Within the last few days, I came across an online article about a poem that serves as a treasure-hunters’ guide. The poem contains a variety of clues about where a buried treasure can be found. Doubtless, a number of people will be motivated to decipher the poem and go diligently hunt for the treasure chest. That will be the reaction of some.
And just how did I react? I read it, and immediately dismissed it. I never even seriously considered it. I deemed the undertaking to be curious, kind of fun, and somewhat interesting… but definitely not for me. No, I am not going to join this particular prospective treasure hunt.
Now, for a moment, imagine a scenario. Imagine that whoever buried the treasure actually wants me to be the one who finds it. For the purposes of our hypothetic scenario, let’s call the one who hid the treasure The Poet. Again, imagine that the Poet wants me to be the one to find the buried treasure. How would the Poet react upon learning of my dismissive attitude? How would the Poet feel about my indifference?
To start and obviously, the Poet would not be pleased. The Poet would be disappointed. The Poet would probably try to contact me and persuade me to reconsider. The Poet would suggest I at least read the Poem. The Poet would attempt to encourage me. The Poet would urge me to go search for the treasure. That is exactly what the Poet would do.
But as it is, hypothetical scenario aside, I will not go looking for treasure. And why not? Here are some reasons why I will not go search for the treasure:
First of all, I have other, more pressing things going on in my life. I have responsibilities that I consider more urgent and important than this prospective treasure hunt, this wild goose chase.
Secondly, I rather doubt myself. I believe it is highly likely that someone else will win. I think someone else is likely to find it before me. So why would I bother with the effort?
Thirdly, I know neither the Poet nor the Poem. And because I do not know the Poet, I am a bit suspicious about the whole proposition. The Poet might not be reliable.
Fourthly and finally, it sounds like it might require a lot of work. If my chances of finding the treasure are as low as I suspect, I am not sure it is worth my time.
As you may have realized by now, I am using this treasure hunt as an analogy. No, I am not making this all up. I really did recently read about a poem and a prospective treasure hunt. And I really did immediately dismiss the possibility. But eventually I realized I could use it here as an analogy, an instructive similarity.
In the Gospel of Matthew (13:44), Jesus referenced the discovery of a buried treasure in a very brief parable. Jesus said,
The Kingdom of Heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and covered up. Then in his joy, he goes and sells all that he has and buys the field.
Jesus, comparing eternal life in the Kingdom of Heaven to hidden treasure
In just two sentences, Jesus is saying a lot. By comparing the Kingdom of Heaven to hidden treasure, Jesus wants us to understand that a lot of people — most people — will never even notice it. And by drawing our attention to the man’s thrilled reaction, Jesus wants us to understand just how invaluable the Kingdom of Heaven actually is. The man who found the treasure rightly recognized that it was worth selling everything he owned to obtain.
This parable is something I grew up hearing and reading. As a result, when now I hear about buried treasures, I do not just think about pirates and hand-drawn maps and wooden treasure chests; I also recall this parable.
Moreover, I will take a bit of creative liberty here. I will suggest that we can use the same buried treasure motif to talk instructively about Scripture itself. Scripture can be compared to buried treasure — not just treasure, but treasures, plural. God is the Poet, and Scripture is the Poem. God wants you to find the treasures that are there, just waiting to be found. God wants you to put forth diligent effort. Yet most people will not bother. They will not put forth the effort. They will not do so because of the reasons I have listed above. But as a consequence of their dismissiveness, they will miss out on what might otherwise have been theirs.
And in particular, this can be used as an analogy for Scriptural analogies, such as Jesus’ parables and the Book of Revelation. Scriptural analogies require even more diligent effort than the rest of the Bible. Therefore, perhaps they are like treasure boxes contained within a treasure chest.
If the comparison is apt, I think it is safe to assume that the treasure boxes must contain true treasures, even if they are especially hard to open. The reason I write this blog is to present what I consider to be rare and valuable treasures. I do hope some of you will concur with me, or at least be motivated to go treasure-hunting for yourselves.
If you happened to read or listen to my last post, you may remember that I promised to write a post about “the duration of internalization.” In case you do not recall what I meant by that very catchy, rhyming phrase — “the duration of internalization” — please let me recap and explain. Jesus once said that he would be in the heart of the earth for three days and three nights, just as Jonah spent three days and three nights in the belly of a humongous fish (think whale). By the way, the passage I am referencing here is Matthew 12:38-42. Go check it out, if you’re so inclined. In saying what he said about the three days and three nights, Jesus was prophesying that though he would indeed die, he would not be dead and buried for long — not long at all. Jesus referred to this “duration of internalization” as the Sign of the Prophet Jonah. And Jesus made a big deal about this promised sign. It was to be the one and only validating sign for that “evil and adulterous generation.” His foretold death, his brief burial, and his resurrection would be the sign or validation that Jesus was whom he claimed to be.
Alright, and if you’re familiar with the accounts of Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection, you know that after Jesus was crucified, his corpse was interred in a donated grave for about two days. But on the morning of the third day, Jesus rose again bodily from the dead. Therefore, the promised Sign of the Prophet Jonah came to pass, just as Jesus foretold.
But hang on. More detail-oriented people might notice a discrepancy. They might notice that Jesus was technically not in the grave for a total of three days and three nights. He was only in the grave for two nights (which we would refer to as Friday night and Saturday night) and just one complete day (Saturday), plus the latter portion of Friday and a few early hours on Sunday. So, what are we to make of the discrepancy? A stickler might insist that for the prophecy and the sign to be true, Jesus must have been interred for around 72 hours, not roughly 36 hours.
A lot of people will just shrug and say, “Whatever, close enough.” But Jesus did say three days and three nights. Mathematically, that is 24+24+24 hours, which equals 72 hours. And 72 is definitely not equal to 36. So, again, what are we to make of the glaring discrepancy?
What does it matter? Well, it does not matter to a lot of people. The non-sticklers don’t really worry about it, since they can easily point to a Friday, a Saturday, and a Sunday, so close enough. But the sticklers and literalists do worry about it. They want accuracy, especially since Jesus seemed to be so exact and specific.
It is on basis of this 72 hour Sign of Jonah in Matthew 12:40 that some Bible scholars have suggested that maybe, just maybe Jesus was not crucified on a Friday after all, but on a Wednesday or a Thursday. However, they are demonstrably wrong about that. Still, you can understand why they suggest what they suggest. They want the 72 hours to be accurate. Understandably, they want Jesus’ duration-of-internalization prophecy to be precise. And it bothers them that the traditional timeline just does not fit.
Why, then, do I insist that the traditional timeline is correct? Well, because 1) Friday is Friday (the day of preparation before the Sabbath) and Sunday is Sunday (the first day of the week) — and in saying that I am quite serious and not sarcastic; and because 2) biblical and extra-biblical historical details about the Roman Procurator Pontius Pilate help nail down a narrow time frame and only a handful of possible dates for the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ; and 3) astronomy in rewind shows that there was a lunar eclipse (that is, a blood moon) over the City of Jerusalem on the evening of Friday, April 3rd 33AD/CE.
In elaboration on my first point, that Friday is Friday and Sunday is Sunday, the real issue is whether a close study of the four Gospel accounts yields a coherent and convincing timeline of Jesus’ final week, and especially of the pivotal events of the Passover celebrated that Thursday and Friday. The short answer is, upon close examination, yes. Here are two excellent and exhaustive studies: Chronological Aspects of the Life of Christ by Harold W. Hoehner (first published in 1973), and Jesus and the Last Supper by Brant Pitre (published in 2015).
Harold W. Hoehner’s book also explains my second point about Pontius Pilate. Said succinctly, due a massive shift in the Roman political scene, in 33 AD/CE Pontius Pilate was much, much more inclined to appease the insistent, bellicose Jewish religious leaders than he had been previously. A friend of his named Sejanus had fallen out of favor with Caesar and had been executed, so Pilate was very afraid of being deemed disloyal to Caesar. Therefore, when the Jewish religious leaders insinuated that Pilate would not be Caesar’s friend if he acquitted Jesus (see John 18:12), he gave into their demands and had Jesus crucified. It was politically expedient to sacrifice Jesus, and thus avoid any accusations of disloyalty to Tiberius Caesar.
As for the final point about the lunar eclipse, Colin J. Humphreys and W.G. Waddington argue in an article from 1992 entitled The Jewish Calendar, A Lunar Eclipse, and the Date of Christ’s Crucifixion that a lunar eclipse over Jerusalem on the evening of Friday, April 3rd 33AD/CE, was seen and thereafter interpreted as a fulfillment of a prophecy in Joel 2:31.
So if Jesus was indeed crucified on Friday, April 3rd 33AD/CE and resurrected on Sunday, April 5th, what about the duration-of-internalization, the Sign of Jonah, the 72 hours?
Some scholars have suggested that the phrase “three days and three nights” was a merely an idiomatic expression. As an idiom, it was not meant to be understood precisely and literally. That may be so. But Jesus could have just said “three days” if he wanted to be a bit vague.
An explanation I personally find more convincing is that the 72 hours may be precise, but the location of Christ’s confinement be spiritual. The designated location for the duration-of-internalization is the “heart of the earth.” Most interpreters presume that “the heart of the earth” must mean the burial of his crucified corpse in the grave. But what if Jesus’ spiritual experience of hell is actually what is meant instead? What if “the heart of the earth” is a spiritual location instead of a spatial location? Could it be that Jesus meant that he would descend to hell spiritually while he was yet alive on earth physically? After all, Jesus did endure the agonies of hell while on the cross. He may have even begun to experience the agonies of hell while he prayed for a way to escape the cross in the Garden of Gethsemane. Significantly, that would put his experience of the netherworld much, much closer to three days and three nights: Thursday, Friday, and Saturday in hell, 72 hours total.
Interestingly, the New Testament, the early Church Fathers, and the Apostles’ Creed all give a measure of assent to this particular interpretation. Jesus Christ was not just buried in a tomb. “He descended into hell.”
But what does “he ascended” mean except that he also descended to the lower parts of the earth?
If this is correct, it is interesting that Jesus’ time in hell was not completely a time of anguished suffering. Upon his physical death, Jesus had triumphed over the powers of darkness. When he declared from the cross, “It is finished,” Christ Jesus had completed his mission. He had triumphed. Thereafter, his time in hell was not a time of more agony and suffering, but a time of conquest. It was his triumphal procession, his occasion to proclaim hell’s defeat and his victory.
Won very affective weigh to draw attention too a word or even a hole sentence is two misspell on porpoise. Else-wise, them might-could use grammar bad and non-standard-ish-ly. Either way, a writer will likely confuse or at least annoy the reader or listener; would you not agree? Such deviations from the norm usually do get noticed, though; and that’s the whole point.
In case you’re listening to this and not reading it, I want to point out that I kind-of misspelled some words in my opening sentence. I say “kind-of misspelled” because what I actually did was replace four words with homophones and one word with a near-homophone. In one instance and as an example, I wrote w-o-n instead of o-n-e, because won and one sound exactly the same. They are homophones. The near homophone I used was porpoise instead of purpose. If you are a native English speaker, these alterations are easy to spot in written form. But if you are not a native English speaker, they may be more difficult to spot. Abnormal alterations to a piece of writing, such as those in my two introductory sentences, might even so confuse non-native English speakers as to make those sentences incomprehensible. Whatever the language, a writer’s deliberate stylistic alterations can be an affective effective barrier to some readers’ comprehension. But why would any writer want to obscure things for his or her readers? Sometimes a writer does indeed want that, though. Sometimes a writer wants to partially obscure his or her writing. Insiders will find it comprehensible, outsiders probably will not. Sometimes writers want to speak to insiders, and yet exclude outsiders.
In the opening to his biography of Jesus, Matthew does something very similar — not in English of course, but in a first century iteration of ancient Greek known as Koiné Greek. Matthew makes noticeable alterations to his genealogy of Jesus’ lineage. To arrive at a predetermined, theologically-meaningful mathematical equation (that is, 14 x 3), Matthew deliberately omits at least three consecutive generations from David’s royal lineage. He also seemingly miscounts his third and final grouping of names: Where there ought to be fourteen names, there are only thirteen. How come? For an explanation of these conspicuous and curious Matthean alterations (which I argue are intentional and instructional) please see my previous blog post, entitled Mistaken Matthew?. But wait, there’s one more alteration in Matthew’s genealogy I should explain…
Matthew also misspells two names: Asa and Amon, which he renders as Asaph and Amos. Perhaps I should qualify that statement, though. Perhaps I ought to say that he may have misspelled two names. Some of the ancient manuscripts of Matthew’s Gospel put it one way; some put it the other way. So which of the ancient manuscripts have it right? Did Matthew himself write Asaph and Amos, or Asa and Amon? If Matthew’s objective was historical accuracy, he would necessarily have spelled their names as Asa and Amon, because that is how their names are supposed to be spelled (or rather, as they ought to be transliterated from the original Hebrew into Koiné Greek). But if Matthew was instead taking an opportunity to make a subtle theological statement, he might have deliberately misspelled their names.
Parenthetically, if you have already opened your Bible to the first chapter of Matthew to review the genealogy, you might not see Asaph and Amos there, but Asa and Amon. That’s because the translators of the version you hold made the decision to be true to the Old Testament spelling of their names. Their decision is totally understandable. Yet it does not mean that the translators of your Bible got it right. Alternatively, if you happen to have a New American Bible, Revised Edition, you will see that its translators made the opposite decision: It has the names Asaph and Amos listed in the genealogy. The decision is not an easy one for translators. They have to either side with historical accuracy (on the one hand), or with the manuscripts that are probably more reliable to Matthew’s original writing (on the other).
Since he most likely intentionally skipped three generations in Jesus’ genealogy in order to make a theological point, I would not put it past Matthew to deliberately misspell Asa and Amon’s names as Asaph and Amos. Under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, Matthew might have piled one type of genealogical error upon another type of genealogical error in order to make it increasingly obvious to his readers that his apparent errors are not actually errors or mistakes, but part of a deliberate premeditated design. These are deliberate editorial decisions of his. Through his organization and presentation of Jesus’ genealogy, Matthew meant for his own historical inaccuracies and lingual adjustments to be noticed and caught (by insiders), because he wanted something deeper to be taught (to insiders).
But more than merely assert my position, I ought to offer some substantiating evidence. And to do that, I must talk about the oldest known copies of Matthew’s gospel, which are otherwise known as manuscripts.
If you wanted to actually see examples of the real deal — the oldest known, hand-transcribed copies of Matthew’s gospel — you would need to pay a visit to a library, or a museum, or a private collector’s display. From what I have read, the most highly regarded manuscript copy of all is known as the Codex Vaticanus. As its name implies, it belongs to the Vatican; and thus you would need to travel to Rome to see it — if they would let you anywhere near it (which they won’t). To be honest, you might be better off just looking for the photographs of it on their website: There’s no time limit that way. Here’s a link: digi.vatlib.it ; and search specifically for Manuscript – Vat.gr.1209.
The Codex Vaticanus contains more than just Matthew’s Gospel, though. It contains the Old Testament (in Koiné Greek, a version known as the Septuagint) and most of the New Testament. The fact that it is nearly the entire Bible is a very big deal, given that it is dated to the 300s AD. As a rule, New Testament manuscript experts consider the Codex Vaticanus to be the gold standard of all early New Testament manuscripts. They judge the reliability of other New Testament manuscripts against it. And, as it so happens, in Matthew’s genealogy of Jesus’ lineage, the Codex Vaticanus renders the two names in question as Asaph and Amos, not Asa and Amon. And thus the conundrum: What does a translator do? Do you go with the spelling that the Old Testament requires? Or do you follow the New Testament gold standard, and translate the misspellings?
So if Matthew did deliberately misspell Asa and Amon and render them instead as Asaph and Amos, why might he have done so? Of course, Matthew himself does not tell us why, so we have to theorize a bit. One thing I notice historically about both the three generations that Matthew skips and about the Kings Asa and Amon is the common denominator of unfaithfulness, to the point of idolatry. These are all kings who were either godless throughout their entire reign, or who started out obedient to God but then turned to idolatry. Perhaps here Matthew is practicing a kind of damnatio memoriae, that is, the condemnation of the memory of these unfaithful kings. By not mentioning them by name or by calling them by alternate names, Matthew collars the memory of each of them with a permanent cone of shame. Let these serve as a somber warning to you: These be the unspeakable, utter failures.
At the same time, by deliberately fudging the historical record, Matthew paradoxically calls attention to these kings. That serves Matthew’s purposes, too. When a student of scripture takes the time to study these kings, he or she comes away with a stronger sense of God’s sovereignty and unrelenting faithfulness, even in the bleakest and most hopeless times. When David’s royal lineage is most at risk, God somehow unexpectedly comes through. Even when David’s own descendants made themselves active enemies of God, God remained faithful to the promise he made to David. Jesus did eventually arrive, in spite of all the efforts of the Evil One to the contrary.
Finally, Matthew may have substituted the names of godly Asaph and Amos for ungodly Asa and Amon as a means of comparison and contrast. Faithless Asa and Amon should have been like faithful Asaph and Amos. Imagine if these two kings had taken the right path instead of the wrong path.
Considering his curious omissions, his miscount of generations, and his likely misspellings, I do believe Matthew deliberately introduced inaccuracies into his genealogy of Jesus. In general, it does not matter to most people, because they just skim or skip the genealogy anyway. But for those who do study it through, Matthew’s alterations can prove to be theologically instructive. And that’s exactly what Matthew and the Holy Spirit intended, I believe.
When I read to children, I sometimes mis-read and mis-represent things. I stumble clumsily over what is plainly put in print. Sometimes I omit words. Sometimes I insert words that are not there. Sometimes I deliberately mispronounce words. But my mis-reading is all a big farce. I am merely pretending to make mistakes. At some point I make it obvious that my mistakes are not actual absent-minded blunders. My “mistakes” are not sloppy, stupid mistakes, but intentional alterations. Eventually, I let the kids know that I am purposely misreading what is there. It is all just a pedagogical ploy of mine. I did not want to drone on in monotone, and thus bore all of them and myself. I wanted to keep them all interested, attentive, and engaged. So I made some editorial changes, here and there. And it works well. If you have never done it yourself, I would recommend it. Kids almost always enjoy correcting an adult’s feigned mistakes. Misleading misreading makes for a lively, interactive learning activity.
The author of the Gospel of Matthew does something very similar. He makes some editorial adjustments to the historical record. Right from the get-go, on the very first page, Matthew makes several factual alterations. His alterations are not mistakes, though. They are deliberate editorial decisions. They are intentional.They are theologically instructive. Matthew is using his alterations to make some important points.
Someone out there may wonder what I am even talking about. The genealogy — that’s what. I am talking about Matthew’s introductory genealogy. Most readers skim it or skip it. It is just a list of mostly unmemorable names, after all. But if someone decides to get studious and starts cross-referencing those names, it all quickly changes. If Joe or Joann Reader bothers to delve into the Old Testament record to learn more about those names in Matthew’s genealogy, Joe or Joann will soon realize that either Matthew himself or a scribe after him must have made some alterations. As we have it, the text of Matthew’s genealogy has obvious omissions, curious misspellings, and even faulty math. The E word has even be invoked in discussions of this genealogy. Some have said that Matthew’s introductory genealogy has errors.
Red Alert! Red Alert! Red Alert! The Bible is not supposed to have any errors! A lot of Bible-believing Christians will reflexively and immediately recoil at any suggestion of error in the Bible. Understandably so, I would add. I, too, get nervous, wary, and even defensive when I hear reputed scholars talk about errors in the Bible. After all, the Bible is the written Word of God. It is our primary, authoritative written witness to Christ and the Faith. Any assertion of error carries the implication that the Bible cannot and should not be considered reliable and trustworthy; right? Well actually, it depends. It depends on whether those claimed errors are human mistakes or deliberately crafted theological pointers. Moreover and more crucially, it depends on whether God actively inspired the inclusion and transmission of those pointers.
Please know and be very aware that I am talking about intentional, deliberate (and divinely inspired) authorial decisions on Matthew’s part, not unintentional mistakes, nor dubious and deceitful claims. What I am about to describe might be called error by some (because the information recorded is demonstrably not historically accurate). But that information is meant to be caught and noticed as just such, as intentional inaccuracy. These inaccuracies cannot be excused away, because they are not slight, but significant. These inaccuracies are even so glaringly wrong that it becomes increasingly evident Matthew deliberately introduced them to impress something more than mere genealogy — something deeper, more profound, and true. These errors are thus theological pointers. Careful readers are meant to catch his inaccuracies and also catch the theological intention behind his redirecting inaccuracies.
Now, for the evidence: In the eighth verse of chapter one, Matthew says Joram fathered (or begot) Uzziah. In so doing, he simply skips over three (and-a-half) generations of monarchs in the line of David (King Ahaziah, Queen Mother Athaliah, King Joash, and King Amaziah: see 2 Chronicles chapters 21-25). Why skip these three generations, though? The skipped-over period of Judaean history was crucially important, since the royal family, the dynasty of David, was nearly annihilated — not once but twice. So, is Matthew’s strange three-generation genealogical omission a mistake or a deliberate decision? Gospel readers well acquainted with the Old Testament accounts would have noticed Matthew’s obvious omission. Inquiring readers would be quick to ask why. Usually there are three possible explanations in cases like this: 1.) The author himself made a seemingly-sloppy mistake. 2.) An early scribe missed a verse or two when copying the manuscript, resulting in the loss of three generations. And lastly, 3.) The author may have made a deliberate omission. In this case, the second possible explanation does not work. It cannot be a simple scribal mistake, because the author carefully (and yet inaccurately!) counts up the number of generations for his readers.
Someone might point out that Matthew did not actually err in verse eight, since Joram did technically beget Uzziah, yet with several unmentioned intervening generations. Granted, that is true. Although he did not father Uzziah, Joram did beget Uzziah. But the real problem comes in verse seventeen. Matthew there carefully counts up fourteen generations between David and the Deportation to Babylon. He arrives at fourteen generations quite curiously. He does so by excluding the three generations between Joram and Uzziah. Matthew’s generational count is simply not historically accurate. If he had counted the three omitted generations, he would have arrived at 17 generations, not 14. Be not disturbed, though, for Matthew is not trying to be historically accurate here. He is instead striving to arrive at the number fourteen, and for a theological reason. Matthew has pre-determined his genealogy to arrive at a particular mathematical equation — that is, 14 x 3. And, I would add, Matthew made that pre-determination under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit.
You may ask: Why fourteen times three? Well, there are two theological reasons why.
First of all, fourteen is the number of David. Just as the number of the Beast in Revelation 13:18 is 666, the number of David in Hebrew is 14. In many languages, letters double as numbers. You may be already familiar with this by virtue of the continued contemporary use of Roman numerals. It is exactly the same in Greek and in Hebrew. In Hebrew, the letters of David’s name add up to 14. By insisting that there are three sets of 14 generations between Abraham and Jesus, Matthew implicitly three-peats “David, David, David,” which can and should be biblically deciphered to mean that God was faithful through the generations to keep his promise to David and sustain his family line. Therefore, for theological reasons, Matthew intentionally and deliberately mis-represented the number of generations in Jesus’ genealogy in order to arrive at fourteen times three. Matthew was not confused, nor was he being deceitful. Instead, Matthew meant for his inaccuracy to be caught, and for the deeper truth to be taught.
As for the second theological reason, I admittedly indulge in conjecture. But I think it works. Mathematically, 14 x 3 = 6 x 7, which is significant because 7 is the number of the Sabbath and thus of completion in the Bible. Matthew is inferring a new climatic redemptive era has arrived with Jesus. There were six eras (or days) before the incarnation of Jesus. Jesus’ arrival marks the beginning of a final seventh era (or day). When Jesus began to preach his message was “The Kingdom of God is at hand.” This Kingdom of God is the seventh redemptive era or day. In saying this, I do not mean that we should look for six clearly delineated previous eras. I just mean that Matthew seems to imply a seventh seven has arrived with Jesus. Jesus brings redemptive history to its completion, to its final Sabbath.
One last (possible) Matthean inaccuracy for today: In his final set of generations, Matthew counts poorly. At least, it could be read that way. In verses 12 through 16, Matthew only lists thirteen generations prior to Jesus’ birth, not fourteen. Here they are, in Matthew’s order: 1.) Jechoniah, 2.) Sheatial, 3.) Zerubbablel, 4.) Abiud, 5.) Eliakim, 6.) Azor, 7.) Zadok, 8.) Achim, 9.) Eliud, 10.) Eleazar, 11.) Matthan, 12.) Jacob, and 13.) Joseph + Mary. Listed thusly, Jesus might be understood to be the last one in a set of fourteen, and not the expected first one in a new set. This mathematical difficulty might be explained as Jesus being both the last and first — the last generation in the third set, and the first generation in a fourth and final set. I find that explanation quite intriguing. The difficulty might also be explained as a very subtle way of indicating that God the Father Himself is an unmentioned 14th progenitor, since God begat Jesus, not Joseph. Both explanations are very interesting; but neither are original to me. I simply came across each explanation in a commentary. Do you find either explanation compelling?
In conclusion, Matthew’s Gospel opens with several factual inaccuracies (two of which are conspicuous spelling errors that I have not covered here). I contended that Matthew’s inaccuracies should not be seen as mistakes, nor should they be called misleading. Instead, his inaccuracies are actually intentional and Spirit-inspired. They should be understood as purposeful alterations, which are meant to be caught by careful readers, in order that theological truths may be taught.
Here Jesus is surprisingly sneaky. Jesus shows himself to be oh-so sly.
His elite inquisitors, the Sadducees, had Jesus stereotyped. They esteemed themselves to be among the best and the brightest of the Jewish people. They had pegged Jesus as someone somewhat less cultured, less intelligent, and therefore, less worthy of repute than themselves. Given his lower-class upbringing, Jesus could not possibly see things the way they saw things, so doubtless, he must be a bit of a nitwit. In their educated, experienced estimation, Jesus had to be an unsophisticated simpleton, a Bible-banging bumpkin — an unordained, self-promoting preacher. They thought they could easily undermine Jesus’ credibility and popularity by putting his lack of intellectual prowess on public display. So they devised a clever question, a question intended to fully expose his theological sloppiness and general clumsiness.
They presented Jesus with a sexually-tangled legal scenario: A certain woman had been married and widowed seven times. She married seven brothers, each in turn, one after the next. Whose wife then, would she be, come Resurrection Day, given that she and all seven of her late husbands would be physically resurrected? Which brother would be her husband?
His inquisitors, the Sadducees, did not believe in a final physical resurrection. Like many of the Greek philosophers, they dismissed it as a derisible doctrine. Only zombies rise from the dead, not the righteous departed: Something such was the thought. The Sadducees believed that the Torah, that is, the Law of Moses, did not require a resurrection. And the Torah must be given priority over other scripture, they insisted. Only the Law of Moses was their authoritative Bible.
“You are wrong.”
Jesus responded with a blunt retort — which surely came across as an insult. Jesus’ rebuke was aimed squarely at their intellectual smugness. “You are wrong.” And Jesus proceeded to tell them exactly why they are wrong.
“You are wrong because you know neither the scriptures nor the power of God.”
Jesus turns the table on his self-satisfied inquisitors. So who is actually ignorant here? Jesus informs them that they are the ignorant, not him. They are the ones who do not know what they ought to know. They do not adequately know their own scriptures. And they have not begun to comprehend the extent of the creative power of God.
Then Jesus tells them what will actually happen, come Resurrection Day. Marriage will not be an issue for the multipli-married woman, nor for her seven once-late husbands. Marriage won’t be an issue because no one, but no one, will be married then. After the resurrection human beings will be like angels, who do not reproduce nor procreate. Marriage is meant just for this lifetime, not the next.
Jesus isn’t done on the topic of the resurrection, though. He has one final argument to present. Jesus wants them to see that one of their own favorite scriptures implies a final resurrection.
Jesus takes them straight to the Book of Exodus, to a barefoot and awestruck Moses at the burning bush. When He introduced Himself to Moses, God assured him that, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” God did not say that He once was the God of Moses’ ancestors, but that He still is the God of Moses’ ancestors. God says, “I am” their God, not “I was” once their God. According to Jesus, the implication of God’s “I am” is that Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob must live on. They are alive, even long after they died, even though their corpses decay in the grave. God is not the God of dead corpses, but of the living. The afterlife is therefore real. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, though dead and gone, are nonetheless alive and present with God.
And because he infers the afterlife from God’s “I am,” Jesus further assumes the resurrection must follow. Jesus does not even feel the need to argue further or appeal to another scripture for the resurrection. If the afterlife is a reality, then the resurrection must be a reality, as well. This is what Jesus claimed. An afterlife essentially guarantees an eventual resurrection.
But surprisingly, Jesus’ line of reasoning leaves something to be desired. Even if it is real, the afterlife, in and of itself, does not necessitate a final resurrection. It is conceivable that people have a spiritual afterlife, without any physical resurrection. After all, many of the Greeks believed in a spiritual afterlife — an afterlife without any final resurrection. And one of his Sadducee inquisitors could have easily pointed out that (non-biblical) belief. In fact, some, if not all, of the Sadducees may have believed exactly that. Having been schooled in pagan mythology and Greek philosophy, they may well have held a Greek conception of the afterlife.
And this is why Jesus is sly. Jesus knew his inquisitors far better than they knew him. Whereas they had stereotyped Jesus, he accurately read them. He knew what they probably believed. And Jesus was daring them to reveal what they actually believe. But it could have been their own undoing. If the Sadducees had argued for a Greek perspective on the afterlife, rather than affirm what the Hebrew prophets had taught about the resurrection, they would have called their own legitimacy into question. The gathered Jewish crowd would have been shocked and scandalized. They might have accused the Sadducees of blasphemy. The Sadducees would have shown that they esteem a pagan philosophical tradition over their own biblical tradition.
Thus, by first appealing to one of their own favorite, foundational scripture passages and then inferring its eschatological implications, Jesus’ argument had boxed in the Sadducees. They never anticipated his sly tactic. They did not see it coming. Jesus had outsmarted them. He had outplayed them. The Sadducees could question him no further without risking their own public embarrassment. They knew better than to dispute his affirmation of the resurrection — definitely not there, not in front of the under-educated, unsophisticated, prophecy-believing people. So, rather than argue with the Bible-banging backwater bumpkin any further, the Sadducees decided to just bide their valuable time and look for an opportune moment to somehow rid themselves of this nuisance, this Jesus of Nazareth. With his demise, the resurrection question would be forever settled, of that they were confident.