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AMONG THE LIMITATIONS CONSEQUENT TO THE INCARNATION, it is important to consider whether they included the eternal Word’s assumption of human ignorance. This, too, would seem to be part of the “human condition,” after all.
When Luke tells us, “Jesus increased in wisdom” (Luke 2:52), the plain meaning of the statement implies that he progressed from less wise to wiser. He necessarily began with less wise, and from that he “increased.”
Now, an “increase” implies the making up of a deficiency, the overcoming of a limitation. Logically prior to learning certain things, Jesus was ignorant of them. In short, the limits of the Incarnation included Jesus’ experience of ignorance.
In fact, there appear to be signs of this in the Gospels. Thus, when the disciples petitioned Jesus for some sort of timetable for the end of the world, he answered, “But of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father” (Mark 13:32; cf. Matthew 24:36). Even referring to himself as God’s Son, Jesus confessed he had no information about the “day and hour” of his own coming at the end of time. Did Jesus mean this, or was he indulging some sort of mental gymnastics?
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Similarly, if Jesus already knew the name of the Gadarene demon, why did he ask, “What is your name?” (Luke 8:30). It is difficult to imagine the Savior was just trying to be chatty with the demon.
Likewise, should we imagine that Jesus was “faking it,” pretending not to know the answer, when he asked Mary and Martha about the dead Lazarus, “Where have you laid him?” (John 11:34). Unless we suppose that Jesus did not know where Lazarus was buried, it is nearly impossible to think of another reason he might have made inquiry on the point.
This is a curious consideration because, just days earlier, Jesus already knew Lazarus was dead, even though no one had told him (John 11:11–14). So . . . Jesus knew Lazarus was dead, but he did not know where he was buried. What does this mean?
Some Christians find it uncomfortable to think of ignorance as part of Jesus’ experience. They imagine—and occasionally insist—that the Savior’s subjective knowledge included access to the divine omniscience: He knew everything! Indeed, they point out, didn’t Simon Peter actually tell Jesus, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you” (John 21:17)? And doesn’t that settle it?
Not actually. If the traditional Christian interpretation of Jesus (that defined by the ancient councils and enshrined in the ancient creeds) is correct, there is no reason to suppose that the human mind of Jesus enjoyed access to the divine omniscience, and there is no evidence in the Gospels that that was the case.
On the contrary, if we accept the plain meaning of the biblical material, we are obliged to infer that Jesus did not know everything.1 The opposite supposition would mean that the eternal Word was not completely enfleshed. It would imply that God’s Son was not fully incarnate. He was holding something back. He did not quite “empty himself.” When, being rich, for our sake he became poor, he palmed a coin or two, as it were. In short, he did not assume a fully human existence.
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This notion, however, is not what we find in either the Gospels or the defined Christology of the Christian church.
What, then, about the questions Jesus asked? I want to argue that those questions did not always imply ignorance on his part.
On a few occasions, of course, it is difficult to be sure of the intent of Jesus’ questions. For instance, when the sick woman in the crowd put out her hand and touched the hem of his robe, Jesus inquired, “Who touched me?” (Luke 8:45). While it is perfectly reasonable to think that Jesus did not know who touched him (and this is how the apostle Peter understood the question), it is by no means unlikely that Jesus had something quite different in mind—namely, to invite this anonymous woman to come forward and be recognized. (I will deal with this scene later in the book.)
Also, take the instance when Jesus asked, “Nevertheless, when the Son of Man comes, will he really find faith on the earth?” (Luke 18:8). It is not obvious to me that this was a rhetorical question. The context suggests, rather, that the question had a real answer, and Jesus was not entirely certain of that answer. Observe that his “nevertheless” puts the query in opposition to his previous assertion that God will speedily avenge his elect (18:7–8). That is to say, Jesus, even as he was sure that God would avenge the righteous, seemed to be wondering if there would be any righteous left to avenge. I think a certain distress can be discerned in his voice at this point.
Likewise, when Jesus asked the apostles, “When I sent you without money bag, knapsack, and sandals, did you lack anything?” (Luke 22:35), did he already know the answer? Perhaps, but not, I think, necessarily.
PROPHETIC DISCERNMENT
This subject needs to be handled carefully and, I believe, under the guidance of two chief considerations, both of which encourage circumspection:
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First, it is a fact that in the Gospels Jesus manifests an extraordinary spiritual perception, a familiarity with matters far beyond the normal human ken. For instance, when he instructs the disciples to prepare for the final Passover meal, Jesus tells them,
Behold, when you have entered the city, a man will meet you carrying a pitcher of water; follow him into the house that he enters. (Luke 22:10)
Here the Savior knows, ahead of time, that the disciples, when they enter Jerusalem, will run into a man carrying a pitcher of water. This will be a special sign to them because men in the Holy Land never carried water. (It was a woman’s task. This custom, by the way, has not changed much in the Middle East.)
How, then, did Jesus know about this man who would be carrying water somewhere near the city gate? More than one explanation is possible. For instance, this assigned token may have been arranged earlier, by an agreement between Jesus and the man in question. Since the gospel story does not seem to treat the event as miraculous, this is a perfectly rational explanation of the thing.
I suspect this to be the wrong explanation, however. In this particular instance, I am more disposed to interpret Jesus’ foreknowledge of the event as an example of prophetic insight. This phenomenon is not uncommon among the biblical prophets. Examples abound.
Consider for a moment the case of Ahijah, whose prophetic ministry is recorded in 1 Kings. It was Ahijah, we recall, who prophesied to Jeroboam the schism of the Davidic kingdom after the death of Solomon (1 Kings 11:29–39). That prediction, based on prophetic insight, was justified in the event. We do not again hear of Ahijah for a long time, nor does the Bible give us reason to suppose that the prophet was ever again approached for advice in the governance of the realm.
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Years later, nonetheless, Jeroboam does feel the need to consult Ahijah, who has now grown very old and dim of eye. The king’s son is sick, so Jeroboam dispatches his wife to the prophet in hopes of obtaining a favorable word from God. Jeroboam sends her, moreover, in disguise, evidently too embarrassed to let Ahijah know who it is that seeks his word. Even before the queen enters the room, nonetheless, Ahijah knows who she is and what she wants. He had been able to read the signs of the times during the reign of Solomon; this gift of clairvoyance has not left him. Inwardly guided by the Almighty, Ahijah discerns the situation perfectly, and the Lord himself dictates “thus and thus” what he is to say (1 Kings 14).
There is no suggestion, obviously, that Ahijah had access to the divine omniscience. What he knew was revealed to him through the insight of revelatory prophecy. The Old Testament is full of such examples—Samuel, Elijah, Elisha, and others—nor can I think of any reason why Jesus would have been less gifted, in this respect, than the prophets.
When, therefore, we find Jesus knowing things beyond the normal human ken, it is useful to remember that his contemporaries also noticed this about him. Moreover, their recognition of this phenomenon prompted them to liken him to the prophets. The prophets, they knew, could read hearts and discern the signs of the times. When his contemporaries perceived this heightened spiritual awareness in Jesus, therefore, they spontaneously thought of him as a prophet.
We may take the example of Jesus with the Samaritan woman at the well (a story we will examine later on at some length). At one point in their conversation, we recall, after Jesus told the woman, “Go, call your husband,” she replied—with some measure of embarrassment—“ I have no husband.” Then, to her amazement, Jesus answered, “You have well said, ‘I have no husband,’ for you have had five husbands, and the one whom you now have is not your husband; in that you spoke truly” (John 4:16–18).
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With respect to our subject here, what is most striking in this story is the woman’s reaction to this statement: “Sir, I perceive that you are a prophet” (4:19). She recognized that Jesus manifested a mark of a prophet: He knew and could speak about secret and hidden matters, things he could not, in normal circumstances, be expected to know. This Jesus, she announced to her compatriots, “told me all that I ever did” (4:39). The Samaritan woman, confronted with this level of spiritual insight, promptly pegged him a prophet.
In short, there is not sufficient evidence in the gospel stories that the mind of Jesus had access to the divine omniscience, and traditional Christology prompts us not to ascribe it to him. Thus, if Jesus knew the appointed man would be carrying a pitcher of water and knew the secret details of the life of this Samaritan woman, he surely knew the sorts of things a prophet might be expected to know.
And this, I submit, is how we should regard the case of Lazarus’s tomb. Jesus knew exactly two things about that situation in Bethany because he only needed to know two things—namely, “Lazarus is dead” and “I go that I may wake him up” (John 11:11–14). This level of insight—to say nothing of this level of assurance—was quite compatible with Jesus’ not knowing where Lazarus was buried.
Holy Scripture provides a parallel example in a story of Saul and Samuel: Even before he meets Saul, Samuel receives a prophetic revelation of who he is and what he is doing. He reveals this to Saul—along with quite a bit more—when he first meets him (1 Samuel 9:15–10:8). By prophetic discernment, Samuel knows certain things about Saul, but there is no evidence that he knows everything.
Perhaps more challenging, with respect to this subject, are those occasions when we find Jesus reading men’s thoughts. Let us consider an instance of this phenomenon that Mark placed very early in his narrative:
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And some of the scribes were sitting there and reasoning in their hearts, “Why does this Man speak blasphemies like this? Who can forgive sins but God alone?” But immediately, when Jesus perceived in his spirit that they reasoned thus within themselves, he said to them, “Why do you reason about these things in your hearts?” (Mark 2:6–8)
Especially with regard to the hearts of his enemies, the Gospels tell us, “Jesus knew their thoughts,”2 and “Jesus perceived their wickedness” (Matthew 22:18).
Once again, however, Jesus’ capacity to discern the inner thoughts of others seems to be a mark, not of divine omniscience, but of an unusually perceptive spiritual sensitivity. Doubtless, we should ascribe his extraordinary gift of spiritual discernment to the influence and guidance of the Holy Spirit.
In one recorded case, this spiritual sensitivity of Jesus seems so extraordinary that no obvious comparison among the Old Testament prophets comes readily to mind. This is the scene when Jesus meets Nathaniel for the first time. It is useful to cite the passage at length:
Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward Him, and said of him, “Behold, an Israelite indeed, in whom is no deceit!” Nathanael said to Him, “How do You know me?” Jesus answered and said to him, “Before Philip called you, when you were under the fig tree, I saw you.” Nathanael answered and said to Him, “Rabbi, You are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” (John 1:47–49)
Since the inspired writer does not relate—much less explain—the earlier experience to which this dialogue refers, the reader is disposed to tread lightly. This story does, however, seem to indicate that Jesus declared himself to have been a witness (“I saw you”) to some prior spiritual “event” Nathaniel had experienced. Jesus even identified the physical setting of that experience: “under the fig tree.” Apparently shocked and deeply moved by this revelation, Nathaniel makes what appears to be the first full creedal profession of Christology recorded in the New Testament: “You are the Son of God!”
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With regard to that experience, I suspect the closest biblical parallel may be the experience of Ananias of Damascus, to whom God revealed the inner conversion experience of the apostle Paul, even as Paul was made (internally) aware of the coming visit of Ananias (Acts 9:10–16).
The traditional Christology of the Christian church holds that in Jesus there was only one person, a single center of subjectivity. That is to say, Jesus did not sometimes think as human and sometimes as divine. Everything he knew, he knew through human experience, no matter how refined, elevated, and unique. All his “thinking” took place in a human brain at the service of a human intellect because Jesus was (and is) God’s Son enfleshed in a human condition.3
QUESTIONS AND CONFRONTATIONS
Second, although Jesus asked questions, most often—it appears—he did not ask questions in order to obtain information. In fact, he employed questions in a variety of ways.
Sometimes he asked purely rhetorical questions.4 He occasionally used ironic, subtle, and sarcastic questions to confound and reprove his adversaries.5 On other occasions, when his enemies attempted to confound him by an interrogation, Jesus met them with yet another question. This practice was the traditional rabbinical counterquestion. We see him do this when questioned about the Sabbath (Matthew 12:10–12), about fasting (15:1–3), about paying taxes to Caesar (22:15–20), and about his own authority (21:23–25).
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When Jesus asked a sequence of hypothetical questions—“if ” and “unless”—the effect could convey an elementary lesson in logic:
If Satan casts out Satan, he is divided against himself. How then will his kingdom stand? And if I cast out demons by Beelzebub, by whom do your sons cast them out? . . . Or how can one enter a strong man’s house and plunder his goods, unless he first binds the strong man? (Matthew 12:26–29, emphasis added)
A question is just as likely to convey truth as to seek it. If asking questions is a good way of learning, it is an even better way of teaching. Good teachers ask questions. Consequently, Jesus chiefly employs the interrogatory form as a mode of teaching. Jesus asks questions, moreover, just about as much as he tells parables. For this reason, we need to consider Jesus more closely as the Teacher, the Rabbi.
The Semitic expression “Rabbi” appears to have been a title most readily applied to Jesus during his public ministry.6 This usage is best preserved in John’s gospel, where “Rabbi” (or “Rabbouni,” my Rabbi) is a standard way for people to address Jesus.7 The word essentially means “Teacher.”
The first time John wrote “Rabbi,” however, he made a point of translating it into Greek—didaskalos—perhaps because not all his readers were familiar with the Semitic term. This was the early occasion when
two disciples heard [John the Baptist] speak, and they followed Jesus. Then Jesus turned, and seeing them following, said to them, “What do you seek?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which is to say, when translated, Teacher), “where are you staying?” (John 1:37–38, emphasis added)
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The equivalence of Rabbi and Didaskalos was also indicated in the first words Nicodemus spoke to Jesus: “Rabbi, we know that you are a didaskalos come from God” (John 3:2). John also provides the Greek translation of “Teacher” when Mary Magdalene calls Jesus “Rabbouni” (cf. John 20:16). Often enough, as well, John simply sticks with the Greek didaskalos, instead of the Semitic word.8
Mark, who goes the furthest in maintaining original Semitic expressions in his story of Jesus,9 also preserves “Rabbi” or “Rabbouni” as a title by which the disciples addressed Jesus.10 More often, however, Mark simply gives the Greek word,11 especially in the case of direct address.12
In Luke13 and—on the whole—in Matthew,14 the Greek word for “Teacher” replaces the Semitic “Rabbi.” Thus, in one form or another—and constantly by implication—the first disciples thought of Jesus chiefly as “Teacher.”
As mentioned earlier, controlled and directed questioning is an effective form of teaching because questions actively engage the students’ mental processes. When lectured, the person takes in what the teacher says, but when questioned, the same person is invited to formulate a thought, to engage the lesson in the active processes of his own mind.
A competent teacher frequently solicits responses that accomplish this. He will ask such questions as: “Who is a faithful and wise servant, whom his master made ruler over his household, to give them food in due season?”15
PEDAGOGY
A pedagogical question could cover a variety of cases:
Like any teacher, for example, Jesus asked questions to which he already knew the answers or to which the answers were inconsequential or the answers were presupposed, or the questions themselves simply required no response. For instance, “Can the friends of the bridegroom mourn as long as the bridegroom is with them?” (Matthew 9:15). And, “which is greater, the gold or the temple that sanctifies the gold?” (23:17).
Often enough, the answers are implied in the wording of the question: “Do you suppose that I came to give peace on earth?” (Luke 12:51).
Sometimes Jesus’ questions served to solicit faith.16 On occasion a question could embody—or replace—a reprimand.17 Jesus used questions, likewise, to introduce similes, parables, or metaphors. In these cases, the function of the question was mainly to supply rhetorical elaboration, to provide a moment of reflective pause, to facilitate reflection.18
Now and then Jesus asked a question because he knew the answer. Thus, we are told, “When Jesus perceived their thoughts, he answered and said to them, ‘Why are you reasoning in your hearts?’” (Luke 5:22). Here we have an instance of a spiritual perception leading to an explicit query. Jesus surely did not expect an answer to this question; he asked it, rather, in order to put his enemies on notice that he “had their number”—and knew it to be low.
On occasion, Jesus asked questions precisely in order to answer them:
“Who is my mother and who are my brothers?” And he stretched out his hand toward his disciples and said, “Here are my mother and my brothers!” (Matthew 12:48–49)
When the situations called for it, Jesus used interrogation to put people on the spot and oblige them to think twice. For example, “Have you come out, as against a robber, with swords and clubs?” (Luke 22:52). And, “What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he loses one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness, and go after the one which is lost until he finds it?” (Luke 15:4).
From time to time, Jesus’ questions encouraged the listener to make calculations, to gauge estimates, to line up comparisons for assessment. Questions of this sort could be expressed in almost syllogistic form, suggesting, for example, the relation between premise and inference—“if ” and “what”—as though the listener were computing a market projection:
If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? . . . And if you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? . . . And if you lend to those from whom you hope to receive back, what credit is that to you? (Luke 6:32–34, emphasis added)19
With respect to the logic of premise and inference, let us recall that Jesus “did business.” He worked for a living, supporting himself and his mother. Laboring with his hands, he dealt with clients and customers. As a craftsman with certain skills to barter, he thought of life in terms of profit and loss, of gain and exchange. So we feel no surprise at his inquiring,
What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul? (Matthew 16:26, emphasis added)
When Jesus asked, “What do you think?” he mainly had in mind to make people think.20 As efforts of calculation, questions also served as a summons to plain and simple rationality. Jesus sometimes felt obliged to point out the obvious: “Can the blind lead the blind? Will they not both fall into the ditch?” (Luke 6:39). Or, “Salt is good; but if the salt has lost its flavor, how shall it be seasoned?” (14:34).
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A series of questions could serve to drive home a single point:
What did you go out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken by the wind? But what did you go out to see? A man clothed in soft garments? . . . But what did you go out to see? A prophet? (Matthew 11:7–9, emphasis added)
Following the same pattern, an interrogative series could serve as a review of past lessons:
“Do you not yet understand, or remember the five loaves of the five thousand and how many baskets you took up? Nor the seven loaves of the four thousand and how many large baskets you took up?” (Matthew 16:9–10)
Like all good pedagogues, Jesus asked questions to make sure the disciples were able to follow what he was telling them: “Have you understood all these things?” (Matthew 13:51). Or, more insistently, “Are you also still without understanding?” (15:16).
Especially on the point of discipleship, Jesus’ questions were sometimes out-and-out challenges. “Do you also want to leave?” he asked the apostles (John 6:67). And of James and John he inquired, “Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, and be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” (Mark 10:38).
INVITATIONS
On occasion, questions from Jesus served the purpose of engaging the disciples in either a discussion or an activity, making them participants in an event. Recall how he engaged Philip at the time of the multiplication of the loaves:
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Jesus lifted up his eyes, and seeing a great multitude coming toward him, he said to Philip, “Where shall we buy bread, that these may eat?” But this he said to test him, for he himself knew what he would do. (John 6:5–6)
What, then, was accomplished by this question to Philip, since Jesus already “knew what he would do”? His question here served the purpose of evoking the assistance of the apostles in what was about to take place.
Jesus did not ask that question for Philip’s sake, I believe, but for Andrew’s. They were a pair. He knew that wherever you saw Philip, Andrew must be nearby.21 The question was apparently meant to be overheard by Andrew, who promptly replied, “There is a lad here who has five barley buns and a couple of dried fish” (John 6:9). Now they could get started!
Thus, by putting to Philip a question to which he already knew the answer, Jesus transformed these apostles from mere spectators to active participants in the experience of the multiplication of the loaves. It is they who will seat the people for the meal (John 6:10). It is they who will distribute the bread and fish (6:11). In this scene, then, Jesus’ question both commences the event and provides for its participatory structure.
Something similar was at play, it seems, when Jesus asked the blind man at Jericho, “What do you want Me to do for you?” Jesus knew the man was blind, so why did he ask the question? Well, it served as an invitation for the blind man (Bartimaeus, Mark tells us) to ask—to engage Jesus in a give-and-take. It elevated the dignity of the blind man. It engaged him as an active person. The question was a summons, a bidding, an invitation to express and take possession of his faith in Jesus. And, in fact, this is exactly what happened:
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He said, “Lord, that I may receive my sight.” Then Jesus said to him, “Receive your sight; your faith has made you well.” (Luke 18:41–42)
It is no wonder that Mark finishes this story by remarking of the blind man, “And immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus on the road” (Mark 10:52, emphasis added).22
Finally, when Jesus asked questions, he was sometimes feigning ignorance! It is not clear how often he did this during his earthly ministry, but once the cross was behind him—once he had completely conquered sin and death—Jesus seemed to relish this form of question almost—if I dare suggest it—as a form of entertainment! We will examine this delightful rhetorical device in the chapter on the Resurrection.