How Much Is Jesus Worth? (26:1-16)
How Much Is Jesus Worth? (26:1-16)
Cf. Mk 14:1-11; Lk 7:36-50; 22:1-6; Jn 11:47-53; 12:1-8. Matthew concludes his grand eschatological vision of the exalted Son of Man with the harsh reality of present suffering (25:35-36), leading directly into the Passion Narrative. As Mark intimately connects Jesus' suffering (Mk 14-15) with that of the disciples (Mk 13) in a climax that fits the rest of his narrative, so for Matthew the Passion Narrative reminds disciples in this age of their present testing until their eschatological deliverance (e.g., 24:42-43; 25:13; 26:41). Because the Passion story provides the historical record of their once-for-all redemption, it reveals in intimate detail both the concrete expression of God's love for his people and the awfulness of their rebellion against his will. Matthew thus expands the irony already latent in the Passion Narrative: the travesties of justice, the confessions of Gentiles like Pilate and Roman soldiers, the recollections of Satan's testing in the words of the religious leaders at the cross, and so forth. But whereas Matthew teaches about the historic passion of Jesus, this is not his only concern. Because Jesus' sacrifice becomes the model for that of his disciples (16:24), it invites Matthew's audience to count the cost of discipleship in a world hostile to God's purposes and agendas.1
Excursus: Historical Tradition in the Passion Narrative
Because both address the unjust death of the righteous, the Passion Narratives repeat some themes also appearing in martyr stories (e.g., 2 Macc 6-7; Wis 2:12-20; cf. Sisti 1977; Acts of the Alexandrian Martyrs in CPJ 2:55-107, §§154-59), as many scholars have properly emphasized (e.g., Dibelius 1971: 201; Donahue 1976: 65-66; Weeden 1976: 66; Nickelsburg 1980; Aune 1987: 52-53; Robbins 1992: 173, 188).2 But important as this observation is for analysis of the texts, apart from the fact that both martyr stories and Gospel Passion Narratives involve a righteous person's unjust death, the parallels may be inadequate to place the Gospel Passion stories fully in this genre, especially given the differences.3 Some features characteristic of martyr stories, such as betrayal, refusal to compromise, and sentencing (Boring 1995: 152), reflect the common pattern of ancient law and Jewish resilience, rather than the borrowing of motifs (though recording such details augments the hortatory value of the narratives).4
Of the other motifs both share, many are no more distinctively characteristic of martyr stories than of other ancient literature. For example, where possible, Diogenes Laertius ends his discussions of the lives of eminent philosophers with their death, for example, with Cleanthes in 7.5.176. Martyr stories of course could vindicate their protagonist's devotion and so packed more impact than other death accounts; a legendary figure might even receive a legendary martyrdom (cf. Life of Aesop, end, in Drury 1976: 29).
Nevertheless, we can hardly suppose that Jesus' execution was merely fabricated to fit this genre (most biographies that reported their subjects' death did not conclude with martyrdom, and nearly all scholars concur with good reason that the basic kerygma arose shortly after Jesus' execution). Jewish accounts stress martyrdom as an example of commitment, but despite the use of Jesus' death as a model in the Gospel narratives (16:24), summaries of the earliest gospel (e.g., 1 Cor 15:3-4) suggest their very early kerygmatic function as well. In other words, martyr stories may explain the form in which some cohesive Passion Narrative or Narratives circulated, but they would not indicate their composition as fiction. Theissen 1991: 123 concludes, "There is no analogy to the Passion narrative in all of ancient literature. Elements of Hellenistic acts of the martyrs and Jewish tales of martyrdom have been melded into something quite new." If he overstates their uniqueness from a formal standpoint, he nevertheless corrects an overemphasis on parallels that explains less than is sometimes claimed. The vast majority of ancient biographies concluded with the subject's death, funeral, and related events (Burridge 1992: 146-47, 179-80); the roughly 15 percent of Matthew's narrative devoted to the passion is comparable to the length devoted to such matters in contemporary biographies (Burridge 1992: 197-98).5
Mack at times substitutes suspicion of motives (suggesting that scholars have gone easy on the Passion Narratives from faith prejudice) for actual evidence that the narratives are unreliable (1988: 249; for arguments, see 249-68). Despite this confidence, he cites Jeremias (a "conservative" scholar, 254) only three times, and never Blinzler, Stauffer, Hengel, or other more conservative continental scholars. In contrast to Mack and his naive dismissal of previous scholarship on the Passion Narratives as uncritical (Perry wrote as early as 1920; cf. Lietzmann's skepticism on some points in 1931), we have no record of any Christianity where the basic structure of the kerygma was missing, whether or not Christians had yet constructed full Passion Narratives.6 Other narratives may have figured as much in early Christian ethical preaching, but it is likely that the early Christians would have told and retold the Passion story, which lay at the heart of their kerygma, and that the Gospel writers would have here a variety of oral and perhaps written traditions from which to draw.7 Paul has a sequence similar to Mark's (1 Cor 11:23; 15:3-5; cf. Jewish and Roman responsibility in 1 Thess 2:14-15; 1 Cor 1:23), and if, as is probable, John represents an independent tradition (e.g., Dodd 1965: 45, 150), it is significant that his Passion Narrative again confirms the outline Mark follows, suggesting a pre-Markan Passion Narrative (Brown 1994: 53-55, 77-80). In preaching one could flesh out the full sequence or omit some of the stories, but the basic outline remained the same (Brown 1994: 54).
But more specific evidence favors the substantial reliability of the Passion Narratives. Theissen 1991: 166-99 argues for the most part (and sufficiently) persuasively that the pre-Markan Passion Narrative as a whole was in use by A.D. 40 in Jerusalem and Judea. Thus, for example, Mark preserves names (such as the sons that identify the second Mary and Simon) that serve no recognizable function in his own narrative — but which may well have been recognizable to the traditionaries of his early Jerusalem source (Mk 15:40, 43; Theissen 1991: 176-77). Place names like Nazareth, Magdala, and Arimathea would mean nothing to audiences outside Palestine (Theissen 1991: 179; I should add here that the Galilean names may have meant little to the Jerusalem church as well, who may have preserved them for the same reasons that Mark did). Although one normally identifies local persons through their fathers' names, most persons in the Passion Narrative (which identifies more people "than elsewhere in the synoptic tradition") are identified by their place of origin instead. This practice makes the most sense in the church's first generation in Jerusalem, when (and where) it consisted of people from elsewhere (Theissen 1991: 180). Mark presumes his audience's prior knowledge of Pilate and (more significantly) Barabbas and other insurrectionists, despite Pilate's numerous confrontations with such revolutionaries (Theissen 1991: 171, 182-83).8 Finally, some central characters in the account remain anonymous, probably to protect living persons who could face criminal charges in Jerusalem, fitting other ancient examples of protective anonymity (Theissen 1991: 186-88).9 Taken together, these arguments seem persuasive.10
Markan editing of the Passion Narrative (for Markan structuring, see, e.g., Beavis 1987) also does not challenge the authenticity of the prior tradition;11 thus, for example, Matthew and Luke may agree against Mark at points (e.g., Mk 14:72; Dewey 1976: 102-3). Independent tradition drawn on by Matthew, Luke and John preserves the name of the high priest, but Mark may follow the oldest Passion account in omitting his name for political prudence, though Pilate, now deposed and despised, could easily be named in this period (Theissen 1991: 172-74; cf. Philo Leg. Gai. 299-304). One should see most fully Soardes 1994, who makes a strong case both that Mark uses a source and that we probably cannot separate the tradition from the redaction.
The Passion Narrative fits what we know of the period in question. Thus Craig Evans (1995: 108) compares Josephus's account of Jesus ben Ananias, who similarly entered the temple area during a festival (Jos. War 6.300-301). Like Jesus, he spoke of doom for Jerusalem, the sanctuary, and the people, even referring (again like Jesus) to the context of Jeremiah's prophecy of judgment against the temple (Jer 7:34 in War 6.301; cf. Jer 7:11 in Mk 11:17).12 The Jewish leaders arrested and beat Jesus ben Ananias (War 6.302) and handed him over to the Roman governor (War 6.303), who interrogated him (War 6.305). He refused to answer the governor (War 6.305), was scourged (6.304), and — in this case unlike Jesus (though cf. Mk 15:9) — released (6.305). The different outcome is not difficult to account for: unlike Jesus ben Ananias, Jesus of Nazareth was not viewed as insane and already had a band of followers, plus a growing reputation that could support messianic claims (cf. Sanders 1993: 267). Jesus ben Ananias could simply be punished; Jesus of Nazareth had to be executed.
Matthew's Passion Narrative starts with the events of the last supper. Because 51 percent of his words follow Mark, some scholars, like Taylor, suppose that Matthew simply embellished Mark with popular stories, lacking other sources (Taylor 1935: 54; cf. Senior 1987). That Matthew calculated that much of his manuscript remained and would have followed standard rhetorical techniques for amplification (which could draw on sources) is quite likely; but given Matthew's dependence on other Palestinian sources elsewhere, one need not suppose that his sources here — admittedly largely oral — are unreliable. One would expect much of the Passion Narrative (those parts with many witnesses) to have been the best-remembered part of Jesus' ministry, especially given the plurality of disciples. While strictly oral sources might lend themselves to freer adaptation, Matthew's familiarity with Palestinian views and language that elsewhere allows him to "re-Judaize" (or, more accurately, "re-Palestinian Judaize") Markan accounts also suggests to us that he retained Palestinian traditions about his Lord's passion.
The extravagant anointing at Bethany (26:6-13) is framed by a plot to arrest Jesus (26:3-5, 14-16).13 The disciples, who elsewhere in the Gospels can appear less wise than the women they seek to silence (e.g., 15:23; cf. Lk 24:11), protest the extravagant anointing of Jesus. One disciple, Judas, who realizes that Jesus advocates servanthood rather than conquest, decides that following Jesus will not be profitable and determines to gain at least some profit. By contrasting characters, Matthew teaches about Jesus and the life of discipleship he demands.
First, knowing that death was his mission, Jesus faced God's calling obediently (26:1-2). By adding another passion announcement here (contrast Mk 14:1-2), Matthew reminds his audience that whatever the power of those who plotted against Jesus (26:3-5), Jesus moved according to his Father's plan and not theirs. Matthew may thereby also encourage his community that no matter how strong the forces arrayed against them, God would ultimately fulfill his purposes among them (cf. 16:21-26). In contrast with Judas in this passage (26:14-16), Jesus obeys God's calling at great cost to himself, and provides a model for those who would follow him. (That Jesus' death would coincide with the Passover — 26:2 — was also significant, on which see comment on 26:17-30.)14
Second, not all those who are supposed to lead God's people follow the rules (26:3-5). Matthew's audience may have experienced repression from a sociopolitical elite, but anyone in the ancient Mediterranean could recognize this narrative's abuse of power. In Matthew's view, the Jerusalem aristocracy (21:46) as well as Pilate (27:24) concern themselves more with political prudence and crowd control than with justice (26:5). Matthew can employ the expression "take counsel" (26:4) for unjust "plotting" (12:14; 28:12; cf. 27:1, 7). A first-century audience would respond to this sort of "taking counsel" as negatively as most audiences today would (Jos. Life 236).
Although the plan to arrest Jesus away from the crowds was politically prudent, it was the stratagem of those who could not win by persuasion or demonstrations of God's power. Throughout the Mediterranean, the wealthy, especially those wealthy by heredity, formed a ruling class; Judean tradition bestowed this role especially on aristocratic priests (Sanders 1990: 79). The high-priestly office constituted the most powerful religious, and one of the most powerful political, positions in Jewish Palestine (see excursus, below).15 Romans were fond of reminding local aristocracies that they held their power with Rome's blessing and were themselves subject to Roman authority (cf., e.g., Plut. Praec. Ger. Reip. 813EF, in Trebilco 1994: 346), and the Judean priestly aristocracy was no exception (Stauffer 1960: 102; Winter 1961: 43; Vermes 1984: 12).
Annas held power from A.D. 6 to 15 and retained considerable political influence until his death in 35; he may have dominated the two high priests (his successors included a son-in-law and five sons) who followed (Reicke 1974: 142-43; Jos. Ant. 20.198). The current high priest, Joseph Caiaphas, was Annas's son-in-law; that he remained in office nineteen years (A.D. 18-36) — longer than any other first-century high priest — suggests his political acumen in keeping the Romans content (Schnackenburg 1980: 2:348; Sanders 1993: 265). In the case of threats to the political stability of Jerusalem, of course, that would mean dealing with them swiftly and efficiently. And someone who caused a commotion in the temple in the dangerously crowded period just before Passover was clearly a threat to the public order (so Vermes 1993: ix-x, though he doubts that Jesus saw himself in messianic terms, 5). Despite his otherwise high opinion of Caiaphas, Sanders 1993: 265 thinks the high priest probably wanted Jesus "dead for the same reason Antipas wanted John dead": public order. That Caiaphas and Pilate would have cooperated in the matter is likely; "That is the way the gospels describe the events, and that is the way things really happened, as the numerous stories in Josephus prove" (Sanders 1993: 269).16
Excursus: High Priests
Elsewhere in the Roman Empire, the title did not always bear the prestige it held in Palestine (cf. Lewis 1983: 47; Reicke 1974: 147). Perhaps under foreign influence, Jewish writers came to speak of the priestly aristocracy or high-priestly family as high priests, rather than merely the ruling chief priest, the kohen hagadol of the Old Testament (e.g., 1QM 2:1; Jos. War 2.243, 316, 320, 342, 410-11; 4.151, 315; Life 197; Mk 2:26; Acts 4:6; Stern 1974/76a: 601, 603; Sanders 1993: 327-32; Jeremias 1964c: 51).
Even Pharisaic tradition respected the office of high priest (m. Hor. 3:1; p. Sanh. 2:1, §2; Acts 23:5-6), though Sadducees dominated it. The priesthood as a whole reportedly included both those committed to extrabiblically stringent purity rules (probably Pharisees or their sympathizers) and those who were not (p. Ter. 6:1). Jewish high priests held considerable political authority (Smallwood 1962), recognized even among Gentiles (Diod. Sic. 40.3.5-6). Contrary to Israelite law, however, Roman officials freely gave and revoked the office of high priests; thus Quirinius installed Annas (Jos. Ant. 18.26); Vitellius retired Caiaphas after Pilate's recall to Rome (Jos. Ant. 18.95).
Josephus experienced the opposition of high priests he considered corrupt (Life 216). He especially regards the chief priests as corrupt during the period of Agrippa II (A.D. 59-65; Sanders 1993: 324), but this specification may reflect his own uncomfortable experiences and suggest broader corruption within the aristocratic ranks from which such priests were drawn.17 Qumran and others opposed the priestly aristocracy that controlled the temple (e.g., IQpHab 9.4-5); "For many marginalized groups in this period the problem, in short, was the local leaders and politicians in Roman Palestine" (Overman 1996: 329).
Excursus: The Sadducees
Though some aristocrats were not Sadducees (some, like Gamaliel, were Pharisees), nearly all the Sadducees belonged to the aristocracy (see Sanders 1992: 318, 332). Probably a priestly sect, they were likely the well-to-do priests who had remained loyal to the Zadokite line during the Maccabean era (while other Zadokites fled to Qumran and elsewhere — cf. 1QS 5.2; 6.3-4; CD 5.5), returning to positions of power under the Romans (see Baumbach 1971).18
Later rabbinic tradition links them with "Boethusians" under the special charge that they denied the resurrection from the dead (ARN 5 A; 10 B; cf. m. Ber. 9:5; Bowker 1973: 53-76).19 Many Jews besides the Pharisees felt that a denial of such future hope led to wickedness (Wis 2:1-24). Other grounds also separated these aristocrats from the dominant views that became rabbinic practice (m. Nid. 4:2; Yad. 4:7; t. Nid. 5:2; Sukk. 3:1). Probably claiming to take Scripture as their only authority, the Sadducees felt no obligation to embrace Pharisaic traditions (Jos. Ant. 18.16; cf. Neusner 1984: 27-28; Sanders 1990: 107). Nevertheless, powerful Pharisees and others had to work alongside them before 70.20
Excursus: The Sanhedrin
Although Matthew describes the assembly of representatives from the ruling class as a "sanhedrin" only in 26:59 (cf. Mk 14:55; 15:1), the group likely overlaps with what we otherwise know as Jerusalem's Sanhedrin. A synedrion was a ruling council, equivalent to a boulē, or a senate.21 Cities like Tiberias had their own ruling senates composed of the leading citizens (Jos. Life 64, 69, 169, 313, 381); such assemblies were distinguishable from the larger citizen assembly (Jos. Life 300).22 The Jerusalem Sanhedrin was in a sense the municipal aristocracy of Jerusalem; but just as the Roman senate wielded power far beyond Rome because of Rome's power, Jerusalem's Sanhedrin wielded some influence in national affairs, to the degree that Roman prefects and Herodian princes allowed.23
The Sanhedrin may well have held seventy-one members, as tradition indicates;24 it is, however, doubtful that all members were expected to be present on all occasions (especially an emergency meeting on the night when people had eaten the Passover).25 The Sanhedrin included the high priest, who according to tradition could break ties (cf. Ferguson 1987: 453). Again according to tradition, they met in the Chamber of Hewn Stone on the Temple Mount (t. Sheqal. 3:27; Sifre Deut. 152.1.2; b. Yoma 25a; Gen. Rab. 70:8; Num. Rab. 19:26; Qoh. Rab. 1:1, §1); otherwise they met close to the Temple Mount (cf. Jos. War 5.144).26 Our first-century sources, the New Testament and Josephus, include Sadducees and other groups in the Sanhedrin, under high-priestly control; later rabbis portray the Sanhedrin as an assembly of rabbis (Cohen 1987: 156). The later portrayals should not surprise us; rabbinic portraits of the Sanhedrin include more striking anachronisms than this, depicting leaders of the Sanhedrin in biblical times (e.g., b. Ber. 3b; Gen. Rab. 74:15; Ex. Rab. 1:13; Pesiq. R. 11:3).27
According to rabbinic (and probably Pharisaic) ideals, judges who proved themselves locally could be promoted to the Sanhedrin (t. Sheqal. 3:27), but in actuality the Sanhedrin in Jesus' day probably consisted largely of members of the Jerusalem aristocracy and wealthy landowners in the vicinity. Rulers could use sanhedrins, or assemblies, the way some politicians today use committees: to secure the end one wants without taking full responsibility for that decision. In Josephus, rulers like Herod appointed the Sanhedrin members they wished and consequently obtained the results they wished (see Sanders 1993: 482-83; cf. Ant. 15.173; 20.216-18). Before Herod came to power, the Jerusalem Sanhedrin exercised significant authority (Jos. Ant. 14.177). In Pilate's time, without Herod the Great's interference and with the Romans expecting local aristocracies to administer the business they could (cf. Jos. War 2.331, 405; Ant. 20.11), we should not be surprised that the chief priests would convene a sanhedrin (Jos. Ant. 20.200), especially since the priestly aristocracy constituted a large portion of it (cf. Sanders 1993: 484-87; Jos. War 2.331, 336; Ant. 17.160, 164; 20.216-17; probably the municipal aristocracy in Ant. 14.91, 163, 167, 180; Life 62). We should also not be surprised if the Sanhedrin sought to please Rome (cf. Kennard 1962).
Less than four decades after the events the Gospels describe, Jerusalem's aristocracy continued to act as a body. When the high priest and the leading Pharisee allegedly acted without the approval of the rest of the assembly, they provoked that assembly's anger (Jos. Life 309).
A small minority of scholars, wishing to preserve both the later rabbinic portrait of the Sanhedrin and the one found in Josephus and early Christian sources, have opted for two Sanhedrins — the religious Sanhedrin of the rabbis and the political Sanhedrin attested in first-century sources. Some of these scholars came to argue that the political Sanhedrin tried Jesus, thereby exonerating the religious Sanhedrin of the rabbis. One scholar favoring the rabbinic picture has even argued that the Gospels and Acts are late sources on this matter, with changes into the fourth century (Mantel 1961). Nevertheless, even apart from textual evidence to the contrary, evidence within the early Christian texts refutes this theory: later writers fail to clear up conflicts and to impose later theology (Sutcliffe 1963). In the final analysis, it is simply anachronistic to reject all our first-century portraits on the basis of later, idealized rabbinic accounts, although reliable tradition may remain in the latter at points. Few scholars have therefore accepted the double Sanhedrin thesis (see Blinzler 1959: 15, 140; Brown 1994: 343-48).
After examining Josephus's three mentions of "Sanhedrin" and five of boulē (Jos. War 2.331, 336; 5.142-44, 532; Ant. 20.11, 200-201, 216-17; Life 62), Brown 1994: 342-43 concludes that Josephus's portrait of the Sanhedrin is quite close to that of the Gospels and Acts. They judge, consist of "chief priests, scribes, and rulers or influential citizens (= elders)," sentence those found guilty of crimes, and constitute the leading Jewish body with which Roman rulers would deal. Clearly they "played a major administrative and judicial role in Jewish self-governance in Judea."
Some commentators have observed the incongruity between the leaders' stated intention not to arrest Jesus at the feast and their arrest of him before the festival has ended (e.g., Anderson 1976: 304-5). From the Gospel writers' perspective, these leaders may not have known Jesus' God well, but they knew the Romans and their people (cf. Jn 11:48)28 and were concerned to time matters in a politically expedient manner (21:46; 27:24). Because the city's population (we follow a median estimate of 50,000, but this is only a guess) may have quintupled during Passover season and hopes for redemption ran high during this season,29 crowd control became especially difficult (cf. Lane 1974a: 490).30 The Roman prefect thus spent time in Jerusalem, strengthening with additional troops the garrison in the fortress Antonia (Jos. War 2.223-27; Ant. 20.105-12; on the fortress, see further Wightman 1990). He would make the matter public, but only after the more delicate arrest. The leaders do not intend to defer arresting him until the festival is over — Jesus would then have returned to Galilee with the other pilgrims — but during the "festal assembly," that is, while the crowds are gathered during the day (Gundry 1982: 519). Execution during a festival was in some ways ideal, as a deterrent to others (cf. Jeremias 1971: 78; Hill 1979: 52; Stauffer 1960: 209; m. Sanh. 11:4).
Third, Jesus is worth the best that disciples can offer (26:6-13). Matthew forces his audience, grieved by the failure of every one of their male spiritual predecessors to stand with their Lord in his time of testing (26:40-56), to find solace in the love shown Jesus by the women disciples (26:7; 27:61; 28:1; cf. Mk 15:40-41). Although the threat to their safety may have been less grave, the devotion of women in the Passion Narrative nevertheless puts the male disciples to shame for their cowardice. Although disciples are supposed to let their "good works" shine (5:16), Jesus commends only this woman for a "good work" (26:10).31
Indeed, it is male disciples here who actively oppose the woman (more emphatically than in Mark, who does not call the opposers here "disciples"); the disciples become "indignant" (26:8), as they did in 20:24 (there following Mark). Their objection to her behavior in 26:8-9 recalls Jesus' opponents' charges against his disciples earlier in Matthew's narrative (12:2; cf. 9:11, 14; 17:24; 21:16). Particularly in contrast to Judas, who seeks only what he can get from Jesus (26:14-16), this woman seeks what she can offer to Jesus. The extravagance of a disciple's love is but infinitesimal compared to the price of his love for his followers (cf. 26:26-29, again expressed symbolically), but Jesus both accepts it and grants such devoted disciples all the more (26:10, 13).
Hosts of banquets customarily provided oil to anoint the heads of guests of notable social status (Lk 7:46; Bailey 1980: 8; Lachs 1987: 400), but the outpouring of love here is more costly than the mere use of oil in customary acts of hospitality. People often used expensive alabaster bottles, which were semitransparent and resembled marble, to store the most costly ointments (commentators cite texts like Pliny N.H. 13.3.19; 36.23.60; see Argyle 1963: 195; Lane 1974a: 492).32 They would seal the ointment to prevent evaporation, requiring the long neck of the jar to be broken and the ointment to be expended at once (Meier 1980: 312). Archaeologists have uncovered such long-necked flasks in first-century tombs near Jerusalem, suggesting the frequent once-for-all expenditure of this expensive perfume at the death of loved ones (Stanton 1995a: 117). Nard was a costly ointment imported from India (Lane 1974a: 492) or elsewhere in the east (Hor. Ode 2.11.16), and its expense might suggest an heirloom passed from one generation to the next (Lane 1974a: 492).
Because people anointed kings on their heads (e.g., 2 Kings 9:6), some scholars suspect that Matthew and Mark or, more arguably, a stage in the tradition they report, may have seen a royal anointing, alongside Jesus' emphasis on an anointing for burial (which probably appears independently in Mark and John; cf. Dibelius 1949: 96; Hooker 1983: 98). In any case, the disciples did not catch either possible christocentric nuance of the anointing (Fenton 1977: 412). That Jesus knew he would not be anointed later may suggest that he would be executed as a criminal (Lane 1974a: 494), although the Gospels suggest that Joseph circumvented custom on such matters (27:58), and women came to anoint him appropriately after the Sabbath (Mk 16:1).33 We may contrast Jesus' response to that of the disciples; he honors this obscure woman — not even named in the Markan tradition followed by Matthew (cf., however, Jn 11:2, which presupposes the audience's familiarity with an anointing by one of the Marys in the tradition) — more highly than any of the male disciples: her act would henceforth be preserved as part of the passion tradition relating to Jesus' burial (cf. Jdt 14:7), recounted "in the whole world" (26:13), that is, wherever the good news would be preached (24:14). This did not mean, of course, that every individual would know about her, but that her fame would become widespread, as Ovid hopes for himself at the conclusion of his work (Ovid Metam. 15.877-79) or others who had acted heroically could expect their memory to be preserved in epics (Virg. Aen. 9.446-49; 11.846-47).34
Different versions of the anointing story occur in the four Gospels (Mk 14:3- 9; Lk 7:36-50; Jn 12:1-8), where the mixture of different traits suggests that the various writers may have conflated two different anointing stories,35 with Luke's story being the most distinctive (and characteristically Lukan). Moule, for instance, provides a basic summary comparison of some key elements (1965:112):
As Sanders observes, "These stories probably rest on memories, though details have been exchanged and possibly confused" (1993: 127). It would have been only natural that in the oral tradition some conflation between two anointing stories would occur; it would be equally natural that each evangelist, reporting only one incident, would employ the most suitable features of the anointings for his own account.36
From Matthew's account, we might not guess that the woman is known to Jesus; but in any case, his host's home was probably open for other people from the village to enter and leave at will (Lk 7:36-38; cf. Malina 1981: 78; Koenig 1985: 16-17; Witherington 1984: 55; Talbert 1982: 86). Especially in the Lukan and Johannine versions, where the woman lets down her hair (Lk 7:38; Jn 12:3), her action would appear sexually loose to outsiders, making Jesus look bad for embracing it (cf., e.g., Jeremias 1972: 126; Witherington 1984: 113;Mack 1988: 200-201). (Ancient stories could combine women's heroism with traditional feminine qualities like meekness and modesty, as in Wiersma 1990; despite her submissive act, however, letting down her hair would appear immodest.) But Matthew follows the shorter Markan version, which focuses on her sacrifice and Jesus' anointing in advance for burial.
When Matthew emphasizes that Jesus responds because "he knew the [male disciples'] thoughts" (26:10, rightly interpreting Mark's "said to themselves" in Mk 14:4), readers will recall that Jesus elsewhere had to respond to the religious leaders on the same basis (22:18). As in the final Matthean discourse, Jesus here speaks to disciples who have the potential to become like the very establishment that was hostile to Jesus. Some modern readers take Jesus' reproof in 26:9-11 as playing down the priority of the poor. (That the disciples would actually have thought of the needs of the poor shortly before Passover fit their culture's custom — m. Pesaḥ. 9:11; 10:1; Jeremias 1966a: 54; Jn 13:29; cf. Tob 2:2). Jesus never played down that priority, however (e.g., 5:42; 19:21), and his very words about the poor remaining with them allude to Deuteronomy 15:11, where the context demands caring for the poor (Deut 15:1-10).37 (Matthew may also intentionally omit some of Mark's words to avoid leaving the impression that believers' obligation to the poor was optional — Gundry 1982: 521.) This woman supplied something for Jesus shortly before his death that no one else can exactly repeat (hence 26:13), but she provides a model of sacrificial love. Subsequent disciples show that sacrificial love to Jesus now by using all their resources for the work of his kingdom (13:44-46), including serving the poor (6:2, 19-24; cf. Lk 12:33-34).
Finally, Judas provides an example of those who follow Jesus for what they can get out of him rather than for how they can serve him (26:14-16). Ancient narrators sometimes contrasted positive and negative moral examples; as Judas contrasts with Peter in 26:69-27:10, he contrasts here with the woman who displays extravagant love in 26:6-13. Judas's motivation for "silver" links him with the deceitful guards (28:12), a disciple who does not care for the master's funds (25:18), or a disciple who worries about preserving one's own (6:19-24; 10:9). Ancients despised those who would betray a tie of loyalty for the sake of a bribe (e.g., in the case of loyalty to one's people, Demosth. For the Liberty of the Rhodians 23; On the Crown 46-49; On the Embassy 120).38 Loyalty to one's people was one of the highest values (Corn. Nep. 13 [Timotheus], 4.4); traitors were widely hated (e.g., Babrius 138.7-8), usually even by family members (Livy 2.5.7-8; Corn. Nep. 4 [Pausanias], 5.3), thought to be hated by the gods (Virg. Aen. 6.621), and often despised even by those to whom they betrayed those who trusted them (Livy 1.11.6-7; 5.27.6-10; though not always — Livy 4.61.8-10).
Jesus has continued to discuss his death (26:2, 12), and perhaps at least Judas has now caught on. But when Judas finds that Jesus' kingdom will not profit him materially (and may even cost him his life),39 he chooses to get what he still can from his lengthy investment in Jesus: he sells him for the price of a slave in the Mosaic legislation (26:15; Ex 21:32; contrast the more lucrative betrayal in Judg 16:5).40 No less significantly for Matthew, thirty pieces of silver was the wages of Zechariah's faithful shepherd, God or his agent, who sought to rescue Israel from worthless shepherds but was rejected (Zech 11:12-13); that Matthew intends this allusion is clear from his deliberate citation of it when the money goes to the "potter" in 27:9-10 (Zech 11:13). Like another disciple of old (2 Kings 5:26-27), Judas abandoned his spiritual birthright for better material conditions, and in saving his own life lost it for eternity (Mt 16:24-27; 27:1-10).
The Meaning of Jesus' Death (26:17-30)
Cf. Mk 14:12-26; Lk 22:7-20, 39; Jn 13:1, 21-30; 1 Cor 11:23-26. As Jesus' death approaches, he instructs his disciples more fully regarding the meaning of his mission. The disciples could not guess that their teacher's death was part of God's sovereign plan, and would scatter in fear once it came; but by reinterpreting a familiar ritual Jesus gave them a new way of looking at God's purposes that would make sense to them once he had risen.
Excursus: Was Jesus Executed on Passover?
Whereas in the Fourth Gospel Jesus is executed on the day of the Passover sacrifice (18:28), the Synoptics present the last supper as a Passover meal, presupposing that the lamb has already been offered in the temple. Both traditions — a paschal last supper and a paschal crucifixion — are theologically pregnant (cf., e.g., Byron 1993; Boring 1995: 147), but I suspect that Jesus, followed by the earliest tradition, may have intended the symbolism for the last supper, whereas John has applied the symbolism more directly to the referent to which the last supper pointed.
Many scholars have argued that John is historically correct (e.g., Oesterley 1925: 158-67; Blinzler 1959; Stauffer 1960: 143; Grappe 1985; Meier 1991a: 395-401; Brown 1994: 1351-73), noting that the last supper narrative mentions no lamb and that an execution on the first day of the feast was inconceivable, and suggesting that the disciples could have celebrated Passover early, according to a sectarian calendar (Reicke 1974: 179-82; Meier 1991a: 396), or that Mark inserted Passover references for theological reasons (Jewett 1979: 27; cf. Meier 1980: 316). Other details of the Passion Narrative behind Mark, such as the Sanhedrin's originally wishing to kill Jesus before the feast (Mk 14:1-2), Simon's coming from the fields (15:21, which some take as coming from work), or burial on a "preparation day" (which in Mk 15:42 is preparation for the Sabbath, but some take as preparation for Passover; Theissen 1991: 167), can support the Johannine chronology.
But the priestly aristocracy might act even on Passover to preserve public order, Pilate would care little for calendrical matters, and an execution on the day on which the lamb had been eaten would deter crowds no less than the day on which they were being slaughtered, if the site of execution were not far outside Jerusalem's walls. The minor details "behind" Mark's Passion Narrative could also be explained in other ways that fit the narrative equally well. Mark could simply be correct that the preparation was for the Sabbath;41 Simon could come "from the fields" because he has spent the night in a suburb like Bethphage; and on the Sanhedrin's wishing to kill Jesus before the feast, see comment on 26:1-2, above. The main argument against the Johannine chronology in a conflict between John and the Synoptics is that on most points Mark's narrative seems more dependable for historical detail, John's more expository (although many hold John's chronology to be an exception, especially regarding the duration of Jesus' ministry).
Thus many scholars suggest that the Synoptics are historically correct; the Synoptics certainly portray the last supper as a Passover meal, even on details that their audiences would no longer have recognized as relevant (Jeremias 1966a: 20-23, 62-84; Hagner 1995: 772-73; cf. Hill 1972: 336-37).42 As scholars commonly note (e.g., Higgins 1955: 208-9), John certainly had theological reasons to place the death of God's lamb (Jn 1:29) on Passover (Jn 19:36).
One attempt to harmonize the Johannine and Synoptic dating, originally associated with a proposal of Annie Jaubert in 1957 (Jaubert 1965), has commended itelf to a number of scholars. According to this proposal, Jesus followed a solar calendar like the one used at Qumran, but Jerusalem's official Passover, and the one followed by John, occur afterward. Given sectarian calendars (cf. Jub. 49:10, 14; Herr 1974/76)43 and even calendrical differences among rabbis due to different witnesses regarding the new moon (m. Rosh Hash. 2:9), it is not impossible that Jesus' disciples followed an Essene, sectarian date for the Passover (cf. Driver 1965: 330, 335; Simon 1967: 151; Stauffer 1960: 115; F. F. Bruce 1980a: 57; F. F. Bruce 1969: 78; Morris 1971: 785).
But would such an important disagreement with the temple authorities have gone unnoted in the tradition (cf. Benoit 1973: 1:87-93)? It is also possible that John followed a Palestinian and the Synoptics the Diaspora reckoning of Passover (Shepherd 1961),44 but this fails to explain the paschal character of the last supper tradition, the accommodation of Diaspora pilgrims at the festival, and again the inadequacy of supporting evidence in the tradition. Calendrical differences may allow us to harmonize John and the Synoptics, but most likely John has simply provided a theological interpretation of Jesus' death, considering the way he opens Jesus' ministry with the temple cleansing so that the shadow of passion week may cover the whole period. If the two accounts must be harmonized, however, the simplest solution would be the best: "Jesus, knowing that he would be dead before the regular time for the meal, deliberately held it in secret one day early" (France 1985: 365).45
First, Jesus' mission signifies a new Passover (26:17-20, 26). The "first day of unleavened bread" (26:17) had come to be applied in popular parlance to the Passover as well (see Gundry 1982: 524); popular religion had combined Passover proper and the following feast of unleavened bread (cf. Philo Spec. Leg. 2.150). Passover pilgrims tried to find refuge with Jerusalemites during the actual Passover celebration, to eat the Passover within the city walls as tradition demanded (m. Pesah. 7:9; Lane 1974a: 497). Although Mark is relatively clear that Jesus' selection of the host, as with the donkey for the triumphal entry (Mk 11:2-3), represents prophetic revelation (14:13-16; pace Anderson 1976: 310), a reader of Matthew could be forgiven for thinking that Jesus was simply presuming on the hospitality of someone he already knew there, a disciple (Argyle 1963: 198), and the response of the host suggests that this might be the case (Edersheim 5 5 5).46 In contrast to Mark, Matthew particularly emphasizes disciples carrying out Jesus' commands, Jesus' authority, and Jesus' ominous, "My time is at hand" (26:18; cf. 26:2; Meier 1980: 182).47
If the home's owner had already had the lamb taken for slaughter in the temple, the disciples sent to prepare the Passover would make ready the bitter herbs and other food, bring out the bread and wine already purchased by their host, and perhaps roast the lamb (Lane 1974a: 500; Stauffer 1960: 115-16). Otherwise, two of them would also need to slaughter the lamb in the temple (which merely required being clean, as, e.g., in CD 11.18-21). Since the lambs were being slaughtered continually to accommodate the large crowds, we cannot narrow down the time to the afternoon offering ca. 2:30 p.m. (pace Edersheim 556-57); the three groups of m. Pesahim 5:5 may also be suspect as too orderly. Worshipers probably brought lambs continuously (Sanders 1992: 136). Ten to twenty people shared each lamb, gathering together as households for the purposes of the festival (Jeremias 1966a: 47; Reicke 1974: 167).48 (Although some ancient Mediterranean aristocrats thought that an ideal banquet setting welcomed no more than nine people due to the risk of disorder, as in Aul. Gel. 13.11.2-3, the paschal meal was an occasion for festivity but not drunkenness, and Jesus' eating with the Twelve as in 26:20 fits Jewish practice.)
Whereas supper normally fell in late afternoon, one meal in the "evening" (26:20; cf. 1 Cor 11:23; Jn 13:30) was Passover (m. Pesah. 10:1; t. Pisha 5:2; b. Pesah. 107b; Jeremias 1966a: 44-46; cf. b. Ber. 9a), starting after sunset around 6 p.m. (Stauffer 1960: 115); likewise, Jewish people customarily sat for normal meals, but by this period normally reclined at banquets (e.g., Sifre Deut. 41.2.5; t. Ber. 4:20; b. Ber. 37a, 42b-43a), including Passover (m. Pesah. 10:1; b. Hag. 14b; Pesah. 108a; Ex. Rab. 20:18; cf. Daube 1963: 45), in typical Greek fashion (e.g., Ep. Arist. 183; Plato Rep. 2.372D; Mart. Epig. 3.30.1; Athenaeus Deipn. 1.18ab; Jeremias 1966a: 48-49; Horsley 1981: 9; idem 1982: 75); Luke is explicit that this is a Passover meal (Lk 22:15). Men would normally recline on their side, supporting themselves by their left elbow; the couches were arranged so that one's head was nearest and one's feet furthest from the table (Cary and Haarhoff 1946: 96; Brown 1970: 551). When women dined in the same room, they would sit (Dupont 1992: 98-99).49
Because traditions like those that developed into the Passover liturgy probably remained fairly stable, it is likely that the celebration included most of the following elements: The father or host offered the blessing for the festival and the first cup of wine (m. Pesah. 10:2);50 after reciting traditions later incorporated into the Passover Haggadah, participants might sing early portions of the Hallel (like Psalms 113 or 114) and the paterfamilias or equivalent (father, host, or other head of the group) would bless the bread and explain its significance.51 This household head would lift most elements as he explained them except for the lamb (b. Pesah. 116b). Participants would eat the bitter herbs, fruit and unleavened bread, and later the lamb, which they must finish by midnight (m. Pesah. 10:3, 9). At least in later tradition and for gathered families, one son would ask about the feast and the father would explain about their deliverance from slavery (m. Pesah. 10:4-6). The prayer over the third cup concluded the feast; they recited the rest of the Hallel (like Psalms 115-18 or 116-18); then the host offered praise for the fourth cup (m. Pesaḥ. 10:7; Stauffer 1960: 116-17; Lane 1974a: 501-2; Lohse 1978: 156). That Jesus blesses the bread before the wine fits the sequence of the Passover, in contrast to normal Jewish meals in which the household head blessed the wine first.52
Second, even some who now claim to follow Christ may ultimately betray him (26:21-25). Scripture indicated that the Son of Man's destiny included betrayal, but this did not relieve from responsibility the particular betrayer, who acted from personal choice (26:24). Jesus' "woe" (cf. 18:7) that the betrayer would have been better left unborn resembles both biblical (Job 3:3-26; Jer 20:14-18) and Greek (e.g., Hom. II. 18.86-90; 22.481 ; Od. 8.312; 18.79; Contest of Homer and Hesiod 315, end; Eurip. Daughters of Troy 636-37; perhaps Hom. II. 3.40) lamentations; other Jewish teachers also uttered such sayings; for example, if one's first words after waking are not from Torah, "it would have been better for him if the afterbirth in which he lay had been turned over his face, and he had never been born and beheld the world" (ARN 29A, trans, p. 120; cf. Lev. Rab. 35:7). "Better never to have been born" was a pronouncement of frightful judgment (b. Qidd. 40a; Urbach 1979: 1:253; 1 Enoch 38:2; 4 Ezra 7:69; 2 Bar. 10:6; 2 Enoch 41:2; Gk. Ezra 1:6, 21; cf. perhaps Sib. Or. 3:310). The woe to "that man" might contrast Judas with the "son of man" whom he betrays, underlining the heinousness of betraying a fellow human being. In any case, Matthew clarifies Mark to show that Jesus here foreknows the specific betrayer (26:25).53
The language of interchange between Judas and Jesus is significant. In contrast to Jesus' true disciples who consistently address him as "Lord" (e.g., 26:22), Judas calls Jesus "Rabbi" (26:25); although "my rab" and mari, "my lord," may have been interchangeable in popular parlance, the Matthean nuance here is significant (cf. Bornkamm 1963a: 41): Judas regards Jesus only as a teacher. Also significant is Jesus' roundabout manner of reply (26:25), characteristic of responses given to his opponents on that night (26:64; 27:11). (Judas's greeting "Hail" in v. 49 may likewise link him with those who ridicule Jesus in 27:29 — Gundry 1982: 537.)
Yet Judas would not alone betray Jesus; the betrayal of all the disciples serves as a warning to Matthew's community about the weakness of potential disciples, despite their own disclaimers (26:33, 35; 26:69-27:10). The joyous occasion of Passover here becomes a sorrowful one (26:22; cf. 17:23; 18:31; 19:22) through the announcement of betrayal (more like the solemn Samaritan Passover, merely repeating the exodus rather than celebrating liberation — cf. Jeremias 1966a: 205; cf. also Pesiq. Rab Kah. Sup. 2:8, but this may be ad hoc explanation of a tradition). By dipping his hand with Jesus in the bowl containing the sauce of bitter herbs (26:23), the betrayer had shown himself a treacherous person indeed; rising against one with whom one had eaten violated the sanctity of tradition (cf. Ps 41:9).54
Third, Jesus' body and blood provide a new covenant, the ultimate act of redemption (26:26-30). Disciples who experience redemption freely by God's kindness must not forget the great cost of that redemption; Jesus had become the new Passover lamb.
Excursus: The Context of the Last Supper
Some have compared the Lord's Supper to pagan cult meals (e.g., Bousset 1970: 131) or suggested that the hellenistic sacramental meals were read back into the Jewish last supper tradition (Bultmann 1958: 153). Some (cf. Moffatt 1938: 170) have drawn connections with the Greco-Roman cult of the dead (e.g., CIL 6.911 ; ILS 4966 in Sherk 1988: 234; Plut. R.Q. 86, Mor. 285A), which honored departed ancestors;55 one must especially placate spirits who had died a violent death (Paus. 1.34.5; Aune 1983: 26).56 Among the most remote suggestions is Smith 1978: 122-23, who connects rare magical traditions in which recipients feeding on the substance of a magician are united with him.
Greek associations (sometimes burial clubs or guilds) regularly met for common meals (Angus 1925: 127; Wilken 1971: 280-81; Theissen 1982: 131-32; Willis 1985: 14), normally dedicated to the association's patron deity but celebrated with attention on the banquet itself (Willis 1985: 47-61). Some associations gathered for specifically religious purposes (e.g., Cie. De Senec. 13.45; Horsley 1981: 5-9; Cole 1984: 36-37), and cultic meals were also standard in pagan festivals (e.g., Burkert 1985: 107). Greek meal practice did affect contemporary Jewish banquets, including Passover customs (Bokser 1977: 6-7; cf. Pines 1974), hence they did indirectly influence some customs at the last supper; in some respects the hellenistic church also assimilated the Lord's Supper to, and interpreted it in the light of, hellenistic meals (cf. Justin 1 Apol. 66; Tert. Apol. 39.15; Pliny Ep. 10.96).57 These do not provide the most immediate parallels for the earliest form of the Lord's Supper tradition, however. Most scholars also recognize that before the spread of Christianity, hellenistic meals were not sacramental58 and did not communicate mystical elements of the deity (Nock 1964a: 74; Willis 1985: 18-46, 62; Kane 1979: 349-51; pace Willoughby 1929: 85, 136-37, 161; Goodenough 1970: 22; Godwin 1981: 28).
Others have compared Qumran meals (Fritsch 1956: 123-24; Cross 1980: 235), which may themselves evince some hellenistic influence (cf. Culpepper 1975: 168; Donceel-Voûté 1993). Some think these meals followed rules for sacerdotal purity (Gnilka 1961; Gartner 1965: 10), were sacrificial sacred meals (Delcor 1968; cf. IQapGen 21.20-22), were annual and sacramental (Groh 1970), or foreshadowed eschatological meals (Harrison 1969: 32-33; Schiffman 1979; idem 1983: 191-210; Simon 1967: 77-78; Harrington 1980: 41-42). But the sacral character may be no more than in most Jewish meals (Sutcliffe 1960c; Schiffman 1983: 191-97), and the eschatological interpretation also remains unclear: lQSa's messianic banquet could simply evoke the common practice of the community rather than the latter evoking the former. The meal in IQS 6 is "pure" because consecrated by the community and the priestly blessing, but not the ceremonial food; the text merely indicates that a newcomer cannot partake until he has surrendered his own wealth and labor to the community, preventing free handouts.
The proposed parallels between the Qumran meals and the Lord's Supper are not strong: the claim that only men participated at each is based on inference about Qumran practice in general, not just meals, and an inference about the last supper that probably would not have obtained in house churches. The leader presiding over the meal and blessing the bread and wine fits all Jewish meals (see below) — like most other characteristics of the meal (Van der Ploeg 1957; Driver 1965: 506-16; Lach 1958). Certainly special rules obtained in the Qumran order (1QS 6.4-5, 20-21), but their meals merely show that a concept related to the sacred meal was already present in Palestinian Judaism and that one need not appeal to geographically distant parallels to explain the Lord's Supper. One may also compare the sacred communal meals of the Therapeutae (Philo Cont. 82).
Some think that Jesus' final meal resembles more the regular weekly gatherings of the haburoth (Oesterley 1925: 167), whose Pharisaic purity rules, some think, may have bound them to eating especially among themselves (see Neusner 1984: 27). Among schools of sages in Palestine, study companions often ate together as well (ARN 18, §40B), though perhaps partly to save time (ARN 14, §34B). But again, are meals of associates or students of the sages distinctive enough as meals to warrant special attention in connection with the last supper? Palestinian Jewish families probably celebrated the more common weekly Sabbath Kiddush very early (Oesterley 1925: 79, citing t. Ber. 5:1);59 one could also share Sabbath meals with other families (e.g., p. B. Bat. 1:5, §2). Diaspora Jews apparently also assembled for communal meals at times (Ant. 14.215-16; cf. 14.260-61; Sanders 1990: 78; idem 1993: 202; Rabello 1980: 707).
Jeremias contends that Essene meals are more different than similar and that haburoth meals are undocumented (Jeremias 1966a: 29-36). Many of the Passover traditions are undoubtedly early, although some scholars have overstated the case (Segal 1963; Finkelstein 1942-43; Wright 1966: 417; Safrai 1974/76c: 809; at the opposite end, Stemberger 1987 doubts that any of the Pesach Haggadah predates A.D. 70). Many of those features of the last supper that are distinguishable from regular Jewish meals parallel the Passover meal, a correspondence not surprising in view of the night on which Jesus was betrayed.60 That Jesus followed the more common practices regarding Passover cannot be proved, but it is likely, especially in view of the correspondences on points that can be tested.61
On the grounds of multiple attestation (Paul as well as the Synoptic tradition) Jesus' paschal language is among the most secure elements of the Jesus tradition (Sanders 1993: 263; cf. Bornkamm 1969: 135; Pesch 1991). Paul's claim that he "received" and "delivered" to the Corinthian church the Lord's Supper tradition (1 Cor 11:23) reflects Jewish language for the passing on of traditions (Jos. Ant. 13.297, 408; m. 'Abot 1:1), also intelligible in a broader milieu (Socrates Ep. 20; Cornutus in Van der Horst 1981: 168-69; cf. Sen. Ep. Lucil. 40.3; Conzelman 1975: 195-96), though the hellenistic world rarely joined the terms together (Metzger 1955: 17-18n.84). Other Jewish teachers would claim to receive a halakah from Sinai even though it was mediated via other authorities,62 so Paul's claim to have received the tradition "from the Lord" (Jesus) does not diminish the claim to Palestinian tradition here (Gerhardsson 1961: 321; De Beus 1968; Davies 1980: 248; cf. Cullmann 1956a: 73). Although variations in the tradition (see, e.g., Sanders 1985: 15) fit the sort of development one might expect on the basis of liturgical and rhetorical usage, a partly recoverable common Aramaic tradition may remain behind the Markan and Pauline versions (Jeremias 1966a: 187).63
The last supper was a symbolic act, like the triumphal entry and Jesus' act in the temple (Sanders 1993: 263). Whether the specific act of breaking bread foreshadowed Jesus' death is difficult to decide; it was customary for the head of the household to break bread so he could distribute it (14:19; cf. Safrai 1974/76c: 802). (Not merely nuclear families but associations of people could band together for one Passover offering — t. Pisha 9:1.) Interpreting the elements of the Passover feast (the bread, bitter herbs, etc.) was a standard part of paschal tradition (Jeremias 1966a: 56), but instead of using standard explanations Jesus interprets the two elements (the two elements representative of food and drink in blessings at Jewish meals) in a strikingly new way. Some scholars even suggest that early Christians recited the Passion Narrative in this context as a new Passover Haggadah, recalling Paul's phrase: "proclaim the Lord's death until he comes" (F. F. Bruce 1971: 113; idem 1972a: 16).64
Whatever this early tradition preserves, therefore, likely tells us much about Jesus' view of his mission. Jesus elsewhere spoke of the pouring out of martyrs' blood (23:35) in terms of death, guilt, and impending judgment, a theme Matthew develops further in 27:4, 25. But even if the Gospel tradition also plays on the atoning value of martyrs' deaths (especially attested in 4 Maccabees) here, Jesus' death appears as more than that of a mere martyr in this earliest tradition. Jesus' probable allusions to Isaiah 52-53 (e.g., Cullmann 1956b: 64-65; Gundry 1982: 528; pace Hooker 1959: 80-82) tell us a great deal about how Jesus viewed his own death.
Even more probably, many of Jesus' words (such as "flesh," "blood," "poured out") suggest sacrificial terminology, especially since crucifixion itself technically required no blood (Romans sometimes fixed criminals to crosses with rope; Jeremias 1966a: 220-22);65 "for the remission of sins" appears in Targum Neofiti with reference to sacrifices (McNamara 1972: 129).66 Whether Paul's "new covenant" midrashically interprets the "blood of the covenant" allusion to Exodus 24:8 in light of Jeremiah 31:31 (cf. Heb 8:8; farther removed, Justin Dial. 11), or the most likely textual tradition in Mark and Matthew suppresses "new" to heighten the Exodus allusion, the tradition probably implies the suggestion of a "new" covenant, a prophetic image current in Jesus' day among the Qumran sect (e.g., CD 6.4-5, 19; 8.21; 20.12; Flusser 1988: 44-50; Black 1961: 91; cf. Gemés 1969) and probably others (e.g., Sifra Behuq. pq. 2.262.1.13).
That the bread "is" his body means that it "represents" it;67 we should interpret his words here no more literally than the disciples would have taken the normal words of the Passover liturgy, related to Deuteronomy 16:3 (cf. Stauffer 1960: 117): "This is the bread of affliction which our ancestors ate when they came from the land of Egypt." (By no stretch of the imagination did anyone suppose that they were re-eating the very bread the Israelites had eaten in the wilderness.) Those who ate of this bread participated by commemoration in Jesus' affliction in the same manner that those who ate the Passover commemorated in the deliverance of their ancestors. The language of Passover celebration assumed the participation of current generations in the exodus event (e.g., m. Pesah. 10:4-5; t. Pisha 8:18; b. Ber. 14b).68 That Jesus was also in his body at the time he uttered the words further militates against interpreting the bread as literally equivalent to his body (Moffatt 1938: 168). Nevertheless, one can see how Jewish people would have revolted against even the metaphor (Jn 6:52; 1 Enoch 98:11; Vermes 1993: 16),69 and how outsiders could have construed the language as cannibalism (cf. Athenag. Plea 3; Theoph. 3.4, 15; Tert. Apol. 4.11; 7.1; Visotzky 1987).
The head of the household, who had been reclining, would now sit up to bless (give thanks for) the bread before the meal; after the meal, Jesus interprets the third or fourth cup (see, e.g., Cohn-Sherbok 1981; though Sigal 1983 argues for the second).70 If later codified customs continued earlier basic practice, as is probable in the case of an annual festal tradition, Jesus may have lifted the cup with both hands, holding it in his right hand about a handbreadth above the table (see Jeremias 1966a: 110; Pesiq. R. 9:1). But after partaking of this cup, Jesus utters what resembles a traditional vow of abstention (cf. Num 6:4; 30:2; 11QTemple 53-54),71 in this case vowing not to drink wine until the coming of his reign (Jeremias 1966a: 182-85; Kümmel 1957: 31; Palmer 1973; cf. Ziesler 1973). Many Jewish people viewed the kingdom as a banquet (cf. comment on 8:11-12; cf. 9:17) and thought of an eschatological abundance of wine (Amos 9:13; Sib. Or. 3.622; 1 Enoch 10:19; 2 Bar. 29:5). 1 Corinthians 11:26 probably recalls this eschatological signficance in the Lord's Supper, related to the implications of future redemption many Jewish people saw in the Passover (F. F. Bruce 1971: 114).72
After what was normally a few hours of discussion, here perhaps abbreviated, the household sang the remaining hymns of the Hallel, undoubtedly the "hymn" to which the text refers (26:30),73 antiphonally if they could.74 That discussion should focus on the significance of Passover would fit what we know of later Passover tradition and conform to the desires of the sages for edifying talk (Sir 9:15; m. 'Abot 3:2; ARN 26, 29A; 32, §68B; p. Ta'an. 3:11, §4; cf. CD 11.4), including at meals (Ps. 154:14; p. Hag. 2:1, §9; 2:2, §5; Safrai 1974/76a: 968-69). The singing of the Hallel also fits what we know about most ancient Mediterranean banquets; most banquets with means emphasized music over lectures (Sir 35:3-4; cf. Plut. Table-Talk 1.1.5, Mor. 614F-615A).
Jesus' Turmoil and the Disciples' Weakness (26:31-46)
Cf. Mk 14:27-42; Lk 22:31-34, 39-46; Jn 13:36-38; 18:1. Brown 1994: 12 may well be right that the demands of narrative forced the Passion Narrative's omniscient narrators to fill in details. He allows that the tradition probably knew that Jesus "cried out to God when facing death (Heb 5:7)"; but he thinks that the early Christians fleshed out the authentic references to the "hour" and the "cup" with language from biblical psalms and the style of prayer they had learned from Jesus (Brown 1994: 12, 225). Yet the substance of the prayer is more than plausible; it meets the authenticity criterion of embarrassment.75 It may be easier to think that Peter, James, or John overheard parts of Jesus' prayer while drifting in and out of sleep than to surmise that the early Christians would have composed a prayer so exposing Jesus' vulnerability (Gundry 1982: 533; Witherington 1990: 219).76
Matthew's narrative suggests that even in events that seem as hideous and disastrous as Jesus' arrest and execution seemed to the first disciples, God may be preparing his sovereign purposes. Nevertheless, disciples have their part to play — and in this case, all of the disciples failed, despite their protestations to the contrary (26:31-34); indeed, in their failure to be ready for the test by prayer-fulness, they had failed it before it arrived (26:40-45). Matthew acknowledges that his Lord is exalted (28:18), and hence no longer depends on his friends the way he did at Gethsemane. Yet is it possible that Matthew still intends his community to hear the plaintive cry of the Lord of harvest in this narrative? The sleep of the first disciples would speak forcefully to a community needing to be more involved in their Lord's agendas.
The disciples may have descended into the Kidron Valley by an ancient stairway (since recovered, Yamauchi 1972: 106; Jn 18:1) en route to the Mount of Olives. This "mountain" had three summits parallel to Jerusalem for about two and a half miles on the east; it rose three hundred feet higher than the elevated Temple Mount. The narrative may refer specifically to the central summit, for which the title was often used (Mount Scopus being the northern and the Mount of Offense the south-southwestern summits; Brown 1994: 125). As David prayed for deliverance from a betrayer on this mountain (2 Sam 15:30-31), this site would provide a suitable location for an analogous prayer by David's descendant (Davies and Allison 1997: 565).77 The name "Gethsemane" suggests an olive press, and hence was probably the name for an olive orchard at the base of Mount Olivet, most likely enclosed on one side by the road from the Kidron Valley and by stone walls on the rest (ArgyIe 1963: 203; Lane 1974a: 515; Meier 1980: 323). If the press originally belonged to an individual estate rather than a local village, the estate must have been sizeable (cf. Lewis 1983: 127). Although Jesus had spent the preceding nights in Bethany (21:17), Jewish tradition (interpreting Deut 16:7) insisted that Passover pilgrims spend the Passover night within the district of Jerusalem. Although Gethsemane and Bethphage counted as part of that district, Bethany did not (Jeremias 1966a: 55).
First, Jesus knows better than his disciples do what his disciples are made of (26:31-32, 34, 41). Jesus thus tells them what it will take for them to succeed in his mission (26:41 ) — for testing must come (26:45-46; Tert. Baptism 20, in Jeremias 1964b: 73). When Jesus warns that they would "fall" because of him (cf. Is 8:14), he probably refers to apostasy (cf. 5:29-30; 13:41; 16:23; 17:27; 18:6-9). Despite Peter's objection that he would not stumble (cf. Test. Job 4:2; 5:1), Jesus responds that Peter will do so, and three times at that (26:34; cf. Jn 13:36-38)78 — hardly a merely preventive measure (pace Dewey 1976: 107). The cockcrowing, which generally lasted no more than five minutes (and which Mark alone mentions twice) may mark the third Roman watch, which was punctuated with such rooster crows (reportedly ca. 12:30, 1:30, and 2:30 a.m.; Argyle 1963: 201; Lane 1974a: 543; Carson 1984b: 542).79 Yet most people slept through that cockcrowing and especially identified the rooster crow with dawn (e.g., Virg. Moretum 1-2; Hor. Sat. 1.1.9-10; Apul. Metam. 2.26; 3 Macc 5:23; b. Ber. 60b; cf. m. Yoma 1:8; Tamid 1:2). After surveying diverse cockcrowings based on varied observations by M. J. Lagrange, H. Kosmala, and W. M. Ramsay (ExpT 28: 280), Brown 1994: 607 rightly concludes:
Despite all this, Cicero (De Divinatione 2.26.56) may well be right: "Is there any time, night or day, that cocks do not crow?" The evangelists are imagining the early hours of the morning before dawn; nothing more definite can be concluded.80
Still, in a local area, a rooster might let its owner know how long remained until dawn and other times (Babrius 124.12-18). In any case, the denial would happen before daybreak — that is, this Peter who was vigorously protesting that he would never deny Jesus was already on the verge of renouncing him.
The scattering of the flock when the shepherd was struck (26:31) stems from Zechariah 13:7, which in its immediate context could refer to false prophets (Zech 13:2-6), but given the singular and the shepherd image of Zechariah 11:9-13, to which Matthew alluded in 26:15, he may understand it messianically. Then again, he may simply use the language of Zechariah 13:7 to point out that sheep are quickly scattered without a shepherd (cf. Jn 16:32, which, lacking the citation, probably testifies to a common tradition of this shepherd logion). The Qumran community did, however, interpret this text eschatologically (CD 19.5-9; Longenecker 1981: 49), perhaps testifying to a broader eschatological reading in Matthew's day of which he could make apologetic use. In either case, it illustrates the principle that a flock scatters without its shepherd (see comment on 9:36, where the allusion is probably to Ezek 34:5, with which Matthew probably connects Zech 13 midrashically). It was understood that when leaders fell, human troops usually scattered (e.g., Arrian Alex. 4.27.2; 4.24.4-5).81
Yet in promising to go to Galilee (which normally has positive associations in Matthew — 4:12, 23; 10:5) after he has risen (28:7, 16), Jesus promises a restoration beyond their apostasy (26:32; cf. Petersen 1978: 76);82 his "going before" them may carry forth the shepherd analogy of the preceding verse (Jeremias 1971: 297). Jesus' demands are high (10:33), but he does not automatically repudiate those who fail. Given Jesus' radical rhetoric, his merciful example would encourage subsequent disciples in Matthew's audience not to give up (cf. 26:69-27:10) while working toward the standard Jesus' teaching made for them.
Second, one's best intentions (26:33,35) cannot protect one in the time of severest testing unless one has learned how to seek God in prayer (26:41).The three disciples worthy of special censure here (26:37, 40) are the three who had witnessed his glory on the mountain (17:1), including the disciple most adamant about his faithfulness (26:33, 35, 40; cf. Kelber 1976b: 47). The willing "spirit" here refers to the purpose of the human spirit versus the weakness of mortal humanity (in contrast to Paul's usual contrast between God's Spirit and human flesh; e.g., Rom 8:4-13; but cf. 2 Cor 7:1); cf. the similar statement in Phaedrus 5.10.8 (an old dog weak not in spirit but in strength) or admonitions to discipline the body that it might submit to the mind (Sen. Ep. Lucil. 8.5).83 In later Jewish tradition the Israelites confess to God that they have been asleep with regard to righteous works, but their hearts are awake with willingness to do them (Song Rab. 5:2, §1); later Christians might likewise identify with the failure of these disciples.
The language of the passage probably suggests an application for the whole eschatological period in which disciples are tested. Jesus had already warned his disciples to pray lest they succumb to the test, a warning applicable to all disciples (6:13); his admonitions to "watch" likewise apply to all disciples subsequent to the first ones (24:42-43; 25:13).84 Perhaps even the expression that Jesus "found them" sleeping (26:40) recalls some language in the eschatological parable in 24:46, though it is difficult to imagine what other expression Matthew should have used in either instance (the wording in this latter instance is borrowed directly from Mark). The lesson of Gethsemane is for Matthew's generation as well as Peter's.
Guards who fell asleep on duty (cf. 28:13) and so allowed the entrance of enemies were severely punished (e.g., Eurip. Rhesus 812-27; see comment on 24:42). The disciples' failure reminds the reader that they were people of flesh and blood just like subsequent disciples (Acts 3:12-13; Jas 5:16-18), and that Jesus called and transformed ordinary people — who sometimes failed him. (This may facilitate reader identification with these disciples.) That they would fall asleep on this night of all nights underlines their failure. Most people in the ancient Mediterranean were asleep by midnight (Ovid Metam. 10.368), but this was a special night. A household had to finish eating the Passover lamb by midnight (m. Pesah. 10:9) or earlier (Jub. 49:12), but the disciples may have reached Gethsemane as early as 10 p.m., a few hours after sunset. Even the big meal should not have put them to sleep so quickly, however; it was customary to discuss God's redemptive acts for a few hours after the meal before singing the Hallel (t. Ketub. 5:5; Lane 1974a: 509). Some Jewish tradition suggested that those who fell asleep to the point that they could not even answer thereby dissolved their Passover group — which the disciples inexplicably did by the time Jesus had finished praying (Daube 1956: 342). If staying awake on this one night was a test (as in initiatory rituals in many cultures, Eliade 1958: 14-15), the disciples failed it. In prayer with him this one night, Jesus offered a better rest (11:28).
Third, God's call may lead his followers through unbearable pain (26:37-39, 42, 44), as it did with Jesus. The disciples' disobedience provides a foil that illumines the contrasting obedience of Jesus. By describing his sorrow as "to the point of death" (language familiar from Jonah 4:9), Jesus underlines the intensity of his grief, that of itself the very grief could kill him (Meier 1980: 3 23).85 When a person experiences such pain, he or she typically needs the strength of others' presence. Jesus' disciples provide a stark contrast in this narrative, a foil that reveals his own sacrifice all the more plainly.
The "cup" refers to Jesus' sufferings and death on the cross (20:22; 26:27- 28; cf. 27:48), possibly alluding, like his interpretation of the cup at dinner, to the Hallel's "cup of salvation" (Ps 116:13; cf. Gen. Rab. 88:5).86 The image probably alludes as well to the frequent biblical picture of God's "cup of wrath" against the nations.87 Thus Jesus may shrink not merely from death but from dying as a sacrifice under his Father's wrath (Gundry 1982: 533; Is 53:10).
Jewish texts occasionally designate God as "my Father" (Sir 23:1, 4); probably the corporate emphasis in extant prayer texts indicates why it is no more frequent than it is. "Our Father" becomes quite common in Jewish prayers; Jeremias 1971: 62-65 thus excludes too much Jewish material calling God "Father." He also lacks adequate proof that "Abba" generally stands behind Jesus' use of "Father" in prayer in the Gospels, but Mark (14:36) demonstrates that, in this case at least, "Abba" does stand behind our extant translation "Father" (26:39). Perhaps like a good scribe, Matthew translates Mark's Semitic terms into the vernacular (Goulder 1974: 23), but this does not obscure the basic sense of intimacy that stands behind the more formal and acceptable Matthean expression. Because the Greek-speaking church must have gotten "Abba" (Rom 8:15; Gal 4:6) from the Aramaic-speaking church, who would not have learned it from Jewish culture in general (note the paucity of examples; see Witherington 1990: 217-18) and probably not have dared to use it regularly without the authority of Jesus, most scholars concur that Jesus sometimes used the informal and intimate title "Abba" (Mk 14:36; Martin 1982: 34-35).88 This is a term of special intimacy (cf. Jeremias 1964b: 59-60; F. F. Bruce 1963: 56).89 While Jeremias's claim that no Jewish evidence suggests anyone called God "Abba" (Jeremias 1964: 57, 60, 109-10; F. F. Bruce 1978: 21-22) is an overstatement (Vermes 1973: 42, 210-13), the exceptions are quite rare (see Klausner 1979b: 378; Stanton 1995a: 153). Even the "charismatic rabbi" Vermes cites (followed by Borg 1987: 45) alludes to God as "Abba" parabolically rather than directly addressing him as such in a prayer (also Witherington 1990: 216-17, though the messianic sense he cites in Targ. Mai. 2:10 is also too narrow to fit all the data).
Fourth, no matter what their suffering, God's servants must obey the mission he has given them (26:39, 42,44). Jesus had lived his life in filial obedience to his Father's will; now he chooses the Father's plan over his own desire.90 Jesus' obedience is an example for disciples (12:50; cf. 7:21). Loving God does not always mean that they want to face what God calls them to face; it does mean that they choose to face it anyway. Thus when the test arrives, Jesus summons all his disciples to "arise" to face it — ready or not (26:46).91 Other Jewish sages also emphasized choosing God's will over one's own will, or conforming one's will to his will (m. 'Abot 2:4; cf. m. 'Abot 3:7; IQS 5:9; CD 3.11); some tradition even applied this to dying for God (1 Macc 3:59-60; Test. Iss. 4:3; ARN 32, §71B; cf. Acts 21:14; Mart. Pol. 7.1).92 In biblical tradition, one could ask God to change his mind, though there was no guarantee that he would do so (Brown 1994: 166-67 cites Ex 32:10-14; 2 Kings 20:1-6; cf. David's submission in the context of the Mount of Olives in 2 Sam 15:25-30). Still, it is doubtful that the early Christians would have invented a prayer in which Jesus distinguished his will from the Father's, especially regarding the cross (Witherington 1990: 219).
Jesus' submission to the Father's final authority is evident in his call to his disciples to arise to face the betrayer (26:46); regardless of what opponents of the early Christians claimed, their Messiah acted fully in line with the Father's will. From this point forward, passive verbs depicting Jesus' suffering and actions done to Jesus dominate most of the Passion Narrative (Perrin 1976a: 91); having labored until his hour, he now relinquishes his destiny to the Father. Yet even in his surrender, he remains in majestic control; only his own words (26:64) will allow his accusers to condemn him (cf. Rhoads and Michie 1982: 88). The religious establishment had complained that Jesus ate with "sinners" (9:11), but at this point in the Markan and Matthean narratives the reader first hears Jesus apply the title to leaders of the Jerusalem establishment (26:45; cf. Judas in 27:4).
The Betrayal (26:47-56)
Cf. Mk 14:43-52; Lk 22:47-53; Jn 18:2-12; 1 Cor 11:23 probably also refers to the "betrayal" to the chief priests (Fee 1987: 549), although "handing over to the Romans" was also dramatic enough that it could figure in the tradition (e.g., Mk 10:33-34). (Harvey 1982: 24-25 thinks "handing over" in Rom 4:25 reflects Is 53:12 LXX, which the Gospels may have used if they had no information to contradict it; but in context Is 53 reads more naturally as if God handed the servant over.) In this passage, everyone who was close to Jesus — from Judas to the disciples who planned to follow to the death — either betrayed or abandoned him to his opponents. As Jesus faced injustice alone as a victim, he also showed his disciples the depth of his love: when not another human being stood with him, their Lord nevertheless continued in the Father's plan to save them.
The guards Judas led to Jesus probably belonged to the Levite temple guard (hence "not in the temple" — 26:55; cf. Lk 22:4, 52; Jn 7:32; Jeremias 1969: 210) and the armed auxiliary police who worked for them (Lane 1974a: 524); the captain of the temple guard was a high officer who on occasion even rose to the office of high priest (see Reicke 1974: 148).93 Such a police battalion was customary for municipalities throughout the Empire (Stambaugh and Balch 1986: 34). Jewish soldiers did use swords (m. Shab. 6:4), and the high priest's servants were notorious for their use of clubs in the temple, as was the use of clubs in quieting unrest.94 Contrary to many proposals,95 it is unlikely that Pilate, who probably had recently arrived and knew little of Jesus, would have dispatched Roman troops from the Fortress Antonia at their request, especially with Jewish officers at their head. Although some military terms in the Passion story (see especially Jn 18:3) are Roman, Greek and Roman military terms had long before been transferred to Jewish soldiers (e.g., Jos. Life 242).96
They came armed as if Jesus were a lēstēs (26:38, 55), usually translated "robber," the term Josephus most frequently applies to those many viewed as revolutionaries, such as those who violated the temple (Moule 1965: 119; cf. Mart. Pol. 7), perhaps a "social bandit" (e.g., Malina and Rohrbaugh 1992: 157). They did not understand that Jesus' real threat was quite different. Their secretive capture resembled the way authorities had long dealt with guerilla revolutionaries (Stauffer 1960: 119). In the context of the whole Gospel, however, their assumption appears ironic: Jesus had compared them with "robbers" who invited God's judgment on the temple (21:13).
First, disciples may betray Jesus with the very sort of acts that outwardly symbolize devotion (26:47-49). Matthew must report the betrayal, which is an integral part of the Passion Narrative; yet one may guess that he also drew from this account moral instruction for his audience. Persecution often presented disciples an opportunity to betray others in their own interests (e.g., 24:10).
Brown 1994: 255 is correct that we cannot historically establish or refute the historicity of Judas's kiss; but it does make sense. Except when obscured by clouds, the moon would illumine the countryside during Passover (on moonlight's adequacy, cf., e.g., Virg. Aen. 7.9); yet others around Jesus, the shade of olive trees, and the importance of getting the right person immediately (before resistance or flight could allow his escape) demanded that Judas specify the right person (cf. Gundry 1982: 537). Yet visibility was probably less to the point than trying (however vainly) to make the expedition look more peaceful than it was; the authorities needed to capture mainly the ringleader and wished to minimize confrontation and bloodshed (cf. Lk 22:38).97 By having a disciple trusted by his colleagues approach the group, the priests could hope to catch the disciples off guard; and the high priests undoubtedly considered Judas expendable if the ploy failed (cf. 27:3-10).
The emphatic point of the narrative, however, is that it was a disciple who betrayed Jesus. One's current commitment is no guarantee of one's perseverance, for even disciples can become traitors (24:10). Disciples often greeted rabbis with a kiss as a sign of intimacy and respect (e.g., Lane 1974a: 525; Wilkinson 1978: 126; Anderson 1976: 323).98 That Judas should betray Jesus with an outward gesture of devotion makes the act all the more heinous, and an ancient audience might grasp something of the depth of such betrayal's pain (Lk 22:48; cf. 2 Sam 20:9; Prov 27:6).99 "Hail!" (Chaire) was simply the normal Greek salutation (e.g., Char. Chaer. 4.5.8; Kim 1972: 10-20), possibly translating an original shalom (Brown 1994: 254; cf. Jub. 12:29; 18:16; 19:29; 21:25; IQS 2.9; Bar Kochba letters; Gen. Rab. 100:7), although it would likely have been original had the interchange been in Greek (e.g., 2 Macc 1:1; 3 Macc 7:1; Test. Abr. 16A; 13B; cf. 2 Bar. 78:2-3). Jesus responds by confronting him with his crime — after addressing him as "Friend," an appropriate title for a disciple (A. B. Bruce 1979: 316) but earlier applied in Matthew to those behaving in a shameful manner (20:13; 22:12; cf. also Suggit 1988).
Second, disciples often wish to fight the kingdom's battles the traditional mortal way or not at all (26:50-54, 56). Protecting Jesus was a paramount issue, yet Jesus did not want his disciples to protect him (cf. 5:44). For Matthew, Jesus came to conquer by way of suffering on the cross, not by way of wielding the sword. Yet it is easier, in human terms, for disciples to fight for their cause than simply to embrace martyrdom for it without resistance; once they realized that martyrdom without resistance was the price of following Jesus, the disciples fled (26:56).100 Greek and Roman historians often mentioned leaders who shamed their retreating troops by charging into the battle themselves, which normally sallied their troops again (e.g., Appian R.H. 10.4.20). Likewise, pietists often fought and died for causes (e.g.. Jos. Ant. 17.157-59). By contrast, for disciples to abandon their teacher in this way was a betrayal of their bond of intimacy, and would have shamed Jesus deeply in the social order of the day (Malina 1993: 18).101 Betrayal by one's own troops, whom one ought to have been able to trust, was tragic (Corn. Nep. 18 [Eumenes], 10.2). Abandonment by one close to a person (such as a relative) would create scandal and generate mass abandonment (Corn. Nep. 14 [Datames], 6.3), and in time of great danger such traitors merited death (Corn Nep. 14 [Datames], 6.8; 9.5). The abandonment could reflect badly on Jesus in terms of status and clearly reflects badly on the disciples; it is surely not the invention of the later church.
Jesus was voluntarily doing the Father's will (26:39, 42), and the Father still would have granted him twelve legions of angels (one for himself and each disciple) had he asked;102 but the Father had called him to face death for the very ones who had just abandoned him. In Matthew's world angels will assist at the end (cf. 13:41-42; 16:27; 24:30-31), but in the present time dependence on them for deliverance without God's permission would yield to Satan's test (cf. 4:5-7).
That a disciple (named only in John) cut off the high priest's servant's ear probably does not imply that he hoped to render the man ceremonially unfit for service in the temple (cf. Daube 1960: 59), nor that he was satisfied with such disfigurement (cf. Diog. Laert. 9.5.26). Rather, the disciple was probably aiming for a more substantive target (like the man's neck) and missed because he had no practice striking at what rapidly became a moving target.103 Jesus' response to the disciple — and to the Matthean community who has survived the crises of a Judean-Roman war (cf. Borg 1984: 194-95; for the Markan community, cf. McVann 1986) — provides three reasons for rejecting violence (26:52-54; cf. 5:39-42): violence destroys those who employ it (26:52); Jesus trusts the Father's ability to protect him (26:53); and Jesus recognizes that his Father's will for him includes suffering (26:54; Meier 1980: 328). Jesus' warning about those taking a sword perishing by it resembles a Jewish proverb found in a targum of Isaiah 50:11 (Gundry 1982: 539) and Syriac Menander's Sentences 15-19.104
Third, Jesus confronts injustice but submits to Scripture's plan (26:54-56). The authorities act unjustly as well as in political cowardice, and Jesus does not hesitate telling them so (26:55). But Scripture dictated his own mission, so he submitted to the Father's will (as in 4:1-11). Jesus' model of confronting injustice contrasts starkly with that of his disciples (cf. 5:39; 26:51).
The Political and Religious Leaders versus Jesus (26:57-68)
Cf. Mk 14:53-65; Lk 22:54-71; Jn 18:13-24. The trial scene, heavily laden with ironies, exemplifies Jesus' teaching about the hiddenness of the kingdom (13:31-33). Apart from those who share the correct presuppositions, the kingdom's presence remains ambiguous to those it confronts (e.g., 26:64). Ironically, the kingdom remained obscure even to many of those providing religious and political leadership to others.
Excursus: Historicity of the Trial Narratives
Some have assailed the historicity of the "trial" that occurs here (e.g., Winter 1961; idem 1964; Cohn 1977: 98; Grant 1964; Zeitlin 1962); others have shown that the arguments against authenticity are at best inconclusive and at worst fallacious (Goppelt 1964: 84ff.; Sherwin-White 1978: 34ff.; cf. idem 1965; Catchpole 1971: 271; Corley 1992; cf. Keener 1998). Although elements of the later Mishnaic code of legal conduct are probably early (Abrahams 1924: 129), and I cautiously employ some of the material below, it is tenuous to dispute the historicity of the earlier Gospel accounts of the trials (with traditions more contemporary than those on which the Mishnah is based) based on conflicts with those rules. First, the Mishnah reports Pharisaic idealizations of the law in its own day, at a period over a century later than Jesus' trial (Brown 1994: 357-63; Blinzler 1959: 138-43), and the council in Jesus' day was hardly dominated by Pharisees (cf. Anderson 1976: 326; pace Cohn 1977: 105).
Second, rabbinic sources themselves indicate that the aristocratic priests did not always play by the rules (cf. Klausner 1979b: 337; see my excursus on "high priests" at 26:1-16); in fact, because elements of proper legal procedure were standard throughout Mediterranean antiquity, the Gospel writers may expect us to notice significant breaches of procedure. Unless one presupposes that the aristocratic priests (like later rabbis) would follow careful procedure even in explosive political situations — which is unlikely — an argument from Mishnaic technicalities does not work against the Gospel narrative (cf. Sanders 1985: 317). Sanders puts the matter best (1992: 487):
The gospel accounts do present problems, but disagreement with the Mishnah is not one of them. . . . The system as the gospels describe it corresponds to the system that we see in Josephus. The trial of Jesus agrees very well with his stories of how things happened.