Musings on biblical studies, politics, religion, ethics, human nature, tidbits from science
Have added a few more links that should have been added long ago I’m sure to my to rationalist-atheist and blogroll sections – – – –
Of special note is NT Wrong’s blog (“Hi, I’m NT Wrong, the Free Universalist Interfaith Bishop of Durham, North Carolina”) in the Blogroll
J. P. Holding has responded to my earlier article on this blog, Authenticity of Paul’s Letters: Holding versus Detering, with a webpage critiquing my post.
It is an interesting response. I had seen it earlier on a discussion board but dismissed it at the time as not worth the effort of a response. But since then it has appeared in a more stable form as a webpage on his site so I have decided to point out the fallacies and dishonesty in his claims here. Not that I expect Holding to link this response to his page, of course. Continue reading “On J. P. Holding’s response to Vridar critique re authenticity of Paul”
Someone on a discussion list recently drew attention to how the Gospel of Luke changes the position of the call of the disciples to a period later than that found in the Gospel of Mark, so that it appears awkwardly out of place. Mark first describes Jesus calling Peter and others before going into Peter’s house to heal his mother-in-law. Luke, oddly, first has Jesus going into Peter’s house, and only afterwards calling him and others. It looks like Luke or some later redactor has got into a muddle and put the first meeting of Peter and Jesus AFTER Jesus visited Peter’s place.
Well having recently completed some notes and thoughts about canonical Luke being a possible redaction of an earlier gospel that may well have been closer in many respects to the gospel of Mark, I had to take a few minutes to see if there might be any particular redactional agenda for such a switch of order in events. Or was it just a consequence of clumsy editing? (I’m rolling with the general view that the author of Luke’s gospel knew and copied much from Mark’s gospel.)
We can’t know the latter author’s reasons for making the switch, but we can look at how the change functions in the narrative and see if that can suggest some clue about what the author might have been trying to do.
Jesus starts his ministry in Capernaum
Jesus calls disciples
Jesus casts out a demon – his fame spreads
Jesus enters Peter’s house and heals Peter’s mother-in-law
Jesus heals many after sabbath
Many look for Jesus but Jesus leaves them behind
Apart from calling his disciples at the beginning of his ministry, there is little obvious narrative structural sequence to the events in Mark. It is episodic in the sense of just one thing after the other. I do think there is a structure that holds these episodes together in Mark, but it is not at the narrative level, and is another topic for another time. The most we can see here is that Jesus, logically, calls Peter for the first time before joining him in his house.
Jesus begins his ministry in Nazareth
Jesus moves to Capernaum
Jesus casts out a demon – his fame spreads
Jesus enters Peter’s house and heals Peter’s mother-in-law
Jesus heals many after sabbath
Jesus is hindered by crowds as he teaches throughout Galilee
Crowds press upon Jesus by the lake and Jesus preaches to them
Jesus commissions his first disciples
Is it my imagination or is there really a sequential narrative development that I see here?
This looks very much like the sort of thing we read in Exodus and Acts. Crowds become too much for the prophet or apostle. Helpers are marshaled in response to the growing need for help given the escalating success of Jesus’ ministry. The author uses the same trope in Acts, such as when Barnabas enlisted Paul’s help because of the mass conversions at Antioch. (Talbert, p.63)
And Luke elsewhere repeats the theme of needing labourers for the spiritual harvest.
Talbert also observes that with Luke’s narrative the disciples are supplied with a reason to believe in Jesus and follow him. This can be seen in the passages below. In Mark, Jesus calls and the disciples mysteriously follow immediately. In Luke, Peter has already seen the power of Jesus’ word when he exorcised a demon with a command and healed Peter’s mother-in-law with a rebuke. (In Mark Jesus heals Peter’s mother-in-law without a word.) So when Peter is commanded to cast his net in the sea and he replies, “At your word I will do it”, it is plausibly to think that the reader is meant to understand that Peter already knows the power of Jesus’ word.
So despite the incongruity of Jesus appearing to enter Peter’s house before we appear to be told how the two met, there is a discernible narrative logic to the Lukan sequence. It may not feel complete. Where did Peter come from? Why is he mentioned without any explanation when he first appears? And in other areas too: Why does Jesus mention his deeds at Capernaum before he is said to have entered Capernaum? Nonetheless, there is a narrative logic overlaying the incongruities.
Now as he walked by the sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and Andrew his brother casting a net into the sea: for they were fishers.
And Jesus said unto them, Come ye after me, and I will make you to become fishers of men.
And straightway they forsook their nets, and followed him.
And when he had gone a little further thence, he saw James the son of Zebedee, and John his brother, who also were in the ship mending their nets.
And straightway he called them: and they left their father Zebedee in the ship with the hired servants, and went after him.
And it came to pass, that, as the people pressed upon him to hear the word of God, he stood by the lake of Gennesaret,
And saw two ships standing by the lake: but the fishermen were gone out of them, and were washing their nets.
And he entered into one of the ships, which was Simon’s, and prayed him that he would thrust out a little from the land. And he sat down, and taught the people out of the ship.
Now when he had left speaking, he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.
And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.
And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes: and their net brake.
And they beckoned unto their partners, which were in the other ship, that they should come and help them. And they came, and filled both the ships, so that they began to sink.
When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord.
For he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the draught of the fishes which they had taken:
And so was also James, and John, the sons of Zebedee, which were partners with Simon. And Jesus said unto Simon, Fear not; from henceforth thou shalt catch men.
And when they had brought their ships to land, they forsook all, and followed him.
Secondly, the Luke 5 lake scene is not a calling of the disciples as it is in Mark’s gospel. Canonical Luke does not narrate the calling of the disciples but their commissioning.
Compare Luke’s:
From now on you will catch men!
with the contingent Markan hope:
Follow me and I will make you fishers of men.
The idea in Luke of Jesus commissioning his disciples to help him is supported by the narrative logic already discussed. The crowds make the commissioning of the disciples, more than their calling in the hope they will succeed to the end, the real need.
There is also some ambiguity in the Markan passage about the meaning of being becoming fishers of men. If this is taken from Jeremiah 16:16 it could well be implying judgment, not salvation. But in Luke the theme of the crowds and the miracle of the fish-catch make it clear that the image means the converting of people to Christ.
This is further supported if one embraces the hypothesis that the author of canonical Luke knew John’s gospel and was blending John’s last chapter with the calling in Mark. John’s last chapter also depicts a miracle of an overwhelming catch of fish at the word of Jesus, and in that context it is clearly a metaphor for the conversions that Peter is expected to accomplish.
The theme of commissioning the disciples is elsewhere a prominent one in Luke’s gospel. The resurrected Jesus opens their understanding to the Jewish scriptures that were said to be prophetic of him, and he commands them to remain in Jerusalem until they are given heavenly power. They are confirmed as his witnesses. In Mark’s gospel, there is no certainty about the fate of the disciples at the conclusion, and in Matthew some of the disciples even doubted the resurrected Jesus.
Further, reflecting on the narrative logic above, this commissioning of the disciples arises directly out of the need for them to help with the spiritual harvest. It is the mushrooming crowds that make them a necessity. Calling to follow, with the possibility of failure, is not an option in Luke:
And the Lord said, Simon, Simon! Indeed Satan has asked for you, that he may sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, that your faith should not fail; and when you have returned to me, strengthen your brethren. (Luke 22:31-32)
By contrast it is readily possible to read the Gospel of Mark as concluding with the total failure of Jesus’ disciples. There is no resurrection appearance to them, and the narrative development has not encouraged the reader to expect them to follow Jesus at the end when or even if they hear he as gone on (again) before them. Like the seed in rocky soil they end their association with Jesus in fear, denial and betrayal.
Both these points combined — the need for the disciples on Jesus’ part, and the complementary commissioning of the disciples — are not found in Mark, yet they are consistent with canonical Luke’s interest elsewhere in establishing the authority of the disciples as commissioned witnesses and coworkers with and for Jesus. (See Luke’s resurrection chapter discussion.)
Canonical Luke can therefore be read as making changes to Mark’s gospel that reflect a program to strengthen the foundational place of the disciples in the Church. If so, this may be seen as one more of many other arguably anti-Marcionite agendas in canonical Luke-Acts. (See the Infancy Narratives discussion and the Body of Luke discussion.)
This post concludes the series outlining key aspects of Levenson’s argument that the Christian narrative of the atoning and saving death and resurrection of the Beloved (Only) Son was borrowed from late Second Temple Jewish midrashic interpretations of their scriptures about Isaac, Joseph and others. While the cosmic significance of this event is attributed to Jewish apocalyptic, the story itself is a natural evolution or mutation of a Jewish idea that had been on the burner for some time.
Levenson concludes by drawing the two Beloved Son narratives together, and then showing the Christian counterpart in a similar Jewish parable. Rather than seeing Christianity as a “child” born of the “parent” of Judaism, Levenson concludes that it is more accurate to see the two religions originating as sibling rivals, each competing for their father’s unique blessing.
Among tales of the beloved son in Genesis, the aqedah (“binding of Isaac”) is unique. The father, Abraham, directly and deliberately brings about the symbolic death of his favoured son.
We can refer to the attributes of Jesus that derive from this narrative and its Second Temple era interpretations as an Isaac christology. The action hinges on the pious intention of the father, and later, on the godly willingness to be a sacrifice on the part of the beloved son.
In other cases (Abel, Ishmael, Jacob and Joseph) these die or nearly die from homicidal intent of their older brothers (or mother). In the cases of Jacob and Joseph the drama concludes with a reconciliation of the beloved son with those who sought to murder him (Esau, the other sons of Jacob). This reconciliation is an implicit or explicit acknowledgment that the plots of the would-be killers, like Abraham’s willingness to kill Isaac, were part of divine plan for good.
We can refer to the attributes of Jesus that derive from this narrative as a Joseph christology. That is, the event turns on the malignancy of the slayers. Both father and son are unwitting pawns in a divine drama. But the one difference with early christology is that there was no reconciliation with those who turned against and betrayed the beloved son. One of the earliest examples of this is seen in the parable of the wicked husbandmen.
Even though this parable appears towards the end of the synoptic gospels, it is a central parable to inform the reader about the fate and function of Jesus Christ, and the plan of God. It is tied to the opening baptismal scene of Jesus, and again to the central episode of his transfiguration, but the focus on “the beloved son“. So when the beloved son appears again in this parable, it is in the context of the baptized and transfigured Jesus about to claim his true inheritance:
Then He began to speak to them in parables: “A man planted a vineyard and set a hedge around it, dug a place for the wine vat and built a tower. And he leased it to vinedressers and went into a far country. Now at vintage-time he sent a servant to the vinedressers, that he might receive some of the fruit of the vineyard from the vinedressers. And they took him and beat him and sent him away empty-handed. Again he sent them another servant, and at him they threw stones, wounded him in the head, and sent him away shamefully treated. And again he sent another, and him they killed; and many others, beating some and killing some.
Therefore still having one son, his beloved, he also sent him to them last, saying, ‘They will respect my son.’ But those vinedressers said among themselves, ‘This is the heir. Come, let us kill him, and the inheritance will be ours.’ So they took him and killed him and cast him out of the vineyard.
“Therefore what will the owner of the vineyard do? He will come and destroy the vinedressers, and give the vineyard to others. Have you not even read this Scripture:
The stone which the builders rejected
Has become the chief cornerstone.
This was the LORD’s doing,
And it is marvelous in our eyes?
And they sought to lay hands on Him, but feared the multitude, for they knew He had spoken the parable against them. So they left Him and went away.
Mark 12:1-12; Matt. 21:36-46; Luke 20:9-19
This parable is born out of key narrative themes in the Jewish scriptures and has firmly stamped those themes on the role and function of Jesus Christ. Note the following:
The parable is clearly a development of the parable of the vineyard in Isaiah 5:1-7
Now let me sing to my Well-beloved
A song of my Beloved regarding His vineyard:
My Well-beloved has a vineyard
On a very fruitful hill.
He dug it up and cleared out its stones,
And planted it with the choicest vine.
He built a tower in its midst,
And also made a winepress in it;
So He expected it to bring forth good grapes,
But it brought forth wild grapes.
“And now, O inhabitants of Jerusalem and men of Judah,
Judge, please, between Me and My vineyard.
What more could have been done to My vineyard
That I have not done in it?
Why then, when I expected it to bring forth good grapes,
Did it bring forth wild grapes?
And now, please let Me tell you what I will do to My vineyard:
I will take away its hedge, and it shall be burned;
And break down its wall, and it shall be trampled down.
I will lay it waste;
It shall not be pruned or dug,
But there shall come up briers and thorns.
I will also command the clouds
That they rain no rain on it.”
For the vineyard of the LORD of hosts is the house of Israel,
And the men of Judah are His pleasant plant.
He looked for justice, but behold, oppression;
For righteousness, but behold, a cry for help.
While this Jewish parable found fault with the vineyard itself, the Christian adaptation has found fault instead with the tenants. These refuse the rightful payment to the owner and murder his messengers.
One of the Jewish scriptural themes that has been embraced here by the parable is the traditional tale of the Jews killing the prophets sent to them (Nehemiah 9:26):
But they became disobedient and rebelled against You,
And cast Your law behind their backs
And killed Your prophets who had admonished them
So that they might return to You,
And they committed great blasphemies.
Another prominent Jewish scriptural narrative theme is the motive for murder being the coveting of the inheritance. This is found in another parable, in 2 Samuel 14:4-11, as told by the wise woman of Tekoa:
Now when the woman of Tekoa spoke to the king, she fell on her face to the ground and prostrated herself and said, “Help, O king.”
The king said to her, “What is your trouble?”
And she answered, “Truly I am a widow, for my husband is dead. Your maidservant had two sons, but the two of them struggled together in the field, and there was no one to separate them, so one struck the other and killed him. Now behold, the whole family has risen against your maidservant, and they say, `Hand over the one who struck his brother, that we may put him to death for the life of his brother whom he killed, and destroy the heir also.’ Thus they will extinguish my coal which is left, so as to leave my husband neither name nor remnant on the face of the earth.”
Then the king said to the woman, “Go to your house, and I will give orders concerning you.”
The woman of Tekoa said to the king, “O my lord, the king, the iniquity is on me and my father’s house, but the king and his throne are guiltless.”
So the king said, “Whoever speaks to you, bring him to me, and he will not touch you anymore.”
Then she said, “Please let the king remember the LORD your God, so that the avenger of blood will not continue to destroy, otherwise they will destroy my son.”
And he said, “As the LORD lives, not one hair of your son shall fall to the ground.”
It is the clan or family who wishes to kill the surviving son, so the reader can assume that their motive is not entirely one of disinterested justice. They are the ones who will assume the inheritance by acting so heartlessly against the mother.
This parable also cannot help but remind one of the struggle in the field between Cain and Abel (Genesis 4:8):
Cain told Abel his brother. And it came about when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother and killed him.
But in particular the parable of the wise woman of Tekoa’s parable reverberates with the sounds of Sarah’s insistence that the elder step-brother of her son be expelled (even into the face of death in the desert) so that her son alone could be secured the inheritance:
Therefore she said to Abraham, “Drive out this maid and her son, for the son of this maid shall not be an heir with my son Isaac.” (Genesis 21:10)
The same themes of
are at the heart of the well known story of Jacob and Esau. The extended narrative of Genesis 25-32 is told to justify the lateborn son, Jacob, assuming the privileges of the older, Esau. The whole narrative turns on the love that the mother, and God, have towards Jacob, the younger, and the conflict this generates with the older brother, Esau, who is loved by Isaac (Gen.25:28; Mal. 1:3). The consequence is, again, the intent by the older son, Esau, to murder the younger, Jacob, for the inheritance.
This parabolic midrashic slant of the old Jewish narratives was not the unique intellectual property of synoptic authors. Paul’s epistle to the Galatians contains a passage in the same midrashic tradition of the very same narrative cluster.:
Now we, brethren, as Isaac was, are the children of promise. But as then he that was born after the flesh persecuted him that was born after the Spirit, even so it is now. Nevertheless what saith the scripture? Cast out the bondwoman and her son: for the son of the bondwoman shall not be heir with the son of the freewoman. So then, brethren, we are not children of the bondwoman, but of the free. (Galatians 4:28-31)
Just as the Hebrew scripture’s narrative functioned to justify the inheritance going to the younger son over the older son of Abraham, so the midrashic play on the same narrative validated the claim of the Church over the Jews as the rightful heirs of God.
The author of that passage in Galatians had the same objective as the author of the original narrative of Isaac and Ishmael.
And the Christians are brought into this drama because of the earlier identification of the promise to Abraham with Jesus:
Now to Abraham and his seed were the promises made. He saith not, And to seeds, as of many; but as of one, And to thy seed, which is Christ. (Gal.3:16)
The early Church claimed to be the chosen of God in place of the Jews, and asserted that God had dispossessed the Jews in favour of the devotees of Jesus Christ. If the Christians portrayed the Jews as their persecutors, the same Christians also saw it as their God-given right to cast out and dispossess the Jews. And the same Church concocted the written testimony to their claim out of their own midrashic interpretation of the Jewish scriptures.
The very efforts of the Church to dispossess the Jews of the Torah witnesses to the midrashic character of the most basic elements of the Christian message.
According to Levenson, Paul never blames the Jews for death of Jesus. For Paul, the death of Jesus is always the consequence of the sacrifice of a loving God.
The parable of WIcked Husbandmen, though, has no trace of any notion of child sacrifice. Rather, it resembles the story of Joseph, whose father has no intention that his son be killed. Note also that the gospels have Judas as the wicked betrayer of Jesus, the beloved son and true heir, just as Judah was the betrayer of Joseph, the beloved son. That Judas might stand in for the Jews cannot be far from any reader’s mind. Levenson comments:
The father’s gift has been recast as the brothers’ crime. (p.230)
Levenson continues, p.230: “If doubt remains about the midrashic character of the Parable of the Wicked Husbandmen or its pronounced participation in the intertextuality of the Jewish Scriptures, the following rabbinic midrash should help dispel the doubt and shed light on the Jewish-Christian debate to which the parable bears witness:”
For the LORD’S portion is his people” [Deut 32:9]. A parable: A king had a field which he leased to tenants. When the tenants began to steal from it, he took it away from them and leased it to their children. When the children began to act worse than their fathers, he took it away from them and gave it to (the original tenants’) grandchildren. When these too became worse than their predecessors, a son was born to him. He then said to the grandchildren, “Leave my property. You may not remain therein. Give me back my portion, so that I may repossess it.” Thus also, When our father Abraham came into the world, unworthy (descendants) issued from him, Ishmael and all of Keturah’s children. When Isaac came into the world, unworthy (descendants) issued from him, Esau and all the princes of Edom, and they became worse than their predecessors. When Jacob came into the world, he did not produce unworthy (descendants), rather all his children were worthy, as it is said, “Jacob was a mild man who stayed in camp” [Gen 25:27]. When did God repossess His portion? Beginning with Jacob, as it is said, “For the LORD’S portion is His people / Jacob His own allotment” [Deut 32:9], and, “For the LORD has chosen Jacob for Himself [Ps 135 :4] (Sifre Deut. 312)
According to Levenson, in both the gospel parable and in this rabbinic midrash,
the climactic act of election is the final one, the one occasioned by the arrival of the son. In both passages, the point is to justify the preference for the latecomers at the expense of those whom they dispossess, the non-Israelite descendants of Abraham in the case of the midrash, the Jews in the Christian parable as we have interpreted it.” (p.231)
Levenson continues:
That rabbinic culture transmitted a parable on these matters so similar to the Synoptic text and its alloforms in Thomas suggests that the prominence of the “beloved son” in the canonical Gospels — or at least of the concept underlying it — is not incidental to the meaning of the Gospel passage. Rather, both texts would seem to have had their origins in the dispute of Jews and early Christians over the identity of the beloved son and the community that harks back to him. The only way in which a dispute of this sort could be carried on was through the exegesis of the only scripture either community knew — the Hebrew Bible.
Paul had replaced Isaac as the beloved son with Jesus and the Church, and this rabbinic midrash replaces Isaac with Jacob and the Jews as the beloved son.
The biblical texts on which the two contending groups focused are, in each case, those that speak of the origins of the faithful community and the legitimation of its separation from its unworthy competitor, and, in each case, the legitimation derives from God’s new and definitive act of election. (p.231)
This rabbinic midrash testifies to the “deeply Jewish character of the parallel New Testament exegetical moves and for the similarity of the ways in which the two communities laid a midrashic claim to the patrimony of Abraham.”
Both Jewish and Christian communities rely on Genesis; both use Genesis to compose texts that completely dispossess their rivals. In both the Jewish and Christian parables the former tenants are totally uprooted and repudiated — there is no compromise, no longer any room for any blessing at all for the former tenants.
The break is total: contrary to what biblical archetype might have suggested, the Jews and the Church are not even related . . . .
The Jewish-Christian relationship is thus not one of parent-child as often portrayed, but one of two rival siblings competing for their father’s unique blessing.
I’ve done nothing more in these posts than present some key parts of Levenson’s argument. I have not discussed it in relation to other studies or possible implications for certain other hypotheses for Christian origins. In future posts, however, I do expect to refer back to significant points made by Levenson in this book, bringing them to throw additional light on other interpretations of the origins of Christianity.
The primary purpose of this series in the meantime is to do my little bit towards making more widely accessible some of the biblical scholarship that rarely gets read beyond the study rooms of academia.
There’s much more in the book — especially in relation to early Canaanite sacrifice and the notion of human sacrifice (both literal and symbolic) in what are sometimes thought of as “early bible times”.
It’s surely a curious thing why certain issues, and not others, become the main media focus at this or that time. I recently commented on what I saw as the total lack of perspective, and even some fabricated reports, over the attention given to the Tibetan protests in relation to the Olympics. Very few reports that I saw gave any serious presentation of the history beyond the era of European colonialism or the strength of the independence claims in international law. In amazing Big Brother scenes on TV reporting one often found oneself watching one thing on the video film and listening to a voice-over description of what was happening that simply did not relate at all to what one was seeing. We were being told to think that there was a mass uprising of the people when all we could see were either some monks who were often themselves violent, or race riots where some civilians were clearly turning on their neighbours of the”wrong” ethnicity. The real human rights issues of China — the legal system and corruption, and almost promiscuous use of the death penalty, the imprisonments and punishments against those attempting to speak out for rights and justice — did not seem to exist at that time.
Mugabe, a bad man responsible for uncontrolled violence and a bad economy
But now the big international news media topic is Mugabe’s Zimbabwe. One has to question what lies behind the choice and slant of news topics that come our way — all with one voice. Mugabe is a villain. No doubt. He has fallen from his liberation hero status to murderous criminal. But the media is completely silent about other murderous criminal rulers. Or worse, when they do have cause to refer to them they give the impression they are normal respectable members of the international community of national leaders.
Is it Mugabe’s lack of democratic credentials that are really the issue? Of course his last election, which he won with 85% of the vote, was a sham.
Mubarak, a good man responsible for controlled violence and a good economy
But President Mubarak of Egypt has won his last x number of elections by a more than 90% of the vote. (SMH article.) Mubarak also runs a criminal regime that keeps control through political bans and torture. Mubarak has banned the largest political party in Egypt. He offers an accommodating extra-judicial resort for western nations like the U.S. and Australia when even non-Egyptians are deemed in need of a bit of “softening up”. And he is one of the biggest recipients of U.S. foreign aid, a respectable leader who can talk with Israel and help keep those rambunctious Palestinians in line.
So he is a good leader worthy of $US21.3 billion aid for the 2007 fiscal year. There was, admittedly, a dutiful passing reference to “unease” about Mubarak’s “human rights record”, but it was decided that it would be “unfair” for a gentleman nation to notice such things when the culprit was “an important ally”. (See the America.Gov website article.)
So what is the difference between the sins of Mubarak and the sins of Mugabe that should qualify the latter for such flamboyant media coverage?
Mubarak wins election after election by more than 90% of the vote, the biggest political party is banned, and his government is notorious for torture, disappearances and dubious legal procedures to maintain power and keep control.
Mugabe, on the other hand, wins an election by a mere 85% of the vote, at least says the opposition if free to run against him, and winks and shrugs his shoulders when hooligan supporters do his dirty work for him, openly, in the streets and fields and private homes of citizens.
Methinks there are two differences of significance:
One: Mugabe’s violence is much less efficient than Mubarak’s. And the reason it is less efficient is that it is uncontrolled. It has no state police doing the dirty work of hooligans in an organized and “responsible” manner, dragging people off secretly in the night. All this broad daylight savagery is too exposed to cameras, for god’s sake! It makes good tv viewing and guaranteed audiences and therefore attracts lucrative advertizer funds to the media coffers.
Two: Mugabe has made an economic mess of his country! Now that is really unspeakable. Controlled and efficient violence is jolly good for business. That’s why countries like Egypt attract $1.3 billion of annual U.S. taxes for military aid. And why countries like China are great investment opportunities right now. (I’m not suggesting that Zimbabwe’s economic woes can be cured by organized state violence, but a bit of organized state-controlled violence would go a long way to opening up his country, if Mugabe were willing, to economic investment and advisers. He would have nothing to lose from allowing those in to his country if he had the greater personal security state controlled violence could bring.)
Zimbabwe, with its uncontrolled violence, is an opportunity lost:
Properly managed, Zimbabwe’s wide range of resources should enable it to support sustained economic growth. The country has an important percentage of the world’s known reserves of metallurgical-grade chromite. Other commercial mineral deposits include coal, platinum, asbestos, copper, nickel, gold, and iron ore. However, for the country to benefit from these mineral deposits, it must attract foreign direct investment. (U.S. Dept of State report)
Don’t think I’m opposing public outrage over Mugabe and the outrages against so many Zimbabweans. What pings me off is the media’s complicity in expressing their seeming political masters’ outraged comments without further digging and enquiry, and without due regard for evenly applied standards.
The media, and the political powers under whom they operate, know well the common decency and humanity of most people towards others. But the inconsistency of their targets smacks of self-interested manipulation.
And given the simple comparison of the cases of Mugabe and Mubarak, how can one escape the conclusion that if Mugabe was a lot more efficient with how he applied violence, and learned from Mubarak how to secure his power without such a public and economic mess, Mugabe would still be feted as the liberation hero he was in the beginning.
Where have I been all my life to have missed out on comedian Eddie Izzard till now! Loved his take on St Paul’s letters to the Corinthians. Some of his lines really cohere with some points of higher criticism, too, which I found all the more delicious. But don’t view if offended by crude language or alternate genders.
As an atheist and social-political activist I’ve long had a soft spot for Catholics when it comes to social justice causes, so it was a flattering surprise to see a nice commendation of my recent series on Luke-Acts in relation to Marcionism in the Patristic Carnival XIII section of The God Fearin’ Forum [scroll over the blog page to restore colour settings for a readable page], a blog for Catholic theology, philosophy and apologetics etc.
A companion recommendation listed with mine is Ben C. Smith’s commencement of “a thought provoking thread on the same subject: Which Came First, the Gospel of Luke or that of Marcion?” — The iidb/frdb discussion is attached below….. Continue reading “Vridar makes it to the God Fearin’ Forum”
According to Levenson the central elements of the Christian message derive from a reinterpretation and midrashic reworking of prominent tropes in the Hebrew Scriptures. In particular, the central Christian message and characterization of Jesus can be traced directly to the central motifs that lie at the heart of the old biblical stories and proclamations about the “beloved (and only begotten) son”. Further, these biblical stories have their antecedents in Canaanite mythology. The fundamental theme involves a father (human or divine) who willingly gives up his most beloved son to a bloody sacrifice, either out of love for another, or to save others from death. This is found most prominently in what have come to us as the writings of Paul, as well as in one especially famous gospel verse.
There is another parallel set of “beloved son” narratives that turn on the murderous hostility of the older siblings of that beloved son because of his destiny to inherit what they think should be their due. In this tradition, the father is an unwilling participant until the eventual miraculous return of his most beloved one. At that point the most favoured son assumes the full inheritance. Sometimes, but not always, there is reconciliation with the older siblings. This narrative enters the Christian message through certain plot and character details and another famous parable found in the synoptic gospels.
But at this point, in the series outlining Levenson’s book, ‘The Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son, we come to his final chapter where he begins by looking at how the very character of God was transformed by early Christianity through its midrashic reading of the Jewish scripture stories of “the beloved son”. As previous posts in this series demonstrate, the “beloved son” trope, also often accompanied with the notion of “the only begotten” son, is part and parcel with the plot or myth of the father delivering up his most favoured offspring to bloody sacrifice for a greater good.
This ancient Jewish (and earlier Canaanite) story, Levenson proposes, is the underlying source of the Christian message, beginning with the very concept of God as a being who loves humanity so much he will sacrifice his only son to save them. . . .
Note the Hebrew Scripture themes that underly this passage in Romans 8:28-35:
And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. For those whom He foreknew, He also predestined to become conformed to the image of His Son, so that He would bethe firstborn among many brethren; and these whom He predestined, He also called; and these whom He called, He also justified; and these whom He justified, He also glorified. What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him over for us all, how will He not also with Him freely give us all things? Who will bring a charge against God’s elect? God is the one who justifies; who is the one who condemns? Christ Jesus is He who died, yes, rather who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who also intercedes for us. Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?
The complex thoughts expressed in this passage are all surfacing here from Jewish scripture narratives:
The firstborn son
The image (eikon) of his Son
The Isaac motifs
The constellation of the first born son, predestination, chosenness, glorification — this combination is at the core of the Isaac story. Anyone familiar with the Jewish scriptures will not have the story of Isaac and other beloved sons catapulted to firstborn status far from mind when reading here of the plot of the firstborn experiencing predestination, being chosen and finally glorified. This pattern is the core of Isaac’s birth, near-sacrifice and ascent to the rank of patriarch. And in later Jewish interpretations, his near-sacrifice became in implied actual sacrifice and resurrection. (See the previous posts for details.)
Abraham maybe
The above passage stresses the love of God, and since in Jewish Scripture and Second Temple interpretations Abraham was the archetypical lover of God, his shadow may well cover the above passage:
Isaiah 41:8 — Abraham is known as the archetypical lover of God. (Below is a translation of the Hebrew; in the LXX the word is from the Greek “agape” for love (agapete), describing God as the lover of Abraham):
— And thou, O Israel, My servant, Jacob, whom I have chosen, Seed of Abraham, My lover
Jubilees 17:15-18 While the original Genesis account spoke of Abraham’s fear of God, this passage from Jubilees points to a shift in Jewish interpretation of Abraham where it was his love for God that was stressed, and with everything working out well for him despite afflictions because of his love for God:
there were voices in heaven regarding Abraham, that he was faithful in all that He told him, and that he loved the Lord, and that in every affliction he was faithful. And the prince Mastema came and said before God, ‘Behold, Abraham loves Isaac his son, and he delights in him above all things else; bid him offer him as a burnt-offering on the altar, and Thou wilt see if he will do this command, and Thou wilt know if he is faithful in everything wherein Thou dost try him. And the Lord knew that Abraham was faithful in all his afflictions; for He had tried him through his country and with famine, and had tried him with the wealth of kings, and had tried him again through his wife, when she was torn (from him), and with circumcision; and had tried him through Ishmael and Hagar, his maid-servant, when he sent them away. And in everything wherein He had tried him, he was found faithful, and his soul was not impatient, and he was not slow to act; for he was faithful and a lover of the Lord.
Everything worked out well for Abraham because of his love for God.
Abraham definitely
The shadows of Abraham’s character lurking in the above passage are confirmed as definitely his own when we read of the final test, the real proof, of God’s love:
He who did not spare (pheidomai) His own Son, but delivered Him over for us all
Compare Genesis 22:12, 16:
for now I am certain that the fear of God is in your heart, because you have not kept back (pheidomai) your son, your only son, from me. . . . because you have done this and have not kept back (pheidomai) from me your dearly loved only son
The evidence of God’s love for humanity is the same as was the evidence of Abraham’s love for God. In both cases the supreme test or sign of that love was the giving up of their only sons.
Through this model of Abraham God has established a “new aqedah” (binding of Isaac). Just as Abraham’s aqedah enabled the life of the nation of Israel (see previous posts), so the new aqedah by God, in return, enables the new life of the Christian.
Role of Love in the New Aqedah
For God so loved the world, that He gave (edoken) His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life. (John 3:16)
Familiarity makes for an easy sentimentalization of this passage. But the idea of “givine one’s only begotten son” is nothing less than the scriptural idea of God’s requirement that the firstborn son be handed over (given up) for a bloody sacrifice. The way the Son is “given” goes back to Exodus 22:29b:
you shall give me the first-born among your sons
The fathers gift is the bloody slaying of Jesus, in the same sense as the killing of the passover lamb.
The killing of Jesus, like the killing of the passover lamb, enables the life of others who were marked for death. And like the beloved sons in the Hebrew traditions, his death also proves reversible. He is, like them, miraculously restored to life and reunited with those who love him, but who had given up all hope for his return.
Whence the pivotal historical moment, the turning of the new age interpretation of Jesus’ death and resurrection? That comes from Jewish apocalyptic, not from the midrash of biblical stories of near loss and miraculous return of the beloved son.
But the resurrection idea came with the Pharisees and the rabbis who followed them. It was not part of the earliest biblical narratives. But imagine how the Pharisees and rabbis who believed in a resurrection must have read and thought about the stories of the beloved son. One can imagine the old stories being recast under the impact of that new belief, of the old stories of an averted death being recast as a resurrection. Levenson had earlier discussed the enigmatic appearance of “the ashes of Isaac” in the Second Temple period.
The story of Elisha and the Shunammite woman in 2 Kings 4:8-37 (cf 1 Kings 17:17-24) likely represents a reworking of the beloved son story in a different cultural context, with a belief in resurrection.
Given these resurrection stories in the Elijah-Elisha narratives, it may indeed be significant that the first gospel, the Gospel of Mark, is quite possibly modeled on much of the content and structure of the Elijah-Elishah saga (1 Kings 17 – 2 Kings 13). Levenson cites Roth, and I would add Brodie. Levenson comments:
Even those unpersuaded by the case must conclude theis: if already in a world in which people believed in wonder-working prophets, the death of the only and promised son could be reversed by his bodily resurrection, it is all the more the case that in a world in which the resurrection of the dead is a central tenet, like that of Pharisaic Judaism, the report of the son’s return from death need not be taken for a definitive break with the older pattern. The report of Jesus’ resurrection is the old wine in a bottle that is relatively new but hardly unique. (p. 224, my emphasis)
As discussed in the earlier posts in this series, there was the old Canaanite theme of god, El, who offered his son, his only son, in order to avert disaster. This offered son was said to be the “monogenes“, the “only” son, or the “only begotten” son.
Philo of Byblos translates the name of the son of El, whom El offered, as Ieoud or Iedoud. Behind this Ieoud/Iedoud is the Hebrew word yahid, the favoured one, the same term repeatedly applied to Isaac:
Take now thy son, thine only son, whom thou lovest, even Isaac . . .
thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son, from me. . . .
because thou . . . hast not withheld thy son, thine only son . . (Genesis 22:2, 12, 16):
One LXX translation of this word uses the Greek monogenes when it applies to Jephthah’s daughter in Judges 11:34. Another LXX version combines monogenes auto agapete (she was his “only child and beloved” daughter).
So the resonances of Jewish and Canaanite myths lurk beneath the Christian message (outlined in the Romans passage at the beginning of this post) and the Christian God, although the Jewish myth of course dominates. In the Jewish myth the motive for giving up the beloved son was a love greater than that for the son, not fear of calamity, as was the motive in the Canaanite myth.
And when Jesus was the one identified as the son of the God, then God himself was transformed into the image of father Abraham.
I titled this post “remaking god in the image of abraham”, but I am not sure to what extent there was any real “re-make” — or if the remake was really about shifting the image of a godfather god who demands absolute fealty to one who guises that mafia-like godfather image beneath a “love” garment. Rather than a theological innovation, does the new myth represent a Stockholm syndrome — those who saw themselves captive to their godfather have come to love him, since they see themselves as totally dependent on him.
one more post to go ( i think) to finish off this series……
What was the origin of the idea that God sacrificed his beloved or only son to cover for the sins of his favoured people? Was it novel to the Christians? Was it the outcome of years of theological reflection searching for meaning in some historical event? Or was the idea already central to certain Jewish interpretations about their own identity in relation to the binding (and near sacrifice) of Isaac? And if so, was the Jesus christology little more than a direct hijacking of a set of Jewish beliefs about Isaac? I am not sure of the answer but as part of an attempt to find it I have been working through a series of posts outlining Levenson’s study of how some of the earliest Christian writers drew on longstanding Jewish traditions about “the beloved son” (epitomized in Isaac) to interpret the role and meaning of Jesus.
In terms of social (i.e. racial) impact, the most significant writings that drew on Jewish interpretative frameworks about the beloved son, in particular Isaac, are those attributed to Paul. (I place ‘replaced’ in quotation marks because Isaac was never replaced within Judaism, of course. Displaced would have been the more arms-length term to have used, and is in fact the word Levenson uses. But ‘replaced’ certainly would apply to those Jews and proselytes who originally transferred all the meanings bestowed upon Isaac to their Jesus and/or Christ figure.)
A corollary of this involves a rejection of the commonly assumed notion of Paul’s “universalism”. He is not by any means a “universalist”. He wants, rather, for a reversal of the Judaistic premise: his system places the gentiles in the favoured position of the Jews, and relegates the Jews to castaway status until their punishment is complete. Continue reading “Jesus supplants Isaac — the contribution of Paul”
This post is moving beyond my original interest in posting notes from Tyson’s hypothesis about the influence of Marcionism on the composition of Luke-Acts, but it completes his final chapter, and so also completes this series of posts. Looking here at:
Continue reading “Marcion and Luke-Acts: the Lukan Achievement”
If the author of the Gospel of Luke knew Matthew’s gospel then how can one explain his decision to break up the aesthetic and noble unity of Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount? There are responses to this question that do not persuade everyone. (The idea that Luke did not like long sermons runs into a problem when one reads long sermons and speeches in Acts.) If, however, we think of canonical Luke as an anti-Marcionite work (as discussed in recent posts on Tyson’s Marcion and Luke-Acts), then something about the Sermon on the Mount immediately stands out as a problem for an author writing a tract to trounce Marcionism.
Matthew 5:
20. For I say unto you, That except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven.
21. Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not kill; and whosoever shall kill shall be in danger of the judgment: 22. But I say unto you, That whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment:
27. Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not commit adultery: 28. But I say unto you, That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.
31. It hath been said, Whosoever shall put away his wife, let him give her a writing of divorcement: 32. But I say unto you, That whosoever shall put away his wife,
33. Again, ye have heard that it hath been said by them of old time, Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine oaths: 34. But I say unto you, Swear not at all;
38. Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: 39. But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil:
43. Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy. 44. But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;
Even though many today read the whole tenor of Matthew’s gospel and the Sermon on the Mount as pro-Torah, the above pattern of sayings cannot help but at the very least suggest a pro-Marcionite teaching about Jesus and the Law. Marcionism taught that Jesus came from a higher god than the Creator god of the Jews, and that the law of that Creator god of Israel was deficient compared with the true teachings of the hitherto unknown god. Continue reading “Another reason for Luke to have broken up Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount”
In a series of posts (archived here) I have outlined Tyson’s argument (Marcion and Luke-Acts: A Defining Struggle) that both our canonical Luke and Marcion’s gospel were based on a common “original Luke”. The argument does, I think, offer a plausible explanation of the evidence, and Tyson’s discussion of Luke and Acts certainly gives grounds for thinking that those works as we know them happened to contain much in the way of the most useful tools for a debate with Marcionite doctrines. Tyson places them in the early second century, and appeals to Hoffman’s work to make what I think is a strong claim that Marcion himself should be dated to that earlier period.
(While the commonly assigned date for Marcion’s activity – post 144 c.e. – rests largely on a problematic reading of Tertullian, much of the strength of the early date proposed by Hoffmann depends on the self-attestation of the works bearing Justin’s name for their true provenance. External controls that would help us establish more objectively the author and date of those works simply don’t exist. Where there are external controls, self-attestation is often found to be a notoriously unreliable guide for many reasons, both benign and otherwise. Those who would consider this approach to be over sceptical are simply overlooking, or are ignorant of, the facts of any source texts and basic historical methods; and those who would insist on applying a “hermeneutic of charity” are mistakenly and naively attempting to apply an ethic designed for personal relations to inanimate documents that really require the tools of investigative enquiry. It is quite possible that further information could still restore the later date for Marcion — indeed, even establish a later date than the early first century for Luke-Acts.)
The gospel trajectory proposed by Tyson is:
To me, this is by and large a satisfactory hypothesis that answers more questions than it raises. It makes good sense, I think, of many of the features of Luke-Acts especially when compared with comparable material in other gospels and early church writings. My main reservations come from my doubts that Justin knew the book of Acts. He knew some of the material we find in other gospels, including noncanonical ones. It does not necessarily follow, however, that he knew the same gospels that we know that also included some of the same material. I can think of no reason against the possibility that the author of canonical Luke-Acts was busy composing around about the same time Justin was writing. There are many overlaps of issues, themes, narrative bytes, not to mention innumerable ambiguities within Justin’s works over whether he knew the canonical gospels or not, and/or which of the noncanonical ones he knew. Perhaps it was the work of Luke-Acts, first clearly attested by Irenaeus about a generation after Justin, that came to be recognized as providing the singular paradigm through which all previous works were to be judged (and maybe even redacted). But all this requires unpacking and exploration in a host of other posts.
Next, to complete this series with a summary of Tyson’s views of the early historical impact of Luke-Acts.
I have no idea, of course, if the author of Matthew’s Gospel really “misunderstood” the miracle stories in the Gospel of Mark or understood them all too well and for that reason chose to recast them with a different meaning and agenda.
Either way, the result has been that Mark’s original nuances that alert the knowing reader to the “parabolic” meaning of his miracle stories have been lost beneath the weight of the literalist versions of these miracles by the subsequent evangelists.
The way the author of GMatthew (Gospel of Matthew) tells the story of Jesus walking on water, for example, borders on being a farcical parody of the version found in GMark. This post, by the way, is really a footnote to my previous post in which I would like to think I showed that the Markan version is demonstrably a parable that coheres, through certain repeated “throw away” words and phrases, with the entire gospel being a fictitious (but by no means meaningless) parable.
Compare Mark’s and Matthew’s versions (even in English translation the pertinent differences are clear enough). First, Mark. I have highlighted in bold type the differences:
And straightway he constrained his disciples to get into the ship, and to go to the other side before unto Bethsaida, while he sent away the people.
And when he had sent them away, he departed into a mountain to pray.
And when even was come, the ship was in the midst of the sea, and he alone on the land.
And he saw them straining in rowing; for the wind was contrary unto them: and about the fourth watch of the night he cometh unto them, walking upon the sea, and would have passed by them.
But when they saw him walking upon the sea, they supposed it had been a spirit, and cried out:
For they all saw him, and were troubled. And immediately he talked with them, and saith unto them, Be of good cheer: it is I; be not afraid.
And he went up unto them into the ship; and the wind ceased: and they were sore amazed in themselves beyond measure, and wondered.
For they considered not the miracle of the loaves: for their heart was hardened.
And Matthew’s
And straightway Jesus constrained his disciples to get into a ship, and to go before him unto the other side, while he sent the multitudes away.
And when he had sent the multitudes away, he went up into a mountain apart to pray: and when the evening was come, he was there alone.
But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves: for the wind was contrary.
And in the fourth watch of the night Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea.
And when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out for fear.
But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.
And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water.
And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus.
But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me.
And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?
And when they were come into the ship, the wind ceased.
Then they that were in the ship came and worshipped him, saying, Of a truth thou art the Son of God.
Note the main differences. Matthew has removed from Mark’s narrative those lines that also cause the most difficulty for modern readers:
Another significant change is that Matthew has removed Mark’s implication that the disciples were “sore amazed” after the wind settled and calm returned.
He has also removed Mark’s image of the disciples “straining at rowing” against the wind, and change the image to one of the boat being tossed by the waves instead.
In my previous discussion of this miracle I showed how each one of those features, removed by Matthew, placed Mark’s version of the miracle within the broader theological context of the entire gospel.
That Jesus would have passed the disciples (and then have gone on before them) is a regular motif with metaphorical significance throughout Mark, from the first callings of the disciples through to the last message to be delivered to them. Having already called his disciples Jesus was expecting them to continue to follow him.
That the disciples were said to be “straining at rowing” here recalls the time when Jesus first called the disciples. The focus here, as then, is on the physical efforts of the disciples. (Then they were working at trying to catch fish, mending their nets, and sitting at the tax collection post. Now they are in serious difficulties as they attempt to row against the wind.) Both Jesus and the disciples are going in the same direction, to Bethsaida (= “the house of the fisherman/fishing”). Jesus had called them to become fishers of men. It is (ought to be) clear to the reader that if the disciples want to also reach Bethsaida all they need to do is climb out of the boat that is taking them nowhere and follow Jesus.
Read this way (which, as explained in my previous post, is consistent with the several other “follow me”, “passing by” and “going before” motifs throughout the gospel), it is clear to that Mark is writing the story as a “parable” or metaphor. Similarly Jerusalem is the geographic metaphor for the cross, and Galilee for wherever the Kingdom of God is “at hand”. The disciples needed to take up their cross with Jesus, and not follow or stand “afar off”, if they were to follow Jesus back to Galilee. The message is not for or about the twelve disciples in the gospel. The disciples are a mere part of a story that is directed at Mark’s audience. What the disciples decide to do at the end is of no account for the author, hence such a scene is omitted from the end. The author’s story is talking about what his audience needs to do.
If Mark’s audience had clamoured to ask him whether the disciples in the end followed Jesus to Galilee, or if the disciples really did have the power to walk on water, I can imagine Mark rolling his eyes in despair at the total failure of his narrative to have made its point. He would probably retort:
If you don’t understand the miracle of the loaves how can you have any idea what I’ve been writing about!
Do you really think my gospel is about bread? Or water? Or even Galilee?
One member of such a “blind” audience could have been Matthew, or whoever was the author of the gospel bearing his name.
Matthew either did not understand, or chose to delete, the metaphorical aspects of the story. He turned it into a story of a literal miracle.
The symbolism of Bethsaida as the destination was removed by excising the destination entirely. His story would go a close-up of a miracle shot, without any broader “parabolic” narrative that might detract from this.
Next to go was the image of the disciples rowing so uselessly against a mere headwind. Audiences would be bored. Much more dramatic was tossing up the waves, putting the boat and lives of the disciples in peril. The original did not have nearly enough danger for excitement. It was just a boring tale of a bunch of men rowing themselves to a standstill in the wind. Matthew preferred the bigger, more spectacular Hollywood adaptation.
As for the original’s having Jesus about to pass them by, that was definitely out. It made no sense to Matthew. Audiences would be confused. Jesus was the hero, their saviour and was doing a great magic trick here to prove he was the Son of God. So Matthew interpreted it. He wouldn’t just ignore his disciples. Matthew had no idea, or rejected, the real message of the original. He wanted a Jesus who would do great miraculous feats to impress his gospel characters and gospel readers alike. And since he is also establishing Peter as the lead apostle, he even brings Peter in to share a little of the miracle limelight. For Matthew, it is the fantastic miracle of walking on the water that is all consuming of his imagination. Mark’s message is lost under his literalism.
The dramatic end. Finally, when the magic show of the duo walking on water was all over, when they finally got back into the boat, the disciples responded appropriately to such a grand miracle worker. They fell down and worshipped him as the Son of God. Only a Son of God could walk on water, after all. And that was all the message that Matthew could, or would, grasp.
Contrast Mark’s ending. The disciples still did not know who Jesus was. They could only be “sore amazed” and “wonder” — but not at the way he had come to them walking on water, or at least not only that. They were amazed that as soon as he entered the boat the wind stopped. This was exactly what amazed them once before. Jesus was able to control the wind and even stop a storm at sea. “Who was this man who could overpower both demons and the wind?” they wondered in awe.
But this is too subtle and not nearly flattering enough of the twelve apostles for Matthew. Being amazed at the change in weather is also an anti-climax if one is trying to follow an action story which is meant to be taken literally.
Mark’s gospel was an arthouse film script. It’s audience appeal was always destined to be limited. Even today it is largely misunderstood as a bit “weird” or “strange” in places. But that is not Mark’s fault. It is the fault of audiences trying to see in it a mini-Hollywood action film, a literal precursor of something that Matthew knew how to really portray in a much more appealing way.
I’m restricting this question to a study in the Gospel of Mark, and to its ending at 16:8 with the women fleeing in dumbstruck fear and after the young man told them to:
Go and tell his disciples, and Peter: He is going before (προαγει) you into Galilee: there you will see him, as he said to you. (16:7)
Why the rush? Why did the author want to write story where Jesus leaves the disciples behind?
I’ve no doubt someone has discussed this before much more competently somewhere in the lit, but this being my turn to notice it too, here goes.
The last time we saw Peter in Mark’s gospel he was caught “following Jesus” but “from afar (απο μακροθεν)” (14:54). But from this distance he was cornered into a situation where he felt his only escape was to deny Jesus who by this time was on his way to the cross.
Before that, all the disciples had “forsaken Jesus and fled” (14:50).
Earlier the author had even linked the denial of Peter and failure of all the disciples with Jesus saying he “would go before them” to Galilee. Will return to that link near later in this discussion.
The forsaking and denying of Jesus is a complete turn around from their first encounter with Jesus. So back to the beginning:
The beginning is a mysteriously immediate following the moment Jesus — who was passing or walking by — called them.
And as he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and Andrew . . . Then Jesus said to them, “Come after me . . .” (Ditto as he walked a little farther and saw James and John.)
And as he passed by, he saw Levi . . . and said to him, “Follow me . . .”
In each case those called immediately responded and followed.
The starkness of the call, and particularly the equal starkness of the immediate response following, registers in the reader’s mind, right through to the end and beyond.
Later there is another incident where one person wants to follow Jesus, but is forbidden to do so. The one possessed by Legion (the multitude of demons) had spent time among the tombs, an outcast among the dead. Having restored him, Jesus authorizes him to go back and preach among his people.
But back to those called to follow him. Continue reading “Why did Jesus not wait for his disciples at his tomb? — Or, Why did the disciples not follow Jesus on water? — same question”