3. The Character of Research into the Synoptic Gospels----37
3.
The Character of Research into the Synoptic Gospels
THE HISTORY of the research of the synoptic gospels has gone through several phases displaying different points of departure. Let us look in this chapter at a number of these.
a. The gospels are originally separate units written by the apostles or their helpers to give to the later early church a kind of biography of Jesus.
This is still the most popular approach. Its great merit is that it takes its point of departure in the historical character of the gospels and the tradition concerning the words, deeds, death, and resurrection of Jesus. That was of course the aim of the gospel writers — to give an image of the historical Jesus as an answer to the question: Who was he? One can still differ about whether there was any special reason for the gospels to be written. They originated relatively late: thirty to fifty years after the death of Jesus.
One can suppose that over a period of time the image of Jesus had become somewhat vague, thus creating the danger of an exclusively spiritual (even spiritualistic) conception of the Christian faith (docetism), making it necessary to rebuild a clear image of the "historical" Jesus. But I think one can with equal justification regard the gospels as the written formulation of the already existing narrative of Jesus, because of the important role that it played in the early church. In both instances, however, the concern is with the knowledge of the earthly or historical Jesus. Nevertheless, scholarly investigation has shown that it is improper to speak of a "biography" in the accepted sense of the word. That the gospels do not give unified orderly images of the historical unfolding of events needs little elaboration. Geographically, for example, the travels of Jesus cannot be reconstructed. Was he primarily in Galilee, as the synoptics indicate, or did he transfer his ministry time and again to Jerusalem, as suggested by the fourth gospel? The synoptics give us no direct information, merely a few indirect allusions (Luke 10:38; Matt. 23:37). The same holds true for the length of Jesus' public ministry. His age, his youth, his outward appearance, his inner life are in many respects unknown to us.
As a consequence, the gospels as historical books were subjected to severe criticism. If you accept historical biography as a criterion, you are bound to conclude that the gospel writers were relatively incompetent. Either they were badly informed about the real state of affairs or they were totally uninterested in it. This criticism was concerned primarily with the historical "gaps" in the image of Jesus delineated with the literary irregularities and obscurities in the transition from one narrative to the next, and with all kinds of inconsistencies and differences in presentation between and among the various gospels. As a result the gospels began to be viewed as the end-product of earlier (or older) sources, oral and written, of which the writers made use in a rather clumsy and arbitrary way.
This literary-critical approach thus became entangled in a large number of source-hypotheses, in which each hypothesis was even more complicated than its predecessor. Ultimately, the only definite result was that Matthew and Luke were more or less dependent on Mark (or an Ur-Markus), and that they showed traces of a common fogia-source — the well-known "two-sources hypothesis." It can hardly be denied that some greater clarity about the mutual relationships of the synoptics was obtained in this way, but the proponents of the literary-historical method did not even come close to a consensus about the specific character of the gospels as historical books.
b. The literary-historical method was succeeded by the form-critical method.
The form-critical viewed the gospels in a completely different way. It did not see in them original units, nor did it view them as biographies; rather, it chose to see them as a collection of traditions found in the early church. The gospels are simply a framework in which all sorts of traditions were brought together.
The gospel writers were not independent historians, on this view, but editors or compilers. Thus the genre "gospel" becomes a secondary issue. It is more important to try to trace the various smaller units from which the gospels were composed. The form-critical method thus distinguishes in the words of Jesus between prophetic words, wisdom words, law words, "I" (ego-)utterances, parables, and so on; and in the deeds of Jesus, the fixed and often recurring forms of miracle-stories, "short-stories," and the like. Having done that, it then tries to trace how and where these various forms of tradition functioned — for example, in preaching, catechizing, or mission work among Gentiles or non-Christians.
Conversely, this Sitzim Leben can offer an explanation not only of the form of the tradition but also of the way the content of the tradition received its special shape; that is, how it has been re-created or even created. The tradition is understood to have been influenced in all sorts of ways by the experiences or the circumstances in which the early church lived, by the Jewish as well as by the pagan milieu, by the problems within the church itself, and by the variety of convictions that lived side by side within the church.
For this reason, some representatives of the form-critical method do not consider the synoptics a witness primarily about Jesus but rather about the faith of the early church, about the way it confessed or believed in Jesus. The gospels are not biography but kerygma, specifically kerygma influenced by the pluriformity which played within the Jewish-Christian, pagan-Christian church in the fifty years after Jesus' death. The advantage of the form-critical method is that it attempts to penetrate into the history of the synoptic tradition and gives us a clearer insight into the character of this tradition. It has correctly asserted that the motive behind this tradition was not simple interest in pure history — an effort to learn as much as possible about the life of Jesus and to transmit it faithfully — but to make converts to Jesus and establish them in the faith. In other words, the history of Jesus is not communicated in an objective-historical way, but betrays a tendency that can be called kerygmatic. That tendency has had a selective impact on the traditions and a formative influence on how these traditions were presented.
This was itself no new insight. The well-known citation of Papias about the gospel of Mark (in Eusebius, Church History, 111.39) had already observed that not everything in the gospels was narrated in historical-chronological order, but in accordance with the requirements made by the preaching and teaching. For Mark himself was not an eyewitness, but merely the interpreter of Peter, as Papias notes. And Peter composed his teachings with special regard to the requirements of his listeners, not with the primary intent of giving a summary of the words and deeds of Jesus.
But this correct view of the character of the synoptic tradition is dominated to no little extent by the radical historical skepticism of many of the representatives of the form-critical method (especially the dean of that school Rudolf Bultmann), which leads them to question the historical truthworthi-ness of the tradition. So completely has the tradition become kerygma to them, that is, a summons to faith and decision, that for them the historical nature of the tradition plays only the most subordinate role. History disappears behind the kerygma. The real question when investigating the synoptics is not: Who was Jesus?, but Who did Jesus become to the early church? What is the actual, existential decision to which the gospel intends to urge us? The early church does not give us the image of the historical Jesus but the expression of its faith in the risen Lord, and this faith is projected back into the stories and words of the historical Jesus. Therefore, the early church is not only the Sitzim Leben of the tradition in her form-giving and development, but also its genesis, its origin, its source.
The form-critical method by itself does not lead to this destructive criticism of the historical reliability of the synoptic tradition. No two representatives of this method agree as to the reliability of the gospels. This is not the result of what the method can prove on scientific grounds, but basically depends on the presuppositions of those who use this method. To many of them it makes little difference how much or how little in the gospels can be accepted as history, since (so these scholars say) the synoptic tradition is concerned with kerygma and not with history. Still, as true as it is that the gospels are not biographies with only historical interest, it cannot be denied that they attempt to establish the faith of the early church on the story of the historical Jesus. In other words, to play kerygma off against history short-changes the character of the synoptic tradition.
This insight has happily emerged anew in the most recent literature. For instance, Graham Stanton contends in an essay in a 1972 collection entitled Christ, Faith and History that the oft-repeated dictum "the gospels are not biographies" needs careful reappraisal. Of course it is true that the gospels are not to be read against the background of modern biographical writings. But when we compare them with contemporary biographies, it appears that the presentations of the life of Jesus in the gospels are much less distinctive than usually is believed (p. 197). It is certainly true that the church retained no tradition about Jesus solely out of historical interest or biographical curiosity, for the traditions are kerygmatic and were used in the service of the preaching of the primitive church. But what is commonly suggested as a corollary to this — that since the gospel traditions are kerygmatic they are neither "historical" nor "biographical" in their perspective — is untenable: the kerygmatic role of the gospel traditions has not smothered interest in the life and character of Jesus. The dual perspective of the gospel traditions is inescapable: they intend to proclaim Jesus, they are also concerned with his life and character.
I think this judgment is correct. Why else would stories about Jesus have been written down in such detail and with such great care so long after his death, if concern was exclusively with the exalted Lord and not Jesus of Nazareth? The gospel of Jesus Christ, as Mark 1:1 summarizes the content of the whole book — that is to say, the story of the historical Jesus as good news — has guided the early church since the beginning of its existence as the basis of its faith (cf. Luke 1:1-4). The early church did not create the story; the story created the early church!
This does not deny but presupposes that the story was not only concerned with historical interest but was directed to the faith of the church. Influenced in many ways, it was selectively sorted and put in a special form. Nor does this view deny that the story was narrated and proclaimed in the light of the glorious resurrection of Christ. Without the resurrection the story would have lost its power. It would have been the story of the life of a saint, not the gospel. But the converse is also true: to know who the risen one is, to be able to believe in the resurrection, one has to know who Jesus was, one has to know the story of the earthly Jesus. And this is the way the story is presented: "that you may know the truth concerning the things of which you have been informed" (Luke 1:4; cf. John 20:31).
The interrelationship between kerygma and history is therefore unassailable; but it was the history that brought forth the kerygma, and this sequence cannot be reversed without destroying the nature of the gospels. This does not yet solve the synoptic problem nor scientifically prove the historical reliability of the gospels. But only from this viewpoint can the origin of the gospels and the role that the early church played in it be approached in an historical manner. If what Mark calls the gospel of Jesus Christ is primarily concerned with the story — or kerygma, if you will — of the historical Jesus, and not with the response of the early church to it, then the early church is in the first place the recipient and not the producer of the tradition. Tradition must have been something sacred and unassailable for the church, with which it could not deal arbitrarily by merely projecting the image of the risen Lord onto the story of Jesus of Nazareth and creating and re-creating words and deeds of Jesus according to its own imagination. There is no proof whatever that tradition in the ancient church was the open arena of religious fantasy. Quite the reverse. All we know about tradition is that its origin and bearers are not an anonymous congregation, but the apostles of the Lord himself. Besides, where could such a church be found, able to produce such a tradition? The image we get from the New Testament of the earliest churches does not allow for the supposition of such genial creativity.
Thus it becomes difficult to accept that the gospels were simply collections of units of tradition spread about in all areas and situations in the church. Tradition must have arisen and formed in a far more consistent unity in the hands of experts and authorized people. Not that there was from the beginning an unassailable formation of the tradition. But a real care for its unity and preservation must have existed in various parts of the church. Luke says in the introduction to his gospel that many had undertaken the compilation of a narrative of the things which had been accomplished. And at last the church accepted four different gospels.
All this proves that from the outset there must have been real activity to preserve the tradition. This cannot have been intended in the first place to give historical form and shape to the faith of the community, but on the contrary to recover and preserve as much as possible of the earthly life of Jesus that was important for preaching in and building up the early church.
c. Not surprisingly, after the form-critical method got lost in endless detail, another approach developed, more directed to the whole of the gospels than to the hypothetical origin of their different parts, the so-called redaction-criticism method.
The main thesis of this method is that the gospels are the end-product formed by a process of development involving various traditions eventually combined. The gospel writers, however, were not merely compilers and collectors who brought the traditions to some sort of unity for better or for worse. Closer analysis reveals that they arranged things, and from a certain perspective edited and gave form to the traditions to which they had access. Whereas the form-critical method directed its attention to the smaller units of which the tradition was supposed to have originally consisted, the redaction method focuses on the whole gospel, the entire book as the product of the redactional activity of the gospel writers.
This method of approach is in itself nothing new. The well-known commentator Adolf Schlatter (Der Evangelist Mat-thdus, 2nd ed., 1933) showed, for example, that the writer of the first gospel composed his work independently, with a particular goal and a particular speech of his own, and with an eye to the needs of the church in Palestine, in which he found himself and for which he wrote.
The redaction-criticism method continued along these lines:
(1) by tracing, by means of a detailed comparison of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, their typical differences in method of transmission;
(2) by not viewing these differences as proof of arbitrariness or clumsiness, but rather as an indication of the peculiar theological approach of the gospel writers. Thus one speaks of the "theology" of Matthew, of Mark, and of Luke;
(3) by linking these different redactions to the ecclesiastical situation in which the evangelists found themselves. In this respect the redaction-criticism method shows a clear point of contact with the form-critical idea that the tradition should be also interpreted from its Sitzim Leben. But the concern here is not only with select parts of the gospels, but with the gospels themselves.
Undoubtedly the danger of kerygmatizing and dehistoricizing the tradition can arise here too. Because in Matthew 5:17 it is said: "Think not that I have come to abolish the law and the prophets" and then in the Sermon on the Mount, which follows, a detailed explication of the law is given, some advocates of the redaction-criticism method argue that there is proof here that in the church of Matthew's time the problem of the law had become acute. They consider that a sort of antinomianism had arisen over against Judaism and that Matthew in this passage takes his stand against it.
Now it may indeed be that there was an antinomian tendency in a part of the early church, but then in the explication of this verse the question of historicity inevitably arises. In the first place, did Jesus really say these words, or did Matthew put them in his mouth in order rightly to combat later antinomianism in his name? In other words, does Matthew 5:17 have its Sitzim Leben only in the situation of the later church or also already in the situation of Jesus' life? In the second place, if Jesus spoke these words, then they were not directed against antinomianism, but against the objections of the Pharisees, who contended that Jesus intended to abolish the law and the prophets. In other words, when the redaction-critical method interprets the sense of the words on the basis of the situation of the early church, then their point becomes something entirely different from what it would be if they were explained with a view to the situation of the earthly Jesus.
To be sure, it is quite possible that Jesus' words were later put into a completely different historical context (this happens when one makes a sermon, too) and that they came quite easily to have a somewhat different nuance from what they had had in Jesus' situation. These words of Jesus are then used for another purpose than they originally were given for. In my opinion one cannot regard this as impermissible. Still, it is necessary first of all to ask what the original sense of the passage was, and the later ecclesiastical interpretation must not obscure or obliterate the historical meaning, but as much as possible take its starting point in that historical meaning.
Another example of this redaction-criticism method of interpretation is found in the well-known discussion by Gunther Bornkamm (in Bornkamm, Barth, and Held, Tradition and Interpretation in Matthew, 1963, pp. 52-57) of the stilling of the storm (Matt. 8:18-27). Bornkamm first of all calls attention to the fact that this story is preceded in Matthew by the report of three people who wanted to follow Jesus, all of whom were told by Jesus what was involved in following him. The account then continues: "And when he got into the boat, his disciples followed him." Then comes the story of the storm and its stilling.
How does Bornkamm interpret this? He combines both passages. After the aphorisms about following Jesus, he says, comes the story of the stilling of the storm as the illustration of what it actually means to follow Jesus in real life. Whoever follows Jesus runs the risk of getting caught in the storm with him. The boat here is the ship of the church. The story is transplanted out of the life of Jesus into the life of the early church. Bornkamm tries then to show how the later redaction of this story is directed more to strengthening the faith of the early church in her trials and tribulations than to the historical miracle of the stilling of the storm. Not that he necessarily regards the miracle as unhistorical — he does not go into that at all — but he interprets the story on the basis of the situation in the early church and its faith in the exalted Lord.
I think Bornkamm gives an excellent interpretation here, since it is not the intention of the gospels to remain at a standstill with the historical Jesus and his miracles on earth. Nevertheless, I think that in the context of Matthew 8 and 9 — the so-called chapters of the miracles in Matthew — the christological viewpoint and not the ecclesiastical dominates. Matthew's intention above anything else is to give a cross-section of the miracles of Jesus in which his omnipotence is revealed with great diversity, including his dominion over the powers of nature. This is the primary and dominant viewpoint. That this is used by the later church in its own situation to instil faith and give consolation does not conflict with that point of view and we should do justice to that viewpoint in our own preaching about this passage. It is equally true that the historical Jesus is also the risen Lord. But the primary intention of the story is to bring clearly into view for us, out of the life of the historical Jesus, the person and the power of the risen Lord. Expressed in another way, the intention of the gospels is not merely to tell us who Jesus is, but in the first place who Jesus was. This is not a contradiction but a sequence which should dominate our whole view and interpretation of the gospels.
This is not to deny that the redaction-criticism method has been a very fruitful one, especially because it helps us see more clearly the unity of the gospels and the structure and goal of each gospel in particular. It is impossible of course to show this here and now in each of the three gospels separately. I think it is the most, difficult with Mark because his is the first gospel, and we do not know his sources. Since they are not available, it is therefore difficult to get to know just how independent he actually was in editing his gospel and what conclusions can be drawn from that. The case is different with Matthew and Luke since they probably were acquainted with and used Mark's gospel. Hence, we can more clearly distinguish their intentions by seeing how they used Mark's gospel.
In order not to deal only in generalities, I would like in closing to look at the gospel of Matthew from this point of view in a little more detail. It has long been observed regarding the structure of this gospel that the sequence of events in its second half (13:53 and after) is more in accord with the gospel of Mark than in the first half. So it is not too farfetched to suppose that the redaction of Matthew comes to the fore more typically in the first half of the gospel than in the second half. This supposition is more probable since the analysis of the first half shows a remarkable architectonic structure in terms of both its proportions and its content. Consider:
(1) With regard to its proportions the gospel as a whole is constructed very harmoniously. Its 1070 verses divide into four nearly equal parts, each consisting in our system of versification of roughly 270 verses.
A. 1:1 — 9:35. Jesus' birth; his appearance in Israel; his ministry in preaching and miracles (270 verses).
B. 9:36 - 16:12. confrontation with Israel (270 verses).
C. 16:13 — 23:39. announcement of his death, the way to the cross (272 verses).
D. 24:1 — 28:20. farewell; suffering, death, and resurrection (258 verses).
(2) The greatest part of Jesus' words is brought together by Matthew into five long discourses of different character, evenly distributed throughout the gospel, each closing with the stereotypical phrase: "And when Jesus had finished these . . ." (7:28; 11:1; 13:53; 19:1; 26:1).
A. Ch. 5-7. sermon on the mount.
B. Ch. 10. sending out the twelve.
C. Ch. 13. parables discourse.
D. Ch. 18. discourse regarding the community of the disciples.
E. Ch. 23-25. discourse against the Pharisees; eschatologi-cal discourse.
(3) The most typically "Matthean" part of the gospel covers 1:1 - 13:52 (the 270 verses of A + 180 of B = 450 verses, or 5/12 of the whole). Starting at 13:52 the author follows the sequence of events of Mark (covering 90 verses of B + the 272 of C and the 258 of D = 620 verses, or roughly 7/12 of the totality). This also suggests that the gospel has been built up from units which consist (in our verse-division) of approximately ninety verses (or twice that amount).
(4) A and B, in which (up to 13:52) the evangelist, in addition to his "own" materials (for instance, ch. 1-2), disposes freely of "Marcan" stories (both in sequence and in presentation), display proportionally a very remarkable "chiastic" structure. A falls apart into two sections, of 90 and 180 verses
respectively, and B into two sections of 180 and 90 respectively. In other words the structure of A and B has the pattern of a.b.-b.a. (a=90, b=180 verses).
(5) With reference to their contents also, these various parts of 90, 180, 180, 90 verses show Matthew's architectonic gifts in the formation of his gospel.
A. The first part of A (1:1 — 4:25) olearly forms the introduction to the whole gospel.
Ch. 1-2. genealogy, birth, wise men from the East,
flight to Egypt, return to Nazareth;
Ch. 3. John the Baptist; Jesus' baptism;
Ch. 4:1-11. temptation in the wilderness;
Ch. 4:12-25. general characterization of Jesus' ministry:
preaching of the gospel (a); miracles (b); company
of disciples (c).
total: 90 verses
B. The following 180 verses of A (5:1 — 9:36) correspond with 4:12-25 as far as (a) and (b) are concerned. Ch. 5-7. illustration of (a): the sermon on the mount; Ch. 8-9. illustration of (b): the so-called miracles-chapters.
total: 180 verses
C. The first part of B (180 verses, 9:36 - 13:52) presents first of all, in continuation of 5:1 — 9:36, in ch. 10 the third illustration of Jesus' ministry (the instruction of the disciples), corresponding to (c) in 4:12-25. In ch. 11-12 the reaction of all sorts of people to Jesus' ministry, as presented in ch. 5-10, is coming to the fore, showing for the greater part misunderstanding, unbelief, enmity. This leads to the parables in ch. 13, in which Jesus explains the mystery of the kingdom, revealed only to those who have received eyes to see and ears to hear. In summary:
Ch. 10. illustration of (c);
Ch. 11-12. misunderstanding, unbelief, and enmity, beginning with the reaction of John the Baptist;
Ch. 13. the hiddenness of the kingdom, explained in seven parables.
total: 180 verses
From 13:53 the sequence of the events with Mark is followed, starting with Mark 6. The structural grip on the material persists. From now on, however, the cohesion of the different pericopes is more diffuse.
D. The second part of B (90 verses, 13:53 - 16:12) brings the story to the great caesura of Caesarea Philippi: the announcement of Jesus' suffering and death.
Ch. 13:53 — 16:12. Jesus in continuous confrontation
with Israel, up to Caesarea Philippi.
total: 90 verses (6) As to the so-called miracles-chapters (8 and 9), more intensive analysis shows that the miracles narrated here have been very carefully selected by the writer, who includes one of every kind. This is reflected on in 11:5. Chapters 8 and 9 can be further subdivided into four equal parts of 17 verses, in which the miracles of Jesus are seen from a different point of view.
A. 8:1-17. Jesus takes upon himself the sicknesses of the people in accordance with Isaiah 53;
B. 8:18-34. Jesus is Lord also of the powers and of demons;
C. 9:1-17. healing and forgiving go together;
D. 9:18-34. Jesus is Lord over death. The conclusion (27-34) speaks of the reaction of the people, a motif taken up in chapters 11-12 and extensively elaborated on.
So much for the proportions of the gospel of Matthew. What is revealed is a very purposeful and clearly distinctive redaction. Comparison with the parallel sections in Mark brings the profile of this redaction the more to the fore.
As we could already notice, this structural redaction goes hand in hand with the logical and "theological" points of view from which the architect Matthew is building up his gospel.
After the birth stories (see below), the first goal of Matthew is to give a general image of the greatness of Jesus in his words and deeds, 4:12-25 giving a summary, elaborated successively in chapters 5-7 (preaching), 8-9 (miracles), and 10 (mission of the disciples).
It is Jesus' divine authority in speaking, healing, and disposing of the life of his disciples which here is pointed out in great detail. In chapters 11 and 12 comes the turning-point, so to speak, the negative reaction, both in the misunderstanding of John the Baptist and in the unbelief of the cities of Galilee and the enmity of the leaders of Israel.
The purpose of this picture is unmistakable: revealing and at the same time concealing the messianic glory and kingship of the earthly Jesus. Although Jesus was preaching with absolute authority (unlike the scribes of Israel) and with the same authority healed sick people, ruled over demonic powers, forgave sins, and triumphed over death, even John the Baptist asked, "Are you he who is to come, or shall we look for another?" Even Jesus' predecessor, in spite of the visible fulfilment of Old Testament prophecy in Jesus' powerful words and deeds (11:5), faced the real possibility of taking offense at him (11:6).
This possibility of offense revealed itself in different forms of misunderstanding, neglect, and bitter hostility, aiming at Jesus' death (ch. 11-12). This riddle of unbelief and enmity is to be overcome only by the miracle of the grace of God, who gives the ability to know and to understand the mystery of the kingdom not to the wise and understanding, but to children (ll:25ff.). Nevertheless, the kingdom is already revealing itself and nobody can be excused (12:28). But the nature of the kingdom and the way of the King appear different from what people expect and would like to hear and to see. Although the new world is breaking through already, he in whom God reveals his kingdom in mercy and power is misunderstood and rejected by his own people. The structure of the first part of the gospel in particular brings to expression in a wonderful way this ambivalent character of the kingdom, concluding in the chapter of the parables (13), in which Jesus provisionally explains the mystery to his disciples, to whom it has been given to know the secrets of the kingdom of heaven (13:11).
The parable of the sower and the motif of the seed in its relation to the harvest play an important role in this explanation. The kingdom of God is the harvest, bringing the foregoing labor to a wonderful divine result. But for the time being the seed that is sown and the Sower who is sowing depend on all sorts of "natural" influences, even on the most wicked hostility (13:24ff.). The seed, which in the end will be the greatest of shrubs, is the smallest of all seeds. It is in this way that the kingdom is coming, like leaven hidden in the meal, like a treasure hidden in a field, a pearl of great value, which is to be discovered and only to be bought in exchange for all that a person possesses.
This great paradox, the combination of the self-revealing and the self-concealing of the kingdom and of the person of Jesus himself, is the underlying and dominating idea of the marvelous structure and development of the first part of the gospel. And only after having interpreted the tradition in this way and having provided his readers with this understanding, does the author, in the second part of his gospel, join Mark in the course of his story, starting with Mark 6 and bringing all the lines of the history of Jesus together in his sufferings, death, and resurrection.
Undoubtedly it is not only in the structural redaction of the gospel that the "theology" of Matthew is to be sought. It has long been observed that Matthew is the most "Jewish" of the synoptic gospels. Matthew is the evanglist most concerned with the role and the significance of the people of Israel. Evidence for this is found in the genealogy of Jesus Christ in chapter 1, which starts with Abraham, as well as in the many quotations from the Old Testament and in the so-called particularistic sayings in 10:5 and 15:24. On this basis some representatives of the redaction-criticism method locate the Sitzim Leben of the first gospel in a typical Jewish-Christian context and qualify the whole "theology" of Matthew, even in its soteriological and christological aspects, as Jewish-Christian, giving Gentiles a share of salvation only insofar as they are willing to be included in and to adapt themselves to the Jewish-Christian community as the true people of God.
In present literature, however, a sharp controversy has risen over this analysis of - the character and purpose of the gospel, and, in consequence, over its historical Sitzim Leben. Some argue that in order to understand the real meaning of the gospel one must start with its conclusion, the universal mission mandate of 28:16-20. All its "Jewishness" would have no other significance than to serve as background for the confrontation with the unbelieving Jews, bidding them farewell and proclaiming the Gentiles as the real heirs of the kingdom and the new Israel. So the Sitzim Leben of the first gospel would have to be sought in a Gentile-Christian situation, and a more detailed investigation would only confirm such a conclusion.
Does such an alternative get us on the right track? Is the redaction of Matthew in fact dominated especially by the situation in which the evangelist lived and worked and which he tried to influence? Here, again, the structural redaction of the gospel can help us. It would seem to point in another direction, aiming not in the first place at a special situation in the later church, be it Jewish- or Gentile-Christian, but at a more general goal.
There is no doubt that, especially in his introductory chapters, the evangelist uses his redactional talents admirably to make it clear that Jesus is the true representative of Israel. He arranges Jesus' genealogy so that Jesus is the last in three groups of fourteen generations, the forty-second of the whole offspring of Abraham, the one in whom — by the grace of God and the power of the Holy Spirit — the people of Israel has reached its destination and fulfilment. Chapter 2 continues this line of thinking. Jesus represents Israel again when already as a child he, like Moses, was made the object of the wrath and oppression of foreign tyrants, fulfilling in this solidarity the loud lamentations of Rachel, the mother of Israel. Like Israel, however, he was saved by God's wonderful intervention, and was called from Egypt as the son of God. In the redaction of Matthew 4, Jesus' temptation in the wilderness fits neatly into this pattern, as do his answers to the tempter from Deuteronomy, recalling Israel's temptations in the wilderness and its failure to answer in the right way. All this shows clearly enough, already in the first few chapters, that only in his identification with Israel can Jesus be seen in the right light.
But at the same time, the Gentiles are involved from the very beginning in the redaction of Matthew. In the genealogy they are represented by the non-Jewish women, who are mentioned purposely and significantly as the mothers of Israel, sometimes at the very turning-points of its history. In chapter 2 it is the wise men of the East who come into view as soon as Jesus is born. Certainly they had to be taught by the scribes of Israel in order to find their way to Bethlehem, but they were the only ones who recognized and worshiped in the child of Joseph and Mary the King of the Jews. And, to mention one more example from Matthew's structural redaction, when he arranges Jesus' miracles in chapters 8 and 9, the first healing is that of the leprous Jew, laying stress on the full observation of the Jewish law for the lepers; but the next one is the curing of the servant of the Gentile centurion, purposely placed in this context in addition to the miracles of Mark and apart from the context in which Luke tells this story. The faith of this centurion is called greater than any Jesus found in Israel, this centurion being the forerunner of the many who will came from east and west and sit at table with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, while the sons of the kingdom will be thrown out. This does not mean the rejection of Israel, for the centurion is just one of the many in Israel who are blessed and whose faith is praised too.
In this arrangement we notice a line of thought observable through the whole gospel. It is always the Christ of Israel who is the center, only to be understood in the light of Israel's prophecy, the fulfillei of the powerful deeds of God's salvation in the past. But it is this Christ who is also the Savior of the Gentiles, not incorporating them in Israel in a particularistic way but extending the grace of Israel's God to all peoples of the world in the most universal sense of the word.
Focusing our attention on the whole of the gospel (as the redaction method does), we are allowed to conclude that there is far more intrinsic unity and cohesion in the tradition itself than the atomic approach of the form-critical method suggests. Otherwise it would not have been possible for Matthew (for example) to give us such a coherent and impressive image of the person and the story of Jesus of Nazareth. This means at the same time that this picture is not in the first place the result of reflection and interpretation only in behalf of the cares and problems of a specific local or regional church, but, on the contrary, an attempt to bring these specific and different aspects of the church's Sitzim Leben into the wide horizon of the redemptive history of Jesus' life, death, and resurrection, as these have been the very core and heart of the existing tradition.
At least as far as the gospel of Matthew is concerned, we can now say that this christological point of view very clearly dominates the ecclesiastical and not the reverse. It is also for that reason that these gospels have been received by the churches in all places and times as the story and the kerygma of Jesus of Nazareth, the Messiah of Israel, the Savior of the world.