Commentary

Commentary

Matthew 1:1-17: Jesus’ Background in Israel’s History

Cf. Lk 3:23-38. Although their works were not always strictly chronological, ancient biographers often “began with matters such as birth, parents, ancestors, and prenatal prophecies” (Aune 1987: 32). They frequently emphasized their subjects’ ancestry, sometimes (as in Nepos and Plutarch) opening with it (Burridge 1992: 146, 178, 194; Jos. Life 3-6). Such ancestry could help praise the subject by evoking what was known about the character of the subject’s predecessors (cf. Ex 6:12-30).

Son of David and Abraham (1:1). In this genealogy Matthew explicitly emphasizes Jesus’ descent from David and Abraham.

Second, Jesus is the “son of David,” a title of the rightful heir to Israel’s throne (e.g., Jer 23:5; 33:15; Ps. Sol. 17:21-23; 4QFlor; p. Ḥag. 2:2, §2; cf. Fitzmyer 1974: 113-26; Nickelsburg 1981: 304; Rogers 1993; Kaufmann 1994). Many scholars have even seen an allusion to David in the number of generations Matthew enumerates in three sets of names; “fourteen” is the total numerical value of the three letters of David’s name in Hebrew.

At any rate, the report is also appropriate for Matthew as biographer: there is little doubt that Jesus’ family historically stemmed from Davidic lineage.

The character of Matthew’s genealogy (1:2-17). That Matthew’s attribution of Davidic sonship to Jesus appears historically reliable does not imply that Matthew writes Jesus’ genealogy the way modern Westerners would try to write their family trees today. Matthew does have to omit some unhelpful generations and otherwise adjust the genealogy to fit his scheme.

More problematic to most commentators is the striking conflict between the genealogies in Matthew and Luke. Scholars have offered various proposals to address the discrepancy. Luther suggested that Matthew offered Joseph’s ancestry, whereas Luke provided Mary’s;

The question of historical detail cannot be settled merely on the thesis that people did not keep track of their ancestries, however. Priestly families’ genealogies remained in public records before 70 (Jos. Life 6; Apion 1.31, 36), but because evidence for preserving lay genealogies in the temple is ambiguous, some doubt that most genealogies were accurate more than a few generations back, aside from one’s clan (Johnson 1988: 99-108; cf. Safrai 1974/1976b: 753). Yet families interested in their lineage undoubtedly preserved their own ancestry, whether or not it was officially registered in the temple records (cf., e.g., Cotton 1995). Taxation status at times required peoples elsewhere in the Empire to be able to trace their lineage back as many as seven generations (see Lewis 1983: 41-42, citing P. Oxy. 109-21 and other texts), and a Roman of noble birth could disdain to marry his daughter to a man unable to “trace his family back even five generations” (Dion Hal. 4.47.4, LCL 2:427). If Luke traveled with Paul (see the Introduction) and could have interviewed James the Lord’s brother in Jerusalem, he would likely have had access to the family’s tradition (cf. Feuillet 1988, though Mary may have been deceased by that time).

But what about Matthew? None of Johnson’s examples of midrashic reworking of genealogies (1988: 109-10) predates A.D. 70 or applies to living people who might recount their own heritage; nor were fanciful predictions of the Messiah’s lineage (1988: 111-12, 115-38) ever based on a particular living individual held to be the Messiah. That Matthew does not simply fabricate a fourteenth generation to add to his thirteen in the final segment of his genealogy may also suggest that he is bound to some prior source (Davies and Allison 1988: 186; contrast Meier 1980: 5).

Matthew may thus preserve accurate historical information in this genealogy. Still, Matthew’s list is plainly incomplete; for the five centuries between Zerubbabel and Joseph, he lists about nine names, whereas Luke lists eighteen (Davies and Allison 1988: 181). Further, it is clear that Matthew takes some liberties with his genealogy and expects his readers to notice that he has done so. Matthew especially follows the listing in Chronicles where possible (Gundry 1982: 14-15; Jeremias 1969: 280n.26). Yet many commentators on the Greek text of Matthew note that he makes a few theologically significant adjustments to Chronicles: Asa and Amon become the more righteous Israelite figures Asaph (the psalmist, 1 Chron 25:1; superscriptions in Ps 50; 73–83) and Amos (the prophet).

The purpose of Matthew’s genealogy (1:2-17). While scholars may debate how thoroughly Matthew has adapted available sources, exclusive attention to that discussion risks missing Matthew’s real point. Even had Matthew taken his list unchanged from a complete and precise genealogy scroll, Jesus’ spiritual ancestry is more critical for Matthew than his genetic ancestry (cf. Meier 1980: 3; Johnson 1988: 209-10). The names in Matthew’s genealogy — like Judah, Ruth, David, Uzziah, Hezekiah, Josiah — would immediately evoke for Matthew’s readers a whole range of stories they had learned about their heritage from the time of their childhood. Genealogies provided family honor, defining also in-groups and inheritance rights (Hanson and Oakman, 1998: 28-29, who argue that the apical ancestors Abraham and David provide honor in this genealogy — 52-55). By evoking great heroes of the past like David and Josiah, Matthew points his readers to the ultimate hero to whom all those other stories pointed. For Matthew and his circle of Jewish Christians, Jesus was not an afterthought to Judaism, a distinct and unexpected addition to God’s plan in the Old Testament. Jesus was the goal to which Israel’s lovingly remembered history pointed. Matthew thus establishes rhetorical community with his audience in his proem; proems typically appealed to audience sympathy (Kennedy 1984: 102).

Matthew makes this point clear in the opening words of his genealogy: the “book of the genesis of Jesus Christ” (1:1).

Many people regarded ancestry and couples joining as a sign of divine rule (e.g., Hierocles in Malherbe 1986: 100; Epict. Disc. 1.12.28-29; Char. Chaer. 1.1.6). Jewish people in particular believed that bringing all husbands and wives together represented an act of divine providence (e.g., Pesiq. Rab Kah. 23:8; cf. Tob 6:17; Mt 19:6); some later rabbis even called it a miracle as great as the parting of the Red Sea (b. Sanh. 22a; Gen. Rab. 68:4; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 2:4; cf. Lev. Rab. 8:1; Num. Rab. 3:6). Because the Jewish people viewed history in these terms, genealogies could represent to them a testimony of God’s providence in their ancestry, and Matthew’s genealogy climaxing in Jesus would testify still more eloquently concerning God’s sovereign plan for history in Christ. As the genealogies of Genesis 5 and 11 unify history between major figures (Adam, Noah, and Abraham; cf. Johnson 1988: 78), Matthew’s genealogy unifies the defining periods of Israel’s history and points them to Jesus.

Mixed marriages and the Gentile mission (1:3, 5-6). While Matthew’s most obvious point is the connection of Jesus with Israel’s history, however, another point would also probably strike his biblically sensitive ideal readers forcefully. Genealogies need include only men (cf., e.g., 1 Chron passim), so the unexpected appearance of four women draws attention to them (so, e.g., Edwards 1985: 11; Johnson 1988: 153). (So often were women’s names lost that later Jewish haggadists sometimes had to make up names for important women characters, e.g., 1 Enoch 85:3.)

Gentiles in Jesus’ ancestry. Had Matthew merely meant to evoke the history of Israel in a general way, one would have expected him to have named the matriarchs of Israel: Sarah, Rebekah, Leah, and Rachel.

Not all commentators regard these women as representative Gentiles. Many commentators instead link them to charges of either sinfulness or irregular births, suggesting that their names prepare readers for the scandal of the virgin birth in 1:18-25 or counter slanders of Mary’s infidelity; as God vindicated these women of old, he would also vindicate Mary.

Genealogies and pure lineage. The Jewish people regarded genealogies as important to establish the purity of their lineage (Jos. Apion 1.30; cf. b. Pesaḥ. 62b; p. Ter. 7:1; Johnson 1988: 88-95). Priestly genealogies were preserved in the temple records before their destruction in A.D. 70, those of aristocratic priests reportedly being traced into the preexilic period (cf. Jos. Apion 1.31-33, 36; Jeremias 1969: 280-90; Stauffer 1960: 14), and purity in priestly lineage was essential (1 Esdr 5:39-40; cf. t. Ḥag. 2:9; 7:1; p. Ketub. 1:9, §1). One presumes that other Jews who could would have taken pride in the purity of their Jewish lineage.

When Matthew cites these four women, he is probably reminding his readers that three ancestors of King David and the mother of King Solomon were Gentiles.

Excursus: Matthew’s Infancy Narratives (1:18–2:23)

Like many ancient biographers, Matthew and Luke include information about Jesus’ ancestry and infancy, here supplementing Mark (Burridge 1992: 249).

Are the infancy narratives historical? Because Matthew builds each pericope around Scripture, these passages naturally contain midrashic elements, but various reasons prevent us from assuming a priori that these passages are therefore necessarily unhistorical (cf. Hagner 1993: lviii; against Bourke 1960; Beare 1981: 82).

Third, many texts Matthew cites are hardly obvious ones if Matthew started with texts and then created stories around them (stories that sometimes do not fit very well); while ignoring obvious messianic texts, however, he selects other texts that his contemporaries did not regard as messianic (Gundry 1975: 194, contrary to his later view).

Fourth, scholars concerned to trace each detail of their narrative to extant sources can easily abuse midrash. Whereas some Matthew scholars suggest that some of Matthew’s infancy material is midrash on traditions later incorporated into Luke (e.g., Gundry 1982: 20), some Lukan scholars suggest that Luke has midrashically interpreted Matthew (Drury 1976: 123-25); without objective controls, one can view any independent materials thus. Fifth, the infancy narratives’ vocabulary is not much more characteristically Matthean than the rest of the Gospel (Soares Prabhu 1976: 167-70). Indeed, substantial evidence supports the possibility that pre-Matthean narratives stand behind Matthew’s infancy stories (Davies and Allison 1988: 190-95). Finally, midrashic elements do not make these accounts strictly midrash in themselves (see Wright 1966: 454-56). Given the literary unity and occasional Lukan confirmation of Matthew’s birth narratives apart from these Old Testament citations, Matthew probably added the quotations to the narratives or traditions rather than simply the reverse (Down 1978; cf. Soares Prabhu 1976: 159-60, 165).

Although inadequate evidence remains to “prove” the historical reliability of the infancy narratives, arguments against the narratives’ reliability appear no more substantive (France 1981b). Because we have no access to Matthew’s sources for these narratives we lack much concrete evidence either way. In the absence of evidence to the contrary, however, we should assume that Matthew uses his sources in this part of his Gospel as carefully as he uses Mark and Q elsewhere. Elsewhere, while Matthew surely arranges and edits his material, he nevertheless derives it from prior tradition. Further, the details we find in these texts fit what we know of contemporary history (e.g., the character of Herod and Archelaus), in contrast to some historical novels depicting earlier periods (e.g., Tobit, Judith, most apocryphal Gospels and apocryphal Acts). Had Luke reported the same undoubtedly pre-Matthean traditions, many scholars would be inclined to accept their historical core on the basis of multiple attestation or at least a pre-Synoptic tradition. Luke’s and Matthew’s divergences do help us historically in one way, however. Because these infancy narratives are independent (so also, e.g., Hagner 1993: 14-15), the points where they do overlap do provide independent attestation for pre-Synoptic tradition.

Excursus: Debates about the Virgin Birth

Matthew and Luke independently attest the prior tradition of the virgin birth. More skeptical scholars have offered various alternative explanations of the virgin birth. Some Jews did apply the term “virgin” loosely to a wife during her first marriage (Vermes 1973: 218; Leon 1960: 232), following the looser Greek sense of the term,

Gordon offers parallels for his proposal that one could have a human father and yet derive one’s status from a divine paternity (Gordon 1977: 101; idem 1978a: 26-27). Greeks sometimes called their human heroes “Zeus-born” or “Zeus-nurtured” in a purely figurative sense (e.g., Hom. Il. 16.49, 126, 707; 17.34, 238, 685, 702; 21.75). The parallels seem questionable, but in any case only indirectly illumine the early Christian “son of God” title, and a virgin birth (on which divine Sonship was not predicated; see the Introduction) not at all. Bultmann asserts that the virgin birth must be a hellenistic addition to the story (1968: 291). Yet most alleged parallels to the virgin birth (see Allen 1977: 19; Soares Prabhu 1976: 5-6; cf. Grant 1986: 64) are hopelessly distant, at best representing supernatural births of some kind (Barrett 1966: 6-10; Brown 1977: 522-23; Davies and Allison 1988: 214-15; Hagner 1993: 17; even further are ancient biological views, e.g., Arist. Gen. An. 3.6.5; Ep. Arist. 165). Certainly pagan stories of divine impregnation, which typically involve seduction (e.g., Ovid Metam. 3.260-61) or rape (Ovid Metam. 3.1-2), bear no resemblance to a virgin birth.

Even most proposed Jewish parallels (Daube 1973: 6-9; cf. also 2 Enoch 71; Gen. Rab. 53:6) are too late or on closer examination have little merit (cf. Brown 1977: 523-24); Philo’s claims that God supernaturally opened wombs (Schweizer 1975: 33; cf. Vermes 1973: 220) probably simply imply that only God can provide conception (cf. Gen 30:2; cf. Meier 1991a: 221-22). Although no direct Old Testament precedent existed for virgin births, supernatural births (e.g., Gen 21:2; 25:21; 30:6, 17; Judg 13:3; cf. Maillot 1978) and prenatal annunciations (e.g., Gen 16:11; Judg 13:3-14; cf. 1 Enoch 107:3) abounded, and the biblical language is much closer to Matthew 1:21 (modeled on Is 7:14 in Mt 1:23) than pagan and most other Jewish accounts are. Because Matthew’s contemporaries do not seem to have interpreted Isaiah 7 messianically, however, there is no reason to suppose that early Christians composed the doctrine on the basis of the text, either (Davies and Allison 1988: 214).

It is difficult for those who accept Matthew as Scripture to reject the event of the virgin birth as history; Matthew derives theological capital from both the fulfillment of Scripture and the miracle. If Matthew’s point rests on a fiction, it offers little genuine support for his premise about God’s plan. Matthew’s perspective challenges the Enlightenment compromise that the essential point of the virgin birth is its “meaning” and not its historicity (against, e.g., Fuller 1956). Ultimately, the historical plausibility of this particular account rests on one’s presuppositions (Wilkinson 1964). Would anyone whose logic was not shaped by Enlightenment thought doubt that of all the miraculous births of history, the supreme prophet’s might be the most miraculous? One cannot deny testimony for a miracle by dismissing it on the grounds that miracles cannot happen.

We must evaluate the function and reliability of the virgin birth story by tools more reliable than culturally and historically shaped philosophical presuppositions. On the one hand, ancient writers did prefer to depict miraculous births when possible. Greco-Roman biographies, or “lives,” frequently included birth narratives (Aune 1987: 65; Burridge 1992: 249), including miraculous signs like dreams when appropriate (Shuler 1982: 94).

Yet, on the other hand, an inclination to report a kind of event does not render evidence for that event unhistorical. The basic account of the virgin birth predates both Gospels that open with Jesus’ infancy; neither Gospel is clearly dependent on the other (see Meier 1980: 17; Brown 1977: 162; pace Drury 1976: 123-25). The tradition stems from a period when Jesus’ brother led the church in Jerusalem. Reliable sources also stand behind many details of the accounts; Jesus’ birth would likely be one of the stories whose reliability Luke investigated (Lk 1:3; see Introduction), since, on our reading of his “we-narratives” (see Introduction), he implies that he had direct access to a younger son of Mary (Acts 21:18; 27:1).

Possibly if Mary’s family was from Bethlehem or certainly if Luke’s genealogy is hers, Mary could have been of Davidic descent; otherwise perhaps she was a Levite (Lk 1:36; Stauffer 1960: 45). Nor should we doubt that Joseph was Mary’s husband; that early Christians called Jesus the “son of Joseph” to correspond with the rabbis’ suffering “Messiah ben Joseph” (Gordon in Isbell 1975: 130) is unlikely. That rabbinic tradition probably dates to the century after the canonical Gospels were completed (Vermes 1973: 140; Yamauchi 1978: 165-66); further, the early Christian sources are unanimous on the name of Mary’s husband, despite the cognitive dissonance such memories could generate for those struggling with the issue of his divine Sonship.

Some scholars, however, have appealed to evidence that is probably unreliable. Lacking first-generation incentive to have gathered or preserved reliable accounts, later rabbinic tradition about Mary (properly “Miriam”; see Dalman 1973: 31) probably depends on and garbles early Christian sources. The context of such traditions is probably the view that immoral circumstances of conception incline the child toward apostasy (see Stauffer 1960: 207-8). Probably due to a Hebrew wordplay and confusion with Mary Magdalene, it often calls Mary a “hairdresser” (Herford 1966: 40-41). Most Greek and Roman women would not have regarded hairdressing as an ignoble occupation (e.g., ILS 9727, 9730, and 9732 in Lefkowitz and Fant 1982: 170); but given the role of hair in seduction (Keener 1992: 29, 53), the rabbis may have associated her alleged profession with the tradition that Mary was immoral.

The Virgin Gives Birth (Matthew 1:18-25)

Cf. Lk 2:1-7. That early Christian traditions should have preserved less of Jesus’ early life than of his ministry is not surprising: it fits (1) the primary significance of his ministry to his first followers; (2) their eyewitness attestation of the ministry (as opposed to most of his childhood); and (3) standard rhetorical form in passing quickly over material less relevant to one’s purpose (cf. Lucian How to Write History 56-57; Satterthwaite 1993: 345). Ancient biographies could focus on the public portion of a person’s life, addressing only in cursory fashion the most relevant features of a person’s childhood. Thus, for example, Josephus summarizes the first thirty years of his life in Life 1-16 (around 4 percent of the Life, considerably less than Matthew allots in his introduction to Jesus’ public ministry). Yet even some of this introductory material in Josephus’s Life (especially Life 13-16) prepares his readers for his role in the war. One may likewise expect many features of Matthew’s infancy narratives to prepare his audience for themes dominant throughout the Gospel.

If the genealogy indicates that Joseph descended from King David, this narrative explains in what sense this son of David (1:20) became Jesus’ legal father by adoption, given the already existing tradition of the virgin birth in the early church.

Jesus’ birth fulfills Scripture (1:22-23). Matthew emphasizes various points for his community, one of the most prominent being the authority of Scripture, which God fulfills with or without mortals’ cooperation. For whatever other reasons God incarnated Jesus through a virgin, the only reason Matthew lists is “that Scripture might be fulfilled” (1:22).

This basic point is clearer than the actual nature of Matthew’s argument from Isaiah. The Hebrew term ʿalmah in Isaiah 7:14 need not always mean “virgin” (on bethulah, see m. Nid. 1:4); thus most Jewish interpreters reject the messianic interpretation of this text (Berger and Wyschogrod 1978: 41). Indeed, because the earlier Greek version’s term for young woman usually (albeit not always) meant “virgin,” as in Matthew (cf. Benoit 1973/74: 1:5-7), later Jewish translators into Greek insisted on translating the term “young woman” (Longenecker 1975: 144n.25). Matthew, who regularly blends Greek and Hebrew text-types, must have known the possible ambiguity in Isaiah (rabbis often selected whichever textual tradition suited their argument at the moment).

Yet Matthew may not be claiming a simplistic correspondence with the Isaiah text anyway (see Willis 1978; Brennan 1964). Clearly the child of Isaiah 7:14 was an urgent sign to Ahaz and would still be young when the kings oppressing Ahaz were carried into captivity (Is 7:7-25); some have thus applied the prophecy to Hezekiah (Trypho in Justin Dial. 67, 77; Shotwell 1965: 75; Barnard 1967: 25; Kronholm 1989; cf. Bright 1981: 291). In the immediate context, however, Isaiah probably referred to his own son “Swift Is the Plunder, Speedy Is the Loot,” who would perform exactly the same function as Immanuel (8:1-4). But because Isaiah’s children were for “signs” (8:18), it was reasonable for Matthew to see in Immanuel (cf. 8:8) a sign pointing to the ultimate presence of God and triumph for Judah in the Davidic Messiah who would be born to Israel (9:1-7; see, independently, Blomberg 1992a: 60; Keener 1993: 48). Matthew’s use of other texts in Isaiah 6–9 suggests that he may have in view the entire section from which he is citing (Ellis 1977: 201).

Lessons from a righteous man’s obedience (1:19, 24-25). But this pericope emphasizes another series of points no less clearly.

The model of Joseph’s behavior here provides a number of exhortations for Matthew’s audience. But Matthew’s narrative may on the whole serve a more apologetic than ethically didactic function: by underlining the moral nobility of Joseph and Mary, he defends the purity of Jesus’ origin and the piety of Jesus’ upbringing; not only in biography (e.g., Jos. Life 7) but in speeches of praise and blame one’s background could shed light on one’s character. This apologetic strategy functions adequately because Matthew can presuppose a shared moral world with his community’s opponents on the ethical matters in question. Biographies sometimes opened with the protagonist’s parents or noble family background (e.g., Corn. Nep. 2 [Themistocles], 1.2; 7 [Alcibiades], 1.2); although such background did not always shape how a child turned out (Sall. Catil. 5.1; cf. 2 Chron 28:1; 29:2; 33:3; 34:2; 36:5), one’s background could help define a hero’s character (e.g., Hom. Il. 20.215-41). One could insult parents by reviling their children or children by reviling their parents (e.g., Ps-Cicero Invective against Sallust 5.13: your father injured the nation by begetting you).

Still, one of Matthew’s purposes in his Gospel is to transmit Jesus’ ethics (28:19), and Jewish teachers taught by example as well as by words. Ancient biographers often taught positive or negative moral lessons by the characters they depicted (e.g., Diod. Sic. 15.1.1; 37.4.1; Aune 1987: 36; cf. Lyons 1985: 29-32);

First, in a culture that valued the wisdom of age, Joseph and Mary’s youth makes their piety all the more striking. Although the point is less clear than in Luke (who plainly contrasts Mary with Zechariah in Lk 1:5-38), Matthew’s selection of this young couple as his Gospel’s first narrative protagonists is consonant with Matthew’s confidence that the young and obscure could effectively model Christian virtue (18:2-6; 19:14; 21:15-16). Their youth is not stated, but Matthew’s audience would probably assume it unless explicitly informed otherwise. Jewish teachers stressed the importance of marrying young, often to avoid temptation (see Keener 1991a: 73-74, 177-78). If rabbinic texts reflect the wider custom here, Jewish men in Joseph’s day probably often married around the age of eighteen or twenty (m. ʾAbot 5:21, 32; b. Qidd. 29b-30a; Qoh. Rab. 3:2, §3; cf. Davis 1958; Jeremias 1972: 129; also elsewhere, e.g., Lewis 1983: 55, though the Diaspora Jew in CIJ 1:409, §553 marries around 22). Jewish women often married as young as twelve or fourteen, upon reaching puberty (Gen. Rab. 95 MSV; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 11:6; Jeremias 1969: 365),

Second, Matthew portrays a couple who, far from being immoral before marriage, model sexual restraint (cf. 5:27-30). In contrast to false assumptions opponents of Christianity might draw (and some eventually did draw) from the story of the virgin birth, Matthew wants his audience to know that Mary and Joseph, like most of their Jewish contemporaries, practiced sexual restraint before their marriage.

A couple normally would marry a year after their betrothal,

Especially because they were probably a poor couple (cf. Lk 2:24; Lev 12:8), we may assume that Joseph and Mary shared the same bed in the same room (cf. Tob 7:16; Goodman 1983: 30-31; Stambaugh and Balch 1986: 83).

Third, while Matthew allows that divorce is just under some circumstances (cf. 5:32), he shares the Jewish and biblical view that infidelity is always unjust. By calling Joseph “righteous,” Matthew invites his audience to learn from Joseph’s character about fidelity, discipline, and preferring God’s honor above one’s own. Given the economic agreement involved, Jewish people rarely ended betrothals lightly (cf. perhaps Jos. and Asen. 23:3), and Joseph plans to do so only under the severest of circumstances.

For Joseph to “put Mary away” (1:19) meant that he would divorce her. To explain the necessity of divorce to end a betrothal, one must understand the significance of betrothal. As elsewhere in the Mediterranean world (e.g., Hom. Od. 4.5-12; Ovid Metam. 4.60-61; 9.715; Longus 3.30-31; 4.36; Ninus Romance fr. 1, A.1), fathers were guardians of their daughters’ virginity, arranged their marriages, and “gave” them to their husbands (with some measure of barter in either direction; cf. Tob 7:13-15; Sir 7:24-25; Jub. 28:6-7).

The issue is not that Joseph fears to wed Mary because he recognizes the virgin conception (pace Gundry 1982: 22);

In contrast to most of modern Western culture, Joseph lived in a society where he had no option of giving Mary a second chance, even if he wanted to (which he presumably would not have). Jewish, Greek, and Roman law all demanded that a man divorce his wife if she were guilty of adultery (Keener 1991a: 31, 156; Gardner 1986: 89; Bockmuehl 1989; Justinian, Digest 48.5.1, pref.; Demosth. Against Neaera 87).

Perhaps Mary’s family would have wished to have sent her away to prevent others from learning of her pregnancy (cf. Lk 1:39); the corruption of a virgin shamed her father, especially if she were betrothed (Parthenius L.R. 35.1, 3-4; Lev 21:9). But if Joseph knew, he was probably not alone, and word could spread quickly in a small town like Nazareth (cf. Lk 1:26) or Bethlehem. If Joseph married Mary and it was clear to anyone besides himself that she was pregnant, others would assume that he must have gotten her pregnant; otherwise, they would reason, he would surely divorce her for being unfaithful to him! While his town would not have viewed a betrothed couple’s intercourse as seriously as adultery (cf. Deut. 22:14, 22), townspeople would have questioned the moral commitment of both parties.

Further, Joseph had little reason to trust Mary’s innocence. On the historical level, to be sure, Joseph probably did not know Mary well and had little reason to trust her innocence. Jewish texts suggest that Galilean couples were allowed no privacy (hence neither chance for intercourse nor private conversation) together until the wedding (Safrai 1974/76b: 756-57; Finkelstein 1962: 1:45).

Under these circumstances, Joseph was righteous in divorcing Mary; to fail to do so would violate law and custom, would bring enduring reproach on his household, and would constitute embracing as his wife one who had betrayed him in the worst manner conceivable in his culture. Given Jewish law and custom Matthew’s readers would expect Joseph to remarry, and Matthew’s words later in the Gospel support this probability (5:32; 19:9; cf. Keener1991a: 36-37; Allison 1993a).

Fourth, Joseph models the principle of justice tempered by compassion. This is a principle that Matthew regards as central to the interpretive conflict between the ethics of Jesus and those of his followers’ opponents (cf. 9:13). Matthew does not state that Joseph was righteous because he was divorcing Mary (though he makes clear that Joseph was not unrighteous for doing so). Rather, he emphasizes that Joseph was righteous for divorcing Mary privately — that is, for not bringing unnecessary shame on her.

Jewish courts in this period could not execute capital sentences

Yet Joseph might have profited from divorcing her publicly. By taking her to court Joseph could have impounded her dowry — the total assets she brought into the marriage

Fifth, Joseph values obedience to God above his own honor (cf. 7:21-27; 23:5-11). When God reveals the truth to Joseph, he immediately believes and obeys God’s will, unbelievable as the truth would seem without a deep trust in God’s power. Joseph’s response to God’s revelation reveals the depth of his trust in God, especially since the revelation was limited to a dream.

Excursus on Dreams (1:20)

Dreams were often, though not always, regarded as sufficient grounds for faith. Whether in Greece and Macedonia (Hom. Il. 1.63; 5.150; Virg. Aen. 4.556-57; 7.415-20; Ovid Metam. 9.685-701; 15.653-54; Paus. 4.19.5-6; 9.26.4; Longus 1.7; 2.23, 26-27; 3.27; 4.35; Appian R.H. 11.9.56; 12.12.83; Arrian Alex. 2.18.1; Babrius 136.3-4; Ach. Tat. 1.3.2; 4.1.4; 7.12.4; Char. Chaer. 1.12.5; 2.9.6; 3.7.4; 4.1.2; 5.5.5-7; 6.2.2; 6.8.3; cf. Orphic Hymn 85-87; Epidauros inscriptions; Hadas 1951: 184-85; Reinhold 1983: 35; Oberhelman 1979; Hanson 1980; Martin 1987: 48-50; Martin 1991), Rome (Tac. Ann. 2.14; Marc. Aur. Med. 1.17.8; van der Horst 1973: 221-22), Egypt (Ezek. Exag. 68-89; Sib. Or. 3.293; Philo Mig. 190; Deissmann 1978: 154; Lewis 1983: 99), Carthage (Dio Cass. bk. 13, fr. in Zonaras 8.22), the East (Herod. Hist. 1.34, 107, 127), Palestine (Jos. War 1.328; 2.116; Life 208-10), among later rabbis (ARN 40 A; 46, §§128-29 B; b. B. Bat. 10a; Ber. 55a-58a; Ḥag. 14b; Gen. Rab. 17:5; 44:17; 89:5-6, 8; Lev. Rab. 3:5; 34:12; Qoh. Rab. 1:1, §1; 3:2, §2; 5:2, §1; 5:6, §1; Lam. Rab. 1.1.16-18; Zeitlin 1975; Alexander 1995), or in magical papyri (PGM 4.2076-80, 2444-45, 2625, 3172; PDM Sup. 117-30), people believed that dreams conveyed divine messages. So compelling was trust in dreams’ warnings that a fabricated dream reportedly precipitated an innocent man’s execution (Dio Cassius R.H. 60.14.4–15.1; cf. Appian R.H. 12.2.9), and some warned of false dream-tellers and interpreters (Juv. Sat. 6.542-47; Lam. Rab. 1:1, §14-15; cf. Virg. Aen. 5.636).

God revealed things to biblical heroes in Jewish tradition as well (e.g., Gen 28:12; 37:5-9; Dan 2:19; cf. Jos. Ant. 2.13-16, 63-73), and later stories amplified the frequency of such revelations (1QapGen 19.14-23; Jub. 27:1-3; 32:1; 41:24; Ezek. Exag. 68-89; Jos. Ant. 6.38; 7.147; Ps-Philo 9:10; 42:3; 4 Ezra 10:59; Test. Abr. 4 A; 4, 6 B; Life of Adam 23:2/Apoc. Mos. 2:2; Endres 1987: 207). Perhaps most to the point here, God promised Moses’ father in a dream that he would keep the infant Moses safe (Jos. Ant. 2.216-19).

Some dreams were especially believed to be sacred, namely, those experienced in a sacred place. The ancient Near Eastern practice of incubation — receiving a dream by sleeping in a temple (cf. Gen 15:12-13; 1 Sam 3:3-4; 1 Kings 3:4-5; Keret in ANET 143, KRT A i; Aqhat in ANET 150, AQHT A i) — continued in the hellenistic and Roman periods (e.g., Diod. Sic. 1.25.3-4; 1.53.8; Paus. 1.34.5; 2.27.2; Herodian 4.8.3; Grant 1953: 16, 38; Oepke 1967: 223-24; Grant 1986: 66-67; cf. Rousselle 1985; in Josephus, Gnuse 1993). Later rabbis believed that revelatory dreams could be secured through fasting (p. Ketub. 12.3, §7) or their ill pronouncements revoked through fasting (Pesiq. Rab Kah. 28:2). Still, people realized that not all dreams were divine revelations, and those who were more skeptical dismissed most dreams from being revelations (Sir 34/31:1-8; Ep. Arist. 213-16; Jos. Apion 1.207-8; Hom. Od. 19.559-67; Herod. Hist. 7.12-19; Arist. Soul; Prophecy in Sleep; Artem. Oneir. 1.1; Herodian 2.9.3; cf. b. Hor. 13b; Cic. De Divin. 2.58.119–72.150; Diog. Laert. 6.2.43). Some dreams were even intended or regarded as divine deceptions (Hom. Il. 2.20-21; Virg. Aen. 5.893-96; P. Par. 47).

Of all New Testament writers, especially Matthew stresses revelation through dreams (2:12, 13, 19, 22; 27:19). The character of the dream is noteworthy. Pagan (e.g., Hom. Il. 23.65, 83-85; Eurip. Hecuba 30-34, 703-6; Virg. Aen. 1.353-54; 2.268-97, 772-94; 4.351-52; 5.721-23; Ovid Metam.11.586-88, 635, 650-73; Apul. Metam. 8.8; 9.31; Plut. Bravery of Women, Mor. 252F; cf. Hom. Od. 4.795-839; 19.546-49; Appian R.H. 8.1.1; Arrian Alex. 7.30.2) and Jewish (ARN 40A; Pesiq. Rab. Kah. 11:23; p. Ḥag. 2:2, §5; Ketub. 12:3, §7; Sanh. 6:6, §2; Qoh. Rab. 9:10, §1; the earliest Christian example is Acts of Paul 11:6) dreams often included apparitions of deceased persons; like the biblical tradition, however, Matthew limited apparitions to angels (in Matthew’s narrative, the angel of the Lord appears only in dreams until the appearance in 28:2); this account also lacks typical postbiblical expansions (see France 1985: 78).

Jesus is the Savior (1:20-21). But while Matthew emphasizes the authority of Scripture through his citation of Isaiah and fidelity, commitment, and obedience through the example of Joseph, he also provides teaching about salvation through Christ. Even while Jesus is in Mary’s womb, the angel declares that his name will be Yeshua (here in its Greek form Iēsous, generally translated “Joshua” in the English Old Testament and “Jesus” in the New), which means “God is salvation” (e.g., Fenton 1977: 43; cf. Bultmann 1968: 291).

More than anything Matthew’s narrative of the virgin birth, like every other event in Matthew, explains and exalts the character of the Lord he regularly worships. If Matthew finds implicit truth about Jesus throughout Israel’s Bible, he expects his audience even more fully to hear what his own narratives declare about Jesus explicitly. In view of Matthew 18:20 and 28:20, Matthew clearly understands “God with us” in Isaiah 7:14 to mean that Jesus is truly God (Mt 1:23; Ridderbos 1974: 102).

Pagans Worship Jesus (Matthew 2:1-12)

(Cf. perhaps Lk 2:8-20, although the accounts are probably unrelated.) Matthew confronts his audience in this passage with a summons to personal decision by contrasting the main characters, a practice that constituted a standard ancient literary device (synkrisis; cf., e.g., Shuler 1982: 50; Stanton 1993: 77-80, 83; in rhetoric, e.g., Demosthenes On the Embassy 174). The Magi and scribes function as composite characters, like the chorus in a Greek drama (Arist. Poetics 18.19, 1456a). The pagan astrologers worship Jesus; Israel’s ruler seeks his death, acting like a pagan king; Jerusalem’s religious elite — forerunners of Matthew’s readers’ opponents — take Jesus for granted. Matthew forces his audience to identify with the pagan Magi rather than with Herod or Jerusalem’s religious elite, and hence to recognize God’s interest in the Gentile mission. The God who sought servants from the pagan west like the Roman centurion (8:5-13) also sought previously pagan servants “from the east” (2:1; cf. Is 2:6) like the Magi (see 8:11).

Some see the passage as substantially reliable historically, leaving the burden of proof with the questioners (Hagner 1993: 25); others doubt even the birth at Bethlehem (e.g., Meier 1991a: 216), despite its attestation in both Gospels with infancy narratives, as well as (possibly derivative) echoes in early rabbinic disputes (Herford 1966: 253-55).

The Magi’s identity may support the narrative’s essential reliability: given the rampant attraction to astrology in their culture and official Jewish polemic against it, Matthew and his Jewish church would probably not have made up the story about Magi believing in Jesus (see Davies 1966b: 12), though they might put a preexisting story to good use. Given its probable earliness, the story more likely than not preserves a historical core; but with insufficient historical evidence to offer a further judgment, I will focus primarily on the narrative’s theology, which is Matthew’s focus in any case.

Matthew challenges prejudice against pagans (2:1-2). This narrative fits Matthew’s theme of the Gentile mission (e.g., 1:3, 5-6; 3:9; 4:15; 8:10-12, 28). The first story after Jesus’ birth opens with Magi who have traveled a long distance to offer homage to a new king born in Judea. Leaders in some realms often dispatched official representatives to congratulate new leaders in other realms (e.g., Jos. War 2.309; 4.498-501; Acts 25:13).

Magi were Persian astrologers, and that they would respond to celestial phenomena in the manner in which the text depicts is not implausible (A. B. Bruce 1979: 1:71; Allen 1977: 14).

Excursus on Magi

Against some unlikely alternative proposals,

The Chaldeans or Persians were known for divination (Apul. Metam. 2.12; Arrian Alex. 7.18.2, 4) and astrology (Diod. Sic. 1.81.6; 2.31.8; Juv. Sat. 6.553-64; Aul. Gel. 1.9.6; 14.1; Philo Dreams 1.53; Sib. Or. 3.227; Pesiq. R. 14:8) and the Greeks and Romans regularly associated Chaldean Magi with magical powers (Char. Chaer. 5.9.4), prediction of the future (Marc. Aur. Med. 3.3.1; Arrian Alex. 7.16.5), dream interpretation (Herod. Hist. 1.107, 127; 7.12-19; cf. Jos. Ant. 10.195-203; Cic. Divin. 1.46), or specially regarded wisdom (Diog. Laert. 8.1.3; 9.11.61; Dio Chrys. Or. 36.38-48; Lucian Runaways 8; cf. Cic. De Leg. 2.10.26; Philo Prob. 74; Spec. 3.100; Philost. V.A. 1.24).

Whatever these Magi’s religious commitments, Matthew’s audience would probably recall the Magi of their Greek translation of the OT: they were Daniel’s enemies, whom Daniel’s narratives portray in a negative light as selfish, incompetent, and brutal pagans (cf. Dan 2:2, 10). This is even clearer in some later Greek versions of the Old Testament (Theodotion: Dan 1:20; 2:2, 10, 27; 4:7; 5:7, 11, 15; Aquila: Deut 18:11; 1 Sam 28:3, 7-9; 2 Kings 21:6; 23:24; Is 29:4); see also Josephus Ant. 10.195-203. Here a group of people who were part of the court of the Persian ruler, whose role included honoring his reign (“king of kings,” Suet. Caligula 5; Plut. Pompey 38.2; Arrian Alex. 6.29.11; Deissmann 1978: 363), honor Jesus instead (Horsley 1993a: 58-59).

Without condoning astrology, Matthew’s narrative challenges his audience’s prejudice against outsiders to their faith (cf. also 8:5-13; 15:21-28): even the most pagan of pagans may respond to Jesus if given the opportunity (cf. Jonah 1:13-16; 3:6–4:1, 10-11). For one special event in history, the God who rules the heavens chose to reveal himself where pagans were looking (cf. Acts 19:12, 15-20; A. B. Bruce 1979: 1:70). Yet even supernatural guidance like that of the star can take the astrologers only so far; for more specific direction they must ask the leaders in Jerusalem where the king is to be born (2:2). That is, their celestial revelation was only partial; they must finally submit to God’s revelation in the Scriptures, preserved by the Jewish people (cf. Meier 1980: 11).

Matthew challenges prejudice that unjustly accommodates political power (2:3, 7-8). The issues implied in this passage are not merely ethnic; they also address social stratification. Magi held a significant political role in Persia (Horsley 1993a: 53-54), but this would probably not be their characteristic that would be first evident to Matthew’s audience.

That Herod is dismayed by the Magi’s announcement is not surprising (2:3); astrology was widespread, especially in Greco-Roman paganism.

Believing it led to his dismay, for there was little room for two kings in his realm: though he was Idumean by birth (Jos. War 1.123; 1.313), he considered himself “king of the Jews.”

News of a star signaling a new ruler in his realm would thus undoubtedly trouble a ruler as paranoid as Herod (compare Suet. Nero 36); other rulers also proved paranoid about astrologers (e.g., MacMullen 1966: 133; Kee 1980: 71), and some had been ready to kill their own descendants to keep the throne (Herod. Hist. 1.107-10; see comment below on 2:16).

In Jewish tradition, both Pharaoh and his people feared when they learned in advance of the coming of Israel’s deliverer (Jos. Ant. 2.206; Allison 1993b: 146) — again casting Judea’s leadership as equivalent to the oppressors of Israel’s true remnant.

Matthew challenges what he regards as spiritual complacency. Not knowing himself where the king would be born, Herod gathers the religious experts (2:4), most of whom by this period were loyal to his agendas (cf. Jos. Ant. 15.2, 5). The successors of these experts, the chief priests (cf. 16:21; 21:15, 23, 45; 26:3; 27:41, 62; 28:11) and scribes (cf. 7:29; 15:1; 17:10; 21:15; 23:2; 26:3; 27:41), in the following generation frequently become Jesus’ enemies; someone hearing the Gospel more than once would therefore view this group negatively.

These experts immediately identify the place where the Messiah will be born on the basis of Micah 5:2 (Mt 2:5-6).

But while the religious leaders know where the Messiah will be born, they do not join the Magi in their quest (cf. also Filson 1960: 57). These were the religious leaders, but they failed to act on their most critical biblical knowledge. Although these authorities did not desire to kill Jesus as Herod did, their successors a generation later did seek his death (26:57, 59), and their Judean successors in Matthew’s day apparently resent Jesus’ followers. As I argue in my comments on chapter 23, Matthew also intended his vehemence against the religious establishment of his day as a warning to his fellow disciples. Matthew is emphatic that the sin of taking Jesus for granted, like the sin of wishing him dead, is a sin that can especially characterize those who claim to be God’s servants.

The pagans worship Jesus (2:9-11). A road led south to Bethlehem, which was about six miles from Jerusalem (cf. Monson 1979: 1-1; Gardner 1981: 172-73). Without a tail extending to earth as suggested in some modern artistic portrayals of the event, a celestial light could have pointed them only in the most general way or by symbolic means toward Judea, and could now “move” before them to Bethlehem (2:9-10) only in the sense that stationary objects in the sky appeared to move as travelers did. Why then does Matthew describe the star’s “movement” in these terms? Possibly the moving star in Matthew alludes to the pillar of cloud guiding Israel in the wilderness (Soares Prabhu 1976: 280), suggesting that however the astrologers viewed the star, God used it in a manner reminiscent of Israel’s salvation history.

They find Jesus in Bethlehem, probably in a house.

Some scholars find in the Magi’s homage to Jesus a reflection of biblical language alluding to the pilgrimage and homage of nations in Psalm 72:10 and/or Isaiah 60:6,

At any rate, the threefold repetition of homage (2:2, 8, 11) reinforces the point of the narrative: if Israel will not honor Jesus, the Gentiles will (Harrington 1982: 17). Homage to Jesus also reflects some recognition of his identity (e.g., 8:2; 9:18; 14:33; 15:25), climaxing in the homage of 28:9, 17, a context that declares Jesus’ royal authority equivalent to the Father’s (28:18-20; cf. 4:10; Meier 1980: 11; Edwards 1987).

That the Magi needed a supernatural revelation to warn them not to return by way of Jerusalem (2:12) suggests their innocent naiveté.

The Persecuted Child (Matthew 2:13-18)

Little evidence sheds light on the correspondence between Matthew’s account here and the historical data behind it. Specific arguments both for and against its reliability are weak and rest primarily on one’s broader critical presuppositions. I will summarize here what little extant historical evidence could possibly prove relevant to this pericope.

Second-century Jewish tradition, perhaps based on Christian claims (besides Matthew, compare later “infancy Gospels” in Hennecke 1963: 410-13), mentions Jesus’ stay in Egypt, which it associates with the sorcery Jewish people felt prevailed there (Dalman 1973: 33; Plummer 1910: 17).

One can more easily venture comment, however, on Matthew’s literary agenda.

God protects Jesus and his family. Matthew here narrates God’s protection for Jesus (2:13-15) and Herod’s brutal massacre of other children (2:16-18). Divine protection could function as divine vindication in ancient narratives;

This narrative may first imply that Jesus identifies with his people’s heritage (2:13-15). Jesus appears as the promised one greater than Moses (Deut 18:18; cf. Mt 4:2; 17:2) and the heir of God’s call to Israel.

But this narrative most closely recalls the story of Moses. Some have seen in Herod’s desire to kill Jesus a parallel with Laban’s desire to kill Jacob in Jewish tradition (Tuñí 1972; cf. Meier 1980: 13), but a parallel between Moses and Jesus is much clearer (Davies 1966b: 15; Gundry 1975: 209; cf. Ellis 1974: 29). Some points in Matthew’s story parallel extrabiblical Jewish tradition about Moses’ birth as well: a “scribe” predicted to Pharaoh the birth of Israel’s deliverer, but a dream warned Moses’ father to protect him (see Jos. Ant. 2.205-17, 234-36).

The Greek version of the Old Testament first uses Matthew’s word for “fled” in Exodus 2:15, when Moses fled from Pharaoh in Egypt (cf. Fenton 1977: 48). Infanticide (Boer 1979: 98-99, 113, 116; Rawson 1986a: 172) and, more frequently, child abandonment (Soph. Oed. Rex 717-19; Quint. Inst. Or. 7.1.14; Juv. Sat. 6.602-9; Gardner 1986: 6) constituted typically pagan offenses that the Jewish people despised (e.g., Wis 12:5-6; 14:23; Ps-Philo 2:10; 4:16). In their tradition only such pagan evildoers as Antiochus Epiphanes had repeated Pharaoh’s murder of Israelite babies (1 Macc 1:60-61; 2 Macc 6:10; 8:4). Part of the moral of the story is therefore how it reflects on rulers among God’s people: if a “king of the Jews” can be a new Pharaoh, Matthew’s community is right not to trust all the community leaders of its day. Perhaps the same reality may challenge his audience’s prejudice against Gentiles, reminding his audience of their opposition from fellow Jews. It is also possible, though less certain, that Herod’s behavior may summon them to examine the sins of their own people first (cf. 7:1-5); pagan Magi act like God’s servants, whereas the ruler of God’s people acts like a pagan tyrant. Yet if the text looks back to Exodus, it also looks forward to the flight of 10:23 (cf. 24:16): the suffering of the persecuted church committed to proclaiming the gospel.

Most significantly, Matthew teaches in this passage that in Jesus the anticipated salvation of God’s people has begun. In Hosea, the past exodus with which Jesus identified (Hos 11:1) was the historic sign of the covenant anticipating a new exodus (Hos 11:11). By quoting the beginning of the passage, Matthew evokes the passage as a whole and shows how Jesus is the forerunner of the new exodus, the time of ultimate salvation. Jesus has cut a new way through the wilderness to the land of promise. Because Matthew’s audience’s opponents defined them as schismatics, it was easy for the disciples to become a defensive minority with a sectarian mind-set. Instead, Matthew uses God’s pattern in history to remind them that their call and destiny must define them: they are the people of the new exodus, the people of the kingdom.

Matthew declares (2:15) that Jesus’ sojourn in Egypt fulfills Hosea’s prophecy, “Out of Egypt I called my son” (11:1).

Matthew expects all his readers to understand the primacy of Scripture and the centrality of Christ’s mission in Scripture; but he expects his more sophisticated readers to catch his allusion to Israel’s history as well. Contemporary commentators thus generally recognize that by citing Hosea 11:1, Matthew evokes the new exodus in Jesus, who embodies Israel’s purpose and mission.

Yet Matthew also teaches that Jesus was a refugee (2:13-14). Jesus’ miraculous escape here should not lead us to overlook the nature of his deliverance (cf., e.g., 1 Kings 17:2-6). Jesus and his family survived, but they survived as refugees, abandoning any livelihood Joseph may have developed in Bethlehem and undoubtedly traveling lightly. The passage thus foreshadows Jesus’ rejection as an adult: the Son of Man already lacked a place to lay his head (8:20; so also Davies and Allison 1988: 259). Although travel within Egypt was easy for visitors with means (Casson 1974: 257), many Judeans had traditionally regarded refuge in Egypt as a last resort (2 Macc 5:8-9). Most importantly, God commanded Israel not to oppress refugees, remembering that they had been refugees in Egypt (Ex 23:9).

Like other episodes in Matthew’s first narrative section (1:18–4:25), the accounts of Jesus’ childhood fulfill Scripture, with at least one explicit quotation per section. But all four stories in chapter 2 also surround place names rooted in Scripture; Jesus is “forced to wander from place to place,” king of a world hostile to him (Schweizer 1975: 41, 45; cf. Harrington 1982: 16).

Matthew denounces a ruler’s injustice (2:16-17). The narrative reveals the severity of political conflict, a conflict actually escalated by Jesus’ presence (cf. Horsley 1988). Matthew’s narrative world testifies to God’s intervention on behalf of his plan, but it does not encourage a utopian idealism that ignores the fact that God often does not intervene in behalf of his own (cf. Tupper 1991; Erickson 1996). The narrative laments injustice (2:18) rather than creates an ideal story world in which it does not exist. Five times Matthew mentions “the child and his mother,” thereby underlining the senselessness of Herod’s paranoid brutality (cf. Stanton 1993: 182); texts sometimes emphasized the physical powerlessness of the oppressed to underline the act’s heinousness (cf., e.g., the murdered emperors as “old men” in Herodian 8.8.6). Matthew’s mention of the child’s “mother” may also help him highlight the virgin birth, though given Joseph’s role as the one who raised Jesus, ancients would have understood the title “father” as applied to him despite the virgin birth (Eurip. Madness of Heracles 587, 1192; Select Papyri 3.476-77, §116.7; Lk 2:27, 41).

We lack a concrete historical record for the episode of the infants’ slaughter (except a garbled and probably derivative account from Macrobius; Ramsay 1898: 219), but it certainly fits Herod’s character (France 1979; cf. Plummer 1910: 16; Soares Prabhu 1976: 227-28; Stauffer 1960: 35-41). When Herod’s young brother-in-law was becoming too popular, he had a “drowning accident” in what archaeology shows was a rather shallow pool (cf. Jos. War 1.437); later, Herod had falsely suspected officials cudgeled to death (War 1.550-51). Wrongly suspecting two of his sons of plotting against him, he had them strangled (Ant. 16.394; War 1.550-51; though such palace intrigues were not limited to the Herod family — Livy 40.56.9). Likewise, five days before his own death Herod, on his own deathbed, had a more treacherous, Absalom-like son executed (Ant. 17.187, 191; War 1.664-65). Thus many modern writers repeat the probably apocryphal story that Augustus remarked, “Better to be Herod’s pig than his son” (e.g., Ramsay 1898: 219-20).

Nor were Herod’s atrocities limited to contenders for his throne. In a fit of jealous rage (which he later regretted) he had his favorite wife strangled (War 1.443-44); she turned out to be innocent of the crime of which he had accused her. He had religious men who had tampered with his golden eagle burned alive, and many thought his own increased physical agony afterward was judgment for this act (War 1.655-56; Ant. 17.167-69). Fearing lest his people would not mourn at his death, he reportedly ordered that nobles from throughout the land be executed when he died to ensure mourning on that day (Ant. 17.174-79; War 1.659-60). (Instead they were freed, leading to rejoicing — War 1.666.) It is possible that he also engaged in persecutions outside the scope of Josephus’s sources, as in the repression of the wilderness Essenes (Fritsch 1956: 23-24). In an era of many, highly placed political murders, the execution of perhaps twenty children in a small town would warrant little attention (see France 1979: 114-19).

Although Josephus readily lists Herod’s atrocities, most of his reports surround the royal house or events known on a national scale; it is not improbable that Herod was no less brutal when acting out of range of Josephus’s sources (cf., e.g., Carson 1984b: 94; pace Mason 1992: 97). Herod could even have personally dispatched soldiers from his fortress-palace called the Herodium (on which see Jos. War 1.419-20; Netzer 1983; Vardaman 1975; Corbo 1989; Netzer 1989); this fortress was four miles southeast of Bethlehem and visible from there (cf. Finegan 1969: 18). The event is thus neither historically documented nor historically implausible.

Matthew does not simply report this act of injustice dispassionately, any more than later rabbis who recounted the horrors at Bethar and thereby expressed hatred toward Rome and lamentation for their people (e.g., p. Taʿan. 4:5, §10: Lam. Rab. 2:2, §4). Ancient rhetoric urged careful selection of explanatory texts, and Matthew chooses an ancient lament from one of the most sorrowful times of his people’s history. Jeremiah 31:15 spoke of Rachel weeping for her children, poetically describing the favored mother of Benjamin (standing for all Judah) mourning because her descendants were led into exile (cf. Montefiore 1968: 2:10-11).

More important than the specific nuances that recall Jesus’ identification with the time of Israel’s exile, the context in Jeremiah 31 also implies future hope.

Although Jesus, like Jeremiah (Jer 40:1-6), was not an object of judgment and the text applies to Israel as a whole, this text shows that God called his son Jesus to identify with the suffering and exile of his people (cf. 1:12, 17; cf. Jer 43:5-7) as he identified with their exodus (Mt 2:15). Israel’s history points to Jesus, and God declares Jesus’ solidarity with Israel’s history, an important fact to Matthew’s readers. Even when Israel was disobedient and merited judgment from oppressors, God’s servants lamented and God reserved a promise of hope for his people.

Settling in Nazareth (2:19-23)

Cf. Lk 2:39-40. Whereas modern Western readers are most interested in a series of neat, concise theological statements, Matthew’s contemporaries could learn no less about Jesus’ character and how to defend their faith on the basis of more concrete historical forms.

God grants a temporary respite from trouble (2:19-20). Although Jesus would face more persecution in his adult years, Herod’s death granted him a time of relative respite until his public ministry.

The angelic orders to return to Eretz-Israel because those seeking the child’s life were dead (2:19-21) explicitly recall Exodus 4:19-20, as scholars generally observe (Argyle 1963: 33; Montefiore 1968: 2:11; Soares Prabhu 1976: 212-13; Allison 1993b: 142-44).

God provides wisdom to guard the family from a potential danger (2:21-22). A few days before Herod’s death, Archelaus, his son by a Samaritan wife (Jos. Ant. 17.20), was named ruler (Schürer 1961: 158). Sharing all his father’s negative qualities while lacking his administrative abilities, he quickly provoked the opposition of many of the people (Suet. Tib. 8; Jos. Ant. 17.311-17). Although he maintained his position as ethnarch for some time, the opposition of A.D. 6 led to his banishment to Vienna in Gaul (Strabo Geog. 16.2.46; Jos. Ant. 17.342-44; Dio Cassius R.H. 55.27.6; cf. F. F. Bruce 1972b: 24; Hoehner 1972: 103-5). Given Archelaus’s character, Joseph was wise to avoid Judea (cf. Prov 22:3; 27:12); God responded to Joseph’s fear with another revelation (Mt 2:22). Meier argues that whereas Luke has Joseph’s family migrate to Judea for Jesus’ birth, Bethlehem was Jesus’ home in Matthew; he thus ministered in exile in Galilee and returned home only to die in the Passion Narrative (Meier 1980: 16).

It is God’s plan, not an accident, that they settle in an obscure place (2:23). Matthew does not report why the family chose to settle in Nazareth in particular; Luke indicates that they were originally from there (Lk 2:39-40; archaeological data suggest that many Judeans had settled in the Nazareth area). Matthew is more interested in the ultimate significance of their choice of Nazareth.

Nazareth was politically insignificant. In contrast to the two major cities of Galilee, Sepphoris and Tiberias,

Nazareth was divinely significant. Matthew, however, turns this objection around by showing divine significance in the choice of Nazareth as Jesus’ hometown. Matthew accomplishes this exercise by a wordplay (cf. Ellis 1977: 202), a standard and accepted form of argumentation in both Jewish and Greco-Roman rhetoric (Keener 1992: 54n.101). Jewish exegesis commonly revocalized and repunctuated texts to yield new interpretations (cf., e.g., Patte 1975: 55-56; for a later period, Jacobs 1973: 2).

That Matthew is making a play on the name Nazareth is far easier to recognize than the specific word with which he is playing, however, and scholars are divided in their opinions here. Those who believe that Matthew would not use a wordplay that worked only in Hebrew usually hold that Matthew intended “Nazirite” (cf. Patte 1987: 39-40; Meier 1979: 57; Meier 1980: 16; Garland 1993: 31). The language indeed bears some resemblance to a birth oracle like Judges 13:5 (cf. also 16:17 LXX). But scholars who argue this position typically assume that Matthew drew a typological application from Samson in Judges (part of the former prophets) that he attributed for some reason to the Messiah. A more likely alternative would be to assume that Matthew reads the Hebrew nazir in light of Jesus, hence “holy to God” (cf. Soares Prabhu 1976: 205-6).

But whereas Matthew’s less skillful readers would have to have satisfied themselves that the text was in their Bible somewhere, those skillful enough to recognize no single text that said this would also recognize Matthew’s method; many might also know Hebrew. (That Matthew alludes to more than a single text may be implied by his use of his “through the prophets” rather than “through the prophet.” Blending of texts was common; see, e.g., 4Q266, 270, in Baumgarten 1992.) Some, noting that the Septuagint (probably testifying to a Jewish usage) substitutes “Nazirite” for “one set apart” or “holy one,” have suggested Isaiah 4:3 (Davies and Allison 1988: 276-80), but the few matching words and the distance of the equation make it too obscure. Other scholars suggest that Matthew plays here on the Hebrew for “watchmen” in Jeremiah 31:6 (Zolli 1958; Albright and Mann 1971: 20-22), which occurs in a context frequently mined by early Christian writers.

Because the reason for applying this single text to the Messiah is relatively obscure, however, the much more common appeal to the prophets’ messianic title “the branch” (Is 11:1; cf. Is 4:2; Jer 23:5; 33:15; Zech 3:8; 6:12; cf. Test. Jud. 24:4, if not an interpolation) bears more weight.

Even without the possibly debatable archaeological evidence in favor of the family settling in Nazareth (Finegan 1969: 28-33; cf. de Nazareth 1956), little doubt exists that Jesus’ family settled there. Archaeology attests that Nazareth was settled by this period (Finegan 1969: 27), and, as noted above, later Christians would hardly have made up such an obscure place of origin for their Messiah, especially given Jesus’ more significant links with Bethlehem and Capernaum. Undoubtedly the epithet “of Nazareth” (21:11; Mk 1:24; Acts 10:38) followed Jesus from the beginning of his ministry outside that town. Likewise, that Joseph took up work as a carpenter in Nazareth is almost beyond dispute (see comment on 13:55). After neighboring Sepphoris was burned to the ground early in Jesus’ childhood (Jos. War 2.68), Antipas began rebuilding it, requiring carpenters from outlying areas.

Nazareth would have been as traditional a place to grow up as any other Galilean town. The lack of iconography and the settling of one of the priestly courses there after A.D. 70 indicate that Nazareth itself was religious and ritually pure.

Warnings of a Wilderness Prophet (3:1-12)

Cf. Mk 1:2-8; Lk 3:1-9, 16-17; Jn 1:19-23, 26-27.

The warnings in this passage serve a twofold function: judgment against persecutors vindicates the righteous they oppress, but judgment also warns the righteous not to become wicked (Ezek 18:21-24). Matthew retains and amplifies Mark’s accounts of the opposition of the Pharisees (5:20; 12:38; 15:1; 16:1; 19:3; 21:45; 22:15; 23:2; 27:62) and sometimes Sadducees (16:1; 22:23). By narrowing Q’s “crowds” to “Pharisees and Sadducees” (3:7; cf. Lk 3:7; Kraeling 1951: 46-47; pace Witherington 1990: 39; Blomberg 1992a: 77), Matthew thus provides in the coming judgment special encouragement to his community: their Pharisaic opponents, for all their claims to represent the truest form of Judaism, were spiritual Gentiles (3:6, 9).

John’s lifestyle (3:1, 3-4). Biographers normally described their subjects’ appearance only if they had good reason to do so (Drury 1976: 29); thus, for example, Mark and Matthew describe John but not Jesus. John’s location, garb, and diet suggest a radical servant of God whose lifestyle would challenge the values of our society even more than it did his own (on his lifestyle as a model for Christian discipline, see Jerome Letters, To Rusticus 125.7, ACCS 6-7).

First, John’s location suggests that the biblical prophets’ promise of a new exodus was about to take place in Jesus.

Further, the Qumran community applied the same Isaiah text to their own mission in the wilderness (1QS 8.13-14; cf. Brownlee 1950: 71; Brown 1972: 4), especially to their knowledge of the law (1QS 8.15-16). If John was aware that others used the text, however, he undoubtedly felt that it applied better to himself. Rather than separating himself totally from Israel as the Qumran community did (1QS 8.13-14; 9.19-20; F. F. Bruce 1956: 177; Witherington 1990: 36; cf. Scobie 1969: 68; van der Minde 1988), he preached directly to the crowds that came to him there (3:5). Many commonalities John shared with Qumran probably reflect wider patterns in pietist Judaism (cf. Taylor 1997: 15-48).

No less important to John’s mission, the wilderness was likewise a natural place for fugitives from a hostile society (e.g., Heb. 11:38; Rev. 12:6; Ps. Sol. 17:17; Song Rab. 2:13, §4; Tac. Ann. 14.23), including prophets like Elijah (1 Kings 17:2-6; 2 Kings 6:1-2). The Gospels may emphasize the Baptist’s wilderness existence partly to prefigure Jesus’ location of testing (Kelber 1979: 17; Mauser 1963: 90)

John’s garment (3:4) in general resembled the typical garb of the poor (Wright 1962: 191-92), as would befit a wilderness prophet cut off from all of society’s amenities (cf. Heb 11:37). Camels were common enough in Palestine (cf. 19:24; 23:24), and camel’s hair garments fit the rugged lifestyle of desert nomads.

John’s garb tells Matthew’s community two things: first, their Lord arrived exactly on schedule, following the promised end-time prophet; and second, John had to be a wilderness prophet like Elijah. Although true prophets could function within society during the reigns of godly kings (e.g., 2 Sam 12:1-25; 24:11-12), in evil times mainly corrupt prophets remained in royal courts (1 Kings 22:6-28; cf. Mt 11:8), God’s true messengers being forced into exile (1 Kings 17:3; 18:13). Most Jewish people in the first century practiced their religion seriously; but the religious establishment could not accommodate a prophet like John whose lifestyle dramatically challenged the status quo, any more than the religious establishment of most of Christendom could today.

John’s diet also provides Matthew’s community a model of commitment. Some other poor people in antiquity also ate locusts (3:4),

But locusts sweetened with honey constituted John’s entire diet. The sort of pietists that lived in the wilderness and dressed simply normally ate only the kind of food that grew by itself (2 Macc 5:27; Jos. Life 11). In the wilderness, both refugees (Qoh. Rab. 10:8, §1) and pietists with special kosher requirements (CD 12.14; 11QTemple 48.1-5; cf. Davies 1983) might subsist on locusts. Matthew is explaining that John lived simply — with only the barest forms of necessary sustenance.

John’s mission to Israel (3:5-6, 8-9).

“Repentance” in the Gospels recalls not the “change of mind” earlier etymological interpreters sometimes supposed (cf. Char. Chaer. 3.3.11; Marc. Aur. Med. 8.10; often in LXX), but the biblical concept of “turning” or “returning” to God (Is 31:6; 45:22; 55:7; Jer 3:7, 10, 14, 22; 4:1; 8:5; 18:11; 24:7; 25:5; 26:3; 35:15; 36:7; 44:5; Lam 3:40; Ezek 13:22; 14:6; 18:23, 30; 33:9, 11; Hos 11:5; 12:6; 14:1-2; Joel 2:12-13; Zech 1:3-4; Mal 3:7). The idea of repentance as returning to God was pervasive in early Judaism (see Petuchowski 1968) but foreign to Greek religion (Burkert 1987: 14). Sages extolled repentance (Sir. 44:16; b. B. Meṣ. 59a; Rosh Hash. 16b; Yoma 86a; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 24; cf. Herm. 2.4.2), some later rabbis even claiming its preexistence (Gen. Rab. 1:4; Midr. Ps. 90:3; 93:2) or its association with the Messiah’s mission (Song Rab. 7:5, §3). It is efficacious (Sir 17:24; 18:21; Pr Man 1:7; Ps. Sol. 9:7; 1 En. 50:3-5; Jos. and Asen. 15:7/6-7; Sifre Deut. 30.1.2; ARN 12; Pesiq. Rab Kah. Sup. 3:2), though in rabbinic tradition it merely suspends judgment until the Day of Atonement may remove it (m. Yoma 8:8; t. Kip. 4:7; ARN 39), and beyond a certain limit is not efficacious for the person who premeditates sin in hopes of repenting afterward (m. Yoma 8:9; ARN 39-40A). Yet John’s call is more radical; his “repentance” refers not to a regular turning from sin after a specific act, but to a once-for-all repentance, the kind of turning from an old way of life to a new that Judaism associated with Gentiles converting to Judaism (as in Jos. and Asen. 9:2; 15:7; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 12:20; Acts 14:15; 1 Thess 1:9), here in view of the impending day of judgment (cf. 4:17; 11:20; 12:41; Acts 17:30-31; Rom 2:4). His call to repentance recalls a familiar summons in the biblical prophets (see Bowman 1943: 231; cf. 4 Bar. 8:12). In various ways John warns his hearers against depending on the special privileges of their heritage. (For John’s message of repentance, see more fully Taylor 1997: 106-11.)

First, John’s baptism confirms that he is calling for a once-for-all turning from the old way of life to the new, as when Gentiles convert to Judaism. None of the other sorts of regular ceremonial washings can qualify as background for John’s baptism.

Although Josephus does not explain that John’s baptism was this radical, he does confirm the image of John as a wilderness reformer, who sought to purify those who had first purified their souls (Ant. 18.117, corresponding to the Gospels’ picture of a baptism “of repentance,” though in more hellenistic language). This fits the Gospel image of them “confessing their sins” (cf. Lev 5:5; 16:21; Ps 32:3, 5; Prov 28:13; 1 Jn 1:9; for Yom Kippur, see Lachs 1987: 38) as a prerequisite for acceptable baptism (Carson 1984b: 102; Witherington 1990: 37; cf. 1QS 3.4-7; 5.13-14; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 12:20). In addition to public confession of general sin in later synagogue liturgy, communal confession probably appears in the Qumran Scrolls (4Q393 in Falk 1994); here public acknowledgment of personal sins (cf. Taylor 1997: 111-12) may contribute to Israel’s repentance.

Second, John did not regard his hearers as good descendants of their ancestors anyway. “Viper” was certainly an insult (BAGD 331b cites negative Greek usage; cf. Kraeling 1951: 48); vipers were a horrifying image (e.g., Ovid Metam. 4.454, 475, 491-99, 617-20), and a viper could hide in the house and suck a person’s blood (Soph. Antig. 531-32). But “children of vipers” carries the insult further, as I will argue below. Contemporary scholars sometimes read “offspring of vipers” (3:7; 12:34; 23:33; cf. Lk 3:7; Is 1:4; 57:4) as “offspring of Satan” (Manson 1979: 40) — even though Matthew’s source has the plural and avoids Genesis’s term for “serpent.” Others have suggested a mistranslation of an Aramaic original for a leopard or hyena, outwardly attractive but inwardly detestable (Lachs 1987: 42), but such animals are not necessarily more natural candidates for use in an insult than serpents.

More likely, Matthew may allude to a fairly widespread ancient view that vipers were mother killers. In the fifth century B.C. Herodotus declared that newborn Arabian vipers chewed their way out of their mothers’ wombs, killing their mothers in the process.

Third, employing the image of a tree’s fruit, both John and Jesus demand that a professedly repentant person’s life match one’s profession (3:8; 7:16-17; 12:33; 13:22-23; 21:34, 43; cf. 15:13; 21:19; Jn 15:6; Jude 12).

In any case, his judgment metaphor could not be more transparent. Some suggest that Palestinians would use wood from such a tree “for domestic and manufacturing purposes” (Kraeling 1951: 44), but most small trees that could not bear fruit would be especially useful for firewood (see Lewis 1983: 139). Because cutting down trees with the sort of axes the average farmer would own required considerable labor, we should think here especially of dead trees and of small trees bearing little fruit (Hepper 1992: 41).

Fourth, that God could raise up children for Abraham from stones (cf. Gen 1:24; 2:19-22) warns John’s hearers not to take their status as God’s people for granted. Jewish people believed they were chosen in Abraham (cf. Neh 9:7; Mic 7:20; Sanders 1977: 87-101; Borg 1984: 207), but John responds that this ethnic chosenness is insufficient to guarantee salvation unless it is accompanied by righteousness (cf. Amos 3:2; 9:7).

But John’s words make the best sense in his own setting in Jewish Palestine: prophets were not above using witty wordplays at times (Amos 8:1-2; Mic 1:10-15; Jer 1:11-12), and “children” and “stones” probably represent a wordplay in Aramaic, as commentators frequently observe.

Excursus: Personal and Ancestral Merits in Jewish Texts

Although “works” appears elsewhere, the “doctrine of merits” appears particularly in rabbinic literature dating long after the time of Jesus. Some discussions, such as whether God redeemed Israel from Egypt on account of her own merits or those of her ancestors, may date from the first century; evidence for most of the material is much later. But in any case, inferences about legalism drawn by some earlier New Testament scholars do not correspond with the evidence of the texts themselves. I will now survey very briefly some of the evidence, including samples of both relatively early (by rabbinic standards) and later texts. Because different teachers expressed different views, what follows is merely a summary of some views, not an attempt at a comprehensive “theology” of merits in all periods of rabbinic literature.

One could accrue merits (cf., e.g., CD 5.5; 3 Bar. 14:2) for doing good works (t. Peʾa 1:2; 3:8; Sifre Deut. 229.4.1; 252.1.2; 283.7.1; b. Soṭa 6a, 21a; Gen. Rab. 9:9; 68:6; Ex. Rab. 34:2; Lev. Rab. 25:1; Qoh. Rab. 5:6, §1; 11:1, §1; 3 Enoch 18:17). In some texts God provided commandments so that Israel could obtain merit (m. ʾAbot 6:11; Mak. 3:16; Mek. 12:6; Num. Rab. 15:2; Ruth Rab. 6:11). Circumcision was meritorious (Mek. Pisha 16.169-70; Ruth Rab. 6:10), as were Torah study (e.g., b. Ber. 8a; Ḥag. 15b; p. Meg. 3:6, §2; Taʿan. 4:2, §13; Num. Rab. 12:4; Song Rab. 3:10, §§2-3), faith (Gen. Rab. 74:12; Marmorstein 1968a: 175-76), and pure lineage (Num. Rab. 9:7).

Merits of special individuals often brought corporate benefits. God had often acted on account of Israel’s merit (Sifra Behuq. pq. 13.277.1.14; Sifre Deut. 57.1.1; 176.1.1; 176.2.2; Deut. Rab. 2:31; 7:9; Pesiq. R. 47:4), and Israel suffered (Sifre Deut. 2.1.1-4) or required mercy (Mek. Shir. 9.24ff; Ex. Rab. 1:35; Pesiq. R. 49:4; for God’s showing mercy to the righteous who humbly confess their need for it, see, e.g., Ps. Sol. 3:5-8; 10:1-3; 13:6-11) for lack of merit. But he also acted on account of Moses, Aaron, and Miriam (Ex. Rab. 15:3; Num. Rab. 3:12; 3 Enoch 1:3; cf. Jos. Ant. 3.322; the Samaritan prayer in Bowman 1977: 335), or some other righteous person (e.g., 2 Bar. 2:1; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 2:5).

In a view that frequently prevailed in later texts (for exceptions, see, e.g., ARN 12, §30B; Ex. Rab. 1:28; 16:1; 23:5; Lev. Rab. 28:4; Num. Rab. 20:22), the merits of the ancestors brought salvation in the exodus (Mek. Pisḥa 16.165-68; Beshallah 4.52ff.; Sifre Deut. 8.1.1; p. Taʿan. 1:1, §8; Gen. Rab. 23:6; 55:8; 74:12; 76:5; 84:5; 87:8; Ex. Rab. 2:4; 15:4, 10; 31:2; Lev. Rab. 34:8, bar.; Num. Rab. 3:6, bar.; 13:20; Deut. Rab. 2:23; Song Rab. 4:4, §4; Pesiq. R. 10:9). Ancestral merits also helped in other respects (Sifra Behuq. pq. 8.269.2.5; p. Sanh. 10:1, §6; Taʿan. 4:1, §14; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 1:1; 2:5; 22:4; Pesiq. Rab Kah. Sup. 5:2; Gen. Rab. 39:3; 44:16; 49:11; 60:2; 63:2; Ex. Rab. 1:4; Lev. Rab. 9:2; 31:4; 36:5; Song Rab. 3:6, §3; Pesiq. R. 15:9; 27/28:1; cf. the first benediction in the Amida; Three Hebrew Children 11; Test. Levi 15:4; depending on the sense in which it means “patriarchs”; see also CIJ 1.519, §719).

Thus in some texts Israel was forgiven on account of the patriarchs (e.g., Ex. Rab. 44:5; Lev. Rab. 29:7; Deut. Rab. 3:15; Song Rab. 1:2, §3); God might withhold judgment for one’s father’s righteousness (Gen. Rab. 63:1). Some felt that Abraham’s merit guaranteed the salvation of all Israelites (Pesiq. Rab Kah. 23:8), whereas others acknowledged that limits existed to the effectiveness of ancestral piety, at least regarding Ishmael and Esau (Sifre Deut. 329.3.1; cf. Rom 9:6-13; Ps-Philo 33:5; 2 Enoch 53:1). Further, one could make do without them (ARN 12, §30B), and proselytes had to do so (Num. Rab. 8:9). In some texts, redemption in the exodus was conditional on future obedience (Sifra Qed. pq. 8.205.2.6; Emor pq. 7.227.1.6; Behar 5.255.1.10). But rabbinic texts are more apt to criticize than to praise a bookkeeping sort of legalism (m. ʾAbot 1:3; p. Qidd. 1:7, §9; Soṭa 5:5, §2); pure works salvation was not rabbinic, though it appears elsewhere (4 Ezra, in Sanders 1977: 409-27; 2 Bar. 51:7) and enters Christianity as early as the second century (Hermas 2.4.3). (Some have compared the rabbinic conception of ancestral merit with the later Catholic idea of the treasury of the church that probably drew on it, cf. Maher 1979; but for the denial that merits are supererogatory in rabbinic texts, see Sanders 1977: 183ff.; Carson 1981: 87-88.) Despite some attempts to qualify the still more distorted works of his predecessors, Bultmann’s portrayal of “legalistic” rabbinic Judaism thus remains a total misrepresentation of Jewish piety (1958: 67-73). Especially in the early texts the image is usually one of reckoning reward (e.g., m. ʾAbot 2:2; ARN 22, §46B) rather than of achieving eschatological salvation (for exceptions, cf. perhaps 2 Bar. 14:12; b. ʿAbod. Zar. 4b; Pesiq. Rab Kah. 10:2; Gen. Rab. 70:8). Jesus, too, spoke of heavenly reward (see, e.g., Mt 5:12; 6:1).

Some broader comments about early Jewish soteriology may be in order. The rabbis used the terminology of “righteousness” primarily to describe God’s ethical demands rather than a saving gift (see Przybylski 1980: 39-76), but also heavily emphasized grace (Sanders 1992: 275-78; Limbeck 1971; cf. idem 1970). Grace is likewise prominent in the earlier hellenistic Jewish Epistle of Aristeas (Boccaccini 1991: 171-74). The Dead Sea Scrolls emphasize both aspects of righteousness (Przybylski 1980: 13-38). The Psalms of Solomon stress both trust in God and dependence on one’s works (Lane 1982). Is it not possible that much of early Judaism, like many contemporary Christians, was inconsistent in its soteriology, reflecting various approaches that most people allowed to coexist side by side?

John’s message of the coming judge and judgment (3:2, 7-12). In all four Gospels, John thought himself and his own baptism miniscule compared with the Coming One and his baptism. In three successive paragraphs Mark depicts God anointing Jesus with the Spirit at baptism (Mk 1:10), thereby qualifying Jesus to bestow the same Spirit on others (1:8) and indicating that participation in his baptism includes sharing his sufferings (1:12; cf. Robinson 1982: 76-77; Keener 1997b: 49-90). In contrast to this abbreviated program in Mark’s introduction, however, Matthew and Luke follow a longer form of the Baptist’s saying in a fuller context that speaks of a judgment-baptism in fire as well as in the Spirit (cf. also Lk 12:49-50 in light of Mk 10:38-39; cf. Menzies 1991: 137-44).

Matthew and Luke also qualify John’s preaching of judgment with a later Q narrative. John is a reliable character in Matthew’s Gospel, performing his promised function as a forerunner (3:3). Nevertheless, Matthew does ultimately qualify his portrait of John’s eschatological proclamation about the Coming One: John needed to recognize that the first stage of Jesus’ kingdom, in contrast to its future revelation, would come in a more obscure form (11:2-6). Baptism in the Spirit and in fire belonged to separate phases of Jesus’ work. In this context, baptism in the Spirit must include a salvific element due to its contrast with fire baptism; it likely also includes prophetic empowerment, however (Joel 2:28-29; cf. Is 42:1; 43:10-12; 44:3, 8-9; 59:21; 61:1; perhaps 1 Enoch 91:1; for these categories, see Keener 1997b: 6-48).

The kingdom is coming. In Matthew’s summary of their preaching, both John and Jesus announce the same message: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!” (3:2; 4:17).

Most Jewish people in Palestine expected a time of impending judgment against the wicked and deliverance for the righteous (on “kingdom of heaven,” see the Introduction to this commentary).

Farmers destroy useless products after the harvest. Earlier biblical writers had employed the natural agricultural image of harvest and the threshing floor (3:8, 10, 12) as judgment and/or end-time imagery;

The imagery is realistic to a point. Villagers carried grain to village threshing floors, though large estates worked by tenants would have their own (Lewis 1983: 123). Archaeologists have recovered winnowing shovels, and the procedure is well known (see Hepper 1992: 90-91). People used chaff for various purposes, of which the most prominent was fuel (CPJ 1:199; Gen. Rab. 83:5; cf. Hepper 1992: 41; cf. straw in Pesiq. R. 10:4; straw was otherwise worthless, Num. Rab. 18:17). But where the imagery departs from realism, it most starkly underlines the point. Chaff did not burn eternally (Kraeling 1951: 42; Ladd 1974b: 37; cf. Is 29:5-6; 33:11), but John depicts the wicked’s fire as “unquenchable.” John does not simply echo the Jewish consensus of his day, because opinions divided on the character of hell (e.g., ARN 41 A; cf. also 36 A).

The coming judge is incomparably powerful. Judgment is coming, but what is the identity of this coming judge whom John announces (3:11-12)? Although the Spirit would rest on the Davidic Messiah (Is 11:1-2; cf. 42:1; 61:1), no mere mortal could pour out the Spirit; this was the gift of God alone (Is 44:3; 59:21; Ezek 36:27; 37:14; 39:29; Joel 2:29; Zech 12:10), just as no mere mortal would baptize in fire (which in this context must mean judge the wicked).

In ancient Mediterranean thought, a household servant’s most base tasks involved his master’s feet, such as washing his feet, carrying his sandals, or unfastening his sandals’ thongs (cf., e.g., Diog. Laert. Lives 6.2.44; b. B. Bat. 53b).

Indeed, the text that introduces John in Matthew (3:3) and Mark (1:2-3) is instructive concerning the Christology they learn from John’s mission: the One whose way John prepares is none other than the “Lord” himself (Is 40:3);

The Baptism of God’s Son (3:13-17)

Cf. Mk 1:9-11; Lk 3:21-22; Jn 1:29-34. Although Jesus alone did not need John’s baptism — he was the giver of the true baptism (3:11) — he submitted to it to fulfill God’s plan (3:14-15). In a traditional Mediterranean culture where society stressed honor and shame, Jesus relinquishes his rightful honor to embrace others’ shame. After Jesus’ public act of humility, God publicly identified Jesus as his own son (3:16-17; cf. 2:15) — that is, as the mightier One whose coming to bestow the Spirit John had prophesied (3:11-12). It was established rhetorical practice to hurry most quickly over points that might disturb the audience (Lucian History 6; Theon Progymn. 5.52-56). Matthew thus appropriately hastens over the baptism itself in a participle (“having been baptized,” which the NIV properly fleshes out as “as soon as Jesus was baptized”) to his main point: God’s vindication of Jesus, who accepted the humiliation of baptism.

John recognizes Jesus as the ultimate baptizer (3:14). Given the embarrassment of some early Christian traditions (both in the canonical Gospels and the early Gospel of the Nazoreans) that Jesus accepted baptism from one of lower status than he, it is now inconceivable that the early Christians made up the story of John’s baptizing Jesus (Sanders 1985: 11; idem 1993: 94; Fredricksen 1988: 97-98; Meier 1994: 100-105; Stanton 1995a: 164-66; pace Bultmann 1968: 251).

Although Judaism recognized the biblical teaching that the Spirit enabled prophets to prophesy and John would therefore acknowledge the Spirit’s empowerment in his own ministry (cf. Keener 1991b: 69-77), John recognized that Jesus had come to bestow the Spirit in fuller measure than even he as a prophet had received, and he desired this baptism (3:11; cf. 11:11-13).

Jesus “fulfills all righteousness” by identifying with his people (3:15). Since “fulfilling righteousness” elsewhere in Matthew may pertain to obeying the principles of the law (1:19; 5:17, 20; cf., e.g., Sib. Or. 3.246) as well as to the mission of Jesus and his followers (5:10; 11:19; 27:19), Jesus probably here expresses his obedience to God’s plan revealed in the Scriptures. Matthew’s readers familiar with the Scriptures would already understand that Jesus sometimes “fulfilled” the prophetic Scriptures by identifying with Israel’s history and completing Israel’s mission (2:15, 18). This baptism hence represents Jesus’ ultimate identification with Israel at the climactic stage in her history: confessing her sins to prepare for the kingdom (3:2, 6). Jesus’ baptism, like his impending death (cf. Mk 10:38-39 with Mk 14:23-24, 36), would be vicarious, embraced on behalf of others with whom the Father had called him to identify.

In this passage, God declares his approval of Jesus in several ways (3:16-17). First, the heavens part, reflecting biblical language for God’s revelation or future deliverance (Is 64:1 [LXX 63:19]; Ezek. 1:1; Kingsbury 1983: 64; Schweizer 1970: 37; cf. Jos. and Asen. 14:2/3), probably also intelligible to pagans further removed from the religious presuppositions shared by Matthew and his ideal audience (cf. Virg. Aen. 9.20-21).

Second, Jesus witnesses the Spirit descending on him like a dove. The background for this sign of God’s approval may require further comment. Despite the multiplicity of proposals,

Third, God shows his approval of Jesus by a “heavenly voice,” a concept with which Matthew’s Jewish readers were undoubtedly familiar.

The Synoptic tradition contends that three voices — Scripture, a prophet’s voice in the wilderness, and the heavenly voice — all attest Jesus’ identity. The heavenly voice alone would have been inadequate, for Jewish tradition allowed that it testified of others as well

Although many scholars doubt that the crowds heard the heavenly voice,

The fact of the voice is important, but what the voice says is most important, for this is what declares Jesus’ identity to the reader.

The second proposed biblical allusion here, Isaiah 42:1, is more controversial, despite its many proponents.

Matthew’s audience could have inferred a number of principles from the Father’s acclamation of the Son. First, if Jesus is central to the Father’s love and his plan for history, their opponents could not reject Jesus and simultaneously please God the Father, as they claimed. For Matthew and most of early Christianity, Jesus was not one prophet among many but God’s ultimate revelation (16:14-16; cf. Acts 4:12; Jn 14:6). Jewish traditions often emphasized God’s special love for Israel (e.g., Jub. 31:15, 20); to the early Christians, Jesus was an even more special focus of the Father’s love (e.g., Jn 1:14; Eph 1:6).

Second, they could infer that Jesus is the ultimate ruler who will usher in justice and peace, providing a persecuted church hope for the future.

Finally, this text might remind them that Jesus was the Son obedient to the point of death. He willingly divested himself of his proper honor by identifying with his people in baptism and death. This could encourage fidelity to him and the sacrificial cost of emulating his mission.

Jesus Passes the Test (4:1-11)

Cf. Mk 1:12-13; Lk 4:1-13. Given the early church’s lack of political temptation, many scholars argue that Jesus himself must have communicated the temptation narrative to his disciples, at least as a spiritual reality or in parabolic form.

At bare minimum historically, Jesus undoubtedly sometimes felt tempted, sometimes sought to get alone to pray, and probably would have fasted before starting his public ministry (Sanders 1993: 112). Since he used “twelve” symbolically in calling disciples, Jesus may well have also used “forty” days to refer to Israel’s forty years in the desert (Sanders 1993: 112-13)

Those who propose a Buddhist (Thapar 1966: 119; cf. Montefiore 1968: 2:19, 21; Manson 1979: 45)

Scholars’ interpretations broadly fall into three primary categories (Theissen 1991: 218-19): (1) A salvation-historical interpretation, in which Jesus’ testing recalls that of Israel in the wilderness; (2) a christological interpretation, which affirms a correct understanding of Jesus’ messiahship as against contemporary political or militaristic interpretations; and (3) a parenetic interpretation, in which Jesus provides a model for tested believers. Clues within the narrative (e.g., 4:2) and the rest of Matthew (e.g., 6:13; 26:41; 27:42-43) indicate that for Matthew as well as for the traditioning community that preceded him, the narrative functions in all three ways.

In this drama, the devil (diabolos, “slanderer,” by which the Greek version of the Old Testament translates the Hebrew “Satan”) plays himself. Especially after the exile, Israel began to recognize Satan’s activity as a prosecuting attorney against them (1 Chron 21:1; Zech 3:1); originally “Satan” functioned as his title rather than as a name (in Job, “the satan,” or adversary).

God’s calling must be tested and his servants must pass the test (4:1-3, 6). In this narrative Matthew presents Jesus as Israel’s — and Jesus’ followers’ — champion, the one who succeeded in the wilderness where Israel had failed. (A champion was one who fought another on behalf of and as a representative of his people; epic literature included various illustrations of this practice; see, e.g., 1 Sam 17; 2 Sam 2:14-16; Hom. Il. 3.69-70, 86-94, 253-55; 7.66-91, 244-73; Virg. Aen. 10.439-509; 11.115-18, 217-21; 12.723-952; Aul. Gel. 9.13.10.) If John had been a model of sacrificial obedience for living in the wilderness and subsisting on locusts, Jesus, who fasts in the wilderness, is even more so.

Further, the Spirit, having empowered Jesus for his mission as God’s Son (3:16-17), now is the one who leads him into the wilderness where his call must be tested (4:1, 3, 6). Matthew expressly informs his audience that the purpose of the Spirit’s first leading of God’s Son was that he might be tested. Matthew’s audience might infer two primary lessons from this narrative. First, the narrative presents Jesus as the vicarious advocate for his people, relinquishing his own power for his mission to save them from their sins.

But second, no less than Matthew’s discourse sections (28:19), this narrative provides a model for them (6:13), for Jewish teachers instructed by example as well as by word.

The devil invites Jesus to abuse his power for personal ends rather than his Father’s purposes (4:3, 5-6, 8-9). For Jewish Christians perhaps accused in some circles of antinomianism (cf. comment on 5:17-20), models of their teacher’s obedience to the Father’s will (e.g., 3:15) would be important. Scholars have suggested various connections between the temptation narrative and its context (e.g., Przybylski 1974). But whatever Matthew’s other connections, both he and his source clearly develop the narrative of Jesus’ call in 3:16-17. In 3:16-17, God declares Jesus as his Son; the devil here challenges not the fact but the nature of Jesus’ Sonship; “Since [more likely than “if”] you are God’s Son,” he declares, act according to various worldly expectations for that role (cf. Gundry 1982: 55; Danker 1972: 55; Test. Job 37:8 MSS).

In this passage the devil seeks to redefine Jesus’ call; by appealing to various culturally prevalent models of power to suggest how Jesus should use his God-given power. The devil tests Jesus with three roles into which other Palestinian charismatic leaders had fallen — from the generally despised and crassly demonic sorcerer’s role to those that some Jews justified as pious. Jesus’ refusal in each case allows Matthew to define Jesus’ call over against the charges of his opponents (12:24; 26:55; 27:11, 40-43).

First, Jesus was not a magician (4:3). Magicians typically sought to transform one substance into another to demonstrate their power over nature (e.g., Hom. Od. 10.239-40; Ovid Metam. 14.414-15; p. Ḥag. 2:2, §5; Sanh. 6:6, §2). Such magical practices could be understood as usurping or manipulating divine prerogatives, for in pagan tradition it was deities that metamorphosed a substance (Hom. Od. 13.162-63) or person (besides references on 3:9, see, e.g., Hesiod Astronomy, Fr. 3; Aegimius 3 in Apollodorus 2.1.3.1; Eurip. Bacch. 1330-32; Longus 1.27) into something else, or sometimes transformed themselves (Hom. Od. 4.417-18; Ovid Metam. 1.548-52).

Magicians manipulated spiritual power and formulas, but Jesus acted from an intimate, obedient personal relationship with his Father (6:7-9). Like a father disciplining his children, God humbled Israel in the wilderness, teaching his people that he would provide their bread while they were unemployed if they would just look to him (Deut 8:1-5; cf. Robinson 1962: 54; Barrett 1966: 51-52). Jesus accepts his Father’s call in the wilderness and waits for his Father to act.

Second, Jesus was not a deluded visionary (4:5-6) like Josephus’s “false prophets” who wrongly expected God to back up their miraculous claims (e.g., Jos. Ant. 20.168; War 2.259).

Jesus understood Scripture accurately and alluded not only to the passage he cited but its context. When he warns against “putting God to the test” (Deut 6:16) he alludes to Israel’s dissatisfaction in the wilderness (e.g., Ex 17:2-3, 7). Although God was supplying their needs, they demanded more than their needs, forgetting how much God had delivered them from. Yet Jesus did not get himself into testing presumptuously; like Elijah of old, he did what he did at God’s command (1 Kings 18:36; Mt 26:42).

Finally, Jesus was not a political revolutionary, contrary to the assumptions and charges of the Jewish aristocracy (26:55, 61; 27:11-12; cf. Ellis 1974: 108; Jn 18:36).

This test may have appealed especially to disciples (though they lacked political power outside the church, some gained it inside the church — 24:45-51); in this instance not Jesus’ opponents but his own star disciple Peter echoes Satan’s theology exactly: the messianic kingdom without the cross (16:22). (Attempts to dissuade from martyrdom contribute to the martyr’s resolve in analogous texts, e.g., 2 Macc 6:21-22; Mart. Pol. 9-11; Acts 21:12-14; Socrates.) Jesus likewise pushes Peter away in disgust

Because Luke frequently follows the order of his sources exactly, Matthew may purposely choose this temptation to climax the narrative:

People can use Scripture for righteous or unrighteous causes (4:4, 6, 7, 10). Given their debates with Pharisees or leaders moving in their general circle, Matthew’s community was well aware of the potential for interpreting texts in widely divergent manners. In form this narrative is closest to a “controversy dialogue” (Travis 1977: 69), and in fact it resembles the kind of debate one expects from two experts in the law (e.g., Jeremias 1971: 158; Davies and Allison 1988: 352).

Jesus and the devil argue Scripture, and both are adept at it, though the devil quotes Scripture out of context and so values its wording over its meaning. Psalm 91:3-10 addresses protection from dangers that approach the righteous, not testing God to see if he will really do what Scripture promises (cf. Ps 78:18; Patte 1987: 54); although some applied Psalm 91:10 specifically to the evil impulse (b. Sanh. 103a), later Jewish teachers generally opposed such presumption (Moore 1971: 1:379). Jewish tradition did recognize the activity of guardian angels (see comment on 18:10) and found in Psalm 91:10 the principle that angels accompanied the righteous (see t. ʿAbod. Zar. 1:17; Shab. 17:2) and protect them from demons (Sifre Num. 40.1.5). In this passage Jesus, like a good Jewish teacher, refutes Satan’s proof-text with a more appropriate text (4:7), and in the end the angels do minister to Jesus (4:11).

One need not look far to guess how Matthew and his community apply the principles of this narrative to their own day. Religious leaders in 27:40 become mouthpieces for the devil’s lie in 4:3, and Jesus’ leading disciple in 16:22 echoes 4:8-9. Matthew’s audience may thus apply the narrative by picturing Jesus, their champion, engaged in intellectual battle with the devil they believed stood behind their Torah-educated scribal opponents.

But the devil’s and the community’s opponents’ abuse of Scripture does not for a moment suggest to Matthew or his community that they neglect Scripture’s real power when rightly interpreted and applied. Their Lord himself submitted his life to its claims (cf. 3:15) and calls his followers to do the same (5:17-20). Jesus’ three responses in this testing narrative share the phrase, “It has been written” (4:4, 7, 10).

Finally, God promises triumph to those who persevere in testing (4:11). Matthew is far more specific than Mark’s compressed description here (in which angels, like the tempter, could have been with Jesus all forty days); without Jesus’ submitting to the devil (cf. 4:6: “his angels … will lift you up”), God’s agents provide for Jesus’ needs as soon as he has vanquished his foe. (Some Jewish traditions report the devil’s jealousy of angels that prepared food for Adam — ARN 1A; a later tradition notes that he departs when his temptation is finished — Gen. Rab. 70:8.) After three high-stake tests the devil left, so that Jesus could later say that he was freeing Satan’s possessions because he had already bound the strong man (12:29). Other than that later claim, however, Jesus does not cite his fast or his triumph over the devil publicly because he does his deeds in secret (6:18); his works in driving out demons testify concerning his own victory.

The temptation narrative might evoke readers’ disgust for magicians as much as praise for a new Moses providing bread for his people (cf. Teeple 1957: 76). But Jesus is the new Moses who will provide bread for his people (see on 14:13-21; 15:29-38), whom God would deliver by the resurrection, and who would eventually rule the nations (Ps 2:7, cited by God in Mt 3:17). According to Jesus’ call, all these things belonged to him; but the ends of God’s call in the long term did not justify inappropriate means in the short term.

Moving to Capernaum (4:12-16)

Cf. Mk 1:21; Lk 4:31; Jn 2:12. John’s imprisonment — which foreshadows Jesus’ own suffering — becomes the signal for Jesus to begin public ministry (4:12; cf. Jn 3:23-30; Soares Prabhu 1976: 135); the forerunner has completed his mission of “preparing the way” (3:3). That Jesus “withdraws” to Galilee may indicate that he had been tested in the wilderness near Perea, where John was arrested. Since, however, much of Matthew’s audience would probably not know these geographical details, the primary point is probably simply that Galilee must be the focus of Jesus’ public ministry.

Matthew may address three issues in Jesus’ move to Capernaum. First, the move immediately precedes the inauguration of Jesus’ public ministry, and hence may imply a concerted missions strategy. Although Jesus had grown up in a relatively unpretentious town (see on 2:23), the time had come for him to find a more suitable base for his urgent mission. Thus he found a town with more people (cf. Malina 1993: 91; France 1985: 101),

Still, Capernaum was not a Sepphoris or Tiberias, and would hardly be a town to be invented as the site for much of Jesus’ ministry by later Diaspora Christians. Further, although Jesus continued to be identified by his place of supposed origin (Nazareth), as was customary, Jewish tradition supports the notion that even outsiders could in time come to view him as a resident of Capernaum (m. B. Bat. 1:5; Davies and Allison 1988: 378). That Capernaum appears in later rabbinic accounts solely in connection with “schismatics,” presumably Jesus’ followers (Theissen 1991: 50), suggests that Jesus’ missionary strategy was ultimately successful. This model might have implications for the Matthean community (28:19), though the next point is more likely Matthew’s emphasis.

Besides suggesting Jesus’ own mission strategy, Matthew may also stress Jesus’ Galilean ministry base for two other reasons more directly relevant to his audience. The second issue is that Matthew’s Pharisaic opponents, still centered in Judea in this period, undoubtedly criticized the Jesus movement’s Galilean origins. Matthew thus cites Scripture about a messianic role in Galilee to counter regional prejudice against the gospel. Galilee’s positive theological role in the Gospels (Freyne 1988: 50-68, 82-90, 103-15; cf. Mt 26:32; 28:7; perhaps ironically 26:69) may reflect the strength of the Christian movement in the region where Jesus had ministered.

But the Gospels may have praised Galilee largely because Judean opponents, including Matthew’s opponents, ridiculed the Jesus movement’s Galilean origins. Later Babylonian rabbis complained about the Galileans (Freyne 1988: 216-17) after their competitors — Palestinian rabbis — had settled in Galilee; but some earlier Palestinian rabbis also question the Galileans’ observance of the law (m. Ned. 2:4; cf. t. Dem. 1:10). This was simply regional prejudice: sources contemporary with Jesus indicate the Galileans’ essential loyalty to the law as they understood it

But regardless of their loyalty to the temple, first-century Galileans may have felt free to ignore predominantly Judean Pharisees and their successors (cf. Freyne 1981). The Pharisees on the whole were probably centered in Jerusalem rather than in Galilee (Vermes 1973: 56-57; Neusner 1975: 38; but cf. perhaps Jos. Ant. 20.43), and their successors settled in Jamnia, which was also in Judea. Likewise the Pharisees seem to have been primarily an urban movement (cf. also perhaps Jos. Ant. 18.15), whereas the Jesus movement began as a primarily rural movement (becoming urbanized shortly after the resurrection and only later penetrating the rural areas outside Palestine; cf. Judge 1960: 60-61; Schmeller 1992). Even in the second century, Galilee apparently rejected Pharisaic leadership (Goodman 1983: 93-118; Freyne 1981), even in purely religious matters (Goodman 1983: 107). The rabbis’ idealism concerning tithes may well also not have commended itself to more agrarian peasants (Goodman 1983: 178).

Third, and probably most important, what Isaiah says about Galilee foreshadows the Gentile mission that Matthew keeps urging on his audience (4:14; cf. Kingsbury 1975: 23-24). Jesus again acts in obedience to Scripture (4:14-15; cf. Conzelmann 1969: 144), and this passage (Is 9:1-2; cf. Lk 1:79) — which clearly addresses the work of the Davidic Messiah (Is 9:6-7) — indicates that he would work in Galilee “of the Gentiles.” This is not to say that Jesus directed his own ministry to Gentiles; the text merely foreshadows outreach to the nations. Galilee was more Jewish than Gentile in Matthew’s day, against those earlier German scholars who contended that most Galileans were not fully Jewish (by 1941 Grundmann even argued that Jesus was not Jewish — Freyne 1988: 2). Whereas Jewish texts depict the Idumeans as half-Jews, they depict the Galileans as Jews (Freyne 1988: 169). Archaeology indicates that Galilee was rather sparsely populated until Judeans resettled it after the Hasmonean conquests, implying substantial ethnically Jewish ancestry (Freyne 1988: 170).

Nevertheless, many Gentiles continued to live in towns and presumably in the two large cities in Galilee in Matthew’s day (cf. 10:5; Wilkinson 1978: 23-24; Grant 1959: 99; Horsley 1995: 104); memory of Galilee’s Gentile connections (cf. 1 Macc 5:15) probably remained strong as well. Jesus himself restricted his ministry almost entirely to the Jewish parts of Galilee, apparently avoiding even the two more hellenized Jewish cities Tiberias and Sepphoris (cf. Jeremias 1958: 35).

Matthew has thus found a text that illumines Jesus’ Galilean ministry in a general way. In medieval times the trade route through this region came to be called the “way of the sea”;

Calling Fishers of People (4:17-22)

Cf. Mk 1:14-20; Lk 4:15; 5:1-11; Jn 1:35-51. The essential material in this section seems to reflect genuine Jesus tradition (cf., e.g., Sanders 1993: 119). Once Jesus has moved to Capernaum (4:12-16), he will naturally come into contact with fishermen. Although the evangelists have tersely summarized Jesus’ message in 4:17 (cf. Mk 1:15), it functions as an adequate summary of his call to Israel to return to God’s path.

(1) The Synoptics and John independently attest that Peter and Andrew followed Jesus in Galilee.

(2) Other Q narratives confirm that Jesus, in contrast to most rabbis, called his own disciples (8:19-22//Lk 9:57-62), probably following the model of Elijah (1 Kings 19:19-21), which plays very little role in rabbinic texts.

(3) The tradition of the Twelve attests that Jesus did choose disciples whom he expected to aid his mission (like other teachers, he expected disciples to propagate the work)

(4) The structure of Mark 1:17//Matthew 4:19 is “recognizably Semitic,” and the saying makes sense only as part of the narrative.

(5) No one had reason to invent the four’s occupation as fishermen, and Andrew, who is not central in Synoptic or Pauline tradition, must appear for more historical reasons.

Witherington also observes that “fishers of humans” is hardly a later Christian image for mission, but the metaphor makes sense if some of Jesus’ earliest disciples were fishermen. The narrative also hardly drew the image of Jesus recruiting disciples from Jewish practice; finally (though less clearly), Luke 5:10 attests the “fishers of humans” saying in a different context and form, perhaps supporting the saying’s authenticity by means of multiple attestation (Witherington 1990: 129-30).

Once God had commissioned Jesus (3:17), the devil had tested him (4:3-11), the forerunner had completed his mission (4:12), and Jesus had settled in Capernaum (4:12-16), he was ready to begin his public ministry (“from that time on,” 4:17). That Jesus “began” his public ministry here might recall the language of the early Christian summary of Jesus’ mission, which usually began with his public ministry (Mk 1:1; Acts 10:37; cf. Robinson 1982: 69). Matthew opens this section with a summary of Jesus’ message (4:17), which is spelled out more fully in subsequent discourse material (the repentant lifestyle that serves as a prerequisite for the kingdom appears in chs. 5–7); an opening summary of a teacher’s message sometimes preceded the description of his ministry (Robbins 1992: 86). For Matthew, the message for both Galilean Jews (10:5-7) and eventually Gentiles (24:14; 28:18-19) is the same as John the Baptist’s (3:2) and that of Jesus (13:19): Get your lives in order, for God’s kingdom is coming (4:17). Jesus’ proclamation probably implies that the kingdom “has drawn near”

As this message summarizes Jesus’ proclamation of God’s authority, so 4:18-22 demonstrate people’s proper response to God’s rule (also Patte 1987: 57); 4:23-25 demonstrates God’s rule over sickness and demons; and chapters 5– 7 flesh out the nature of the ethic of repentance (the values of the future kingdom) one must live to be prepared in advance for the kingdom. Just as Jesus’ message concurred with that of John, so the message of Jesus’ followers must accord with that of Jesus. They must proclaim the imminence of the kingdom (10:7; cf. 28:18), demonstrate God’s rule over sickness and demons (10:8), and pass on the master’s teachings (28:19). Following a teacher would include imitating his example (Betz 1968: 76; Jos. Life 11).

In 4:18-22 the one whom the Father called in 3:17 now calls others who will advance his mission. Jesus’ call to leave profession and family was radical, the sort of demand that only the most radical teacher would make. This text provides Matthew’s community several examples of servant leadership and radical discipleship. It also suggests that while Jesus was a traditional Jewish teacher in some respects (Bultmann 1958: 58), he was not merely a traditional teacher (see Hengel 1981b: 1-2, 27-33; in Matthew, see Kingsbury 1975: 33). As Schweizer observes, no one can question that Jesus called disciples (Schweizer 1955: 88; cf. Sanders 1985: 11); but the evidence indicates that, unlike other teachers, he never trained his disciples fully to replace him.

First, Jesus took the initiative to call a nucleus of disciples. Greek teachers had disciples (e.g., Diog. Laert. 9.1.4-5; Pythagoras had about eighty — Diog. Laert. 8.1.39), and Jewish sages, including Pharisaic sages (Jos. Ant. 15.3, 370), heavily emphasized making disciples (m. ʾAbot 1:1; cf. Hor. 3:5), who were to repeat back what they learned (Sifre Deut. 48.2.6). Some scholars make much of Jesus’ calling his own disciples rather than waiting for them to come to him, noting that disciples normally chose their teachers rather than the reverse.

Jesus’ seeking out disciples himself may thus represent a serious breach of custom (Malina 1981: 78; but cf., e.g., Jer 1:4-10), “coming down to their level” socially. (Compare later rabbis’ stereotype of the elitist academicians of Jesus’ day, the Shammaites, who allegedly wanted to educate only the well-to-do of honorable birth: ARN 3 A; 4, §14 B.) Although discipleship language in the Gospels is roughly the same as in other extant streams of Jewish tradition (Culpepper 1975: 222), some of Jesus’ methods mark him out as a radical teacher on the periphery of the more usual social institution. Probably Jesus selects as his model the prophetic way of choosing one’s successor found in 1 Kings 19:19-21, as the Gospel tradition may have recognized (cf. Lk 9:61-62). As “fishers of people,” their mission was primarily to “win back” the lost sheep of Israel (cf. 10:6; 18:15; Witherington 1990: 131), that is, to serve as the nucleus for Jesus’ renewal movement.

Second, consistent with Jesus’ rhetoric elsewhere, he teaches his hearers in terms they can understand. Although most scholars agree that Matthew’s community included Christian scribes (13:52; 23:34), Matthew and his sources are clear that Jesus did not call professionally trained rabbis (who might have much to unlearn first) to be his disciples. He called artisans and encouraged them that the skills they already had were serviceable in the kingdom. If God called shepherds like Moses and David to shepherd his people Israel, Jesus could call fishermen to be gatherers of people; other writers could likewise use fish as an analogy for people (e.g., Babrius 4.5-8).

Third, Jesus’ call was costly economically, involving downward mobility. Although artisans made far less than the wealthy (who comprised perhaps one percent of the ancient population), they were not among the roughly 90 percent of the ancient population we may call peasants, either.

Most first-century teachers had no formal schoolhouses for their academies except their own homes or those of their disciples; Jesus also seems to have used local homes (8:14-16; 13:1; cf. Mk 2:1-2; Riesner 1984a: 438-39) and recommended that his followers breaking new spiritual ground do the same (Mt 10:11-13). But while it was not the norm (most scribes simply dealt with legal documents and taught local children; see Keener 1991a: 23), some teachers traveled, sometimes with their disciples (Safrai 1974/76b: 762).

Jesus had a base of operations in Capernaum (Mt 8:5, 14; 9:1, 9; 17:24), but he also made a broader circuit of ministry that required his disciples to be away from their homes and livelihoods for substantial periods of time (8:18, 28; 9:35; 10:11, 23; 11:1; 14:13, 21; 16:13; 17:1; 19:1). When apostles traveled later they took their spouses with them (1 Cor 9:5), but the list of women following the company (27:55-56; Mk 15:40-41; Lk 8:1-3) provides no indication that spouses were traveling with the disciples during the initial period of discipleship. Although I regard it as unlikely, it is possible that Jesus’ ministry was seasonal and that the disciples returned to support their families part of the year. Seasonal study was not unknown; the Greek school year ran from October to June (Ferguson 1987: 83). Further, weather conditions may have limited the travels of Jesus’ group. Rains in Galilee fell on average thirty to fifty days a year, concentrated in the four months from early December to early March, which would make travel during those periods more difficult (though temperatures on the lake in January average between 50 and 65 degrees Fahrenheit; Sanders 1993: 110).

Nevertheless, disciples could not easily return to abandoned businesses. Adult agrarian workers could perhaps afford to be away between sowing and harvest, but for most workers in the artisan class like fishermen even seasonal departure from their families and livelihoods would be costly (though better than being away the entire year). Further, actual seasonal absence would be unnecessary: weather conditions would have limited travel only over long distances; while the disciples undoubtedly spent some nights away from home (especially when they traversed the lake), the Gospel itineraries suggest that they often ministered within walking distance of Capernaum or Bethsaida.

Such abandonment of full-time livelihood is significant. Jewish sages told stories of pagans relinquishing their wealth on converting to Judaism (Sifre Num. 115.5.7), and Greek philosophers told stories of converts to philosophy who abandoned wealth to become disciples (Diog. Laert. 6.5.87; Diogenes Ep. 38);

Fourth, Jesus’ call cost comfort, challenged the priority of family, and was probably therefore scandalous. Matthew’s narrative not only reports the historical activity of the first disciples, but he also presents it as a model of discipleship for his own audience (Wilkins 1995: 171-72; cf. Tert. On Idolatry 12; Basil The Long Rules, Question 8, ACCS, 19-20). James and John abandoned not only the boat — representing their livelihood — but their father and the family business (4:22). In a society where teachers normally stressed no higher responsibility than honor of parents (Jos. Apion 2.206; Keener 1991a: 98, 197), including economic responsibility for them (see comment on 15:4-6), some people would view such behavior as scandalous. (Torah teachers, however, did praise those who honored Torah above their families; see ARN 6 A; 13, §30 B.) Jesus elsewhere affirms the importance of marriage (19:9) and filial (15:4-6) relationships; Matthew does not find in Jesus’ teaching an excuse to downplay one’s responsibilities to one’s family (see Keener 1991a: 98-99, 102). At the same time, God’s call requires true disciples to value the demands of God’s kingdom — announcing its good news — more highly than the public shame it brings on their families or the way they feel toward that shame (10:35-37). It is not hard to understand why some might feel more comfortable remaining unattached (19:11-12)!

Although disciples of rabbis normally remained with their wives during study (cf. Safrai 1974/76a: 965), the rabbis praised those said to have endured hardship for Torah study (e.g., Hillel), including those who stayed away from home for years of Torah study.

Some have compared Jesus’ demands on disciples to those of wandering Cynics (Hengel 1981b: 27-33; Theissen 1978: 14-15; cf. Kee 1980: 68). The comparison of Cynics to the early Jesus movement (often negatively by outsiders) is not unreasonable; missionaries like Paul (see Bowers 1980: 318-19; Scroggs 1980: 172) may have helped make this model acceptable to later monasticizing streams of Christian thought (Sent. Sext. 18-19). Yet Jesus’ itinerant ministry is hardly distinctly Cynic (even in Luke, who is most apt to present Jesus to his readers in such culturally relevant terms; cf. Fiorenza 1983: 74; Witherington 1994: 117-45; Eddy 1996). As we have seen, Jesus maintained a base of operation in Capernaum (from which most of Galilee was in walking distance — Overman 1996: 67) and did not reject property altogether (cf. also 2 Kings 5:9). Further, Cynics were not the only Greek philosophers who traveled (e.g., Diog. Laert. 2.22); likewise, Torah teachers could also travel “from place to place to speak” (Safrai 1974/76b: 762).

But Cynics and other radical teachers nevertheless shared with Jesus a notable departure from established societal roles. Those most apt to wander from town to town were socially dislocated people, such as landless persons seeking work (see Goodman 1983: 39). Although wandering prophets existed in the ancient world (J. Collins 1972: 6; Burkert 1987: 31), itinerancy — perhaps a feature of ancient mobility in general — was hardly a central feature of early Christian prophecy (Boring 1982: 59-61; cf. Aune 1983: 211-14; pace Harnack; Theissen).

Jesus Demonstrates God’s Reign with Power (4:23-25)

Cf. Mk 1:39; 3:7-10; Lk 4:44; 6:17-18. Before both of the first two discourse sections (4:23-25; 9:35), Matthew includes a summary of Jesus’ kingdom works.

Yet Jesus not only proclaimed and explained the kingdom; he demonstrated God’s authority by healing the sick and expelling demons (Ladd 1978a: 47).

Significantly, Jesus taught in the synagogues, the educational and community centers of the day (4:23).

Excursus: Synagogues

By “synagogues” I mean local gatherings, formal or informal, usually in regular meeting places (the community, not the edifice, as Frey notes in CIJ 1:lxx). In the Diaspora these gathering places were called proseuchai, that is, “places of prayer” well before the first century B.C. (e.g., CPJ 1:239-40, §129; 1:247-49, §134; 2:368, §1441; 2:370-71, §1443-44; 2:375-76, §1449).

Some have argued that the assembly halls common in the Diaspora and attested in Jerusalem may have been less common in Galilee (see Horsley 1995: 222-33). Others contend that the reason few pre-70 Palestinian synagogues have been uncovered is simply that those building later synagogues completely demolished earlier ones on the same site; all three probable pre-70 synagogues that have been discovered are from sites not resettled after their destruction (Sanders 1992: 200; idem 1990: 77; cf. May 1944: 3). With the loss of the temple, synagogues also grew more ornate after A.D. 70.

But even if one assumes the lack of formal structures functioning through the week as religious and community centers,

Regardless of the kind of building, the assembly places were not restricted to what Western society would call religious functions as many modern Western churches are. To be sure, they remained houses of study (e.g., CIJ 2:333, §1404), but as Levine 1986: 14 summarizes, they also functioned as community courts (like the “gates” of biblical tradition; 10:17; 23:34; Acts 22:19; m. Mak. 3:12; though Urman 1993 argues for a distinction between synagogues and community centers in this period), gathering sites for charity (Mt 6:2; t. B. Bat. 8:14; Shab. 16:22; Ter. 1:10), places to raise funds for the temple (Philo Leg. Gai. 156; Ant. 16.167-68; 14.215), hostels (Theodotus inscription); and banquet halls (Jos. Ant. 14.214-16; 16.164). Further, both synagogue designs (e.g., May 1944: 9; Hachlili 1977; Narkiss 1986: 185-86; Levine 1996: 444) and comments of later rabbis (e.g., t. B. Meṣ. 11:23; Ṭohar. 8:11) show us that the local communities, not representatives of the rabbinic academy, controlled synagogues in the second century and later.

Once Jesus’ reputation spread, people would have flocked to synagogues to hear him teach (on gossip networks, see Malina and Rohrbaugh 1992: 45); in the beginning he might have informally engaged others learned in Torah in discussion (cf. the synagogue seating plan in Sanders 1993: 100-101).

Matthew also wants his readers to know how widely word about Jesus spread (4:24-25). Ancient narratives about popular teachers (as opposed to more aristocratic figures who often disdained the masses)

In its larger context, this narrative indicates that Jesus had awaited God’s time for him to minister (4:12); now word was spreading quickly. Subsequent narratives, however, also warn that momentary popularity is just an opportunity to convey the message to those who really have ears to hear, only some of whom will become disciples.

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