2. The Great Commission (28:18–20)

2. The Great Commission (28:18–20)

OVERVIEW

Many think it unlikely that troops (auxiliary soldiers recruited from the non-Jewish population of Palestine and under Pilate’s direct control) would mock a prisoner just scourged; but close parallels are not hard to find (Philo, Flacc. 6.36–39; Cassius Dio, Hist. 15.20–21; cf. Luther R. Delbrueck, “Antiquarisches zu den Verspottungen Jesu,” ZNW 41 [1942]: 124–45). This pericope is meant to fulfill 17:22–23; 20:17–19 (cf. Mk 15:16–20; Jn 19:2–3).

27Then the governor’s soldiers took Jesus into the Praetorium and gathered the whole company of soldiers around him. 28They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, 29and then twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on his head. They put a staff in his right hand and knelt in front of him and mocked him. “Hail, king of the Jews!” they said. 30They spit on him, and took the staff and struck him on the head again and again. 31After they had mocked him, they took off the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him.

COMMENTARY

27 That the governor’s troops are the ones involved in these shameful actions belies any suggestion that Matthew exculpates Pilate (see ). The “Praetorium” is probably the old palace of Herod (see ; cf. Benoit, Jesus and the Gospel, 167–88); the soldiers take Jesus into the palace courtyard. The “whole company” would number six hundred if the cohort were at full strength and all were on duty, but more likely the expression refers simply to all the soldiers present.

28–31 Here we have humanity at its worst—a scene of vicious mockery. The Jews have mocked Jesus as Messiah (26:67–68); here the Roman soldiers ridicule him as king. Matthew’s readers recognize that the soldiers speak more truly than they know, for Jesus is both King and Suffering Servant. The “robe” (chlamys, in the NT only here and in v.31) is probably the short red cloak worn by Roman military and civilian officials (v.28). Mark and John describe it as “purple,” Matthew as “scarlet.” Commentators have speculated that this redactional change serves to symbolize blood and its concomitant suffering. Such efforts are strained. The ancients did not discriminate among colors as closely as we do, and BDAG (855) adduces a reference in which a Roman soldier’s cloak is said to be “purple.” The “purple” (Mark; John) calls to mind the robes worn by vassal kings (cf. 1 Macc 10:20, 62; 11:58; 14:43–44), and the “scarlet” (Matthew) shows what the garment probably was—a trooper’s cloak.

For a crown (v.29) the soldiers plaited a wreath of thorns from palm spines or acanthus (Brown, Death of the Messiah, 866–67, lists other possible plants) and crushed it down on Jesus’ head in imitation of the circlet on the coins of Tiberius Caesar (cf. TDNT, 7:619–24, 632–33). Whether this “crown” was left on Jesus’ head after this mockery, the text does not say. Later Christian art depicts the crown still there as Jesus hung from the cross, though Brown (Death of the Messiah, 244–45) notes that the earliest Christian depiction of the resurrection pictures Jesus without the crown of thorns. The staff they put in his hand stood for a royal scepter, and the mocking “Hail, King of the Jews!” corresponded to the Roman acclamation “Ave, Caesar!” and capped the flamboyant kneeling. Not content with the ridicule and the torture of the thorns, they spat on him (v.30) and used the staff, the symbol of his kingly authority, to hit him on the head “again and again” (not required by the imperfect tense of the verb but perhaps hinted at).

“After they had mocked him” (v.31; the time is established by the flow of the narrative, not by the [aorist] tense; see ; cf. Moule, Idiom Book, 16), they dressed him again in his own clothes and led him off to be crucified. Normally a prisoner went naked to his place of execution and was scourged along the route. That this custom was not followed with Jesus may be because he had already been flogged and more flogging might have killed him. Or it may reflect an attempt not to offend too many Jewish sensibilities during a feast time. Jesus was led away by the execution squad of four soldiers, dragging the crosspiece to which his hands would be nailed (Jn 19:17, 23).

One cannot help but observe that the mocking soldiers meant their cry, “Hail, king of the Jews!” to be mockingly ironic; the words meant the opposite of what they formally say. But Matthew sees a deeper irony: Jesus is the king of the Jews, a theme the evangelist has emphasized since first introducing it in 1:1.

OVERVIEW

Two thousand years of pious Christian tradition have largely domesticated the cross, making it hard for us to realize how it was viewed in Jesus’ time. Two excellent studies discuss the relevant evidence (M. Hengel, Crucifixion [London: SCM Press, 1977]; J. A. Fitzmyer, “Crucifixion in Ancient Palestine, Qumran Literature and the New Testament,” CBQ 40 [1978]: 493–513). Crucifixion was unspeakably painful and degrading. Whether tied or nailed to the cross, the victim endured countless paroxysms as he pulled with his arms and pushed with his legs to keep his chest cavity open for breathing and then collapsed in exhaustion until the demand for oxygen demanded renewed paroxysms. The scourging, the loss of blood, the shock from the pain all produced agony that could go on for days, ending at last by suffocation, cardiac arrest, or loss of blood. When there was reason to hasten death, the execution squad would smash the victim’s legs. Death followed almost immediately, either from shock or from collapse that cut off breathing.

Beyond the pain was the shame. The later rabbis excluded crucifixion as a form of capital punishment for just this reason, though there is some evidence that the Pharisees, their probable predecessors, did not oppose it in principle (cf. David T. Halperin, “Crucifixion, the Nahum Pesher, and the Rabbinic Penalty of Strangulation,” JJS 32 [1981]: 32–46). In ancient sources, crucifixion was universally viewed with horror. In Roman law, it was reserved only for the worst criminals and lowest classes. No Roman citizen could be crucified without a direct edict from Caesar.

Among Jews, the horror of the cross was greater still because of Deuteronomy 21:23: “Anyone who is hung on a tree is under God’s curse.” In Israelite law, this meant the corpse of a judicially executed criminal was hung up for public exposure that branded him as cursed by God. The words were also applied in Jesus’ day to anyone crucified; therefore, the Jews’ demand that Jesus be crucified rather than banished was aimed at arousing maximum public revulsion toward him. But in Christian perspective the curse on Jesus at the cross fulfills all OT sacrifices; it is a curse that removes the curse from believers—the fusion of divine, royal prerogative and Suffering Servant, the heart of the gospel, the inauguration of a new humanity, the supreme model for Christian ethics, the ratification of the new covenant, and the power of God (1Co 1:23–24; Gal 3:13; Ro 5:12–21; Col 2:14; Heb 1–13; 1Pe 2:18–25; cf. Mt 3:17; 8:17; 16:21, 24–25; 20:25–28; 21:38–42; 26:26–29).

All four gospels record the crucifixion. No gospel says much about the crucifixion itself; the details were all too well-known, and theological interest does not lie so much in crucifixion per se as in the attendant circumstances and their significance. Each evangelist gives his narrative an independent cast by what he includes or omits, though these differences are often exaggerated. Matthew largely follows Mark; but whereas Mark alludes to the OT, Matthew tends to be somewhat more explicit (v.34, Ps 69:21; v.35, Ps 22:18; v.39, Ps 22:7; v.43, Ps 22:8). The dominant note of the pericope is the continuing mockery (Bonnard); but the mockery by an awful irony reveals more than the mocker thinks, for Jesus is indeed King of the Jews (v.37), the new meeting place with God (v.40), the Savior of men (v.42), the King of Israel (v.42), and the Son of God (v.43).

The date is 15 Nisan AD 30 or 33, and the time fairly early in the morning, as the interchanges with Pilate and Herod and the scourging and the mocking need not have consumed more than two to three hours.

32As they were going out, they met a man from Cyrene, named Simon, and they forced him to carry the cross. 33They came to a place called Golgotha (which means The Place of the Skull). 34There they offered Jesus wine to drink, mixed with gall; but after tasting it, he refused to drink it. 35When they had crucified him, they divided up his clothes by casting lots. 36And sitting down, they kept watch over him there. 37Above his head they placed the written charge against him: THIS IS JESUS, THE KING OF THE JEWS. 38Two robbers were crucified with him, one on his right and one on his left. 39Those who passed by hurled insults at him, shaking their heads 40and saying, “You who are going to destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself! Come down from the cross, if you are the Son of God!”

41In the same way the chief priests, the teachers of the law and the elders mocked him. 42“He saved others,” they said, “but he can’t save himself! He’s the King of Israel! Let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him. 43He trusts in God. Let God rescue him now if he wants him, for he said, ‘I am the Son of God.’” 44In the same way the robbers who were crucified with him also heaped insults on him.

COMMENTARY

32 “As they were going out” presupposes “of the city,” not “from the Praetorium,” as Mark says that Simon was coming in “from the country.” Executions normally took place outside the city walls (Lev 24:14; Nu 15:35–36; 1Ki 21:13; Ac 7:58), symbolizing still further rejection (cf. Heb 13:13). This suggests that Jesus, weak as he was, managed to carry the crossbeam as far as the city gates (cf. Jn 19:17). There the soldiers forced Simon to assume the load. His name suggests, but does not prove, that he was a Jew. He came from Cyrene, an old Greek settlement on the coast of North Africa (Ac 2:10; 6:9; 11:20; 13:1). Mark says that he was the father of Alexander and Rufus, who may be referred to in Acts 19:33 and Romans 16:13 and were obviously well-known to Mark’s readers; but because the names were common, these passages may refer to other persons.

In 1941, N. Avigad (“A Depository of Inscribed Ossuaries in the Kidron Valley,” IEJ 12 [1962]: 1–12) published an account of the discovery of a burial cave belonging to Cyrenian Jews, located on the southwest slope of the Kidron and dating from pre–AD 70. An ossuary from this find is twice inscribed in Greek: “Alexander son of Simon.” But we cannot be certain the same family is in view.

The efforts of Christian piety to make Simon’s act a deed of sympathetic magnanimity are invalid. Simon had no choice, and the text says nothing about his sympathy for Jesus.

33 The site of Golgotha (transliteration of Aram. gûlgaltā ʾ [“skull”]) is uncertain. Gordon’s Calvary is not an option (cf. Parrot, Golgotha, 59–65). The most likely place is one near the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, in an area outside the northern wall, on a hill near the city wall (Jn 19:20), and not far from the road (Mt 27:39). Our English “Calvary” comes from the Latin calva (“a skull”).

34 Mark says they offered Jesus wine mingled with myrrh, and he refused it; Matthew, that they offered him wine mingled with gall, and he tasted it and then refused it. A common explanation is that Mark describes a custom in which women of Jerusalem, responding to Proverbs 31:6–7 (the alleged custom is Jewish, not Roman), prepared a drink of wine and [frank]incense—Mark’s mention of myrrh instead of frankincense is variously explained (e.g., Lane, Mark, 124)—as a narcotic to ease the pain of the sufferers (b. Sanh. 43a). This Jesus refused so as to drink the full draught of suffering with all his senses intact. Matthew then changed “myrrh” (Mark) to “gall” in order to link the event to Psalm 69:21.

Though this interpretation remains popular, another one is more convincing (cf. Moo, Old Testament in the Gospel Passion Narratives, 249–52). Neither Mark nor Matthew mentions women, and both imply that the soldiers administered the drink. Moreover, that Matthew says Jesus tasted it before refusing it argues against the view that it was a customary narcotic to dull pain, for if customary, he would know what it contained. Why should he have tasted it if he would in the end refuse it? It is much better to assume that the gesture in both Matthew and Mark was not one of compassion but of torment.

Myrrh may have been used with wine to strengthen the drink (TDNT, 7:458), but it has no effect on pain (cf. John Wilkinson, “The Seven Words from the Cross,” SJT 17 [1964]: 77 n.1). But myrrh tastes bitter; so a large dose of it mingled with wine would make the latter undrinkable. Whether customary or not, the drink was offered to Jesus; but it was so bitter he refused it, and, according to this view, the soldiers were amused. Mark keeps the word “myrrh” to describe the content, and Matthew uses “gall” to describe the taste and to provide a link with Psalm 69:21. In both Hebrew and Greek, the words for “gall” in Psalm 69:21 (rō ʾš and cholē respectively) refer to various bitter or poisonous substances. Like David, Jesus looked for sympathy but found none (Ps 69:20).

35 The victim was either tied or nailed to the crossbeam (in Jesus’ case, the latter), which was then hoisted to its place on the upright. The feet were sometimes tied or, as in this instance, nailed to the upright. Crosses were made in various shapes—an X, a T, or the traditional cross (✝). The last is in view here (v.37). How high the victim was from the ground varied from a few inches to several feet—in Jesus’ case, the latter (v.48; Jn 19:29). The Romans crucified their victims naked. Whether they permitted a loincloth to avoid transgressing Jewish stipulations (m. Sanh. 6:3) is unknown. The victim’s clothes customarily became the perquisite of the executioners; here they divided them—probably an inner and outer garment, a belt, and a pair of sandals—among themselves by casting lots, oblivious to the OT lament in Psalm 22:18 that John 19:23–24 says was now fulfilled. (The variant reading in Matthew, preserved in the NIV text note, is an assimilation to John.) Mark says this took place at the third hour, about 9:00 a.m.

36 This verse is peculiar to Matthew. The soldiers kept watch to prevent rescue (men were known to have lived after being taken down from a cross). Perhaps Matthew gives us this detail to eliminate any suggestion that Jesus was removed from the cross without dying.

37 The statement of the crime was often written on a white tablet in red or black letters and displayed on the cross. The charge against Jesus, written in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin (Jn 19:20), is highly ironic. Pilate, though desiring to offend the Jews (Jn 19:19–22), wrote more of the truth than he knew. Pilate rubs the noses of the Jews in their vassal status. To a Jew, “king of the Jews” meant “Messiah”; so the charge on which Jesus was executed was, according to Pilate, that he was a messianic pretender. Matthew’s Christian reader will remember the intertwining strands of royal Son and Suffering Servant and see their climax here.

38 On the two lēstai (“rebel guerrillas”; NIV, “robbers”), see . The King of the Jews is crucified along with rebels. Matthew may be thinking of Isaiah 53:12, but this is uncertain (cf. Moo, Old Testament in the Gospel Passion Narratives, 154–55).

39–40 Crucifixion was always carried out publicly as a warning to others. With the day of the paschal meal behind them (see , p. 593) and the restrictions of Sabbath not to begin until sundown, there was time and opportunity for people to walk by on the nearby road and “hurl insults” (blasphēmeō, 27:39, as in 9:3; 12:31; 26:65) at Jesus. The verb in this context must be taken in the more “secular” sense of “slander” or “hurl insults” (NIV), but by using it Matthew may intend his readers to think back to the more “theological” sense of 12:31; 26:65 (cf. Bock, Blasphemy and Exaltation, passim; France [NICNT]). Shaking their heads, and so calling to mind the derision in Psalms 22:7; 109:25; Lamentations 2:15 (see Knowles, Jeremiah in Matthew’s Gospel, 203–4), the passersby threw up the charge in Matthew 26:60–61. The Greek should probably be rendered “You who were trying to destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days” (v.40; cf. Jn 2:20; see BDF, para. 339 [3]; Turner, Syntax, 80–81). The derision was palpable and identifies the mockers as those who had witnessed the proceedings of the Sanhedrin or had some report of them (cf. 26:61). The reason such a charge was brought against Jesus at his trial was that the Romans, in an effort to keep religious peace in their religiously diverse empire, made it an offense—a capital offense—to desecrate any temple. If Jesus’ strange words could be taken in that sense, his opponents had him on a capital charge. The parallel in Mark (14:58–59) shows the witnesses could not agree on this point. This inability to agree stands in happy harmony with the fact that Jesus’ actual words along these lines are reported only in John’s gospel toward the beginning of his public ministry in conjunction with an early cleansing of the temple (2:20).

The second taunt, “If you are the Son of God,” not only harks back to the trial (26:63), but for Matthew’s readers recalls a dramatic parallel (4:3, 6). Through the passersby, Satan was still trying to get Jesus to evade the Father’s will and avoid further suffering (Lohmeyer; cf. 16:21–23). Once more there is double irony. The mockers identify Jesus as the one who destroys and rebuilds the temple in three days, meaning, of course, exactly the opposite—that is the nature of irony. But Matthew perceives a deeper irony. By his death and resurrection, Jesus does become the temple, the great meeting place between God and sinners, signaled, in Matthew’s gospel, by the destruction of the curtain of the old temple (v.51; cf. G. K. Beale, The Temple and the Church’s Mission: A Biblical Theology of the Dwelling Place of God (NSBT; Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity, 2004).

41–43 The “chief priests, the teachers of the law and the elders” represent all the principal groups of the Sanhedrin (see

The taunt “He’s the king of Israel” substitutes the covenant term “Israel” for “the Jews” in Pilate’s words (v.11) and is in fact the normal Palestinian form of Jesus’ claim (cf. TDNT, 3:359–62, 375–76). The words “Let him come down from the cross, and we will believe in him” have several levels of meaning. They constitute a malicious barb directed at Jesus’ helplessness, while having the effrontery to suggest that the leaders’ failure to believe was his fault. The taunt piously promises faith if Jesus will but step down from the cross; but the reader knows that, in the mystery of providence, if Jesus did step down, there would be no “blood of the covenant ... for the forgiveness of sins” (26:26–29), no ransom (20:28), no salvation from sin (1:21), no theological basis for healing (8:16–17), no gospel of the kingdom to be proclaimed to nations everywhere (28:19–20), no fulfillment of Scripture (5:17–18).

In an unconscious allusion to Psalm 22:8 (as Caiaphas uttered an unconscious prophecy in Jn 11:49–52), the religious leaders launch their third taunt: “He trusts in God” (v.43). This prepares the way for the cry of desolation (see

44 The lēstai (“robbers”; see ) crucified with him join in the abuse (cf. Lk 23:39–43; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, para. 7).

45From the sixth hour until the ninth hour darkness came over all the land. 46About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?”—which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

47When some of those standing there heard this, they said, “He’s calling Elijah.”

48Immediately one of them ran and got a sponge. He filled it with wine vinegar, put it on a stick, and offered it to Jesus to drink. 49The rest said, “Now leave him alone. Let’s see if Elijah comes to save him.”

50And when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit.

COMMENTARY

45 The darkness that “came over all the land” from noon until 3:00 p.m. (that is what “sixth hour” and “ninth hour” refer to) was a sign of judgment and/or tragedy. The Greek gē here means “land” rather than “earth,” since the darkness was meant to be a sign relating both to Jesus’ death and to the Jewish people; beyond the borders of Israel, the darkness would lose this significance. Str-B (1:1040–42) gives numerous rabbinic parallels, and Johann Jakob Wettstein an array of Greek and Latin authors. But the most telling background is Amos 8:9–10, and to a lesser extent Exodus 10:21–22. Both passages portray darkness as a sign of judgment, but Amos mentions noon and the turning of religious feasts into mourning, and says, “I will make that time like mourning for an only son” (Am 8:10; see

It is futile to argue whether the darkness was caused by an eclipse of three hours (!) or by atmospheric conditions caused by a sirocco or something else, not because it did not happen, but because we do not know how it happened, any more than we know how Jesus walked on the water or multiplied the loaves. The evangelists are interested chiefly in the theological implications that rise out of the historical phenomena.

46 The “cry of desolation” raises two important questions.

1. In what language did Jesus utter it? Almost all recognize that the words echo Psalm 22:1 (for a list of exceptions, see Moo, Old Testament in the Gospel Passion Narratives, 264–65). But among the variant readings of a confused textual history (see Notes), Matthew keeps “Eli, Eli” (NIV, “Eloi, Eloi”), representing a Hebrew original, and Mark “Eloi, Eloi,” representing an Aramaic original. The remaining words, “lama sabachthani,” are Aramaic. Many suggest that Jesus quoted Psalm 22:1 in Hebrew, reverting to the ancient language of Scripture in his hour of utmost agony. Only this, it is argued, accounts for the confusion with “Elijah” in v.47 and provides a plausible explanation for the rendering “my power” (hē dynamis mou, presupposing Semitic ḥêlî) in the apocryphal Gospel of Peter. In this view Mark, or an early copyist of Mark, has turned Jesus’ words into Aramaic, recognizing that Jesus more commonly spoke Aramaic than Hebrew.

However, though Jesus was probably at least trilingual (Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek—with perhaps some Latin), the overwhelming textual evidence for the rest of the cry supports an Aramaic original. Even Matthew’s Hebraic-sounding Eli may in fact support an Aramaic original, because the Targum (written in Aramaic) to Psalm 22:1 has ʾēlî. Apparently some Aramaic speakers preserved the Hebrew name for God in the same way some English speakers sometimes refer to him as Yahweh. The evidence of the Gospel of Peter is not decisive because “my power” may not rest on a Semitic original but may be an independent periphrasis for God, akin to Matthew 26:64. Moreover, on the lips of a dying man crying out in agony, Eloi could as easily be mistaken for Elijah as Eli (cf. Broadus; Lagrange; Gundry, Use of the Old Testament, 63–66; Moo, Old Testament in the Gospel Passion Narratives, 264–75). Jesus’ cry was most probably in Aramaic; and at least some of the variants stem from the difficulty of transliterating a Semitic language into Greek, and others from the influence of the OT.

2. What does this psalm quotation signify? A large number of commentators have interpreted the cry against the background of the whole of Psalm 22, which begins with this sense of desolation but ends with the triumphant vindication of the righteous sufferer. The chief difficulty is that though OT texts are frequently cited with their full contexts in mind, they are never cited in such a way that the OT context effectively annuls what the text itself affirms (Bonnard). If the context of Psalm 22 is carried along with the actual reference to Psalm 22:1, the reader of the gospel is to understand that the vindication comes with the resurrection in Matthew 28, not that Jesus’ cry reflects full confidence instead of black despair.

Equally futile is the suggestion of Schweizer and others that these words constitute a more or less standard cry of a pious man dying with the words of a psalm on his lips. But why this psalm when others would be more suitable? Evidence for such a use of Psalm 22 is sparse and late. It is better to take the words at face value: Jesus is conscious of being abandoned by his Father. For one who knew the intimacy of Matthew 11:27, such abandonment must have been agony; and for the same reason, it is inadequate to hypothesize that Jesus felt abandoned but was not truly abandoned (contra Bonnard; Green; McNeile; Senior, Passion Narrative, 298), because “it seems difficult to understand how Jesus, who had lived in the closest possible fellowship with the Father, could have been unaware whether he had, in fact, been abandoned” (Moo, Old Testament in the Gospel Passion Narratives, 274).

If we ask in what ontological sense the Father and the Son are here divided, the answer must be that we do not know because we are not told. If we ask for what purpose they are divided, the ultimate answer must be tied in with Gethsemane, the Last Supper, passion passages such as 1:21; 20:28 (see also 26:26–29, 39–44), and the theological interpretation articulated by Paul (e.g., Ro 3:21–26). In this cry of dereliction, the horror of the world’s sin and the cost of our salvation are revealed, a fact that should be clear from surrounding details: (1) The verb “to save,” used in the preceding verses, has forced us to remember that Jesus came to save his people from their sins (1:21). (2) The darkness covering the land must signal something like the loss of the light of the Father’s presence. (3) The result of Jesus’ death is the tearing of the temple curtain (v.51), signaling full and free access into the presence of the holy God, which is possible only because sin has been paid for and the judgment of God averted. (4) This verse, cited from Psalm 22, must be read in the light of 27:43, also drawn from Psalm 22 (as we have seen). The mockers cry, “He trusts in God”—meaning, of course, with their sarcastic attempts at irony, precisely the opposite. Jesus’ ostentatious trusting of his Father must be dismissed as a failure or a joke, for look where it has gotten him! But once again, Matthew perceives a deeper irony: Jesus does trust in God, in precisely the same way, though doubtless at a deeper level, than David trusted in God, yet cried out in abandonment. Trusting God and being abandoned are not mutually exclusive—not in David’s experience, and not in Jesus’ experience. Jerome H. Neyrey (Honor and Shame in the Gospel of Matthew [Louisville, Ky.: Westminster, 1998], 152–61) shows that this cry is, in this sense, a true prayer, a mark of piety, cried precisely because Jesus is in the same profound way abandoned, which was God’s purpose all along, as Jesus’ prayers in Gethsemane attest. God’s answer to this cry of desolation, then, is in the utter vindication of vv.51–54.

In the words of Elizabeth Barrett Browning:

Yea, once, Immanuel’s orphaned cry his universe hath shaken—

It went up single, echoless, “My God, I am forsaken!”

It went up from the Holy’s lips amid his lost creation,

That, of the lost, no son should use those words of desolation!

Browning wrote these lines, of course, as part of her homage to William Cowper. For all his brilliance, Cowper suffered several rounds of suicidal depression. Browning powerfully asserts that Jesus cried, “My God, I am forsaken!” so that for all eternity William Cowper would not have to. Jesus cried, “My God, I am forsaken!” so that for all eternity Don Carson would not have to—“That, of the lost, no son should use those words of desolation!”

47 According to 2 Kings 2:1–12, Elijah did not die but was taken alive to heaven in a whirlwind. Some Jewish tradition, perhaps as old as the first century, held that he would come and rescue the righteous in their distress (cf. TDNT, 2:930–31; Str-B, 4:769–71).

48–49 See

It is not clear whether Luke 23:36, where mockery is clearly intended, properly parallels Matthew 27:34 or 27:48–49. John’s gospel (19:28–29) is interested only in the Scripture’s fulfillment, not whether mockery is intended.

50 This loud cry reminds us once more of Jesus’ hideous agony. Matthew’s “he gave up his spirit” (“spirit” here is equivalent to “life”) suggests Jesus’ sovereignty over the exact time of his own death. It was at this moment, when he was experiencing the abyss of his alienation from the Father and was being cruelly mocked by those he came to serve, that he chose to yield his life as a “ransom for many” (see

NOTES

46 Instead of ηλι or ηλει (ēli or ēlei,) from the Hebrew (ʾēlî, “my God”), some MSS agree with Mark 15:34: ελωι (elōi), from the Aramaic (ʾ^elāhî, “my God”), the long ō in Greek representing the Semitic ā by influence of Hebrew ʾ^elōhay. It is perhaps more probable that some MSS of Matthew have been assimilated to Mark than to the MT. For other variants, see Metzger, Textual Commentary, 70, 119.

49 The future participle σώσων (sōsōn, “to save”) here functions as a supplement to the main verb. The construction is rare in the NT (cf. BDF, paras. 351 [1], 418 [4]; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, para. 282).

51At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook and the rocks split. 52The tombs broke open and the bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life. 53They came out of the tombs, and after Jesus’ resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many people.

54When the centurion and those with him who were guarding Jesus saw the earthquake and all that had happened, they were terrified, and exclaimed, “Surely he was the Son of God!”

55Many women were there, watching from a distance. They had followed Jesus from Galilee to care for his needs. 56Among them were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joses, and the mother of Zebedee’s sons.

COMMENTARY

51a There were two temple curtains, one dividing the Most Holy Place from the Holy Place and the other separating the Holy Place from the court. Tearing the latter would be more public, but tearing the inner curtain could hardly be hushed up. Jewish parallels are interesting (b. Yoma 39b reports the doors of the temple opened of their own accord during the forty years before the destruction of the temple) but difficult to interpret. The inner curtain is presupposed in Hebrews 4:16; 6:19–20; 9:11–28; 10:19–22. Destruction of the outer curtain would primarily symbolize the forthcoming destruction of the temple, while destruction of the inner curtain would primarily symbolize open access to God (Best, Temptation and the Passion, 99); but destruction of either curtain could point in both directions.

There is more. If the death of Jesus opened up a fresh access to God that made the OT sacrificial system and the Levitical high priesthood obsolete, then an entire change in the Mosaic covenant must follow. It is impossible to grapple with Matthew’s fulfillment themes (see

51b–53 On problems concerning the historicity of this narrative, see D. Wenham, “Resurrection Narratives” (esp. 42–46). Only Matthew reports it, but it is of a piece with the tearing of the temple curtain. Both are part of the initial impact of Jesus’ death, along with the centurion’s exclamation (v.54). Moreover, the earthquake apparently links them. It is possible that Matthew sees the earthquake (v.51b), itself a symbol of judgment and theophanic glory (cf. 1Ki 19:11; Isa 29:6; Jer 10:10; Eze 26:18; see esp. the background materials gathered by R. J. Bauckham, “The Eschatological Earthquake in the Apocalypse of John,” NovT 19 [1977]: 224–33), as the means of tearing the curtain as well as opening the tombs. The temple area lies on a geological fault; and the Muslim shrines on the site today have been damaged by tremors from time to time (cf. D. Baly, The Geography of the Bible [New York: Harper, 1974], 25).

But the resurrection of the hagioi (“saints,” i.e., “holy people,” v.52) remains extraordinarily difficult for two reasons. First, its extreme brevity and lack of parallels raise many unanswered questions: What kind of bodies do these “holy people” have? Do they die again? How many people saw them? How public were these appearances? Second, a quick reading of the text gives the impression that though the holy people were raised when Jesus died, they did not leave the tombs and appear to the citizens of the “holy city” until after Jesus’ resurrection (v.53). What were they doing in between?

The passage has elicited various explanations. Some think it a displaced resurrection account, originally connected with the earthquake of 28:2. Others have thought it a primitive Christian hymn. D. Senior (“The Death of Jesus and the Resurrection of the Holy Ones [Matthew 27:51–53],” CBQ 38 [1976]: 312–29), in addition to criticizing some other views, represents the view that these verses are a midrash, a symbolic representation of certain theological ideas about the triumph of Jesus and the dawning of the new age. But apart from questions of literary genre (see Introduction, ), one wonders why the evangelist, if he had nothing historical to go on, did not invent a midrash with fewer problems.

J. W. Wenham (“When Were the Saints Raised?” JTS 32 [1981]: 150–52) offers an alternative view. He has convincingly argued that a full stop should be placed, not after “split” (v.51), but after “broke open” (v.52). The tearing of the curtain and the opening of the tombs together symbolize the first of twin foci in Jesus’ death and resurrection. On the one hand, Jesus’ sacrificial death blots out sin, defeats the powers of evil and death, and opens up access to God. On the other, Jesus’ victorious resurrection and vindication promise the final resurrection of those who die in him.

The resurrection of “the holy people” begins a new sentence and is tied up only with Jesus’ resurrection. So Matthew does not intend his readers to think that these “holy people” were resurrected when Jesus died and then waited in their tombs until Easter Sunday before showing themselves. The idea is a trifle absurd anyway; there is no reason to think they were any more impeded by material substance than was the resurrected Lord, the covering rock of whose grave was removed to let the witnesses in, not to let him out. The “holy people” were raised, came out of the tombs, and were seen by many after Jesus rose from the dead. There is no need to connect the earthquake and the breaking open of the tombs with the rising of “the holy people”; the two foci must be differentiated.

On several details we are told little. For instance, it is unclear whether the resurrection of the “holy people” was to natural bodies (cf. Lazarus, Jn 11) or to supernatural bodies. The latter is perhaps more likely; in that case they did not return to the tombs, and their rising testifies that the last day had dawned. Where they ultimately went Matthew does not say. Were they “translated”? Nor does he tell us who they were; but the language implies, though it does not prove, that they were certain well-known OT and intertestamental Jewish “saints,” spiritual heroes and martyrs in Israel’s history (cf. the terminology in Isa 4:3; Da 7:18; Tob 8:15; 1 En. 38:45; T. Levi 18:10–11). If so, then Matthew is telling us, among other things, that the resurrection of people who lived before Jesus Messiah is as dependent on Jesus’ triumph as the resurrection of those who come after him. The idea is not fanciful, given Matthew’s grasp of prophecy and fulfillment (see

One must still reflect on why the evangelist placed the account here instead of in ch. 28. He probably had at least three reasons.

1. The pericope would disrupt the narrative in Matthew 28.

2. The account is held together by two foci—Jesus’ death and resurrection. Therefore, Matthew’s putting it with the resurrection pericopes would have possibly been even more awkward than putting it with the passion pericopes. Linking the cross and the empty tomb in a unified theological application is not without its difficulties, regardless of whether the pericope in question is placed with the story of the cross or with the account of the resurrection.

3. More positively, the placement of this pericope with other verses dealing with the immediate impact of Jesus’ death may be peculiarly appropriate since they, too, point to the future. No Christian reader who saw in the torn curtain a reference to judgment on the temple would fail to see the new means opening up for the meeting of God and man, a means dependent on Jesus’ resurrection and continued ministry. Similarly, the confession that Jesus was the Son of God (v.54) would appear to thoughtful readers as a deeper truth than the centurion and his men could have known, for Matthew 28 lies just ahead. Furthermore, if the text had ended at “broke open” (v.52) and resumed with v.54, the reader would have been given a wholly wrong impression. Jesus’ work on the cross is tied to his impending resurrection; together they open up the new age and promise eschatological life.

54 Despite the fact that “Son of God” is one of several major christological titles in Matthew, it also appears in Mark as the climax of the passion (Mk 15:38–39). What is not certain is exactly what the soldiers meant by “Son of God” (cf. Blair, Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew, 60–68). They may have used the term in a Hellenistic sense, “a son of God” referring to a divine being in a pagan sense. But the governor’s soldiers were probably non-Jewish natives of the land (see

The darkness, the earthquake, and the cry of desolation convinced the soldiers that this was no ordinary execution. The portents terrified them and probably led them to believe that these things testified to heaven’s wrath at the perpetration of such a crime, in which the soldiers had participated. But this confession tells us something more: Jesus as the promised Messiah and unique Son of God is seen most clearly in his passion and death; but again the Jewish religious establishment, mistaking the nature of his messiahship, mocked him with the very title (vv.41–44) by which the pagans now confessed him (see

55–56 Along with the soldiers, certain women, generally not highly regarded in Jewish society, watched to the bitter end. They kept their distance, whether through timidity or modesty. Though last at the cross, they were first at the tomb (28:1). Not only do they provide continuity to the narrative, but they prove that God has chosen the lowly and despised things of the world to shame the wise and strong (cf. 1Co 1:27–31). These women were Galileans who often traveled with the disciples to care for Jesus’ needs out of their own resources (cf. Lk 8:2–3).

Comparison of the lists of names in Matthew, Mark (15:40), and John (19:25) produces these results:

Matthew

Mark

John

Mary Magdalene

Mary Magdalene

Jesus’ mother

Mary the mother of James and Joses

Mary the mother of James the younger and Joses

Jesus’ mother’s sister

Mother of Zebedee’s sons

Salome

Mary the wife of Clopas

Mary Magdalene

If we make two assumptions—(1) that John’s second entry is distinguished from his third (i.e., they are not in apposition) and (2) that John’s list of four includes the list of three in Matthew and Mark—then certain things become probable. First, the mother of Zebedee’s sons was called Salome, unless a different woman is here introduced. Second, if Mary the mother of James and Joseph (or Joses) is Jesus’ mother (cf. 13:55), then Jesus’ mother and Mary Magdalene appear on all three lists. That would make Salome Jesus’ mother’s sister—his aunt on his mother’s side. Others suppose that Mary the wife of Clopas is the mother of James and Joses, who are not Jesus’ half brothers. Yet the result still equates Salome and Jesus’ aunt on his mother’s side. Although none of this is certain, it would help explain 20:20.

OVERVIEW

Because of Deuteronomy 21:22–23, Jesus’ body, according to Jewish custom, could not remain on the cross overnight. The Roman custom was to let bodies of crucified criminals hang in full view until they rotted away. If they were buried at all, it was only by express permission of the imperial magistrate. Such permission was usually granted to friends and relatives of the deceased who made application, but never in the case of high treason.

57As evening approached, there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who had himself become a disciple of Jesus. 58Going to Pilate, he asked for Jesus’ body, and Pilate ordered that it be given to him. 59Joseph took the body, wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, 60and placed it in his own new tomb that he had cut out of the rock. He rolled a big stone in front of the entrance to the tomb and went away. 61Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were sitting there opposite the tomb.

COMMENTARY

57 The approaching evening—about 6:00 p.m. at that time of year—would mark the end of Friday and the beginning of Sabbath. Mark and Luke portray Joseph of Arimathea (the place is uncertain, but the best guess is Ramathaim, northwest of Lydda) as a prominent member of the Sanhedrin; Luke says Joseph had not consented to the Sanhedrin’s action. Only Matthew mentions he was rich. This may direct attention to Isaiah 53:9–12: though Jesus was numbered with the transgressors, yet in his death he was with the rich. To own a new tomb and use the quantity of spices reported by John, Joseph must have been well-to-do. Matthew tells us Joseph had become a disciple (on the verbal forms, see BDF, para. 148 [3]; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, para. 66; see

58–60 Matthew’s account is more condensed than Mark’s, who mentions Pilate’s checking that Jesus was actually dead and describes Joseph’s purchases. Joseph’s initiative is remarkably courageous; and Pilate granted his request only because he was convinced that Jesus was not really guilty of high treason (v.58). Joseph could not have acted alone: removal of the body, washing, the weight of spices, and other preparations would be too much for one man with limited time. John mentions the assistance of Nicodemus; probably their servants also helped. Matthew does not mention the seventy-five pounds of spices (Jn 19:39) wrapped up with Jesus in the linen cloth.

The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is most probably the correct site of the tomb (cf. Parrot, Golgotha). Some centuries earlier, the place had been a stone quarry, and the resulting rugged face became a place where tombs were cut from the rock. Joseph had prepared this tomb for his own use (v.60), but now he laid Jesus’ body in it. Tombs were of various kinds. Many were sealed with some sort of boulder wedged into place to discourage wild animals and grave robbers. But an expensive tomb consisted of an antechamber hewn out of the rock face, with a low passage (cf. “bent over,” Jn 20:5, 11) leading into the burial chamber, which was sealed with a cut disk-shaped stone that rolled in a slot cut into the rock. The slot was on an incline, making the grave easy to seal but difficult to open. Several men might be needed to roll the stone back up the incline. This sort of tomb is presupposed in the gospel records (cf. Parrot, Golgotha, 43ff.).

61 No mourning was permitted for those executed under Roman law. The women followed with broken but silent grief and watched the burial. In addition to Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, the women saw Jesus buried. This must be factual, since the Jews placed little value on the testimony borne by women (m. Roš Haš. 1:8). The witness of the women also prepares the way for 28:1. That Jesus was actually buried became an integral part of gospel proclamation (cf. 1Co 15:4).

OVERVIEW

This pericope is peculiar to Matthew. It is often viewed as a piece of “creative writing” designed to provide “witnesses” to the resurrection (Schniewind) or to provide “evidence” that Jesus’ body had not been stolen. But there are several things in favor of the pericope’s historicity.

1. It must be taken with 28:11–15. Thus, the account of the guards at the tomb does less to assure us that the body was not stolen than to provide background for the report that it was.

2. This may be the reason why the other evangelists omit it. In the circles they were writing for, the report circulated by the Jews may not have been current, so no explanation was necessary. In Matthew’s Jewish environment, he could not avoid dealing with the subject. But to think that this story was made up out of whole cloth by Christians makes little sense: “It is hardly likely that Christians would have invented such a convenient weapon for their critics if the story were not already in circulation” (France [NICNT]; cf. Wright, Resurrection of the Son of God, 636–40).

3. Matthew has regularly given information in the passion narrative that the other evangelists omit (e.g., vv.19, 34–35, 62–63); and it is methodologically wrong to doubt the historicity of all details that lack multiple attestation—not least because such “multiple attestation” may sometimes go back to one literary source.

4. If Matthew were trying to prove Jesus’ body was not stolen, why does he not have the guards posted immediately instead of waiting until the next day (v.62)?

5. On the other hand, the chief priests and the Pharisees would not necessarily be defiling themselves by approaching Pilate on the Sabbath, provided they did not travel more than a Sabbath day’s journey to get there and did not enter his residence (cf. Jn 18:28). Their action is not implausible if they still saw some potential threat in the remains of the Jesus movement. A few more details are mentioned below. (See also D. Wenham, “Resurrection Narratives,” esp. 47–51.)

62The next day, the one after Preparation Day, the chief priests and the Pharisees went to Pilate. 63“Sir,” they said, “we remember that while he was still alive that deceiver said, ‘After three days I will rise again.’ 64So give the order for the tomb to be made secure until the third day. Otherwise, his disciples may come and steal the body and tell the people that he has been raised from the dead. This last deception will be worse than the first.”

65“Take a guard,” Pilate answered. “Go, make the tomb as secure as you know how.” 66So they went and made the tomb secure by putting a seal on the stone and posting the guard.

COMMENTARY

62 This strange way of referring to the Sabbath (for “Preparation Day,” see Reflections, ) cannot reasonably be taken to spring from Matthew’s desire to use the word he omitted at v.57 (Mk 15:42; so Bonnard, Hill): Matthew is nowhere committed to using all of Mark’s words. Rather, this may be a way to avoid using the word “Sabbath,” which can be ambiguous during a feast, since it could refer to the last day of the week or to a feast Sabbath.

63–64 “Sir” (kyrie) is merely a polite form of address. For the phrase “after three days,” see

The Jews could take no military action without Roman sanction; so they asked Pilate that a guard be posted against the possibility of the body being stolen (v.64). Jesus’ “first deception” was his claim to messiahship; his “last deception” was his claim that he would rise from the dead. Now they hold Jesus to be “that deceiver.” Later Jewish polemic against Jesus often accuses him of being an “imposter” and someone guilty of “fraud” (cf. Stanton, Gospel for a New People, 171–80; Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, 439–42). From their viewpoint, the Jewish leaders are protecting themselves and the people from deception; from Matthew’s perspective, they are deceiving themselves.

65–66 The Greek echete koustōdia could be imperative (NIV, “Take a guard”), but it is more likely indicative (NRSV, “You have a guard of soldiers”; cf. KJV). Pilate refuses to use his troops but tells the Jewish authorities that they have the temple police at their disposal; and he grants the leaders permission to use them. This explains why, after the resurrection, the guards reported to the chief priests, not to Pilate (28:11). Pilate’s answer in v.65 must therefore be construed as cynical. He is saying, “You were afraid of this man when he was alive; now he is dead, and you are still afraid! By all means, secure the tomb as tightly as possible, if you think that will help. But use your own police.” So guards are posted, and the stone sealed with cord and an official wax seal (v.66). But “death could not keep his prey.” With the dawn, all the efforts to eliminate Jesus Messiah from the stage of redemptive history are held up for heavenly derision (Ps 2:4) in the irresistible triumph of the resurrection.

OVERVIEW

Because the resurrection is central to Christian theology, few subjects have received more attention. Paul goes so far as to say that if Christ was not raised from the dead, Christian faith is vain, and we are still dead in our sins (1Co 15:12–17). Useful examples of redaction-critical approaches to the resurrection narratives are provided by N. Perrin, The Resurrection Narratives (London: SCM Press, 1977), and especially John E. Alsup, The Post-Resurrection Appearance Stories of the Gospel-Tradition (Stuttgart: Calwer, 1975). Older works, such as B. F. Westcott’s The Gospel of the Resurrection: Thoughts on Its Relation to Reason and History (New York: Macmillan, 1906), are too readily passed over in the contemporary debate. Some works raise questions that turn on relatively new literary and philosophical angles. A useful place to begin is with G. E. Ladd, I Believe in the Resurrection of Jesus (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1975); Daniel P. Fuller, Easter Faith and History (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1965); W. L. Craig, “The Bodily Resurrection of Jesus,” in Gospel Perspectives (ed. France and Wenham), 1:47–74; idem, “The Empty Tomb of Jesus,” in Gospel Perspectives, 2:173–200; idem, Assessing the New Testament Evidence for the Historicity of the Resurrection of Jesus (Lewiston: Mellen, 1989). But by far the most important work to appear in perhaps a century on this subject is that of Wright (Resurrection of the Son of God).

The textual problems at the end of Mark compound the difficulties in sorting out literary relationships. Most now hold that Mark intended to end his gospel with 16:8, though some still cling to the authenticity of the “long ending” (Mk 16:9–20); others suggest some such ending as Matthew 28:9–10. What is certain is that, for those who wish to attempt it, the various resurrection appearances can be harmonized in at least three different ways (cf. Broadus; Ladd, I Believe in the Resurrection, 91–93). But it is more important to come to grips with the distinctive emphasis of each NT writer.

The considerable number of “minor agreements” between Matthew and Luke over against Mark strongly suggests that Matthew and Luke either shared as one source a written account of some resurrection appearances or borrowed from each other. The theological implications of the resurrection are not treated at length by the evangelists, but the theme constantly recurs in Paul (e.g., Ro 4:24–25; 6:4; 8:34; 10:9; 1Co 15; 2Co 5:1–10, 15; Php 3:10–11; Col 2:12–13; 3:1–4; 1Th 4:14). Thought-provoking works in this area include W. Künneth, The Theology of the Resurrection (trans. J. W. Leitch; London: SCM Press, 1965); T. F. Torrance, Space, Time and Resurrection (Edinburgh: Handsel, 1976); Richard B. Gaffin, The Centrality of the Resurrection (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1978).

1After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb.

2There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. 3His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. 4The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men.

5The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. 6He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. 7Then go quickly and tell his disciples: ‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.’ Now I have told you.”

COMMENTARY

1 The Greek opse de sabbatōn can be understood as meaning “late on the Sabbath”; then the next phrase would mean “as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week.” Taken together, these two temporal phrases must mean one of two things: (1) unlike Mark 16:1, not to mention the consistent witness of the NT, the events described take place on Saturday evening, the end of the Sabbath; or (2) this is evidence for a scheme of counting days from sunrise to sunrise, and the events take place early Sunday morning.

Instead, it is far better to take opse as an irregular preposition, meaning “after” (so NIV; cf. BDF, para. 164 [4]; Grammar, 645–46; Moule, Idiom Book, 86). “After the Sabbath” is then a general time indicator; i.e., the women would not walk far during the Sabbath, so they waited until after the Sabbath. But by then, Saturday night was drawing on. So early on the first day of the week (i.e., at dawn; cf. BDAG, 386), Mary Magdalene and “the other Mary”—the other one mentioned in 27:56 (still others are mentioned in Mk 16:1; Lk 24:10)—“went to look at the tomb.” Mark says they “bought spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus’ body.” It has been argued that Matthew must make the change to “late on the Sabbath” because he alone introduces the account of the posting of the guard (26:62–66), which would make admittance by the women impossible. The women would not have come once the guards were posted; so they must be presented as slipping in earlier. But if the women stayed home on the Sabbath and the guard was not posted until the Sabbath, would the women be likely to learn of it until they arrived on Sunday morning?

Matthew’s brief “to look at the tomb” preserves the theme of witness (27:56, 61); but in addition, it may reflect an ancient Jewish tradition that says Jews visited the tombs of the deceased until the third day to ensure that the party was truly dead (cf. Thomas R. W. Longstaff, “The Women at the Tomb: Matthew 28:1 Re-examined,” NTS 27 [1981]: 277–82).

2–4 The clause introduced by “for” (v.2) suggests that the violent earthquake (see 27:51) either came with the “angel of the Lord” (on angels, see

Too much speculative theologizing has accompanied some modern treatments of these verses. In particular there is nothing to suggest that the soldiers were in any sense pagan witnesses of the resurrection. They neither heard the angel’s words nor saw the risen Jesus; and they would shortly lie about what really had happened (vv.11–15). Furthermore, it is doubtful whether Matthew intended to contrast the soldiers’ terror, based on their failure to understand, with the joy of the women, who received the word of revelation. There is no evidence that the women witnessed the earthquake and the first descent of the angel; moreover, their joy was mingled with fear (v.8), for the angel’s “Do not be afraid” (v.5) is meaningless unless they were afraid. What is stunningly clear is the restrained sobriety of these accounts as compared with the later apocryphal gospels (e.g., Gospel of Peter, 9:35–11:44).

5–7 The angel speaks (lit., “answered”; see

Jesus had promised to go ahead of his disciples into Galilee (see ); the angel now reminds them of this (v.7). The present tense proagei (“is going ahead,” GK 4575) cannot mean that Jesus is already on his way, because (1) v.10 places him still in Jerusalem, and (2) a verb like “go ahead,” if pressed to mean Jesus was actually traveling, “would also seem to presuppose that the disciples also were on the way to Galilee” (Stonehouse, Witness of Matthew, 173). The verb is not a progressive present but a vivid future. As he promised, Jesus will arrive in Galilee before they do and meet them there, contrary to their expectation (see ;

8So the women hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy, and ran to tell his disciples. 9Suddenly Jesus met them. “Greetings,” he said. They came to him, clasped his feet and worshiped him. 10Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid. Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”

COMMENTARY

8–9 With mingled fear and joy, the women run to tell their news to the disciples (v.8), when “suddenly” (the probable force of idou, “behold,” in this context) Jesus meets them (v.9). “Greetings” (chairete, GK 5897) is a normal Greek salutation (cf. 26:49). The women clasp his feet (possibly a generalizing plural; see Turner, Insights, 76; cf. Jn 20:11–14) and worship him. Prosekynēsan (“worshiped,” GK 4686) can mean simply “knelt before” (see

10 Like the angel (v.5), Jesus stills the women’s fears and gives them a similar commission. Some have held that “my brothers” raises the status of Jesus’ eleven surviving disciples. This ignores the use of the term in Matthew; for apart from the places where “brothers” denotes a natural relationship, the term is employed of spiritual relationship—even before the passion—explicitly referring to the fellowship of those who acknowledge Jesus as Messiah (18:15; 23:8; cf. 5:22–24; 7:3–5; 18:21, 35). In the two other places where Jesus uses the full expression “my brothers” (12:49–50; 25:40), it refers to all Jesus’ disciples and cannot possibly be limited to the apostles (cf. Stonehouse, Witness of Matthew, 176–77).

Therefore, the natural way to interpret “my brothers” here is not as a reference to the Eleven but to all those attached to his cause who were then in Jerusalem, most of whom had followed him from Galilee to Jerusalem as his “disciples” (see

If this interpretation of Jesus’ words is reasonable, several interesting conclusions or possibilities are evident.

1. The view that interprets the “some” of v.17 as a reference to others than the apostles is supported, and the resurrection appearance of vv.16–20 may well be equivalent to the appearance before five hundred reported by Paul (1Co 15:6).

2. Obviously Matthew does not tell all he knows or recount every resurrection appearance of which he has information. Therefore, it is tendentious to argue that vv.10, 16–20 meant that Matthew thinks Jesus appeared to his disciples only in Galilee and denies any Jerusalem appearances.

3. The interpretation of v.10 offered here looks back to 26:32; 28:7: Jesus now confirms his earlier promise that, far from being left behind as a rotting corpse when his disciples return to Galilee, he will precede them there and meet them there. But now, after the resurrection, he makes the promise a command and includes all his “brothers.” Taken this way, v.10 is far from eliminating other appearances to the believers (cf. Lk 24:13–49; Jn 20:3–9, 11–29) before they return to Galilee. It is simply that Matthew, for his immediate purposes, is not interested in them.

4. But why not? Or why does Matthew record only the resurrection appearance to the women and the appearance in Galilee to his followers? Some have suggested that Galilee is introduced because it is the place of revelation and ministry, whereas Jerusalem is the place of rejection and judgment (see E. Lohmeyer, Galiläa und Jerusalem [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1936], 36ff.; R. H. Lightfoot, Locality and Doctrine [London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1938], 66ff., 128ff.). But one must wonder whether enough weight has been assigned to various facts, namely, that Jesus’ ministry was not only to Galilee but to the whole of Israel (10:6, 23; 15:24); opposition was directed against Jesus in Galilee as well as in Jerusalem, where the plots to kill him were hatched; at Jerusalem Jesus revealed himself as King in fulfillment of Zechariah’s prophecy (21:1–7); and Jerusalem, called the “holy city” (4:5; 27:53), peculiarly drew out Jesus’ compassion (23:37–39), whereas cities in Galilee were excoriated (11:20–24).

Why, then, Matthew’s record of a resurrection appearance in Galilee? The answer surely lies in the combination of two themes that have permeated the entire gospel. First, the Messiah emerges from a despised area (see

OVERVIEW

There is no sure way of dating the writing of this pericope by the closing words, “to this very day” (v.15). To conclude from this pericope that Matthew had in mind a period ten or fifteen years after the fall of Jerusalem (so Bonnard) stretches the evidence too far. Matthew simply intends this paragraph to be an explanation of the stolen-corpse theory and an apologetic against it. He may also be drawing out a startling contrast: the chief priests use bribe money to commission the soldiers to spread lies, while the resurrected Jesus uses the promise of his presence to commission his followers to spread the gospel (vv.16–20).

11While the women were on their way, some of the guards went into the city and reported to the chief priests everything that had happened. 12When the chief priests had met with the elders and devised a plan, they gave the soldiers a large sum of money, 13telling them, “You are to say, ‘His disciples came during the night and stole him away while we were asleep.’ 14If this report gets to the governor, we will satisfy him and keep you out of trouble.” 15So the soldiers took the money and did as they were instructed. And this story has been widely circulated among the Jews to this very day.

COMMENTARY

11 Some of the guards (presumably the rest waited to be officially relieved) reported, not to Pilate, but to the chief priests; probably they were temple police (see

12–14 It is very difficult to believe that Roman soldiers of Pilate would admit falling asleep (v.13)—that would be tantamount to suicide. But the temple police could more easily be bribed—even though it took “a large sum of money” (v.12)—and could more easily be protected from Pilate’s anger. The plan devised (see

It is equally improbable that the timid and fearful disciples could have mustered up the courage to open Jesus’ tomb and run the risk of a capital indictment, or that the Jewish authorities would have failed to prosecute the disciples if they had possessed a scrap of evidence pointing to the disciples’ guilt. Nor was the “large sum of money” an adequate measure of how far the Jewish leaders would go, for to “satisfy” the governor may well have involved further bribery (cf. parallels in Wettstein’s Greek New Testament).

15 And this, Matthew explains, was the origin of the “widely circulated” Jewish explanation for the empty tomb, still common in the days of Justin Martyr (Dial. 108).

OVERVIEW

Partly because there is no close gospel parallel to these verses, and partly because as the conclusion to Matthew’s gospel they have great significance, an enormous amount of study has centered on these verses. Much of it has gone into trying to distinguish between tradition and redaction or into establishing the Gattung or literary genre (e.g., B. J. Malina, “The Literary Structure and Form of Matthew 28:16–20,” NTS 17 [1970–71]: 87–103; J. Lange, Das Erscheinen des Auferstandenen im Evangelism nach Matthäus [Würzburg: Echter, 1973]; Hubbard, Matthean Redaction). The most believable opinion is that of Hubbard, who avoids the classifications of his predecessors (enthronement hymn, official decree, covenant renewal manifesto) and opts for a commissioning narrative patterned after similar OT commissionings (e.g., Ge 12:1–4; Ex 3:1–10; Jos 1:1–11; Isa 6; 49:1–6). After examining twenty-seven such narratives and finding a basic form consisting of seven elements, Hubbard finds five of them in 28:16–20: introduction (v.16), confrontation (vv.17–18a), reaction (v.17b), the commission (vv.19–20a), reassurance (v.20b). Missing are the protest before the reassurance and a conclusion stating the work is being carried out.

But several questions persist. Hubbard himself concedes that the form is not monolithic even in the OT; and absence of two of the seven common elements is disconcerting, the more so since Matthew’s final clause is a perfectly suitable conclusion to his gospel. More important, all the OT commissions Hubbard refers to are to individuals, whereas this one is to the disciples as a group. Some of the OT commissions are in reality the establishment of covenants; and if Frankemölle (Jahwebund und Kirche Christi, 42ff.) has somewhat exaggerated this theme in Matthew, it cannot be entirely ignored in a book that promises a new covenant (26:26–29) and seeks to demonstrate the continuity with and fulfillment of the OT covenant people in the messianic community being gathered around Jesus.

It seems best to conclude with John P. Meier (“Two Disputed Questions in Matthew 28:16–20,” JBL 96 [1977]: 407–24; cf. O’Brien, “Great Commission,” 254–67) that this pericope does not easily fit any known literary form and must not be squeezed into a poorly fitting mold. Yet Meier’s principal reason for this conclusion could be strengthened. He argues that these verses constitute a tradition so heavily redacted by the evangelist that conformity to a Gattung (or form) shaped primarily by oral transmission is, in principle, unlikely. That may be so, but this conclusion by no means makes impregnable judgments about the way the material came into Matthew’s hands (see Introduction, ). Above all, the temptation to ascribe authenticity to “tradition” but not to “redaction” must be resisted (cf. Carson, “Redaction Criticism”; Beasley-Murray, Baptism, 77ff.).

Some have distinguished between “Christepiphanies” (appearances of the resurrected Christ on earth, as in v.9) and “Christophanies” (appearances of the resurrected Christ from heaven, as at Paul’s conversion, Ac 9; cf. Dunn, Jesus and the Spirit, 116, 123). Those who make this helpful distinction are uncertain how to classify the resurrection appearance of 28:16–20. The dilemma is a false one. There has been no mention of the ascension; moreover, Paul seems to put his own experience of the risen Christ into a class of one (1Co 15:8), the sole “Christophany,” which must also be distinguished from John’s visionary experiences (e.g., Rev 1:12–16).

It is often pointed out that vv.16–20 recapitulate many of Matthew’s themes. The point can be overstressed (e.g., Peter F. Ellis, Matthew: His Mind and His Message [Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical, 1974]; Kupp, Matthew’s Emmanuel, identifies connections between, on the one hand, Mt 1–2 and, on the other, 27:51–28:20) but remains an important insight that ties up several loose ends. The most obvious connection between the end of this gospel and its beginning is the way v.20, “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age,” is thematically tied to “Immanuel” (1:23).

16Then the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. 17When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.

COMMENTARY

16 “Then” translates the mildly adversative de (“but”), not tote (see

17 Doubt about Jesus’ resurrection is expressed elsewhere (Lk 24:10–11; Jn 20:24–29), but only by those who have heard reports of Jesus’ resurrection without actually seeing him. This verse is therefore unique. Two difficulties must be considered.

1. Does “some” refer to “some of the Eleven” or to “some others” in addition to the Eleven? The question is partly decided by one’s interpretation of v.10, though more can be said. If proskyneō (GK 4686) here means not merely “kneel” or “make obeisance to” but “worship” (see

2. But why was there doubt at all? The verb used (edistasan, “[some] doubted”) occurs in the NT only here and in 14:31 and does not denote intellectual disbelief but hesitation (cf. JB, “though some hesitated”; see I. P. Ellis, “‘But some doubted,’” NTS 14 [1967–68]: 574–80). That is one of the reasons why the suggestion of J.-P. Sternberger (“Le doute selon Mt 28:17,” ETR 81 [2006]: 429–34) is not credible. He argues on the basis of symmetry in 28:16–20 that this verb must mean the opposite of “worshiped,” or something similar, and paraphrases, “Some were convinced, while others refused to believe.” But “refused to believe” is simply not what the Greek verb means. Even so, why did they hesitate, and why does Matthew include this information here? Even if others than the Eleven are the ones who hesitate, this does not solve the problem; it merely shifts it from the Eleven to other followers of Jesus.

Several solutions have been proposed, few of them convincing. There is no evidence of scribal emendation. It is barely possible that some doubted not the fact of the resurrection but just who this person was (Hendriksen, Grosheide, Filson, Walvoord et al.). The pattern would then be somewhat akin to Luke 24:16; John 21:4–14, where the resurrected Jesus is not instantly recognized. But it must be admitted that this introduces a very subtle distinction into Matthew 28. Moreover, the parallels in Luke and John are not all that close, since Luke says the two on the Emmaus road “were kept from recognizing him,” and John’s narrative has other uncertainties—distance from shore and the aside in John 21:12b. Neither Luke nor John uses the verb found here in Matthew. The most that can be said for this interpretation is that other passages show that Jesus in his postresurrection appearances was not always instantly recognized. Far less likely is the view of L. G. Parkhurst (“Matthew 28:16–20 Reconsidered,” ExpTim 90 [1978–79]: 179–80), who says that some doubted, not who Jesus was, nor the facticity of the resurrection, but the propriety of worshiping the resurrected Jesus; and this hesitation Jesus dispels by the words of 28:18: “All authority ... has been given to me.” Somewhat similar is the position of Gundry, who argues that vv.17–20 are Matthew’s way of saying that only Jesus’ word quiets doubt, and even the resurrection appearances will not do this. According to Gundry, we “could hardly ask for better evidence of the authority of Jesus’ teaching in Matthew’s theology.” But thematically v.18 is tightly related to v.19, not v.17. It is not at all clear that v.18 alleviates the doubt of v.17 (cf. Dunn, Jesus and the Spirit, 124; and to the contrary, Barth, “Matthew’s Understaning of the Law,” 132). At very least, we must admit that the text does not say that all doubts were removed, as is the case in Luke 24 and John 21. More important, Matthew’s use of proskyneō (“worship”) has been sufficiently ambiguous (see

Perhaps it is best to conclude that, especially if the “some” refers not to the Eleven but to other followers, the move from unbelief and fear to faith and joy was for them a “hesitant” one. The Eleven, who according to the other gospels had already seen the risen Jesus at least twice (Peter at least three times, Thomas at least once), respond instantly with worship on the occasion of this new epiphany, but some (others) hesitated—without further specification as to their subsequent belief or doubt. If this is what Matthew means, he may be using this historical reminiscence to stress the fact that Jesus’ resurrection was not an anticipated episode that required only enthusiasm and gullibility to win adherents among Jesus’ followers. Far from it, they still were hesitant; and their failure to understand his repeated predictions of his resurrection, compounded with their despair after his crucifixion, worked to maintain their hesitancy for some time before they came to full faith. Jesus’ resurrection did not instantly transform men of little faith and faltering understanding into spiritual giants. One suspects that the “hesitation” (not doubt) sprang from the fact that the “risen Jesus both was and was not ‘the same’ as he had been before.... There was a mystery about him which even those who knew him best were now unable to penetrate” (Wright, Resurrection of the Son of God, 643–44; cf. France [NICNT]).

Another thing (not dealt with by Matthew) was necessary, namely, the endowment of the Spirit at Pentecost. Matthew’s concise account presupposes this—for it is impossible that any evangelist could have been ignorant of that transforming event—but omits it in favor of pressing on to the Great Commission, which ties together some of his own thematic interests.

18Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. 19Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

COMMENTARY

18 “All” dominates vv.18–20 and ties these verses together: all authority, all nations, all things (NIV, “everything”), all the days (NIV, “always”). The authority of Jesus Messiah has already been heavily stressed in this gospel (e.g., 7:29; 10:1, 7–8; 11:27; 22:43–44; 24:35; cf. Jn 17:2). Therefore, it is incautious, if not altogether wrong, to claim that the resurrection conferred on Jesus an authority incomparably greater than what he enjoyed before his crucifixion. The truth is more subtle. It is not that anything he teaches or does during the days of his flesh is less authoritative than what he now says and does. Even during his ministry, his words, like God’s, cannot pass away (24:35); and he, like God, forgives sin (9:6). It is not Jesus’ authority per se that becomes more absolute. Rather, the spheres in which he now exercises absolute authority are enlarged to include all heaven and earth, i.e., the universe. This authority has been “given” him by the Father; and so, of course, the Father is exempt from the Son’s authority (cf. 1Co 15:27–28). The Son becomes the one through whom all God’s authority is mediated. He is, as it were, the mediatorial King. This well-defined exercise of authority is given Jesus as the climactic vindication of his humiliation (cf. Php 2:5–11), and it marks a turning point in redemptive history, for Messiah’s “kingdom” (i.e., his “king-dominion,” the exercise of his divine and saving authority; see

Contrary to France, it does not follow from this that Matthew 26:64 and Mark 14:62 refer to this exaltation and not the Parousia. In the first place, the chief priests in no way witnessed this coming of the Son of Man; in the second place, we have repeatedly observed how the coming of the Son of Man to kingly authority cannot be reduced to a single moment in redemptive history.

19 “Therefore” is probably the correct reading; but even if the word is absent, the logical connection is presupposed by the flow of the commission. Two features tie the command to Jesus’ universal authority.

1. Because he now has this authority, therefore his disciples are to go and make disciples—i.e., the dawning of the new age of messianic authority changes the circumstances and impels his disciples forward to a universal ministry he himself never engaged in during the days of his flesh, “except in reluctant anticipation” (Stendahl, “Matthew,” in Peake’s Commentary). His promotion to universal authority serves as an eschatological marker inaugurating the beginning of his universal mission.

2. Because of that authority, his followers may go in the confidence that their Lord is in sovereign control of “everything in heaven and on earth” (cf. Ro 8:28).

In the Greek, “go”—like “baptizing” and “teaching”—is a participle. Only the verb “make disciples” (see below) is imperative. Some have deduced from this that Jesus’ commission is simply to make disciples “as we go” (i.e., wherever we are) and constitutes no basis for going somewhere special in order to serve as missionaries (e.g., Gaechter; R. D. Culver, “What Is the Church’s Commission?” BS 125 [1968]: 243–53). There is something to this view, but it needs three careful qualifications.

1. When a participle functions as a circumstantial participle dependent on an imperative, it frequently gains some imperatival force (cf. 2:8, 13; 9:13; 11:4; 17:27; cf. C. Rogers, “The Great Commission,” BS 130 [1973]: 258–67). Only the context can decide the question.

2. While it remains true to say that the main imperatival force rests with “make disciples,” not with “go,” in a context that demands that this ministry extend to “all nations,” it is difficult to believe that “go” has no imperatival force.

3. From the perspective of mission strategy, it is important to remember that the Great Commission is preserved in several complementary forms that, taken together, can only be circumvented by considerable exegetical ingenuity (e.g., Lk 24:45–49; Jn 20:21; Ac 1:8; cf. Mt 4:19; 10:16–20; 13:38; 24:14).

The main emphasis, then, is on the command to “make disciples,” which in Greek is one word, mathēteusate, normally an intransitive verb, here used transitively (a not uncommon Hellenization; cf. BDF, para. 148 [3]; Zerwick, Biblical Greek, para. 66; see

The words panta ta ethnē (“all nations”) have been understood primarily in two ways.

1. They refer to all Gentiles—i.e., all nations except Israel. Israel has forfeited her place, and now the preaching of the gospel must be kept from her (so Hare, Theme of Jewish Persecution, 147–48; Walker, Heilsgeschichte, 111–13; D. R. A. Hare and D. J. Harrington, “‘Make Disciples of All the Gentiles’ (Mt 28:19),” CBQ 37 [1975]: 359–69).

2. They refer to all people, including Israel (so Trilling, Das wahre Israel, 26–28; Hill; Hubbard, Matthean Redaction, 84–87; John P. Meier, “Nations or Gentiles in Matthew 28:19?” CBQ 39 [1977]: 94–102; O’Brien, “Great Commission,” 262–63).

Certainly ta ethnē in its eight occurrences in Matthew (4:15; 6:32; 10:5, 18; 12:18, 21; 20:19, 25) normally denotes Gentiles, often pagans; but 21:43, where ethnos is used anarthrously, is an instance where “people” does not exclude Jews. Moreover, contrary to Hare and Harrington, a good case can be made for saying that the full expression, panta ta ethnē, used four times in Matthew (24:9, 14; 25:32; here), uses ethnē in its basic sense of “tribes,” “nations,” or “peoples” and means “all peoples [without distinction]” or “all nations [without distinction],” thereby including Jews. Could Matthew really be excluding Israel as one source of the hate his followers will have to endure (24:9)? Would he say that any Jewish Christians in any church known to him should not be baptized and taught?

More telling yet, Matthew’s gospel is now, in its final verses, returning to the theme introduced in the very first verse (see

Adherents of the church growth movement have in the past attempted to justify their entire “people movement” principle on the basis of this phrase, used here and elsewhere, arguing that ethnos properly means “tribe” or “people” (most comprehensively, perhaps, by H. C. Goerner, All Nations in God’s Purpose [Nashville: Broadman, 1979]). The latter point is readily conceded, but the conclusion is linguistically illegitimate. Plural collectives may have all-embracing force, whether in Greek or English. Doubtless God may convert people by using a “people movement,” but to deduce such a principle from this text requires a “city movement” principle based on Acts 8:40, where the same construction occurs with the noun “cities.” In neither case may missiologists legitimately establish the normativeness of their theories.

The aim of Jesus’ disciples, therefore, is to make disciples of all people everywhere, without distinction. Hill insists that such a command cannot possibly be authentic: “Had Christ given the command to ‘make disciples of all nations,’ the opposition in Paul’s time to the admission of Gentiles to the church would be inexplicable. It must be assumed that the church, having learned and experienced the universality of the Christian message, assigned that knowledge to a direct command of the living Lord.” But we have already seen how slow the disciples were to grasp what Jesus taught. More important, Acts and the Epistles betray no trace of opposition whatsoever to the fact of a Gentile mission. The debate between Paul and his Judaizing opponents was over the conditions of entrance into the Christian community (see

The syntax of the Greek participles for “baptizing” and “teaching” forbids the conclusion that baptizing and teaching are to be construed solely as the means of making disciples (cf. Allen, Lagrange, Schlatter), but their precise relationship to the main verb is not easy to delineate. Neither participle is bound to the other or to the main verb with the conjunction kai or a particle, and therefore “they must be viewed as dependent on one another or depending in differing ways on the chief verb” (Beasley-Murray, Baptism, 89; cf. BDF, para. 421). Most likely some imperative force is present, since the disciples are certainly to baptize and teach; but computer studies of the Greek NT have shown that although a participle dependent on an imperative normally gains imperatival force when it precedes the imperative, its chief force is not normally imperatival when it follows the imperative. Luke 6:35 has a close syntactic parallel: “And lend [danizete] to them without expecting to get anything back [apelpizontes].” Not expecting anything in return is certainly not the means of the lending, but it is modal in that it characterizes the lending; and at the same time at least some imperatival force tinges the participle, even if the participle is primarily modal.

Similarly, baptizing and teaching are not the means of making disciples, but they characterize it. Envisaged is that proclamation of the gospel that will result in repentance and faith, for mathēteuō (“I disciple”) entails both preaching and response. The response of discipleship is baptism and instruction. Therefore, baptism and teaching are not coordinate—either grammatically or conceptually—with the action of making disciples. The masculine pronouns autous (“them,” vv.19–20) hint at the same thing, since ethnē (“nations”) is neuter: the “them” who are baptized and taught are those who have been made disciples. But this is uncertain, because the case of “them” may be ad sensum (i.e., merely according to the general sense). In any case, it would certainly misconstrue the text to absolutize the division between discipleship and baptism-instruction. The NT can scarcely conceive of a disciple who is not baptized or is not instructed. Indeed, the force of this command is to make Jesus’ disciples responsible for making disciples of others, a task characterized by baptism and instruction.

Those who become disciples are to be baptized eis (NIV text note, “into”) the name of the Trinity. Matthew, unlike some NT writers, apparently avoids the confusion of eis (strictly “into”) and en (strictly “in”; cf. Zerwick, Biblical Greek, para. 106) common in Hellenistic Greek; if so, the preposition “into” strongly suggests a coming-into-relationship-with or a coming-under-the-lordship-of (cf. Allen; Albright and Mann). For more on baptism, see

The triple formula containing Father (or God), Son (or Christ), and Spirit occurs frequently in the NT (cf. 1Co 12:4–6; 2Co 13:14; Eph 4:4–6; 2Th 2:13–14; 1Pe 1:2; Rev 1:4–6). Individually these texts do not prove there is any Trinitarian consciousness in the NT, since other threefold phrases occur (e.g., “God and Christ Jesus and the elect angels,” 1Ti 5:21). But contributing evidence makes it difficult to deny the presence of Trinitarian thought in the NT documents: (1) the frequency of the God-Christ-Spirit formulas; (2) their context and use: it is impossible, for instance, to imagine baptism into the name of God, Christ, and the elect angels; (3) the recognition by NT writers that the attributes of Yahweh may be comprehensively applied to Jesus and, so far as we have evidence, to the Spirit (cf. C. F. D. Moule, The Holy Spirit [London: Mowbrays, 1978], 24–26).

Many deny the authenticity of this Trinitarian formula, however, not on the basis of doubtful reconstructions of the development of doctrine, but on the basis of the fact that the only evidence we have of actual Christian baptisms indicates a consistent monadic formula baptism in Jesus’ name (Ac 2:38; 8:16; 10:48; 19:5; similarly, passages such as Ro 6:3). If Jesus gave the Trinitarian formula, why was it shortened? Is it not easier to believe that the Trinitarian formula was a relatively late development? But certain reflections give us pause.

1. It is possible, though historically improbable, that the full Trinitarian formula was used for pagan converts, and “in the name of Jesus” for Jews and proselytes. But this is doubtful, not least because Paul, Apostle to the Gentiles, never uses a Trinitarian formula for baptism.

2. Trinitarian ideas are found in the resurrection accounts of both Luke and John, even if these evangelists do not report the Trinitarian baptismal formula. The faith to be proclaimed was in some sense Trinitarian from the beginning. “This conclusion should not come as a great surprise: the Trinitarian tendencies of the early church are most easily explained if they go back to Jesus Himself; but the importance of the point for our study is that it means that Matthew’s reference to the Trinity in ch. 28 is not a white elephant thoroughly out of context” (D. Wenham, “Resurrection Narratives,” 53).

3. The term “formula” is tripping us up. There is no evidence we have Jesus’ ipsissima verba here and still less that the church regarded Jesus’ command as a baptismal formula, a liturgical form the ignoring of which was a breach of canon law. The problem has too often been cast in anachronistic terms. E. Riggenbach (Der Trinitarische Taufbefehl Matt. 28:19 [Gütersloh: Bertelsmann, 1901]) points out that as late as the Didache, baptism in the name of Jesus and baptism in the name of the Trinity coexist side by side. The church was not bound by precise “formulas” and felt no embarrassment at a multiplicity of them, precisely because Jesus’ instruction, which may not have been in these precise words, was not regarded as a binding formula.

20 Those who are discipled must be not only baptized but also taught. The content of this instruction (see

1. The focus is on Jesus’ commands, not OT law. Jesus’ words, like the words of Scripture, are more enduring than heaven and earth (24:35); and the peculiar expression “everything I have commanded you” is, as Trilling (Das wahre Israel, 37) has pointed out, reminiscent of the authority of Yahweh (Ex 29:35; Dt 1:3, 41; 7:11; 12:11, 14). This confirms our exegesis of 5:17–20. The revelation of Jesus Messiah at this late stage in salvation history brings the fulfillment of everything to which the OT Scriptures pointed and constitutes their valid continuity; but this means that the focus is necessarily on Jesus.

2. Remarkably, Jesus does not foresee a time when any part of his teaching will be rightly judged needless, outmoded, superseded, or untrue. Everything he has commanded must be passed on “to the very end of the age.”

3. What the disciples teach is not mere dogma steeped in abstract theorizing but content to be obeyed.

4. It then follows that by carefully passing on everything Jesus taught, the first disciples—themselves eyewitnesses—call into being new generations of “ear-witnesses” (O’Brien, “Great Commission,” 264–65). These in turn pass on the truth they received. So a means is provided for successive generations to remain in contact with Jesus’ teachings (cf. 2Ti 2:2).

5. Christianity must spread by an internal necessity or it has already decayed, for one of Jesus’ commands is to teach all he commands. Failure to disciple, baptize, and teach the peoples of the world is already itself one of the failures of our own discipleship.

But the gospel ends, not with command, but with the promise of Jesus’ comforting presence, which, if not made explicitly conditional on the disciples’ obedience to the Great Commission, is at least closely tied to it. “Surely” captures the force of idou here (see

Matthew’s gospel ends with the expectation of continued mission and teaching. The five preceding sections always conclude with a block of Jesus’ teaching (3:1–26:5); but the passion and resurrection of Jesus end with a commission to his disciples to carry on that same ministry (see Introduction, ) in the light of the cross, the empty tomb, and the triumphant vindication and exaltation of the risen Lord. In this sense, the gospel of Matthew is not a closed book until the consummation. The final chapter is being written in the mission and teaching of Jesus’ disciples.

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