CHAPTER 19

Matthew 13:53–14:21

LISTEN to the Story

⁵³When Jesus had finished these parables, he moved on from there. ⁵⁴Coming to his hometown, he began teaching the people in their synagogue, and they were amazed. “Where did this man get this wisdom and these miraculous powers?” they asked. ⁵⁵“Isn’t this the carpenter’s son? Isn’t his mother’s name Mary, and aren’t his brothers James, Joseph, Simon and Judas? ⁵⁶Aren’t all his sisters with us? Where then did this man get all these things?” ⁵⁷And they took offense at him.

But Jesus said to them, “A prophet is not without honor except in his own town and in his own home.”

⁵⁸And he did not do many miracles there because of their lack of faith.

^14:1At that time Herod the tetrarch heard the reports about Jesus, ²and he said to his attendants, “This is John the Baptist; he has risen from the dead! That is why miraculous powers are at work in him.”

³Now Herod had arrested John and bound him and put him in prison because of Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife, ⁴for John had been saying to him: “It is not lawful for you to have her.” ⁵Herod wanted to kill John, but he was afraid of the people, because they considered John a prophet.

⁶On Herod’s birthday the daughter of Herodias danced for the guests and pleased Herod so much ⁷that he promised with an oath to give her whatever she asked. ⁸Prompted by her mother, she said, “Give me here on a platter the head of John the Baptist.” ⁹The king was distressed, but because of his oaths and his dinner guests, he ordered that her request be granted ¹⁰and had John beheaded in the prison. ¹¹His head was brought in on a platter and given to the girl, who carried it to her mother. ¹²John’s disciples came and took his body and buried it. Then they went and told Jesus.

¹³When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place. Hearing of this, the crowds followed him on foot from the towns. ¹⁴When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick.

¹⁵As evening approached, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a remote place, and it’s already getting late. Send the crowds away, so they can go to the villages and buy themselves some food.”

¹⁶Jesus replied, “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.”

¹⁷“We have here only five loaves of bread and two fish,” they answered.

¹⁸“Bring them here to me,” he said. ¹⁹And he directed the people to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Then he gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the people. ²⁰They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over. ²¹The number of those who ate was about five thousand men, besides women and children.

Listening to the Text in the Story: Genesis 40:18–22; Exodus 16:14–18; Leviticus 18:16; 20:21; 1 Samuel 9:13; 1 Kings 17:7–16; 2 Kings 2:9–15; 4:1–7, 42–44; 10:6–8; Esther 1:10–22; Jeremiah 1:1; 11:21–23; 12:6.

Kings of Israel were appointed by God to take care of his people. When they didn’t, a prophet would show up to warn them of the devastating consequences—to them as well as to their kingdom (1 Sam 15:10–28; 1 Kgs 22:7–38; Isa 39:1–8). It was the prophet’s job to speak to power—often appearing in the biblical narrative without introduction—when the most powerful person in the land was doing something wrong, misleading the people. Whenever the king did evil in the sight of the Lord, the people suffered the consequences. So, these “men of God” (see 1 Kgs 13:1–6) would confront the king, often at their own peril, to tell him what God thinks. One might expect God to speak directly to the king, giving him much-needed advice to rule his kingdom wisely. But that wasn’t the case. Kings had to rely upon royal counselors for divine guidance. And when these court-appointed sages kowtowed to the king, tickling his ears with bad advice, God would send a prophet to set them straight. Theirs was a contentious relationship: king versus prophet, God’s vice-regent versus God’s spokesman. But it didn’t have to be that way. By divine design, the separation of powers was supposed to inspire a humble king and a fearless prophet to lead a submissive people like sheep to the Good Shepherd.

But sometimes people don’t want a humble king, and most of the time kings don’t know how to be humble. So, when God’s fearless prophet shows up (right on cue!) and says, “Thus saith the Lord,” rather than listen to him, a hard-hearted people prefers to watch the spectacle, and a wicked king does everything in his power to silence the voice. Yet, as Matthew has already made clear (John prepared the way!), the humble king of Israel has appeared to lead God’s sheep to the pasture of his keeping despite the royal imposters of the Herodian dynasty. Knowing that a ruthless, illegitimate king-of-Israel wannabe is chasing the crown and that prophets are not honored in their own country—these are ominous signs for a fearless prophet and a humble king—death must be right around the corner. Indeed, the way Matthew has set up this story, it’s time for John to meet his fate, forecasting Jesus’s destiny as well. In more ways than one, John prophesied Jesus.

EXPLAIN the Story

The parables of chapter thirteen represent a pivotal point in Matthew’s narrative, not only summarizing what has been but also forecasting what will be. For just as the mystery of the kingdom of heaven has been revealed and concealed by the parables, so also the identity of Jesus (something greater than Jonah, Solomon, and the temple) will continue to be revealed to some and concealed to others. And, just as Jesus predicted, “whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them” (Matt 13:12). Having eyes to see the kingdom means having ears to hear the king and his prophet. To those who see the king and his kingdom—they are the ones who “[hear] these words of mine and [put] them into practice” (7:24)—more will be revealed. Likewise, the blindness of those who can’t see will become even darker (Herod has the crazy idea that Jesus is John “risen from the dead”; 14:2). What is telling for us, as Matthew’s readers, isn’t seeing who gets it and who doesn’t, but why. The momentum of this revealing-yet-concealing kingdom seems deterministic—like Newton’s cradle, the perpetual motion of ball bearings hanging from a pendulum swinging back and forth, clashing against one another with predictable results (two to the left, two to the right). Because of what we’ve seen in Matthew’s narrative world, we already know who will recognize the king of Israel and who won’t. (It’s really no surprise that Herod and even Jesus’s hometown don’t get it.) It’s the reason some see it and some don’t that becomes clearer the more we read Matthew’s Gospel. “Whoever has will be given more”—Matthew made sure of it. From now on, our Gospel writer will pile on the reasons why many people don’t see the kingdom of heaven.

A Prophet Is Never Honored by His Own People

When Jesus went home, probably Nazareth and not Capernaum,¹ things didn’t go well. We might have expected a better reception, a homecoming party thrown for the Nazarene who had done so many wonderful things. Yet rather than celebrate his fame, Jesus’s hometown was offended by it (Matt 13:57). We sometimes hear it said, “You can never go home,” and, “Familiarity breeds contempt.” It’s because things change, and yet the people back home will act like nothing’s changed. That’s what happened in Nazareth when Jesus tried to teach his hometown folk about the kingdom of heaven. One wonders whether Jesus simply repeated that day some of the parables he offered to the crowds. Or did he speak plainly to them about his messianic agenda? (Of course, Luke gives us a glimpse of what he said that day [Luke 4:15–27], but Matthew prefers to leave his readers in the dark. Evidently, what Jesus said didn’t really matter; it’s how the people responded that interests Matthew.) As to be expected (Jesus has been teaching, preaching, and healing for several chapters in Matthew’s Gospel), Jesus’s fame had already reached the ears of Nazareth. The local boy had impressed outsiders with his wisdom and miracles (Matt 13:54). As he taught in the synagogue, Jesus seemed to make the same favorable impression: “They were amazed” (v. 54). But then things went south fast; it didn’t take long for the hometown crowd to take offense. Why? Was it something he said? Was it something he did?

Their question, “Where did this man get this wisdom and these miraculous powers?” is revealing. Their skepticism is fueled by the fact that they know this man and his family (vv. 55–56). To them, he’s nothing more than a carpenter who left home and abandoned his family (as well as his community—it took a village to make it in the first-century world). So when they asked one another (in earshot of Jesus, no doubt), “Where then did this man get all these things?” they were implying that he certainly didn’t get it from them. What may sound to us like self-incrimination was actually an attempt to shame Jesus. In the first-century Mediterranean world, the social worth of a person—their honor—was the most important resource of any community. Therefore, the social approval of those who know you best—your family, your village, your tribe—would carry more weight than the affirmation of outsiders.² You might be able to fool strangers about how important you are. Yet back home your fame would mean nothing. There were no self-made people in Jesus’s day; the honor of a person started in their hometown. A person’s identity was embedded in their family name, their father’s trade, their village’s reputation. Even David had to be recognized first by his family, hometown, and tribe before a nation would coronate him as Israel’s king (1 Sam 16:1–13; 2 Sam 2:1–4; 5:1–5). So when the people of Nazareth asked where Jesus got his wisdom and miraculous abilities, they were essentially reminding Jesus from whence he came. He was nothing special. Evidently, growing up in Nazareth, Jesus did nothing to distinguish himself as a wise man with great powers. In their eyes, Jesus had earned no honor beyond that which he had already received. He was “the carpenter’s son,” his mother’s name was Mary, he was the brother of James, Joseph, Simon, and Judas, and his sisters still lived in Nazareth. Nothing more, nothing less. One wonders if word had gotten back to Jesus’s hometown about the way he treated his mother and brothers, acting like his disciples were his true family (Matt 12:46–50). That might also help explain why the hometown folk were bent on putting Jesus in his place. It’s no wonder they were offended by him (13:57). He was acting as pretentious as a prophet.

At this point, we might expect Jesus to show off a little bit, proving to Nazareth that he was something special. “So, you want to see a miracle, huh? Shazam!” But that didn’t happen due to his humility. Instead, Jesus chalked up their response to what typically happened to prophets, who were honored everywhere except in their own town and by their own family (v. 57). Consequently, since the people of Nazareth didn’t believe what they had heard about him, Jesus “did not do many miracles there” (v. 58). By contrast, Herod Antipas believed the reports about Jesus having “miraculous powers” (14:1–2). What was ignored in Nazareth was feared by the tetrarch, his worst nightmare coming true: the prophet he murdered had risen from the dead! Herod thought Jesus was the reincarnation of John, a prophet who conquered death and brought back with him secret powers from the netherworld.³ If they were to hear of it, the people of Nazareth would have felt justified in their judgment. (“See, outsiders will believe anything.”) Yet at least Herod took Jesus to be a prophet, albeit a reincarnated one. Nevertheless, what Jesus said to his hometown was still true for both him and John: prophets are without honor in their own country. John’s death proved it, and so will Jesus’s death.

Scholars have noticed a number of ways that Matthew fashioned the account of John’s execution to set it up as a precursor to Jesus’s death in Jerusalem. While many of the colorful details that appear in Mark’s account have been omitted (Herodias’s grudge against John, her part in the plot to have John killed, Herod’s fascination with John, mentioning the A-list attenders at Herod’s birthday party; see Mark 6:17–29), several similarities between the martyrdom of John and the execution of Jesus have been highlighted in Matthew’s version: 1) both John and Jesus were executed by rulers; 2) Matthew uses the same words to describe their arrest (krateō, “seized,” 14:3; 21:46, and deō, “bound,” 14:3; 27:2); 3) both Herod and Pilate were asked by others to execute their victims—which they did reluctantly (14:6–11; 27:11–26); 4) fear of the crowd played a role in both episodes (14:5; 21:46); and 5) both John and Jesus were buried by “disciples” (14:12; 27:57–61).⁴

Once again, then, in Matthew’s story John and Jesus appear as fraternal twins of the kingdom of heaven. Although they were very different, both met a similar fate because they did the work of God. When prophets of God challenge the “kings” of the earth, it usually doesn’t go well. They know the script. The people won’t listen to you, and the rulers will do everything in their power to silence you.⁵ Ignored by commoners and killed by kings—that is their fate. Prophets are never honored until long after they’re gone (Isa 53:1–12). But that doesn’t stop them from doing what they were called to do: prepare all people, in populated areas and deserted places, whether homefolk or outsiders, even tetrarchs and governors, for the coming of the Lord.

“Is Not Life More Than Food?”

At the beginning of his ministry, Jesus taught that there was no reason to worry about having enough food to eat. If God takes care of birds, he will take care of Jesus’s disciples (Matt 6:25–26). As long as they seek God’s kingdom first, their heavenly Father would take care of all their daily needs (vv. 31–33). But what about the hungry masses? Did Jesus’s promise apply to them too? After all, it was Herod’s responsibility to manage the region’s natural resources. Kings were supposed to provide for the people; if the Galileans didn’t have enough to eat, it would be Herod’s fault (he certainly had plenty to feast upon during his birthday party; 14:6). So when Jesus and his disciples found themselves among five-thousand men in the middle of nowhere and the day nearly spent, the Twelve acted like the hungry masses were not their problem. One wonders why five-thousand men hung around all day anyway. What were they waiting for? With evening approaching, why didn’t they have enough sense to go home or at least head for a village nearby to foray for food? Apparently, these careless fools had made no provisions for the trip, and even the Twelve had only a small bit of food to get them through the night. With so many hungry men around, there was no way the disciples could break out their meal and eat it. The only thing left to do, then, was for Jesus to send the crowd away (14:15)—something he would eventually need to do (v. 22). But Jesus had other plans.

It must have startled the disciples when Jesus said, “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat” (v. 16). In light of what eventually happened, what Jesus should have said was, “I won’t send them away because I will give them something to eat.” After all, that would be quite a miracle to pull off, a public-relations coup, feeding all these people in such a deserted place. It might remind the Galileans of their sacred history when Moses fed the Israelites as they wandered through the desert. It might even be taken as a withering indictment of Herod’s administration. Where John tended to be more direct, confronting Herod about his illegal marriage to his brother’s wife (Matt 14:3–4; Lev 18:16; 20:21), Jesus would be taking a more sanguine approach when critiquing the illegitimate “king”—feeding the people of Herod’s kingdom when Herod didn’t. Yet, for some reason Jesus put the onus on his disciples, acting as if it was their responsibility to do something about it. (While I was a pastor, I was inspired by Jesus’s example when members wanted me to fix problems in the church; problem spotters nominate themselves to be problem solvers.) What is fascinating to me is the way Jesus set up the miracle of feeding five-thousand men. As far as the crowd was concerned, it was the disciples who fed them (Matt 14:19). There is no indication in Matthew’s version that anyone knew a miracle had occurred except the Twelve. Sure, “all ate and were satisfied” (v. 20). But it seems as if the miracle was performed for Jesus’s disciples as much as to benefit the hungry crowd. Twelve baskets of leftovers—one for each disciple—was the kicker. As long as they were with Jesus, doing the work of the kingdom, they would always have more than enough to eat, even with a wicked ruler like Herod running the place.

Even though it seems Jesus was trying to teach his disciples a lesson when he fed the five-thousand men, I still find it a little odd that the Twelve wanted Jesus to dismiss the crowd to get them to go home. Why was that necessary? Jesus never had to send the crowd away before. A huge crowd showing up looking for a miracle had happened several times. This was nothing new. Whenever that happened, after Jesus healed the people (which always drew a larger crowd), he never had to dismiss the crowd (v. 23), like a traffic cop clearing the scene. (“Alright people. Party’s over. There’s nothing left to see here. Everyone go home.”) Instead, crowds came, crowds went. The Galileans had enough sense to go home when evening came. So, what’s different about this situation? Why did they stick around until evening? Were they expecting to see something? Or did the entire group lose track of time, not even paying attention to where they were—what Matthew describes as a “solitary” and “remote place” (vv. 13, 15)? In other words, were the disciples being selfish when they asked Jesus to send the crowd away so that they could eat their food in peace? Or did the Twelve recognize that something else was going on, that these people were there for a reason and wouldn’t leave until Jesus told them to go home?

If we knew for sure why Matthew (as well as Mark) numbered the crowd as “five thousand men, besides women and children” (v. 21, emphasis added), we would have a clearer picture of the context. If Matthew was implying that women and children were there, then the episode seems to be an impromptu gathering of desperate people, willing to follow Jesus anywhere. The reason Jesus seemed to lead them to the middle of nowhere was that he was trying to leave Herod’s jurisdiction and find a solitary place to grieve over John’s death. Simply put, he wanted to be left alone, which is why he took a boat to the east side of the Sea of Galilee. But a crowd from several towns followed him anyway, catching up with him on foot (v. 13). Rather than send them away, he had “compassion on them and healed their sick” (v. 14). Evidently, this was one of the largest crowds to gather around Jesus, and so the number was recorded like a census (Num 1:2–3): five thousand men besides all the women and children. But the word translated “besides” (chōris) also means “without,” so some scholars suggest that Matthew was emphasizing the composition of the crowd and suggest that the number is a census of men for war.⁶ Men from the surrounding region had gathered around Jesus for a purpose. But why? Did they follow Jesus into such a deserted place because it was spring (Matt 14:19), believing that they were about to witness the sign of Moses reminiscent of Passover? (That’s what happened according to John’s version; see John 6:4–15.)⁷ Were they hoping to compel Jesus to become their Messiah? If that were the case—something akin to the beginnings of a militia to confront Herod—then women and children would have no place there, and the disciples would have had legitimate concerns. Jesus should send these men away before things get out of hand.⁸ But Jesus fed them anyway, a mild critique of Herod’s government, and eventually had to dismiss them to send them back home (Matt 14:23).

Because of John’s interpretation of the miracle and Matthew’s pared down version of it, we may be looking for things that aren’t there explicitly. Indeed, Matthew’s account can be interpreted a variety of ways: as an allegory for the Eucharist (receiving, blessing, breaking, giving); a proleptic demonstration of the eschatological messianic banquet (Rev 19:9); a prophetic re-creation of the miracles of Elijah and Elisha (1 Kgs 17:7–16; 2 Kgs 4:42–44); another “new Moses” motif (manna in the wilderness); or even a way of promoting the responsibility and authority of the church (disciples serve the people).⁹ Nevertheless, even though “Matthew leaves the matter rather open-ended,”¹⁰ however we interpret it the feeding of the five thousand was an extraordinary miracle—the only miracle to make it into all four Gospels. After something like this, the only way Jesus would be able to get away from the crowd is to leave the country (Matt 15:21–39). But even in gentile territory, Jesus will have compassion on the people, healing their sick and feeding the hungry. It’s who he is, what he does—and of all people, the disciples are going to have to get used to it: “Send them away” isn’t an option for him or them (v. 32).

LIVE the Story

Mel Gibson’s film The Passion of the Christ had a profound impact on many people. What was supposed to be a “tiny, low-budget film” intended for a few Christians turned out to be a blockbuster that shocked Hollywood and provoked controversy.¹¹ Why did he do it? Some accused Gibson of trying to promote an anti-Semitic agenda, shifting the blame of Christ’s death from the Romans to the Jews. Others said his film was penance, a way for him to find forgiveness for his sins (in the film, the hands of the Roman soldier who crucified Jesus were his). Still others argued he wanted to spread the Catholic traditions surrounding the death of Christ to a larger Christian audience. According to Gibson, his purpose in presenting such a graphic film about the violent death of Jesus was to “make it realistic and human. I think the first things that hit you are the human aspects of the story. What we all relate to is a human experience.”¹² Yet, by centering on the last week of Jesus’s life, staging the excruciatingly long beating and crucifixion of Jesus, utilizing every special effect to make it look so real—Jesus ends up a bloody mess—Gibson left little to the imagination when it comes to wondering what it would have been like to walk in Jesus’s sandals. To be sure, the gory execution of Jesus proved he was a man. But if Gibson intended for us to “relate” to the “human experience” of Jesus’s death, he missed the mark. Instead, most of us walked away from the film shaking our heads in disbelief: “How could any man endure such agony?” The only way to explain it, especially for Christians, was to point to the deity of Christ. Indeed, The Passion of the Christ held up Jesus as a man to be admired for doing what only he could do. His death on the cross was hardly something any of us could relate to. Rather, all we could do was wince, close our eyes, turn away from the grisly spectacle, or perhaps even weep for the man who endured so much. One could hardly imagine Jesus saying at the beginning of Gibson’s film, “Follow me.”

We should admire Jesus for enduring such torture on our behalf, dying for our sins. Yet, Matthew expects us to admire him (even follow him!) before he was executed in Jerusalem. It’s because Jesus experienced a crucified life long before he died. Rejected by his own people, he was a constant threat to powerful rulers. He sacrificed himself for the needs of others, all the while continually teaching his disciples how to carry a cross. That sounds a lot like a summary of the series of episodes we’ve considered here: rejection at Nazareth, execution of John, compassion for the crowd, lesson for the Twelve. In fact, the way Matthew tells the story, the “passion” of Christ started way before Palm Sunday. Jesus carried the cross of his glorious suffering from the time he was tempted by the devil all the way until the day he was crucified. The invitation “come to me” was issued long before he died on a cross. Therefore, if Mel Gibson wanted to tell the story of Jesus on film that would be “realistic and human,” a human drama “we could all relate to,” he couldn’t have found a better place than in the events leading up to the last week of Christ’s life. Most of us can relate to what he went through before he walked the Via Dolorosa.

There are times when we try to minister to people, and they don’t want it. And there are times when we don’t want to minister to people, yet they expect it. This is not only true for those who earn a living as ministers; it happens to all who follow Christ. Many years ago when I was a seminary student, a friend and classmate, Gerald Bontrager, told me about the time he went home for his father’s funeral. Like the rest of his family, he was grieving, hurting over the untimely death of his dad. But in the midst of his grief, he tried to minister to family members, doing what came naturally to him—not because he was preparing to be a minister but because he is a follower of Christ. He tried to offer comforting words. At times, he wanted to pray together with the family. He thought he was doing the right thing until someone made a snide remark, something like “practicing on us, are you Gerald? Look, quit trying to act like a minister and just be yourself.” His family took offense at his pretense, acting like he could help them. So, my friend learned the lesson: “A prophet is not without honor except in his own town and in his own home” (Matt 13:57). Other Christ followers have told me similar stories, especially those who are the only believers in their family. A fearful dread comes over them in anticipation of the holidays, knowing that they can’t help themselves. They will try to share their faith in Christ, and their family will reject them once again. Sometimes it makes them want to give up, quietly surrendering to the ironclad will of their family. Other times, they want to prove they are right to believe in Jesus. Regardless, the truth of the matter remains the same. Jesus knows what it feels like; prophets are not welcomed by their own families.

A few years later, when I was still in seminary and serving as a youth minister for a church in Texas, I led a group of teenagers on a summer mission trip to the southern tip of the state to help a little Hispanic church minister to the needs of the people. For a week, every day we put on a Bible school for children in the morning, scraped and painted the outside walls of the church building, then held evening worship services for the members and their guests. It was a rigorous schedule. We would get up early every morning, grab a quick breakfast, and then travel to the church building in our bus without air conditioning. I would drop off my group, who would prepare for the morning’s activities, while I made two trips throughout the neighborhood, collecting children on the bus for Bible school. After Bible school, I returned the children to their homes—making two trips—and then we would grab a quick lunch before changing into our work clothes for the afternoon chore of scraping and painting in the sweltering, summer heat. Around five o’clock every day, we would return to our lodging (which didn’t have air conditioning), shower, put on our church clothes, eat a quick dinner, and return to the church for evening services. Once again, I would make two bus trips into town to bring the people to church—did I mention the bus didn’t have air conditioning? We led the worship services, and I preached the sermon. Then, after worship was over I would bus the people back to their homes—two-trips worth—and then return to the church building, pick up my team (by this time it would be around ten o’clock at night), and return to the lodge (no air conditioning!) to crash for the night. I was so proud of my youth group. They never complained. Never fussed about the rigorous schedule. Their only reward was to stop by a convenience store every night to buy some snacks on the way back to the lodge—something they looked forward to with such excitement and great shouts of celebration that you would think we were headed for Six Flags Over Texas.

By the fourth or fifth day, I was spent. I remember driving the local children back home one evening, several of them yelling, laughing—even a few crawling on my back. I was sweating, weary, worn out, a little edgy, and feeling used and abused when the thought occurred to me, “I wonder if this is how Jesus felt—with the crowds always clamoring for attention, his disciples trying to help him, enduring the summer heat, wanting to find refuge in the desert to grieve over John’s death?” Then I quickly became embarrassed by the comparison. Tears welled up in my eyes (like most people, when I’m exhausted I tend to get emotional). Maybe I could relate a little to what he went through, when it feels like everyone wants a piece of you. But the truth of the matter was I saw my reflection in the faces of the disciples when they wanted Jesus to “send the crowds away” (Matt 14:15). I was tired. I was ready to go home. And then, as I thought about the weary days ahead, taking the people home for the last time, it felt like Jesus looked right at me and said, “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat” (v. 16). “But Lord, this is a deserted place. All we have is an old bus, a small group of workers, and a few supplies.” Then it was as if he said, “Bring them here to me.” And so I kept driving.

When I finally arrived at the church building late that night, the young people were gathered around the piano, singing and laughing and celebrating. Joyously they piled into the bus, we headed for the little convenience store, and all the while I couldn’t help but think of the line, “They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces” (v. 20). Indeed, we had more than enough because the King of Israel knows how to take care of his people—even in deserted places.

1. So most scholars (cf. Luke 4:16) and contra Nolland, Matthew, 574, who argues that Jesus’s entire family had moved with him to Capernaum, which explains why Jesus “withdrew by boat” right after this incident (Matt 14:13).

2. Malina and Rohrbaugh, Synoptic Gospels, 106–7.

3. France, Matthew, 553.

4. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2:476.

5. What made John’s situation even more perilous was that he was baptizing in southern Perea, Herod’s domain, which bordered the Nabatean kingdom, criticizing Herod for divorcing his wife, who happened to be the daughter of the Nabatean king, Aretas. For further discussion of this politically delicate situation, see Keener, Matthew, 398–99.

6. France, Matthew, 564–65.

7. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2:482–83.

8. A similar situation occurred over twenty years before when a Galilean name Judas stirred up the people and led them in a revolt to confront the rulers of Jerusalem (Josephus, Ant. 18.1.1).

9. See Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2:480–83; Luz, Matthew, 2:312–23; Garland, Reading Matthew, 157.

10. Nolland, Matthew, 593.

11. See the interview by Paul Fischer, “Gibson Defends His Passion,” iofilm, February 13, 2004, http://www.iofilm.co.uk/gibsondefendshispassion.

12. Ibid.