COMMENTARY
Commentary
Matthew 1:1-17: Jesus' Background in Israel's History
Cf. Lk 3:23-38. Although their works were not always strictly chronological, ancient biographers often "began with matters such as birth, parents, ancestors, and prenatal prophecies" (Aune 1987: 32). They frequently emphasized their subjects' ancestry, sometimes (as in Nepos and Plutarch) opening with it (Burridge 1992: 146, 178, 194; Jos. Life 3-6). Such ancestry could help praise the subject by evoking what was known about the character of the subject's predecessors (cf. Ex 6:12-30).1 Matthew opens his Gospel by showing both Jesus' historic inseparability from the history of Israel and his inseparability from the Gentile mission already implicit in that history. He does this by listing Jesus' ancestors who evoke Israel's rich Old Testament heritage and by listing four Gentiles in Jesus' ancestry who came to participate in that heritage. In literary terms, he connects his plot with the broader plot of Israel's history (Wright 1992a: 385).2 The opening verse of the Gospel introduces two ancestors who become pivotal characters in the genealogy: Jesus is the son of Abraham (the ideal Jew) and the son of David (the Messiah).
Son of David and Abraham (1:1). In this genealogy Matthew explicitly emphasizes Jesus' descent from David and Abraham.3 Matthew first calls Jesus the "son of Abraham." Although some regard "son of Abraham" as a messianic title (Argyle 1963: 25; cf. Gordon 1965b: 143n.2), it is the "son of David" title that performs the messianic function here (1:20; 9:27; 12:23; 15:22; 20:30-31; 21:9, 15; cf. 12:3; 22:42). "Son of Abraham" instead refers to the status Jewish people saw for themselves (e.g., 3:9; 8:11-12; 4 Macc 6:17, 22; 18:1; t. Ned. 2:5; Sifre Deut. 311.1.1; 313.1.3; ARN 23, §46B), and evokes the promise to Abraham (cf. Meier 1980: 4) and the history of Israel. Not only this opening verse but the structure of the genealogy evokes Israel's history; following narratives further identify Jesus with Israel as its representative, the epitome of its history (e.g., 2:15; 4:2).4 Jesus is thus the heir of Abraham par excellence, who can communicate Abraham's promised blessings to his people.5
Second, Jesus is the "son of David," a title of the rightful heir to Israel's throne (e.g., Jer 23:5; 33:15; Ps. Sol. 17:21-23; 4QFlor; p. Hag. 2:2, §2; cf. Fitzmyer 1974: 113-26; Nickelsburg 1981: 304; Rogers 1993; Kaufmann 1994). Many scholars have even seen an allusion to David in the number of generations Matthew enumerates in three sets of names; "fourteen" is the total numerical value of the three letters of David's name in Hebrew.6 This numerical allusion, like some other proposed reasons for the use of fourteen here,7 may be questionable; perhaps fourteen was simply Matthew's average estimate of the generations from one period in Israel's history to the next. Matthew preferred a round number for each set of generations, perhaps for ease of memorization (cf. 2 Macc 2:25); some argue that occasional Talmudic lists also edited lists to fourteen elements (Valler 1995). But he probably did so especially to imply that, as in the case of the new Elijah of Matthew 3:4, Israel was due for its Messiah to come when Jesus was born (cf. also Hagner 1993: 7).8
At any rate, the report is also appropriate for Matthew as biographer: there is little doubt that Jesus' family historically stemmed from Davidic lineage.9 All clear early Christian sources attest it (e.g., Rom 1:3); Hegesippus reports a Palestinian tradition in which Roman authorities interrogated Jesus' brother's grandsons for Davidic descent (Euseb. H.E. 3.20); Julius Africanus attests Jesus' relatives claiming Davidic descent (Letter to Aristides); and, probably more significantly, non-Christian Jewish polemicists never bothered to try to refute it (Jeremias 1969: 291). Jesus' relatives known in the early church seem to have raised no objection to the claim of their family's background (Brown 1977: 507). Thus Matthew opens and closes the genealogy with a title for Jesus significant but rare in his Gospel: "Jesus Christ" (1:1, 18; against Fenton 1977: 42).
The character of Matthew's genealogy (1:2-17). That Matthew's attribution of Davidic sonship to Jesus appears historically reliable does not imply that Matthew writes Jesus' genealogy the way modern Westerners would try to write their family trees today. Matthew does have to omit some unhelpful generations and otherwise adjust the genealogy to fit his scheme.10 But skipping some generations was common enough in ancient genealogies, and Matthew would have seen no harm in approximating generations, since generations had to be reckoned in approximate time rather than in exact years anyway.
More problematic to most commentators is the striking conflict between the genealogies in Matthew and Luke. Scholars have offered various proposals to address the discrepancy. Luther suggested that Matthew offered Joseph's ancestry, whereas Luke provided Mary's;11 his grammatical evidence for the position is not compelling, however (Johnson 1988: 143-44). By utilizing levirate marriages, Africanus harmonized Matthew's genealogy (Joseph's biological ancestry) with Luke's (Joseph's legal ancestry by inheritance; Euseb. H.E. 1.7; Johnson 1988: 141). Modern scholars more frequently argue that Matthew provides the legal line of royal inheritance; but those who wish can connect this lineage with Luke's physical line by means of two adoptions.12 The best alternative to harmonizing the lists is to suggest that Matthew emphasizes the nature of Jesus' lineage as royalty rather than trying to formulate a biologically precise list (contrast possibly Luke), to which he did not have access.
The question of historical detail cannot be settled merely on the thesis that people did not keep track of their ancestries, however. Priestly families' genealogies remained in public records before 70 (Jos. Life 6; Apion 1.31, 36), but because evidence for preserving lay genealogies in the temple is ambiguous, some doubt that most genealogies were accurate more than a few generations back, aside from one's clan (Johnson 1988: 99-108; cf. Safrai 1974/ 1976b: 753). Yet families interested in their lineage undoubtedly preserved their own ancestry, whether or not it was officially registered in the temple records (cf., e.g., Cotton 1995). Taxation status at times required peoples elsewhere in the Empire to be able to trace their lineage back as many as seven generations (see Lewis 1983: 41-42, citing P. Oxy. 109-21 and other texts), and a Roman of noble birth could disdain to marry his daughter to a man unable to "trace his family back even five generations" (Dion Hal. 4.47.4, LCL 2:427). If Luke traveled with Paul (see the Introduction) and could have interviewed James the Lord's brother in Jerusalem, he would likely have had access to the family's tradition (cf. Feuillet 1988, though Mary may have been deceased by that time).
But what about Matthew? None of Johnson's examples of midrashic reworking of genealogies (1988: 109-10) predates a.d. 70 or applies to living people who might recount their own heritage; nor were fanciful predictions of the Messiah's lineage (1988: 111-12, 115-38) ever based on a particular living individual held to be the Messiah. That Matthew does not simply fabricate a fourteenth generation to add to his thirteen in the final segment of his genealogy may also suggest that he is bound to some prior source (Davies and Allison 1988: 186; contrast Meier 1980: 5).
Matthew may thus preserve accurate historical information in this genealogy. Still, Matthew's list is plainly incomplete; for the five centuries between Zerubbabel and Joseph, he lists about nine names, whereas Luke lists eighteen (Davies and Allison 1988: 181). Further, it is clear that Matthew takes some liberties with his genealogy and expects his readers to notice that he has done so. Matthew especially follows the listing in Chronicles where possible (Gundry 1982: 14-15; Jeremias 1969: 280n.26). Yet many commentators on the Greek text of Matthew note that he makes a few theologically significant adjustments to Chronicles: Asa and Amon become the more righteous Israelite figures Asaph (the psalmist, 1 Chron 25:1; superscriptions in Ps 50; 73-83) and Amos (the prophet).13 Just as Matthew traces Jesus' line from David's royal house via Solomon (cf. 12:42; contrast Lk 3:31), by subtle midrashic allusions he connects Jesus to priestly and prophetic threads in Israel's history.14 (Ancient writers could use genealogies to account for a descendant's character — see Ex 6:10-30; Aune 1987: 53. Similarly, Greek writers often connected their protagonists to past heroes characterizing ideal virtues — cf. Aune 1987: 84-85.) The possibility of Old Testament allusions in the genealogy's postexilic names like Zadok, Eleazar, and Jacob father of Joseph15 is less clear.16 But Matthew's contemporaries might not read all his possible allusions favorably: in 1:3-4 "Ram" becomes "Aram," reflecting the one spelling of the name in the Septuagint (1 Chron 2:9-10; contrast Ruth 4:19; 1 Chron 2:9 [another reference], 25, 27) that could also possibly be used to allude to the Gentile mission (cf. Is 7:1, 2, 5, 8).
The purpose of Matthew's genealogy (1:2-17). While scholars may debate how thoroughly Matthew has adapted available sources, exclusive attention to that discussion risks missing Matthew's real point. Even had Matthew taken his list unchanged from a complete and precise genealogy scroll, Jesus' spiritual ancestry is more critical for Matthew than his genetic ancestry (cf. Meier 1980: 3; Johnson 1988: 209-10). The names in Matthew's genealogy — like Judah, Ruth, David, Uzziah, Hezekiah, Josiah — would immediately evoke for Matthew's readers a whole range of stories they had learned about their heritage from the time of their childhood. Genealogies provided family honor, defining also in-groups and inheritance rights (Hanson and Oakman, 1998: 28-29, who argue that the apical ancestors Abraham and David provide honor in this genealogy — 52-55). By evoking great heroes of the past like David and Josiah, Matthew points his readers to the ultimate hero to whom all those other stories pointed. For Matthew and his circle of Jewish Christians, Jesus was not an afterthought to Judaism, a distinct and unexpected addition to God's plan in the Old Testament. Jesus was the goal to which Israel's lovingly remembered history pointed. Matthew thus establishes rhetorical community with his audience in his proem; proems typically appealed to audience sympathy (Kennedy 1984: 102).
Matthew makes this point clear in the opening words of his genealogy: the "book of the genesis of Jesus Christ" (1:1).17 That Matthew starts with Jesus' earliest ancestors and proceeds to his latest ancestors fits Old Testament (rather than Luke's and Greek) genealogies (Aune 1987: 121), but Matthew's use of "the book of the generations of' contrasts starkly with the use of that phrase in Old Testament genealogies. Most scholars agree that Matthew's phrase depends here on the expression in the genealogies of Genesis (e.g., Allen 1977: 1; Meeks 1986: 140; Johnson 1988: 186). Yet genealogies like those in Genesis typically list a person's descendants after this phrase, rather than a person's ancestors (Gen 5:1; 10:1). Matthew's point here is profound: so much is Jesus the focal point of history that his ancestors depend on him for their meaning. In other words, God sovereignly directed the history of Israel and preserved the Davidic line because of his plan to send Jesus (Gundry 1982: 10, 13; Patte 1987: 18).
Many people regarded ancestry and couples joining as a sign of divine rule (e.g., Hierocles in Malherbe 1986: 100; Epict. Disc. 1.12.28-29; Char. Chaer. 1.1.6). Jewish people in particular believed that bringing all husbands and wives together represented an act of divine providence (e.g., Pesiq. Rab Kah. 23:8; cf. Tob 6:17; Mt 19:6); some later rabbis even called it a miracle as great as the parting of the Red Sea (b. Sanh. 22a; Gen. Rab. 68:4; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 2:4; cf. Lev. Rab. 8:1; Num. Rab. 3:6). Because the Jewish people viewed history in these terms, genealogies could represent to them a testimony of God's providence in their ancestry, and Matthew's genealogy climaxing in Jesus would testify still more eloquently concerning God's sovereign plan for history in Christ. As the genealogies of Genesis 5 and 11 unify history between major figures (Adam, Noah, and Abraham; cf. Johnson 1988: 78), Matthew's genealogy unifies the defining periods of Israel's history and points them to Jesus.
Mixed marriages and the Gentile mission (1:3,5-6). While Matthew's most obvious point is the connection of Jesus with Israel's history, however, another point would also probably strike his biblically sensitive ideal readers forcefully. Genealogies need include only men (cf., e.g., 1 Chron passim), so the unexpected appearance of four women draws attention to them (so, e.g., Edwards 1985: 11; Johnson 1988: 153). (So often were women's names lost that later Jewish haggadists sometimes had to make up names for important women characters, e.g., 1 Enoch 85:3.)
Gentiles in Jesus' ancestry. Had Matthew merely meant to evoke the history of Israel in a general way, one would have expected him to have named the matriarchs of Israel: Sarah, Rebekah, Leah, and Rachel18 Instead he names four women whose primary common link is their Gentile ancestry: Tamar of Canaan, Rahab of Jericho (whom Matthew weaves into the Old Testament line here),19 Ruth the Moabitess, and the ex-wife of Uriah the Hittite.20 Indeed, most Jewish tradition subsequent to the Old Testament amplifies the record of their Gentile character (e.g., Gen. Rab. 50:10; 85:6; 88:7; cf. Zakowitch 1975; Jeremias 1958: 13-14; Johnson 1988: 167-70; Bamberger 1968: 193-95). Thus, for instance, Ps-Philo (9:5) praises Tamar's refusal to return to the Gentiles, and the Testament of Judah (10:6), against the natural reading of Genesis, manages to deny that Tamar is Canaanite while allowing her to remain a Gentile.21
Not all commentators regard these women as representative Gentiles. Many commentators instead link them to charges of either sinfulness or irregular births, suggesting that their names prepare readers for the scandal of the virgin birth in 1:18-25 or counter slanders of Mary's infidelity; as God vindicated these women of old, he would also vindicate Mary.22 The "irregular" birth interpretation is possible (and not necessarily inconsistent with the interpretation of the Gentile mission above — Davies and Allison 1988: 170-71; Hagner 1993: 10), but if that were his main point, why would he choose these four women over Sarah, Rebekah, and Rachel, whose wombs God opened? The latter are more prominent and would provide better examples of "irregular" births in the miraculous sense he intends for the virgin birth. The scandal interpretation is more problematic. If Matthew were defending Mary against slanders of infidelity, why would he choose Tamar and Bathsheba, both of whom did in fact act immorally by the standards of his Jewish contemporaries? It is true that Jewish tradition exculpates Rahab and Tamar; Ruth is already innocent in the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Luz 1989: 109-10). Yet one would expect Matthew to use scandalous conceptions like Bathsheba's only if he actually believed the slanders of Mary's immorality rather than the virgin birth he recounts in the next paragraph!23 The whole point of Matthew's defending Mary might be moot anyway; some scholars suspect that the Jewish calumnies about the virgin birth arose after the time of Matthew (Davies 1966b: 11; Johnson 1988: 158-59). Nor should one argue that Matthew merely wishes to present women in a bad light by his selection of the more unsavory examples early in his Gospel; the rest of his Gospel suggests otherwise (cf. 1:18; 15:28; 28:5-8) and favors instead an allusion to the Gentile mission (2:1-2; 24:14; 28:19), which speaks to disciples of their responsibility to cross cultural boundaries to spread Christ's gospel.24
Genealogies and pure lineage. The Jewish people regarded genealogies as important to establish the purity of their lineage (Jos. Apion 1.30; cf. b. Pesaḥ. 62b; p. Ter. 7:1; Johnson 1988: 88-95). Priestly genealogies were preserved in the temple records before their destruction in a.d. 70, those of aristocratic priests reportedly being traced into the preexilic period (cf. Jos. Apion 1.31-33, 36; Jeremias 1969: 280-90; Stauffer 1960: 14), and purity in priestly lineage was essential (1 Esdr 5:39-40; cf. t. Hag. 2:9; 7:1; p. Ketub. 1:9, §1). One presumes that other Jews who could would have taken pride in the purity of their Jewish lineage.25 Yet Matthew seems to highlight the mixed nature of Jesus' lineage purposely! Admittedly Matthew probably believes this to be Jesus' legal rather than blood line (1:18-25), but such an observation in no way detracts from the importance of that line; Matthew lived in a world where adoption lines were significant and frequently qualified sons for royalty (e.g., Augustus with Tiberius, Suet. Tib. 23).
When Matthew cites these four women, he is probably reminding his readers that three ancestors of King David and the mother of King Solomon were Gentiles.26 The Bible that accepted David's mixed race also implied it for the messianic King; Matthew thus declares that the Gentiles were never an afterthought in God's plan, but had been part of his work in history from the beginning. One who traces Matthew's treatment of Gentiles through the Gospel, from the Magi who sought Jesus in chapter 2 through the concluding commission to disciple the nations in 28:19, will understand Matthew's point in emphasizing this. Matthew exhorts his readers that as much as Jesus is connected with the heritage of Israel, he is for all peoples as well, and his disciples have a responsibility to let everyone know about him.
Excursus: Matthew's Infancy Narratives (1:18-2:23)
Like many ancient biographers, Matthew and Luke include information about Jesus' ancestry and infancy, here supplementing Mark (Burridge 1992: 249).27 That most of the Gospel addresses Jesus' public ministry, providing comparatively little on the introductory matters of his early life, also fits the common pattern of Greco-Roman biographies (Burridge 1992: 197-98). Against this general, common pattern, what remains striking is that Matthew has constructed almost every paragraph following the genealogy and until the Sermon on the Mount around at least one text of Scripture. He thus invites his ideal audience to read Jesus in light of Scripture and Scripture in light of Jesus — to recognize that the person and work of Jesus are central to Scripture's character.
Are the infancy narratives historical? Because Matthew builds each pericope around Scripture, these passages naturally contain midrashic elements, but various reasons prevent us from assuming a priori that these passages are therefore necessarily unhistorical (cf. Hagner 1993: lviii; against Bourke 1960; Beare 1981: 82).28 First, while midrash can lead to fanciful elaborations of biblical accounts, it need not do so; midrash essentially involves merely reflection on Scripture. Second, were Matthew embroidering the stories of Jesus' birth, one might expect him to do so far more thoroughly, as various Jewish accounts embroidered biblical births (e.g., 1 Enoch 106:2-3) or later apocryphal infancy Gospels (e.g., trans. O. Cullmann and A. J. B. Higgins, in Hennecke 1963: 1:363-417) embroidered Jesus' childhood.29
Third, many texts Matthew cites are hardly obvious ones if Matthew started with texts and then created stories around them (stories that sometimes do not fit very well); while ignoring obvious messianic texts, however, he selects other texts that his contemporaries did not regard as messianic (Gundry 1975: 194, contrary to his later view).30 This suggests that Matthew started with the infancy traditions and found biblical texts that fit (albeit adjusting the telling of both in the process). As one commentator observes, "The only conceivable reason for introducing these texts is that it was already known that Jesus went to Egypt, that there was a slaughter of children, and that Jesus' home was in Nazareth, and that scriptural justification was desired for these elements in his background" (France 1985: 71). Although we lack definite evidence that these events happened, it seems quite likely that Matthew believed prior, perhaps first-generation reports that these events happened.
Fourth, scholars concerned to trace each detail of their narrative to extant sources can easily abuse midrash. Whereas some Matthew scholars suggest that some of Matthew's infancy material is midrash on traditions later incorporated into Luke (e.g., Gundry 1982: 20), some Lukan scholars suggest that Luke has midrashically interpreted Matthew (Drury 1976: 123-25); without objective controls, one can view any independent materials thus. Fifth, the infancy narratives' vocabulary is not much more characteristically Matthean than the rest of the Gospel (Soares Prabhu 1976: 167-70). Indeed, substantial evidence supports the possibility that pre-Matthean narratives stand behind Matthew's infancy stories (Davies and Allison 1988: 190-95). Finally, midrashic elements do not make these accounts strictly mid rash in themselves (see Wright 1966: 454-56). Given the literary unity and occasional Lukan confirmation of Matthew's birth narratives apart from these Old Testament citations, Matthew probably added the quotations to the narratives or traditions rather than simply the reverse (Down 1978; cf. Soares Prabhu 1976: 159-60, 165).31
Although inadequate evidence remains to "prove" the historical reliability of the infancy narratives, arguments against the narratives' reliability appear no more substantive (France 1981b). Because we have no access to Matthew's sources for these narratives we lack much concrete evidence either way. In the absence of evidence to the contrary, however, we should assume that Matthew uses his sources in this part of his Gospel as carefully as he uses Mark and Q elsewhere. Elsewhere, while Matthew surely arranges and edits his material, he nevertheless derives it from prior tradition. Further, the details we find in these texts fit what we know of contemporary history (e.g., the character of Herod and Archelaus), in contrast to some historical novels depicting earlier periods (e.g., Tobit, Judith, most apocryphal Gospels and apocryphal Acts). Had Luke reported the same undoubtedly pre-Matthean traditions, many scholars would be inclined to accept their historical core on the basis of multiple attestation or at least a pre-Synoptic tradition. Luke's and Matthew's divergences do help us historically in one way, however. Because these infancy narratives are independent (so also, e.g., Hagner 1993: 14-15), the points where they do overlap do provide independent attestation for pre-Synoptic tradition.
Excursus: Debates about the Virgin Birth
Matthew and Luke independently attest the prior tradition of the virgin birth. More skeptical scholars have offered various alternative explanations of the virgin birth. Some Jews did apply the term "virgin" loosely to a wife during her first marriage (Vermes 1973: 218; Leon 1960: 232), following the looser Greek sense of the term,32 though the term more often simply meant "virgin" (e.g., Eurip. Electra 270; Ap. Rhod. 1.671). But these data are not relevant to Jesus' birth; the whole point of the Christian accounts is that God miraculously made Mary pregnant apart from sexual means (Mt 1:18, 20, 25; Lk 1:34-35; cf. Justin I Apol. 21, 33,46; Dial. 43, 66,77-78; Iren. Haer. 1.26.1; Test. Jud. 19:8). It is not likely that this tradition would have arisen in pre-Synoptic tradition, while members of Jesus' family remained in positions of prominence (1 Cor 15:7; Gal 1:19; 2:9), merely on the basis of a misinterpreted Greek word.
Gordon offers parallels for his proposal that one could have a human father and yet derive one's status from a divine paternity (Gordon 1977: 101;idem 1978a: 26-27). Greeks sometimes called their human heroes "Zeus-born" or "Zeus-nurtured" in a purely figurative sense (e.g., Horn. II. 16.49, 126, 707; 17.34, 238, 685, 702; 21.75). The parallels seem questionable, but in any case only indirectly illumine the early Christian "son of God" title, and a virgin birth (on which divine Sonship was not predicated; see the Introduction) not at all. Bultmann asserts that the virgin birth must be a hellenistic addition to the story (1968: 291). Yet most alleged parallels to the virgin birth (see Allen 1977: 19; Soares Prabhu 1976: 5-6; cf. Grant 1986: 64) are hopelessly distant, at best representing supernatural births of some kind (Barrett 1966: 6-10; Brown 1977: 522-23; Davies and Allison 1988: 214-15; Hagner 1993: 17; even further are ancient biological views, e.g., Arist. Gen. An. 3.6.5; Ep. Arist. 165). Certainly pagan stories of divine impregnation, which typically involve seduction (e.g., Ovid Metam. 3.260-61) or rape (Ovid Metam. 3.1-2), bear no resemblance to a virgin birth.
Even most proposed Jewish parallels (Daube 1973: 6-9; cf. also 2 Enoch 71; Gen. Rab. 53:6) are too late or on closer examination have little merit (cf. Brown 1977: 523-24); Philo's claims that God supernaturally opened wombs (Schweizer 1975: 33; cf. Vermes 1973: 220) probably simply imply that only God can provide conception (cf. Gen 30:2; cf. Meier 1991a: 221-22). Although no direct Old Testament precedent existed for virgin births, supernatural births (e.g., Gen 21:2; 25:21; 30:6, 17; Judg 13:3; cf. Maillot 1978) and prenatal annunciations (e.g., Gen 16:11; Judg 13:3-14; cf. 1 Enoch 107:3) abounded, and the biblical language is much closer to Matthew 1:21 (modeled on Is 7:14 in Mt 1:23) than pagan and most other Jewish accounts are. Because Matthew's contemporaries do not seem to have interpreted Isaiah 7 messianically, however, there is no reason to suppose that early Christians composed the doctrine on the basis of the text, either (Davies and Allison 1988: 214).
It is difficult for those who accept Matthew as Scripture to reject the event of the virgin birth as history; Matthew derives theological capital from both the fulfillment of Scripture and the miracle. If Matthew's point rests on a fiction, it offers little genuine support for his premise about God's plan. Matthew's perspective challenges the Enlightenment compromise that the essential point of the virgin birth is its "meaning" and not its historicity (against, e.g., Fuller 1956). Ultimately, the historical plausibility of this particular account rests on one's presuppositions (Wilkinson 1964). Would anyone whose logic was not shaped by Enlightenment thought doubt that of all the miraculous births of history, the supreme prophet's might be the most miraculous? One cannot deny testimony for a miracle by dismissing it on the grounds that miracles cannot happen.33
We must evaluate the function and reliability of the virgin birth story by tools more reliable than culturally and historically shaped philosophical presuppositions. On the one hand, ancient writers did prefer to depict miraculous births when possible. Greco-Roman biographies, or "lives," frequently included birth narratives (Aune 1987: 65; Burridge 1992: 249), including miraculous signs like dreams when appropriate (Shuler 1982: 94).34 Thus it is not surprising that Matthew would focus on such events, although other scholars are also correct that his birth narratives do not perfectly fit this genre, lacking the structure of miracle stories (see Theissen 1991: 123). Matthew's infancy narratives set the stage for Jesus' ministry depicted in the rest of the Gospel, "defining his origin and goal" (Meier 1980: 1-2). Miracles were especially appropriate in connection with Jesus' birth; Greek literature conferred "miraculous birth stories" only on sages considered divine, to confirm their divine origin (Aune 1987: 34; cf. Paus. 2.26.5; Aune 1987: 30, 65, citing Diod. Sic. 16.1; 19.2.1-7; Menander Rhetor 371.3-14).
Yet, on the other hand, an inclination to report a kind of event does not render evidence for that event unhistorical. The basic account of the virgin birth predates both Gospels that open with Jesus' infancy; neither Gospel is clearly dependent on the other (see Meier 1980: 17; Brown 1977: 162; pace Drury 1976: 123-25). The tradition stems from a period when Jesus' brother led the church in Jerusalem. Reliable sources also stand behind many details of the accounts; Jesus' birth would likely be one of the stories whose reliability Luke investigated (Lk 1:3; see Introduction), since, on our reading of his "we-narratives" (see Introduction), he implies that he had direct access to a younger son of Mary (Acts 21:18; 27:1).
Possibly if Mary's family was from Bethlehem or certainly if Luke's genealogy is hers, Mary could have been of Davidic descent; otherwise perhaps she was a Levite (Lk 1:36; Stauffer 1960: 45). Nor should we doubt that Joseph was Mary's husband; that early Christians called Jesus the "son of Joseph" to correspond with the rabbis' suffering "Messiah ben Joseph" (Gordon in Isbell 1975: 130) is unlikely. That rabbinic tradition probably dates to the century after the canonical Gospels were completed (Vermes 1973: 140; Yamauchi 1978: 165-66); further, the early Christian sources are unanimous on the name of Mary's husband, despite the cognitive dissonance such memories could generate for those struggling with the issue of his divine Sonship.
Some scholars, however, have appealed to evidence that is probably unreliable. Lacking first-generation incentive to have gathered or preserved reliable accounts, later rabbinic tradition about Mary (properly "Miriam"; see Dalman 1973: 31) probably depends on and garbles early Christian sources. The context of such traditions is probably the view that immoral circumstances of conception incline the child toward apostasy (see Stauffer 1960: 207-8). Probably due to a Hebrew wordplay and confusion with Mary Magdalene, it often calls Mary a "hairdresser" (Herford 1966: 40-41). Most Greek and Roman women would not have regarded hairdressing as an ignoble occupation (e.g., ILS 9727, 9730, and 9732 in Lefkowitz and Fant 1982: 170); but given the role of hair in seduction (Keener 1992: 29, 53), the rabbis may have associated her alleged profession with the tradition that Mary was immoral.35 The rabbinic tradition that Mary conceived Jesus by a Roman soldier may involve a wordplay between pandera (for the soldier) and the Greek term for "virgin" (parthenos) rather than a carefully solicited slander from Mary's hometown concerning Mary's prenuptial pregnancy.36 None of these traditions has historical merit, but they do indicate how easily both the circumstances of Jesus' birth and some people's animosity toward Jesus could reflect on his parents, underlining the courage of Joseph and Mary revealed in the infancy narratives.
The Virgin Gives Birth (Matthew 1:18-25)
Cf. Lk 2:1-7. That early Christian traditions should have preserved less of Jesus' early life than of his ministry is not surprising: it fits (1) the primary significance of his ministry to his first followers; (2) their eyewitness attestation of the ministry (as opposed to most of his childhood); and (3) standard rhetorical form in passing quickly over material less relevant to one's purpose (cf. Lucian How to Write History 56-57; Satterthwaite 1993: 345). Ancient biographies could focus
on the public portion of a person's life, addressing only in cursory fashion the most relevant features of a person's childhood. Thus, for example, Josephus summarizes the first thirty years of his life in Life 1-16 (around 4 percent of the Life, considerably less than Matthew allots in his introduction to Jesus' public ministry). Yet even some of this introductory material in Josephus's Life (especially Life 13-16) prepares his readers for his role in the war. One may likewise expect many features of Matthew's infancy narratives to prepare his audience for themes dominant throughout the Gospel.
If the genealogy indicates that Joseph descended from King David, this narrative explains in what sense this son of David (1:20) became Jesus' legal father by adoption, given the already existing tradition of the virgin birth in the early church.37 Matthew may also indicate that the one empowered by the Spirit (3:16) was born from the Spirit (1:18, 20).38 In this brief narrative, Matthew provides not only an account of the virgin birth but reinforcement of the Christian view of Scripture, Christ, and various principles of ethics for disciples of the kingdom.
Jesus' birth fulfills Scripture (1:22-23). Matthew emphasizes various points for his community, one of the most prominent being the authority of Scripture, which God fulfills with or without mortals' cooperation. For whatever other reasons God incarnated Jesus through a virgin, the only reason Matthew lists is "that Scripture might be fulfilled" (1:22).
This basic point is clearer than the actual nature of Matthew's argument from Isaiah. The Hebrew term 'almah in Isaiah 7:14 need not always mean "virgin" (on bethulah, see m. Nid. 1:4); thus most Jewish interpreters reject the messianic interpretation of this text (Berger and Wyschogrod 1978: 41). Indeed, because the earlier Greek version's term for young woman usually (albeit not always) meant "virgin," as in Matthew (cf. Benoit 1973/74: 1:5-7), later Jewish translators into Greek insisted on translating the term "young woman" (Longenecker 1975: 144n.25). Matthew, who regularly blends Greek and Hebrew text-types, must have known the possible ambiguity in Isaiah (rabbis often selected whichever textual tradition suited their argument at the moment).
Yet Matthew may not be claiming a simplistic correspondence with the Isaiah text anyway (see Willis 1978; Brennan 1964). Clearly the child of Isaiah 7:14 was an urgent sign to Ahaz and would still be young when the kings oppressing Ahaz were carried into captivity (Is 7:7-25); some have thus applied the prophecy to Hezekiah (Trypho in Justin Dial. 67, 77; Shotwell 1965: 75; Barnard 1967: 25; Kronholm 1989; cf. Bright 1981: 291). In the immediate context, however, Isaiah probably referred to his own son "Swift Is the Plunder, Speedy Is the Loot," who would perform exactly the same function as Immanuel (8:1-4). But because Isaiah's children were for "signs" (8:18), it was reasonable for Matthew to see in Immanuel (cf. 8:8) a sign pointing to the ultimate presence of God and triumph for Judah in the Davidic Messiah who would be born to Israel (9:1-7; see, independently, Blomberg 1992a: 60; Keener 1993: 48). Matthew's use of other texts in Isaiah 6-9 suggests that he may have in view the entire section from which he is citing (Ellis 1977: 201).39 Whatever Matthew's exegesis, his primary point is clear enough: Scripture reveals the divine plan, and those who trust its authority need doubt no miracle it promises.
Lessons from a righteous man's obedience (1:19, 24-25). But this pericope emphasizes another series of points no less clearly.
The model of Joseph's behavior here provides a number of exhortations for Matthew's audience. But Matthew's narrative may on the whole serve a more apologetic than ethically didactic function: by underlining the moral nobility of Joseph and Mary, he defends the purity of Jesus' origin and the piety of Jesus' upbringing; not only in biography (e.g., Jos. Life 7) but in speeches of praise and blame one's background could shed light on one's character. This apologetic strategy functions adequately because Matthew can presuppose a shared moral world with his community's opponents on the ethical matters in question. Biographies sometimes opened with the protagonist's parents or noble family background (e.g., Corn. Nep. 2 [Themistocles], 1.2; 7 [Alcibiades], 1.2); although such background did not always shape how a child turned out (Sail. Catil. 5.1; cf. 2 Chron 28:1; 29:2; 33:3; 34:2; 36:5), one's background could help define a hero's character (e.g., Horn. II. 20.215-41). One could insult parents by reviling their children or children by reviling their parents (e.g., Ps-Cicero Invective against Sallust 5.13: your father injured the nation by begetting you).
Still, one of Matthew's purposes in his Gospel is to transmit Jesus' ethics (28:19), and Jewish teachers taught by example as well as by words. Ancient biographers often taught positive or negative moral lessons by the characters they depicted (e.g., Diod. Sic. 15.1.1; 37.4.1; Aune 1987: 36; cf. Lyons 1985: 29-32);40 Matthew here portrays a righteous young man and woman as models for Christian living. Whereas Luke focuses more on Mary's experience (Lk 1:27-56; 2:19), Matthew confronts us directly with Joseph's.
First, in a culture that valued the wisdom of age, Joseph and Mary's youth makes their piety all the more striking. Although the point is less clear than in Luke (who plainly contrasts Mary with Zechariah in Lk 1:5-38), Matthew's selection of this young couple as his Gospel's first narrative protagonists is consonant with Matthew's confidence that the young and obscure could effectively model Christian virtue (18:2-6; 19:14; 21:15-16). Their youth is not stated, but Matthew's audience would probably assume it unless explicitly informed otherwise. Jewish teachers stressed the importance of marrying young, often to avoid temptation (see Keener 1991a: 73-74, 177-78). If rabbinic texts reflect the wider custom here, Jewish men in Joseph's day probably often married around the age of eighteen or twenty (m. 'Abot 5:21, 32; b. Qidd. 29b-30a; Qoh. Rab. 3:2, §3; cf. Davis 1958; Jeremias 1972: 129; also elsewhere, e.g., Lewis 1983: 55, though the Diaspora Jew in CI J 1:409, §553 marries around 22). Jewish women often married as young as twelve or fourteen, upon reaching puberty (Gen. Rab. 95 MSV; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 11:6; Jeremias 1969: 365),41 though some were older than twenty.42 Young men were expected to begin adult responsibilities around age thirteen,43 so Joseph at eighteen or twenty had already begun to fill that role and had likely already saved some money for his marriage.
Second, Matthew portrays a couple who, far from being immoral before marriage, model sexual restraint (cf. 5:27-30). In contrast to false assumptions opponents of Christianity might draw (and some eventually did draw) from the story of the virgin birth, Matthew wants his audience to know that Mary and Joseph, like most of their Jewish contemporaries, practiced sexual restraint before their marriage.
A couple normally would marry a year after their betrothal,44 but restraint was normal and expected in that society, and it is unclear how long Joseph and Mary have been engaged. In any case, Joseph apparently married Mary immediately after the angelic announcement, perhaps to minimize her shame (though cf. the longer account in Lk 2:5). A godly man would not sleep with his fiancée before marriage (Jos. and Asen. 21:1/20:8; contrast, e.g., P. Ryl. 154.4); despite their marriage, however, they refrained from marital relations until Jesus' birth (1:25 ) 45 not consummating their marriage according to ancient custom (cf. Ach. Tat. 5.20.5; 21.1).46 It is this point that would elicit the appreciation of ancient hearers because of its restraint. Even in many Middle Eastern societies outsiders assume that "if a man and woman are alone together for more than twenty minutes they have had intercourse" (Delaney 1987: 41); Jewish people expected immorality from Gentiles alone with a Jewish woman (m. 'Abod. Zar. 2:1). Jewish tradition before and after this period especially celebrated the sexual example of the biblical Joseph (Jub. 39:5-8; p. Hor. 2:6, §4; Gen. Rab. 87:6, 8; Lev. Rab. 23:10; Song Rab. 4:12, §1; cf. Teugels 1991); some later rabbis went even further with a story of a man forced by pagans to sleep with his betrothed his whole life, who never touched her because they lacked a valid Jewish marriage contract (b. Giţ. 57a). Under appropriate circumstances, pagan Gentiles could also respect the noble character implied in such abstention (Eurip. Electra 43-44, 255-61).
Especially because they were probably a poor couple (cf. Lk 2:24; Lev 12:8), we may assume that Joseph and Mary shared the same bed in the same room (cf. Tob 7:16; Goodman 1983: 30-31; Stambaugh and Balch 1986: 83).47 Married though they were, they controlled their passions for the honor of God's Messiah (cf. 19:12). Matthew may imply that they restrain themselves in obedience to Scripture, to fulfill literalistically Isaiah's promise that a virgin would both conceive and bear (1:22-23). By waiting till after Jesus' birth to have intercourse, hence failing to provide the bloody sheet that proved Mary's virginity on the wedding night (Deut 22:15; cf. p. Ketub. 1:1, §§7-8; Eickelman 1989: 174),48 Mary and Joseph also chose to confirm their shame in order to preserve the sanctity of God's call.
Third, while Matthew allows that divorce is just under some circumstances (cf. 5:32), he shares the Jewish and biblical view that infidelity is always unjust. By calling Joseph "righteous," Matthew invites his audience to learn from Joseph's character about fidelity, discipline, and preferring God's honor above one's own. Given the economic agreement involved, Jewish people rarely ended betrothals lightly (cf. perhaps Jos. and Asen. 23:3), and Joseph plans to do so only under the severest of circumstances.
For Joseph to "put Mary away" (1:19) meant that he would divorce her. To explain the necessity of divorce to end a betrothal, one must understand the significance of betrothal. As elsewhere in the Mediterranean world (e.g., Hom. Od. 4.5-12; Ovid Metam. 4.60-61; 9.715; Longus 3.30-31; 4.36; Ninus Romance fr. 1, A.1), fathers were guardians of their daughters' virginity, arranged their marriages, and "gave" them to their husbands (with some measure of barter in either direction; cf. Tob 7:13-15; Sir 7:24-25; Jub. 28:6-7).49 Witnesses and a symbolic act were essential for erusin, or Jewish betrothal;50 although Romans sometimes used "engagement rings," Judaism seems to have adopted this custom only later (Safrai 1974/76b: 756). Betrothal's function was primarily commercial (Finkelstein 1962: 1:46), but it was quite serious legally: dissolved only through divorce if both partners lived, betrothal similarly left the survivor of the man's death a widow (m. Ketub. 1:2; Yebam. 4:10; 6:4).51 Although a betrothed couple like Joseph and Mary did not live together or have intercourse, their union was as binding as marriage.52
The issue is not that Joseph fears to wed Mary because he recognizes the virgin conception (pace Gundry 1982: 22);53 the angel has not yet informed him that the Holy Spirit is the cause of her pregnancy (Mt 1:20), and he considers a divorce less shameful for her rather than more (1:19). Joseph plans to divorce Mary not because he believes that God caused her to conceive but because he assumes her to be guilty of unfaithfulness.
In contrast to most of modern Western culture, Joseph lived in a society where he had no option of giving Mary a second chance, even if he wanted to (which he presumably would not have). Jewish, Greek, and Roman law all demanded that a man divorce his wife if she were guilty of adultery (Keener 1991a: 31, 156; Gardner 1986: 89; Bockmuehl 1989; Justinian, Digest 48.5.1, pref.; Demosth. Against Neaera 87).54 Jewish law demanded that a man charge his wife immediately on discovery that she had not been a virgin (cf. p. Ketub. 1.4, §4); Roman law actually treated a husband who failed to divorce an unfaithful wife as a panderer exploiting his wife as a prostitute (Gardner 1986: 131-32; Richlin 1981: 227; cf. Ps-Phocyl. 177-78). Mediterranean society viewed with contempt the weakness of a man who let his love for his wife outweigh his appropriate honor in repudiating her (e.g., Diod. Sic. 32.10.9).
Perhaps Mary's family would have wished to have sent her away to prevent others from learning of her pregnancy (cf. Lk 1:39); the corruption of a virgin shamed her father, especially if she were betrothed (Parthenius L.R. 35.1, 3-4; Lev 21:9). But if Joseph knew, he was probably not alone, and word could spread quickly in a small town like Nazareth (cf. Lk 1:26) or Bethlehem. If Joseph married Mary and it was clear to anyone besides himself that she was pregnant, others would assume that he must have gotten her pregnant; otherwise, they would reason, he would surely divorce her for being unfaithful to him! While his town would not have viewed a betrothed couple's intercourse as seriously as adultery (cf. Deut. 22:14, 22), townspeople would have questioned the moral commitment of both parties.
Further, Joseph had little reason to trust Mary's innocence. On the historical level, to be sure, Joseph probably did not know Mary well and had little reason to trust her innocence. Jewish texts suggest that Galilean couples were allowed no privacy (hence neither chance for intercourse nor private conversation) together until the wedding (Safrai 1974/76b: 756-57; Finkelstein 1962: 1:45).55 Yet while we believe Luke preserves reliable information that Mary and Joseph were living in Galilee (Lk 1:26; see the Introduction on Luke's special sources), one reading Matthew without other tradition would assume that Jesus was probably conceived in Bethlehem (Mt 2:1). Matthew's omission of more specific information does not contradict the Lukan account, but members of his audience unaware of other traditions would probably hear the story as if Jesus were conceived in Judea, and might not even know the cultural differences traditionally posited between the two. Nevertheless, since a virgin birth had never before happened, Mary had not claimed rape, and Joseph had not had intercourse with her, he could assume only that she had had intercourse with another man. Thus he faced the pain of apparent betrayal in a world that considered adultery the ultimate theft — the stealing of another man's most precious possession, the undivided affection of his wife (Ps-Phocyl. 3; Keener 1991a: 31, 155); the emotional response to such betrayal was often quite serious (e.g., Parthenius L.R. 5.3). Because a wife's adultery could imply the husband's inadequacy or his family's poor choice of a mate, it shamed the husband as well (e.g., 2 Enoch 71:6-11; cf. Gilmore 1987: 4; Ps-Herodotus Life of Homer in Boring 1995: 40-41). From Joseph's standpoint within the narrative at this point, Mary's apparent betrayal had brought him shame.
Under these circumstances, Joseph was righteous in divorcing Mary; to fail to do so would violate law and custom, would bring enduring reproach on his household, and would constitute embracing as his wife one who had betrayed him in the worst manner conceivable in his culture. Given Jewish law and custom Matthew's readers would expect Joseph to remarry, and Matthew's words later in the Gospel support this probability (5:32; 19:9; cf. Keenerl991a: 36-37; Allison 1993a).
Fourth, Joseph models the principle of justice tempered by compassion. This is a principle that Matthew regards as central to the interpretive conflict between the ethics of Jesus and those of his followers' opponents (cf. 9:13). Matthew does not state that Joseph was righteous because he was divorcing Mary (though he makes clear that Joseph was not unrighteous for doing so). Rather, he emphasizes that Joseph was righteous for divorcing Mary privately — that is, for not bringing unnecessary shame on her.56
Jewish courts in this period could not execute capital sentences57 and would not have carried out the death penalty even though Jewish law prescribed it for sexual unfaithfulness (Deut 22:21-24; Jub. 30:8-9; Ps-Philo 25:10; Jos. Apion 2.201; Sifre Deut. 242.1.6; Sifra Qed. pq. 10.208.2.4; ARN 2 A; b. Sanh. 50b). Nor would such behavior likely provoke an illegal lynching in Jewish Palestine (in contrast to some traditional societies; cf. Delaney 1987 : 42).58 Nevertheless, the shame would be intense and deliberate (cf., e.g., Demosth. Against Neaera 86; Sen. Dial. 2.18.2; Plut. G.Q. 2, Mor. 29IF; b. Soţa 8b). Thus a zealously virtuous ancient Mediterranean family might even prefer their daughter's death to her defilement (Diod. Sic. 12.24.3-4; Dion. Hal. 11.37.5; Livy 3.44.4-3.48.9), and an ancient Mediterranean audience might consider virtuous a woman who, defiled against her will, preferred death to living with dishonor {Contest of Homer and Hesiod 323; Livy 1.58.12; Diod. Sic. 10.19.3; 15.54.3; Dion. Hal. 4.66.2-4; 4.67.1; 4.82.3; Dio Cassius R.H. 2.11.16-19). The more public the knowledge of her deed, the more public the humiliation of Mary and her family. Her premarital pregnancy had likely ruined any chance of her ever marrying (cf. Delaney 1987: 42), a horrible fate in an economically male-centered society where a woman's honor depended on her status vis-à-vis a man.
Yet Joseph might have profited from divorcing her publicly. By taking her to court Joseph could have impounded her dowry — the total assets she brought into the marriage59 — and perhaps recouped the bride price if he had paid one at betrothal (cf., e.g., B.G.U. 1052; P. Eleph. 1.6-8; Quint. Inst. Or. 7.4.11; Safrai 1974/76b: 790; Ferguson 1987: 55).60 In contrast, by forfeiting this economic reimbursement he could instead simply provide her a certificate of divorce in front of two or three witnesses61 — and so minimize her public dishonor. Even though Jewish tradition ruled that a wife could lose her dowry for infidelity or for as little as scolding her husband (m. Ketub. 7:6), in normal divorces where the wife was not charged she kept her dowry (Lewis 198 3 : 56).62 Although ancient readers would assume Joseph deeply wounded by what he believed to be Mary's betrayal (cf., e.g., Char. Chaer. 1.4.7), he acted out of compassion for this woman he cared about rather than from a zeal for vengeance or even economic remuneration (see 9:13; 12:7; cf. p. Ketub. 11:3, §2).
Fifth, Joseph values obedience to God above his own honor (cf. 7:21-27; 23:5-11). When God reveals the truth to Joseph, he immediately believes and obeys God's will, unbelievable as the truth would seem without a deep trust in God's power. Joseph's response to God's revelation reveals the depth of his trust in God, especially since the revelation was limited to a dream.63 Joseph was convinced enough by the revelation to believe what was on natural terms impossible (cf. Lk 1:37), and to obey God. This example, too, summons the reader to trust and obey God, responding differently than those who do not trust his word.64 Because Joseph alone received this revelation, outsiders in the story world would still think that he had gotten Mary pregnant before the wedding. He would remain an object of shame in a society dominated by the value of honor.65 Joseph's obedience to God cost him the right to value his own reputation.
Excursus on Dreams (1:20)
Dreams were often, though not always, regarded as sufficient grounds for faith. Whether in Greece and Macedonia (Horn. II. 1.63; 5.150; Virg. Aen. 4.556-57; 7.415-20; Ovid Metam. 9.685-701; 15.653-54; Paus. 4.19.5-6; 9.26.4; Longus 1.7; 2.23, 26-27; 3.27; 4.35; Appian R.H. 11.9.56; 12.12.83; Arrian Alex. 2.18.1; Babrius 136.3-4; Ach. Tat. 1.3.2; 4.1.4; 7.12.4; Char. Chaer. 1.12.5; 2.9.6; 3.7.4; 4.1.2; 5.5.5-7; 6.2.2; 6.8.3; cf. Orphic Hymn 85-87; Epidauros inscriptions; Hadas 1951: 184-85; Reinhold 1983: 35; Oberhelman 1979; Hanson 1980; Martin 1987: 48-50; Martin 1991), Rome (Tac. Ann. 2.14; Marc. Aur. Med. 1.17.8; van der Horst 1973: 221-22), Egypt (Ezek. Exag. 68-89; Sib. Or. 3.293; Philo Mig. 190; Deissmann 1978: 154; Lewis 1983: 99), Carthage (Dio Cass. bk. 13, fr. in Zonaras 8.22), the East (Herod. Hist. 1.34, 107, 127), Palestine (Jos. War 1.328; 2.116; Life 208-10), among later rabbis (ARN 40 A; 46, §§128-29 B; b. B. Bat. 10a; Ber. 55a-58a; Hag. 14b; Gen. Rab. 17:5; 44:17; 89:5-6, 8; Lev. Rab. 3:5; 34:12; Qoh. Rab. 1:1, §1; 3:2, §2; 5:2, §1; 5:6, §1; Lam. Rab. 1.1.16-18; Zeitlin 1975; Alexander 1995), or in magical papyri (PGM 4.2076-80, 2444-45, 2625, 3172; PDM Sup. 117-30), people believed that dreams conveyed divine messages. So compelling was trust in dreams' warnings that a fabricated dream reportedly precipitated an innocent man's execution (Dio Cassius R.H. 60.14.4-15.1; cf. Appian R.H. 12.2.9), and some warned of false dream-tellers and interpreters (Juv. Sat. 6.542-47; Lam. Rab. 1:1, §14-15; cf. Virg. Aen. 5.636).
God revealed things to biblical heroes in Jewish tradition as well (e.g., Gen 28:12; 37:5-9; Dan 2:19; cf. Jos. Ant. 2.13-16, 63-73), and later stories amplified the frequency of such revelations (1QapGen 19.14-23; Jub. 27:1-3; 32:1; 41:24; Ezek. Exag. 68-89; Jos. Ant. 6.38; 7.147; Ps-Philo 9:10; 42:3; 4 Ezra 10:59; Test. Abr. 4 A; 4, 6 B; Life of Adam 23:2/Apoc. Mos. 2:2; Endres 1987: 207). Perhaps most to the point here, God promised Moses' father in a dream that he would keep the infant Moses safe (Jos. Ant. 2.216-19).
Some dreams were especially believed to be sacred, namely, those experienced in a sacred place. The ancient Near Eastern practice of incubation — receiving a dream by sleeping in a temple (cf. Gen 15:12-13; 1 Sam 3:3-4; 1 Kings 3:4-5; Keret in ANET 143, KRT A i; Aqhat in ANET150, AQHT A i) — continued in the hellenistic and Roman periods (e.g., Diod. Sic. 1.25.3-4; 1.53.8; Paus. 1.34.5; 2.27.2; Herodian 4.8.3; Grant 1953: 16, 38; Oepke 1967: 223-24; Grant 1986: 66-67; cf. Rousselle 1985; in Josephus, Gnuse 1993). Later rabbis believed that revelatory dreams could be secured through fasting (p. Ketub. 12.3, §7) or their ill pronouncements revoked through fasting (Pesiq. Rab Kah. 28:2). Still, people realized that not all dreams were divine revelations, and those who were more skeptical dismissed most dreams from being revelations (Sir 34/31:1-8; Ep. Arist. 213-16; Jos. Apion 1.207-8; Horn. Od. 19.559-67; Herod. Hist. 7.12-19; Arist. Soul; Prophecy in Sleep; Artem. Oneir. 1.1; Herodian 2.9.3; cf. b. Hor. 13b; Cic. De Divin. 2.58.119-72.150; Diog. Laert. 6.2.43). Some dreams were even intended or regarded as divine deceptions (Horn. II. 2.20-21; Virg. Aen. 5.893-96; P. Par. 47).
Of all New Testament writers, especially Matthew stresses revelation through dreams (2:12, 13, 19, 22; 27:19). The character of the dream is noteworthy. Pagan (e.g., Horn. II. 23.65, 83-85; Eurip. Hecuba 30-34, 703-6; Virg. Aen. 1.353-54; 2.268-97, 772-94; 4.351-52; 5.721-23; Ovid Metam. 11.586-88, 635, 650-73; Apul. Metam. 8.8; 9.31; Plut. Bravery of Women, Mor. 252F; cf. Hom. Od. 4.795-839; 19.546-49; Appian R.H. 8.1.1; Arrian Alex. 7.30.2) and Jewish (ARN 40A; Pesiq. Rab. Kah. 11:23; p. Hag. 2:2, §5; Ketub. 12:3, §7; Sanh. 6:6, §2; Qoh. Rab. 9:10, §1; the earliest Christian example is Acts of Paul 11:6) dreams often included apparitions of deceased persons; like the biblical tradition, however, Matthew limited apparitions to angels (in Matthew's narrative, the angel of the Lord appears only in dreams until the appearance in 28:2); this account also lacks typical postbiblical expansions (see France 1985: 78).66
Jesus is the Savior (1:20-21). But while Matthew emphasizes the authority of Scripture through his citation of Isaiah and fidelity, commitment, and obedience through the example of Joseph, he also provides teaching about salvation through Christ. Even while Jesus is in Mary's womb, the angel declares that his name will be Yeshua (here in its Greek form lēsous, generally translated "Joshua" in the English Old Testament and "Jesus" in the New), which means "God is salvation" (e.g., Fenton 1977: 43; cf. Bultmann 1968: 291).67 Like "Joseph" and "John," "Yeshua" is among the common Jewish names attested on inscriptions from this period (cf. I1an 1987). But the symbolic use of names was common in the biblical tradition (e.g., Gen 41:51-52; Hos 1:4, 6, 9; Greeks also played on names, e.g., Hom. Od. 1.62; 5.340), and Jesus would bear this name because he would save his people from their sins (1:21). Jesus' other acts of "salvation"68 point to his ultimate redemption of "his people," which for Matthew still means Israel (e.g., 2:4, 6; 4:16, 23; 21:23; 27:64; cf. 10:6; 19:28; Lk 1:10; 2:10), echoing earlier biblical usage (e.g., 13:15; 15:8; also in early Jewish usage, e.g., Lives of the Prophets 2:1 [25 in Schermann, on Jeremiah]). Many of the quotations in Matthew's infancy narratives derive from passages stressing God's deliverance of his people from slavery (cf. Willis 1993). Matthew speaks of more than personal repentance; he evokes the Old Testament hope of the salvation of God's people, including the justice and peace of God's kingdom.
More than anything Matthew's narrative of the virgin birth, like every other event in Matthew, explains and exalts the character of the Lord he regularly worships. If Matthew finds implicit truth about Jesus throughout Israel's Bible, he expects his audience even more fully to hear what his own narratives declare about Jesus explicitly. In view of Matthew 18:20 and 28:20, Matthew clearly understands "God with us" in Isaiah 7:14 to mean that Jesus is truly God (Mt 1:23; Ridderbos 1974: 102).69 But as God "with us," Jesus is also the fully human one who "saves his people" by the cross. Matthew thus invites his audience to consider and worship the God who accepted the ultimate vulnerability, born as an infant to humiliated and probably relatively poor parents into a world hostile to his presence (cf. 2:1-16).
Pagans Worship Jesus (Matthew 2:1-12)
(Cf. perhaps Lk 2:8-20, although the accounts are probably unrelated.) Matthew confronts his audience in this passage with a summons to personal decision by contrasting the main characters, a practice that constituted a standard ancient literary device (synkrisis; cf., e.g., Shuler 1982: 50; Stanton 1993: 77-80, 83; in rhetoric, e.g., Demosthenes On the Embassy 174). The Magi and scribes function as composite characters, like the chorus in a Greek drama (Arist. Poetics 18.19, 1456a). The pagan astrologers worship Jesus; Israel's ruler seeks his death, acting like a pagan king; Jerusalem's religious elite — forerunners of Matthew's readers' opponents — take Jesus for granted. Matthew forces his audience to identify with the pagan Magi rather than with Herod or Jerusalem's religious elite, and hence to recognize God's interest in the Gentile mission. The God who sought servants from the pagan west like the Roman centurion (8:5-13) also sought previously pagan servants "from the east" (2:1; cf. Is 2:6) like the Magi (see 8:11).
Some see the passage as substantially reliable historically, leaving the burden of proof with the questioners (Hagner 1993: 25); others doubt even the birth at Bethlehem (e.g., Meier 1991a: 216), despite its attestation in both Gospels with infancy narratives, as well as (possibly derivative) echoes in early rabbinic disputes (Herford 1966: 253-55).70 Matthew's method elsewhere leads us to accept his dependence on the substance of his source; his source, however, is not available for more detailed historical examination.71
The Magi's identity may support the narrative's essential reliability: given the rampant attraction to astrology in their culture and official Jewish polemic against it, Matthew and his Jewish church would probably not have made up the story about Magi believing in Jesus (see Davies 1966b: 12), though they might put a preexisting story to good use. Given its probable earliness, the story more likely than not preserves a historical core; but with insufficient historical evidence to offer a further judgment, I will focus primarily on the narrative's theology, which is Matthew's focus in any case.
Matthew challenges prejudice against pagans (2:1-2). This narrative fits Matthew's theme of the Gentile mission (e.g., 1:3, 5-6; 3:9; 4:15; 8:10-12, 28). The first story after Jesus' birth opens with Magi who have traveled a long distance to offer homage to a new king born in Judea. Leaders in some realms often dispatched official representatives to congratulate new leaders in other realms (e.g., Jos. War 2.309; 4.498-501; Acts 25:13).72 The Magi enter Jerusalem with a large enough caravan to attract the city's attention (2:3; cf. Ruth 1:19) and to sustain them in comfort during the long journey from the East (cf. 2:16). (Caravans normally provided protection from robbers and evil spirits, especially at night; see, e.g., t. 'Abod. Zar. 1:16.) The Magi must have assumed that they would find the newborn king in Herod's palace in Jerusalem.
Magi were Persian astrologers, and that they would respond to celestial phenomena in the manner in which the text depicts is not implausible (A. B. Bruce 1979: 1:71; Allen 1977: 14).
Excursus on Magi
Against some unlikely alternative proposals,73 most scholars recognize that these Magi belonged to a priestly caste of Eastern astrologers.74 In most accounts Magi hail from Persia or Babylon (e.g., Cic. De Leg. 2.10.26; Philo Spec. 3.100; Prob. 74; Dio Chrys. Or. 36; Lucian Runaways 8; Diog. Laert. 8.1.3; Char. Chaer. 5.9.4; Philost. VA. 1.24).75
The Chaldeans or Persians were known for divination (Apul. Metam. 2.12; Arrian Alex. 7.18.2, 4) and astrology (Diod. Sic. 1.81.6; 2.31.8; Juv. Sat. 6.553-64; Aul. Gel. 1.9.6; 14.1; Philo Dreams 1.53; Sib. Or. 3.227; Pesiq. R. 14:8) and the Greeks and Romans regularly associated Chaldean Magi with magical powers (Char. Chaer. 5.9.4), prediction of the future (Marc. Aur. Med. 3.3.1; Arrian Alex. 7.16.5), dream interpretation (Herod. Hist. 1.107, 127; 7.12-19; cf. Jos. Ant. 10.195-203; Cic. Divin. 1.46), or specially regarded wisdom (Diog. Laert. 8.1.3; 9.11.61; Dio Chrys. Or. 36.38-48; Lucian Runaways 8; cf. Cic. De Leg. 2.10.26; Philo Prob. 74; Spec. 3.100; Philost. V.A. 1.24).76 Roman officials are known to have received Magi with honor (Albright and Mann 1971: 14; Schweizer 1975: 37), and Herod was typically generous to pagan cities (see Josephus 1982: 90-93). A star allegedly guided Aeneas to the place where he was to found Rome (Virg. Aen. 2.694; Hagner 1993: 25), and a goddess caused a trail of heavenly light or fire to guide the Argonauts as long as they needed it (Ap. Rhod. 294-97, 301-2).
Whatever these Magi's religious commitments, Matthew's audience would probably recall the Magi of their Greek translation of the OT: they were Daniel's enemies, whom Daniel's narratives portray in a negative light as selfish, incompetent, and brutal pagans (cf. Dan 2:2, 10). This is even clearer in some later Greek versions of the Old Testament (Theodotion: Dan 1:20; 2:2, 10, 27; 4:7; 5:7, 11, 15; Aquila: Deut 18:11; 1 Sam 28:3, 7-9; 2 Kings 21:6; 23:24; Is 29:4); see also Josephus Ant. 10.195-203. Here a group of people who were part of the court of the Persian ruler, whose role included honoring his reign ("king of kings," Suet. Caligula 5; Plut. Pompey 38.2; Arrian Alex. 6.29.11; Deissmann 1978: 363), honor Jesus instead (Horsley 1993a: 58-59).77
Without condoning astrology, Matthew's narrative challenges his audience's prejudice against outsiders to their faith (cf. also 8:5-13; 15:21-28): even the most pagan of pagans may respond to Jesus if given the opportunity (cf. Jonah 1:13-16; 3:6-4:1, 10-11). For one special event in history, the God who rules the heavens chose to reveal himself where pagans were looking (cf. Acts 19:12, 15-20; A. B. Bruce 1979: 1:70). Yet even supernatural guidance like that of the star can take the astrologers only so far; for more specific direction they must ask the leaders in Jerusalem where the king is to be born (2:2). That is, their celestial revelation was only partial; they must finally submit to God's revelation in the Scriptures, preserved by the Jewish people (cf. Meier 1980: 11).
Matthew challenges prejudice that unjustly accommodates political power (2:3, 7-8). The issues implied in this passage are not merely ethnic; they also address social stratification. Magi held a significant political role in Persia (Horsley 1993a: 53-54), but this would probably not be their characteristic that would be first evident to Matthew's audience.78 By contrast, many would remember Herod as a client-king of the Romans (Horsley 1993a: 40-44); if Persius Sat. 5.180 refers to Herod the Great (so LCL 386-87n.4), Herod's power was recalled as far away as Rome in the second half of the first century. Herod's oppressive taxation and tyranny (Horsley 1993a: 44-45) had invited resistance, hence longing for the coming of Israel's rightful ruler (Horsley 1993a: 46-49). Likewise the priests and scribes of Herod's late reign represent the ruling class, whose interests were allied with those of Herod (Horsley 1993a: 51).
That Herod is dismayed by the Magi's announcement is not surprising (2:3); astrology was widespread, especially in Greco-Roman paganism.79 The Roman world respected astrological confirmations of its rulers (cf. Oster 1982), and emperors feared astrological predictions of their demise (Tac. Ann. 14.22; Suet. Nero 36). Although the Hebrew Bible forbade divination (Deut 18:9-13), including astrology (Is 47:13; cf. Deut 4:19), it had infiltrated much of Jewish thought and practice by this period. Although all observant Jews affirmed that God was sovereign over the stars (Jos. Ant. 1.156; Philo Op. Mund. 46; Spec. Leg. 1.13), some accepted the stars' relative authority over the nations (later, e.g., Test. Sol. 8:2-4). Many more, whether or not they regarded astrology as sinful, accepted astrology's accuracy in prediction, at least for the nations (e.g., Jos. Ant. 1.69; 18.216-17; Philo Creation 58-59; t. Qidd. 5.17; Cohen 1982). Thus, despite opposition to astrology,80 most Jewish people seem to have acquiesced to its pervasive influence in late antiquity.81 Herod thus had every reason to believe the astrologers' report (2:3).
Believing it led to his dismay, for there was little room for two kings in his realm: though he was Idumean by birth (Jos. War 1.123; 1.313), he considered himself "king of the Jews."82 A cosmic signal of another ruler would thus necessarily indicate his own demise. Comets (like Halley's, ca. 12 B.C.) and analogous celestial signs usually signaled the death of one ruler and the consequent rise of another (e.g., Suet. Vesp. 23; Lucan C.W. 1.529; cf. Pliny N.H. 2.23.92 in Malina and Rohrbaugh 1992: 32; Artem. Oneir. 2.36; on ancient comet interpretation, see Keyser 1994). Thus tradition declared that a constellation informed Magi of Alexander the Great's birth as future ruler of Asia (Allen 1977: 14), and other sources contend that the heavens offered similar predictions for Mithridates and Abraham (Albright and Mann 1971: 14; cf. Montefiore 1968: 2:9).83 Contemporary writers often noted heavenly signs portending major events (e.g., Tac. Ann. 14.22; Hist. 5.13; Suet. Vesp. 23; Sib. Or. 3.334-37; 5.155-56); Matthew himself may draw a parallel here with the sign of Jesus' coming kingdom (24:29-30).84 Magi reportedly predicted the rise of other rulers (Pliny N.H. 1.47; 30.6; Boring 1995: 42). Nor need this have been Herod's first encounter with supernatural signals of competition; other peoples in the East anticipated a coming king who would begin an age of universal peace (cf. Schweizer 1975: 38).
News of a star signaling a new ruler in his realm would thus undoubtedly trouble a ruler as paranoid as Herod (compare Suet. Nero 36); other rulers also proved paranoid about astrologers (e.g., MacMullen 1966: 133; Kee 1980: 71), and some had been ready to kill their own descendants to keep the throne (Herod. Hist. 1.107-10; see comment below on 2:16).85 That the Magi seek one "born King of the Jews" may further underline the challenge to Herod, who was widely known to have achieved rule by warfare and politics, not by birth (Overman 1996: 43). If Herod had actually permitted some to hail him as a deity (cf. OGIS 415) and, more likely, had rewarded prophets who appeared to validate his reign (Jos. Ant. 15.373-79; Witherington 1990: 93 suggests that this validation was intended in a messianic sense) or otherwise revealed messianic aspirations (Agourides 1992), one can understand just what sort of threat the Magi's announcement represented to him. That all Jerusalem was troubled with him (a strong term; cf. 14:26) may indicate the degree to which they felt threatened by the possibility of political instability more than they longed for a deliverer.
In Jewish tradition, both Pharaoh and his people feared when they learned in advance of the coming of Israel's deliverer (Jos. Ant. 2.206; Allison 1993b: 146) — again casting Judea's leadership as equivalent to the oppressors of Israel's true remnant.86 Matthew's community probably was still struggling with people of whom Herod and the Jerusalemites would remind them — people too concerned about their own political and religious status or stability to acknowledge Jesus as rightful ruler over their people.
Matthew challenges what he regards as spiritual complacency. Not knowing himself where the king would be born, Herod gathers the religious experts (2:4), most of whom by this period were loyal to his agendas (cf. Jos. Ant. 15.2, 5). The successors of these experts, the chief priests (cf. 16:21; 21:15, 23, 45; 26:3; 27:41, 62; 28:11) and scribes (cf. 7:29; 15:1; 17:10; 21:15; 23:2; 26:3; 27:41), in the following generation frequently become Jesus' enemies; someone hearing the Gospel more than once would therefore view this group negatively.
These experts immediately identify the place where the Messiah will be born on the basis of Micah 5:2 (Mt 2:5-6).87 Contemporary Judaism had not forgotten Micah's indication that the Messiah would hail from Bethlehem (Jn 7:42; Edgar 1958: 48; cf. Jeremias 1969: 277; Justin 1 Apol. 34); those who later polemicized against the Christian appeal to the Bethlehem prophecy did so on other grounds (Gen. Rab. 82:10; cf. Herford 1966: 253-55; Bagatti 1971: 15). Nor did Matthew's opponents deny that Jesus had been born there (Stauffer 1960: 20); as early as the second century Bethlehemites knew the exact cave where Jesus had reportedly been born in Luke's manger (cf. Jerome Letter 58 to Paulinus 3; Paulinus of Nola Epistle 31.3; Stauffer 1960: 21; Finegan 1969: 20-23).88
But while the religious leaders know where the Messiah will be born, they do not join the Magi in their quest (cf. also Filson 1960: 57). These were the religious leaders, but they failed to act on their most critical biblical knowledge. Although these authorities did not desire to kill Jesus as Herod did, their successors a generation later did seek his death (26:57, 59), and their Judean successors in Matthew's day apparently resent Jesus' followers. As I argue in my comments on chapter 23, Matthew also intended his vehemence against the religious establishment of his day as a warning to his fellow disciples. Matthew is emphatic that the sin of taking Jesus for granted, like the sin of wishing him dead, is a sin that can especially characterize those who claim to be God's servants.
The pagans worship Jesus (2:9-11). A road led south to Bethlehem, which was about six miles from Jerusalem (cf. Monson 1979: 1-1; Gardner 1981: 172-73). Without a tail extending to earth as suggested in some modern artistic portrayals of the event, a celestial light could have pointed them only in the most general way or by symbolic means toward Judea, and could now "move" before them to Bethlehem (2:9-10) only in the sense that stationary objects in the sky appeared to move as travelers did. Why then does Matthew describe the star's "movement" in these terms? Possibly the moving star in Matthew alludes to the pillar of cloud guiding Israel in the wilderness (Soares Prabhu 1976: 280), suggesting that however the astrologers viewed the star, God used it in a manner reminiscent of Israel's salvation history.89
They find Jesus in Bethlehem, probably in a house.90 That the Magi offer Jesus both homage and standard gifts from the East (2:11) fits Eastern practices (Montefiore 1968: 2:9; cf. ANET 286; contrast Bultmann 1968: 292); frankincense and myrrh were often used in royal courts (Van Beek 1960; cf. Fenton 1977: 47; Argyle 1963: 31); they were items of great cost (Rev 18:13; Test. Job 32:10/11; Ps 45:8; Song 3:6; 4:6).91 Joy was customary at special public events (1 Sam 18:6; 2 Chron 30:26), such as the birth or accession of a ruler (1 Kings 1:40; 2 Kings 11:20), which may be relevant at Jesus' resurrection (28:8); Matthew might then be alluding to the good news to Israel in the first line of Zechariah 9:9, although he omits this in 21:5 (cf. Zeph 3:14). For Matthew, joy is the appropriate response to the kingdom (5:12; 13:44; 25:21, 23), although it carries no guarantee of perseverance (13:20-21).
Some scholars find in the Magi's homage to Jesus a reflection of biblical language alluding to the pilgrimage and homage of nations in Psalm 72:10 and/or Isaiah 60:6,92 or to the Queen of Sheba visiting Solomon (1 Kings 10:1-13), or to all three texts (Soares Prabhu 1976: 281; Gundry 1982: 32). A late midrash on the Queen of Sheba story includes a miraculous star (Brans 1961). If Matthew has Psalm 72 or 1 Kings 10 in mind, his narrative would portray Jesus as King Solomon's greatest son (cf. Mt 1:6-7; 12:42).93
At any rate, the threefold repetition of homage (2:2, 8, 11) reinforces the point of the narrative: if Israel will not honor Jesus, the Gentiles will (Harrington 1982: 17). Homage to Jesus also reflects some recognition of his identity (e.g., 8:2; 9:18; 14:33; 15:25), climaxing in the homage of 28:9, 17, a context that declares Jesus' royal authority equivalent to the Father's (28:18-20; cf. 4:10; Meier 1980: 11; Edwards 1987).94 Prostration was standard before Eastern rulers (Char. Chaer. 5.2.2), and Diaspora Jews considered it an appropriate gesture of respect before officials (3 Macc 5:50; Test. Jos. 13:5; cf. Jos. and Asen. 5:7/10); but Matthew implies more than this. Probably the Magi narrative already implies divine honor of some sort; if anything, Persians would have a greater tendency to see obeisance as more than mortal respect more fully than Palestinian Jews would (cf. Arrian Alex. 4.11.8; Corn. Nep. 9 [Conon], 3.3; Esth 3:2).95
That the Magi needed a supernatural revelation to warn them not to return by way of Jerusalem (2:12) suggests their innocent naiveté.96 Even had the Magi (or, less likely, Matthew's audience) known nothing of Herod's character (see comment on 2:16), few kings would be ready to surrender their own rule to one whom some foreigners hailed as king! Herod's "secret" meeting with them (2:7; in a positive sense, cf. 1:19) should have been as suspicious as the Sanhedrin's secret meeting in 26:3-5 (Gundry 1982: 30; cf. Prov 17:7). Their innocence compared to Herod's murderous shrewdness again reminds Matthew's readers not to prejudge the appropriate recipients of the gospel (cf. 13:3-23).
The Persecuted Child (Matthew 2:13-18)
Little evidence sheds light on the correspondence between Matthew's account here and the historical data behind it. Specific arguments both for and against its reliability are weak and rest primarily on one's broader critical presuppositions. 1 will summarize here what little extant historical evidence could possibly prove relevant to this pericope.
Second-century Jewish tradition, perhaps based on Christian claims (besides Matthew, compare later "infancy Gospels" in Hennecke 1963: 410-13), mentions Jesus' stay in Egypt, which it associates with the sorcery Jewish people felt prevailed there (Dalman 1973: 33; Plummer 1910: 17).97 Egyptian Christians undoubtedly developed eagerly the tradition of Jesus' stay there, but a first-century origin for their tradition is likely. In the first century Egypt boasted a large Jewish population, including perhaps one-third of Alexandria (cf. Stambaugh and Balch 1986: 165-67; see CP J, passim), and in this period many other Jews sought refuge there (Harrington 1982: 18; cf. 1 Kings 11:17, 40; Jer 26:21).98 But early in the second century the Jewish community in Egypt, already unpopular with the Greeks (Jos. Apion 2.32), was virtually annihilated or exiled in response to a Jewish uprising; by the mid-second century, with memories of Egyptian Jewry fading, creation of a Jewish-Christian tradition there would be less likely. At the same time, their first-century source could simply be Matthew's Gospel. It was surely circulating in Egypt by then and could have provided the basis for the tradition; further, Egypt's large first-century Jewish population lacked reason to preserve a tradition about one more immigrant family.99
One can more easily venture comment, however, on Matthew's literary agenda.
God protects Jesus and his family. Matthew here narrates God's protection for Jesus (2:13-15) and Herod's brutal massacre of other children (2:16-18). Divine protection could function as divine vindication in ancient narratives;100 a similar narrative about Moses likewise exalted him (Jos. Ant. 2.205-37).
This narrative may first imply that Jesus identifies with his people's heritage (2:13-15). Jesus appears as the promised one greater than Moses (Deut 18:18; cf. Mt 4:2; 17:2) and the heir of God's call to Israel.101 Ancient literature is replete with stories of divine children overcoming superhuman opposition (see Caird 1966: 147-48; Beasley-Murray 1974: 192-94), as well as of other babies (e.g., Cyrus and Romulus) miraculously preserved by fate for their future destiny (e.g., Appian R.H. 1.1.2; for a listing, see Bultmann 1968: 293).102 In a world of superhuman tragedies and human brutality (emphasized in texts influenced by the Greek tragic genre), the story of a divinely protected fugitive who will ultimately triumph over those forces nurtures hope.
But this narrative most closely recalls the story of Moses. Some have seen in Herod's desire to kill Jesus a parallel with Laban's desire to kill Jacob in Jewish tradition (Tuñí 1972; cf. Meier 1980: 13), but a parallel between Moses and Jesus is much clearer (Davies 1966b: 15; Gundry 1975: 209; cf. Ellis 1974: 29). Some points in Matthew's story parallel extrabiblical Jewish tradition about Moses' birth as well: a "scribe" predicted to Pharaoh the birth of Israel's deliverer, but a dream warned Moses' father to protect him (see Jos. Ant. 2.205-17, 234-36).103 Jesus goes to Egypt like Israel under the first "Joseph" (so Patte 1982: 37; Goulder 1964: 3; Gundry 1982: 33), and, like Pharaoh, Herod slays male Israelite children (Ex 1:16-2:5; Ps-Philo 9:1).104
The Greek version of the Old Testament first uses Matthew's word for "fled" in Exodus 2:15, when Moses fled from Pharaoh in Egypt (cf. Fenton 1977: 48). Infanticide (Boer 1979: 98-99, 113, 116; Rawson 1986a: 172) and, more frequently, child abandonment (Soph. Oed. Rex 717-19; Quint. Inst. Or. 7.1.14; Juv. Sat. 6.602-9; Gardner 1986: 6) constituted typically pagan offenses that the Jewish people despised (e.g., Wis 12:5-6; 14:23; Ps-Philo 2:10; 4:16). In their tradition only such pagan evildoers as Antiochus Epiphanes had repeated Pharaoh's murder of Israelite babies (1 Macc 1:60-61; 2 Macc 6:10; 8:4). Part of the moral of the story is therefore how it reflects on rulers among God's people: if a "king of the Jews" can be a new Pharaoh, Matthew's community is right not to trust all the community leaders of its day. Perhaps the same reality may challenge his audience's prejudice against Gentiles, reminding his audience of their opposition from fellow Jews. It is also possible, though less certain, that Herod's behavior may summon them to examine the sins of their own people first (cf. 7:1-5); pagan Magi act like God's servants, whereas the ruler of God's people acts like a pagan tyrant. Yet if the text looks back to Exodus, it also looks forward to the flight of 10:23 (cf. 24:16): the suffering of the persecuted church committed to proclaiming the gospel.105
Most significantly, Matthew teaches in this passage that in Jesus the anticipated salvation of God's people has begun. In Hosea, the past exodus with which Jesus identified (Hos 11:1) was the historic sign of the covenant anticipating a new exodus (Hos 11:11). By quoting the beginning of the passage, Matthew evokes the passage as a whole and shows how Jesus is the forerunner of the new exodus, the time of ultimate salvation. Jesus has cut a new way through the wilderness to the land of promise. Because Matthew's audience's opponents defined them as schismatics, it was easy for the disciples to become a defensive minority with a sectarian mind-set. Instead, Matthew uses God's pattern in history to remind them that their call and destiny must define them: they are the people of the new exodus, the people of the kingdom.
Matthew declares (2:15) that Jesus' sojourn in Egypt fulfills Hosea's prophecy, "Out of Egypt I called my son" (11:1).106 But this second line in Hosea's verse directly parallels the first, "When Israel was young I loved him." The Scriptures often called Israel God's son (e.g., Ex 4:22) or children (e.g., Deut 32:19), and both the early versions and the rabbis understood the text as referring to Israel (cf., e.g., Daube 1973: 191). Matthew's ability to quote Scripture accurately (here he ignores what was probably the most common Greek version's interpretive translation — "his children" — and translates the Hebrew directly) suggests that he and his community knew the context very well. If our later evidence is relevant, those who quoted Scriptures generally alluded to the context of those texts in the memories of the hearers (e.g., m. 'Abot. 3:2; p. Qidd. 4:1, §2). Matthew's allusions in the context (e.g., the departure at night may recall Jewish Passover tradition, Patte 1987: 37) suggest that Matthew understood Hosea 11:1 as a reference to the exodus as well.107
Matthew expects all his readers to understand the primacy of Scripture and the centrality of Christ's mission in Scripture; but he expects his more sophisticated readers to catch his allusion to Israel's history as well. Contemporary commentators thus generally recognize that by citing Hosea 11:1, Matthew evokes the new exodus in Jesus, who embodies Israel's purpose and mission.108 Matthew emphasizes Jesus' solidarity with Israel elsewhere as well (cf. 1:1; 4:2); like the messianic servant (Is 49:5-7; 52:13-53:12) who fulfills the mission Israel had failed (Is 42:18-22), Jesus fulfills Israel's call (cf. Is 42:1-4; 43:10; 49:1-3). But like Stephen in Acts 7, Matthew emphasizes another point as well: God declares Jesus' Sonship in his return from Egypt, that is, outside the Promised Land (Patte 1987: 38). Jesus is not for Judea alone, but for all peoples.
Yet Matthew also teaches that Jesus was a refugee (2:13-14). Jesus' miraculous escape here should not lead us to overlook the nature of his deliverance (cf., e.g., 1 Kings 17:2-6). Jesus and his family survived, but they survived as refugees, abandoning any livelihood Joseph may have developed in Bethlehem and undoubtedly traveling lightly. The passage thus foreshadows Jesus' rejection as an adult: the Son of Man already lacked a place to lay his head (8:20; so also Davies and Allison 1988: 259). Although travel within Egypt was easy for visitors with means (Casson 1974: 257), many Judeans had traditionally regarded refuge in Egypt as a last resort (2 Macc 5:8-9). Most importantly, God commanded Israel not to oppress refugees, remembering that they had been refugees in Egypt (Ex 23:9).
Like other episodes in Matthew's first narrative section (1:18-4:25), the accounts of Jesus' childhood fulfill Scripture, with at least one explicit quotation per section. But all four stories in chapter 2 also surround place names rooted in Scripture; Jesus is "forced to wander from place to place," king of a world hostile to him (Schweizer 1975: 41, 45; cf. Harrington 1982: 16).109 The world's treatment of Jesus likewise promises little better for his followers (10:23-25); they must expect hostility, false accusations, and even death for Jesus' name (10:17-39; 13:21; 16:24-27; 24:9-14; cf. 1 Thess 3:3; 1 Pet 4:12-13). This also fits the motif of withdrawal from opposition that characterizes Matthew's narrative and undoubtedly instructs his community.110
Matthew denounces a ruler's injustice (2:16-17). The narrative reveals the severity of political conflict, a conflict actually escalated by Jesus' presence (cf. Horsley 1988). Matthew's narrative world testifies to God's intervention on behalf of his plan, but it does not encourage a Utopian idealism that ignores the fact that God often does not intervene in behalf of his own (cf. Tupper 1991; Erickson 1996). The narrative laments injustice (2:18) rather than creates an ideal story world in which it does not exist. Five times Matthew mentions "the child and his mother," thereby underlining the senselessness of Herod's paranoid brutality (cf. Stanton 1993: 182); texts sometimes emphasized the physical powerlessness of the oppressed to underline the act's heinousness (cf., e.g., the murdered emperors as "old men" in Herodian 8.8.6). Matthew's mention of the child's "mother" may also help him highlight the virgin birth, though given Joseph's role as the one who raised Jesus, ancients would have understood the title "father" as applied to him despite the virgin birth (Eurip. Madness of Heracles 587, 1192; Select Papyri 3.476-77, §116.7; Lk 2:27, 41).
We lack a concrete historical record for the episode of the infants' slaughter (except a garbled and probably derivative account from Macrobius; Ramsay 1898: 219), but it certainly fits Herod's character (France 1979; cf. Plummer 1910: 16; Soares Prabhu 1976: 227-28; Stauffer 1960: 35-41). When Herod's young brother-in-law was becoming too popular, he had a "drowning accident" in what archaeology shows was a rather shallow pool (cf. Jos. War 1.437); later, Herod had falsely suspected officials cudgeled to death (War 1.550-51). Wrongly suspecting two of his sons of plotting against him, he had them strangled (Ant. 16.394; War 1.550-51; though such palace intrigues were not limited to the Herod family — Livy 40.56.9). Likewise, five days before his own death Herod, on his own deathbed, had a more treacherous, Absalom-like son executed (Ant. 17.187, 191; War 1.664-65). Thus many modern writers repeat the probably apocryphal story that Augustus remarked, "Better to be Herod's pig than his son" (e.g., Ramsay 1898: 219-20).111
Nor were Herod's atrocities limited to contenders for his throne. In a fit of jealous rage (which he later regretted) he had his favorite wife strangled (War 1.443-44); she turned out to be innocent of the crime of which he had accused her. He had religious men who had tampered with his golden eagle burned alive, and many thought his own increased physical agony afterward was judgment for this act (War 1.655-56; Ant. 17.167-69). Fearing lest his people would not mourn at his death, he reportedly ordered that nobles from throughout the land be executed when he died to ensure mourning on that day (Ant. 17.174-79; War 1.659-60). (Instead they were freed, leading to rejoicing — War 1.666.) It is possible that he also engaged in persecutions outside the scope of Josephus's sources, as in the repression of the wilderness Essenes (Fritsch 1956: 23-24). In an era of many, highly placed political murders, the execution of perhaps twenty children in a small town would warrant little attention (see France 1979: 114-19).112
Although Josephus readily lists Herod's atrocities, most of his reports surround the royal house or events known on a national scale; it is not improbable that Herod was no less brutal when acting out of range of Josephus's sources (cf., e.g., Carson 1984b: 94; pace Mason 1992: 97). Herod could even have personally dispatched soldiers from his fortress-palace called the Herodium (on which see Jos. War 1.419-20; Netzer 1983; Vardaman 1975; Corbo 1989; Netzer 1989); this fortress was four miles southeast of Bethlehem and visible from there (cf. Finegan 1969: 18). The event is thus neither historically documented nor historically implausible.
Matthew does not simply report this act of injustice dispassionately, any more than later rabbis who recounted the horrors at Bethar and thereby expressed hatred toward Rome and lamentation for their people (e.g., p. Ta'an. 4:5, §10: Lam. Rab. 2:2, §4). Ancient rhetoric urged careful selection of explanatory texts, and Matthew chooses an ancient lament from one of the most sorrowful times of his people's history. Jeremiah 31:15 spoke of Rachel weeping for her children, poetically describing the favored mother of Benjamin (standing for all Judah) mourning because her descendants were led into exile (cf. Montefiore 1968: 2:10-11).113 Rachel had been buried in Bethlehem (Gen 35:19), some six miles south of Jerusalem; Ramah was roughly six miles to the north of Jerusalem, on the road by which the Babylonians would lead the captive Judeans from their land (cf. Fenton 1977: 49). Some later rabbis even said that Jacob buried Rachel in Bethlehem so that she could pray for the exiles when they later passed that way (Gen. Rab. 82:10; 97 MSV; Pesiq. R. 3:4; cf. Lam. Rab. Proem 24). Matthew may connect the two passages (Gen 35:19; Jer 31:15) by using "Rachel" as a common link (using the Jewish interpretive method gezerah shewah). Rachel, who wept from her grave in Bethlehem during the captivity, was now weeping at another, nearer crisis significant in salvation history (cf. 1:12, 17; cf. Longenecker 1975: 145).
More important than the specific nuances that recall Jesus' identification with the time of Israel's exile, the context in Jeremiah 31 also implies future hope.114 Rachel weeps for her children, but God comforts her, promising the restoration of his people (Jer 31:15-17), because Israel is "my dear son, the child in whom I delight" (31:20; cf. again Mt 2:15). This time of new salvation would be the time of a new covenant (31:31-34). The painful events of Jesus' persecuted childhood are the anvil on which God would forge the fulfillment of his promises to his people, just as the cross would usher in the new covenant (26:28).
Although Jesus, like Jeremiah (Jer 40:1-6), was not an object of judgment and the text applies to Israel as a whole, this text shows that God called his son Jesus to identify with the suffering and exile of his people (cf. 1:12, 17; cf. Jer 43:5-7) as he identified with their exodus (Mt 2:15). Israel's history points to Jesus, and God declares Jesus' solidarity with Israel's history, an important fact to Matthew's readers. Even when Israel was disobedient and merited judgment from oppressors, God's servants lamented and God reserved a promise of hope for his people.
Settling in Nazareth (2:19-23)
Cf. Lk 2:39-40. Whereas modern Western readers are most interested in a series of neat, concise theological statements, Matthew's contemporaries could learn no less about Jesus' character and how to defend their faith on the basis of more concrete historical forms.
God grants a temporary respite from trouble (2:19-20). Although Jesus would face more persecution in his adult years, Herod's death granted him a time of relative respite until his public ministry.115 Although Matthew mentions Herod's murder of the children, he notes Herod's own death three times — indicating that God alone holds the ultimate power of life and death (Patte 1987: 36). To oppressed disciples, whether persecuted for their faith (Mt 10:22; 1 Pet 4:13-14) or repressed for other unjust reasons (Mt 5:39-41; Jas 5:1 -7), this reminder of the oppressors' mortality is a reminder that all trials are temporary and that their loving Father is in control (Mt 10:28-31; cf. 1 Pet 5:10).
The angelic orders to return to Eretz-Israel because those seeking the child's life were dead (2:19-21) explicitly recall Exodus 4:19-20, as scholars generally observe (Argyle 1963: 33; Montefiore 1968: 2:11; Soares Prabhu 1976: 212-13; Allison 1993b: 142-44).116 All Jewish hearers remotely familiar with the Moses story would have recognized the allusion; like Moses, Jesus had outlived his persecutor and would lead his people to salvation (cf. 1:21; Acts 7:35).
God provides wisdom to guard the family from a potential danger (2:21-22). A few days before Herod's death, Archelaus, his son by a Samaritan wife (Jos. Ant. 17.20), was named ruler (Schürer 1961: 158). Sharing all his father's negative qualities while lacking his administrative abilities, he quickly provoked the opposition of many of the people (Suet. Tib. 8; Jos. Ant. 17.311-17). Although he maintained his position as ethnarch for some time, the opposition of A.D. 6 led to his banishment to Vienna in Gaul (Strabo Geog. 16.2.46; Jos. Ant. 17.342-44; Dio Cassius R.H. 55.27.6; cf. F. F. Bruce 1972b: 24; Hoehner 1972: 103-5). Given Archelaus's character, Joseph was wise to avoid Judea (cf. Prov 22:3; 27:12); God responded to Joseph's fear with another revelation (Mt 2:22). Meier argues that whereas Luke has Joseph's family migrate to Judea for Jesus' birth, Bethlehem was Jesus' home in Matthew; he thus ministered in exile in Galilee and returned home only to die in the Passion Narrative (Meier 1980: 16).
It is God's plan, not an accident, that they settle in an obscure place (2:23). Matthew does not report why the family chose to settle in Nazareth in particular; Luke indicates that they were originally from there (Lk 2:39-40; archaeological data suggest that many Judeans had settled in the Nazareth area). Matthew is more interested in the ultimate significance of their choice of Nazareth.
Nazareth was politically insignificant. In contrast to the two major cities of Galilee, Sepphoris and Tiberias,117 Nazareth was, though located near Sepphoris and major trade routes, "a tiny agricultural village," like many Galilean towns. According to the high, earlier estimates it boasted a population of as many as 1,600-2,000 inhabitants.118 The more recent and probably more reliable estimates suggest perhaps five hundred inhabitants (Stanton 1993: 112; Horsley 1995: 193); in any case, a village of fewer than two thousand people would be quite small by modern urban standards.119 Because it was an uneventful town, urbanites would regard it an inappropriate place of origin for a Messiah (also France 1985: 71, 89); civic rivalry, which was common in antiquity (e.g., Acts 21:39; MacMullen 1974: 58-59; Yamauchi 1980: 164-65), may also have led to the envy of Galileans from other towns (cf. Jn 1:46; Barnett 1986: 64). Nazareth's insignificance undoubtedly pressured early Jewish Christians to provide biblical rationale (such as this verse provides) for why Jesus settled there (Davies and Allison 1988: 274).
Nazareth was divinely significant. Matthew, however, turns this objection around by showing divine significance in the choice of Nazareth as Jesus' hometown. Matthew accomplishes this exercise by a wordplay (cf. Ellis 1977: 202), a standard and accepted form of argumentation in both Jewish and Greco-Roman rhetoric (Keener 1992: 54n.l01). Jewish exegesis commonly revocalized and re-punctuated texts to yield new interpretations (cf., e.g., Patte 1975: 55-56; for a later period, Jacobs 1973: 2).
That Matthew is making a play on the name Nazareth is far easier to recognize than the specific word with which he is playing, however, and scholars are divided in their opinions here. Those who believe that Matthew would not use a wordplay that worked only in Hebrew usually hold that Matthew intended "Nazirite" (cf. Patte 1987: 39-40; Meier 1979: 57; Meier 1980: 16; Garland 1993: 31). The language indeed bears some resemblance to a birth oracle like Judges 13:5 (cf. also 16:17 LXX). But scholars who argue this position typically assume that Matthew drew a typological application from Samson in Judges (part of the former prophets) that he attributed for some reason to the Messiah. A more likely alternative would be to assume that Matthew reads the Hebrew nazir in light of Jesus, hence "holy to God" (cf. Soares Prabhu 1976: 205-6).
But whereas Matthew's less skillful readers would have to have satisfied themselves that the text was in their Bible somewhere, those skillful enough to recognize no single text that said this would also recognize Matthew's method; many might also know Hebrew. (That Matthew alludes to more than a single text may be implied by his use of his "through the prophets" rather than "through the prophet." Blending of texts was common; see, e.g., 4Q266, 270, in Baumgarten 1992.) Some, noting that the Septuagint (probably testifying to a Jewish usage) substitutes "Nazirite" for "one set apart" or "holy one," have suggested Isaiah 4:3 (Davies and Allison 1988: 276-80), but the few matching words and the distance of the equation make it too obscure. Other scholars suggest that Matthew plays here on the Hebrew for "watchmen" in Jeremiah 31:6 (Zolli 1958; Albright and Mann 1971: 20-22), which occurs in a context frequently mined by early Christian writers.
Because the reason for applying this single text to the Messiah is relatively obscure, however, the much more common appeal to the prophets' messianic title "the branch" (Is 11:1; cf. Is 4:2; Jer 23:5; 33:15; Zech 3:8; 6:12; cf. Test. Jud. 24:4, if not an interpolation) bears more weight.120 It is true that of the messianic branch passages only Isaiah 11 uses nezer (Soares Prabhu 1976: 204), but even if it fits only one primary text this title remains more clearly messianic than "Nazirite." Further, nezer recurs in the Dead Sea Scrolls as a messianic title (1QH 6.15; 7.19; 8.6, 8, 10) and may be associated with Jesus in later rabbinic texts (b. Sanh. 43a, bar.; cf. Herford 1966: 95-96). Jewish teachers used wordplays so frequently (with Nazirite, cf. Gen. Rab. 98:20) that Matthew may have left the matter ambiguous to draw on various connotations (Patte 1987: 30).
Even without the possibly debatable archaeological evidence in favor of the family settling in Nazareth (Finegan 1969: 28-33; cf. de Nazareth 1956), little doubt exists that Jesus' family settled there. Archaeology attests that Nazareth was settled by this period (Finegan 1969: 27), and, as noted above, later Christians would hardly have made up such an obscure place of origin for their Messiah, especially given Jesus' more significant links with Bethlehem and Capernaum. Undoubtedly the epithet "of Nazareth" (21:11; Mk 1:24; Acts 10:38) followed Jesus from the beginning of his ministry outside that town. Likewise, that Joseph took up work as a carpenter in Nazareth is almost beyond dispute (see comment on 13:55). After neighboring Sepphoris was burned to the ground early in Jesus' childhood (Jos. War 2.68), Antipas began rebuilding it, requiring carpenters from outlying areas.
Nazareth would have been as traditional a place to grow up as any other Galilean town. The lack of iconography and the settling of one of the priestly courses there after a.d. 70 indicate that Nazareth itself was religious and ritually pure.121 It existed in the shadow of the wealthy, hellenized Jewish city of Sepphoris (for archaeological and literary data on the city, including claims of a later Christian presence there, see Meyers, Netzer, and Meyers 1986; idem 1988; Crocker 1987; Weiss and Netzer 1991; cf. Boelter 1977); yet Galilean villages and towns were not severely dependent economically on the two hellenized cities (Goodman 1983: 27, 60), and though Sepphoris's theater seated 4,000-5,000 (Freyne 1988: 138), that would not seat all the adults of Sepphoris, much less rural "tourists" (Horsley 1995: 250-51).122 Further, despite Sepphoris's hellenization in many respects (cf., e.g., Josephus 1982: 216) and unwillingness to participate in the revolt of a.d. 66 (Jos. Life 30), even it remained faithful to Judaism as its inhabitants understood it (see Avi-Yonah 1974/76b: 105; cf. Meyers 1988: 76).123 Later rabbis emphasize (perhaps partly for propagandists reasons, given their own work there) that Sepphoris was particular about the purity of Israelite lineage (m. Qidd. 4:5, implying that Galilean records had been kept there) and acknowledge the surrounding region to be Jewish (p. Sanh. 5:1, §3). Rabbis also attest the presence of later followers of Jesus in Sepphoris (b. 'Abod. Zar. 17a; cf. Herford 1966: 115).
Warnings of a Wilderness Prophet (3:1-12)
Cf. Mk 1:2-8; Lk 3:1-9, 16-17; Jn 1:19-23, 26-27.124 Q probably opens with John, like other gospel traditions (Mk 1:1-4; Jn 1:19-20; Acts 10:37; 13:24-25). Although Josephus presents the Baptist's mission as that of a moralizing philosopher for his hellenized audience (see Meier 1992: 234; cf. Liefeld 1967: 146n.31), the Gospel accounts preserve a greater ring of authenticity concerning the Baptist's own milieu: John was a wilderness prophet proclaiming impending judgment. Repentance (3:2, 6, 8) was the only appropriate response to the coming kingdom (3:2), fiery judgment (3:7, 10-12), and the final judge, who would be more than a merely political Messiah (3:11-12). Given the widespread view in early Judaism that prophets in the formal sense had ceased (Keener 1991b: 77-91), John's appearance naturally drew crowds (3:5).
The warnings in this passage serve a twofold function: judgment against persecutors vindicates the righteous they oppress, but judgment also warns the righteous not to become wicked (Ezek 18:21-24). Matthew retains and amplifies Mark's accounts of the opposition of the Pharisees (5:20; 12:38; 15:1; 16:1; 19:3; 21:45; 22:15; 23:2; 27:62) and sometimes Sadducees (16:1; 22:23). By narrowing Q's "crowds" to "Pharisees and Sadducees" (3:7; cf. Lk 3:7; Kraeling 1951: 46-47; pace Witherington 1990: 39; Blomberg 1992a: 77), Matthew thus provides in the coming judgment special encouragement to his community: their Pharisaic opponents, for all their claims to represent the truest form of Judaism, were spiritual Gentiles (3:6, 9).125 Yet Matthew also expects his community to recognize that they, too, can become like these Pharisees (24:48-51; cf. Amos 5:18-20).
John's lifestyle (3:1, 3-4). Biographers normally described their subjects' appearance only if they had good reason to do so (Drury 1976: 29); thus, for example, Mark and Matthew describe John but not Jesus. John's location, garb, and diet suggest a radical servant of God whose lifestyle would challenge the values of our society even more than it did his own (on his lifestyle as a model for Christian discipline, see Jerome Letters, To Rusticus 125.7, ACCS 6-7).
First, John's location suggests that the biblical prophets' promise of a new exodus was about to take place in Jesus.126 So significant is the wilderness (3:1) to John's mission that all four Gospels justify it from Scripture (3:3; Mk 1:3; Lk 3:4); some even suspect that John himself used this text (Is 40:3) to explain his own sense of mission (Jn 1:23; Robinson 1962: 13).127 The meaning of John's location would not be lost on Syro-Palestinian Jews. Israel's prophets had predicted a new exodus in the wilderness (Hos 2:14-15; Is 40:3; later interpreters properly understood such passages as applicable to the time of Israel's restoration — e.g., Ps. Sol. 11:1). Jewish people in John's day acknowledged this as the appropriate place not only for renewal movements (cf. Theissen 1978: 48-50) but for prophets and Messiahs (24:26; Acts 21:38; Jos. Ant. 20.189; War 2.259, 261-62; cf. Beasley-Murray 1957: 84).
Further, the Qumran community applied the same Isaiah text to their own mission in the wilderness (1QS 8.13-14; cf. Brownlee 1950: 71; Brown 1972: 4), especially to their knowledge of the law (1QS 8.15-16). If John was aware that others used the text, however, he undoubtedly felt that it applied better to himself. Rather than separating himself totally from Israel as the Qumran community did (1QS 8.13-14; 9.19-20; F. F. Bruce 1956: 177; Witherington 1990: 36; cf. Scobie 1969: 68; van der Minde 1988), he preached directly to the crowds that came to him there (3:5). Many commonalities John shared with Qumran probably reflect wider patterns in pietist Judaism (cf. Taylor 1997: 15-48).128
No less important to John's mission, the wilderness was likewise a natural place for fugitives from a hostile society (e.g., Heb. 11:38; Rev. 12:6; Ps. Sol. 17:17; Song Rab. 2:13, §4; Tac. Ann. 14.23), including prophets like Elijah (1 Kings 17:2-6; 2 Kings 6:1-2). The Gospels may emphasize the Baptist's wilderness existence partly to prefigure Jesus' location of testing (Kelber 1979: 17; Mauser 1963: 90)129 and even partly to emphasize the fulfillment of Isaiah 40:3 (Marxsen 1969: 37; Bultmann 1968: 246), but all the evidence also supports John's literal sojourn there. He could have safely drawn crowds (3:5) there as he could have nowhere else (cf. Jos. Ant. 18.118), and it provided him the best accommodations for public baptisms that symbolically challenged the hegemony of establishment leaders (see Jos. Ant. 18.117). Thus John's location symbolizes the coming of a new exodus, the final time of salvation, and the price a true prophet of God must be willing to pay for his or her call: total exclusion from all that society values — its comforts, status symbols, and even basic necessities (cf. 8:20; 1 Kings 13:8-9,22; 20:37; Is 20:2; Jer 15:15-18; 16:1-9; 1 Cor 4:8-13). The restrictions on Jesus' messengers in 10:9-10 (cf. 10:40-42) suggest that Matthew himself affirms this second lesson as well as the first.
John's garment (3:4) in general resembled the typical garb of the poor (Wright 1962: 191-92), as would befit a wilderness prophet cut off from all of society's amenities (cf. Heb 11:37). Camels were common enough in Palestine (cf. 19:24; 23:24), and camel's hair garments fit the rugged lifestyle of desert nomads.130 But his clothing specifically evokes that of the Israelite prophet Elijah (2 Kings 1:8 LXX), as many commentators recognize.131 Malachi promised Elijah's return (4:5-6), a promise that subsequent Jewish tradition developed (e.g., Sir 48:10).132 Although Matthew did not regard John as Elijah literally (17:3; cf. Lk 1:17), he believed that John had fulfilled Malachi's prophecy of Elijah's mission (Mt 11:14-15; 17:11-13).
John's garb tells Matthew's community two things: first, their Lord arrived exactly on schedule, following the promised end-time prophet; and second, John had to be a wilderness prophet like Elijah. Although true prophets could function within society during the reigns of godly kings (e.g., 2 Sam 12:1-25; 24:11-12), in evil times mainly corrupt prophets remained in royal courts (1 Kings 22:6-28; cf. Mt 11:8), God's true messengers being forced into exile (1 Kings 17:3; 18:13). Most Jewish people in the first century practiced their religion seriously; but the religious establishment could not accommodate a prophet like John whose lifestyle dramatically challenged the status quo, any more than the religious establishment of most of Christendom could today.
John's diet also provides Matthew's community a model of commitment. Some other poor people in antiquity also ate locusts (3:4),133 and honey was the regular sweetener in the Palestinian diet,134 readily available to the poor (Judg 14:8; 1 Sam 14:25; Is 7:22). It was widely used in the ancient Mediterranean world (see Cary and Haarhoff 1946: 112), typically produced by domestic beekeepers (e.g., m. B. Bat. 5:3; Virg. Georg. 4.1-558; Columella Rust. 9); Attic honey was the favorite (Aristoph. Peace 252-54; P. Cairo Zen. 59426.6; Petron. Sat. 38). John may have acquired wild honey by smoking bees out and breaking the honeycomb (cf. m. 'Uq. 3:11; Sheb. 10:7; Ap. Rhod. 2.130-34; for wild bees, see Virg. Aen. 12.586-87).135
But locusts sweetened with honey constituted John's entire diet. The sort of pietists that lived in the wilderness and dressed simply normally ate only the kind of food that grew by itself (2 Macc 5:27; Jos. Life 11). In the wilderness, both refugees (Qoh. Rab. 10:8, §1) and pietists with special kosher requirements (CD 12.14; 11QTemple 48.1-5; cf. Davies 1983) might subsist on locusts. Matthew is explaining that John lived simply — with only the barest forms of necessary sustenance.136 This was not the only lifestyle to which God called his servants, but Matthew believed that God called some disciples to it (Mt 11:18-19), and their lifestyle challenges all disciples to consider whether they have staked everything on the kingdom (13:46; cf. the emphasis in Lk 3:11; 12:33; 14:33; Acts 2:44-45; 4:32-35).
John's mission to Israel (3:5-6, 8-9).137 Although some Jewish traditions denied that the righteous like Abraham needed repentance (Pr Man 3:8; cf. Test. Abr. 10A; ARN 14A), most acknowledged that all people have sinned138 and all need repentance (Sanders 1977: 174-80; Montefiore and Loewe 1974: 315-33).
The fifth benediction of the Amida requests that God turn Israel to repentance (Oesterley 1925: 63).139
"Repentance" in the Gospels recalls not the "change of mind" earlier etymological interpreters sometimes supposed (cf. Char. Chaer. 3.3.11; Marc. Aur. Med. 8.10; often in LXX), but the biblical concept of "turning" or "returning" to God (Is 31:6; 45:22; 55:7; Jer 3:7, 10, 14, 22; 4:1; 8:5; 18:11; 24:7; 25:5; 26:3; 35:15; 36:7; 44:5; Lam 3:40; Ezek 13:22; 14:6; 18:23, 30; 33:9, 11; Hos 11:5; 12:6; 14:1-2; Joel 2:12-13; Zech 1:3-4; Mai 3:7). The idea of repentance as returning to God was pervasive in early Judaism (see Petuchowski 1968) but foreign to Greek religion (Burkert 1987: 14). Sages extolled repentance (Sir. 44:16; b. B. Mes. 59a; Rosh Hash. 16b; Yoma 86a; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 24; cf. Herm. 2.4.2), some later rabbis even claiming its preexistence (Gen. Rab. 1:4; Midr. Ps. 90:3; 93:2) or its association with the Messiah's mission (Song Rab. 7:5, §3). It is efficacious (Sir 17:24; 18:21; Pr Man 1:7; Ps. Sol. 9:7; 1 En. 50:3-5; Jos. and Asen. 15:7/6-7; Sifre Deut. 30.1.2; ARN 12; Pesiq. Rab Kah. Sup. 3:2), though in rabbinic tradition it merely suspends judgment until the Day of Atonement may remove it (m. Yoma 8:8; t. Kip. 4:7; ARN 39), and beyond a certain limit is not efficacious for the person who premeditates sin in hopes of repenting afterward (m. Yoma 8:9; ARN 39-40A). Yet John's call is more radical; his "repentance" refers not to a regular turning from sin after a specific act, but to a once-for-all repentance, the kind of turning from an old way of life to a new that Judaism associated with Gentiles converting to Judaism (as in Jos. and Asen. 9:2; 15:7; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 12:20; Acts 14:15; 1 Thess 1:9), here in view of the impending day of judgment (cf. 4:17; 11:20; 12:41; Acts 17:30-31; Rom 2:4). His call to repentance recalls a familiar summons in the biblical prophets (see Bowman 1943: 231; cf. 4 Bar. 8:12). In various ways John warns his hearers against depending on the special privileges of their heritage. (For John's message of repentance, see more fully Taylor 1997: 106-11.)
First, John's baptism confirms that he is calling for a once-for-all turning from the old way of life to the new, as when Gentiles convert to Judaism. None of the other sorts of regular ceremonial washings can qualify as background for John's baptism.140 In antiquity, only the baptism of Gentiles into Judaism signified the kind of radical change the Gospels report that John was demanding.141 This "proselyte baptism" appears at an early period in our extant sources142 and was known outside Palestine (Epict. Disc. 2.9.20; probably Juv. Sat. 14.104; Sib. Or. 4.162-65). Further, it is highly unlikely that Jewish people would admit Gentiles into the covenant without ritual cleansing from their former state of impurity,143 and still more unlikely that second-century Judaism would have adopted the practice from Christians (see, e.g., Rowley 1940: 313; Schiffman 1985: 26-30).144 If this is the case, John was treating his fellow Jews as if they were spiritually Gentiles, calling them to turn to God on the same terms they believed God demanded of Gentiles. As F. F. Bruce puts it, "If John's baptism was an extension of proselyte baptism to the chosen people, then his baptism, like his preaching, meant that even the descendants of Abraham must. . . enter ... by repentance and baptism just as Gentiles had to do . . ." (1978: 61).145
Although Josephus does not explain that John's baptism was this radical, he does confirm the image of John as a wilderness reformer, who sought to purify those who had first purified their souls (Ant. 18.117, corresponding to the Gospels' picture of a baptism "of repentance," though in more hellenistic language). This fits the Gospel image of them "confessing their sins" (cf. Lev 5:5; 16:21; Ps 32:3,5; Prov 28:13; 1 Jn 1:9; for Yom Kippur, see Lachs 1987: 38) as a prerequisite for acceptable baptism (Carson 1984b: 102; Witherington 1990: 37; cf. 1QS 3.4-7; 5.13-14; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 12:20). In addition to public confession of general sin in later synagogue liturgy, communal confession probably appears in the Qumran Scrolls (4Q393 in Falk 1994); here public acknowledgment of personal sins (cf. Taylor 1997: 111-12) may contribute to Israel's repentance.
Second, John did not regard his hearers as good descendants of their ancestors anyway. "Viper" was certainly an insult (BAGD 331b cites negative Greek usage; cf. Kraeling 1951: 48); vipers were a horrifying image (e.g., Ovid Metam. 4.454, 475, 491-99, 617-20), and a viper could hide in the house and suck a person's blood (Soph. Antig. 531-32). But "children of vipers" carries the insult further, as I will argue below. Contemporary scholars sometimes read "offspring of vipers" (3:7; 12:34; 23:33; cf. Lk 3:7; Is 1:4; 57:4) as "offspring of Satan" (Manson 1979: 40) — even though Matthew's source has the plural and avoids Genesis's term for "serpent." Others have suggested a mistranslation of an Aramaic original for a leopard or hyena, outwardly attractive but inwardly detestable (Lachs 1987: 42), but such animals are not necessarily more natural candidates for use in an insult than serpents.
More likely, Matthew may allude to a fairly widespread ancient view that vipers were mother killers. In the fifth century B.C. Herodotus declared that newborn Arabian vipers chewed their way out of their mothers' wombs, killing their mothers in the process.146 Herodotus believed that they did so to avenge their fathers, who were slain by the mothers during procreation (Herod. Hist. 3.109); later writers applied his words to serpents everywhere (Aelian On Animals 1.24; Pliny N.H. 10.170; Plutarch Divine Vengeance 32, Mor. 567F). Perhaps in line with such thought a widely influential Greek drama had included the insult, "mother-killing dragon" (Eurip. Orestes 479); more distantly but still relevant to the image of familial strife, a stepmother hostile to the children of the former wife is a "viper" to them (Eurip. Alcestis 310). Calling his hearers vipers may have been an insult, but calling them "offspring of vipers" accused them of killing their own mothers,147 indicating the utmost moral depravity.148 The image of vipers fleeing wrath149 may derive from serpents fleeing the stubble set on fire to ready the fields for winter sowing (A. B. Bruce 1979: 82) or a tree-serpent fleeing those who will destroy the forest (Jer 46:21-23; France 1985: 92).150 One may guess that opponents of the Matthean community would bristle at the depiction of their predecessors in such terms.
Third, employing the image of a tree's fruit, both John and Jesus demand that a professedly repentant person's life match one's profession (3:8; 7:16-17; 12:33; 13:22-23; 21:34, 43; cf. 15:13; 21:19; Jn 15:6; Jude 12).151 John's more mainstream contemporaries also insisted that repentance be demonstrated practically (Sir 31:26; m. Yoma 8:8-9; Montefiore 1968: 2:15). But John drives home the point that the nation as a whole stands under impending judgment, and that one could not simply appeal to one's ethnic character or descent from Abraham to be exempted from it (cf. Deut 26:5; Jn 8:33-41; Rom 4:1-5:11). Biblical tradition had already applied the image of a tree being cut down (Ezek 31:12-18; Dan 4:23) or burned (Ps 80:16; Jer 11:16; cf. 2 Sam 23:6-7) to the judgment of a nation. Although Jewish people used trees symbolically in a variety of ways, some have cited the specific Jewish symbol of trees to stand for nations — in this case, Israel (Rom 11:16-17; Ps 80:14; Jer 11:16; cf. Mussner 1960; more narrowly Kraeling 1951: 43-44); if they are correct, this would further drive home the point.152
In any case, his judgment metaphor could not be more transparent. Some suggest that Palestinians would use wood from such a tree "for domestic and manufacturing purposes" (Kraeling 1951: 44), but most small trees that could not bear fruit would be especially useful for firewood (see Lewis 1983: 139). Because cutting down trees with the sort of axes the average farmer would own required considerable labor, we should think here especially of dead trees and of small trees bearing little fruit (Hepper 1992: 41).
Fourth, that God could raise up children for Abraham from stones (cf. Gen 1:24; 2:19-22) warns John's hearers not to take their status as God's people for granted. Jewish people believed they were chosen in Abraham (cf. Neh 9:7; Mic 7:20; Sanders 1977: 87-101; Borg 1984: 207), but John responds that this ethnic chosenness is insufficient to guarantee salvation unless it is accompanied by righteousness (cf. Amos 3:2; 9:7).153 Pagans had stories of people formed from stones (e.g., Ovid Metam. 1.393-94, 400-415) or dragon's teeth (Ap. Rhod. 3.1355-57; Ovid. Metam. 3.101-30; 7.121-30), as well as many people turned into stones by gods (Horn. Il. 24.611; The Great Eoiae 16; Ovid Metam. 2.696, 705-7, 830-32; 4.276-78, 551-60; 10.241-42) or even by fear (Ovid Metam. 9.224-25, in contrast to Soph. Women of Trachis; 10.67-68), for example, by seeing the Gorgon (Ovid Metam. 4.180-209, 230-35, 248-49, 655-60). Other creatures also were changed into stone (Ovid Metam. 11.59-60, 404; 12.22-23; 14.72-74). (Given Ovid's subject matter — Metam. 1.1-2 — he probably does introduce some of these "metamorphoses" into tradition.) Being sprung from a stone or an oak may have been an ancient Mediterranean idiom for not being well-born (Horn. Od. 19.163; cf. LCL 2:246-47, n. a, citing Horn. II. 22.126; Hesiod Theog. 35; Plato Apol. 34D; Rep. 8.544D); this image might be more relevant, except that it is not clear how widely the idiom circulated outside classical and literary Greek.
But John's words make the best sense in his own setting in Jewish Palestine: prophets were not above using witty wordplays at times (Amos 8:1-2; Mic 1:10-15; Jer 1:11-12), and "children" and "stones" probably represent a wordplay in Aramaic, as commentators frequently observe.154 Scripture had long used stones to symbolize God's people (Ex 24:4; 28:9-12; Josh 4:20-21; 1 Kings 18:31; cf. Gen. Rab. 68:11) or covenants (Gen 31:46; Josh 4:20-24); John's hearers thus should have understood his language clearly; he savaged their sense of security. Other early Jewish Christian texts echo this view that God is so sovereign that he can choose the elect even on a basis that contradicts Israel's view of the covenant (cf. Rom 9:6-29). In its Matthean context, Matthew may be emphasizing that God wanted children who would truly follow the patriarchs' ways, not prophet killers like vipers who murdered their parents (cf. 23:30-36; Jn 8:39-40).
Excursus: Personal and Ancestral Merits in Jewish Texts
Although "works" appears elsewhere, the "doctrine of merits" appears particularly in rabbinic literature dating long after the time of Jesus. Some discussions, such as whether God redeemed Israel from Egypt on account of her own merits or those of her ancestors, may date from the first century; evidence for most of the material is much later. But in any case, inferences about legalism drawn by some earlier New Testament scholars do not correspond with the evidence of the texts themselves. I will now survey very briefly some of the evidence, including samples of both relatively early (by rabbinic standards) and later texts. Because different teachers expressed different views, what follows is merely a summary of some views, not an attempt at a comprehensive "theology" of merits in all periods of rabbinic literature.
One could accrue merits (cf., e.g., CD 5.5; 3 Bar. 14:2) for doing good works (t. Pe'a 1:2; 3:8; Sifre Deut. 229.4.1; 252.1.2; 283.7.1; b. Soţa 6a, 21a; Gen. Rab. 9:9; 68:6; Ex. Rab. 34:2; Lev. Rab. 25:1; Qoh. Rab. 5:6, §1; 11:1, §1; 3 Enoch 18:17). In some texts God provided commandments so that Israel could obtain merit (m. Abot 6:11; Mak. 3:16; Mek. 12:6; Num. Rab. 15:2; Ruth Rab. 6:11). Circumcision was meritorious (Mek. Pisha 16.169-70; Ruth Rab. 6:10), as were Torah study (e.g., b. Ber. 8a; Hag. 15b; p. Meg. 3:6, §2; Ta'an. 4:2, §13; Num. Rab. 12:4; Song Rab. 3:10, §§2-3), faith (Gen. Rab. 74:12; Marmorstein 1968a: 175-76), and pure lineage (Num. Rab. 9:7).
Merits of special individuals often brought corporate benefits. God had often acted on account of Israel's merit (Sifra Behuq. pq. 13.277.1.14; Sifre Deut. 57.1.1; 176.1.1; 176.2.2; Deut. Rab. 2:31; 7:9; Pesiq. R. 47:4), and Israel suffered (Sifre Deut. 2.1.1-4) or required mercy (Mek. Shir. 9.24ff; Ex. Rab. 1:35; Pesiq. R. 49:4; for God's showing mercy to the righteous who humbly confess their need for it, see, e.g., Ps. Sol. 3:5-8; 10:1-3; 13:6-11) for lack of merit. But he also acted on account of Moses, Aaron, and Miriam (Ex. Rab. 15:3; Num. Rab. 3:12; 3 Enoch 1:3; cf. Jos. Ant. 3.322; the Samaritan prayer in Bowman 1977: 335), or some other righteous person (e.g., 2 Bar. 2:1; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 2:5).
In a view that frequently prevailed in later texts (for exceptions, see, e.g., ARN 12, §30B; Ex. Rab. 1:28; 16:1; 23:5; Lev. Rab. 28:4; Num. Rab. 20:22), the merits of the ancestors brought salvation in the exodus (Mek. Pisha 16.165-68; Beshallah 4.52ff.; Sifre Deut. 8.1.1; p. Ta'an. 1:1, §8; Gen. Rab. 23:6; 55:8; 74:12; 76:5; 84:5; 87:8; Ex. Rab. 2:4; 15:4, 10; 31:2; Lev. Rab. 34:8, bar.; Num. Rab. 3:6, bar.; 13:20; Deut. Rab. 2:23; Song Rab. 4:4, §4; Pesiq. R. 10:9). Ancestral merits also helped in other respects (Sifra Behuq. pq. 8.269.2.5; p. Sanh. 10:1, §6; Ta'an. 4:1, §14; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 1:1; 2:5; 22:4; Pesiq. Rab Kah. Sup. 5:2; Gen. Rab. 39:3; 44:16; 49:11; 60:2; 63:2; Ex. Rab. 1:4; Lev. Rab. 9:2; 31:4; 36:5; Song Rab. 3:6, §3; Pesiq. R. 15:9; 27/28:1; cf. the first benediction in the Amida; Three Hebrew Children 11; Test. Levi 15:4; depending on the sense in which it means "patriarchs"; see also CIJ 1.519, §719).155
Thus in some texts Israel was forgiven on account of the patriarchs (e.g., Ex. Rab. 44:5; Lev. Rab. 29:7; Deut. Rab. 3:15; Song Rab. 1:2, §3); God might withhold judgment for one's father's righteousness (Gen. Rab. 63:1). Some felt that Abraham's merit guaranteed the salvation of all Israelites (Pesiq. Rab Kah. 23:8), whereas others acknowledged that limits existed to the effectiveness of ancestral piety, at least regarding Ishmael and Esau (Sifre Deut. 329.3.1; cf. Rom 9:6-13; Ps-Philo 33:5; 2 Enoch 53:1). Further, one could make do without them (ARN 12, §30B), and proselytes had to do so (Num. Rab. 8:9). In some texts, redemption in the exodus was conditional on future obedience (Sifra Qed. pq. 8.205.2.6; Emor pq. 7.227.1.6; Behar 5.255.1.10). But rabbinic texts are more apt to criticize than to praise a bookkeeping sort of legalism (m. 'Abot 1:3; p. Qidd. 1:7, §9; Soţa 5:5, §2); pure works salvation was not rabbinic, though it appears elsewhere (4 Ezra, in Sanders 1977: 409-27; 2 Bar. 51:7) and enters Christianity as early as the second century (Hermas 2.4.3). (Some have compared the rabbinic conception of ancestral merit with the later Catholic idea of the treasury of the church that probably drew on it, cf. Maher 1979; but for the denial that merits are supererogatory in rabbinic texts, see Sanders 1977: 183ff.; Carson 1981: 87-88.) Despite some attempts to qualify the still more distorted works of his predecessors, Bultmann's portrayal of "legalistic" rabbinic Judaism thus remains a total misrepresentation of Jewish piety (1958: 67-73). Especially in the early texts the image is usually one of reckoning reward (e.g., m. 'Abot 2:2; ARN 22, §46B) rather than of achieving eschatological salvation (for exceptions, cf. perhaps 2 Bar. 14:12; b. 'Abod. Zar. 4b; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 10:2; Gen. Rab. 70:8). Jesus, too, spoke of heavenly reward (see, e.g., Mt 5:12; 6:1).
Some broader comments about early Jewish soteriology may be in order. The rabbis used the terminology of "righteousness" primarily to describe God's ethical demands rather than a saving gift (see Przybylski 1980: 39-76), but also heavily emphasized grace (Sanders 1992: 275-78; Limbeck 1971; cf. idem 1970). Grace is likewise prominent in the earlier hellenistic Jewish Epistle of Aristeas (Boccaccini 1991: 171-74). The Dead Sea Scrolls emphasize both aspects of righteousness (Przybylski 1980: 13-38). The Psalms of Solomon stress both trust in God and dependence on one's works (Lane 1982). Is it not possible that much of early Judaism, like many contemporary Christians, was inconsistent in its soteriology, reflecting various approaches that most people allowed to coexist side by side?156
John's message of the coming judge and judgment (3:2, 7-12). In all four Gospels, John thought himself and his own baptism miniscule compared with the Coming One and his baptism. In three successive paragraphs Mark depicts God anointing Jesus with the Spirit at baptism (Mk 1:10), thereby qualifying Jesus to bestow the same Spirit on others (1:8) and indicating that participation in his baptism includes sharing his sufferings (1:12; cf. Robinson 1982: 76-77; Keener 1997b: 49-90). In contrast to this abbreviated program in Mark's introduction, however, Matthew and Luke follow a longer form of the Baptist's saying in a fuller context that speaks of a judgment-baptism in fire as well as in the Spirit (cf. also Lk 12:49-50 in light of Mk 10:38-39; cf. Menzies 1991: 137-44).157 Although Matthew and Luke retain Mark's emphasis on the Spirit — possibly derived from Q to begin with — they report more of John's preaching of judgment. Especially given John's audience in Matthew (3:7), we should not suppose that all receive a positive baptism.
Matthew and Luke also qualify John's preaching of judgment with a later Q narrative. John is a reliable character in Matthew's Gospel, performing his promised function as a forerunner (3:3). Nevertheless, Matthew does ultimately qualify his portrait of John's eschatological proclamation about the Coming One: John needed to recognize that the first stage of Jesus' kingdom, in contrast to its future revelation, would come in a more obscure form (11:2-6). Baptism in the Spirit and in fire belonged to separate phases of Jesus' work. In this context, baptism in the Spirit must include a salvific element due to its contrast with fire baptism; it likely also includes prophetic empowerment, however (Joel 2:28-29; cf. Is 42:1; 43:10-12; 44:3, 8-9; 59:21; 61:1; perhaps 1 Enoch 91:1; for these categories, see Keener 1997b: 6-48).
The kingdom is coming. In Matthew's summary of their preaching, both John and Jesus announce the same message: "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!" (3:2; 4:17).158 Matthew intends his community to see in Jesus' and John's preaching a model for the community's preaching as well (10:7). Such a message would encourage the righteous and warn the wicked: the Lord is not looking the other way in a world of injustice, but he will come someday to set matters straight. Therefore those who believe his warnings must get their lives in order! John combines images of harvest with the coming of God's kingdom (3:2), impending wrath (3:8), and eternally destructive fire (3:10-12; cf., e.g., 4 Macc 12:12; Jub. 36:10).
Most Jewish people in Palestine expected a time of impending judgment against the wicked and deliverance for the righteous (on "kingdom of heaven," see the Introduction to this commentary).159 But many expected judgment on other peoples and only on the most wicked in Israel (cf. Sanders 1985: 96).160 John's challenge to religious and ethnic self-assurance is reminiscent of that of some of his biblical predecessors (cf. Amos 3:1-2; 5:18).
Farmers destroy useless products after the harvest. Earlier biblical writers had employed the natural agricultural image of harvest and the threshing floor (3:8, 10, 12) as judgment and/or end-time imagery;161 the image also recurs elsewhere in Jesus' sayings (Mt 9:38; 13:39; 21:34) and in early Judaism (4 Ezra 4:30-32; Jub. 36:10)162 and Christianity (Jas 5:7-8; Rev 14:15);163 the wicked are destroyed "like straw in fire" (1 Enoch 48:9). Fire naturally symbolized future judgment (e.g., Is 26:11; 66:15-16, 24; CD 2.4-6; QpHab 10.13; 1 Enoch 103:8; Sib. Or. 4.43, 161, 176-78; 2 Thess 1:6-7; Ex. Rab. 15:27).164
The imagery is realistic to a point. Villagers carried grain to village threshing floors, though large estates worked by tenants would have their own (Lewis 1983: 123). Archaeologists have recovered winnowing shovels, and the procedure is well known (see Hepper 1992: 90-91). People used chaff for various purposes, of which the most prominent was fuel (CPJ 1:199; Gen. Rab. 83:5; cf. Hepper 1992: 41; cf. straw in Pesiq. R. 10:4; straw was otherwise worthless, Num. Rab. 18:17). But where the imagery departs from realism, it most starkly underlines the point. Chaff did not burn eternally (Kraeling 1951: 42; Ladd 1974b: 37; cf. Is 29:5-6; 33:11), but John depicts the wicked's fire as "unquenchable." John does not simply echo the Jewish consensus of his day, because opinions divided on the character of hell (e.g., ARN 41 A; cf. also 36 A).165 He specifically affirmed the harshest image of his day: divine judgment involved eternal torment (cf. also other early Christian sources, e.g., 25:41; Mk 9:43, 48; Jude 7; Mart. Pol. 11.2; later, Gregory of Nyssa Address on Religious Instruction, ACCS, 132).
The coming judge is incomparably powerful. Judgment is coming, but what is the identity of this coming judge whom John announces (3:11-12)? Although the Spirit would rest on the Davidic Messiah (Is 11:1-2; cf. 42:1; 61:1), no mere mortal could pour out the Spirit; this was the gift of God alone (Is 44:3; 59:21; Ezek 36:27; 37:14; 39:29; Joel 2:29; Zech 12:10), just as no mere mortal would baptize in fire (which in this context must mean judge the wicked).166 Whereas Israel's prophets had called themselves "servants of God" (e.g., 2 Kings 9:7, 36; Jer 7:25; Dan 9:6, 10; Amos 3:7),167 John declares himself unworthy even to be the coming judge's slave (e.g., Anderson 1976: 72-73; Taylor 1952: 157)! (The narrator also approves of John's self-abasement; cf. the positive claim of unworthiness in 8:8.)
In ancient Mediterranean thought, a household servant's most base tasks involved his master's feet, such as washing his feet, carrying his sandals, or unfastening his sandals' thongs (cf., e.g., Diog. Laert. Lives 6.2.44; b. B. Bat. 53b).168 Although ancient teachers usually expected disciples to function as servants,169 later rabbis made one exception explicit: disciples did not tend to the teacher's sandals (b. Ketub. 96a, cited in Davies 1966b: 135; cf. Daube 1973: 266). "Loosening" (Mk 1:7; Lk 3:16) and "carrying" (Mt 3:11) the sandals convey the same sense of servility, and hence communicate the same point despite the variation in wording (cf. data in Daube 1973: 266; they may also reflect the same Aramaic verb — cf. Manson 1979: 40). Not only John's later doubts about Jesus (11:3//Lk 7:19) but also his proclamation of a coming king (e.g., Is 9:6-7; Jer 23:5-6) who would also function as judge (perhaps Dan 7:10, 13-14) make good historical sense — the proclamation because of Scripture and the doubts because of the proclamation!
Indeed, the text that introduces John in Matthew (3:3) and Mark (1:2-3) is instructive concerning the Christology they learn from John's mission: the One whose way John prepares is none other than the "Lord" himself (Is 40:3);170 Matthew's readers would not need to know Hebrew to realize that John was preparing the way for "God with us" (1:23). It is against this backdrop of John's proclamation of a judge whose slave he was unworthy to be that his reticence to baptize Jesus, and God's testimony to Jesus' identity, appears in 3:13-17.