official) apocalyptic discourse’, because the story of the widow and her ‘mighty mites … renders the apocalyptic metanarrative superfluous and hence expendable’, (‘Mark and Empire: “Zealot” and “Postcolonial” Readings’, in The Postcolonial Biblical Reader [ed., R. S. Sugirtharajah; Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006], 193–205 [203]). While I am in agreement with Moore’s attempt to read the story of the widow and her coins as more than sacrifice and not simply the end of her relationship with the priestly entity that had already deprived her of everything, I find that muting Mark 13 does not grant either of the silent women of Mark 12 or Mark 14 a voice. Furthermore, it is difficult to see how one can find solace for a post-colonial interpretation in a text that advocates, even temporarily, the neglect of the poor (14.5, 7). 68. C. Clifton Black, Mark (ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon, 2011), 286.



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sorrowful. Her actions imitate the way Mark presents God’s actions: at the coming of the kingdom, divine deeds are marked by goodness and wastefulness. The man does not act in these paradoxical ways, and therefore is unable to follow Jesus.

Section III: The Economy of Betrayal Jesus’ interactions with his dinner party companions at Bethany conclude with the impressive declaration that associates the anonymous woman’s deed with the proclamation of the gospel (14.9). With no spatial or temporal boundaries (‘wherever’: o3pou; ‘in the whole world’: ei)v o3lon to\n ko/smon; future of lalhqh/setai), the woman’s action takes on the cosmic significance connected to Jesus’ words (13.31) and with the gospel’s announcement to all nations (13.10). Such an impressive climax returns to mundane reality in Mk 14.10 with a reminder of the context of opposition with which the passion narrative begins. In 14.1-2, Mark’s audience overhears the plans of the chief priests and the scribes who want to seize and kill Jesus. After the woman anoints Jesus (14.3-9), the narrator shifts to the realization of the chief priests’ plans as ‘one of the Twelve’ seeks to betray Jesus into their hands. By surrounding the narrative at Bethany with these accounts of opposition to Jesus, Mark highlights, paradoxically, both the wastefulness and goodness of the action of the woman at Bethany. In Chapter 4, we saw how the discussion of evil in Mark 3 places the portrayal of the sower in a similar context: the sower’s action is described alongside several different images of opposition to God’s kingdom, reinforcing the paradoxical description of God’s action. These images include vices that are active ‘inside’ humans (cf. 7.23) as well as evil that fights its battle outside the human psyche.69 More specifically, Mark describes Jesus’ enemies’ attempts to kill him (3.6) and his family’s attempts to seize him (3.21) for the first time in Mark 3, setting up the parables. Mark similarly introduces the first episode of the passion narrative by describing the ominous setting (14.1-2). One further connection between the two chapters, moreover, occurs in the person of Judas. In Mk 3.19 Judas is mentioned last in a list of the twelve disciples, and he is described as the one ‘who betrayed him [o3v kai\ pare/dwken au)to\n]’. Mark 14 sees the fulfilment of this foreshadowing, as Judas is mentioned again in 14.10.70 Judas’ character and actions are placed as parallel with those of the chief priests and the scribes (14.1) but in opposition to that of the woman (14.3-9), confirming Jesus’ own predictions about his death and his resurrection. To this end, placing Mk 14.3-9 in the

69. See Riches, Conflicting Mythologies, 12. 70. Mark will mention Judas by name once more in 14.43.

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context of secretive opposition to Jesus (14.2) simultaneously reinforces the woman’s good deed in anointing Jesus for his burial, and her wasteful action, in pouring out the perfume for his resurrection. Mark makes the intercalation between Judas’ activity and the plans of the chief priests and scribes parallel each other in several ways. As other scholars have noticed, Mark’s literary structure encourages his audience to equate Judas with the intentions attributed to the chief priests and the scribes. Not only does Judas approach the chief priests (a)ph~lhqen pro\v tou\v a)rxierei~v) with the purpose of betrayal, but he, like Jesus’ opponents in 14.1-2, seeks (e0zh/tei; e0zh/toun: 14.1) an appropriate time (eu)kai/rwv).71 For the chief priests and the scribes, this opportune time is ‘not during the feast’, however, their hope will not be granted (14.12; 15.1).72 Judas, in joining forces with Jesus’ opponents, both fulfils ‘what is written’ and takes on some responsibility for Jesus’ death (14.21). The parallels between Jesus’ opponents in the Jewish leadership and Judas’ action point clearly to the unified front of those working against Jesus and further polarizes the woman and her paradoxical actions from the actions of others, even those of the Twelve. While Judas betrays Jesus freely, only later being offered compensation (14.11), the woman offers ‘what she has’ to Jesus, and what she has is a generous and costly gift (14.3). C. Clifton Black puts this parallel simply: ‘Both stories end in poignant irony. Though the reader never learns the name of the woman who did “what she could” (v. 8), Jesus declares that what she has done will be remembered wherever the gospel is preached (v. 9). Because of Mark, it has been. Judas also did what he could. For that, neither has he ever been forgotten.’73 The economy of betrayal knows nothing of waste or good deeds. Nevertheless, these intercalated stories are linked by references to goodness, or ‘eu-prefixed’ words. The woman’s action is described as good (kalo/v; 14.6); Jesus mentions the good (eu)~; 14.7) his audience can do for the poor; everywhere the good news (eu)agge/lion) is preached the woman’s action will 71. For similar information in a chart, see Marcus, Mark 8–16, 943. 72. This disparity between the chief priests’ intentions and the time of Jesus’ betrayal and arrest may indicate that there is an earlier tradition in which Jesus died on the day prior to Passover (as in Jn 19.14, 31, 42). On this discussion and especially its relationship to a pre-Markan passion narrative, see Gerd Theissen, The Gospels in Context: Social and Political History in the Synoptic Tradition (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 166–7; and further, idem and Annette Merz, The Historical Jesus: A Comprehensive Guide (trans. John Bowden; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998 [ET]), 426–7. Adela Yarbro Collins disagrees with Theissen in particular, because she claims that Judas’ betrayal was the means by which the chief priests and scribes could seize Jesus ‘e0n do/lw|’, which she translates as ‘by deceit’, rather than in secret, thereby absolving the interpreter from describing why Jesus was arrested during the feast (Mark [Hermeneia: Fortress, 2008], 623–4, 640). Marcus concludes differently, however: ‘Mark himself … may wish to imply that the Jewish authorities intended to arrest Jesus outside the Passover season, but that events – and the will of God – forced their hand’ (Mark 8–16, 933). Given Mark’s later portrayal of the dual causes, both divine and human, that necessitate Judas’ betrayal (cf. 14.21), I think Marcus’ interpretation carries the greater weight for the purpose of analysing Mark’s present narrative. 73. Mark, 284.



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be remembered (14.9); and finally, Judas seeks to betray Jesus at a convenient time (eu)kai/rwv; 14.11). Jesus interprets his death, and the woman’s action, into categories that speak of goodness, even though there is a united opposition against him.74 Discussions about the presence of opposition to Jesus also stem from Jesus’ eschatological discourse in Mark 13. There, Jesus cautions both the narrative and authorial audiences to ‘keep awake’ and beware of the evils to come: those who falsely come in Jesus’ name (13.6); natural disasters (13.7-8); and betrayals and arrests much like Jesus’ own (13.9-13). There is no doubt that there is opposition against Jesus in Mark 14, and in the eschatological discourse he confirms that there is hostility toward those who identify with his name (13.13). As one might expect, this ongoing presence of antagonism in the passion narrative highlights Jesus’ own story of betrayal, arrest, trial, and execution. The coming tribulation (qli~yiv) validates that Jesus’ activity against forces that oppose him (e.g., binding the strong man, 3.27) is not final. Instead, a universal cosmic victory still resides in the future (13.24-27). The promised destruction of heaven and earth, yet the survival of Jesus’ words, demonstrates why it is appropriate to honour Jesus with a costly gift: he is one who endures to the end (13.31; cf. 13.13). Even though Jesus will not always be present (14.7), he is an appropriate recipient of the woman’s costly gift because of his eschatological authority demonstrated in Mark 13. The reiteration of the conflicts between Jesus and his opponents – now including Judas – shows the progression of the passion narrative, and it confirms that the woman at Bethany should anoint Jesus for his burial as a good deed. At the same time, the confirmation of these evil forces, both within humans (chief priests, scribes, Judas) and outside humans (the implications of Mark 13) points to a time when they will be defeated, to which Jesus’ resurrection alludes.75 Jesus’ eschatological return as the cosmic Son of Man (13.24-27) completes this defeat on behalf of ‘the elect’ (13.27). The context of opposition to Jesus into which Mark situates the encounter between Jesus and the woman at Bethany reaffirms the goodness of the woman’s gift to Jesus, in that he deserves to be honoured in such a way, as he will be subjected to his opponents’ plans in his death. Like the Temple, Jesus is destined for destruction, but offerings engaged in for him are still honourable (14.6) and generous, as the women give all they have (12.44) or what they can (14.8). At the same time, the placement of the eschatological discourse reminds Mark’s audience that Jesus has a future beyond the passion narrative, and this is a future in which he will not need to be anointed for burial, for he will not remain buried. A tomb and its spices are unnecessary for a living Jesus (16.1-8; see below, Chapter 8). One’s perspective of forces 74. Tom Shepherd, Markan Sandwich Stories: Narration, Definition, and Function (AUSDDS 18; Berrien Springs, MI: Andrews University Press, 1993), 256–7. 75. See below, Chapter 8.

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opposed to Jesus, whether near at hand (chief priests, scribes, Judas) or in the eschatological future, is the fulcrum on which the paradox of goodness and wastefulness pivots.

Conclusion The interactions between an anonymous woman, her objectors, and Jesus demonstrate God’s actions reflected onto the human plane. By acting in ways that are paradoxically wasteful and good, the woman unknowingly mimics the action of the sower in the parables of Mark 4. Furthermore, the woman’s actions are bookended in the narrative by comments about Jesus’ opponents. Their schemes for Jesus’ ensuing arrest further confirm the dual assessments of the woman’s action in light of the presence of opposition in the Gospel. Such a conclusion is complicated even further by the narrative proximity of Jesus’ eschatological discourse and the prediction of the destruction of the Temple. The woman at Bethany’s action is magnified as particularly wasteful and good because it is surrounded by actions that are the opposite.

Chapter 6 Challenging Scripture and Concealing Action: A Paradoxical View of Gethsemane (14.27-42) After Jesus is anointed by the anonymous woman at Bethany, he and the disciples come to an upper room to celebrate Passover (Mk 14.12-16). There, Jesus quotes a passage from Zechariah that reveals God’s role in bringing about his death and the disciples’ desertion (14.27). At the same time, intriguingly, Jesus promises resurrection and restoration (14.28). Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane, however, counters the force of this scripture by asking God, who can do all things, to fulfil scriptures dynamically. In other words, Jesus requests that the ‘cup’ might pass from him without making the previous prophetic words impotent. The theological implication of this narrative is that the God who blinds and deafens, yet heals blindness and deafness, can simultaneously strike the shepherd and remove the cup. Here at Gethsemane, we see evidence of another paradox that emerged from our previous examination of the parables of Mark 4: God both confirms and counters scriptures. At this transition point in the passion narrative, God’s action is not only testified by scripture, but it is also concealed and revealed through the actions of humans. God’s activity is revealed in the passion narrative by verses like 14.27, but it is also concealed, at times even from Jesus (15.34), behind the actions of Jesus’ opponents. The previous passion predictions (8.31; 9.31; 10.33-34) come to life, as Jesus’ opponents carry out God’s will, striking the shepherd when the hour comes for the ‘Son of Man [to be] handed over into the hands of sinners’ (14.41) so that the ‘scriptures might be fulfilled’ (14.49). In other words, Jesus’ statements that his passion is willed by God, paired with the quotation of Zech. 13.7, demonstrate that God is somehow at work through Jesus’ enemies, willing and accomplishing the Son’s own arrest, trial, and death.

Section I: Confirming and Countering Scripture Confirming and countering scripture is one of the paradoxes woven throughout the Gethsemane account. When Jesus calls into question his future suffering and death (14.35-36), he seeks to alter how God is fulfilling scripture, or even how God’s plan (8.31) will be enacted. If God can fulfil scriptures that counter each other (e.g., Isa. 6.9-10 and Isa. 35.5 in Mk 4.12;

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7.37),1 then it is possible for God also to honour Jesus’ request to avoid death. In other words, saying that Jesus’ death is ‘as it is written’ does not mean that Jesus’ death is guaranteed at this time or in this way, because God’s action with respect to scripture is dynamic. Therefore, it can be the ‘will of God’ (14.36) to seek the fulfilment of one scripture over another in surprising ways.2 This section explores the perimeters of this paradox of scriptural fulfilment portrayed in prophecy and prayer. Section (a): Confirmation: The Prophetic Words of Jesus and Zechariah As we noted in Chapter 5, above, the beginning of Mark 14 highlights Jesus’ prophetic speech. From interpreting the anonymous woman at Bethany as anointing his not-yet-deceased body – thereby prophesying his future lack of an anointing (16.1-8) – to establishing the preparations for Passover to the letter (14.12-16), Mark’s narrative shows that Jesus’ words are fulfilled. The fact that he ‘has told [them] everything beforehand’ (13.23) is reassuring because his words are accomplished. Sometimes, however, these words engage scriptural words in unusual ways. Scripture testifying to God’s action in Jesus’ death (14.27) is followed by Jesus’ statement about his resurrection (14.28). While this juxtaposition is not precisely contradictory, there is a sense in which the resurrection itself is paradoxical: as Mark’s narrative shows, although Jesus dies, he lives. This section also explores the fulfilment of Jesus’ interpretation of Zechariah. Interpreting Zechariah, Jesus declares that all will fall away. Interestingly, this prophecy is only final when the women flee from the empty tomb (16.8). At this point the restoration of the scattered disciples has already begun with Jesus’ resurrection (14.28; 16.6-7). Death and resurrection join with scattering and gathering to highlight the mosaic of paradoxes between the fulfilment of scripture (14.27) and Jesus’ words (14.28). To begin this teaching, Jesus predicts, as mentioned above, that all the disciples will fall away (pa/ntej skandalisqh/sesqe: 14.27) because ‘it is written’ (ge/graptai) that ‘I will strike the shepherd and the sheep will be scattered’ (14.27).3 Using a first person verb (pata/cw), this quotation from

1. See comments in Chapter 2, above, on the fulfilment of prophecies in Isaiah, as well as comments below on God’s creativity in fulfilling scripture. 2. This is demonstrated in Mk 10.1-12, where the scriptural voice of Deuteronomy is set against Genesis. For Mark, scripture is powerful, but it is not univocal. See below. 3. Ge/graptai is used in the following places in Mark’s narrative: 1.2; 7.6; 9.12, 13; 10.4, 5; 11.17; 12.19; 14.21, 27. Each of these passages describes either Jesus’ interpretation of scripture or Jesus’ passion and its elucidation by scripture. The citations in chs 7 and 10 concern the debates over scriptures between Jesus and the Pharisees. Chapters 9 and 14 focus on Jesus’ passion, while 11.17 poses an indictment against the Temple, and 12.19 is a general comment about what Moses has written (12.19; cf. 10.5).



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Zech. 13.7 explicitly refers to God’s action in the passion narrative.4 Mark has obliquely referred to Jesus as a shepherd earlier in the Gospel when he ministers to crowds who are like ‘sheep without a shepherd’ (6.34).5 Jesus has certainly been portrayed as such a leader for the crowd in chs 11–12, as the crowds hang on his words and seem delighted with his teaching (12.37), even if their response is superficial. However, Jesus’ ability to ‘shepherd’ these sheep ceases at God’s hand.6 In this context in Mark, Jesus uses this scripture to point to his death and the disciples’ desertion. Zechariah and Mark describe this pattern differently. In the LXX of Zech. 13.7, Yahweh’s agent will ‘draw out’ (e0kspa/w) the sheep, as one draws a sword from its scabbard. Mark’s quotation uses a passive form of diaskorpi/zw (to scatter, disperse: diaskorpisqh/sontai). Eugene Boring is correct when he points out this passive verb’s significance: ‘the disciples will not “scatter” but their beingscattered by the shepherd’s being-struck is incorporated into God’s act that affects not only Jesus but [also] the disciples’.7 The overall meaning of both the LXX and Mark is the same: ostensibly ‘shepherd-less’, the sheep are no longer protected or united together, and the one who strikes the shepherd(s) also wreaks havoc on the sheep.

4. The text of Mk 14.27 differs from both the MT and the LXX traditions of Zech. 13.7, which both begin by saying, ‘Rise up, O Sword, against my shepherd’, although the LXX tradition renders ‘shepherd’ in the plural and concludes the verse differently from the MT. The MT of Zech. 13.7b says, ‘Strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered’, as though the scattering is the effect of the striking which is performed by an impersonal agent, the sword. The LXX, on the other hand, says, ‘“Rise up, O Sword, against my shepherds and against my fellow man [a1ndra]”, says the Lord Almighty. “Strike [pata/cate] the shepherds and draw out [e0kspa/sate] the sheep and I will stretch out my hand against the shepherds.”’ As the LXX verbs are plural imperatives, it is not clear if their unspecified subject is the singular ‘sword’ despite the grammatical infelicity, or if there are unnamed agents who will be Yahweh’s actors. Either way, both are different from Mark’s text, which makes God’s agency explicit with a first person verb: ‘I will strike [pata/cw] the shepherd [to\n poime/na]’, (14.27). What was a confrontation between Yahweh and various leaders or ‘shepherds’ (Zech. 10.2-3) has now shifted to a conflict between God and this particular shepherd. Instead of being called to be a shepherd of a flock ‘marked for slaughter’ (Zech. 11.4), Jesus himself will suffer the flock’s fate (cf. Mk 10.45). 5. In Zechariah, the prophet describes shepherds as leaders of their communities. As ‘Yahweh’s associate’, the shepherd even has the power to annul a covenant (11.7-12; 13.7). Shepherd imagery occurs throughout Zech. 9–14. For a full analysis of its potential impact on the Markan passion narrative, see Joel Marcus, The Way of the Lord: Christological Exegesis of the Old Testament in the Gospel of Mark (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992), 154–64. The motif of a leader (shepherd) gathering sheep is used in Num. 27.17; 1 Kgs 22.17; 2 Chron. 18.16; and Ezek. 34.12. There was also an expectation that the Messiah would gather scattered sheep (Pss. Sol. 17.16-17, 21, 26 and Jn 11.52; see R. Alan Culpepper, Mark [Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2007], 497). 6. Because Yahweh is Jesus’ shepherd, Jesus is a sheep who obeys his shepherd’s voice (Ps. 23.1; Jn 10.14-16). 7. Mark (NTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2006), 394. See also Ira Brent Driggers, Following God Through Mark: Theological Tension in the Second Gospel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007), 77–8.

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At the same time, the use of Zech. 13.7 is evidence of a dynamic use of scripture and Jesus’ words in the Markan passion narrative. It is true that God strikes Jesus and his disciples (and the crowd) are scattered, but this is also not the end of the story.8 In Mark 16, the ‘sheep’ will be brought back together as Jesus goes ahead of them to Galilee (16.7).9 This ‘going ahead’ to Galilee is first mentioned by Jesus here (14.28), though the resurrection has been previously mentioned in the passion (and resurrection) predictions.10 These two verses (14.27-28) summarize the whole passion narrative as they refer to Jesus’ death, abandonment by the disciples, and ultimate restoration.11 These verses also point to God’s action concealed in the interactions of Jesus’ opponents (see below) and God’s action at the resurrection (16.1-8; see Chapter 8).12 Nevertheless, the pairing of scripture and Jesus’ words in 14.27-28 does not simply provide a summary of the passion’s narrative arc.13 Instead, the scripture from Zechariah and Jesus’ prediction of restoration illuminate a paradox at the conclusion of Mark’s narrative. In 14.27, as the introduction to the scripture quotation, Jesus says, ‘all of you will fall away’ (pa/ntev skandalisqh/sesqe). Peter, in particular, and the rest of the disciples, more generally, denies that this scripture will prove true (14.29-31).14 Yet, it does,

8. Chapter 2, above, noted this pattern as well: Isaiah 6 is not the last word on perception and understanding in the Gospel. 9. Manuscript B of the Damascus Document also invokes Zech. 13.7 to describe a time in which the Messiahs of Aaron and Israel will judge some with the sword but the humble, those who watch for God, will be saved (CD 19.8-10). While the author of CD interprets Zechariah to provide hope for a remnant, Mark does the opposite: ‘all will fall away’, and yet there will still be restoration in the future (14.28), as a remnant implies. See also Joel Marcus, Mark 8–16 (AYB 27A; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), 972; Raymond A. Brown, The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsemane to the Grave (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1994), 1:129. 10. See also Morna D. Hooker, who highlights the role vindication plays in all of the passion (and resurrection) predictions (The Son of Man in Mark [Montreal: McGill University Press, 1967], 103–40; The Gospel According to St. Mark [BNTC; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1991], 22, 226). There is also foreshadowing of the resurrection in 9.12 and allusions in 5.41; 6.16; 9.27. 11. See also Marcus, Mark 8–16, 970. 12. Brendan Byrne emphasizes that God’s action is behind both striking and raising the shepherd in 14.27-28 (A Costly Freedom: A Theological Reading of Mark’s Gospel [Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2008], 223). 13. I return to this observation and the paradox of revelation and concealment to which it points in the final section of this chapter, below. 14. This verb resonates with Mk 4.16-17: ‘And these are the ones sown in rocky ground [ta\ petrw/dh], who, when they hear the word immediately receive it with joy, but they do not have roots in them and they are temporary, so when distress or persecution come because of the word, they immediately fall away [eu)qu\v skandali/zonati].’ In light of the correlation between ‘the stones’ (ta\ petrw/dh) and Peter’s name (Pe/trov) as well as the disciples’ prophesied and fulfilled actions of desertion during times of persecution, Mark may well see a realization of Jesus’ words here, as well. The disciples are willing to follow Jesus (10.28-30)



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and they fall away after Jesus’ arrest (14.50; Peter, more specifically: 14.6672). However, there are some who have ‘followed [h)kolou/qoun]’ Jesus since Galilee who do not fall away: a group of women keeps watch over the crucifixion, and Mary Magdalene sees where Jesus is buried (15.40-41, 47). In this sense, Mark presents a paradox between Jesus’ proclamation and the quotation from Zechariah. While the Twelve do fall away, the women remain. The sheep have not yet been completely scattered. This glimpse of hope shifts at the empty tomb. Here, Jesus’ words, rather than Zechariah’s prophecy, begin to prove true: he is raised and the messenger in the tomb tells the women that Jesus has gone ahead to Galilee, ‘just as he said’ (16.6-7; 14.28). At this point, the women appear to complete Zechariah’s prophecy and Jesus’ words: they flee from the tomb in silence (16.8). The sheep are now scattered; all have fallen away (14.27). If the women’s flight is connected back to Zechariah’s prophecy, then it, too, is a product of God’s action, paradoxically placed at the time of proclamation. For at the same time, Jesus’ words have already been proven true: he has been raised, and he is now ‘going ahead’ of them to Galilee.15 Mark weaves together these themes of desertion and restoration so that, despite the divergences between scripture quotations and Jesus’ words, both remain true, and both the followers’ desertion and Jesus’ resurrection can be traced back to God’s action. Prophecy, in scripture and in Jesus’ words, enacts theological paradoxes. Section (b): Countering Scripture: Prayer Requests Scripture has been given a prominent role in shaping Mark’s passion narrative beyond Jesus’ quotation of Zech. 13.7. When Jesus mentions the resurrection of the Son of Man in Mk 9.9, he tells his disciples ‘how it is written (ge/graptai) concerning the Son of Man, that he might suffer many things and be treated with scorn’ (9.12). Mark does not clarify which

but not through the passion narrative. Neither the parable of the sower’s interpretation nor the passion narrative definitively states the cause of the disciples’ abandonment: or, more correctly stated, the disciples’ abandonment is due to God’s action in scattering the sheep (14.27) and the disciples weak (root-less?) ‘flesh’ (14.38). On this point, see further C. Clifton Black, Mark (ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon, 2011), 291. Although Mary Ann Tolbert sees Jesus’ interpretation of the parable of the sower (4.14-20) as more predictive for Mark’s narrative than I do, her analysis of the passage is insightful (Sowing the Gospel: Mark’s World in Literary-Historical Perspective [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989], 123–4, 153–9, 195). 15. Eduard Schweizer says that the significance of 14.28 can be summarized thus: ‘By this statement Jesus confirms his promise in the face of any human failure. Discipleship does not break down with the defection of the disciples nor with the death of Jesus, in which they bear their share of blame. No, it is at this point that discipleship really begins’ (The Good News According to Mark [trans. Donald H. Madvig; Richmond, John Knox Press, 1970], 307).

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scriptures Jesus means here; in fact, the ambiguity itself may be significant.16 Mark does not need to specify ‘chapter and verse’ in order to demonstrate through his narrative how Jesus’ death is ‘according to the scriptures’ (14.21, 49; cf. 1 Cor. 15.3) and therefore is consistent with God’s will. However, Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane counters this claim. While Jesus’ prayer testifies that he seeks to avoid the cross, this point is qualified by the prayer’s conclusion: not Jesus’ will, but God’s should triumph (14.36).17 Nevertheless, the essence of Jesus’ request is that if God can do all things (14.35-36), then surely there is a way for events to happen ‘according to the scriptures’ without resulting in Jesus’ suffering and death.18 Jesus’ request for God to counter the scripture he knows will be confirmed is consistent with Mark’s portrayal of God’s activity in Mark 4.19 In Chapter 3, above, we noted how God can obscure the senses and harden the hearts of many in the narrative, confirming Isa. 6.9-10 (Mk 4.12), while also opening the eyes and ears of others, countering Isaiah 6 by confirming Isaiah 35. It 16. Marcus opines that a complex of scriptures have formed to shape the evangelist’s understanding of Jesus’ role, including Zech. 9–14, Dan. 7, the ‘Psalms of the Righteous Sufferer’, and Isaiah’s Suffering Servant (The Way of the Lord, 153–98), though he claims that the Psalms strongly influenced the scriptural narrative of betrayal (ibid., 173; see also Stephen P. AhearneKroll, The Psalms of Lament in Mark’s Passion: Jesus’ Davidic Suffering [SNTSMS; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007], 187–8. Of course, Mark’s passion narrative as a whole may have any number of scriptural backgrounds. See, e.g., a friend’s betrayal of David in 2 Sam. 15.16-30 which takes place on the Mount of Olives where David cries and prays to God (Boring, Mark, 393). Culpepper points out that ‘no OT text speaks of the suffering of the Son of Man’. This is certainly true. However, Culpepper’s next statement does not logically follow from his former observation: ‘Jesus’ statement therefore implies a connection between the Son of Man and the suffering servant in Isaiah’ (Mark, 492–3). Instead, one could conclude, as Boring does, that Jesus’ statements about the ‘fulfilment’ of scripture (e.g., 14.49) could simply be another way to describe the fulfilment of God’s will and therefore would not refer to particular scriptures (Mark, 407). It may be that the truth lies between these assessments. Surely Boring goes too far when he says that it is ‘not that particular biblical texts are “fulfilled” by particular events in the passion story’, given the priority that Mark gives the quotation of Zech. 13.7 (ibid). At the same time, since Mark never quotes or specifically alludes to Isaiah 53, jumping to the conclusion that such a servant song is ‘fulfilled’ in Mark’s narrative seems inappropriate as well. Mark’s understanding of scripture is dynamic and fluid. Scripture does line up with God’s will – when interpreted by Jesus. 17. Craig A. Blaising interprets Jesus’ prayer as a ‘prayer of faith’ precisely because he thinks the prayer itself is truly in line with God’s will; in other words, Jesus is not questioning God and asking for a new direction. Blaising sees no contrast between the first part of the prayer (‘take this cup from me’) and the second part (‘not what I want, but what you want’). I simply find no evidence for this proposal and find a great variety of prayers of faith in scripture, including prayers in disappointment and pleas for God’s action, as in the lament psalms like Pss. 13; 42–43 (‘Gethsemane: A Prayer of Faith’, JETS 22 (1979): 333–43 [337–8]). 18. Loren Stuckenbruck claims: ‘The prayer [in Gethsemane] expresses a logically irreconcilable tension within Jesus: on the one hand, he affirms God’s power to do all things and asks God outright to deliver him from the suffering that faces him; on the other hand, he expresses a preparedness to submit his will to the will of God’ (‘Spiritual Formation and the Gospel of Mark’, ExAud 18 [2002]: 80–92 [88]). A ‘logically irreconcilable tension’ drives at the heart of Mark’s paradoxical theology. 19. See above, Chapter 3.



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is this dynamic confirmation and countering of scripture that may lie behind Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane. In other words, Jesus is, in effect, asking God to perpetuate this paradox, relieving him of his suffering, even if it means countering scripture.20 If Jesus’ request to God is in line with previous divine action that both counters and confirms scripture, then Gethsemane ceases to be such an inexplicable oddity in Mark’s presentation of Jesus. Of course, Gethsemane remains unusual in Mark because only here does the evangelist give his audience such a clear view into Jesus’ emotions and his prayer life. However, Jesus’ request to avoid the cross seems utterly baffling in light of the confidence he displays in the rest of the narrative.21 Instead of focusing on this shift in Mark’s characterization of Jesus, this section highlights the fact that Jesus’ own emotional state is described through an embodiment of the psalms of lament, and his request fits into a paradoxical pattern of God’s activity elsewhere in Mark. Therefore, there is precedence not only for Jesus’ affirmation of God’s omnipotence, but also for the framework of his request to avoid the hour and the cup (14.35-36). Before considering the passage itself, it is important to note that the assumption of God’s omnipotence is essential for understanding Jesus’ appeal. Mark first mentions this theme of God’s ability at Gethsemane by summarizing Jesus’ request: ‘if it is possible (ei) dunato/n)’, and Jesus begins by praying, ‘Abba, Father, all things are possible for you (pa/nta dunata\ soi)’ (14.35-36).22 Therefore, this prayer acknowledges Jesus’ belief that God is the one who is choosing to send Jesus to his death as implied in Zech. 13.7, as discussed above. Jesus’ prayer is a heartfelt plea to God to find some other way of accomplishing God’s purposes while recognizing God’s own role in bringing about Jesus’ passion.23 20. Sharyn Echols Dowd calls this a ‘dialectical tension’ between God’s power and human suffering (Prayer, Power, and the Problem of Suffering: Mark 11:22-25 in the Context of Markan Theology [SBLDS 105; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988], 161). 21. See, in particular, Reinhard Feldmeier, who claims that Jesus experiences a spiritual crisis in Gethsemane when God does not audibly answer his prayer (Die Krisis des Gottessohnes: Die Gethsemaneerzählung als Schlüssel der Markuspassion [WUNT 2/21; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1987], passim, but esp. 237–45). 22. John R. Donahue and Daniel J. Harrington rightly say: ‘The phrase “if possible” does not cast doubt on the power of God so much as it asks that God somehow change the divine plan regarding Jesus’ suffering and death’ (The Gospel of Mark, [SP 2; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2002], 408). 23. ‘God … is not bound by any preordained system or constraints, even those of his own making (see on 13:19-20)’ (Boring, Mark, 398). See, similarly, Donahue and Harrington, The Gospel of Mark, 408, and Brown, The Death of the Messiah, 1:177–8. For Byrne, ‘Humanly, [Jesus] prays that divine power might find some other way to achieve the goal set before him. The “possibility” that this might be the case slips away as he aligns his will completely with the will of the Father’ (A Costly Freedom, 225). I challenge Byrne’s summary of 14.36 at only one point: the possibility of ‘find[ing] some other way’ does not disappear immediately, as Mark has Jesus pray ‘the same words’ (14.39) three times (14.41), presumably including both his request and his recognition of God’s will.

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This belief in God’s omnipotence echoes several other passages in the Gospel of Mark.24 The first place that Mark’s narrative refers to the question of God’s or Jesus’ ability to accomplish various deeds is in the conversation between Jesus and the father of the epileptic boy (9.19-29). There, the boy’s father is distraught at the disciples’ inability to heal his son, and so he sceptically speaks to Jesus, saying, ‘But if you are able, help us and have compassion on us’ (9.22). Jesus reproaches him: ‘“If you are able!” All things are possible [pa/nta dunata/] for the one who has faith’ (9.23). At the conclusion of this miracle story, the disciples privately ask Jesus why they could not cast out the spirit. Jesus claims that this kind of spirit ‘is not able to come out of anyone except through prayer’ (9.29).25 This surprising teaching implies that the disciples either do not know how to pray or are not effective in doing so. To this end, later in the Gospel Jesus’ teaching on prayer (11.22-25) is connected to his instructions about the importance of faith. Here in Mark 9, Jesus’ teaching about the faith or trust required for a healing is inseparable from one’s belief about what God can do, and at this point, particularly what God can do through Jesus. The affirmation of faith does not question God’s ability, because all things are possible. Doubting in one’s heart becomes the only detriment to a limitlessly powerful faith in an omnipotent God (11.23). Jesus’ words in this text collide dramatically, though not irreparably, with his prayer in Gethsemane, as we will see. Another question about what God is able to do comes in the dialogue between Jesus and his disciples, after Jesus’ conversation with the rich man who will not give up his wealth to follow Jesus (10.17-22). Upon hearing Jesus’ scepticism about the difficulty of salvation for the rich, his disciples ask him, ‘Who can be saved (ti/j du/natai swqh~nai)?’ And Jesus replies, ‘With humans, this is impossible (a)du/naton), but not with God, for all things are possible (pa/nta dunata/) with God (para\ tw|~ qew|~)’ (10.27). God’s omnipotent ability is contrasted with humans’ inability, particularly concerning salvation. God – and Jesus, as in Mark 9, above – can save people from death (5.41; 9.26-27; 10.30).26 24. Similar studies are undertaken by William Sanger Campbell (‘Engagement, Disengagement, Obstruction: Jesus’ Defense Strategies in Mark’s Trial and Execution Scenes (14.53-64; 15:1-39)’, JSNT 26 (2004): 283–300 [288]), and Dowd (Prayer, Power, and the Problem of Suffering, 78–94). 25. Some early manuscripts add kai\ nhstei~a. While there is some external evidence for this reading, the internal evidence is quite poor, given verses like 2.19-20, where fasting is predicted for a time when the bridegroom (Jesus) is absent, rather than when he is present, as in 9.14-29. 26. The first two scripture citations are included here because of their use of e0gei~rw, as both passages foreshadow the time when Jesus will be raised (e.g., 9.9). The third citation, however, refers to Jesus teaching the disciples. For while the disciples learn that persecutions and hundredfold blessings are hallmarks of ‘this age’, they also hear that ‘eternal life’ is their share for the ‘age to come’ (10.30). Such prioritization of life over death is also emphasized in Jesus’ description of God in Mark 12. While debating the resurrection with the Sadducees, Jesus concludes his case by saying: ‘God is not the God of the dead, but of the living’ (12.27). Of course, this theological emphasis makes God’s lack of action in response to Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane seem even more striking.



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Earlier in Mark’s narrative we find others questioning God’s ability to accomplish particular actions as well. During one of the earliest controversy stories, Jesus tells a paralytic, ‘Child, your sins are forgiven’ (2.5). Then, some of the scribes say that this statement is blasphemous, for ‘who is able to forgive sins except God alone [ti/j du/natai a)fie/nai a(marti/aj ei) mh\ ei(~j o( qeo/j]?’ (2.7). Jesus takes this encounter as a chance to teach about what is easier, forgiveness or healing. He implicitly raises the question of who does the forgiving, God or the Son of Man. In this discussion Jesus ties his ability to accomplish tasks like forgiveness or healing to God’s own ability. Therefore, whatever is possible for God (i.e., forgiveness) is also possible for the Son of Man, because of his authority (2.10).27 This identification between the power and authority of God and that of Jesus creates precisely the surprising aporia of Gethsemane. As a mortal, Jesus is unable to take away (parafe/rw: 14.36) the cup from himself, and so he asks God, who can do the impossible, to take it away for him. It is this theological and christological disconnect that separates Gethsemane from the rest of the Gospel.28 Mark demonstrates this separation by overwhelming his audience with words relating to Jesus’ grief and distress. After Jesus takes Peter, James, and John aside from the rest of the disciples, Mark says that ‘he began to be greatly distressed [e0kqambei~sqai]29 and profoundly troubled [a)dhmonei~n] and he said, ‘My soul is deeply grieved [peri/lupoj] up to the point of death [e3wj qana/tou]’ (14.33-34). These four Greek words bracketed above emphasize the depth of grief and desperation that defines Jesus’ experience in Gethsemane.30 As Jesus separates himself from Peter, James, and John (14.34), Mark portrays the depth of Jesus’ distress as Jesus falls to the ground in prayer (14.35). First, Mark summarizes Jesus’ prayer: ‘if it is possible that this hour might pass from him’, then recounts Jesus’ direct speech: ‘Abba, Father, all things are possible for you: take away this cup from me, but not what I want but what you want’ (14.36).31 Contrary 27. See discussion above, Chapter 3. 28. Dowd highlights the shift in Mark’s portrayal of Jesus’ emotional state as well (Prayer, Power, and the Problem of Suffering, 153). 29. Ekqa/mbein only occurs in Mark (9.15; 14.33; 16.5-6) in the NT (see below, Chapter 8). 30. Brown translates e0kqambe~sqai as ‘to be greatly distraught’ (cf. Sir. 30.9; Mk 9.15; 16.56), indicating ‘profound disarray, expressed physically before a terrifying event: a shuddering horror’. Adhmonei~n is translated ‘to be troubled’, and it ‘has a root connotation of being separated from others, a situation that results in anguish’ (The Death of the Messiah, 1:153). Furthermore, these descriptions ‘represent Jesus as barely in control, on the verge of panic, reflecting not only the depth of suffering of a human being who shudders on the threshold of torture and death, but also the numinous terror of the eschatological, transcendent nature of what is about to transpire, a sorrow and anguish so intense it already threatens his life’ (Boring, Mark, 397). 31. The ‘content’ of this ‘cup’ has been a perennial question in scholarship on this passage. If interpreted against OT allusions, it is usually understood to be the cup of divine wrath (e.g., Ps. 75.8; Jer. 25.15-29; Ezek. 23.31-34; Hab. 2.16; Pss. Sol. 8.14-15; 1QpHab 11.10; see Marcus, Mark 8–16, 978) or the cup of death, based on the setting in Mark’s Gospel (cf. 10.35-40). The distinction between these two is most clearly laid out by Matthew Black (‘The Cup Metaphor

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to Jesus’ staid comments on his suffering and death (and resurrection) in the rest of the Gospel, Jesus is utterly distraught in Gethsemane, brought to grief by these very concerns.32 Elsewhere in the Second Gospel, Jesus consistently states that he will be killed in Jerusalem by his enemies (8.31; 9.31; 10.33-34), that one of his own will betray him (14.18-21), and that the Son of Man comes ‘to give his life as a ransom for many’ (10.45), except at Gethsemane. Mark’s audience knows that Jesus’ enemies have been plotting his demise at least since ch. 3 (v. 6). Jesus has given no indication that he will seek to avoid his death; indeed, he expresses no emotion related to it whatsoever, and rebukes Peter when Peter objects to such an end (8.32-33). In this way, the depth of Jesus’ emotion at Gethsemane takes Mark’s readers by surprise. As we noted above, these surprising emotions are expressed in the first sentence Jesus tells Peter, James, and John: ‘My soul is grieved until death: stay here and watch’ (14.34). The italicized words reflect similar phrases from the righteous sufferer in the psalms (e.g., Ps. 42.6, 7, 12; 43.5). In Psalms 42–43, a sufferer pleads for God’s presence in the midst of enemies who demand: ‘Where is your God?’33 The sufferer exhorts himself to ‘have hope in God’ though his soul is sorrowful (42.6, 12) and it seems God has forgotten him (42.10). The psalmist charges God to ‘vindicate’ him so that he may, in turn praise God, as he is now trying to do (43.1, 4; 42.6, 12). In Gethsemane, Jesus’ allusion to this psalm is particularly striking. Jesus shares in the psalmist’s experience of a grieving soul and a perceived abandonment by God and seeks vindication by the removal of his future suffering and death.34 Moreover, it seems as though the psalmist’s exhortation to ‘have hope in God’ is embodied in Jesus’ acquiescence: ‘not what I want, but what you want’ in Mark xiv. 36’, ExpTim 29 (1947–48): 195). See also Brown, The Death of the Messiah, 1:168–71. Those who see Jesus’ suffering and death implied by the usage of the terms ‘cup’ and ‘hour’ include: Jeffrey B. Gibson, The Temptations of Jesus in Early Christianity (JSNTSup 112; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1995), 248; Culpepper, Mark, 503; Adela Yarbro Collins, ‘“Remove This Cup”: Suffering and Healing in the Gospel of Mark’, in Suffering and Healing in Our Day (ed. Francis A. Eigo; Villanova, PA: Villanova University Press, 1990), 29–61; Maurice Casey, ‘The Original Aramaic Form of Jesus’ Interpretation of the Cup’, JTS 41 (1990): 1–12. 32. Brendan Byrne poignantly states, ‘Again and again [Jesus] has made clear his destiny to suffer and die … now … we see him go to pieces before our eyes … Nowhere else in the Gospel do we see Jesus so humanly presented, and yet nowhere else are we given such intimate access to his relationship with the Father’ (A Costly Freedom, 224). Based on Byrne’s summary, it seems that Mark’s narrative at Gethsemane points to a christological paradox as well: it is at Jesus’ weakest and most ‘human’ (see Heb. 5.7) that Mark’s audience witnesses his closeness to God, despite God’s silence. However, it is true that Jesus ‘conveys the same confidence in God’s ability’ as he has previously in the Gospel (cf. 10.27). See Campbell, ‘Engagement, Disengagement, Obstruction’, 288. 33. Ahearne-Kroll, The Psalms of Lament, 183. 34. On this point, see Stuckenbruck: ‘The anguish of Jesus consists precisely in the fact that he knows God is able to deliver him: God can do all things … Jesus does not surrender his will to God, full stop, and his prayer in Gethsemane does not fully resolve the inner tension attributed to him. Jesus’ convictions along both lines – in God’s active power and in the necessity of the cross – continue to be active until the very end’ (‘Spiritual Formation and the Gospel of Mark’, 89).



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(14.36). A prayer and description that uses the language of scripture should be the prime example of a prayer offered in faithfulness, which can therefore expect a response.35 Of course, this is the problem at Gethsemane. Jesus’ faithful attitude and prayer, invoking scripture (Ps. 42.6, 12), paradoxically counter the scripture he previously quoted (Zech. 13.7), which prophesied God’s action in his death (14.27).36 A faithful, yet unanswered, prayer also comes into conflict with Jesus’ teachings earlier in the Gospel, as we noted above. Immediately after Jesus decries the Temple establishment for failing to be a house of prayer for all peoples (11.17), Jesus teaches the disciples: ‘whatever’ (pa/nta o3sa) they pray and ask, upon believing they receive it, it will be theirs (11.24). This theological carte blanche provides essential background for Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane.37 If God answers Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane, however, the answer comes in the form of Judas’ betrayal (14.41-42), who arrives as God’s instrument to ‘strike the shepherd’ (14.27; see final section, below). In this way, Jesus’ prayer stands out in sharp relief against his own teaching.38 This paradox unfolds in the narrative not due to Jesus’ lack of faith, as an unanswered prayer might imply (11.22-25). Instead, Jesus asks God to work in a paradoxical manner precisely because of his faith in a God who can do the impossible.39

35. Dowd, Prayer, Power, and the Problem of Suffering, 111. 36. As Ahearne-Kroll states: ‘The scriptural justification of Jesus’ suffering – the Son of Man must go as it is written of him (Mark 14:21) – begins to be problematized by scripture itself – scripture written in the voice of David, one of the most influential figures from Israel’s history … “As it is written of him” is now more than a scriptural justification and expression of God’s will for Jesus’ suffering. It includes competing voices that offer a complex understanding of how humans should search for an understanding of God’s ways in the midst of suffering’ (The Psalms of Lament, 187). 37. As Dowd says, ‘By [Gethsemane] Jesus himself is overcome with horror and anguish and the audience realizes that they are the ones who have been betrayed because the conflict between power and suffering has not been settled in advance and the evangelist has closed off all possible avenues of escape’ (Prayer, Power, and the Problem of Suffering, 155). 38. At the same time, there are ways in which Jesus’ prayer fits very well into its context in Mark’s Gospel. C. Clifton Black explains: ‘It is one thing to ask whether God can make a mountain too heavy to lift. The real question is why Jesus refuses to ask God to move the mountain that must remain fixed (cf. 11:22-24). Having reached the Passion Narrative, readers can intuit an answer: through prayer, Jesus has become a little child who can lose his life for the gospel (10:15), if God’s will demands – for only by doing so can his life, like others’, be made whole (8:34-38). At Gethsemane the teacher trusts that what he has received is what he has finally asked for: that God’s will be done (14:36; see 11:24)’ (Mark, 297). 39. Campbell contrasts Mark’s imperative (‘take this cup from me’; 14.36) with Matthew’s and Luke’s ‘hesitancy’ (‘if it is possible’ [Mt. 26.39] or ‘if you are willing’ [Lk. 22.42]; ‘Engagement, Disengagement, Obstruction’, 287). It is worth noting that the majority of the manuscripts of Luke still maintain the imperative (pare/negke) of Mark; however, Campbell is correct that this command is couched in phrases that appear to be more cautious. This is particularly true in the Lukan manuscripts that replace the imperative with an infinitive (rendering: ‘if you are willing to take …’) instead (e.g., ‫א‬, A, W, K, L, and M).

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Jesus’ affirmation of God’s omnipotence has precedence in Mark’s narrative, as we have seen. Nevertheless, Jesus’ actual request, whether phrased indirectly by Mark (‘that the hour might pass from him’) or spoken by Jesus (‘Take this cup from me’), has no precursor in the Gospel. Indeed, Jesus’ previous references to the ‘hour’ have, at significant points, directed the audience’s attention toward the eschatological hour (13.11, 32) when Jesus’ words (13.23) and the words given by the Holy Spirit (13.11) will prove fortuitous. Jesus’ confidence in the face of the trials of that coming hour (13.20) certainly contrasts with his request here. Now, in Mark’s paraphrase, he asks God to counter his own prophetic words about his future, saving him from this hour. Similarly, with respect to the direct discourse of Jesus’ prayer, Jesus has previously not only accepted the cup (14.23) but has promised and offered it to his willing (10.38-39) and unwitting (14.23) disciples.40 If one connects this cup to the one just mentioned at the Passover meal, drinking from it seems to be connected with the coming kingdom of God (14.25). Mark presents a thematic, though not linguistic, parallel between the supper and Gethsemane: just as Jesus has taken (labw/n) the cup and offered it to his disciples, so now he wants God – his Abba, Father (1.11; 9.7) – to take away (par/enegke) the cup from him. Though Jesus’ emotional state is expressed in terms of scripture, here Jesus wants God to counter scripture (14.21, 27, 49) as well as Jesus’ prophetic words concerning his forthcoming passion and death, just as God has done before.41 With Mark’s presentation of God’s paradoxical activity in mind, Jesus’ prayer has narrative precedent, even if his conclusion of acquiescence to God’s will renders such paradoxical action unnecessary.42 Because God can do all things, paradoxically confirming and countering scripture, Jesus’ request for God to take the cup from him fits into Mark’s larger theological picture of God’s action in the kingdom. Prayer in Gethsemane appears to be a request for God, who can do the impossible, to work creatively through situations without apparent alternatives. Jesus prays for God to work paradoxically, affirming the significance of Zech. 13.7 as well as his own passion predictions, and yet claiming that God can also counter scriptural proclamation. God, who can do the impossible, answers with silence and the footsteps of Judas (14.41).

40. See also Culpepper, Mark, 503. 41. Again, see above, Chapter 3, referring to Mk 4.12 (Isa. 6.9-10) and Mk 7.37 (allusion to Isa. 35.5). 42. Note Dowd’s caveat: ‘The prayer of submission does not replace the prayer for divine intervention; it accompanies it’ (Prayer, Power, and the Problem of Suffering, 157).



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Section II: Concealment and Revelation: God’s Action and Jesus’ Opponents Mk 14.27-42 attests to a second paradox besides God’s ability to fulfil contradictory scriptures at once. This paradox is the dichotomy of concealment and revelation: God acts, throughout the Gospel, by concealed revelation. In Chapter 2, above, we could see how Mark uses passive verbs, particular vocabulary (e.g., musth/rion and parabolai~), and the literary context of Mk 4.10-12 to demonstrate this paradox. Furthermore, particular parables in Mark 4 (e.g., vv. 21-32) show how concealment will eventually serve the purposes of revelation, but currently the two exist together. In one particular parable in Mk 4.26-29, it seems that God’s concealment and God’s activity advances the goals of Jesus’ opponents, as they ‘harvest’ him as the ‘fruit’ which is ripe (4.29).43 This parabolic passion prediction functions not only to reiterate Jesus’ coming death, even early in the Gospel, but it is also a model for how God acts in the passion narrative: as Zech. 13.7 testifies, God strikes the shepherd, Jesus, and the sheep, his followers, are scattered (14.27).44 Mk 14.32-42 displays this paradox of God’s activity in concealment and revelation in the disciples’ slumber as well as in Jesus’ enemies, as both lead to the events prophesied: the disciples’ desertion and Jesus’ suffering and death.45 Through the prophetic words of both Jesus and Zechariah, Mark’s audience has been forewarned of Jesus’ death and resurrection as well as the disciples’ abandonment and restoration. In Gethsemane, the narrative highlights the growing chasm between Jesus and his disciples in preparation for Jesus’ feeling utterly forsaken on the cross (15.34). By illuminating how the disciples disobey Jesus’ commands and demonstrate ignorance of their eschatological and physical setting, Mark shows how Jesus’ closest followers will fall away. The fact that Mark’s audience can understand more of the Gethsemane narrative than Jesus’ disciples can demonstrates the irony of the account: the knowledge of Mark’s authorial audience increases as the ignorance of the disciples increases. At the same time, Mark’s authorial audience cannot

43. See above, Chapter 2. 44. Given the direct divine agency implied in striking the shepherd (pata/cw), it seems logical that the passive verb (diaskopisqh/sontai) is a divine passive (14.27). 45. Sharyn Echols Dowd and Elizabeth Struthers Malbon clarify the cosmic drama they see present in Jesus’ passion: ‘As was the case earlier when the divine Spirit threw Jesus out into the wilderness to be tested by the cosmically evil Satan, so here the divine agency of the one who takes away the bridegroom precedes the human agency of the religious and political officials who conspire against him’ (‘The Saving Significance of Jesus’ Death: Narrative Context and Authorial Audience’, JBL 125 (2006): 271–97 [276].) From a different perspective, Adela Yarbro Collins summarizes Mark’s reflection of God’s activity vis-à-vis evil thus: ‘God not only allows evil to happen but even wills it in order to accomplish a larger purpose – the redemption of all creation’ (The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992], 72).

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precisely determine the reason for the disciples’ desertion. Does God scatter them (14.27)? Are they unable to ‘watch’ (14.34, cf. 13.33-37) of their own accord, because they have entered into the ‘time of trial’ unprepared (14.38)? Do they encounter other forces of evil that shut their eyes (14.40)? These questions point to the paradox of Mark’s presentation of God’s action with respect to the disciples: while the audience may know more than the disciples, and therefore may notice the irony of their ignorance, they do not know what caused the disciples to disobey Jesus’ commands. Therefore, the reason behind the disciples’ desertion appears to be a paradox to Mark’s audience, and indeed, it is part of the paradox of the revelation and concealment of divine activity.46 The previous section in this chapter focused on the words of Jesus’ prayer. However, Jesus’ plea to God is only half of Gethsemane’s story.47 The other half of the narrative focuses on Jesus’ relationship with his disciples. Coming away with Peter, James, and John, as he often does in the Second Gospel (5.37; 9.2; 13.3 [with Andrew]), Jesus instructs this triumvirate to ‘stay here and watch’ (14.34) while he is under severe emotional distress. After his prayer, he finds the disciples sleeping. His reproach to Peter contrasts God’s omnipotent ability, illuminated in his prayer (14.35-36), with Peter’s lack of strength (14.37).48 While Jesus prays for this hour’s passing, Peter spends the hour sleeping. Early manuscripts appear to have made the connection between Jesus’ dialogue at Gethsemane and his instructions to the disciples earlier in the eschatological discourse, also on the Mount of Olives (13.33-37). Jesus has told them to ‘watch and do not sleep [a)grupnei~te], because you do not know [oi1date] when the time will come’ (13.33). There is moderate evidence in the manuscript traditions for an additional exhortation after ‘do not sleep’, in which Jesus says, ‘and pray [kai\ proseu/xesqe]’.49 Such manuscript interpolation gives weight to an interpretation of Gethsemane that highlights the connections between the ‘lord’ who returns to his house suddenly in Mk 13.34-37 and Jesus’ surprising return to his sleeping disciples in Gethsemane. The exhortations remain the same in both passages: ‘watch’, and in Gethsemane, ‘pray’ (grhgorei~te [14.34, 37, 38; 13.34-35, 37] kai\

46. For more information on the distinction here between irony (what Mark’s authorial audience knows yet the narrative audience is ignorant) and paradox (ignorance both on the levels of the narrative and authorial audiences), see Chapter 1, above. 47. Werner H. Kelber traces these two halves of the Gethsemane story (Jesus’ prayer and Jesus’ interactions with the disciples) along the lines of formgeschichte before concluding that the narrative as a whole (14.32-42) shows that Mark ‘is not merely the redactor, but to a high degree the creator and composer of the Gethsemane story’ (‘Mark 14:32-42: Gethsemane: Passion Christology and Discipleship Failure’, ZNW 63 (1972): 166–87 [176]). 48. Mark presents another paradoxical contrast here. Throughout this passage, Jesus’ mortality and humanity has been emphasized. Yet, the contrast between Jesus’ fortitude and the disciples’ weakness could not be sharper. 49. This variant is found in ‫א‬, A, C, W, all Greek codices from the fourth and fifth centuries, as well as Latin, Syriac, and Coptic translations that date back to that time.



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proseu/xesqe [14.38]).50 The disciples fail to stay awake, failing to pray, and therefore they fail at the ‘time of trial’ (peirasmo/v) and will continue to do so. This interpretation holds the disciples as accountable for their own actions: they needed to be stronger to stay awake, following the willing spirit and not the fallible flesh (14.38). Nevertheless, Jesus’ second return to the disciples shifts the perspective. While Jesus has been praying the same words to God in request and submission, Peter, James, and John have continued to sleep (14.40). This time, however, the narrator tells the audience that the disciples were sleeping ‘because their eyes were heavy’ (14.40). While on one level this is a very realistic portrayal of fatigue, on another level it reflects the broader themes of sight and revelation in Mark. With heavy eyes, the disciples are physically manifesting their blindness (4.12; 8.14-21). They do not see Jesus’ torment, and they do not see the significance of ‘the hour’ (14.37) and Jesus’ commands (14.34, 38). This blindness is further emphasized in the next phrase, as Mark says the disciples do not know what to say to Jesus (kai\ ou)k h1|deisan ti/ a) pokriqw~sin au)tw~|: 14.40). This phrase reflects Peter’s response to Jesus on another mountain (9.2), as Peter suggests building tents for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, a reply which the narrator explains with a similar phrase: Peter did not know what he was saying (ou) ga\r h1|dei ti/ a)pokriqh~|) because of his fear (9.6).51 Just as Peter was blinded by Jesus’ glory at the transfiguration, so he and the others are blinded by Jesus’ suffering in Gethsemane. Since God has a role in striking the shepherd and scattering the disciples (14.27) and a role in blinding and deafening to prevent understanding (4.12), it seems that the disciples’ slumber in Gethsemane is not entirely of their own making. God’s action may also be behind their sleepiness and their ignorance, in order to produce the predicted result: ‘all will fall away’ (14.27). The disciples’ lack of prayer seems to ensure the prophecy’s foregone conclusion. Furthermore, it is helpful to note that Mark has saturated this passage with eschatological language.52 While the analysis above noted that Jesus’ exhortations to the disciples reflect the language of Mark 13, commands to ‘watch’ only scratch the surface of language that illustrates that this passage narrates time on an eschatological boundary.53 Mark has said that Jesus prays, 50. It is certainly a curious aspect of Mark’s Gethsemane account that Jesus never asks his disciples to pray for him, but rather for themselves (14.38; not at 14.34). The temptation (peirasmo/v) is also directed towards them, and apparently not towards Jesus despite his grief. This caveat is in agreement with Kelber, ‘Mark 14:32-42’, 177; contra Gibson, who applies the language of peirasmo/v to both Jesus and the disciples, assuming that it summarizes the entire ‘time’ Jesus and his disciples ‘spend at Gethsemane’ (Temptations of Jesus, 244–5). 51. See also Kelber, ‘Mark 14:32-42’, 180. 52. Eschatology will be the focus again at Golgotha, see below, Chapter 7. 53. For a similar reflection on the eschatological language of this passage (and its connections with an earlier text in Mk 5.21-43) see C. Clifton Black, ‘Does Suffering Possess Educational Value in Mark’s Gospel?’, in Character Ethics and the New Testament: Moral Dimensions of Scripture (ed. Robert L. Brawley; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007), 3–17 [esp. 11].

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if it is possible, for the hour (h( w3ra) to pass from him (14.34).54 This language appears to be related, at least loosely, to the ‘hour’ of trial the disciples – and by extension, Mark’s audience – anticipate (13.11) and for which they need to watch (ble/pete, grhgorei~te: 14.33, 37) because only the Father knows when it will occur (13.32).55 Mark’s paraphrase of Jesus’ prayer pleads that the hour ‘might pass’ (pare/lqh|), similar to the future passing away (pareleu/sontai) of heaven and earth before this generation passes away (pare/lqh|: 13.31).56 Furthermore, at the conclusion of Jesus’ prayers and the disciples’ slumber, Jesus says that his betrayer (o( paradidou/v) has ‘drawn near’ (h1ggiken), using the same term that described the advent of the kingdom of God in his first proclamation (1.15). Gethsemane serves as an eschatological boundary, pointing to the rapidly advancing ‘hour’ (h)~lqen h( w3ra: 14.41). In this liminal space, Jesus’ opponents can be found both as supposed insiders (Peter, James, and John’s lack of strength to watch) and so-called outsiders (the betrayer, the chief priests, and even the crowd: 14.43). Paradoxically, God works through both the disciples and Jesus’ enemies – and especially Judas, Jesus’ discipleturned-enemy – to bring about Jesus’ death.57 God’s action through Jesus’ enemies seems even stranger as this passage concludes. The answer to Jesus’ prayer comes when Judas has finished his betrayal (a)pe/xei)58 and the hour that he was praying to avoid arrives (14.41;

54. We have already seen, above, that Mark implies a connection between the ‘cup’ Jesus is to drink at Golgotha and the one he and his disciples have already drank at the supper (14.23). The latter, and likely the former, anticipates a future in the kingdom of God in which Jesus is to participate, and possibly soon, though the temporal referent is indeterminate (h( h(me/ra e0kei/nh: 14.25). 55. See Schweizer, who connects this hour to ‘apocalyptic literature where [the term] indicated the hour of consummation, the final judgment (Dan 11:40, 45 LXX). What this passage says is that in the midst of history that hour will strike which goes beyond all history’ (Mark, 312). On the eschatological significance of both ‘cup’ and ‘hour’, see further, Boring, Mark, 397. 56. See also Culpepper, Mark, 502. 57. See Robert Barbour for a slightly different explication of the collapsing of distinctions between God’s testing and Satan’s tempting in Gethsemane (‘Gethsemane in the Tradition of the Passion’, NTS 16 [1970]: 231–51). 58. This is a famous crux interpretum. Boring conservatively states, ‘No interpreter or translator can operate with confidence here’ (Mark, 396). See Brown, The Death of the Messiah, Appendix IIIA, 2:1379–83, for reflections on his conclusion which I have adopted, reflecting the general connotation of monetary transactions, specifically ‘to be paid in full’. Therefore, this is an allusion to Judas’ betrayal (ibid., 208–9; BDAG, a)pe/xw, 102). Donahue and Harrington (The Gospel of Mark, 410) follow Brown. For a contrasting view, see Marcus, who translates the phrase, ‘Is the hour far away? It has come,’ by transposing subject (hour) and antecedent (it) in the English translation. Marcus believes that the reference to Judas in 14.11 is ‘rather far from the present one, and nothing in the immediately preceding context would signal to readers that financial matters or Judas were being discussed.’ Therefore, Marcus chooses a different meaning of a)pe/xein, ‘to be distant’ (Mark 8–16, 980–1). However, since the following verse refers to the betrayal of the Son of Man by the one Mark’s audience has known will betray him since he was introduced (cf. 3.19), it is not unreasonable to relate a)pe/xein to Judas’s betrayal and financial settlement (14.42).



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cf. 14.35). Mark repeats this pattern of God’s action concealed behind the conduct of Jesus’ enemies through Jesus’ trial and crucifixion, because each of these events continues the same story: ‘it is necessary’ for the Son of Man to suffer, be killed, and on the third day, rise (cf. 8.31).59 While the nature of this necessity is not defined, and Mark does not explain the cross rationally, there is no doubt, in light of Jesus’ words in 14.27, that God’s action is behind striking the shepherd. As the passion predictions claim, this deed may be divine necessity, but it is carried out by the elders, chief priests, and scribes (8.31), by people (a)nqrw/poi: 9.31), and by the Gentiles (10.33). The betrayal of the Son of Man is ‘as it is written’, but the betrayer remains cursed (14.21). Such paradoxical revelation, yet concealment, of divine action is both comforting and challenging for Mark’s audience, much like 4.10-12. God’s revealed presence, though silent and hidden, through Jesus’ enemies means that God has not deserted Jesus, despite Jesus’ perception of isolation. Yet, this presence is hidden, and hidden in a way that concludes with Jesus’ suffering and death. In the same surprisingly paradoxical way we have seen in Mark 4, God’s presence and absence astonishes and confounds.

Conclusion Jesus’ petition in his prayer and his exhortations to his disciples demonstrate that his own descriptions and proclamations of the kingdom do not prohibit his request for things to change. Since God paradoxically fulfils opposing scriptures in dynamic and surprising ways, it follows that God could complete these scriptures differently. While challenging his earlier teaching on faithful prayer and seeming inconsistent with Jesus’ knowledge in the rest of Mark’s narrative, Jesus’ prayer attests to his request for God’s action. Indeed, Jesus’ prayer directly counters his previous prophecy of God’s promised action in striking the shepherd. By the conclusion of Jesus’ prayer and the disciples’ conduct, however, it is clear that the foretold path will be the final one. At the same time though, Gethsemane is where Jesus accepts his path to the cross as God’s will, which makes the cross all the more terrifying. The kingdom of God, drawn near in Jesus, is not about salvation from death.60 59. See W. Grundmann, ‘dei’~, TDNT 2:21–5; Dowd, Prayer, Power, and the Problem of Suffering, 134; Boring, Mark, 407. For a similar study on the theme of divine necessity in Luke-Acts, see Charles Cosgrove (‘The Divine DEI in Luke-Acts: Investigations into the Lukan Understanding of God’s Providence’, NovT 26 [1984]: 168–90) and John T. Squires (The Plan of God in Luke-Acts [SNTSMS 76; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993]). 60. In light of the whole NT witness, one might say that instead of salvation from death, the testimony of scripture is salvation by death. Mark is not extremely precise about the connection between ‘salvation’ language, as such, and Jesus’ crucifixion. Nevertheless, Dowd and Malbon state similarly to the above comments, ‘The coming reign of God that the Markan Jesus announces and makes known in his life does not retreat at his death’ (‘The Saving Significance of Jesus’ Death’, 292). The parables of Mark 4 also demonstrate this (vv. 26-29).

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Jesus’ death is intrinsically part of the kingdom of God as narrated by scripture, through parables, and in Mark’s overall story. Jesus’ prayer is not verbally answered, but the implicit answer is confirmed by the appearance of Judas and the armed crowd, who arrive at night (14.48-49), in secret (cf. 14.1-2), such that he is completely abandoned by his followers, who flee for their lives rather than losing them (14.50).61 By expressing God’s action paradoxically as revelation in concealment, Mark shows how God has worked through these figures to bring about Jesus’ impending trial and death. The darkness has descended: the shepherd is struck and the Twelve are scattered.

61. Mark later notes that Jesus’ female followers witness the crucifixion, therefore do not fall away – yet (15.40-41).

Chapter 7 Climactic Concealment and the Wastefully Sent Son: Golgotha (15.22-39) Thus far, passages in Mark’s passion narrative reflect the three paradoxes we have seen in the parables of Mark 4: God conceals revelation, acts in inherently good and wasteful ways, and fulfils and counters scriptures at the same time. In Chapter 5 we noted how an anonymous woman’s actions in anointing Jesus (14.3-9) bring to mind the sower’s action with wasteful and good results (4.3-9, 14-20). Jesus’ interactions with his disciples and his isolation in prayer at Gethsemane (14.27-42) were examined in Chapter 6, clarifying the paradoxical claim that God can fulfil contradictory scriptures at the same time. Furthermore, in Gethsemane, Mark provides hints that demonstrate God’s working through Jesus’ opponents to bring about his suffering and death, concealing yet revealing God’s presence. Close inquiry into these paradoxes serve to illuminate the way in which Mark speaks about God’s action and presence at specific points within the Gospel’s narrative. Of course, there is a theological correlate to this literary observation: paradox is an appropriate way to speak about a God whose presence resists definition and whose actions are often surprising. This chapter continues to explore the paradoxes we have identified at the Gospel’s narratival, theological, and christological climax: Jesus’ crucifixion (15.22-39). In fact, Mark’s narrative at Golgotha demonstrates quite clearly the benefits of considering the activity of God in the Second Gospel apart from Jesus. As Mark presents it, God is active in, through, and near Jesus’ death. This means that Jesus’ cry of forsakenness from the cross is not the last word about God, even at Golgotha. Understanding Mark’s paradoxical language throughout the Second Gospel prepares the audience for God’s distinction from – and identification with – the dying Son of God (15.39). This chapter focuses on examples of two of the paradoxes we have previously seen illustrated in Mark: God’s revelation occurs in concealment, and God also wastefully sends the son to a death with effects that amplify a hope for good.1

1. One might expect to find the paradox of God’s action confirming and countering scriptures at Golgotha. While Mark widely uses scripture in his Golgotha narrative in citation (e.g., 15.24, 34) and allusion (e.g., 15.31-32, 33, 36, 38), he either interprets these scriptures along the lines of a straightforward model of fulfilment (as in 14.49) or he emphasizes their ironic function (see below). Unlike at Gethsemane, Jesus does not ask God to counter scripture: rather, Jesus uses

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Mark expresses the paradox of concealed revelation in two primary ways. First, divine revelation is most apparent at three points in the Gospel of Mark when a voice breaks into the narrative affirming Jesus as God’s son (1.11; 9.7; 15.39). Two of these proclamations come from heaven (1.11: Jesus’ baptism) or the clouds (9.7: Jesus’ transfiguration), while the third comes from a centurion at Golgotha. In each case, the voice is accompanied by a divine action. This conjunction of voice and action is particularly important at Golgotha, for it allows Mark’s audience to discern that God is present, though hidden: again, revelation occurs in concealment. The second way in which Mark describes this paradox of concealed revelation is in God’s action through Jesus’ opponents. We see this paradox in this book’s previous chapters that consider both Mark 4 and Gethsemane: God ‘strikes the shepherd’, but Jesus’ opponents (chief priests, scribes, elders, Gentiles, and people in general; 8.31; 9.31; 10.33-34) are the ones who carry out his death sentence. This is similar to one of the parables in Mark 4: as the parable of the farmer and the seed (4.26-29) notes, even Jesus’ enemies can unknowingly carry out God’s will when that will encompasses Jesus’ suffering and death. At the cross, the taunts of the bystanders reiterate this theme: through the use of irony, Mark shows that those who deride Jesus see and do not perceive, but their words mean more than they know. Their blindness echoes the themes and the vocabulary of Mk 4.12 (Isa. 6.9). The drama of Jesus’ crucifixion does not end in irony alone, however.2 Paradoxically, God has hardened the hearts of Jesus’ antagonists, yet God can reveal truth through their confessions without their knowing it. This is epitomized in the confession of the centurion in 15.39, when he says: ‘Truly, this person was God’s son.’ God’s action through Jesus’ opponents is another way in which God’s revelation is concealed. The second paradox at Golgotha is that God’s action is wasteful and at the same time contains hints of magnificent good.3 Considering the narrative that leads to this point, and in particular, the parable of the vineyard (12.112), it is hard for Mark’s audience to understand how sending the son to the cross at Golgotha cannot be considered wasteful. The parable of the vineyard refers to Jesus, allegorically, as ‘the beloved’, as previously stated in God’s proclamations in the Gospel (12.6; cf. 1.11; 9.7). This emphasizes Jesus’ singularity of status: God sends the beloved son to die in this horrific manner, feeling abandoned (15.34).4 At the same time, however, Mark’s narrative scriptural words to articulate his own complaint about God’s apparent forsakenness (see below, on concealment and revelation). In other words, where scripture appears in Mark’s account of Jesus’ crucifixion, it either does not attest to God’s paradoxical action, or it is used in service of one of the other paradoxes we have identified. 2. For a more detailed discussion of the differences between irony and paradox, see above, Chapter 1. 3. See Chapter 4, above, for definitions of these terms. 4. Even more striking is that the Second Gospel is remarkably reticent about the purpose of Jesus’ death. Beyond the ransom saying (10.45), there are only shadows of what later becomes a more defined understanding of the significance of Jesus’ death (see below, and Sharyn Echols Dowd and Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, ‘The Significance of Jesus’ Death in Mark: Narrative Context and Authorial Audience’, JBL 125 [2006]: 271–91).



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encourages the audience to understand Jesus’ crucifixion within its literary and eschatological context.5 God’s sending of Jesus is wasteful, but there is a shift within the narrative to a broader cosmic perspective. Jesus’ death is wasteful when viewed singularly, but when set against a cosmic background, one sees hope that this divine action is bountifully good, encompassing both temporal and spatial horizons. Furthermore, the ongoing question of how Jesus’ life and death intersect with the activity of evil emerges again here, culminating in an inconclusive conclusion that underlines the paradox of God’s wastefully good actions. Through these paradoxes at Golgotha, we see how Mark’s language about God’s activity enables him to claim that God is both present and absent at the crucifixion.6

Section I: Concealment and Revelation: Voice and Action Previous studies of Mark’s Gospel have highlighted the connecting points between God’s affirmations of Jesus’ sonship (1.11; 9.7) and the centurion’s similar statement (15.39).7 The present analysis works from the similarities between the confessions to a broader consideration of these points. Each of these affirmations of Jesus’ sonship is accompanied by an action, whether that action is rending the heavens (1.9), transfiguring Jesus (9.2), or rending the Temple veil (15.38). As in Mk 4.10-12, God is not mentioned as the explicit agent for any of these actions, yet divine agency is implied. The parallels among these three passages show how God can be present, yet silent, and hidden from Jesus at his death. At the same time, God is manifest and acting at Golgotha. In describing divine action, Mark’s paradoxical language reaches its zenith here. The following analysis focuses on two places in the Gospel which unmistakably identify God’s voice, and three events in which Mark paradoxically describes God’s actions.8 The three passages of note are listed in Table 7.1.

5. Mark’s passion-and-resurrection predictions function this way: Jesus’ death and resurrection affect – or ‘illuminate’ – all of Jesus’ life. Forgetting what comes before and after the cross invalidates the way in which Mark has constructed the Gospel’s narrative. 6. See further below, Chapter 8. 7. See, for instance: Joachim Gnilka, Das Evangelium nach Markus (EKKNT II/2; Zürich: Benziger, 1979), 325; David Ulansey, ‘The Heavenly Veil Torn: Mark’s Cosmic Inclusio’, JBL 110 (1991): 123–5 [123]; Donald H. Juel, A Master of Surprise: Mark Interpreted (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), 36; T. H. Kim, ‘The Anarthrous ui(o\v qeou~ in Mark 15,39 and the Roman Imperial Cult’, Bib 79 (1998), 221–41; Joel Marcus, Mark 8–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AYB 27A; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 1059. 8. As the Introduction notes, identifying where Mark has spoken explicitly about characteristics and actions of God has been the subject of previous scholarship and investigation.

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Mk 1.10-11

Mk 9.2, 7

Mk 15.38-39

… ei)~den sxizome/nouv tou\v ou)ranou\v kai\ to\ pneu~ma w(v peristera\n katabai~non ei)v au)ton:

kai\ metemorfw/qh e1mprosqen au)tw~n …

kai\ to\ katape/tasma tou~ naou~ e0sxi/sqh ei)v du/o a)p’ e1nwqen e3wv ka/tw.

kai\ fwnh\ e0ge/neto e0k tw!n ou)ranw~n:

kai\ e0ge/neto fwhn\ e0k th~v nefe/lhv:

I)dw\n de\ o( kenturi/wn o( paresthkw\v e0c e0nanti/av au)tou~ o3ti ou3twv e0ce/pneusen ei)~pen:

su\ ei)~ o( ui(ov mou o( a)gaphto/v, e0n soi\ eu)do/khsa.

ou(~tov e0stin o( ui(ov mou o( a)gaphto/v, a)kou/ete au)tou~.

a)lhqw~v ou(~tov o( a1nqrwpov ui(ov qeou~ h)~n.

… he saw the heavens being split and the Spirit as a dove descending on him, and a voice came from heaven: ‘You are my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased.’

And he was transfigured before them … And a voice came from the cloud: ‘This is my beloved son, listen to him.’

And the veil of the Temple was split in two from top to bottom. When the centurion who was standing across from him saw that he died thusly, he said, ‘Truly this person was God’s son.’

Table 7.1 First, let us briefly consider the passage at Golgotha, then return to it after looking at the previous two texts (Mk 1.10-11; 9.3, 7).9 In so doing, we can see how Mark describes God’s paradoxical action which reveals Jesus’ identity and God’s own presence while at the same time concealing these christological and theological affirmations. Mark narrates Jesus’ crucifixion with little explanation and no fanfare. For a significant event to which the Gospel has been pointing for many chapters, it is remarkable that Mark describes the event so briefly: ‘and they crucified him’ (15.24: kai\ staurou~sin au)ton; cf. 15.25). The bulk of Mark’s description of the events at Golgotha involves the responses of others to the event (15.29-32) and Jesus’ own response to God (15.33-37). Both of these reactions point to the horrific nature of Jesus’ death and his abandonment by all people,10 their misunderstanding of him, and his own sense of having been abandoned by God. The narrative concludes with what some interpreters have considered to be the ‘climax’ of Mark’s narrative: a centurion, opposite 9. Much of the following analysis reflects insights found in C. Clifton Black, ‘The Face is Familiar – I Just Can’t Place It’, in The Ending of Mark and the Ends of God (eds Beverly Roberts Gaventa and Patrick D. Miller; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2005), 33–49. 10. While Mk 14.50 claims that ‘all abandoned him and fled’, it is clear that the women witness Jesus’ death and burial and do not flee until Easter morning (16.8). See discussion above, Chapter 6.



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the cross, declares, ‘Truly, this person was God’s son’ (15.39).11 Earlier in the narrative a voice from heaven has identified Jesus as God’s beloved son (cf. 1.11; 9.7), as I mentioned above. However, that voice is absent at the crucifixion, as Jesus affirms in his cry (15.34) and the bystanders and mockers abjure (15.30-32). Markan commentators consistently have been interested in the role of this centurion and his proclamation, questioning whether he is truly the divine voice’s proxy. Some scholars are persuaded that the centurion shows the first glimpse of comprehension of Jesus’ identity in the Gospel.12 Others hear an ironic tone in the centurion’s voice, betraying his disbelief at any such proclamation and continuing the mockery of the bystanders, chief priests, and scribes (15.29-32).13 A previous generation of scholarship contended that the centurion’s confession stood apart from the other two affirmations of Jesus’ sonship, particularly by its use of an anarthrous ui(ov qeou~ and the imperfect tense of h(~n. However, as Earl Johnson demonstrates, the interpretation of the centurion’s tone cannot be determined by grammar.14 Instead, the ambiguity of 15.39 serves its own purpose in the narrative.15 It is important to consider how Mark is presenting God, who has previously been present, at least in auditory form, at two key events in Jesus’ life. Now, 11. See C. E. B. Cranfield, The Gospel According to St Mark: An Introduction and Commentary (CGTC; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959), 460; Jack D. Kingsbury, The Christology of Mark’s Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 128–34; Earl S. Johnson, ‘Is Mark 15:39 the Key to Mark’s Christology?’, JSNT 31 (1987): 3–22; Raymond A. Brown, The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsemane to the Grave (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1994), 2:1146–52; Michael Bird, ‘The Crucifixion of Jesus as the Fulfillment of Mark 9:1’, Trinity Journal 24 (2003): 23–36 [29]; M. Eugene Boring, Mark (NTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2006), 434. Francis J. Moloney claims that the centurion’s confession is the ‘full articulation’ and ‘satisfactory resolution’ of Markan christology; however, he claims that it is not a ‘satisfactory denouement’ of the narrative, leaving questions about the disciples and God’s relationship with Jesus unresolved (The Gospel of Mark: A Commentary [Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2002], 331). 12. See Vincent Taylor, The Gospel According to St. Mark: The Greek Text with Introduction, Notes, and Indexes (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1963), 597; Kingsbury, The Christology of Mark’s Gospel, 157; Marcus, Mark 8–16, 1058–9. Adela Yarbro Collins states that the centurion’s comment should be taken as ‘ironic in the dramatic sense’, which would imply that it shares characteristics with the bystanders (15.29-32), but she is clear that she sees no ‘mocking’ tendencies in the statement or the soldier’s demeanour (Mark [Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007], 769). For an overview of scholarship, particularly older scholarship that is sceptical about the veracity of the centurion’s confession on grammatical grounds, see Brown, Death of the Messiah, 2:1143–52. As the exegesis of the episodes at Bethany and the empty tomb should make clear, such theological and anthropological claims are not dependent upon this single verse. Instead, they involve the whole character of Mark’s presentation of the passion narrative. 13. See, for example, Johnson, ‘Is Mark 15:39 the Key to Mark’s Christology?’, 14–15; Donald H. Juel, ‘“Your Word is Truth”: Some Reflections on a Hard Saying’, PSB 17 (1996): 9–28 [23]. Robert Gundry objects to reading such irony into Mark’s christology, so the centurion’s statement must be taken on face-value, a priori (Mark: A Commentary on His Apology for the Cross [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993], 1). 14. ‘Is Mark 15:39 the Key to Mark’s Christology?’, 4–8. 15. Black, ‘The Face is Familiar’, 45.

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at the end of Jesus’ life, a centurion takes over the divine proclamation. This level of concealment, almost at the expense of divine revelation, deserves further consideration. As noted in Table 7.1, the centurion’s ambiguously ironic statement at Jesus’ crucifixion (15.39) is similar in phrasing to two previous statements made by a voice from above (1.11; 9.7). These two earlier passages share several common features. The presence of God’s voice, and accompanying actions, display some of the clearest instances of divine revelation in the Gospel of Mark. At the same time, even these ‘clearest’ examples of revelation are concealed in Mark’s manner of presentation. God’s voice is never explicitly identified as such (‘a voice from heaven’: 1.11; ‘a voice from the clouds’: 9.7). Furthermore, physical indications of God’s presence are concealed from Mark’s narrative audience: for example, only Jesus sees the heavens torn and the Spirit descending like a dove (1.10).16 God’s voice is heard only by Jesus and Mark’s audience at Jesus’ baptism (‘you are my son’: 1.11), and by a slightly enlarged audience at Jesus’ transfiguration (Peter, James, and John: 9.2). Each time, God’s voice breaks through an obstruction, whether it is the heavens (1.10-11) or the clouds (9.7), in order to reveal divine approbation and Jesus’ identity. At the same time, Mark’s readers do hear these proclamations along with Jesus and Peter, James, and John: Mark’s presentation of God’s voice serves as another example of dramatic irony as readers know more than characters in the narrative.17 Yet, Mark’s emphasis on the presence of the clouds, the heavens, and the veil demonstrate the concealing barriers between God and humanity.18 16. In this way, Mark’s manner of narrating God’s revelation in concealment functions similarly to Jesus’ injunctions to secrecy (e.g., 5.43; 9.9). Mark’s readers are privy to revelation in ways that characters in the narrative are not. At the same time, as far as the ‘messianic secret’ is concerned, there is no secret of Jesus’ identity for the readers of the Gospel (see Nils A. Dahl, ‘The Purpose of Mark’s Gospel’, in Jesus and the Memory of the Early Church [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976], 52–65; repr. in The Messianic Secret [ed. Christopher Tuckett; IRT 1; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983], 29–34). Secrecy is one of many themes of the Second Gospel (Heikki Räisänen, The ‘Messianic Secret’ in Mark [trans. Christopher Tuckett; SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990], 241). Mark’s portrayal of Jesus’ desire for secrecy and revelation mirrors the broader paradoxical language the evangelist uses when referring to God’s action (cf. T. Alec Burkill, Mysterious Revelation: An Examination of the Philosophy of Mark’s Gospel [Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1963]). However, as alluded to, above, the messianic secret (as classically defined referring to Jesus’ identity as the Messiah: William Wrede, The Messianic Secret [trans. J. C. G. Grieg; Cambridge: James Clarke & Company, 1971]) is not a paradox to Mark’s readers: they know Jesus is the Messiah. On the contrary, Mark’s readers do not grasp God’s activity in revelation apart from concealment. While the readers know much about Jesus, there are things Jesus does not even know about God’s activity (e.g., 13.32). 17. See Chapter 1, above, for distinctions between irony and paradox. 18. The rending of the heavens, as explained below, is proleptic of the rending of the Temple veil. Following Juel’s argument, such divine action demonstrates that humans are no longer safe from a God who ‘cannot be kept at arm’s length’ (Master of Surprise, 120). Still, the lack of a barrier does not imply complete revelation, as Mark’s narrative of the empty tomb shows (see below, Chapter 8; see also Black, ‘The Face is Familiar’, 45).



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As the above chart indicates by its italicization, not only does a voice emerge from heaven, but the heavens themselves are also split open at Jesus’ baptism (sxizome/nouv: 1.10) and the Spirit descends on Jesus. Ripping the heavens open at Jesus’ baptism is a violent action, reflective of the dramatic in-breaking of the kingdom about to be proclaimed (1.14-15). The rending of the skies and the descent of the Spirit both mark this event as a prime case of revelation even though the cloudy impediments remain.19 These actions illustrate that God does not stay aloof in heaven and is willing to work through barriers in order to acknowledge Jesus, the son.20 The violence of this revelation is paired with the motif of concealment noted above. This paradox of concealed revelation shapes the contours of Mark’s theology throughout the Gospel, because this truly is a God who is Deus absconditus atque praesens.21 This is particularly evident during this revelatory moment at Jesus’ baptism. Mark also narrates the disclosure of God’s action at Jesus’ transfiguration (9.2-3). Peter, James, and John are present, though seeing this scene does not illumine their perception (9.6; cf. 4.12; 8.14-27). God’s actions in this instance point in some sense to the coming of the kingdom with power (9.1). Since no one on earth is able to bleach Jesus’ garments as white as they become (9.3), it is clear that his transformation has taken place at the hand of God alone.22 The appearances of Moses and Elijah confirm this, as Elijah’s coming has been foretold (9.11-13; cf. Mal. 3.23 LXX) and has already occurred (1.2-8; cf. 6.14-16; 8.27-30). These eschatologically charged events could only take place through divine agency, as has been apparent from the very beginning (1.2-3, 14: to\ eu)agge/lion tou~ qeou~). Nevertheless, God’s revelation in Jesus’ transfiguration is still indirect in the sense that God does not appear on the scene as a character, but rather Moses and Elijah do.23 At the same time, Moses and Elijah do not 19. See, particularly, LXX Isa. 63.19–64.3; Ezra 1.1; Acts 7.56; 10.11; Rev. 4.1; 19.11; 3 Macc. 6.18. For citations and information see Christian Maurer, ‘sxi/zw’, TDNT 7:959–64. LXX Isa. 63.19–64.3 may be the most interesting of these references, as it not only refers to the opening (a)noi/gw) of the heavens (63.19) but it also describes the descent of God’s presence, the manifestation (fanero/v) of God’s name, and the effect of the divine presence (prosw/pon) on the nations. Isaiah assumes the surprising and terrifying nature of God’s activity (64.1-3). Marcus (Mark, 159) and Juel (A Master of Surprise, 37–8) also point to various echoes between Isa. 63.19–64.3 and Mk 1.11 in particular. Others like Taylor do not see Jesus’ baptism as a disclosure or revelation since its exclusive audience is Jesus and Mark’s readers (Mark, 162). However, I contend that Mark’s own authorial audience is the recipient of this proclamation, and it functions as a revelation to them. This assessment can be contrasted with Taylor’s evaluation of the transfiguration scene, which he believes is a revelation (392). 20. Juel, A Master of Surprise, 39–41, 120–1. It is notable that religious categories are among the barriers Jesus crosses – as sanctioned by ‘God’s commandment’ rather than ‘human tradition’ (7.1-30). 21. See Black, ‘The Face is Familiar’, 34. 22. In other words, metemorfw/qh and w1fqh are best considered divine passives. Ibid., 40. 23. Their presence likely echoes OT theophanic accounts (Exod. 24; 33.12–34.7; 1 Kgs 19.11-18).

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say anything that the disciples note, according to the evangelist (9.4).24 Instead, Peter volunteers his thoughts, and the ‘voice from the cloud’ (9.7) returns. Veiled from sight, and presumably from understanding, this God is certainly present at Jesus’ transfiguration, both in speech and in action. Once again, Mark’s audience has an advantage over the characters in the narrative: they witness the revelation of God’s voice and know more about its significance. Therefore, halfway through the Gospel’s narrative and immediately after the first passion prediction (8.27-33), Mark highlights Jesus’ relationship to God in the same way that he did at the beginning of the Gospel. God’s voice and God’s activity reassure Mark’s audience that Jesus’ identity, role, and mission have not changed from the affirmation at Jesus’ baptism to the proclamation of his suffering. In spite of this irony, where Mark’s readers know more than the characters in the Gospel, Mark’s language continues to describe God paradoxically, both revealing Jesus’ identity and hiding the divine character behind the clouds.25 The absence of God’s similar reassurance at Golgotha about Jesus’ identity and mission and its replacement by the centurion’s voice shows the depth of Jesus’ forsakenness: not even God deigns to speak into this darkness.26 As Table 7.1 demonstrates, Mark uses the same verb (sxi/zw) to describe the rending of the heavens after Jesus’ baptism (1.10) and the Temple veil after his death (15.38).27 This parallel implies that the same actor is behind both: God tears open the heavens at Jesus’ baptism in order that the Spirit might descend and that God’s voice might proclaim Jesus’ divine sonship (1.11). The Temple veil is torn in the same way, but not for the same reason. In fact, Mark provides no reason for the veil’s being torn. However, if God is responsible for rending the veil, then God is present at Jesus’ crucifixion contrary to Jesus’ perception. At Golgotha, God is hidden so thoroughly that not even God’s son can perceive the divine presence; yet, paradoxically,

24. It is also interesting to note that Moses and Elijah are talking with Jesus. In this passage, where God exhorts others to ‘listen’ to Jesus, Jesus is the one who says nothing. 25. See C. Clifton Black: ‘The Twelve must pay attention to Jesus: the moving nexus and veiled disclosure of divine mystery that asserts, without clear resolution, a supremacy more radiant than any fuller can bleach (Mark 9:3) and a suffering that overshadows like a cloud (9:9). The beloved Son encountered on this mountain is beyond doxa (glory). He is, in the most literal sense, paradox’ (Mark [ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon, 2011], 208). 26. As Leander Keck says, ‘No gospel reports that the Voice (the Bat Qol) spoke where one might expect it most of all – at the crucifixion … At Golgotha, the silence of God was deafening’, (Who is Jesus? History in Perfect Tense [Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2000], 128). 27. Many have commented on this connection; for examples see above, n.7, and Juel, Master of Surprise, 34–6; Ulansey, ‘The Heavenly Veil Torn’, 123; Stephen Motyer, ‘The Rending of the Veil: A Markan Pentecost?’, NTS 33 (1987): 155–7; Howard M. Jackson, ‘The Death of Jesus in Mark and the Miracle from the Cross’, NTS 33 (1987): 16–37.



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God is still present and active in rending the veil.28 Not only is the rending of the veil unexpected on many levels, but it is also left unexplained. If God is no longer ‘safely behind the [Temple] curtain’, Mark’s readers may legitimately wonder where God has gone. Even though the Temple curtain no longer conceals God, the audience is left with no certainty about God’s next steps.29 At the same time, however, there is another clue that God remains active at Golgotha beyond the rending of the Temple veil (15.38). As we noted in the analysis of the Gethsemane narrative (Chapter 6, above), the passion narrative in Mark’s Gospel proceeds by scripture’s ‘script’ (14.21, 49), and it also advances through the agency of Jesus’ enemies who seek to betray him.30 God’s action with respect to Jesus’ enemies is particularly paradoxical, for God hardens these opponents, as outsiders (4.12; cf. Isa. 6.9) while also working through them to bring about Jesus’ passion, thereby fulfilling scripture according to Mark. This hardened use of Jesus’ antagonists provides background for both the mockers at Golgotha (15.29-32) and the centurion who stands facing Jesus’ cross (15.39). Each of these elements demonstrates the fulfilment of scripture as well as God’s activity, revealed by scripture but concealed behind the conduct of Jesus’ opponents.31 At the cross, false witnesses deride Jesus still further when they assert, ‘Save yourself and come down from the cross’ (15.30). This charge is echoed by the Jerusalem leadership, saying among themselves, ‘He saved others: he is not able to save himself. Let the Christ, the King of Israel, come down now from the cross, in order that we might perceive and believe’ (15.31-32; emphasis mine). As the italics highlight, the language of some of the taunts at

28. As we see in the next section below, those who derided Jesus would like to see him come down (or God to bring him down) from the cross. This is the kind of divine activity Mark portrays them expecting. Absent from such circumstances they – along with many interpreters since – conclude God is not present, nor active, at Jesus’ crucifixion. The ability to see not only God’s presence, but God’s activity, in the obscurity of Golgotha provides an important rationale for understanding Mark’s paradoxical way of speaking about God. 29. Juel, A Master of Surprise, 120. 30. On the passion narrative following a script, see Brian K. Blount, ‘Is the Joke on Us? Mark’s Irony, Mark’s God, and Mark’s Ending’, in The Ending of Mark and the Ends of God (eds Beverly Roberts Gaventa and Patrick D. Miller; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2005), 15–32 [16]. Scripture foretells Jesus’ passion (9.9-13) in the hands of a skilful interpreter (in Mark’s Gospel, namely Jesus), of course. Donald Juel explains how scriptural interpretation and the early church’s messianic understanding of Jesus’ ministry go hand-in-hand so that scripture does not merely function through a hermeneutical model of prophecy-fulfilment (Messianic Exegesis: Christological Interpretation of the Old Testament in Early Christianity [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988]). 31. Interpreters often offer a variant of Moloney’s conclusion: ‘Dramatic tragedy the crucifixion might be, but it fulfills scripture and is thus part of God’s design’ (Mark, 320). Unfortunately, scholars like Moloney often stop here without further reflection on how Mark might conceive Jesus’ death being both the fulfilment of scripture, orchestrated by God, and performed by Jesus’ enemies.

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the foot of the cross reflects Mk 4.12, and in turn, Isa. 6.9.32 Although Mark’s paraphrase of Isa. 6.9 does not mention ‘belief’ (pisti/v), it does talk about perception (i)dei~n) being prevented, which in turn prevents repentance.33 Since Jesus exhorts both repentance and belief as the response to the proclamation of God’s gospel (1.15), it follows that the prohibition of one implies the other’s failure. In other words, while the chief priests and the scribes do not restate the vocabulary of 4.12, they repeat its themes. Sight means perception, and perception should lead to belief – or so Mark’s narrative implies. Mark’s readers recognize the irony in these taunts (15.31-32), however.34 The echo of Mk 4.12/Isa. 6.9 is particularly strong at Golgotha because it is precisely these leaders in Jerusalem who epitomize ‘seeing and not perceiving’ (4.12). They or their surrogates have heard Jesus’ teachings and witnessed his actions throughout the Gospel, and yet they do not believe. Instead, they assert that one more supernatural act, coming down from the cross, will allow them to perceive who Jesus is and believe that he truly is the ‘Christ, the King of Israel’ (15.32). They do not perceive that Jesus has said one must lose one’s life to save it (8.35). They do not see the significance of the fact that Jesus remains on the cross, regardless of God’s ability to take him down.35 Because the mockers at the cross embody the fulfilment of Isa. 6.9, they attest to God’s action in blinding their perception, just as God’s action – or lack thereof – was significant in allowing all things to come in parables to blind outsiders in Mark 4. God’s action in hardening the hearts of Jesus’ opponents is not the only way in which God interacts with them. Another aspect of God’s involvement is by paradoxically working through them in order to accomplish the divine will.36 This interaction first emerges in Mark’s narrative in the parable of the 32. Mk 15.32 says ‘i3na i1dwmen kai\ pisteu/swmen’ and 4.12 says ‘i3na ble/pontev ble/pwsin kai\ mh\ i1dwsin kai\ ai)kou/ontev a)kou/wsin kai\ mh\ suniw~sin, mh\pote e0pistre/ywsin kai\ a)feqh|~ au)toi~v’. Moloney traces the themes of 15.32 to 8.18, but not back to their original expressions in 4.12 (Mark, 324). 33. As Collins says, ‘The premise of the mockery in v. 32, that seeing is believing, is not a theme that is directly addressed anywhere else in Mark … [but] in its present context in Mark it appears to be ironic’ based on the connections with Mk 4.10-12 (Mark, 750). See also Brown, Death of the Messiah, 2:996. 34. See also Moloney, Mark, 317; John Painter, Mark’s Gospel: Worlds in Conflict (NTR; London: Routledge, 1997), 201. 35. For a study of du/namiv language and its cognates in the Second Gospel, see Tom Shepherd, ‘The Irony of Power in the Trial of Jesus and the Denial by Peter – Mark 14:53-72’, in The Trial and Death of Jesus: Essays on the Passion Narrative in Mark (eds Geert van Oyen and Tom Shepherd; Leuven: Peeters, 2006), 229–45 [230–6]. 36. It seems as though this paradox lies behind Ira Brent Driggers’s categories of ‘invasive logic’ and ‘transcendent logic’ when he discusses God’s activity: ‘Taking both [the invasive and transcendent logic] into consideration, one finds that Jesus’ crucifixion paradoxically implies both God’s vulnerability and God’s sovereignty. The tension prevents us from drawing exclusively from one trajectory at the exclusion of the other’ (Following God through Mark: Theological Tension in the Second Gospel [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007], 82). Generally I agree with Driggers’s analysis but find his categories of ‘invasive and transcendent logic’ too ill-defined to be helpful in interpreting Mark.



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farmer and the seed (4.26-29) when the farmer mirrors God’s own activity in judgement to harvest the mature fruit. In this way, the farmer harvests the ripened (paradoi~) fruit (4.29), alluding to Judas’ seeking an opportune time to ‘hand over’ Jesus (e.g., 14.10: i3na au)to\n paradoi~).37 This comparison shows how God’s activity can be accomplished through one’s agency but without knowledge of the ramifications of one’s actions. As we have seen in the narrative leading up to Gethsemane, God uses Jesus’ enemies to accomplish Jesus’ passion, death, and resurrection. Although, according to Jesus’ words, God claims responsibility for ‘striking’ him, as the shepherd (14.27), this action is carried out by his antagonists (cf. 8.31; 9.31; 10.33-34; 14.45–15.37). God’s action through Jesus’ opponents provides some rationale for why their abuse of Jesus at Golgotha also rings true: they accurately confess Jesus’ identity (‘the Christ, the King of Israel’: 15.32) and role (bringing about ‘salvation’ at the advent of God’s kingdom: 15.30-31) because God is working through them to bring about Jesus’ death. By both hardening and working through Jesus’ opponents, Mark demonstrates a God who operates paradoxically.38 There is a corollary to this conclusion: at least implicitly, God is also working through the Gentile centurion at the climax of the Golgotha narrative. After God tears the Temple veil from top to bottom, a Gentile centurion, presumably one of the principal actors in Jesus’ crucifixion, states that ‘this person was truly God’s son’ (ou(~tov o( a1nqrwpov h1n a)lhqw~v39 ui(ov qeou~: 15.39). I have noted that scholarship has not come to a consensus on whether the centurion’s comment is in jest or in faith. The lack of certainty signals the possible presence of a Markan paradox. The centurion’s statement, regardless of its intent, is certainly true from Mark’s perspective (1.1; cf. 1.11; 9.7; 14.36; 15.34).40 God continues to work through Jesus’ opponents to the very end, prompting even the person who could have been the greatest ‘outsider’ in the passion narrative to confess Jesus’ identity at this crucial point. Yet this revelation is concealed, as the ambiguity of the centurion’s words leave open the possibility that his proclamation is in line with the other mockers at the cross.41 God’s action remains hidden, not only from the characters in the 37. See above, Chapter 2. 38. Robert C. Tannehill identified this same perplexing connection between God and Jesus’ opponents by calling the latter ‘both opponents and … helpers’ (‘The Gospel of Mark as Narrative Christology’, Semeia 16 [1979]: 57–95 [84]). 39. While the divine affirmations of Jesus’ sonship claim that Jesus is God’s ‘beloved’ (a)gaph/tov) son, the centurion here describes Jesus as ‘truly’ (a)lhqw~v) God’s son. The words are close enough in sound, and the phrases in which they are contained are close enough in vocabulary that it is possible this replacement is exegetically significant. At the same time, I am not sure what is gained by this shift in terminology, other than perhaps a recognition that even the centurion, sarcastic or not, still does not grasp the depth of the relationship between Jesus and God. It remains for Mark’s audience to recognize this relationship, as they are told through the narrative. 40. Collins claims that the centurion’s statement should be taken as ‘ironic in the dramatic sense’ as it ‘has no marker indicating mocking or misunderstanding’ (Mark, 769). 41. See Juel, Master of Surprise, 74n.7 and Whitney T. Shiner, ‘The Ambiguous Pronouncement of the Centurion and the Shrouding of Meaning in Mark’, JSNT 78 (2000): 3–22 [4].

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narrative, but also to a certain extent from Mark’s audience. God is hidden but active, revealing a mystery at the cross that is not understood (cf. 4.11-12).

Section II: Waste and the Hope for Good: Sending the Son with Cosmic Effects Mark’s narrative at Golgotha expresses an additional paradox as well. Mark demonstrates how God’s action yields wasteful results, but points to a corresponding hope for good within the waste. In exploring this paradox of wasteful and good results, the following exposition focuses on God’s sending of Jesus to the cross as well as some eschatologically oriented elements of the Golgotha narrative.42 Mark’s narrative as a whole demonstrates that God sends Jesus, not just to proclaim the kingdom (1.38) or to heal the sick (6.56) or even to cast out demons (e.g., 5.1-20). Instead, as parable, passion predictions, and passion narrative prove, God sends Jesus to this particular end at Golgotha. Given Jesus’ unique status as God’s beloved son, this end seems remarkably wasteful in Mark’s narration. On the other hand, it becomes apparent that God’s wasteful action in sending Jesus is not the only story to tell. Instead, God’s action in sending Jesus is also portrayed along wide temporal and spatial horizons, demonstrating that there is hope for something besides only waste. Much as the different soils produce different results when sown, so now God’s action in sending Jesus is both wasteful and indicates further hope for good, as God’s activity reaches beyond the cross. Since Mark places Jesus’ suffering and death in front of an eschatological background, God’s activity demonstrates that Jesus’ death is not only about one man’s suffering (e.g., 10.45) but rather involves the whole cosmos. The cosmic indications of God’s presence at Golgotha hint at a broader, potentially good, purpose, for the waste of the son. Through the parable of the sower and its interpretation – and also the actions of the anonymous woman at Bethany – we see how God’s action produces wasteful and good results.43 The same is true in the passion narrative, along the same lines as in the parable of the sower. When Mark emphasizes Jesus uniqueness, God’s action seems wasteful: the sacrifice of his only son (cf. 12.6-8). Nonetheless, when Mark illuminates the limitless temporal and spatial consequences of Jesus’ death, God’s action appears to hold out hope for a different conclusion, perhaps a kind of good harvest (cf. 4.8). Regarded even in this cosmic perspective, however, the perplexing defeat and continuation of the reality of evil leaves Mark’s audience in the middle of this paradox of waste and good results. Furthermore, as at Bethany, with Jesus’ promised vindication – resurrection – foretold in every passion prediction (8.31; 9.31;

42. For these associations of waste and goodness, see above, Chapter 4. 43. See above, Chapters 4–5.



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10.33-34) and at the conclusion of the parable of the vineyard (12.10-12), God’s wasteful action is also good.44 In other words, from an eschatological perspective, Good Friday’s waste becomes Easter Sunday’s bounty. This section demonstrates, however, that because God is present, though hidden, at Golgotha, the remnants of God’s action there should point to the good to come without negating either the waste or necessitating the postponement of that good until Easter morning. Section (a): Sending the Beloved Son To understand more about how God has ‘wasted’ Jesus, we first consider the passages in the Gospel that depict God’s action in sending Jesus, and conclude with a brief exegesis of the parable of the vineyard (12.1-9). While ‘sending’ (a)poste/llw) language does not exclusively denote God’s or Jesus’ agency (3.31; 6.17, 27; 12.3; 12.13), most often it does refer to God’s activity (1.2; 9.37; by comparison, 12.2, 4-6) or Jesus’ deeds (3.14; 5.10; 6.7; 8.26; 11.1, 3; 13.27; 14.13). Exploring the passages where God is described as sending Jesus and Jesus’ harbinger, John, will provide a more detailed backdrop for the interpretation of the parable of the vineyard, in which ‘sending’ is the primary action of the vineyard’s master. At the beginning of the Gospel (1.1), Mark opens with an amalgam of quotes taken from Mal. 4.3, Exod. 23.20, and Isa. 40.3, even though he attributes the passage as a whole to Isaiah. This paraphrase says: Behold, I am sending my messenger before your face, who will prepare your way: a voice crying out in the wilderness, ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths’. (1.2-3)

While the referents of the pronouns in this passage are not clear, it seems that this verse is constructed to serve as a comment by God to Jesus.45 In the Markan context the role of the messenger seems to be taken by the prophetic figure of John the Baptist. It is he who is ‘in the wilderness’ (e0n th|~ e0rh/mw|), proclaiming, and therefore preparing, the way of the Lord (cf. 1.7). Therefore, the Lord whose way this messenger is preparing, and the immediate narrative audience of this passage, is Jesus.46 At the beginning of 44. As we see in the narrative at the empty tomb, the paradox remains. Good outcomes do not simply replace the waste in God’s action any more than Easter replaces Good Friday. See also Keck, Who is Jesus?, 133–8. 45. Black also highlights the double entendre inherent in the second person pronoun: God’s messenger not only prepares Jesus’ way, but he also prepares the way of the other listeners, Mark’s audience (‘The Face is Familiar’, 36). 46. For more on the metaphor of the way, see Joel Marcus, The Way of the Lord: Christological Exegesis of the Old Testament in the Gospel of Mark (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1992), 29–45.

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the Gospel, ‘the prophet Isaiah’ testifies to God’s action in sending John to prepare Jesus’ way. Even after John baptizes Jesus, their ministries seem to run parallel to each another. Jesus’ ministry begins only after John has been ‘handed over’ to Herod (1.14), foreshadowing Jesus’ own future ‘handing over’ to the Jewish and Roman authorities (cf. 14.42; 15.15). Their roles are so mutually interpretive that if people know the origin of either of them, they may understand the other (11.27-33). Both of their ministerial careers end in violent deaths at the hands of the authorities, even though the authorities themselves do not seem fully convinced by the cases that are made (6.26-29; 15.6-15, 34-39). Indeed, Jesus himself refers to God as ‘the one who sent me’ (to\n a)postei/lanta/ me: 9.37). The other important place in which Jesus recognizes God as the one who sends him – and sends him to his death – comes in the parable of the vineyard in Mark 12. Echoing the language of the Song of the Vineyard in Isaiah 5, the parable begins when the master places the care of the vineyard in the hands of the tenants while he goes on a journey. The main activity in the parable of the vineyard occurs when the master sends his slaves to collect the harvest from the tenants (12.3-5). When the master of the vineyard pauses to reflect that he could send his ‘beloved son’ to collect the harvest even after servants have been killed, the parable builds to its climax (12.5-6). This ‘beloved son’ is Jesus (cf. 1.11; 9.7: o( ui(oj mou o( a)gaphto/j).47 The singularity of Jesus’ identity is emphasized by this pause in the narration: ‘he had still one, a beloved son; he sent him last to them’ (e1ti e3na ei)~xen ui(on a)gaphto/n a)pe/steilen au)to\n e1sxaton pro\v au)tou\v: 12.6). ‘Still’, ‘one’, ‘a beloved son’, and ‘last’ all note the unique relationship between the master and the son. The decision of the master of the vineyard to send the son seems utterly illogical. There is no apparent reason for the master of the vineyard to think that, since the many (pollou\v) slaves have been killed, the tenants will respect his son (12.6). However, the illogic of this master in this parable is precisely the point. The master is excessively optimistic about the tenants48 and apparently careless in the way he treats his son.

47. For a creative but unpersuasive proposal that the ‘beloved’ is actually the prophet Isaiah see Roger David Aus, The Wicked Tenants and Gethsemane: Isaiah in the Wicked Tenants’ Vineyard, and Moses and the High Priest in Gethsemane: Judaic Traditions in Mark 12:1-9 and 14:32-42 (University of South Florida International Studies in Formative Christianity and Judaism 4; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996), 49–57. Aus’s primary support for his conclusions focuses on rabbinic sources which post-date the NT, and he displays a marked concern for Jesus’ historical consciousness. He does conclude that Mark understood the parable to refer to Jesus as the ‘beloved’ and to those who kill Jesus (chief priests, elders, scribes) as the ‘wicked tenants’, but this conclusion only allows that ‘in retrospect, we must be grateful to [Mark] for making almost no changes in the account transmitted to him by his Passion Narrative source’ (62). 48. Alternatively, one might read the master’s optimism in terms of extreme faithfulness towards the recalcitrant tenants. Either way, his sending of the beloved son is a wasteful action, unlikely to produce the explicitly desired result.



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The tenants do not describe the one whom the master of the vineyard sends as the ‘son’, but rather as the ‘heir’, whom they seek to kill so that they may obtain the inheritance (12.7). Killing the heir shows that these tenants recognize the status and privilege of the son. This murder is not accidental: it is calculated in terms of self-gain (cf. 8.35; 10.21-22). The action of the parable concludes after the murder when the master of the vineyard returns from his journey, actively destroying the tenants and giving the vineyard to others. This language of destruction mirrors the conversations of Jesus’ enemies about what they hope to do to him (cf. 3.6; 11.18). The master’s wasteful sending of the son results not only in the son’s death but also in the tenants’ own destruction (a)pole/sei) and loss of the vineyard (12.9). Even the verb for the destruction of the vineyard (a)po/llumi) is related to the word for ‘waste’ (apw/leia) at Bethany (14.4). The consequences of sending the son are surely wasteful, bringing about desolation, and causing loss for both the vineyard’s master and the tenants. The parable of the vineyard confirms what has been under the surface throughout Mark’s narrative: God sends the beloved son precisely to this dreadful end at Golgotha. With no auditory confirmation of divine presence other than the taunts of Jesus’ opponents, and a torn Temple veil as the only hint that Jesus has not been abandoned by his God and father (14.36), Golgotha looks like a waste. As the sower wasted the seed and the master wasted his son, so does God act wastefully in sending Jesus to the cross. As we have come to expect, however, Mark does not describe God’s action in a straightforward manner. While Jesus is singled out as the unique and beloved son whom God wastes at the cross, Jesus is also playing a role in a cosmic drama with horizons that reach back into the past, forward to the future, and encompass the whole cosmos.49 To this end, Mark describes God enveloping the cross in a broader story, highlighting an inherent hope for good to come along with this waste. In order to perceive these hints of good things to come, the remainder of this section considers the following four events: 1.) the eschatological timing of Jesus’ death, particularly with respect to certain aspects of the crucifixion account: namely, the ‘cup’ which Jesus drinks at the Last Supper and the wine that he refuses on the cross; 2.) Jesus’ own words from the cross; 3.) the darkness over the land; 4.) and the rending of the Temple veil.

49. In the words of T. J. Weeden: ‘There is a growing consensus that the hour and darkness motifs along with the motif of the veil rending, and, perhaps, the loud cry motif convey a pronounced apocalyptic orientation’ (‘The Cross as Power in Weakness [Mark 15:20b-41]’, The Passion in Mark: Studies on Mark 14–16 [ed. Werner H. Kelber; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976], 115–34 [129]). To this summary statement I would also add the imagery of the cup that is picked up from Gethsemane (14.36).

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These four images or events combine to demonstrate the eschatological horizon of this story: God not only sends the son to a wasteful death, but Mark portrays God’s act of sending Jesus in a broader temporal and spatial context. God darkens the earth and rends the Temple veil, demonstrating the cosmic effects of Jesus’ death. These effects, though not good in themselves, describe God’s active presence at Golgotha and therefore hope for God’s action to continue in the future. Specifically, Mark emphasizes the cosmic implications of Jesus’ death in two ways. First, we consider how he presents allusions to ‘the cup’ and Elijah, particularly given that both images have played significant roles in other eschatological passages in the Gospel. These points do not refer to God’s action specifically, but they are briefly analysed here because they contribute to the overall setting of Jesus’ death. Second, when Mark indicates the spatial horizons of Jesus’ crucifixion, he shows how God’s action in darkening the earth and rending the veil demonstrates that Jesus’ death affects the whole creation. Concurrently, God acts in such a way that displays the broader significance of Jesus’ death, preparing Mark’s audience for the possibility that goodness may accompany this waste. Section (b): Temporal Horizons: The Cup and the Wine Soon after the authorities bring (fe/rousin) Jesus to Golgotha, they offer him myrrhed wine, but ‘he does not take it’ (15.23).50 Wine and ‘cups’ have been used as eschatological images throughout Mark’s Gospel, and they may carry that weight here as well. The first time there is a reference to wine in Mark’s narrative occurs very early in Jesus’ teaching. There, speaking in a proverbial

50. Commentators debate over whether this drink was further torture (cf. 15.16-20) or a palliative concession to a dying man. If an interpreter has deemed that the reason Jesus could not carry his cross was because he was too weakened from the scourging and beatings (15.15, 19), this drink is often seen as palliative. At the same time, myrrh would not have been a narcotic of any sort; it was used for flavouring (see Pliny, Nat. 14.15; 14.19). The wine may have had a dulling effect, however. See representative comments in Brown, Death of the Messiah, 2:941; Boring, Mark, 427. Boring claims that ‘Jesus’ refusal of the stupefying drug seems to indicate that he wants to remain conscious throughout the whole ordeal; his suffering is passive, but he is not a victim in the sense that his suffering is involuntary’ (ibid.). On the other hand, William Sanger Campbell presents the provocative idea that Jesus’ refusal to carry his cross and his refusal of the wine were both protestations of this treatment and this death (‘Engagement, Disengagement, and Obstruction: Jesus’ Defense Strategies in Mark’s Trial and Execution Scenes [14.53-64; 15.1-39]’, JSNT 26 [2004]: 283–300). In other words, Jesus was not going to ‘go quietly’. Even if Campbell’s exegesis makes some sense of this pericope in light of ancient crucifixion methods, a resistant Jesus is hard to interpret in light of the Gethsemane narrative. Furthermore, Collins wisely critiques Campbell’s analysis of Jesus’ being carried (fe/rw) to Golgotha. Collins shows that fe/rw in Mark does mean ‘to carry’, but as one might expect, it also means ‘to bring’, (cf. 7.32; 8.22), and this latter meaning makes much more sense in the context of 15.22 (Mark, 737).



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and parabolic manner, Jesus says, ‘No one puts new wine in old wineskins’ because ‘new (ne/on) wine is for new (kainou/j) skins’ (2.22). While the referent of this parabolic proverb is unclear, it seems that Jesus is talking about his ‘new’ ministry, as the kingdom of God has drawn near (1.15), and those watching and participating must understand that what is at stake here, is in Paul’s language, a new (kainh/) creation (2 Cor. 5.17). Thus, early in Jesus’ ministry, his life (and eventually, his death) is transposed into an eschatological key. This ‘new’ thing that God is doing in Jesus is so different from the ‘old’ that the ‘old’ cannot contain it. Mark’s passion narrative certainly supports this reading of the ‘newness’ of Jesus’ ministry, as God’s action could not have been predicted in any understandable fashion (cf. 4.13; 8.21; 9.10; 14.40). Paradoxically, it is precisely this divine act which wastefully sends Jesus to Golgotha that Mark contends is predicted in the scriptures, even if the disciples do not recognize it. As new and old, already and not yet, Jesus’ ministry functions at the edge of the ages. The incomprehensibility of this ‘new wine’, – Jesus’ ministry and coming death – is reiterated when Jesus talks with James and John about the ‘cup’ he will drink (10.38), asking them if they are able to drink it with him. They want to be granted seats ‘on [his] right and left in [his] glory’ (10.37), not knowing that those ‘seats’ will be crosses (15.27).51 Nevertheless, the tenor of this passage of teaching about drinking the cup that Jesus will drink and being baptized with the same baptism as Jesus’ reminds Mark’s audience of John’s eschatologically-tinged baptism, where ‘all of Judaea’ came out to hear him and to be baptized (1.5), hearing his preaching of repentance and forgiveness (1.4). John’s forward-looking baptism is then connected to Jesus’ crucifixion by this exchange with James and John. As far as the eschatological timetable is concerned, John the Baptist and Jesus operate at the same point: anticipating the end. These connections are further confirmed during Jesus’ Passover celebration with his disciples. There, after sharing the cup with them, Jesus says that he will not drink ‘of the fruit of the vine until that day when [he] drinks it newly [kaino\n] in the kingdom of God’ (14.25). Mark uses kaino/j language to describe this new reign of God that is coming into being in Jesus’ ministry, while yet something to be entered into in the future (cf. 10.23-31). The cup at the Last Supper, which Jesus takes (labw\n: 14.23), connects Jesus’ eschatological sense of the kingdom of God to the reality of blood and suffering at the cross, as this cup ‘is [his] blood of the covenant, poured out for many’ (14.24). From Mark’s perspective, one reason that Jesus does not take the wine at the crucifixion is because he would be drinking it at the wrong

51. Even if there are few linguistic echoes between 10.35-40 and 15.27, the context of the discussion in Mark 10 shows that the cup James and John would be asked to drink is one of suffering, as at Jesus’ passion. Boring perceptively states, ‘Jesus had pointed to his death as cup and baptism (10.38; 14.36; cf. 1.9-11). Mark narrates the story of Jesus as transpiring between his two baptisms, in both of which he is passive and God is the actor’ (Mark, 431).

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time.52 Before his death, the kingdom has not been made new (kaino\n). As the images of the ‘cup’ in Mark converge, Jesus both drinks from the cup (14.36)53 and is the cup (14.24) at the cross. Each of these different incarnations of the imagery of wine and cup points to the newness of Jesus’ ministry and the significance of his death as part of God’s action in this new kingdom. Suffering and death are not to be avoided in the kingdom; rather, they are ways that Jesus inaugurates and participates in it. Both the newness of God’s kingdom as well as its connections to the past demonstrates the temporal reach of God’s action.54 Section (c): Temporal Horizons: Hearing and Misunderstanding Elijah Our analysis of the eschatological timetable of the events at Golgotha continues by considering Jesus’ words at the cross. As I noted above, the bystanders and chief priests and scribes show that they have misunderstood (because they have been hardened by) God’s action through Jesus’ teaching, such that they taunt Jesus with names which are true to his identity (‘the king of the Jews’, ‘the king of Israel’, ‘the Christ’: 15.26, 32). Indeed, evoking the title o( xristo/v also encourages Mark’s reader to envision the apocalyptic

52. Collins further identifies another source of irony: while the person who is offering Jesus this wine wants to see Elijah come, Mark’s audience knows ‘that sour wine is not a fit drink for Jesus, the king of the Jews, that is, the messiah … The offer of sour wine, even if well intentioned, is one small detail in the ironic contrast between Jesus’ identity and the way he is treated’ (Mark, 759). Brown disagrees that Jesus refuses the wine because of the eschatological timetable: ‘this is not a positive wine that, were Jesus to have drunk it, would have brought the coming of the kingdom’ (Death of the Messiah, 2:942). The problem I see with this interpretation is that Jesus never claimed that drinking wine would bring about the kingdom of God, but rather that he will wait to drink it ‘newly’ (kaino\n) in God’s kingdom (14.25). 53. Jesus does not drink from this palliative cup, but from the cup that is his ‘Father’s will’ (14.36; see also Brown, Death of the Messiah, 2:942). 54. One additional aspect of the temporal horizon of God’s action relates to a distinctive component of Mark’s crucifixion narrative: Mark describes the sequence of hours during the time of Jesus’ death (the third, sixth, and ninth hour; 15.25, 33). Gnilka sees a connection between the list of these hours and the three-fold sequencing of times in 4 Ezra 6.23, thereby describing a similar eschatological periodization of time between 4 Ezra and Mark (Markus, 2:317). As Mark does not provide evidence elsewhere for such a view of history, I find this hypothesis to be a bit stretched. Weeden follows the logic of those who claim the hours reflect the predetermined plan of God, but he then claims that the darkness over the land is not due to the advent of the day of Yahweh, but rather ‘to the forces of chaos’, which are brought to defeat by ‘the triumphant cry of Jesus’ and sealed in judgement through ‘the ultimate destruction of evil (15:38)’ (‘The Cross as Power in Weakness (Mark 15:20b-41)’, 132). While the Temple’s destruction is imminent (13.12) and judgement against the Jewish leadership is certainly not foreign to Mark’s narrative (12.1012), there is no connection between the rending of the Temple veil and the ‘ultimate destruction of evil’ in Mark’s narrative. Not only does this statement render the resurrection superfluous; it also does not take into account the acknowledged action of Satan/evil in Mark’s community (e.g., 4.17; 13.4-27).



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Son of Man, who will suffer, die, and be raised (e.g., 8.31), and will also come ‘with the clouds’ (cf. 13.26; 14.61) to ‘assemble his elect’ (13.27) in a cosmic in-gathering. The bystanders present a case of irony by showing that they do not in fact see or believe (15.32). This case of misunderstanding continues during Jesus’ cry on the cross, as a bystander hears him calling ‘Elijah’, instead of ‘elwi’ (15.34-35).55 This case of mistaken hearing is no more innocuous than the previous cases of mistaken identity, whereby the false lips of bystanders call Jesus true names. At the same time, much as the title ‘Christ’ evokes eschatological connotations, so the figure of Elijah is similarly significant. Based on Elijah’s connections with John the Baptist, as John looks like Elijah redivivus (1.6) and is called ‘Elijah’ by Jesus (9.12-13), Elijah is an apocalyptic figure within the Gospel. This figure reveals and prepares the way of the Lord (1.2-3) as well as modelling this way of suffering and death before Jesus (cf. 6.17-29). Evoking the presence of Elijah, who has spoken with the glorified Jesus (9.4), locates the crucifixion as part of the cosmic drama, at the end of all things. In light of the mockery of Jesus at the crucifixion, the actions taken towards Jesus and the titles attributed to him shape the narrative’s temporal horizon so that it encompasses both the past, looking back to John the Baptist/Elijah, and the future, looking to the return of the Son of Man. Section (d): Spatial Horizons: Darkness and Opposition Shifting from a focus on the temporality of Golgotha to the spatiality Mark describes, it is important to consider the implication of the darkness over the land as well as the rending of the Temple veil.56 As Mark is asserting the global significance of Jesus’ death, it follows that the darkness which marks the sixth hour of the day Jesus is crucified is not ‘over the whole land’ as though only Palestine is included.57 Instead, this darkness covers the ‘whole earth’ (o3lhn th\n gh~n: 15.34). No longer is there light to drive away the darkness (cf. Gen. 1.4; Jn 1.5), nor even a hidden lamp to be brought into the

55. See Brown for a linguistic analysis of the cry and misunderstanding in 15.34-36 (Death of the Messiah, 2:1051–63). Elijah’s advent is considered an eschatological sign according to Mark (e.g., 1.2/Mal. 3.1 LXX; 6.15; 8.28; 9.4, 5, 11-13), but Mark’s audience recognizes that Jesus has said that Elijah has already come (9.11-13; cf. 1.6). 56. Brown claims that the cosmic darkness and the rending of the Temple veil ‘gives us two God-given, eschatological signs forming [an inclusio] on either side of Jesus’ death’ (Death of the Messiah, 2:1032–3). 57. Ibid., 2:1035–6; see also Boring, Mark, 424. Mark refers to the gh~ 19 times. The other instances refer to the ground or soil (e.g., 4.1, 5, 8, 20, 26, 28, 31; 8.6; 9.20; 14.35), the land as opposed to the sea (e.g., 6.47, 53), or they refer to the earth in its entirety (e.g., 2.10; 9.3; 13.27, 31). The Gospel of Peter confines the darkness to Judaea (pa/san th\n Ioudai/an: 5.15) which fits into its larger anti-semitic tendencies, but the earthquake (see Mt. 27.51, 54) affects the ‘whole earth’ (h( gh~ pa~sa e0sei/sqh: 6.21) when Jesus is taken down from the cross.

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light (4.21).58 Darkness is a metaphor for wickedness or the context in which wicked deeds are done. This is true in the Pauline and deutero-Pauline corpus (cf. Rom. 13.12; 1 Thess. 5.4; Eph. 6.12; Col. 1.13) and may be serving a similar purpose here. As we have seen, evil is a constant presence in the Second Gospel. The presence of evil is even more perplexing when Mark demonstrates that God may actually be working through those who seek to destroy Jesus in order to accomplish the divine purpose, namely, Jesus’ passion and death. Given the general scriptural background from Genesis and Pauline texts mentioned above, there is a sense in which the cosmic darkness at Golgotha alludes to the presence of evil forces in the Gospel, whether those forces are internal vices (7.17-23) or Satan himself (1.13).59 Although Mark does not provide many direct interpretations of Jesus’ death within the narrative (cf. 10.45; 14.24-25; 15.38-39), by virtue of the events that he narrates ‘on the first day of the week’ (16.2) Jesus’ resurrection implies the ‘defeat of death’ (1 Cor. 15.55) in some way.60 Death’s defeat, however, does not prevent death’s reign from continuing (‘some’ in 9.1; 13.12) after the resurrection (see also 13.12-13). Mark’s precise understanding of the connection between sin and the cross – whether a defeat, a battle, a sacrifice, or a foregone conclusion – is not rendered clearly in the Gospel’s narrative.61 Nevertheless, interpreters can agree on this: the defeat of 58. With the (unnatural) darkness at the crucifixion one might compare the plague of darkness that enveloped the Egyptians, although this was for three days rather than three hours (cf. Exod. 10.21). At the same time, ‘deep darkness’ is a mark of the mountain of God (cf. Deut. 4.11; 5.22; cf. Isa. 45.7, where the LORD creates light and darkness) on which theophanies occur. As part of one of the psalms of lament, Psalm 87 asks why God hides from the psalmist, similar to the psalmist of Psalm 22 (and Jesus in Mk 15.34). Ps. 87.13 LXX asks, ‘Will your wonders be made known in the darkness, and your righteousness [made known] in the forgetful earth?’ Finally, the crucifixion is a reversal of the motif in Isa. 60.2: ‘Behold, darkness will cover the earth and upon the nations but upon you the LORD will shine and his glory will be seen over you’ (see also Jer. 13.16). There, while the darkness overcomes the earth and spares Israel, at Golgotha, the darkness covers the earth including Israel. 59. Keck highlights the fact that neither Satan nor God is mentioned in Mark’s passion narrative (Who is Jesus?, 126). 60. An astute exploration of this theme and theological problem in Paul is accomplished by Martinus de Boer, The Defeat of Death: Apocalyptic Eschatology in 1 Corinthians 15 and Romans 5 (JSNTSup 22; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988). A more general study on the theme of death throughout Mark’s narrative is Peter G. Bolt’s, focusing on the pleas from 13 ‘suppliants’ for Jesus’ healing (Jesus’ Defeat of Death: Persuading Mark’s Early Readers [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003]). 61. See different perspectives: Dowd and Malbon highlight the ransom saying in 10.45 as central for understanding Jesus’ death as not salvation from sin but rather part of God’s reign breaking into history and overthrowing evil, thereby serving the powerless (‘The Significance of Jesus’ Death’, 297). John K. Riches finds evidence for both internal and external forces of evil in the passion narrative (Conflicting Mythologies: Identity Formation in the Gospels of Mark and Matthew [SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000], 154–7). Adela Yarbro Collins focuses on the sacrificial nature of the noble death (‘From Noble Death to Crucified Messiah’, NTS 40 [1994]: 481–504) while Rikki E. Watts (among others) interprets Jesus’ death through the servant song of Isaiah 53 (Isaiah’s New Exodus in Mark [repr.; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2000], 252–87).



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evil may somehow be inaugurated by the cross, but it will not be completed until the eschaton with the ingathering of the elect (13.5-32). The darkness of Golgotha demonstrates that while God’s action here may appear wide-ranging in its effects, it also seems to be wasteful in the lack of clear victory over sin and death. Nevertheless, in the context of the apocalyptic discourse of Mark 13, the darkness does not serve to hide wickedness or mysteries (Dan. 2.22; cf. 1 Cor. 4.5) as much as it functions to signal the shift of the ages, or, in OT language, the ‘day of Yahweh’.62 Indeed, for Mark the day of Yahweh is ‘darkness and not light’ (Amos 5.18, 20), because ‘the sun will turn to darkness and the moon will not give its light’ (Mk 13.24; Isa. 13.10; cf. Joel 3.4 [LXX]).63 With a midday setting of the sun, this day affects the whole earth. While Mark does not explicitly narrate any further earthly apocalyptic signs at the crucifixion (cf. Mt. 27.51-54), the cosmic darkness implies that the cross can be seen as a threshold of this new kingdom that will culminate in the cosmic coming of the Son of Man (Mt. 13.24-27). Furthermore, this same darkness contributes to the first paradox we considered, above: the same God who reveals in concealment is one who is also present and active in the dark on the ‘day of Yahweh’. Therefore, paradoxically, the cosmic darkness points to the eventual good – the coming of the Son of Man – and to the waste, the death of God’s son.

Boring claims that ‘it is the fact of Jesus’ suffering and death that is revelatory and saving, not a theory [of atonement] about it’ (Mark, 426). Kelli S. O’Brien focuses on 14.24 and claims that the concept of salvation goes through ‘progressive elucidation’ from the beginning to the end of Mark’s narrative, so that at first it may solely entail physical healing (e.g., 5.28) but eventually involves self-sacrifice and enduring persecution (8.35; 13.13): ‘Jesus relieves human suffering and saves people, but he also commands his followers to endure suffering, so that they can be saved. In the end, his ultimate act of salvation on behalf of many is his own suffering’ (The Use of Scripture in the Markan Passion Narrative [LNTS 384; New York: T&T Clark, 2010], 199). Even so, Mark’s paucity of reflection on the significance of Jesus’ death is striking, particularly in comparison to other NT texts. 62. In alluding to psalms (22.8, 2; 69.22), Mark’s crucifixion narrative points to a scriptural background for the darkness over the earth and the fact that its origin is likely divine (Brown, Death of the Messiah, 2:1035). 63. Most scholars identify the Amos 8.9 allusion with the eschatological darkness on the day of Yahweh. See, for example, Moloney, Mark, 325; Brown, Death of the Messiah, 2:1036; Marcus, Mark, 1054; Gnilka, Markus, 2:321. It is possible that the connection to Amos 8.9 can be extended further to Amos 8.10, where Yahweh makes the lamentation and mourning of the people on the day of Yahweh ‘as the grief over a beloved son’ (w(v pe/nqov a)gaphtou~: 8.10 LXX; see Collins, Mark, 752). I think this interpretation could be extended by the allusion to the ‘famine of hearing the word of the Lord’ (limo\n tou~ a)kou~sai lo/gon kuri/ou: 8.11 LXX; cf. famines of food in Mk 13.8) when no word from heaven affirms Jesus as God’s son (cf. 15.39). In Mark, as in Amos, there is a famine of hearing the word of the Lord when the earth is in darkness.

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Section (e): Spatial Horizons: Rending the Heavens, Rending the Veil The final apocalyptic image in the crucifixion narrative occurs when the Temple veil (katape/tasma tou~ naou~) is ripped (e0sxi/sqh) from top to bottom (a)p’ a1nwqen e3wj ka/tw). As I note in Table 7.1, Mark implies a connection between the rending of the heavens at Jesus’ baptism and this action at Jesus’ crucifixion by using the same verb (sxi/zw: 1.11; 15.38).64 Both, he implies, are revelatory experiences. While God has been hidden throughout Mark’s narrative except for two proclamations from heaven (1.11; 9.7), here God’s action seems to reveal the divine presence at the crucifixion after all.65

64. Several scholars mention an additional connection between the scenes at Jesus’ baptism and crucifixion. At Jesus’ baptism, ‘the spirit’ (to\ pneu~ma) descends on Jesus when the voice from heaven proclaims Jesus’ sonship. This same spirit then casts Jesus out into the wilderness for temptation (1.12-13). At Jesus’ death, he gives up his spirit (e0ce/pneusen: 15.57). This linguistic connection is then subject to different interpretations: Marcus sees a kind of exorcism at Jesus’ crucifixion (Mark 8–16, 1066) while Shiner sees Jesus’ last breath as consistent with the departure of the Holy Spirit (‘The Ambiguous Pronouncement of the Centurion’, 20). Motyer offers two further connections between Jesus’ baptism and death: the descent of the spirit and the downward ripping of the Temple veil, and the references to Elijah serve as an inclusio to the Gospel, he argues (‘The Rending of the Veil’, 155). 65. Daniel M. Gurtner also argues that the rending of the Temple veil is part of a complex of apocalyptic images, and claims that ‘an apocalyptic reading recognizes that the content of what is revealed intends to depict a transcendent reality which demonstrates God’s sovereignty despite the apparent failure of the historical event of Jesus’ death … Finally, the revelatory function of the torn veil in this pericope is congruent with the profession of faith by Mark’s centurion. What is “revealed” to him is that Jesus was the “son of God”’, (‘The Rending of the Veil and Markan Christology: “Unveiling” the UIOS QEOU [Mark 15:38-39]’, BibInt 15 (2007): 292–306 [306]). Nevertheless, Gurtner operates from a very broad definition of apocalyptic literature and the genre of ‘apocalypse’, which are in part shaped by his reading of Timothy J. Geddert, Watchwords: Mark 13 in Markan Eschatology (JSNTSup 26; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1989), esp. 144, and the work of N. T. Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), esp. 620. This broad definition of an ‘apocalypse’ pushes him to consider the Gospel of Mark an apocalypse and therefore read the motif of the opening of the heavens (1.11) in the context of this material, while advocating that readers of Mark should interpret the Temple as ‘the gateway from earth to heaven’, as supported by rabbinic texts (301). To clarify, it is true that the Temple veil should be considered the parallel action to God’s rending of the heavens at Jesus’ baptism. Both of these actions are generally apocalyptic in the sense that they are revelatory, and in the sense that they point to the cosmic horizon of divine action and Jesus’ life, as God acts at the beginning (baptism) and the end (crucifixion). At the same time, the fact that Mark communicates an apocalyptic theology through his narrative and uses apocalyptic imagery (e.g., 13.4-27) does not mean that the Gospel is generically an apocalypse. Furthermore, the rending of the Temple veil does not yield ‘final disclosure’ any more than the rending of the heavens did in Mark 1. Both actions point to God’s actions in affirming or confirming Jesus, and to God’s presence on the scene. Nevertheless, particularly at the crucifixion, the rending of the Temple veil and the centurion’s confession illuminate the final eschatological scene, the coming of the Son of Man (13.24-27; 14.61-62) as they show that God’s activity does not cease with Jesus’ death: future (eschatological) promises will be fulfilled.



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Regardless of which Temple veil is meant,66 it is hard to escape the conclusion that this action renders a sort of judgement on the Temple and some kind of divine confirmation of Jesus’ ministry.67 The apocalyptic character of the rending is evident when it is compared with the baptism narrative. The violent rending of the heavens and the revelatory character of this event point to a God who is not wholly absent or withdrawn from the narrative, despite appearances to the contrary.68 Instead, the deeds of this God will not be 66. I agree with Brown on this issue: ‘Despite the enormous amount of research dedicated to the outer/inner veil issue and to the esoteric symbolism of the respective veils … I reject the value of the whole enterprise in relation to the Gospel description’ (Death of the Messiah, 2:1112). Essentially, Brown claims that it would have made little difference to Mark’s audience which veil of the Temple was torn, as it would have been difficult to ask what was likely a primarily Gentile audience (cf. 7.3-5) to know esoteric details about the Temple establishment (2:1113). Geddert categorizes 35 different but overlapping interpretations of the velum scissum text. Unfortunately, Mark does not provide enough material to determine which, if any, of these interpretations would be most accurate, and whether that would change the interpretation of the Golgotha narrative (Watchwords: Mark 13 in Markan Eschatology, 141–3). I do find David Ulansey’s proposal suggestive, however, if forced to choose between the inner or outer Temple veil: if we follow Josephus’ description of the outer veil, then it was woven with a portrayal of the heavens, except for the Zodiac, which would make an excellent bookend to the rending of the heavens in Mk 1.11 (katege/grapto d’ o( pe/plov a3pasan th\n ou)ra/nion qewri/an plh\n tw~n zw|di/wn: War 5.5.4 §§213–14; ‘The Heavenly Veil Torn’, 124–5). On the other hand, the tearing of the inner veil seems to illuminate the revelatory aspects of the divine action better than the rending of the outer veil. 67. On the other hand, Harry L. Chronis argues that ‘15:38 stamps Jesus’ identity-disclosing death with cult-theophanic significance’, because ‘“Temple destruction and rebuilding” is Markan code for the passion (=rejection, suffering, death, and resurrection) of Jesus’ (‘The Torn Veil: Cultus and Christology in Mark 15:37-39’, JBL 101 [1982]: 97–114, [111–12]). Nevertheless, Chronis never offers any arguments for why Mark would use the charges against Jesus concerning the Temple to symbolize the passion of Jesus, when the passion of Jesus is in fact the event that Mark is narrating. Adela Collins also does not see a negative implication for the Temple in the rending of the veil. She offers the following interpretations: ‘rending of the barrier between humanity and God’; ‘a divine theophany’; and linking Jesus’ final cry with the opening of the Temple as an evocation of Psalm 17 LXX, which ‘would imply that God heard Jesus’ plea and that God would vindicate him’, (Mark, 760–1). In summary, the rending of the Temple veil ‘implied the vindication of Jesus, not the destruction of the Temple’, (Mark, 753). Collins believes that the rending of the veil should be interpreted with other ‘nontraditional’ theophanies, and not with other passages that relate to the Temple. ‘The death of Jesus on the cross is accompanied by a real, but ambiguous and mysterious theophany, which suggests that the will of God is fulfilled in the apparently shameful death of Jesus on the cross’, (Mark, 764). While an interpretation of the rending of the veil as revelatory is commensurate with my exegesis of the passage, it remains unclear why she rules out interpreting 15.38 with the other Temple passages, particularly ones with which it shares language about the ‘sanctuary’ (nao/v; 14.58; 15.29; she does say that 14.58 envisages an eschatological Temple, though her reasoning here is opaque [763]). For additional discussion, see Boring, Mark, 432; Brown, Death of the Messiah, 2:1100–02, 1112–13. 68. In fact, Brown claims that though human suffering often makes people think God is absent, ‘that may be because we have shaped God in our image and likeness. The cross teaches us that the self-revelation of the true God, for whom humility is power, takes place in human weakness. The silence confirms that there is a God’ (Death of the Messiah, 2:1046n.40). Fortunately, however, Mark does not conclude the narrative with silence alone, but also with God’s action. Again, concealment of voice meets revelation in action.

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mistaken for others on account of their surprising character.69 The God who is revealed when the Temple curtain is destroyed is the one whose son hangs on the cross in death (15.39).70 This collision of the old age and the new age71 highlights the potential goodness in God’s action at Golgotha in its most extreme form: the cross spans both the old age and the new.72 God’s action is magnificent as it affects both time and space on a cosmic and all-encompassing level. Bridging the ages and the geographical (and ethnic) boundaries of the land of Judaea points to the significance of Jesus’ death. This is not just an isolated event: on the contrary, Mark’s apocalyptic imagery suggests that it affects all time and all places. A dead man on a cross points in truth to God’s goodness, because only this surprising, paradoxical God could craft such an ending with any future other than defeat and ultimate forsakenness. Through Jesus’ unique position as God’s son, and his tragic but divinelyordained death God acts wastefully to send his one, beloved son (12.6) to such an end. At the same time, this singular relationship between God and Jesus, which produces God’s wastefulness, is accompanied by God’s generous goodness (cf. 10.45; 14.24). God sends the son to such a death in a way that encompasses times past and future, and all lands and boundaries. The fact that this goodness knows no bounds ensures that an empty tomb lies ahead, ‘just as he said’ (16.6). 69. See also Gudrun Guttenberger, who agrees that God’s action at Golgotha shows presence in absence (Gottesvorstellung im Markusevangelium [BZNW 123; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2004], 343–4), as well as Black, Mark, 332–3. 70. The judgement on the Temple raises an additional question about God’s wastefulness. In some sense, by the conclusion of Mark’s Gospel, the fate of the Temple has been sealed (13.1-2), whether Mark was written immediately before or after the Temple’s fall in 70 ce. Regardless of the associated historical situation, it seems remarkable that just as wasteful as God has been with Jesus, so God also is with the Temple institution, which has been looked upon both favourably (cf. 1.44) and unfavourably (cf. 11.12-25; 12.38-40). See also Chapter 5. 71. While this language is taken from other apocalyptic literature (see e.g., 1 En. 16.1; 48.7; 4 Ezra 7.50; 8.1; William R. Murdock, ‘History and Revelation in Jewish Apocalyptic’, Int 21 [1967], 167–87), it appropriately summarizes Mark’s theology of the cosmic upheaval that has occurred with the in-breaking of the kingdom. See the section above on Jesus’ baptism (1.11). These cataclysmic events point to the earth-and-heaven shattering qualities of the way that God is acting in this new age as the kingdom is at hand (1.15). See Martin Dibelius, who claims that the passion narrative ‘points immediately toward’ this collision of ages, or Weltwende (‘Das historische Problem der Leidensgeschichte’, Redaktion und Theologie des Passionsberichtes nach den Synoptikern [repr.; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1981], 58) and Moloney, who sees the rending of the Temple veil and the centurion’s confession (15.38-39) as the first two events of the new age (Mark, 328). However, M. Eugene Boring comments that ‘to speak of the situation as “zwischen den Zeiten” is to make it more chronological than Mark in fact wants to make it … [Nevertheless,] the Christ is by definition the one who comes at the end of history, brings history to a worthy conclusion by bringing in the kingdom of God, redeeming history and making it all worth waiting for. The Christ is an eschatological figure. There may be a “before Christ”, but there can be no “after Christ”’ (‘The Christology of Mark: Hermeneutical Issues for Systematic Theology’, Semeia 30 [1984]: 125–53 [139–40]). 72. Thus, Moloney: ‘the death of Jesus marks the turning point of the ages’ (Mark, 328).



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Conclusion In Jesus’ baptism and transfiguration, Mark establishes a pattern describing God’s vocal revelations about Jesus (1.11; 9.7) and the actions that accompany them. In these passages, Mark’s readers repeatedly see themselves as the recipients of God’s revelation of Jesus’ identity. This pattern separates them from most of the characters in the Gospel and emphasizes the dramatic irony of this revelation. Nevertheless, these instances of revelation disclose little more than the affirmations of Jesus’ identity: the complete revelation of God remains concealed. This concealment, even at the Gospel’s clearest points of revelation (1.10-11; 9.3, 7) demonstrates that the readers’ increase of knowledge does not translate Mark’s paradoxical language into complete understanding. By comprehending the portrayal of God’s action and the presence of this paradox in Mark’s narrative, we can see how God is still active at Jesus’ crucifixion as the Temple veil is torn, even though Jesus does not perceive God’s presence. God continues to act paradoxically, concealing revelation even from the son. At this point, however, as Mark’s readers know, the Temple veil has been torn and barriers have been broken. Nevertheless, God is not fully revealed. Mark’s audience is left with a paradox: Mark reveals God’s action in rending the veil after Jesus’ death, but God seems to vanish into concealment thereafter. The narrative at Golgotha, however, shows God involved in more ways than only active in speech (or silence) or in the rending of the veil. Much as the parables indicate (cf. 4.26-29) and Gethsemane recapitulates, God works through Jesus’ enemies, paradoxically blinding them and yet also accomplishing Jesus’ death through them. God’s concealed action through unknowing participants finds its prime example in the ambiguity of the centurion’s confession of Jesus (15.39). Finally, Mark’s narrative at Golgotha points to divine action that is paradoxically wasteful and yet, in its eschatological context, hints at goodness. As God has sent the son to a wasteful end, foreshadowed by the events in the parable of the vineyard, God also acts in ways that broaden the significance of Jesus’ death to include the entire eschatological horizon. Through the imagery of the wine and the cup connecting God’s action throughout past, present, and future, Mark demonstrates how God’s action at Golgotha is both old and new. When the bystanders misunderstand Jesus’ last words, connecting his cries to Elijah, they point to the temporal horizons of this text, stretching from God’s action with past prophets (cf. 6.15) to God’s action with the future advent of the Son of Man (13.24-27, 32). Furthermore, the darkness over the land alludes to the coming day of Yahweh across the whole earth as well as signalling the coming defeat of evil. Yet, even this defeat of evil is paradoxical at the cross, as Satan is defeated and yet remains active until the defeat is finalized at the eschaton illuminating once again both the temporal waste and eschatological goodness of divine action. Finally, Mark shows how

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God’s action affects all creation as the rending of the Temple veil implies that the hidden God has now been revealed at the cross, and yet this God continues to operate concealed in the world.

Chapter 8 The Promise of Paradoxes: The Empty Tomb (16.1-8) The conclusion of Mark’s narrative has been a subject of debate for many years. Currently, based on both external and internal text-critical evidence, the scholarly consensus is that Mark’s original text ended at 16.8: ‘And going out, they fled from the tomb, for they were trembling and astonished and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid’.1 Although the women who come to the tomb early Easter morning are entrusted with the gospel proclamation, they flee in silence, joining the ranks of the other disciples who abandon Jesus (14.50). Interpreters have objected to such an ending on grammatical,2 literary,3 or theological4 grounds; nevertheless, the

1. This consensus is clearly stated by Bruce M. Metzger, who outlines all of the major theories in response to this textual consensus: Mark intended to end at 16.8 even though it seems unusual; Mark was prevented by death or arrest from finishing his work; the last page of the original was lost before other copies were made (A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament [2nd edn; Stuttgart: United Bible Societies, 1994], 102–6). These three options are the foundation for all modern scholarly treatments of Mark’s ending. For a dissenting view on the authenticity of Mk 16.9-20 see William R. Farmer, The Last Twelve Verses of Mark (SNTSMS 25; London: Cambridge University Press, 1974). For an excellent overview of twentieth-century history of interpretation of this text, see Joel F. Williams, ‘Literary Approaches to the End of Mark’s Gospel’, JETS 42 (1999): 21–35. 2. See the most recent and thorough treatment by N. Clayton Croy, The Mutilation of Mark’s Gospel (Nashville: Abingdon, 2003). Earlier voices include: Vincent Taylor, The Gospel According to St. Mark: The Greek Text with Introduction, Notes, and Indexes (2nd edn; New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1966), 609; Robert Gundry, Mark: A Commentary on his Apology for the Cross (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), 1011. Countering these scholars P. W. van der Horst offers a treatise by Plotinus (Ennead 5.5) as an example of a book that ends with ga/r (‘Can a Book End with GAR? A Note on Mark XVI. 8’, JTS 23 [1972]: 121–4) and Kelly R. Iverson, who claims that ‘the usage of final gar is inconclusive’, but there are certainly precedents for open-ended endings in Graeco-Roman literature (‘A Further Word on Final Ga/r (Mark 16:8)’, CBQ 68 [2006]: 79–94 [93]). 3. Exegetical rebuttals are usually based on the idea that this is no way to end the ‘good news of Jesus Christ [Son of God]’ (1.1). For example, Eduard Schweizer says, ‘The conjecture that the resurrection (of which the church was already aware) is merely alluded to as a mystery – like the messianic secret – is not very probable. It is necessary to assume that the conclusion of the Gospel has been lost’ (The Good News According to Mark [trans. Donald H. Madvig; Richmond: John Knox Press, 1970], 366). 4. For example, based on Paul’s account of the ‘gospel story’ in 1 Cor. 15.3-11, resurrection appearances are clearly significant. Mark apparently did not share this assessment based on

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consensus stands. However, even if there is general agreement that Mark ended at 16.8, there is no agreement as to what such an ending means.5 As Frank Kermode comments, ‘Mark is never more enigmatic, or never more clumsy, than at the end of his gospel’.6 Accepting an ending at 16.8 as the best resolution of this text-critical debate, the following interpretation of this passage is more concerned with how ending the Gospel with the women’s fear and silence contributes to a narrative of God’s good news (1.14).7 If we follow the textual history of the the account we have. Alternatively, Frank Kermode claims that Mark could not sustain the decisiveness that marks the first few chapters of his narrative, such that he ‘grows awkward and reticent. There are some matters, it seems, that are not to be so unambiguously proclaimed’ (The Genesis of Secrecy: On the Interpretation of Narrative [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979], 69). 5. See also Donald H. Juel, A Master of Surprise: Mark Interpreted (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), 108. 6. Kermode, The Genesis of Secrecy, 65. 7. Ira Brent Driggers (Following God Through Mark: Theological Tension in the Second Gospel [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007], 86–96) and Joel F. Williams (‘Literary Approaches’) catalogue different ways in which the ending of Mark has been understood by scholars whom Williams calls ‘literary critics’. (The following list of categories is from Williams, but I have supplemented his scholarly citations [‘Literary Approaches’, 26–35].) (1) There are scholars who understand the women’s fear in a positive light (e.g., R. H. Lightfoot, The Gospel Message of St. Mark [London: Oxford University Press, 1962], 97; David R. Catchpole, ‘The Fearful Silence of the Women at the Tomb: A Study in Markan Theology’, Journal of Theology for Southern Africa 18 [1977]: 3–10; Elizabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins [New York: Crossroad, 1983; repr. 2002], 321– 33; Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, ‘Fallible Followers: Women and Men in the Gospel of Mark’, In the Company of Jesus: Characters in Mark’s Gospel [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2000], 41–69; J. Lee Magness, Sense and Absence Structure and Suspension in the Ending of Mark’s Gospel [Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986], 87–105; Timothy Dwyer, The Motif of Wonder in the Gospel of Mark [JSNTSup 128; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996], 193; Gerald O’Collins, ‘The Empty Tomb: Reflections on the Resurrection’, America [188]: 13–15). (2) Some scholars understand the women’s failure as the death-knell of the disciples’ restoration (John Dominic Crossan, ‘Empty Tomb and Absent Lord (Mark 16:1-8)’, The Passion in Mark: Studies on Mark 14–16 [ed. Werner H. Kelber; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976], 135–52 [149]; Werner H. Kelber, Mark’s Story of Jesus [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979], 83–7; T. J. Weeden, Mark – Traditions in Conflict [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971], 44–51). (3) A third option is that the ending is ironic in order to cause the audience to think, as a parable does (N. R. Petersen, ‘When is the End Not the End? Literary Reflections on the Ending of Mark’s Narrative’, Int 34 [1980]: 151–66 [153–59]; Jack D. Kingsbury, Conflict in Mark: Jesus, Authorities, Disciples [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989], 112–15; Raymond Pickett, ‘Following Jesus in Galilee: Resurrection as Empowerment in the Gospel of Mark’, CurTM 32 [2005]: 434–44). (4) A fourth option is that the ending of Mark functions as an unstated exhortation to Mark’s audience (David Rhoads, Joanna Dewey, and Donald Michie, Mark as Story [2nd edn; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999], 61–2; Paul Danove, The End of Mark’s Story: A Methodological Study [Biblical Interpretation Series 3; Leiden: Brill, 1993], 220–28; Mary Ann Tolbert, Sowing the Gospel: Mark’s World in Literary-Historical Perspective [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989], 288–99 and see further, below). (5) Finally, there are interpreters who see a balance between God’s promise and human failure in Mark’s conclusion (Andrew T. Lincoln, ‘The Promise and the Failure: Mark 16:7, 8’, JBL 108 [1989]: 283–300; Juel, A Master of Surprise, 107–21; Williams, ‘Literary Approaches’, 33–5).



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ending of Mark’s Gospel, readers have been dissatisfied with e0fobou~nto ga/r as a conclusion almost since the Gospel’s inception (16.9-20).8 Nevertheless, particularly since the advent of redaction-critical methods that emphasize Mark’s skill as an author in his own right, scholars have sought to make sense of the content of this issue, the thorniest of the Gospel’s text-critical problems.9 Among scholars who try to maintain a tension between the promise of the young man’s proclamation in 16.7 and the negative response of the women in 16.8, the interpretations are divided along anthropological and theological lines.10 The former exposition, exemplified in Mary Ann Tolbert’s work,11 declares that the women’s silence merely makes way for the audience’s proclamation. Therefore, proclaiming the gospel to the nations (13.10) is now the audience’s responsibility, because virtually all the characters in the narrative have failed to carry this out. Interpreters who follow this line of thought emphasize that even if the women did not obey the young man at the

8. For rationale in support of e0fobou~nto ga/r as an appropriate conclusion to a narrative, see LXX Gen. 18.15 and J. Lee Magness, Sense and Absence, 25–86; Thomas E. Boomershine and G. L. Bartholomew, ‘The Narrative Technique of Mark 16:8’, JBL 100 [1981]: 213–23; Lincoln, ‘Mark 16:7, 8’, 284, and above, n.2. 9. Croy actually traces this advent back to the New Criticism of the 1960s (Mutilation, 33– 44). However, given that there is evidence for scholars seeking to make sense of Mark’s ending at 16.8 before the advent of such trends in literary studies, I think there is more evidence for its association with the shift from regarding Mark as a conservative redactor (late nineteenth/early twentieth century) to Mark as a redactor or creative author. This scholarly transition can be traced to R. H. Lightfoot (History and Interpretation in the Gospels [London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1935]). For example, Weeden, a prominent redaction-critical scholar, claims that Mark ended at 16.8 for polemical reasons: the women never did tell the Twelve that Jesus was waiting for them in Galilee (Mark, 50; see also Winsome Munro, ‘Women Disciples’, CBQ 44 [1982]: 225–41 [238–9]). 10. These categories are identical to Williams’ fourth and fifth categories, above (n.7). 11. See Sowing the Gospel, 298–9. Brian K. Blount offers a more nuanced version of the same conclusion (‘Is the Joke on Us? Mark’s Irony, Mark’s God, and Mark’s Ending’, The Ending of Mark and the Ends of God: Essays in Memory of Donald Harrisville Juel [eds Beverly Roberts Gaventa and Patrick D. Miller; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2005], 15–32 [18]). See also Paul L. Danove, who states that on account of the women’s silence, ‘the disciples have not received the message; but the narrative audience, and so the real audience, has. The disciples do not act on the message, and the narrative audience is constrained from doing so; but the real audience is not … The narrative rhetoric encourages the real audience to appropriate these beliefs … as the means of securing its own rehabilitation,’ The Rhetoric of the Characterization of God, Jesus, and Jesus’ Disciples in the Gospel of Mark (JSNTSup 290; New York: T&T Clark, 2005), 142. Thomas E. Boomershine similarly claims ‘The intended meaning of the ending is, therefore, the total effect of the ending. The ending is designed to be an experience of conflict between the scandal of silence and the fear of proclamation. In response to the shock of realization that the response of silence is utterly wrong, the story appeals for the proclamation of the resurrection regardless of fear. In the silences surrounding the climactic short statements of 16:8 and the surprising ending, Mark invites his audience to reflect on their own response to the dilemma which the women faced’ (‘Mark 16:8 and the Apostolic Commission’, JBL 100 [1981]: 225–39 [237]).

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tomb, Mark’s audience has still heard the young man’s announcement. They can respond and be ‘good soil’, bearing fruit for God’s kingdom.12 In this way, Mark’s ending brings hope rather than darkness. Additionally, these readers claim that they have the existence of the Gospel of Mark itself on their side: it is manifestly obvious that someone told, obeying the young man, or the Gospel narrative would not exist.13 In other words, Mark’s audience should not take the silence of the women in 16.8 as absolute, or as constraining. Instead, they should find in it the motivation to pursue their own role as proclaimers of the good news, similar to Matthew’s account (28.19; cf. Mk 16.15). On the other hand, the theological lines of interpretation critique this anthropologically focused conclusion. They first point to the specific textual problem: the young man’s proclamation in 16.7 which the women are to tell Jesus’ ‘disciples and Peter’ is fairly specific. It heralds a meeting between the risen Jesus and the disciples in Galilee: it is not just a proclamation of Jesus’ resurrection. There would presumably be no reason for Mark’s audience to proclaim something to the Twelve: how the audience should stand in for the failure of the women remains unclear.14 More generally, scholars who emphasize Mark’s theology read 16.8 as a conclusion and confirmation of the Gospel’s negative view of humanity’s ability to follow Jesus. Therefore, they place all of the responsibility for the continuing proclamation of the kingdom and any further events in God’s hands alone.15 Because Mark has such a

12. Tolbert, Sowing the Gospel, 297–9. See also Pickett: ‘The primary aim of the resurrection narrative is not to convey information but to impel those who hear the story to become faithful followers of Jesus’ (‘Following Jesus in Galilee’, 444). 13. See, e.g., Susan Miller, Women in Mark’s Gospel (JSNTSup 259; London: T&T Clark, 2004), 192; John Painter, Mark’s Gospel (NTR; London: Routledge, 1997), 210. 14. Sharyn Echols Dowd resolves this problem by universalizing ‘Galilee’: ‘If anyone is to go and tell about the resurrection, if anyone is to meet Jesus in the various Galilees where people need healing, deliverance, and good news, there would seem to be no one left to do those things except the audience’ (Reading Mark: A Literary and Theological Commentary on the Second Gospel [Reading the New Testament; Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2000], 170); see similarly Joachim Gnilka, Das Evangelium nach Markus (EKKNT II/2; Zürich: Benziger, 1979), 2:345. 15. Thus, Joel Marcus: ‘But both the OT and the NT writer [Jonah and Mark] prescind from portraying the conversion of their deeply flawed characters – perhaps partly because these authors want to put the emphasis on divine compassion rather than the human ability to change’ (Mark 8–16 [AYB 27A; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009], 1095). Likewise, R. Alan Culpepper: ‘The theme of human failure is therefore complete. The religious authorities, Jesus’ hometown, the disciples, the crowds, the Roman authorities, and even the women who accompanied Jesus to Jerusalem failed him. On the other hand, God’s promises have been fulfilled. The fulfilment of the scriptures and the words of Jesus, the voice from heaven, the phenomena that accompanied Jesus’ death, and finally God’s resurrection of Jesus are all signs of God’s unfailing trustworthiness. There is no doubt that the promised meeting in Galilee will take place’ (Mark [Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2007], 589). Moreover, Donald H. Juel: ‘Making the successful conclusion of the story dependent upon human performance would seem as naïve as the boast of the disciples to remain faithful even to death [14.30-31] … There is hope only because Jesus is no longer imprisoned in the tomb – and because God can be trusted to finish what has been begun’ (Mark [Augsburg Commentary on the NT; Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1990], 234).



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pessimistic anthropology, these interpreters conclude, he would not seek to encourage his audience to take particular actions based on this narrative. He has left no basis for such encouragement. Instead, he shows them how the continuation of this narrative is not up to them, but is up to God.16 Scholars who offer critiques of this perspective ground their objections in two earlier passages in Mark’s narrative that emphasize the necessity of the community’s proclamation of the good news: 9.9-13 and 13.4-37. Mk 9.9-13 describes the time after Jesus’ resurrection as a time of proclamation, in contrast with the silence maintained during his ministry. Mk 13.4-37 describes Jesus’ discourse to his disciples, but clearly directs its exhortations to the reader of Mark’s Gospel (13.14). Therefore, Mark’s audience is to ‘keep awake’ (grhgore/w: 13.34, 35, 37; cf. 14.34, 37, 38) and ‘watch’ (ble/pw: 13.5, 9, 23, 33). The following investigation of the ending of Mark’s Gospel differs from other scholars’ analyses by placing Mark’s ending in the context of his widespread use of paradoxical language in the narrative of the Second Gospel.17 As we have seen, when Mark talks about God’s activity, he speaks of it in paradoxical terms. Paradoxes are not resolved when the stone is rolled away from Jesus’ tomb (16.3). Instead, as Mark indicates by his ending, language about God must continue to express divine action in paradoxical terms at least until the eschaton, if not beyond.18 This chapter explores two instances of Mark’s paradoxical expressions at the empty tomb. First, other scholars have noted how Mark seems to emphasize Jesus’ absence at the tomb, and some have described how Mark focuses, paradoxically, on how Jesus’ absence mediates his presence.19 This emphasis, I argue, coheres with Mark’s broader description of God’s revealed yet concealed activity. As witnesses to the empty tomb, the women see many things, but they do not perceive their import (cf. 4.12). Based on the entirety

16. See Juel, Master of Surprise, 121. 17. Others, particularly Juel, have noticed the ‘tension’ at the end of Mark’s narrative: ‘Mark’s Gospel ends with both hope and disappointment. The relationship between the last two verses embodies the critical tension in the story between blindness and insight, concealment and openness, silence and proclamation. The tension is not resolved. Why is this so? To what end does the tension lead?’ (A Master of Surprise, 116; similarly, see Lincoln, ‘Mark 16:7, 8’, 291–3). Juel finds that the tension leads to a theological statement: God is one who opens doors, rather than closing them; God is one ‘who will not be shut in – or out’ (A Master of Surprise, 120). 18. Some scholars (e.g., Williams, ‘Literary Approaches’, 31) claim that Mark’s ending is ironic. Such irony is best summarized by Lincoln: ‘the double irony is that they are to tell of a promise that failure is not the end, but then they fail to tell and that is the end – of the narrative!’ (‘Mark 16:7, 8’, 290). Indeed, Mark’s ending is ironic because the audience does know that this is not the true end of Jesus’ story: they have just experienced its proclamation. Nevertheless, the fact remains that Mark concludes this Gospel proclamation with silence, which reinforces not only the audience’s knowledge in irony, but also their ignorance, in paradox. 19. Adela Yarbro Collins, in particular, highlights Jesus’ absence at the end of Mark’s narrative as she concludes that Jesus has been translated to heaven, rather than walking to Galilee (The Beginning of the Gospel: Probings of Mark in Context [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992], 138– 48). For more reflection on Jesus’ absence at the empty tomb, see below, n.30.

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of Mark’s narrative, we might presume that this lack of awareness is due to God’s concealment; however, in this particular narrative the women’s paucity of understanding seems to be due to the presence of God’s revelation. In the brightness of the new day, the revelation blinds their eyes to true perception just as much as God’s concealment blinded the eyes of others in Mark’s narrative. In this way, concealment and revelation are intrinsically connected, and both continue to describe God’s activity after Jesus’ resurrection. Second, Mark also describes paradoxical deeds that resemble the dynamic connection between waste and goodness which we observe in the parable of the sower and its interpretation, at Bethany, and at Golgotha. The ambiguous figure of Joseph of Arimathea can be fruitfully compared with the anonymous woman at Bethany (14.3-9) for this purpose, as they both reflect divine actions that are paradoxically wasteful and magnificently good. Furthermore, Mark gives his audience a glimpse of God’s own paradoxical activities at this point, showing how God’s action in resurrecting Jesus is amazingly good, but the news about this proclamation is wasted on ears that do not hear and mouths that do not speak. The enigmatic conclusion of the narrative is puzzling precisely because of the continuing necessity of paradoxical language to describe God’s post-resurrection activity. Mark’s conclusion attests to the way in which Mark sees God’s paradoxical action in the life of the church.

Section I: ‘He is risen; he is not here’: Concealment and Revelation Section (a): Seeing and Not Seeing (15.40, 47; 16.4, 5, 7) The narrative that follows Jesus’ crucifixion in the Second Gospel functions as a hinge, connecting the crucifixion to the empty tomb. To this end, Mark introduces new characters: women who have been following (h)kolou/qoun) Jesus since they were in Galilee (15.41).20 Although these women were ‘far off’ (makro/qen) from the crucifixion, they still see (qewrou~sai) what is happening. As Mark narrates the story, it seems that the women’s primary function in this narrative is to continue following Jesus by ‘seeing’ the events that occur.21 The verb qewre/w occurs three times over these next few verses (15.40, 47; 16.4) and it is also paired with verbs of seeing (e.g., a)nable/yasai: 16.4; i1de: 16.6; o1yesqe: 16.7). This preponderance of language about sight points to a historical concern, in that the women serve as the witnesses to Jesus’ burial place. Their presence at the crucifixion verifies 20. Miller summarizes the women’s role in this way: ‘The women are portrayed more courageously than the male disciples, since they remain faithful to Jesus at his crucifixion and burial, and they are the first of his followers to hear the news of the resurrection. The favourable portrayal of individual women (5.21-43; 7.24-30; 12.41-44; 14.3-9) and the courage of these women lead us to expect a positive conclusion to their visit to the tomb, but the Gospel ends with their terror and silence’ (Women in Mark’s Gospel, 174). 21. Ibid., 179.



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that they knew which tomb was Jesus’, and their arrival there early in the morning, 36 hours later, confirms that they knew which tomb should be his and found precisely that one empty (15.47; 16.3-5). At the same time, Mark is not concerned only with historical questions. Indeed, the theme of the women’s sense of sight actually points to a much larger theme in the Second Gospel. The women see many things at Jesus’ death and at the empty tomb. Nevertheless, they do not perceive what is happening. At the empty tomb, they respond to the sights they see with fear rather than obedience. Mark portrays these women in the same way that he has described the male disciples throughout the narrative: although they have been able to follow Jesus, they do not perceive the significance of what he is doing. This lack of perception can be traced back to the way God operates in revelation and concealment. Echoing the themes of Mk 4.12 and 8.14-21, the story of the empty tomb shows that understanding is not guaranteed after Jesus’ resurrection. Instead, as God continues to work paradoxically, granting revelation that is concealed, the women remain as blinded as the disciples were. Still, there is a change: now, instead of concealment blinding the women, revelation has done so. Mark 15.40–16.8 can be broken into two parts. The first part is the ‘hinge’ narrative mentioned above: this pericope (15.40-47) describes the women’s watching Jesus’ death and burial from a distance. The second part, discussed below, focuses on the women’s actions and reactions on ‘the first day of the week’ (16.2) at Jesus’ tomb. In Mk 15.40-47 the verses that focus on the women include the first two verses and the final verse. The first two verses name the women, describe their current position (at a distance from the cross, watching [qewrou~sai]), and explain their connection to Jesus and his ministry (15.41). The final verse claims that two women, Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses, saw (e0qew/roun) Jesus’ burial place (15.47). Beyond its additional use in Mk 16.4, the verb qewre/w is used four other times in the Second Gospel (3.11; 5.15, 38; 12.41). Jesus is the subject of this verb twice (5.38; 12.41), and the unclean spirits once (3.11). The only additional occurrence of this verb describes the action of someone lacking spiritual knowledge22 in Mk 5.15. There, the people of the city and the countryside come in response to the proclamation of the swineherds. When they come to the place where Jesus is, they see (qewrou~sin) the (former) demoniac, now sitting (kaqh/menon) and clothed (i(matisme/non) and with his wits about him (swfrounou~nta: 15.15). This sight produces fear (e0fobh/qhsan), while the actual exorcism has produced flight (e1fugon) and proclamation (a)ph/ggeilan) by the swineherds (5.14). Fear as a direct result of seeing provides a definitive connection to the narrative at the empty tomb. The women’s sight does not give them insight into what God or Jesus is doing.

22. Jesus and the unclean spirits are clearly portrayed as knowing information of which others are ignorant (e.g., 1.34; 3.11-12; 11.2-6; 13.30-31; 14.12-16, among many others).

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Instead, their sight points them only to death (15.40, 47) and a great stone that has been moved (16.4).23 The women’s sight and lack of perception continues when they encounter a young man (neani/skov: 16.5).24 Not only does his presence disturb them (e0ceqambh/qhsan: 16.5, 6) but his proclamation is apparently so disruptive that they cannot obey his commands. After exhorting the women not to be afraid,25 the young man tells the women to see (i1de) the place where Jesus had been laid. This language reminds the reader of Mk 15.47, because at least Mary Magdalene has ‘seen where he was laid’ (e0qew/roun pou~ te/qeitai: 15.47) and can now compare it to this place (o( to/pov o3pou e1qhkan au)to/n: 16.6) to which the young man points. Mark does not declare whether the women look at the emptiness. However, he does say that they flee (e1fugon) like the swineherds among the Gerasenes (5.14), but unlike the swineherds, they say nothing to anyone (ou)deni\ ou)de\n ei}pan: 16.8). The young man’s revelation that Jesus is risen and is not here has the effect of blinding the women.26 They see only that which provokes fear. As fear is portrayed as a negative response throughout Mark’s Gospel,27 it seems that their response prevents them from telling the disciples about a sight that could

23. C. Clifton Black highlights that the women’s concern about the door is mentioned according to the ‘logic of storytelling: First, [the evangelist] tacitly rebuts any charge that the body could have been stolen (cf. Matt. 28.11-15); second, he plants in the women’s (and the reader’s) minds doubt that they can make good on their purpose’ (Mark [ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon, 2011], 339). 24. Scholars have long debated the significance of this neani/skov and the only other neani/skov in the Gospel, who flees, naked, at Jesus’ arrest (Mk 14.51-52). Lincoln’s description seems to state an accurate connection between the two men: ‘Just as [the young man’s] presence in the garden underlined the failure of the disciples, so now his presence at the tomb highlights the immediate restoration of the disciples’ (‘Mk 16:7, 8’, 293; cf. Kermode, Genesis of Secrecy, 62–3). Of course, the opposite claim is also true: as the young man indicates the last of the (male) disciples to flee in Mark 14, here he highlights the final narrated flight of the female disciples at the empty tomb. 25. Fear is a common response to angelic beings (e.g., Judg. 13.6; Est. 5.2 LXX; Lk. 1.13, 30; 2.9, 10; 3 Macc. 6.18; 4 Macc. 4.10). 26. Miller claims that it is the news of resurrection that blinds the women, as the women ‘are aligned with the old age, unable to respond to the power of the new age’ (Women in Mark’s Gospel, 175). Miller does not provide any rationale for why others in Mark’s community might expect that they are more clearly ‘aligned with’ the new age, however. Miller is developing Marcus’ analysis, which sees the women’s response as a further indication that the old age continues into the life of the new age (Marcus, Mark 8–16, 1087; see above, Chapter 2, and further, idem, ‘Mark 4:10-12 and the Marcan Epistemology’, JBL 103–4 [1984]: 557–74 [574]). 27. Mk 4.41; 5.15, 36; 6.50; 9.32; 10.32; 11.18, 32; 12.12. Mk 5.33 is the only instance in Mark where fear is unambiguously positive, and in this case, fear and trembling (fobhqei~sa kai\ tre/mousa) propels a woman to speech (ei}pen) rather than silence (cf. 16.8). See also Paul Danove (‘The Characterization and Narrative Function of the Women at the Tomb (Mark 15, 40-41. 47; 16, 1-8)’, Bib 77 [1996], 374–97 [391–2]). Oddly, Miller claims that the Markan community ‘is encouraged to identify with the fear of the women’ at the empty tomb (Women in Mark’s Gospel, 187; cf. Marcus, Mark 8–16, 1087).



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theoretically overcome fear: seeing (o1yesqe) Jesus in Galilee (16.7).28 Because the women do not perceive, or see rightly, at the empty tomb despite all of their looking (15.40, 47; 16.4), they and the disciples risk not seeing Jesus in Galilee, at least according to 16.8. Such a failure to look and perceive is a continuation of Mk 4.12: sight without insight is blindness, brought about this time by the absence of Jesus and the presence of divine revelation in the proclamation of the young man. Section (b): God’s Action: Presence and Absence (16.3-4, 6-7) Indeed, one aspect of the narrative that is clearer to Mark’s audience than it is to the characters is how God may indeed be present at the empty tomb, even if that presence is not evident on the surface of the events. While the women witness Jesus’ death, his entombment, and the large stone blocking the mouth of the tomb, they do not see God’s action there. As early as they have risen, God acts before they arrive at the tomb. Not only is the stone mysteriously rolled away from the tomb,29 but Jesus has been raised (h)ge/rqh: 16.6, a divine passive; cf. 14.28),30 and an enigmatic young man has been entrusted with an apparently divine proclamation. These actions announce God’s presence even though neither God nor Jesus is depicted in any of these scenes. 28. John R. Donahue and Daniel J. Harrington conclude that this sight of Jesus would heal the blindness from which the disciples have been suffering (cf. 8.18; The Gospel of Mark [SP2; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2002], 461). There is no reason to assume that o1yesqe refers to a vision of the parousia rather than to a resurrection appearance as Marxsen (Mark the Evangelist, 75–95) argues. Oyesqe is used to refer to witnessing the parousia in 13.26 and 14.62, but other NT texts use the term to refer to the resurrection (e.g., 1 Cor. 9.1; Mt. 28.17; Jn 20.18), and the evangelist presumes that other events will occur before the parousia (e.g., 13.7-11, 21-22: see Lincoln, ‘Mark 16:7, 8’, 285). 29. Marcus seems to rely on an argument from D. Wilfand (unpublished paper, Greek exegesis of Mark; Duke University Graduate Program in Religion, 2006), claiming that the verb a)pokuli/w in the LXX is used predominantly (three out of four times) to describe divine intervention in rolling large stones away from openings (Mark, 1080). Unfortunately, this appears to presume that God is the one who rolls the stone away from the mouth of the well in Genesis, when it is clear that shepherds or Jacob accomplish this action, as the verbs in the first two verses are third person plural (a)peku/lion; a)pokuli/swsin), with the implied or explicit shepherds as the subject (Gen. 29.3, 8). In the third case, the verb is singular, but Jacob is its expressed subject (Iakwb a)peku/lisen: Gen. 29.10). My conclusion is the same as Marcus’: God rolls the stone away from the tomb, but the better method of arriving at this conclusion is not lexical but literary. Donahue and Harrington list all of the logical possibilities for the agent of a)pokeku/listai in Mk 16.4, namely God, Jesus, or the young man, but they do not establish one over the other (Mark, 458). M. Eugene Boring, on the other hand, notes that the perfect tense of a)pokeku/listai corresponds well with the young man’s description of Jesus, the Crucified One (o( e(staurwme/nov: expressed with a perfect participle, 16.6): ‘The stone was not only once-upona-time-rolled-away, but once-for-all-time-rolled-away; the past act of God definitively affects the present, and cannot be undone’ (Mark: A Commentary [NTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2006], 444). 30. Donahue and Harrington, Mark, 458; Boring, Mark, 445.

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In fact, to this point, many commentators describe Mark’s conclusion as a narrative that stresses Jesus’ absence as opposed to his presence (cf. Mt. 28.20).31 The problem with such a claim is that, in Mark’s scheme of things, Jesus’ absence may paradoxically testify to his presence, much as God’s silence at Golgotha testified to God’s presence once the Temple veil was torn (15.3839). Indeed, the claim of the young man at the tomb strikes the same note: Jesus ‘is risen’ – therefore, present – while absent: ‘he is not here’ (16.6).32 There is not even an adversative particle between the two statements. Jesus can be present again, because he is risen; he is not here, and thus is absent. Instead, the young man’s claims focus on the actions that happened before the women arrived at the tomb: God (presumably) has raised Jesus from the dead (h)ge/rqh) and Jesus has left this place (w{de; o( to/pov) for Galilee (e0kei~: 16.7). The mere declaration of Jesus’ absence and presence does not suffice to affirm God’s own paradoxical activity in concealment and revelation. Nevertheless, Jesus’ resurrection and absence mirrors the deeds of a God who reveals while concealing. All of God’s actions in this text are undertaken in darkness (16.12) and apart from the witness of others. As at Golgotha, the proclamation of Jesus’ identity (‘Jesus the Nazarene, the Crucified One’) comes from a human being (16.6-7; cf. 15.39). Yet the women respond to this human being as though he were an angel (e0ceqambh/qhsan: 16.5-6; cf. Mt. 28.2-5),33 which

31. Jesus’ absence is a periodic theme of the Second Gospel. Eduard Schweizer finds that the parables of Mark 4 point to the ‘powerlessness of Jesus’, which can be identified with his ‘unavailability’ (4.38), which Schweizer believes continues after Easter. ‘True, the disciples were to see him in Galilee (16:7), but this did not change the fact that the post-Easter period was a period of wars (13:7), persecution (13:9), betrayal and hate (13:12f.), tribulation (13:19), and deception (13:21f.) … Thus, the time between Easter and the Parousia is a period of probation, full of tribulation, and yet not of total desolation’ (‘The Portrayal of the Life of Faith in the Gospel of Mark’, Int 32 [1978]: 387–99 [398]). See also Eugene Boring, who claims, ‘In Mark, the risen Christ is not present with his church between the resurrection and the parousia, the believers do not experience the Real Presence in the sacrament, the risen Christ does not make intercession for the believers, nor does discipleship consist of membership in the mystical Body of Christ. Absence is a presiding theme of Markan christology (cf. 2:19-20; 14:7, 25; 16:7). The only opponents of the Christian faith specifically mentioned by Mark as contemporary with himself and his readers are the false-prophet christs who falsely speak the ego eimi of the messianic presence (13:6, 22; cf. 6:50)’ (‘The Christology of Mark: Hermeneutical Issues for Systematic Theology’, Semeia 30 [1984]: 125–51 [140]; cf. idem, Mark, 446). 32. As Miller says, ‘Paradoxically, then, absence is a sign of presence’ (Women in Mark’s Gospel, 179); see also Marcus, Mark 8–16, 1085. 33. Marcus cites W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, whose list of angelophanies includes Dan. 10.2-14; Apoc. Abr. 10.1-17; 2 En. 1.3-10. Each of these descriptions includes ‘an introductory identification of the recipients, a description of the angel appearing, a reference to the recipients’ fear, a word of consolation from the angel, a word of revelation, and usually a word of command’ (Mark 8–16, 1080; Davies and Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew [ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991], 2:660–1). Furthermore, in 2 Macc. 3.26, 33 and Josephus, Ant. 5.277 angels are described as young men (see Culpepper, Mark, 586; D. E. Nineham, Saint Mark [Westminster Pelican Commentaries; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1963], 444).



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implies his divine connections.34 While he remains a human being in Mark, he demonstrates divine knowledge.35 Though this proclamation still falls on deaf ears, God’s action continues as it has, unabated, throughout the narrative. The young man claims they will see Jesus if they follow him to Galilee (16.7). While Mark generally describes God’s action obliquely, hidden by the cover of darkness, his narrative attests to the presence of this action. If God is active yet hidden, then there is still hope for the promised restoration (16.7) even after the women’s flight (16.8).

Section II: Glorious Resurrection and Wasteful Proclamation The second category of paradoxical action that Mark describes at the empty tomb involves God’s action in raising Jesus from the dead and God’s wasteful way of proclaiming the good news. Furthermore, this paradox of good and wasteful actions is also reflected in an ambiguous figure in the passion narrative: Joseph of Arimathea. Adhering to Mark’s narrative order, this analysis begins by comparing Joseph to the characterization of the woman at Bethany and concludes by assessing the women’s purpose and their response to the young man’s proclamation. Section (a): Joseph of Arimathea In these final sections of the narrative Mark reiterates a theme we have noticed several times: Mark claims that God works through Jesus’ opponents in order to accomplish the divine purpose. This time, however, Mark presents both positively and negatively the figure through which God’s will is manifested. In addition to the female disciples, Mark introduces another new character in his narrative at Golgotha. This figure is Joseph of Arimathea, who is first described as ‘an honourable council-member’ (eu)sxh/mwn bouleuth/v:

34. John Dominic Crossan creatively hypothesizes that this neani/skov is not a cipher for Jesus or for ‘the Christian initiate in general. It is the neophyte in the Markan community, and therefore it is that community itself, including Mark. It is not the risen Lord and neither is it some accidental angel who delivers the message: it is the Markan community of those reborn in the resurrected Christ’, ‘Empty Tomb and Absent Lord (Mark 16:1-8)’, 148. While this reading of the neani/skov emphasizes the connection between his identity and proclamation, there is no further evidence that he is to be viewed as the Markan community. In particular, this reading does not explain the women’s fear, which is rightly interpreted as a response to an angelic vision or a theophany. 35. This combination of divine speech through a human mouth gives hope to the Markan community: while neither the male nor female disciples understand and obey Jesus’ (or God’s: 16.6-7; cf. 9.7) words, this young man does proclaim God’s kingdom. (Pace Crossan and Weeden, the good news finally does not go unannounced at the end of Mark.) Here is a hint of the work the Spirit will perform in the Markan community when they testify before others (13.9-13).

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15.43). This characterization is somewhat perplexing, as it is likely that Mark understood Joseph as a member of the governing body that unanimously condemned Jesus to death (14.64).36 As we note below, none of the members of this council has been presented positively, so describing Joseph as ‘honourable’ highlights a difference in this characterization. The positive portrayal continues as Joseph is envisaged as ‘anticipating the kingdom of God’ (15.43), thus implying that he is a person who seeks to do God’s will (3.35; cf. 12.28-34).37 However, Joseph’s identity has been a perplexing point in the history of interpretation, beginning with Matthew and Luke. In Matthew, Joseph is a disciple of Jesus (Mt. 27.57; cf. Jn 19.38a) while Luke portrays Joseph as a member of the Sanhedrin who did not consent to Jesus’ death (23.50-51).38 For the purpose of this discussion, however, it is important that Mark’s account of Joseph does not fall neatly along the lines of Jesus’ opponents or of Jesus’ disciples. In some ways, Joseph represents both.39 Reinforcing the positive aspects of his depiction, Mark claims that Joseph ‘boldly’ (tolmh/sav) goes to Pilate to ask for Jesus’ body and buries him, performing the duty of Jesus’ feckless disciples (15.43; cf. 6.29). The women’s later return after the Sabbath with spices increases the likelihood that Joseph’s burial was relatively basic, in contrast to Jn 19.38b-41.40 Mark’s narrative implies that Joseph’s actions may be attributed to Torah obedience: one who has been crucified must be buried on the same day (Deut. 21.22-23), and given the late hour (kai\ h1dh o)yi/av genome/nhv: 15.42), time was of the essence. Therefore, Joseph’s action can be interpreted as the devotion of a faithful, law-abiding Jew. On the other hand, Mark portrays Joseph’s allegiance ambiguously: Joseph may also have been among Jesus’ enemies, who condemned him to death. Nevertheless, by this point Mark’s audience knows

36. It is unclear whether these ‘council-members’ (bouleuth/v) should be equated with the Sanhedrin (sune/drion: 14.55, 64; 15.1). However, Josephus uses bouleutai/ to describe members of the council who are associated with other authorities (a1rxontev) who have the ability to collect taxes (War 2.17.1 §405; see also Raymond A. Brown, The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsemane to the Grave [ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1994], 2:1214). 37. In fact, the scribe who is ‘not far from God’s kingdom’ but unique among the scribes may be a proper model for Mark’s characterization of Joseph, a member of the council and yet one who ‘anticipates God’s kingdom’. 38. Interestingly, Brown finds that Mark’s ambiguous characterization of Joseph might be the most historical, as it would have been unlikely for Pilate to have consented to release Jesus’ body to one of Jesus’ disciples or to a member of the council who had not condemned Jesus (The Death of the Messiah, 2:1217). 39. See also Boring, Mark, 439. Dowd disagrees. She sees Joseph as one of Jesus’ enemies who has been looking for the kingdom of God, but has ‘missed the whole point’. She does not resolve how this characterization of anticipating the kingdom might be an odd description for one of Jesus’ enemies. Instead, she focuses on how Mark demonstrates a contrast between John the Baptist, who was buried by his disciples, and Jesus, buried by one of his enemies (Reading Mark, 164). 40. Brown, The Death of the Messiah, 2:1209–10, 1247–9.



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that God can still work through Jesus’ enemies to accomplish divine purposes. In Joseph’s procurement of a tomb, a linen cloth, and a burial place for Jesus, he acts in ways that can be perceived as good. His good deeds fulfil Torah, burying a man who has been accused of breaking Torah (14.63-64).41 At the same time, given the coming resurrection, Joseph’s actions are wasteful. The linen cloth is unnecessary, and even the protective stone door will become obsolete. Again we see that God’s magnificent action in raising Jesus from the dead transforms the actions of Jesus’ followers: deeds that are good when Jesus is dead (burial) are wasted once he is risen. This shift is reminiscent of another person who has exemplified God’s action in wasteful and praiseworthy ways: the woman at Bethany (14.3-9).42 Both Joseph and the woman at Bethany are positively associated with Jesus, either by the narrator’s descriptions of Joseph (15.43) or Jesus’ approbation of the woman (14.9). However, both figures are outsiders to Jesus’ ministry. At best, they are minor characters in the Gospel. Neither articulates the purpose of their actions; in fact, as far as Mark’s narrative is concerned, both are silent.43 Mark says that Joseph is courageous in requesting Jesus’ body from Pilate (15.43) and courage is presumed of the woman at Bethany (14.3) given the response from her detractors (14.4-5).44 Finally, the body (to\ sw~ma) of Jesus receives both Joseph’s and the woman’s action (14.8; 15.43). This term, sw~ma, is only used one additional time in Mark’s Gospel, when Jesus breaks bread, gives it to his disciples, and claims that it is his body (14.22). Anointing or burying Jesus’ broken body seems to point to a theme that connects all of these texts: anointing, brokenness and burial are aspects of Jesus’ death. Just as the ‘beautiful deed’ of the woman’s anointing was praised by Jesus for anticipating his death, so Joseph’s procurement of a tomb is valued for going beyond what might have

41. It is not about the material value of Joseph’s supplies; instead, Joseph’s good deeds lie in the fact that he offered this burial at all (contrast Boring, Mark, 440). 42. See Chapter 5, above, for further reflection on how the woman at Bethany embodies God’s wasteful yet praiseworthy action as Mark describes it in the parable of the sower and Jesus’ interpretation of it (4.3-9, 14-20). 43. Joseph asks Pilate for Jesus’ body, but Mark does not narrate the direct speech of this request. 44. There are certainly differences between the actions of Joseph and the woman at Bethany. Even if the use of the tomb for Jesus’ burial can later be deemed wasteful, it remains necessary for the (aptly named) empty tomb narrative (16.8). If the women do not see where Jesus is laid, there is no guarantee (beyond the testimony of the young man) that the empty tomb which they discover is that in which Jesus’ body was laid. The actions of the woman at Bethany seem to be motivated more by devotion than necessity or a desire to follow Torah. Mark describes the objections to the price of the woman’s gift: unlike Jn 19.39-40, Mark does not indicate the cost of Joseph’s burial goods. Furthermore, the woman receives approbation from Jesus for her act; yet, her name is forgotten and Joseph’s name is remembered. Mark certainly narrates more about Joseph’s identity than about the anonymous, silent woman. Yet, the significance of their actions is remarkably similar.

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been required. Jesus could have been left to hang on the cross, or he could have been cast into a criminal’s grave, which would still fulfil Deut. 21.22-23. As Mark presents the story, Joseph did more than was expected. In light of the parallels with the woman at Bethany and the tense situation after Jesus’ death, surpassing the minimum expectation is surely a demonstration of a good deed. Just as we can see wasteful aspects of the woman at Bethany’s action, the same is true for Joseph. Even though Jesus’ female followers do not succeed in anointing him after the Sabbath (16.1-2), the young man at the tomb proclaims, by implication, that Jesus does not need to be anointed to travel to Galilee. The woman at Bethany has wasted spices on Jesus’ head which, by a strictly economical rendering, are unnecessary for a living Jesus (cf. 14.4-5). A tomb, of course, fits in this same category. Easter Sunday’s resurrection makes earlier good deeds appear wasteful in light of God’s ultimate magnificent act in raising Jesus. Section (b): Purpose and Proclamation The final alternation between wasteful and good action occurs between Mark’s characterization of the women’s purpose and God’s action and proclamation. The purpose of the women’s journey to the tomb is stated very clearly: anointing Jesus (a)lei/ywsin au)to/n: 16.1).45 As we have seen, their purpose is actually a wasteful one, because it is rendered obsolete by God’s good action that occurs in advance of their arrival at the tomb. In a section above we have considered how Mark portrays God’s revelatory activity at the empty tomb, particularly in moving the stone, in raising Jesus, and in giving the young man the proclamation of Jesus’ resurrection. Concurrently, God’s apparent absence testifies to the same themes of hiddenness. Raising Jesus can be considered as a glorious and generous divine action primarily because Mark understands Jesus’ resurrection to be his vindication.46 It is not trivial that God raises Jesus, and no one else. This theological theme is

45. Byrne claims that the women’s very purpose was wasteful: if anointments and spices were to alleviate the smell of decay, waiting 36 hours would render such a purpose ‘pointless’ (A Costly Freedom: A Theological Reading of Mark’s Gospel [Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2008], 254; see also Gnilka, Markus, 2:340). Miller claims that the women’s ‘anointing’ might only have been the sprinkling of oil, and this would have little to do with the condition of the corpse (Women in Mark’s Gospel, 177). Marcus lists an additional reason for why the women’s anointing can be seen as wasteful: Jesus has already been anointed by God as Messiah before either of the accounts of anointing within the Gospel narrative (Mark 8–16, 1084). For more details about the correlation between the two attempted anointings, see Lincoln, ‘The Promise and the Failure’, 288; Miller, Women in Mark’s Gospel, 177; Edwin K. Broadhead, ‘Mark 14:1-9: A Gospel within a Gospel’, Paradigms 1 (1985): 32–41 [esp. 33]). 46. In this light, Culpepper claims: ‘In Mark, the resurrection is God’s answer to Jesus’ cry of abandonment (15:34)’ (Mark, 583).

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most evident in Mk 12.10-11, as Jesus claims that he is the stone the builders have rejected, but that by the Lord’s deeds (para\ kuri/ou e0ge/neto au3th: 12.11), he becomes the ‘head of the corner’ (12.10). A positive reversal of the wastefulness of the parable of the vineyard is, not surprisingly, echoed in Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection as well. That is a point of the parable, after all (12.1-12).47 Nevertheless, as we have seen throughout Mark, language about God’s good action does not suffocate wasteful, negative assessments of God’s deeds. Instead of Matthew’s description of supernatural events (an earthquake and the dazzling appearance of an angel of the Lord: 28.2-3), Mark simply narrates a human announcing good news. Indeed, God entrusts the proclamation of Jesus’ resurrection and the future restoration of the disciples with the young man in the tomb. This proclamation falls on deaf ears. The women do not obey the commands of the young man (‘look’, ‘go’, ‘tell’: 16.6-7): instead they flee and are silent (16.8). Mark’s ending narrates God’s action in wastefulness, as the ‘seeds’ of hope are scattered and do not bear fruit (see above, Chapter 4). The women’s good deed in bringing spices is subverted by God’s magnificence in Jesus’ resurrection, rendering the women’s action wasteful. At the same time, God’s astonishing action in resurrecting Jesus evokes the young man’s proclamation, which is rendered wasteful by the women’s lack of response. Such a complex interplay between good and wasteful actions is precisely what the final section of this chapter explores: paradoxes continue past the resurrection, into the eschaton.

Section III: A Paradoxical Resolution We have seen how the empty tomb narrative continues to express the paradoxes found in the Second Gospel as a whole. Mark shows the women seeing, but not perceiving, which alludes to God’s revelatory, yet blinding, action in Mk 4.10-12. Furthermore, God’s own activity at the empty tomb is inferred and occurs under cover of darkness. God has raised Jesus, but Jesus is not present when the women arrive, except in a young man’s proclamation. Not only does God continue to conceal revelation: God also acts in ways that are bountifully good and wasteful. Joseph’s burial of Jesus reminds readers of the wasteful and good actions of Bethany’s anonymous woman, and both, in turn, mirror the action of the sower in the parables of Mark 4. Beyond Joseph, however, we have seen how God’s vindication of Jesus contrasts with the women’s good-turned-wasteful purpose of anointing Jesus. Nevertheless, the text of the empty tomb account perplexingly ends on a note of wastefulness rather than magnificent goodness as the young man’s proclamation is wasted on the women’s unhearing ears. Such a 47. See above, Chapter 7.

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conclusion to Mark’s narrative seems to serve as the pinnacle of all of Mark’s paradoxes.48 There are benefits to such an ending, however. By ending his Gospel this way, Mark demonstrates that God continues to act paradoxically after Jesus’ resurrection. The paradoxical relationship between good and wasteful actions, for example, has pivoted around Jesus’ resurrection: what is good before Jesus’ resurrection is wasteful after it. Therefore, Mark indicates that the resurrection does not abolish the need to describe God’s action with paradoxical language. This conclusion is contrary to Wrede’s thesis about the resolution of Mark’s ‘secrets’. Focused on Christological (‘messianic’) secrets, Wrede claimed that all secrets would be resolved post-resurrection (see Mk 9.9). The time after the resurrection is a time of proclamation rather than silence.49 Juel describes the disappointment inherent in Mark’s ending best when he says: ‘Expectations [have been] planted in readers. There will be a time of openness, a time for disclosing and speaking (4.21-22). There is good reason to believe that Jesus’ resurrection will mark the transition from one time to another. Yet, in the narrative world at least, that is not to be.’50 While Jesus’ identity, as such, has not been a mystery to Mark’s audience, understanding the connections between the clear statements of this identity (e.g., Son of God, Son of Man) and Jesus’ life and death requires the use of paradoxical language, as power is displayed in weakness and glory is only glimpsed and promised, not seen and understood. In Mark, human language reflecting divine action remains paradoxical even after Jesus has been raised, because God’s action is still beyond human comprehension. Mark shows that paradoxical language continues past Jesus’ resurrection because he narrates the resolution and continuation of God’s activity with the disciples in a way that bridges this event, beginning before the resurrection and concluding after it. There is a clear connection between the proclamation of the young man at the tomb and some of Jesus’ previous words, as the man’s statement indicates (kaqw/v ei1pen u(mi~n: 16.7). The words alluded to

48. This ending may remind a reader of Lincoln’s ‘promise-failure’ reading of Mk 16.7-8. Both Lincoln and I identify ‘juxtapositions’ in the narrative. Lincoln focuses first on ‘revelations’ from Jesus’ life or teaching to Mark’s audience (Mk 1.1–8.26) and then shifts his terminology to ‘divine promises’ (8.27–16.8). He claims that every time a divine promise is offered, someone (whether Jesus’ enemies, the crowds, or Jesus’ disciples) misunderstands and creates a failure of discipleship. The challenge for Lincoln comes after 16.8. If the only continuation from the narrative comes in the form of the promises from Jesus, it is no wonder his reading founders upon a delay of the parousia: the words of Jesus in Mark 13 are the only promises Lincoln has left to create further juxtapositions in promise and failure of discipleship, or in other words, to continue a relationship between Jesus and his disciples (Lincoln, ‘Mark 16:7, 8’, 293–96, 299–300). 49. William Wrede, The Messianic Secret (trans. J. C. G. Grieg; Cambridge: James Clarke & Company, 1971), 42, 68; Marcus, Mark 8–16, 1087; Lincoln, ‘The Promise and the Failure’, 290–1; Williams, ‘Literary Approaches’, 31. 50. Master of Surprise, 115.

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are Jesus’ predictions of God’s action with respect to him and his followers.51 Mk 14.28 and 16.6b, 7 may be fruitfully compared (see Table 8.1).52 Mk 14.28

Mk 16.6b, 7

a)lla\ meta\ to\ e0gerqh~nai/ me

h)ge/rqh, ou)k e1stin w[de

proa/cw u(ma~v ei)v th\n Galilai/an

proa/gei u(ma~v ei)v th\n Galilai/an e0kei~ au)to\n o1yesqe

Table 8.1 Therefore, Jesus’ resurrection and his disciples’ restoration are assured, even if they are not narrated. At the same time, Jesus has promised that ‘all will fall away’ (pa/ntev skandalisqh/sesqe: 14.27).53 Mark claims that ‘all flee’ (pa/ntev e1fugon: 14.50) after Jesus’ arrest, yet he narrates the unusual story of the young man fleeing naked immediately thereafter (14.52). Presumably, this interlude reiterates Mark’s broader point: Jesus has been utterly abandoned by his followers. This sense of abandonment continues through his death, when God is silent at the cross (15.34). Yet Mark has been withholding information. Apparently, there have been women following Jesus since they were all in Galilee (15.41). As Mark does not introduce these women until after Jesus’ death, it is only then that his audience learns that all of Jesus’ followers have not fallen away. Even though the women are ‘far off’ from the cross they are still present. When the young man proclaims Jesus’ restoration with his disciples – even with Peter – Mark’s audience glimpses the possibility that Jesus’ words, and Zechariah’s prophecy, might not be fulfilled as they expected. God’s striking the shepherd might not have scattered all the ‘sheep’. However, the reader of 16.8 knows this hope is a fantasy. Jesus said all will fall away, and just as the disciples fled (14.50) and Peter would not say anything about Jesus (14.66-72), so too, the women flee.54 51. For more information, see above, Chapter 6. 52. See also A. Lindemann, ‘Die Osterbotschaft des Markus. Zur theologischen Interpretation von Mark 16. 1-8’, NTS 26 (1980): 293–317. Willi Marxsen sees a continuation of the theme of the messianic secret in the tension between proclamation and silence that continues past Mark’s ending (Mark the Evangelist [trans. James Boyce, et. al; Nashville: Abingdon, 1969] 111–16). 53. Miller claims that this prophecy indicates that ‘without the presence of Jesus, human beings cannot remain faithful. The young man, however, offers the women and the disciples the opportunity of seeing Jesus again in Galilee (16:7; cf. 14:28)’ (Women in Mark’s Gospel, 182). While the disciples are praised by Jesus for leaving everything and following him (10.28-30), there is a limit to how much one might praise their faithfulness when they are with Jesus, as Jesus is more likely to upbraid them for their lack of faith (e.g., 4.40-41). 54. See also Miller, Women in Mark’s Gospel, 182. Miller believes the women represent those who flee at the last watch of the parable narrated in Mk 13.35.

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God’s actions in striking – yet raising – the shepherd (14.27-28) seem counter to one another, so it is not surprising that the final fulfilment of these prophetic words is also paradoxical. As the promises testify (14.28; 16.6-7), because of Jesus’ resurrection, the disciples’ restoration is already beginning even as other disciples fail. It is at this point of restoration that Mark paradoxically demonstrates that the original promise of scattered sheep is indeed fulfilled, creating dissonance for Mark’s audience who presumably expect a clear conclusion and a fulfilment of positive, not negative, promises. Viewed apart from Mark’s consistent language about God’s paradoxical action, the paradox at the end of the Gospel is completely perplexing. The conclusion of this analysis is that Mk 16.8 is not supposed to be a satisfactory ending because (a) paradox, by its nature, does not intellectually satisfy, and (b) this is not the end.55 Precisely by leaving the reader unsatisfied, Mark’s concluding paradox serves its proper theological function, pointing back to the paradoxes of divine activity in the narrative and also pointing forward, beyond the end of the narrative, to the eschatological point where revelation will be God’s primary mode of action (4.22). The Second Gospel uses paradoxical language for God because that is the only way in which the evangelist can begin to comprehend God’s unusual action in bringing near (1.15) the kingdom. The flight and silence of the women constitute the last of these paradoxes in the narrative. Their conduct concludes the prophecy of the flight of all of Jesus’ followers, yet places the restoration of these followers resolutely in the position of God’s paradoxical action – for God can make silence yield proclamation.

55. See also Juel, Mark, 234.

Conclusion The goal of this book has been to focus on the distinctive way in which Mark describes God’s activity. We find that Mark consistently speaks of divine action in paradoxes. Mark’s implication is not that knowledge comes through resolving paradoxes. Instead, Mark emphasizes the necessity of both elements that create the paradox in order to recognize the truth to which they point. Furthermore, describing God’s activity in paradoxes is due both to human finitude and to God’s transcendence and mystery. Using paradoxical language mirrors how humans perceive God’s mystery. In other words, paradoxes reveal something concrete about the nature and activity of God in ways that can be somewhat understood by human senses and reason. Concurrently, they preserve and prevent complete comprehension. In other words, paradoxical language highlights the mysterious character of God’s action in the Gospel of Mark. This book is divided into two parts. Part 1 focuses on Mark’s language of paradox as illustrated through Jesus’ parabolic teaching. We begin with the parable of the sower and its literary context, because the Markan Jesus claims that understanding the parable of the sower is necessary for understanding all the parables (4.13). The second part of the book looks at selected narratives within Mark’s passion narrative in order to determine how Mark describes God’s action at the Gospel’s literary and theological climax. We conclude with these vignettes from the passion narrative since it is clear that one cannot comprehend Jesus’ messianic identity without taking into account his death and resurrection (8.27–9.1). As these passages are central to the themes of the Second Gospel, it is appropriate to focus on them when considering Mark’s discussion of God’s activity. More specifically, the first chapter of Part 1 analyses the central term of the study, paradox, and highlights the shift in the usage of the term throughout history. In this analysis, a paradox refers to two independently valid statements that are jointly inconsistent. Furthermore, paradox is similar to other literary terms used to express God’s mystery, like parable and irony. However, paradox differs from parable in the focus on inconsistency instead of comparison, and paradox differs from irony by emphasizing the audience’s ignorance, rather than its knowledge. The remaining chapters of Part 1 argue that the language of the parables in Mark 4 yields three different paradoxes describing God’s activity. First, God’s deeds are concealing and revealing at the same time (Chapter 2). We primarily see this paradox in the language of Mark 4.10-12, as God

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gives a mystery to those around Jesus, but causes everything to come in parables to ‘those outside’, preventing repentance and forgiveness. The gift of the mystery does not seem to be comprehensible to those who receive it, however. The parables and their explanations seem to reveal little, and block the senses of both insiders and outsiders. The God of the kingdom Jesus proclaims reveals and conceals. This same God also enacts a kingdom that is explained by agricultural knowledge, and even this quotidian knowledge can be surprising. If the kingdom of God is like a mustard seed that grows to become the greatest of the garden herbs, while still providing shade for the birds of the air, then Jesus’ listeners have encountered a God who is bringing a surprising, mysterious, revelatory, and hidden kingdom into the world. The commentary on the parables in Mark 4 makes it apparent that the kingdom of God is simply clear – and not clear. Second, Mark shows how God fulfils and confirms some of Israel’s scriptures while countering others (Chapter 3). This chapter focuses on Mk 4.10-12 again and notes how Mark paraphrases the text from Isa. 6.9, 10b, and also adopts Isaiah’s pattern of demonstrating how God continually hardens and softens the hearts of Isaiah’s audience. Furthermore, the Second Gospel shows how Jesus is the authoritative interpreter of scripture, and therefore Jesus’ words can illuminate and confirm, or at times run counter to, Israel’s scriptures and their themes. This is particularly true in terms of the concluding themes of Mk 4.10-12, namely, repentance and forgiveness, explored in Mk 2.1-12 and 3.19b-30. Third, in light of the parable of the sower and the Markan Jesus’ interpretation of it, God’s action appears paradoxically both wasteful and also good. This chapter argues that the parable of the sower demonstrates God sowing carelessly but still producing a glorious harvest (Mk 4.3-8). Each of the three paradoxes acquires further nuance in light of the varying portrayals of opposition and evil that Mark develops. In this specific instance, the wastefulness of God’s sowing ‘along the path’ (4.3) is produced by the continuing activity of evil, which we are told that Jesus has already defeated, at least in some form (3.22-27). The presence, yet defeat, of evil is its own paradox, and this paradox collides with God’s actions which produce both waste and goodness in this nascent kingdom. In Part 2 of this work, Mark’s paradoxical language about God’s activity continues into the passion narrative. We find evidence of actions that are both wasteful and good at Bethany (Chapter 5). There, a woman wastefully anoints the head of a living Jesus and he claims her offering is a good deed for his burial, yet Mark’s readers know her offering is still wasteful because Jesus is raised from death. Judas’ betrayal and plans with the chief priests and scribes highlight the portrayal of discipleship in this text: as the woman ‘wastes’ her ointment on Jesus and Jesus deems this action ‘good’, Judas looks for a ‘good’ time to betray his Teacher for an undisclosed sum of money (14.11). In other words, the true discipleship of the woman, paralleling God’s own actions in sowing seeds from Mark 4, seem even more stark against the backdrop of betrayal.



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The other two paradoxes attested in Mark 4, revelation that is concealed and scriptures that are both confirmed and countered, are also represented at Gethsemane. God’s action in Jesus’ death and his disciples’ flight is demonstrated through the Markan Jesus’ quotation of scripture. This assurance collides with Jesus’ scriptural and faithful request to be relieved of the coming hour of suffering – if such relief is God’s will. Furthermore, God’s action in sending Jesus to his death is perplexingly concealed behind the actions of Jesus’ antagonists, as their arrival embodies God’s apparent answer to Jesus’ prayer. Scripture is confirmed in this concealment of action, yet even so Jesus prays that this voice of scripture will be countered (Chapter 6). At Golgotha and the empty tomb, the focus is primarily on the tension between God’s assumed presence (cf. 15.38) and declared absence (15.34), as illustrated by Mark’s paradoxical language of concealment and revelation (Chapter 7). In light of God’s previous announcements of Jesus’ sonship in Mark’s narrative (1.11; 9.7), God seems particularly hidden in silence at Golgotha; nevertheless, God is present even in this silence and forsakenness (15.33-39). The temporal and spatial horizons at Golgotha and the shifts of purpose and proclamation at the empty tomb demonstrate that God’s simultaneously wasteful and good action informs the crucifixion but continues after it. The end of the Gospel is a paradoxical ending precisely because Mark claims that God is a paradoxical God (Chapter 8). Paradoxical language is not only necessary to describe God’s action before the resurrection; it is also required after it. While the identity of the Messiah, in both glory and suffering, may now be proclaimed (cf. 9.9), the Gospel’s enigmatic resurrection account displays that Jesus’ resurrection does not resolve paradoxes. The good yet wasted proclamation from the young man (16.6-7), and the women’s flight in confirmation of Zech. 13.7 (cf. Mk 14.27) highlights this continued irresolution. Everything has not yet been revealed (4.22), and Mark’s language reflects reticence about speaking too forthrightly about God’s action. Mark’s paradoxical expressions preserve God’s transcendence and God’s mystery. One of the benefits of recognizing Mark’s penchant for paradoxical language is that it provides readers with a greater understanding of some of the more exegetically problematic passages in the Gospel. This analysis has considered passages that have been the cause of much scholarly interest: Mark’s so-called ‘hardening theory’ (4.10-12), the role of both Jesus’ disciples and his opponents in his passion and death (14.27-42; 15.22-39), and Mark’s enigmatic ending (16.1-8). The history of scholarship of these passages has often been radically divided among different interpretive options. What previous scholarship has not recognized, however, is that evidence for two primary options within the text of the Gospel may indicate the Evangelist’s irreducibly paradoxical language. Recognizing this language allows Mark’s readers to place these challenging passages more securely into their literary and theological context. For example, Mk 4.10-12 is no longer just about ‘outsiders’’ misunderstanding; what Mark highlights is God’s role in granting revelation and obscuring that same revelation. As John Donahue and Gudrun

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Guttenberger have said, Mark stresses God’s transcendence.1 Mark expresses this transcendence through the language he uses to describe God’s activity in and through the advent of this kingdom drawn near (1.15).2 Recognizing Mark’s paradoxical language does not mean, however, that all scholarship on the Second Gospel is somehow correct, carte blanche, regardless of its exegesis or conclusions. Mark’s consistent use of paradoxes highlights the fact that the Evangelist presents statements and images that are in tension with one another. Recognizing Mark’s paradoxical theology does not predestine its readers to interpretive indecision. The point of a paradox is not indecision, but rather, a joining of two opposing statements that are nevertheless valid. The recognition of a paradox, not its resolution, is significant for Mark. For instance, Mark shows his readers that God reveals certain aspects of the kingdom (e.g., 4.11) and Jesus’ identity (1.11; 9.7), while concealing this revelation at the same time (4.12; 15.34, 39). Since Mark displays God’s activity in a paradoxical manner, it has proven far too easy for interpreters to focus on only one side of the paradox, thereby skewing Mark’s portrayal. The duality of paradox means that scholars should be cautious when making statements about God’s activity in the Second Gospel to ensure that they perceive both sides of the paradox, preserving God’s mystery. In fact, it is precisely this caution in comprehending and claiming God’s activity and purpose that Mark’s theological language seems to invite. Presenting God’s activity in paradoxical form means that God can never be precisely known. Mark is clear that God is present even at times when events imply divine absence (e.g., 15.34, 38), yet even God’s presence operates by expected and unexpected principles. Donald Juel concludes his essay on the ending of Mark with the provocative idea that God is on the loose, out from behind the Temple curtain, no longer separated from humanity by protective barriers. Jesus, too, is on the loose, no longer bound by death, the grave, and a large stone at the mouth of his tomb.3 Juel’s thesis can be extended back to the beginning of the Gospel as well. Mark’s language never enables his audience to define God precisely or to know everything about God. Nevertheless, Mark’s paradoxical statements do not mean that his readers are told nothing about God, and thus are reduced to a kind of theological agnosticism. Paradoxes do not work this way. Instead, using paradoxes to describe God’s 1. John R. Donahue, ‘A Neglected Factor in the Gospel of Mark’, JBL 101 (1982): 563–94 [580–1]; Gudrun Guttenberger, Die Gottesvorstellung im Markusevangelium (BZNW 123; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2004), 115. 2. Steven D. Boyer and Christopher A. Hall describe God’s mystery along several theological axes. One of these includes transcendence, which they describe as follows: ‘divine transcendence is not the opposite of divine immanence; it is the ground of immanence. God can be present in all of creation as no creature can, precisely because God transcends creation as no creature does. We might say (though the language could be easily misunderstood) that God is so “other” that his otherness, unlike other otherness, includes even sameness’ (The Mystery of God: Theology for Knowing the Unknowable [Grand Rapids: Baker, 2012], 34). 3. A Master of Surprise: Mark Interpreted (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), 120–1.



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activity means that Mark’s audience, as humans, cannot fully grasp the ‘things of God’ (8.33). However, they are able to use Mark’s paradoxical language as a foundation for further investigations based on the awareness of God’s activity that paradoxes represent.4 Paradoxical descriptions, as defined in this book, provide a starting point to explore both Mark’s theological language and the general themes and emphases of the Second Gospel. Recognizing paradoxes in Mark’s narrative allows his audience to experience the depth of the good news that Jesus proclaims. This gospel is complex, hardening some and softening others; wasting proclamations and yet producing amazing harvests; and expressing God’s will through ancient scripture and yet seeking to counter that same scripture. The complexity of the gospel, however, is foundational for encouraging and enabling Mark’s audience to live as faithful disciples (13.9-13). Understanding Mark’s use of paradoxical language to describe God’s activity provides evidence for the unity of three strands of Mark’s narrative that have long been separated: discussions of God, Jesus, and the life of a disciple. As we noted in the Introduction and in Chapter 1, christology and discipleship have received significant attention in Markan scholarship. It is common to hear these motifs described paradoxically. Salvation is found by losing one’s life (8.34-39). Power and authority are found in instances where there is powerlessness and weakness (10.42-44). Jesus is king, with his throne on the cross, and his sovereignty demonstrated in his death (15.22-39). His suffering (8.31) is juxtaposed with his glory (9.2-9). Furthermore, Jesus exhorts his disciples to pursue similar ends (8.22–10.52; 13.9-13). By describing christology, discipleship, and theology (in the narrow sense) in similar terms, Mark implies that all three strands are united within the kingdom’s advent: their source is God. In this way, the Second Gospel presents a profoundly holistic view of a disciple’s life. Human understanding of God’s activity must be expressed in paradoxes precisely because God transcends the knowledge of mortals. Jesus’ death and resurrection is an example of this paradoxical activity: it follows that discipleship, too, is expressed in paradoxical terms. While the focus of this analysis has been on how the Gospel of Mark describes God’s activity, it is clear that the goal of such description is similar to Mark’s own goal: striving to portray God’s activity realistically creates better disciples of Jesus. This portrayal not only includes rational knowledge, however. The disciples in Mark’s Gospel were notoriously dense when it came to understanding Jesus’ teaching. Nevertheless, they continued to follow, at least to a point. Their following, and their falling away, was accomplished, partly, by God’s own action – and similarly, with their restoration (16.7).

4. This rational exploration of knowledge, paired with the recognition that there will be some knowledge that we cannot know, by virtue of God being God, is essentially what Boyer and Hall mean by the mystery of God being a ‘revelational, dimensional mystery’ (The Mystery of God, 11–13).

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Following this paradoxical God, even when knowledge is incomplete (cf. 4:13-20; 13.32; 14.3-9) is the way of life for a disciple. Mark provides many examples of how revelation may be given, but not understood (e.g., 4.11-13). The Gospel of Mark encourages and challenges its audience to keep looking and listening (4.3), as they are dazzled gradually by truths told on a slant.5

5. R. W. Franklin (ed.), The Poems of Emily Dickinson (Reading edn; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999), 1263.

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Juel, Donald H. ‘Encountering the Sower: Mark 4:1-20’. Interpretation 56 (2002): 273–82. ———. An Introduction to New Testament Literature. Nashville: Abingdon, 1978. ———. Mark. Augsburg Commentary on the New Testament. Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1990. ———. A Master of Surprise: Mark Interpreted. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994. ———. Messianic Exegesis: Christological Interpretation of the Old Testament in Early Christianity. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988. ———. ‘“Your Word is Truth”: Some Reflections on a Hard Saying’. Princeton Seminary Bulletin 17 (1996): 9–28. Jülicher, Adolf. Die Gleichnisreden Jesu. 2 vols. 2nd edn. Tübingen: Mohr, 1899. Keck, Leander E. A Future for the Historical Jesus: The Place of Jesus in Preaching and Theology. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980. ———. Who is Jesus? History in Perfect Tense. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2000. Kee, Howard Clark. Community of the New Age: Studies in Mark’s Gospel. Repr., Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1983. Kelber, Werner H. ‘Conclusion: From Passion Narrative to Gospel’. Pages 153–80 in The Passion in Mark: Studies on Mark 14–16. Edited by Werner H. Kelber. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976. ———. ‘Mark 14:32-42: Gethsemane: Passion Christology and Discipleship Failure’. Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche 63 (1972): 166–87. ———. Mark’s Story of Jesus. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979. Kermode, Frank. The Genesis of Secrecy: On the Interpretation of Narrative. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979. Kierkegaard, Søren. Samlede Vaerker. Edited by A. B. Drachman, J. L. Heiberg, and H. O. Lange. 15 vols. Copenhagen: Gylendals Publishing, 1901–06. ———. Søren Kierkegaard’s Journals and Papers. Edited and translated by Howard J. Hong and Edna H. Hong. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1967–68. Kim, T. H. ‘The Anarthrous ui(o\v qeou~ in Mark 15,39 and the Roman Imperial Cult’. Biblica 79 (1998): 221–41. Kingsbury, Jack D. The Christology of Mark’s Gospel. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983. ———. Conflict in Mark: Jesus, Authorities, Disciples. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989. ———. ‘“God” Within the Narrative World of Mark’. The Forgotten God: Perspectives in Biblical Theology: Essays in Honor of Paul J. Achtemeier on the Occasion of his Seventy-Fifth Birthday. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002. Kirkland, J. R. ‘Earliest Understanding of Jesus’ Use of Parables: Mark 4:10-12 in Context’. Novum Testamentum 19 (1977): 1–21. Kittel, G., and G. Friedrich, eds. Theological Dictionary of the New Testament. Translated by G. W. Bromiley. 10 vols. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964–76. Knibb, Michael. The Ethiopic Book of Enoch: A New Edition in Light of the Aramaic Dead Sea Fragments. 2 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978. Knowles, Michael P. ‘Abram and the Birds in Jubilees 11: A Subtext for the Parable of the Sower?’ New Testament Studies 41 (1995): 145–51. Laertius, Diogenes. Lives of Eminent Philosophers. Translated by R. D. Hicks. 2 vols. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1925; repr., 1950. Lambrecht, Jan. Once More Astonished: The Parables of Jesus. New York: Crossroad, 1981. Lee-Pollard, Dorothy A. ‘Powerlessness as Power: A Key Emphasis in the Gospel of Mark’. Scottish Journal of Theology 40 (1987): 73–88. Lemcio, Eugene. ‘External evidence for the structure and function of Mark 4:1-20, 7:14-23 and 8:14-21’. Journal of Theological Studies 29 (1978): 323–38. Liddell, Henry George, Robert Scott, and Henry Stuart Jones, et. al. A Greek-English Lexicon. 7th edn. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996. Lightfoot, R. H. The Gospel Message of St. Mark. London: Oxford University Press, 1962. ———. History and Interpretation in the Gospels. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1935.



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Meyer, Marvin W. ‘Taking Up the Cross and Following Jesus: Discipleship in the Gospel of Mark’. Calvin Theological Journal 37 (2002): 230–8. Miller, Susan. ‘The Woman Who Anoints Jesus (Mk 14:3-9): A Prophetic Sign of the New Creation’. Feminist Theology 14 (2006): 221–36. ———. Women in Mark’s Gospel. Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series 259. London: T&T Clark, 2004. Moberly, R. W. L. The Theology of the Book of Genesis. Old Testament Theology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Moloney, Francis J. The Gospel of Mark: A Commentary. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2002. Moore, Carey. ‘Mark 4:12: More Like the Irony of Micaiah than Isaiah’. Pages 335–44 in A Light Unto My Path. Edited by Howard Bream, et. al. Gettysburg Theological Series 4. Philadelphia: Temple Forest University Press, 1974. Moore, Ruth. Niels Bohr: The Man, His Science, and The World They Changed. New York: Knopf, 1966. Moore, Stephen D. Literary Criticism and the Gospels: The Theoretical Challenge. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1989. ———. ‘Mark and Empire: “Zealot” and “Postcolonial” Readings’. Pages 193–205 in The Postcolonial Biblical Reader. Edited by R. S. Sugirtharajah. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006. Motyer, Stephen. ‘The Rending of the Veil: A Markan Pentecost?’ New Testament Studies 33 (1987): 155–7. Moule, C. F. D. ‘Mark 4:1-20 Yet Once More’. Pages 95–113 in Neotestamentica et Semitica: Essays in Honour of Matthew Black. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1969. Munro, Winsome. ‘Women Disciples’. Catholic Biblical Quarterly 44 (1982): 225–41. Murdock, William R. ‘History and Revelation in Jewish Apocalyptic’. Interpretation 21 (1967): 167–87. Nickelsburg, George W. E. 1 Enoch: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001. ———. ‘Apocalyptic and Myth in 1 En 6-11’. Journal of Biblical Literature 96 (1977): 383–405. Nickelsburg, George W. E. and James C. VanderKam, trans. 1 Enoch: A New Translation. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004. Nineham, D. E. Saint Mark. Westminster Pelican Commentaries. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1963. No, Kisun. ‘The Narrative Function of God in the Gospel of Mark’. PhD diss., Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, 1999. O’Brien, Kelli S. The Use of Scripture in the Markan Passion Narrative. Library of New Testament Studies 384. New York: T&T Clark, 2010. O’Collins, Gerald. ‘The Empty Tomb: Reflections on the Resurrection’. America (188): 13–15. O’Day, Gail and David L. Petersen, eds. Theological Bible Commentary. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2009. Oden, Thomas C. and Christopher A. Hall, eds. Mark. Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture 2. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1998. OED Online. Oxford: Oxford University Press; June 2010. No pages. Cited 13 October 2010. Online: http://dictionary.oed.com. Paillard, Jean. In Praise of the Inexpressible: Paul’s Experience of the Divine Mystery. Translated by Richard J. Erikson. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2003. Painter, John. Mark’s Gospel: Worlds in Conflict. New Testament Readings. London: Routledge, 1997. Palmer, Parker J. The Promise of Paradox: A Celebration of Contradictions in the Christian Life. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1980. Repr., 2008. Parry, Donald W. and Emmanuel Tov, eds. The Dead Sea Scrolls Reader. 6 vols. Leiden: Brill, 2004–05.



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Payne, P. B. ‘The Order of Sowing and Ploughing in the Parable of the Sower’. New Testament Studies 25 (1978): 123–9. Perkins, Pheme. ‘God in the New Testament: Preliminary Soundings’. Theology Today 42 (1985): 332–41. Perrin, Norman. ‘Parables and Hermeneutics’. Pages 35–50 in Parable and Gospel. Edited by K. C. Hanson. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003. Repr. from Interpretation 25 (1971): 131–48. ———. ‘Towards an Interpretation of the Gospel of Mark’. Pages 1–78 in Christology and a Modern Pilgrimage. Edited by Hans Dieter Betz. Claremont, CA: New Testament Colloquium, 1971. Repr. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974. Petersen, N. R. ‘When is the End Not the End? Literary Reflections on the Ending of Mark’s Narrative’, Interpretation 34 (1980): 151–66. Pickett, Raymond. ‘Following Jesus in Galilee: Resurrection as Empowerment in the Gospel of Mark’. Currents in Theology and Mission 32 (2005): 434–44. Plato. Complete Works. Translated by Harold North Fowler, et. al. 12 vols. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1914; repr., 1990. Pliny. Naturalis historia. Translated by H. Rackham. 10 vols. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1956–66. Plutarch. Moralia. Translated by Frank Cole Babbitt. 16 vols. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1949–76. Polybius. Histories. Translated by W. R. Paton. 2 vols. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1922; repr., 2010. Quesnell, Quentin. The Mind of Mark: Interpretation and Method through the Exegesis of Mark 6,52. Analecta Biblica 38. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1969. Räisänen, Heikki. The Idea of Divine Hardening: A Comparative Study of the Notion of Divine Hardening, Leading Astray, and Inciting to Evil in the Bible and the Qur’an. Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 25. Helsinki: Finnish Exegetical Society, 1972. ———. The ‘Messianic Secret’ in Mark. Translated by Christopher Tuckett. Studies of the New Testament and its World. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990. Rahlfs, Alfred, ed. Septuaginta: id est Vetus Testamentum graece iuxta LXX interpretes. 2 vols. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1979. Ramaroson, Léonard. ‘Sur Trois Textes Des Synoptiques’. Science et esprit 47 (1995): 287–303. Rhoads, David, Joanna Dewey, and Donald Michie. Mark as Story. 2nd edn. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999. Riches, John K. Conflicting Mythologies: Identity Formation in the Gospels of Mark and Matthew. Studies of the New Testament and its World. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000. ———. ‘Conflicting Mythologies: Mythical Narratives in the Gospel of Mark’. Journal for the Study of the New Testament 84 (2001): 29–50. Ricoeur, Paul. ‘Biblical Hermeneutics’. Semeia 4 (1975): 29–148. Robinson, Geoffrey D. ‘The Motif of Deafness and Blindness in Isaiah 6,9-10: A Contextual, Literary, and Theological Analysis’. Bulletin for Biblical Research 8 (1998): 167–86. Robinson, James M. The Problem of History in Mark. London: SCM Press, 1957. Russell, D. S. The Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic, 200 BC–AD 100. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1964. Santos, Narry F. Slave of All: The Paradox of Authority and Servanthood in the Gospel of Mark. Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series 237. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003. Schweizer, Eduard. The Good News According to Mark. Translated by Donald H. Madvig. Richmond: John Knox Press, 1970. ———. ‘The Portrayal of the Life of Faith in the Gospel of Mark’. Interpretation 32 (1978): 387–99. Scott, Bernard Brandon. Hear Then the Parable: A Commentary on the Parables of Jesus. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989.

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Seneca. Epistulae morales. Translated by Richard M. Gummere. 3 vols. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1961. Shepherd, Tom. ‘The Irony of Power in the Trial of Jesus and the Denial by Peter – Mark 14:5372’. Pages 229–45 in The Trial and Death of Jesus: Essays on the Passion Narrative in Mark. Edited by Geert van Oyen and Tom Shepherd. Leuven: Peeters, 2006. ———. Markan Sandwich Stories: Narration, Definition, and Function. Andrews University Seminary Doctoral Dissertation Series 18. Berrien Springs, MI: Andrews University Press, 1993. Shiner, Whitney T. ‘The Ambiguous Pronouncement of the Centurion and the Shrouding of Meaning in Mark’. Journal for the Study of the New Testament 78 (2000): 3–22. Shively, Elizabeth E. The Apocalyptic Imagination in the Gospel of Mark: The Literary and Theological Role of Mark 3:22-30. Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 189. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2012. Sidebottom, E. M. ‘On the Divine Passive’. Expository Times 87 (1976): 200–4. Siegman, Edward F. ‘Teaching in Parables: [Mk 4.10-12; Lk. 8.9-10; Mt. 13.10-15]’. Catholic Biblical Quarterly 23 (1961): 161–81. Smith, C. Drew. ‘“This Is My Beloved Son: Listen to Him”: Theology and Christology in the Gospel of Mark’. Horizons in Biblical Theology 24 (2002): 53–86. Smith, Stephen H. A Lion with Wings: A Narrative-Critical Approach to Mark’s Gospel. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996. Snodgrass, Klyne. ‘A Hermeneutics of Hearing Informed by the Parables with Special Reference to Mark 4’. Bulletin for Biblical Research 14 (2004): 59–79. ———. Stories with Intent: A Comprehensive Guide to the Parables of Jesus. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008. Sorensen, Roy. A Brief History of the Paradox: Philosophy and the Labyrinths of the Mind. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Squires, John T. The Plan of God in Luke-Acts. Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series 76. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Standaert, Benoît. L’Evangile selon Marc: Composition et Genre Litteraire. Lire la Bible 61. Nijmegen: Stichting Studentenpers Nijmegen, 1978. Stone, Michael. ‘Lists of Revealed Things in Apocalyptic Literature’. Pages 414–52 in Magnalia Dei, The Mighty Acts of God: Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Memory of G. Ernest Wright. Edited by Frank Moore Cross, W. E. Lemke, and P. D. Miller. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1976. Strack, Hermann L., and Paul Billerbeck. Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrasch. 6 vols. Munich: C. H. Beck, 1922–61. Stuckenbruck, Loren. ‘Spiritual Formation and the Gospel of Mark’. Ex auditu 18 (2002): 80–92. Sugirtharajah, R. S. ‘The Widow’s Mites Revalued’. Expository Times 103 (1991): 42–3. Swartley, Willard M. ‘The Role of Women in Mark’s Gospel: A Narrative Analysis’. Biblical Theology Bulletin 27 (1997): 16–22. Swete, H. B. The Gospel According to Mark. London: MacMilliam and Co., 1898. Synge, F. C. ‘A Plea for the Outsiders: Commentary on Mark 4:10-12’. Journal of Theology for Southern Africa 30 (1980): 53–8. Tannehill, Robert C. ‘Disciples in Mark: The Function of a Narrative Role’. Journal of Religion 57 (1977): 386–405. ———. ‘The Gospel of Mark as Narrative Christology’. Semeia 16 (1979): 57–95. ———. ‘Tension in Synoptic Sayings and Stories’. Interpretation 34 (1980): 138–59. Taylor, Vincent. The Gospel according to St. Mark: The Greek Text with Introduction, Notes, and Indexes. 2nd edn. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1966. Terrein, Samuel L. The Elusive Presence: Toward a New Biblical Theology. Religious Perspectives 26. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1978. Theissen, Gerd. The Gospels in Context: Social and Political History in the Synoptic Tradition.



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Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991. Theissen, Gerd and Annette Merz. The Historical Jesus: A Comprehensive Guide. Translated by John Bowden. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998. Thomas, Samuel I. The ‘Mysteries’ of Qumran: Mystery, Secrecy, and Esotericism in the Dead Sea Scrolls. Early Judaism and its Literature 25. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2009. Tolbert, Mary Ann. Sowing the Gospel: Mark’s World in Literary-Historical Perspective. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989. Trick, Bradley. ‘Misinterpretation as Interpretive Key: Jesus’ Use of Ambiguous Parables to Harden Hearts’. Paper presented at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature. New Orleans, LA, November 20, 2009. Trocmé, Etienne. ‘Why Parables? A Study of Mark IV’. Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester 59 (1976–77): 458–71. Tukasi, Emmanuel O. Determinism and Petitionary Prayer in John and the Dead Sea Scrolls: Ideological Reading of John and the Rule of Community (1QS). Library of Second Temple Studies 66. London: T&T Clark, 2008. Ulansey, David. ‘The Heavenly Veil Torn: Mark’s Cosmic Inclusio’. Journal of Biblical Literature 110 (1991): 123–5. Van der Horst, P. W. ‘Can a Book End with GAR? A Note on Mark XVI. 8’. Journal of Theological Studies 23 (1972): 121–4. Via, Jr., Dan O. The Ethics of Mark’s Gospel – In the Middle of Time. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985. ———. The Parables: Their Literary and Existential Dimension. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1967. ———. The Revelation of God and/as Human Reception in the New Testament. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity International, 1997. Wahlde, U. C. von. ‘Mark 9.33-50 – Discipleship: The Authority that Serves’. Biblische Zeitschrift 29 (1985): 49–67. Wailes, Stephen L. Medieval Allegories of Jesus’ Parables. Berkeley: University of California, 1987. Wainwright, Elaine. ‘The Pouring Out of Healing Ointment’, in Toward a New Heaven and a New Earth: Essays in Honor of Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza. Edited by Fernando F. Segovia. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2003. Watson, Francis. ‘Ambiguity in the Markan Narrative’. King’s Theological Review 10 (1987): 11–12. ———. ‘Literary Approaches to the Gospels: A Theological Assessment’. Theology 99 (1996): 125–33. Watts, Rikki E. Isaiah’s New Exodus in Mark. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997. Repr., Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2000. Weeden, T. J. ‘The Cross as Power in Weakness (Mark 15:20b-41)’. Pages 115–34 in The Passion in Mark: Studies on Mark 14–16. Edited by Werner H. Kelber. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976. ———. Mark – Traditions in Conflict. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971. Wegener, Mark I. Cruciformed: The Literary Impact of Mark’s Story of Jesus and His Disciples. Lanham, MD; University Press of America, 1995. White, K. D. ‘The Parable of the Sower’. Journal of Theological Studies 15 (1964): 300–7. Wilder, Amos N. The Bible and the Literary Critic. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991. ———. Early Christian Rhetoric: The Language of the Gospel. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1964. Repr., New York: Harper & Row, 1971. Williams, Joel F. ‘Literary Approaches to the End of Mark’s Gospel’. Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 42 (1999): 21–35. ———. Other Followers of Jesus: Minor Characters as Major Figures in Mark’s Gospel. Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series 102. Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1994. Wrede, William. The Messianic Secret. Translated by J. C. G. Grieg. Cambridge: James Clarke & Company, 1971.

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Index of Modern Authors Abbott, Edwin A. 45 Ahearne-Kroll, Stephen P. 25, 40, 120, 124, 125 Aland, Kurt 99 Albl, Martin C. 66 Alexander, Phillip S. 35 Allison, Dale C. 168 Ambrozic, Aloysius 32, 34, 40, 42, 43, 44, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 53, 54, 69, 73, 88 Anderson, James 13, 17 Arida, Robert 51 Ashton, John 41 Aus, Roger David 146

Bowker, John W. 64 Boyer, Steven D. 8, 17, 25, 40, 45, 56, 180, 181 Broadhead, Edwin K. 172 Brown, Delwin 45 Brown, Schuyler 42, 43 Brown, Raymond 40, 42, 118, 121, 123, 124, 130, 137, 142, 148, 150, 151, 153, 155, 170 Bultmann, Rudolf 36, 68, 103 Burdon, Christopher 69, 77 Burkill, T. Alec 138 Byrne, Brendan 59, 118, 121, 124, 172

Baird, J. Arthur 64 Barbour, Robert 130 Bartholomew, G. L. 161 Barton, Stephen C. 94, 95, 104, 107, 108 Bauckham, Richard 103 Beavis, Mary Ann 37, 38, 50, 51, 53, 70, 94, 106, 107 Behm, Johannes 68 Best, Ernest 4, 5, 38, 86, 87, 88, 97, 98 Bird, Michael 137 Black, C. Clifton 4, 50, 55, 61, 78, 110, 112, 119, 125, 129, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 145, 156, 166 Black, Matthew 101, 123 Blaising, Craig A. 120 Blount, Brian K. 141, 161 Boccaccini, Gabriele 35 Bockmuehl, Markas N. A. 40 Bohr, Hans 18 Bolt, Peter G. 152 Bond, L. Susan 107 Boomershine, Thomas E. 161 Borh, Niels 18, 27, Boring, M. Eugene 5, 18, 32, 40, 50, 51, 52, 54, 56, 58, 61, 79, 105, 106, 117, 120, 121, 123, 130, 131, 137, 148, 149, 151, 153, 155, 156, 167, 168, 170, 171 Borsch, Frederick H. 83 Boucher, Madeleine 19, 20, 34, 40, 43, 48, 70, 84

Cahill, Michael 102 Camery-Hoggatt, Jerry 24, 25, 26, 27 Campbell, William Sanger 94, 122, 124, 125, 148 Caseau, Beatrice 100 Casey, Maurice 124 Catchpole, David R. 160 Cerfaux, Lucien 50 Chatman, Seymore 41, 79 Christie, Agatha 45 Chronis, Harry L. 26, 27, 40, 43, 155 Coakley, J. F. 100 Collins, Adela Yarbro 34, 40, 41, 42, 44, 60, 79, 80, 81, 112, 124, 127, 137, 142, 143, 148, 150, 152, 153, 155, 163 Collins, John J. 21 Corley, Kathleen E. 99 Cosgrove, Charles 131 Coutts, J. 50 Cranfield, C. E. B. 137 Crossan, John Dominic 21, 22, 74, 160, 169 Croy, N. Clayton 159, 161 Culpepper, R. Alan 40, 41, 43, 51, 94, 95, 98, 99, 103, 117, 120, 124, 126, 130, 162, 168, 172 Dahl, Nils A. 5, 14, 138 Dalman, Gustaf 82 Danove, Paul 5, 6, 93, 160, 161, 166 Das, Andrew 5

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Davies, Philip G. 4 Davies, W. D. 168, Dayagi-Mendeles, Mikal 100, 101 De Boer, Martinus 86, 152 Dechow, Jens 5 Dewey, Joanna 7, 8, 20, 41, 106, 160 Dibelius, Martin 156 Dodd, C. H. 20, 23, 64 Donahue, John R. 4, 5, 6, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 26, 51, 52, 60, 78, 121, 130, 167, 179, 180 Dowd, Sharyn Echols 121, 122, 123, 125, 126, 127, 131, 134, 152, 162, 170 Driggers, Ira Brent 5, 6, 23, 34, 50, 53, 93, 117, 142, 160 Drury, John 13, 61, 64, 82, 83 Dupont, Jacques 80 Dwyer, Timothy 160 Ehrman, Bart 52 Evans, Craig A. 29, 34, 35, 48, 53, 54, 65, 69, 70 Evans, C. Stephen 17 Farmer, William R. 159 Fay, Greg 28, 46, 50 Feagin, Glyndie M. 23, 24 Fledmeier, Reinhard 121 Felix, Angel 100 Fiorenza, Elizabeth Struthers 105, 106, 160 Fischer, Cédric 4 Focant, Camille 95, 101 Fowler, Robert W. 69 Funk, Robert 21, 74 Gaventa, Beverly Roberts 59, 136, 141, 161 Geddert, Timothy J. 154, 155 Gerhardsson, Birgid 84 Gibson, Jeffrey B. 124, 129 Gill, Jerry 26 Gnilka, Joachim 34, 40, 42, 44, 50, 65, 66, 79, 95, 104, 107, 135, 150, 153, 162, 172 Goff, Matthew J. 40, 44 Gould, E. P. 23 Goulder, Michael D. 52, 72 Grundmann, W. 131 Guelich, Robert A. 79 Gundry, Robert 137, 159 Gurtner, Daniel M. 154 Guttenberger, Gudrun 7, 156, 180 Hahn, Ferdinand 5 Hall, Christopher A. 8, 17, 25, 40, 45, 56, 100, 180, 181

Hanson, James S. 5, 6 Harrington, Daniel J. 52, 121, 122, 130, 167 Hartley, Donald 49 Head, Peter M. 52 Henderson, Suzanne Watts 4 Hobbes, Thomas 16 Hollenbach, Bruce 25 Hooker, Morna 50, 95, 118 Horsley, Samuel 16, 18 Hurtado, Larry W. 5, 95 Iverson, Kelly R. 159 Jackson, Howard M. 140 Jeremias, Joachim 20, 32, 36, 47, 64, 82, 83 Johnson, Earl S. 137 Johnson, Philip Reubin 93 Juel, Donald 6, 21, 26, 49, 52, 80, 83, 84, 135, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 143, 160, 161, 162, 163, 174, 176, 180 Jülicher, Adolf 19, 20, 32, 46, 47, 64, 74 Jungel, E. 48 Keck, Leander E. 21, 140, 145, 152 Kee, Howard Clark 29 Kelber, Werner H. 4, 24, 129, 130, 147, 160 Kermode, Frank 50, 69, 160, 166 Kierkegaard, Søren 17 Kim, T. H. 135 Kingsbury, Jack D. 8, 93, 137, 160 Kirkland, J. R. 44, 49, 53 Kittle, G. 14 Knowles, Michael P. 83 Lambrecht, Jan 79 Lee-Pollard, Dorothy A. 4 Lemcio, Eugene 36, 37, 50 Lightfoot, R. H. 160, 161 Lincoln, Andrew T. 160, 161, 163, 166, 167, 172, 174 Lindeman, A. 175 Luz, Ulrich 37 Mackenzie, Donald 13, 17 Magness, J. Lee 160, 161 Malbon, Elizabeth Struthers 7, 9, 25, 40, 94, 107, 109, 127, 131, 134, 152, 160 Manson, T. W. 64, 65 Marcus, Joel 25, 29, 32, 34, 35, 40, 42, 44, 46, 47, 48, 51, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 61, 65, 66, 70, 71, 78, 79, 80, 81, 83, 96, 97, 98, 103, 104, 105, 112, 117, 118, 120,



Index of Modern Authors

123, 130, 135, 137, 139, 145, 153, 154, 162, 166, 167, 168, 172, 174 Marshall, Christopher D. 94, 101 Martyn, J. Louis 46 Marxsen, Willi 167, 175 Marz, C. P. 99 Matera, Frank J. 5, 108 McFague, Sallie 21, 77 McLaughlin, John 36, 66, 67, 70 Mearns, C. L. 32, 54, 56 Merrill, E. H. 35 Merz, Annette 112 Metzger, Bruce M. 160 Meyer, Marvin W. 4 Michie, Donald 41, 160 Miller, Susan 103, 104, 107, 162, 164, 166, 168, 172, 175 Moberly, R. W. L. 48 Moloney, Francis J. 36, 50, 95, 100, 106, 107, 109, 137, 141, 142, 153, 156 Moore, Carey 25 Moore, Stephen D. 42, 110 Motyer, Stephen 140, 154 Moule, C. F. D. 35, 64 Murdock, William R. 156 Nickelsburg, George W. E. 35 No, Kisun 94 O’Brien, Kelli S. 153 O’Collins, Gerald 160 O’Day, Gail 7 Oden, Thomas C. 100 Paillard, Jean 42 Painter, John 79, 107, 109, 142 Palmer, Parker J. 17, 18, 27 Payne, P. B. 82 Perkins, Pheme 5 Perrin, Norman 21, 71 Petersen, David L. 7 Petersen, N. R. 160 Pickett, Raymond 160, 162 Quell, Gottfried 84 Quesnell, Quentin 40, 44, 64 Raisanen, Heikki 38, 70, 138 Ramaroson, Leonard 79 Rhoads, David 41, 160 Riches, John K. 39, 86, 88, 97, 98, 111, 152 Ricoeur, Paul 21 Robinson, Geoffrey D. 36

199

Robinson, James M. 39, 86, 88, 97 Russell, D. S. 35 Santos, Narry F. 4, 15, 17, 26, 27 Schweizer, Eduard 34, 49, 70, 95, 119, 130, 159, 168 Schussler, Fiorenza 103, 105, 106, 160 Scott, Bernard Brandon 21, 22, 74 Shakespeare, William 3 Shepherd, Tom 113, 142 Shiner, Whitney T. 143, 154 Shively, Elizabeth 87 Siegman, Edward F. 40 Sidebottom, E. M. 32 Smith, C. Drew 7 Smith, Stephen H. 41 Snodgrass, Klyne 34, 37, 38, 44, 49, 50, 53, 74, 78, 79 Sorensen, Roy 13, 14, 15 Squires, John T. 131 Standaert, Benoit 55 Stone, Michael 44, 57 Stuckenbruck, Loren 120, 124 Sugirtharajah, R. S. 110 Swartley, Willard M. 94, 105 Swete, H. B. 23 Synge, F. C. 42, 49 Tannehill, Robert C. 24, 51, 143 Taylor, Vincent 42, 49, 79, 137, 139, 159 Terrein, Samuel L. 30 Theissen, Gerd 112 Thomas, Samuel L. 40 Tolbert, Mary Ann 34, 37, 45, 54, 80, 119, 160, 161, 162 Trick, Bradley 36 Tukasi, Emmanuel O. 35 Ulansey, David 135, 140, 155 Van der Horst, P. W. 159 Via, Dan O. Jr. 19, 21, 30, 33, 40, 46, 51, 54 von Wahlde, U. C. 3 Wailes, Stephen L. 80 Wainwright, Elaine 103, 105, 106 Watson, Francis 4, 41 Watts, Rikki E. 50, 52, 53, 66, 152 Weeden, T. J. 147, 150, 160, 161, 169 Wegener, Mark I. 4 Weiss, Bernhard 32 Wheelright, Philip 77 White, K. D. 82, 83

200

Theological Role of Paradox

Wilder, Amos N. 21, 25, 74 Wilfand, D. 167 Williams, Joel 95, 159, 160, 161, 163, 174 Wrede, William 26, 32, 40, 43, 45, 47, 51, 56, 138, 174

Wright, Addison G. 110 Wright, N. T. 154

Index of Ancient Sources Old Testament Genesis 1.4 151 3.1-19 36 18.15 161 26.12 79 29.3 167 29.8 167 29.10 167 45.5-8 48 50.20 48

1 Kings 19.11-18 139 22.17 117 2 Kings 9.3 106 1 Chronicles 29.2 101 2 Chronicles 18.16 117

Exodus 10.21 152 23.20 66, 145 24 139 29.7 106 33.12-34.7 139

Ezra 1.1 139

Numbers 27.17 117

Job 4.8 79

Deuteronomy 4.11 152 5.22 152 15.11 105 21.22-23 170, 172 29.10-30.5 79 29.29 30 30.11, 14 30

Psalms 13 120 17 155 22.8 153 23.1 117 42-43 120, 124 42.6 124 42.7 124 42.10 124 42.12 124 43.1 124 43.4 124 43.5 124 69.22 153 75.8 123, 94.1-7 110 106.33-37 79 118.22 102

Judges 13.6 166 1 Samuel 10.1 106 16.13 106 2 Samuel 15.16-30 120

Esther 5.2 166 5.3 101

Isaiah 2.4 59 5 146 5.1-7 79 6 33, 38, 63, 66, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 75, 118, 120 6.5 67 6.9 30, 34, 36, 55, 65, 67, 134, 141, 142, 178 6.9-10 29, 34, 63, 64, 65, 66, 69, 70, 71, 74, 75, 76, 115, 120, 126 6.9-13 63 6.10 38, 53, 66 6.10b 70, 75 8.14 102 8.22-26 67 10.1-2 110 13.10 153 28.16 102 29.9-10 67, 70 29.13 32 29.18 70 29.24 70 30.21 70 32.3-4a 67 32.3-4 70 32.4 67 32.15-20 83 35 120, 35.1-2 83 35.5 70, 71, 115, 126 40.3 66, 145 40.12 57 42.6-7 67 42.7 70 42.16 70 42.18-20 70 43.8 70 44.18 67, 70 45.7 152 49.9 70 53 120, 152

202 54.13 70 60.2 152 61.1 70 61.3 79 63.17 67, 70 63.19 139 63.19–64.3 139 64.1-3 139 Jeremiah 12.15 79 12.17 79 13.16 152 25.15-29 123 31.27 79 Ezekiel 23.31-34 123 Daniel 2.22 153 2.27-30 44 5.26 57 7 120 10.2-14 168 11.40 130 11.45 130 Hosea 1.4 79 2.24-45 79 2.25 79 8.7 79 10.1 79 10.8 79 10.12 79 Joel 3.4 153 3.9-12 59, 60 3.13 60 3.15 60 4.13 59 Amos 5.18 153 8.9 153 8.10 153 8.11 153 Micah 4.3 59

Theological Role of Paradox Habakkuk 2.16 123 Zechariah 9–14 117, 120 10.1-2 117 10.2-3 117 10.8 79 11.4 117 11.7-12 117 13.7 115, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 125, 126, 127, 179 Malachi 3.1 66, 151 3.23 139 4.3 145 Apocrypha Tobit 1.16-17 104 Sirach 7.3 79 30.9 123 2 Maccabees 3.26 168 3.33 168 3 Maccabees 6.18 139, 166 4 Maccabees 4.10 166 New Testament Matthew 5.15 55 5.16 95, 105 5.27 68 6.21 68 12.37 104 13.1-9 77 13.11 36, 40 13.13 34 13.13-15 65 13.13b-15 34

13.14-15 53 13.16-17 41 13.24-27 153 13.32 61 13.51 40 16.17 61 24.48 68 26.8 104 26.39 125 27.51 151 27.57 170 27.51-54 153 28.2-3 173 28.2-5 168 28.17 167 28.19 162 28.20 168 Mark 1 6, 8, 53, 154 1.1 6, 18, 52, 63, 139, 143, 145, 159 1.1-15 26 1.1–8.26 4, 174 1.2 66, 116, 145, 151 1.2-3 81, 139, 145, 151 1.2-8 139 1.2-11 105 1.4 149 1.5 149 1.6 151 1.7 55, 87, 145 1.9 135 1.9-11 149 1.10 138, 139, 140 1.10-11 136, 138, 157 1.11 52, 63, 126, 134, 135, 137, 138, 139, 140, 143, 146, 154, 155, 156, 157, 179, 180 1.12-13 8, 39, 87, 154 1.13 152 1.14 58, 59, 139, 146, 160 1.14-15 5, 29, 33, 53, 73, 74, 75, 108, 139 1.15 33, 40, 42, 58, 73, 130, 142, 159, 156, 176, 180 1.16-17 51, 104 1.16-20 35, 53 1.21-27 94 1.25 43 1.27 15, 72 1.31 98



Index of Ancient Sources

1.34 43, 165 1.35 30 1.38 29, 81 1.44 156 1.45 8, 81, 84 2.1-12 63, 74, 82, 94, 103, 106, 178 2.1-28 72 2.2 84, 85 2.4-5 72 2.5 85, 123 2.6 52 2.6-11 34 2.7 6, 73, 81, 85, 123 2.7-10 33, 81 2.10 73, 123, 151 2.12 81, 85 2.13 81 2.13-14 35 2.15-17 49 2.17 55, 81 2.19-20 108, 122 2.22 149 2.28 73 3 31, 53, 71, 72, 78, 87, 88, 98, 111 3.1-5 82 3.1-6 34 3.4 68 3.5 36, 66 3.6 53, 68, 69, 81, 98, 104, 111, 147 3.8 82 3.11-12 165 3.13 30, 31, 35, 60 3.13-14 35, 53 3.13-19 35, 51 3.14 145 3.14-15 29, 144 3.14-19 31 3.19 59, 111, 130 3.19b-30 178 3.20 55 3.21 81, 98, 111 3.22 47 3.22-27 178 3.23 20, 47, 87 3.23-27 81, 88, 97 3.23-30 8, 38, 39, 88 3.24-26 97 3.26 57 3.27 78, 87, 93, 97, 113 3.28 72, 76, 108

3.28-29 73, 74 3.29 53, 72, 73 3.31 53, 145 3.31-32 72, 98 3.31-35 49, 73 3.32 52 3.35 53, 107, 170, 175 4 9, 25, 27, 28, 39, 41, 44, 46, 47, 48, 54, 55, 60, 61, 69, 71, 77, 80, 84, 94, 95, 96, 97, 106, 114, 115, 120, 127, 131, 133, 134, 142, 168, 173, 177, 178, 179 4.1 52, 151 4.1-2 30, 51 4.1-34 28 4.3 38, 57, 59, 78, 178, 182 4.3-8 19, 74, 78, 80, 178 4.3-9 9, 42, 54, 58, 77, 81, 85, 87, 93, 96, 105, 108, 133, 171 4.3-20 55 4.4 75, 81, 82 4.4-5 96 4.4-7 37 4.5 82, 153 4.6 82, 4.8 37, 49, 84, 144 4.9 30, 38, 57 4.10 13, 25, 29, 30, 31, 35, 43, 49, 51, 52, 72, 74, 84, 111 4.10-11 31, 32 4.10-12 9, 19, 25, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 43, 47, 49, 50, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 62, 63, 64, 72, 78, 85, 86, 87, 89, 97, 127, 131, 135, 142, 173, 177, 178, 179 4.11 30, 36, 41, 43, 44, 45, 46, 48, 49, 50, 56, 57, 62, 68, 98, 180 4.11-12 29, 36, 37, 41, 42, 48, 49, 51, 52, 54, 56, 57, 64, 74, 88, 144 4.11-13 182 4.12 30, 33, 34, 36, 38, 43, 47, 50, 54, 63, 64, 65, 67, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 86, 88, 115, 120, 126, 129, 134, 139, 141, 142, 163, 165, 167, 180

203 4.12-13 45 4.13 25, 37, 40, 43, 46, 50, 59, 62, 77, 85, 149, 177 4.13-20 50, 54, 64, 74, 75, 77 4.14 78, 84, 96 4.14-19 19 4.14-20 9, 29, 34, 42, 43, 48, 58, 64, 74, 78, 79, 80, 81, 85, 87, 93, 96, 105, 108, 119, 133, 171 4.15 8, 38, 78, 86, 88, 93, 96 4.15-17 37 4.15-19 88, 89 4.15-20 57 4.16 38 4.16-17 118 4.17 86, 96, 150 4.18 38, 86 4.19 96 4.20 38, 85 4.21 47, 152 4.21-22 28, 55, 56, 174 4.21-25 28, 55, 57 4.21-32 54, 55, 62 4.22 28, 48, 54, 56, 57, 62, 176, 179 4.23 57, 62 4.23-32 28 4.24 55, 57 4.24-25 57, 110 4.24-45 57, 110, 152 4.25 57 4.26 58, 59, 61 4.26-29 57, 60, 106, 127, 134, 143, 157 4.26-32 58 4.27 61 4.27-29 83 4.28 58, 81 4.29 58, 59, 61, 127, 143 4.30-32 42, 57 4.31 60, 61 4.32 60 4.33 48, 51, 85 4.33-34 31, 61 4.34 20, 30, 47, 48, 52 4.35-41 69, 81 4.35-43 87 4.38 168 4.40-41 175 4.41 50, 166 5.1-20 38, 144

204 5.10 145 5.14 165, 166 5.15 146, 165, 166 5.21-23 94 5.21-43 129, 164 5.24-34 94 5.28 153 5.33 166 5.34 71, 85 5.36 84, 166 5.36-37 57 5.37 30, 31, 128 5.38 165 5.41 98, 108, 118, 122 5.43 43, 138 6.1-6a 34 6.7 145 6.7-13 51 6.12 73, 152 6.14-16 139 6.15 151 6.16 118 6.17 98, 145 6.17-21 151 6.17-29 151 6.21 151 6.27 145 6.26-29 146 6.29 170 6.30-31 51 6.31-32 30 6.34 117 6.35-44 69 6.45-52 87 6.47 30, 151 6.50 166 6.52 37, 50, 62, 66, 69 6.53 151 6.56 144 7.1-13 32, 34 7.1-23 38 7.1-30 139 7.3-5 35, 155 7.5 32, 47 7.6 32, 116 7.9 59 7.9-13 104 7.13 59, 85 7.14-17 47 7.14-23 32, 50 7.17-23 30, 152 7.19 32 7.22 99

Theological Role of Paradox 7.23 71, 111 7.24-30 94, 164 7.29 84, 85 7.31-37 71 7.33 30, 43 7.36 8, 43 7.36-50 106 7.37 71, 115, 116, 126 8.1-10 69 8.6 79, 151 8.11 81, 153 8.11-12 98 8.12 108 8.14-21 37, 50, 62, 129, 165 8.14-27 139 8.14-33 30 8.15 69 8.17 36, 67 8.17-18 51, 53 8.21 149 8.22 148 8.22-26 67, 71 8.22–10.52 181 8.26 145 8.27-30 43, 139 8.27-33 140 8.27-9.1 8, 177 8.27–16.8 4, 174 8.30 43 8.31 4, 48, 69, 96, 108, 115, 124, 131, 134, 143, 144, 151, 181 8.31-33 52 8.31-39 5 8.32 84 8.32-33 50, 51, 61, 124 8.33 18, 33, 39, 47, 57, 78, 95, 97, 181 8.34 4 8.34-38 15, 94, 109 8.34-39 18, 181 8.34–9.1 27, 30, 46 8.34–10.52 46 8.35 3, 94, 104, 142, 147, 153 8.38 68, 85 9 122 9.1 108, 139, 152, 9.2 30, 128, 129, 135, 136, 138, 9.2-3 139 9.2-8 9, 30, 31 9.2-9 181

9.3 136, 139, 151, 157 9.4 140, 151 9.6 50, 129, 139 9.7 18, 23, 52, 63, 68, 72, 126, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 140, 143, 146, 154, 157, 169, 179, 180 9.8 30 9.9 56, 108, 119, 122, 138, 174, 179 9.9-13 141, 163 9.10 84, 85, 149 9.11-13 139, 151 9.12 116, 118, 119 9.12-13 151 9.13 116 9.14-29 94, 122 9.15 123 9.19 51, 68 9.19-29 122 9.20 151 9.23 122 9.23-24 36, 85 9.26-27 122 9.27 98, 118 9.28 30 9.29 122 9.30-36 69 9.31 48, 59, 69, 79, 87, 96, 98, 108, 115, 124, 131, 134, 143, 144 9.32 166 9.35-37 4, 5 9.37 59, 80, 145, 146 9.41 108 10 68, 149 10.1-12 116 10.2-9 34 10.4 116 10.5 36, 66, 68, 116 10.14 103 10.15 4, 108 10.17-22 53, 109, 110, 122 10.17-30 96 10.20 110 10.21 110, 152 10.21-22 109, 147 10.21-26 4 10.22 85, 99 10.23-31 30, 149 10.24 33, 84 10.26 33



Index of Ancient Sources

10.28-30 118, 175 10.29 108 10.30 3, 122 10.32 31, 166 10.33 59, 69, 131 10.33-34 48, 96, 108, 115, 124, 134, 143, 145 10.35-38 50 10.35-40 123, 149 10.37 149 10.38 149 10.38-39 126 10.41 103 10.42-44 181 10.45 15, 94, 107, 117, 124, 134, 144, 152, 156 10.46-52 43, 71, 94 10.52 71, 75, 85 11.1 145 11.1-6 68 11.2-6 165 11.3 145 11.12-14 68 11.12–13.2 99 11.15-19 34, 109 11.17 116, 125 11.18 53, 98, 104, 147, 166 11.20-21 68 11.22-25 122, 125 11.23 68, 108, 122 11.24 125 11.27-33 47, 72, 146 11.27–12.34 95 11.27–12.40 34 11.27–12.44 81 11.29 85 12 6, 47, 80, 110, 122, 146 12.1 20, 47 12.1-9 47, 88, 145 12.1-10 47, 48, 59, 80, 102 12.1-12 36, 38, 47, 134, 173 12.2 80, 145 12.3 145 12.3-5 36, 146 12.4-6 145 12.6 80, 102, 134, 146, 156 12.6-8 144 12.7 147 12.9 102, 147 12.10 72, 173 12.10-11 173 12.10-12 80, 145, 150 12.11 102, 173

12.12 47, 48, 53, 98, 166 12.13 48, 81, 85, 145 12.19 116 12.27 122 12.28 6 12.28-34 6, 35, 52, 170 12.37 117 12.38-40 104, 109, 110, 156 12.41 165 12.41-44 94, 96, 104, 109, 164 12.43 108 12.44 81, 99, 107, 109, 110, 113 13 56, 57, 68, 88, 97, 110, 113, 129, 153, 174 13.1-2 110, 150, 156 13.1-3 99, 109 13.1-37 99 13.3 30, 128 13.4-27 150, 154 13.4-37 163 13.5 163 13.5-8 56 13.5-32 153 13.6 113 13.7-8 113 13.7-11 167 13.8 153 13.9 59, 163 13.9-13 3, 56, 113, 169, 181 13.10 29, 96, 161 13.11 95, 126, 130 13.11-12 59 13.12 152 13.12-13 152 13.13 113, 153 13.14 25, 41, 163 13.19 6, 17, 61 13.20 126 13.20-21 56 13.23 68, 116, 126, 163 13.24 153 13.24-27 18, 60, 113, 154, 157 13.24-30 47 13.26 3, 151, 167 13.26-27 48, 54, 56, 62 13.27 113, 145, 151 13.28-31 47 13.30 108 13.30-31 165 13.31 68, 84, 85, 96, 111,

205 113, 130 13.32 8, 18, 61, 126, 130, 139, 154, 182 13.33 128, 163 13.33-37 128 13.34 163 13.34-37 128 13.35 163 13.37 163 14 96, 98, 99, 110, 111, 113, 116, 166 14–16.8 26 14.1 98, 99, 112 14.1-2 48, 93, 96, 107, 111, 112, 132 14.1-11 93 14.2 112 14.3 100, 106, 108, 112, 171 14.3-4 110 14.3-9 9, 93, 94, 95, 96, 111, 133, 164, 171, 182 14.4 95, 103, 106, 147 14.4-5 101, 171, 172 14.5 103 14.6 93, 95, 103, 104, 108, 112, 113 14.6-9 106 14.7 103, 104, 112, 113 14.8 93, 95, 104, 105, 106, 107, 109, 113, 171 14.8-9 93 14.9 93, 96, 105, 108, 111, 113, 171 14.10 111, 143 14.10-11 34, 59, 93, 96, 98, 107 14.11 98, 112, 113, 130, 178 14.12 112 14.12-16 68, 115, 116, 165 14.12-50 30 14.18 108 14.18-21 124 14.21 87, 112, 116, 120, 126, 131, 141 14.22 171 14.23 126, 130, 149 14.24 100, 149, 150, 153, 156 14.24-25 152 14.25 108, 126, 130, 149, 150 14.27 53, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 125, 127, 128,

206 129, 131, 143, 175, 179 14.27-28 118, 176 14.27-31 50 14.27-42 9, 115, 127, 133, 179 14.28 98, 115, 116, 118, 119, 167, 175, 176 14.29-31 118 14.30-31 162 14.32-42 94, 127, 128 14.33 123, 130 14.34 123, 124, 128, 129, 130, 163 14.35 123, 131, 151 14.35-36 115, 120, 121, 128 14.36 53, 116, 120, 121, 123, 125, 143, 147, 149, 150 14.37 163 14.38 119, 128, 129, 163 14.37 128, 129, 130 14.37-41 53 14.39 121 14.40 128, 129, 149 14.41 49, 115, 121, 126, 130 14.41-42 125 14.42 130, 136 14.43 111, 130 14.44 98 14.45-15.37 143 14.46 98 14.48 81 14.48-49 132 14.49 98, 115, 120, 126, 133, 141 14.50 47, 119, 132, 136, 159, 175 14.51 98 14.51-52 166 14.52 175 14.55 98, 170 14.58 155 14.61 52, 151 14.61-62 154 14.61-64 53 14.63-64 11 14.64 72, 170 14.66-72 119, 175 15 166 15.1 59, 112, 170 15.2 22, 106 15.5 94 15.6-15 146

Theological Role of Paradox 15.9 106 15.10 59 15.12 106 15.13-14 34 15.15 52, 59, 146, 148, 165 15.16-20 148 15.18 25, 106 15.19 148 15.22 148 15.22-39 9, 96, 133, 179, 181 15.23 148 15.24 133, 136 15.24-37 109 15.25 136, 150 15.26 4, 18, 150 15.27 149 15.29 155 15.29-32 136, 137, 141 15.30 141 15.30-31 143 15.30-32 137 15.31-32 133, 141, 142 15.32 4, 18, 22, 52, 70, 71, 94, 106, 142, 143, 151 15.33 133 15.33-37 136 15.34 6, 115, 127, 134, 137, 143, 151, 152, 175, 179, 180 15.34-35 151 15.34-36 151 15.34-39 146 15.36 133 15.37-38 48 15.38 133, 135, 140, 141, 154, 155, 179 15.38-39 136, 152, 156, 168 15.39 52, 70, 73, 133, 134, 135, 137, 138, 141, 143, 153, 156, 157, 168 15.40 164, 166, 167 15.40-41 119, 132 15.40-47 165 15.40–16.8 165 15.41 164, 165, 175 15.42 170 15.43 169, 170, 171 15.47 119, 164, 166, 167 15.57 154 16.1 108, 172 16.1-2 168, 172 16.1-8 9, 113, 116, 118,

159, 179 16.2 152, 165 16.3 163 16.3-4 167 16.3-5 165 16.4 164, 165, 166, 167 16.5 166 16.5-6 123, 168 16.6 98, 156, 164, 166, 167, 168, 175 16.6-7 48, 116, 119, 167, 168, 169, 173, 176, 179 16.7 108, 118, 161, 162, 164, 167, 168, 169, 174, 175, 181 16.7-8 174 16.8 6, 81, 116, 119, 136, 159, 160, 161, 162, 166, 167, 169, 171, 173, 174, 175, 176 16.9-20 159, 161 16.15 162 Luke 1.13 166 1.30 166 2.9 166 7.36-50 106 7.38 106 8.4-8 77 8.10 34, 40, 65 8.16 55 11.33 55 12.10 72 13.19 61 15.11-32 59, 77 21.14 68 22.42 125 23.50-51 170 John 1.5 151 10.14-16 117 10.32-33 105 11.52 117 12.3 101 12.40 34 19.14 112 19.31 112 19.38 170 19.39-40 171 19.42 112 20.18 167



Index of Ancient Sources

Acts 7.56 139 10.11 139 17.32-34 50 28.26-27 34, 53, 65

Revelation 1.16 36 4.1 139 14.15 59 19.11 139 20.11-15 36

Romans 1 59 9–11 34, 38 9.33 102 11.7 34 11.25 29 13.12 152 1 Corinthians 1.18–2.5 30 4.5 153 9.1 167 13.12-13 152 15.3 120 15.3-11 159 15.55 152 2 Corinthians 5.16-17 46 5.17 149 1 Thessalonians 5.4 152 Ephesians 6.12 152 Colossians 1.13 152 1.26-27 42 Titus 2.14 105 1 Timothy 5.25 105 6.18 105 Hebrews 4.12 36 5.7 124 10.24 105 1 Peter 1.23 79 2.6 102

Qumran 1QH 22.19-21 32 1QM 10.11 32 1QS 3.13–4.24 35 4.3-14 35

207 2 Baruch 59.5-11 57 4 Ezra 4.5 44 4.5-8 57 5.36-37 57 6.23 150 7.50 79, 156 8.1 156 8.5-6 79 8.6 79 8.37-41 79 8.41 79 8.41-45 79 9.29-37 79 9.30-31 79 9.31 79 9.33 79

4QInstruction 4Q 416.2.iii.15-19 40 4Q 417.1.i.6-8 44 4Q 417.1.i.8 40 4Q 417.1.i.10-11 44 4Q 417.1.i.18-19 45 4Q 417.6 40, 44 4Q 417.11-3 40, 44 4Q 417.18 40, 44 4Q 423.3 40

Psalms of Solomon 8.14-15 123 17.16-17 117 17.21 117 17.26 117 22 152 87 152 87.13 152

Old Testament Pseudepigrapha

Jubilees 11.10-11 82 11.19-20 82 11.23-24 82, 83

1 Enoch 1–36 35 7.3-5 35 8.2-3 35 9.5 35 16.1 156 39.8 35 41.1 35 41.3-7 57 45.2-6 35 48.7 156 60.11-22 57 62.6-7 35 62.7-8 79 62.8 79 2 Enoch 1.3-10 168

Testament of Judah 20.1-2 35

Apocalypse of Abraham 10.1-17 168 Other Ancient Authors Aristotle Rhetoric 2.21 14 Metaphysics 4.1012a 15 Nicomachean Ethics 1146a 15 Diogenes Laertius Vitae Philosophorum 4.7 14 7.4 79

208 Epictetus Discourses II.19.1-14 15 Discourses II.19.2-3 15 Gospel of Thomas 9 77, 82 33 55 Hippocrates Lex. 2.264-65 79 Jerome Homily on the Gospels 2.39 100 Josephus 155 Jewish War 1.195 14; 2.17.1

Theological Role of Paradox §405 170; 5.5.4 §§21314 155 C. Ap. 1.53 14 Jewish Antiquities 5.277 168 Lucian Somn. 14 15 Plato Laws 7.821a 14 Timaeus 9.92-93 79 Pliny Naturalis historia 12.43 100 12.93 100 12.97-98 100

13.15 101 14.15; 14.19 148 Plotinus Ennead 5.5 159 Plutarch Solon 14 Polybius Histories 1.1 14, 15 Seneca Epistulae Morales 38.2 79 Epistulae Morales 73.16 79