CHAPTER 31

Matthew 21:23–22:14

LISTEN to the Story

²³Jesus entered the temple courts, and, while he was teaching, the chief priests and the elders of the people came to him. “By what authority are you doing these things?” they asked. “And who gave you this authority?”

²⁴Jesus replied, “I will also ask you one question. If you answer me, I will tell you by what authority I am doing these things. ²⁵John’s baptism—where did it come from? Was it from heaven, or of human origin?”

They discussed it among themselves and said, “If we say, ‘From heaven,’ he will ask, ‘Then why didn’t you believe him?’ ²⁶But if we say, ‘Of human origin’—we are afraid of the people, for they all hold that John was a prophet.”

²⁷So they answered Jesus, “We don’t know.”

Then he said, “Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.

²⁸“What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’

²⁹‘I will not,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went.

³⁰“Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, ‘I will, sir,’ but he did not go.

³¹“Which of the two did what his father wanted?”

“The first,” they answered.

Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you. ³²For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did. And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him.

³³“Listen to another parable: There was a landowner who planted a vineyard. He put a wall around it, dug a winepress in it and built a watchtower. Then he rented the vineyard to some farmers and moved to another place. ³⁴When the harvest time approached, he sent his servants to the tenants to collect his fruit.

³⁵“The tenants seized his servants; they beat one, killed another, and stoned a third. ³⁶Then he sent other servants to them, more than the first time, and the tenants treated them the same way. ³⁷Last of all, he sent his son to them. ‘They will respect my son,’ he said.

³⁸“But when the tenants saw the son, they said to each other, ‘This is the heir. Come, let’s kill him and take his inheritance.’ ³⁹So they took him and threw him out of the vineyard and killed him.

⁴⁰“Therefore, when the owner of the vineyard comes, what will he do to those tenants?”

⁴¹“He will bring those wretches to a wretched end,” they replied, “and he will rent the vineyard to other tenants, who will give him his share of the crop at harvest time.”

⁴²Jesus said to them, “Have you never read in the Scriptures:

‘The stone the builders rejected

has become the cornerstone;

the Lord has done this,

and it is marvelous in our eyes’?

⁴³“Therefore I tell you that the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people who will produce its fruit. ⁴⁴Anyone who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces; anyone on whom it falls will be crushed.”

⁴⁵When the chief priests and the Pharisees heard Jesus’s parables, they knew he was talking about them. ⁴⁶They looked for a way to arrest him, but they were afraid of the crowd because the people held that he was a prophet.

^22:1Jesus spoke to them again in parables, saying: ²“The kingdom of heaven is like a king who prepared a wedding banquet for his son. ³He sent his servants to those who had been invited to the banquet to tell them to come, but they refused to come.

⁴“Then he sent some more servants and said, ‘Tell those who have been invited that I have prepared my dinner: My oxen and fattened cattle have been butchered, and everything is ready. Come to the wedding banquet.’

⁵“But they paid no attention and went off—one to his field, another to his business. ⁶The rest seized his servants, mistreated them and killed them. ⁷The king was enraged. He sent his army and destroyed those murderers and burned their city.

⁸“Then he said to his servants, ‘The wedding banquet is ready, but those I invited did not deserve to come. ⁹So go to the street corners and invite to the banquet anyone you find.’ ¹⁰So the servants went out into the streets and gathered all the people they could find, the bad as well as the good, and the wedding hall was filled with guests.

¹¹“But when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing wedding clothes. ¹²He asked, ‘How did you get in here without wedding clothes, friend?’ The man was speechless.

¹³“Then the king told the attendants, ‘Tie him hand and foot, and throw him outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’

¹⁴“For many are invited, but few are chosen.”

Listening to the Text in the Story: Genesis 37:12–20; 1 Samuel 15:28–29; 2 Samuel 10:1–19; 2 Chronicles 24:18–22; Psalms 2:6–8; 80:8–16; 118:22–26; Isaiah 5:1–7; 8:14–15; 27:2–13; Zechariah 3:3–5; Judith 1:7–2:28.

It was an audacious move on Jesus’s part—showing up early the next day after he had made such a mess in the temple. One would think he should try to hide out for a while, letting things settle down after his blitzkrieg attack on the temple leadership. These were powerful people, the Sadducees and the high priest. They had tremendous political capital as trustees of the “capitol” of Jerusalem—the temple.¹ Mess with these people, and you could be dead within days. But rather than use a kind of social guerilla warfare, relying upon sneak attacks and quick retreats, Jesus decided to show up early the next day and set up shop in the temple, acting like he was there to stay (in fact, Jesus will remain in the temple for the next two chapters in Matthew’s Gospel, finally departing at 24:1). In light of what happened the day before, I wonder if the chief priests and elders were incredulous at the sight of Jesus teaching in their domain. The arrogance of this guy! He may act like he belongs there, but they were card-carrying members of the aristocracy. They had been there a long time, and they would be there long after Jesus was gone. Not only that, God had established their pedigree. God designated Levites as administrators of the sacrificial cult and the high priestly family as guardians of the temple. Prophets may come and go, but the priesthood is forever. So, it’s no surprise at all that the temple authorities came to Jesus questioning his authority. From where they were sitting, they were the only ones with unquestioned authority because they were appointed by God to take care of his house.

This was the ultimate turf war, a battle over influence and domain. But it’s not like this was the first time it happened—a clash between prophets, priests, and kings. Prophets had a reputation for challenging priests and confronting kings. Their authority rested in their claim to speak for God; there was no prophetic office to uphold, no right of succession to pass down. Kings wore royal garments; priests donned holy vestments designed by God. Yet prophets had no uniforms (unless they tried to look like Elijah, Zech 13:4), no divinely prescribed outfit to sanctify them from the rest of Israel. Indeed, it could be said that kings and priests operated in an official capacity, while prophets were the unofficial agents of God. There was always supposed to be a king on the throne of David and a priest serving in the temple of Solomon. But prophets seemed to come and go, called by God at different times and under different circumstances to confront the very priests and kings that God had anointed for his purpose. No matter the time, the same problems persisted, inciting prophets to rail against idolatry and injustice. Kings issued decrees; priests offered sacrifices. But the power of a prophet was the spoken word (although some performed divine wonders, most did not). Of course, the kings and priests of Israel inherited their office. God had chosen two tribes to lead the rest of Israel: kings were to come from Judah (Gen 49:8–12), priests had to be Levites (Num 3:1–13). Prophets, on the other hand, inherited nothing except the destiny that awaited them. It’s what always seemed to happen after a man of God would confront such powerful people, these ruling authorities. Prophets were silenced by execution.

In light of this age-old conflict—prophet versus the establishment, outsider versus insider, rebel versus ruler, critic versus official, instigator versus police, charismatic leader versus institutional leadership—Jesus and the rulers of the temple would play out their dramatic confrontation, knowing how it’s all going to end (Matt 23:34–37). Everyone knew the answer to the question before the chief priests and elders even asked it: “By what authority are you doing these things?” (21:23). Jesus acted like he received his authority from God; that’s why he cleared the temple. He was working with a presumption of divine appointment—not only as a prophet but especially as the rightful heir to David’s throne. The trustees of the temple, on the other hand, knew they received their authority from God. They didn’t have to do anything to prove it other than to show up and do their duty. That’s why they confronted Jesus. The way they saw it, their authority was never in question; they had God on their side, predestined to be priests because they were born Levites. Jesus, on the other hand, was a pretentious intruder, claiming royal rights in God’s holy temple—the very place where priests rule by divine design. Therefore, when they asked, “And who gave you this authority?” (v. 23), they were expecting Jesus to claim something like, “God has anointed me to do these things.” Then, having fallen into their trap,² they would have “the authority” to hand Jesus over to the Romans for treason—something they were eventually able to pull off (Matt 26:63–66; 27:1–2, 11–12), but not now. Instead, Jesus seems to have turned the tables on them, questioning their authority in the temple, of all places. Who would have thought? Priests unable to defend their authority—silenced by ignorance—in the very place God gave them to rule. That would almost be as bad as a king unable to convince his subjects in Jerusalem that he has the authority to reign as David’s heir because he is God’s Son even as he inaugurates the kingdom of heaven on earth. And so, the way Jesus saw it, the question of authority essentially boils down to this: Who is doing God’s will? A lot of people claim to speak for God. Yet what they do matters more.

EXPLAIN the Story

The turf war quickly turned into a battle of wits. The chief priests and elders thought they had laid a snare for Jesus, tempting him to step into his own undoing. If Jesus had fallen for their ploy, they would have accomplished two things at once: defended their authority as guardians of the temple and shamed Jesus into submission. In this public contest for honor, the people would side with the victors and condemn the loser. That’s the way the honor game worked. The social approval of the group determined who won the contest. Since honor was social capital paid to and collected by the victors—it was the most powerful commodity in the first-century world, even more desirable than wealth—then the shamed would have no recourse but to tuck their tail and run. The embarrassment of losing face³ in the presence of the people would compel the dishonored to hide from the crowds until he felt he could show his face again in public without ridicule. That’s what the chief priests and elders were counting on. Even if Jesus were smart enough to see their trap, refusing to claim the honor of authority at that moment, he would at least be silenced by their clever tactic. There was another option though. The temple rulers could have arrested Jesus on the spot—or at least run him out of the temple just like he did to the merchants and money changers—which would have been a risky move. (What if the people sided with Jesus? See 21:46.) But rather than use the force of their authority (eventually they did, 26:47), they wanted to embarrass Jesus in front of the people by using the skill of their wit. They thought they had Jesus on the horns of a dilemma: speak and get in trouble with the Romans, remain silent and lose face with the people. They had no idea who they were dealing with.

Who Does God’s Will? The People Have Already Decided

When Jesus made a deal with the chief priests that he would answer their question if they answered his, I wonder if they were expecting a question about the legitimacy of their authority over the temple—especially the high priest. In earlier times, different Jewish groups had raised questions about the credibility of the high priesthood. Justifying the Maccabean revolt, Jewish literature is replete with examples of how the high priest was corrupted by Hellenistic ways, even describing how the office was purchased by the highest bidder (see 2 Macc 4:7–29). After the Jews regained their sovereignty due to the Maccabean-led rebellion, the Qumran community withdrew from Jewish society because a Hasmonean king (the family name of the Maccabees) had assumed the position of high priest, thereby corrupting the temple and its sacrifices. Two-hundred years later, suspicions were raised in Jesus’s day about the integrity of the high priest and his family because they were appointed by the Romans to hold this important office, establishing a dynasty of temple rule.⁴ Therefore, in light of the checkered history of the high priesthood and Jesus’s actions in the temple, perhaps the chief priests were prepared for the question: “By what authority are you priests doing these things, turning the holy place into a marketplace? And, who gave you this authority? Rome?” Yet that’s not what Jesus asked. Much to their surprise, Jesus asked them about the authority of a third party (Matt 21:25)—a subject that must have felt like it came out of nowhere. After all, what did John’s baptism have to do with Jesus’s behavior in the temple?

We don’t know why Jesus asked about John’s authority to baptize. Once again, we are left to infer the reasons. Some scholars think Jesus was making a claim about himself by pointing to John.⁵ Since the Baptizer had christened Jesus as God’s anointed, then Jesus was laying claim to his authority via John. If John was right about Jesus—that he is the Messiah—then Jesus had authority to clear the temple.⁶ Other scholars think Jesus brought up the painful subject of John’s baptism to the chief priests because the prophet’s water ritual was intended as a critique of the temple leadership. Since John offered a baptism of repentance for sins, and large crowds from Jerusalem flocked to the Jordan River to be baptized (3:5–6), the people were confirming the truth of what John was preaching. Their need of cleansing couldn’t be found in the temple because their leaders were corrupt (vv. 7–10).⁷ That would put the chief priests on the horns of a dilemma: the people had already “voted” with their feet regarding the questionable dealings of the high priesthood. If the chief priests were to deny the efficacy of John’s baptism, their beef would actually be with the people (and not Jesus).⁸ Finally, some scholars think Jesus was simply using a diversionary tactic.⁹ He referred to John’s baptism because both he and the people submitted to it.¹⁰ In that case, Jesus was pressing the people’s favorable opinion of John into his service, a kind of an us-versus-them strategy meant to accentuate the great divide between the masses and the elite: “We were baptized by John. Why weren’t you?”

Whatever the reason, the chief priests sniffed out quickly the implications of their dilemma (21:25–26). However they answered the question, their authority would be questioned by the people. The people had already decided John was a prophet of God. If the chief priests weren’t perceptive enough to see that, then the people would know that these leaders didn’t speak for God.¹¹ And so, irony of ironies, Jesus’s question about John’s baptism revealed that the “divine authority” of the chief priests actually came from people—they were worried about what the crowd thought (v. 26). The chief priests tried to make it an either/or question. Either one obtains their authority from God or from people, which is why the chief priests claimed ignorance (v. 27). They couldn’t answer the question because they wanted to believe they got their authority only from God. But if that were the case, then they should have spoken for God and given their verdict: John’s baptism didn’t come from God. But their we-don’t-know answer proved otherwise.¹² Even they knew the people would have the last word on who does God’s will (v. 26).

Silencing his critics should have been enough, but Jesus wouldn’t let it go. It was time to hold a mirror up to the chief priests like he did to the Pharisees, the Galilean crowds, and even the twelve disciples. That was the effect of his parables. They functioned like mirrors, reflecting back to the beholder what they saw. Listeners thought they were seeing someone else, offering expert opinions based on their own observations. That’s why Jesus started the parable of the two sons with, “What do you think?” (v. 28), deferring to the “wisdom” of the chief priests. Yet what these “experts” ended up doing—without realizing it—was to offer a critique of themselves. Pointing at their mirror image, they accused themselves of their own foolishness. It was a shrewd move, getting those who have an infallible opinion of themselves to point out their obvious flaws to everyone—themselves as well as the people! Jesus couldn’t have done it any better himself.

The parable of the two sons is simple (vv. 28–32)—not much of a riddle at all. Perhaps even a child would be able to figure it out (and so, one wonders if the chief priests were a little insulted by the simplicity of the puzzle; in my mind, I hear Jesus use a childlike tone as he tells the story). A man asks his two children (tekna) to work in his vineyard (a common symbol for Israel). The first refuses to go, but then changes his¹³ mind and does what his father asked him to do (v. 29). The second child agrees to go, but then doesn’t do the work (v. 30). It’s easy to see which child “did what his father wanted” (v. 31). The second son may have honored his father to his face, even addressing him as “sir” (kyrie). But the first son honored his father by doing his will. Of course, Jesus didn’t entertain the preferable third option: the child who agrees and does his father’s will (that’s probably the way the chief priests saw themselves). In the binary world of Jesus’s parable, the chief priests were forced to choose between these two: “ ‘The first,’ they answered” (v. 31). It’s ironic, isn’t it? Here you have the primary spokesmen for God pointing out those who actually did the will of God—and it’s not them. But in case they couldn’t see it, Jesus made their point for them: tax collectors and prostitutes will enter the kingdom of heaven before the chief priests because the worst sinners in the world believed that John was right (vv. 31–32). Even seeing tax collectors and prostitutes getting right with God didn’t convince the chief priests that John’s baptism was legitimate.¹⁴ If they had believed that John’s authority came from God, Jesus assumes these “sinners” would have repented too (v. 32). (That would have been quite a sight, priests seeking cleansing outside the temple.) But they didn’t, which proves these priests are the children who say they do the will of God but don’t—not even in their appointed service to God in the temple. Even a child could see that (vv. 15–16).

What Is God’s Will? The Priests Should Already Know

As the old adage goes, “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” In the honor contest between Jesus and the chief priests, the religious leaders were fooled twice, once again falling into the trap of Jesus’s self-exposing parables. You would think they would see it coming this time, perhaps even refusing to play the game by remaining silent. But, they didn’t, and one has to wonder why. Were they really that imperceptive? As Jesus tells the parable of the tenants (Matt 21:33–39), couldn’t they see what he was up to? We see it clearly; connecting the dots of the major players in the parable is rather obvious to us: God = absentee landlord; vineyard = Israel; tenant farmers = priests; servants = prophets; son = Jesus.¹⁵ So when Jesus asked the payoff question (v. 40), why did the chief priests offer their firm but self-incriminating answer? They sound like they think they’re talking about someone else when they declare with righteous indignation, “He will bring those wretches to a wretched end”—even offering a solution to the problem of the recalcitrant share croppers: “And he will rent the vineyard to other tenants, who will give him his share of the crop at harvest time” (v. 41). Perhaps they thought Jesus was bringing up a case study in the form of a parable, addressing a problem that landowners faced occasionally.¹⁶ That is to say, perhaps they presumed Jesus was speaking of a situation relevant to the concerns of the retainer class—people like them who owned lands and were absentee landlords, having to deal with sneaky, deceitful share croppers. If Jesus were a prophet, he would stand against injustice wherever he saw it, whether among the elites or peasant farmers. But that would mean they thought Jesus was siding with them, picking up their cause for a change. Given the hostile environment, that seems highly unlikely. But, even if the chief priests had recognized that Jesus was speaking allegorically, doesn’t it make better sense to assume they thought the vicious tenant farmers were someone else? For certainly they wouldn’t be so blind so as to make the same mistake twice, would they?

Most commentators think the chief priests were that obtuse.¹⁷ They didn’t have a clue that Jesus was telling a parable against them until it was too late (v. 45). But that doesn’t mean that they didn’t see themselves in the parable. In fact, I think they did—but it wasn’t in the role of the tenant farmers. Given the politics of imperial provincial rule in Judea, I wonder if the chief priests assigned the role of the tenant farmers to the Romans.¹⁸ That would mean that they saw themselves in the reflection of the servants of the landowner. The fact that Jesus seemed to shift the point of Isaiah’s prophecy away from Jerusalem, directed against another enemy, may have given the chief priests the wrong impression. In Isaiah’s parable, the problem is that, despite everything the Lord did to produce good wine (planted a choice vine on a fertile hillside cleared of stones, built a watchtower, carved a winepress), the vineyard only produced bad grapes (Isa 5:1–4). And so, Isaiah predicted that the landowner would tear down the vineyard because he “looked for justice, but saw bloodshed; for righteousness, but heard cries of distress” (vv. 5–7). God was angry with Jerusalem.

In his riff on Isaiah’s parable, Jesus seemed to identify a different villain. He used nearly all of the same elements of the story,¹⁹ but made two significant changes: this time the vineyard produced a good harvest, and a new character was causing all the trouble.²⁰ Some interlopers were doing everything they could to steal what belonged to the landowner—not only killing and torturing the servants he sent to collect what was due to him but even murdering his son outside the vineyard (Matt 21:34–39).²¹ To their ears, that probably reminded them of Roman oppression, especially during Passover, when Jerusalem experienced the devastating effects of the procurator’s heavy-handed measures of “keeping the peace” (Luke 13:1–2). Indeed, to the people of Jerusalem the story world of Jesus’s parable must have sounded like a fit description of their perilous situation: God had “rented the vineyard to some farmers and moved to another place” (Matt 21:33). But they also believed the harvest was coming, the day when God returns to his people and takes back what belongs to him (v. 34). On that day, what will God do to his enemies (v. 40)? The chief priests relished the opportunity to say it: “He will bring those wretches to a wretched end” (v. 41). But they never expected Jesus to pull the same trick as Nathan, holding up the mirror of his parable to their faces and saying, “You are the man!” (2 Sam 12:7). By their own words, they condemned themselves as wretches who would meet a wretched end. Not only that, they predicted what would happen in the aftermath of the long-awaited day of divine visitation: God would rent the vineyard to others who will give him what is owed to him (Matt 21:41). Jesus couldn’t agree more (v. 43). What surprised him is that they never saw it coming, even though they had the Scriptures that predicted the same (v. 42)—a line from a psalm that was sung during Passover (Ps 118:22–23).

Jesus worked with the presumption that no one, not even the chief priests and the elders of Jerusalem, could hinder the will of God for Israel and the whole world. That’s why he predicted that God would take the kingdom from the leaders of Jerusalem and give it to another “people [ethnos] who will produce its fruit” (Matt 21:43). Some have thought that Jesus decided right then and there to replace Israel²² with the gentile church. However, this interpretation doesn’t make sense because Jesus had already promised the Twelve²³ that they would rule with him in the kingdom (19:28)—they were “the people,”²⁴ the tree that would produce figs (21:19), the replacement tenant farmers of the vineyard who will render to God his share of the harvest (v. 34). Acting for God, Jesus replaced the temple leadership²⁵ with his disciples (then and now), a kingdom of priests to serve in the new temple.²⁶ And, now we see the problem. The chief priests had served in the temple for so long that they acted like they owned the place—no longer tenants but permanent residents (cf. Jer 7:3–4). So when a prophet like John or an anointed one like Jesus came to do God’s will, the temple leadership automatically assumed these rebels were intruders violating their priestly domain, unwelcomed outsiders messing up the place, the last people God would invite to the party (Matt 22:9–10). Therefore, it was up to these guardians of the temple to throw them out, even rejecting the very stone²⁷ God would use as the cornerstone for his new temple (21:42)—a stone of offense that tripped up the chief priests as well as the Pharisees (v. 45). It’s not that the leaders of Jerusalem were excluded from the start. They were invited to join the party—the kingdom of heaven coming to earth—but they refused, some retreating to their work while others resorted to killing the messengers (22:1–6). It was their one shot, and they missed it.

That’s the theme of the last of three parables indicting the religious leadership of Jerusalem: the exigency of the moment. The time had come. No more delays. It’s either join the feast or not. God had sent earlier invitations (the prophets? the Baptizer? the Galilean ministry of Jesus?) to his guests, giving them a heads up that the time for the messianic banquet was near.²⁸ But they didn’t pay attention (vv. 1–3). So when the time came—the kingdom of heaven coming to Jerusalem—the A-list people refused to join the party (vv. 4–6). Since God wouldn’t let the food go to waste (there can only be one wedding), he ensured that his house would be full of guests, commoners, even the good and the bad (vv. 8–10; including tax collectors and prostitutes: 21:31–32).²⁹ But the king was angry, and his wrath had to be placated, his honor defended. Consequently, those who spurned his invitation would be punished; their city would be destroyed (22:7; Jerusalem perhaps? See 23:37–24:2). Moreover, anyone who showed up to the wedding without proper clothing³⁰ would be banished from the celebration. (See 22:11–13. Is this referring to Judas perhaps? Jesus called him “friend” when he betrayed him [26:50], the same word used by the king [22:12]. Indeed, 22:13 reads like a prophecy fulfilled when Judas hanged himself; see 27:3–5.) All Israel was invited to the messianic banquet, but only a remnant joined the party (22:14)—enough to fill God’s house, the new temple.³¹

LIVE the Story

It’s easy to be against something. Anyone can be a critic, merely reacting to what is seen. Some even seem to be born for the role, possessing a natural ability to identify the negative. Indeed, given the chance, most of us can find something wrong with anything, voicing what we don’t like about this or that. Pointing out the weaknesses of an institution or the undesirable qualities of certain leaders isn’t difficult at all. The hard part is to be for something else, to be proactive, to find a better alternative to what we already have. That’s when there’s trouble. While many may see the same problem, most of us will have different ideas about the remedy. That’s because criticism deals with the present—something anyone can see. Creating something new is about the future, having eyes to see what isn’t seen. It takes faith to create something new, especially when no one else can see it.

The chief priests thought Jesus was merely criticizing what he saw, overturning tables to clean up the temple. That’s why they confronted him with the authority question. Protecting their interests, the temple leadership had to defend themselves against this self-appointed critic. But what they couldn’t see is that Jesus had a much higher purpose. Ultimately, this wasn’t about them. It was about him. Sure, they were in the way, trying to thwart Jesus’s efforts for the kingdom. Yet long before he came to Jerusalem, Jesus already knew God was going to build a new temple (Matt 16:18) and establish another priesthood (v. 19). He also knew that the current trustees of the temple wouldn’t go without a fight (v. 21). And yet, it was the way he would battle them—bringing the kingdom of heaven to earth—that seemed to take everyone by surprise. He was creating something completely new, a future that was hard to see—even for his disciples.

Telling stories was an odd way to get the job done. Of course, we’re so used to the gospel narrative, Jesus’s approach to challenging the temple establishment doesn’t appear peculiar to us at all. But imagine how silly Jesus’s plan would have sounded if he had told a news reporter what he was going to do once he got to Jerusalem.

“Okay, here’s the plan. Sunday’s going to be a big day. We’re going to stage the whole Messiah-riding-on-a-donkey-entering-Jerusalem parade. Then I’m going to clear the temple of all the merchants, quoting lines from Isaiah and Jeremiah. That should put everyone on notice that I’m ready to do God’s business.”

“That sounds dangerous,” the reporter says, teasing out the repercussions. “That will make the chief priests angry. They’ll come after you for sure. Do you plan to stay in Jerusalem? Do you have contacts there?”

“No, I’ll probably stay with friends outside the city. But not for long; I plan to show up in the temple the next day and teach the people about the kingdom of God.”

“Go back to the temple? Really? What will you do when these powerful men confront you? Perform one of your miracles to prove to them you have the goods? Or do you plan to take a more direct approach, arming your disciples for a counterattack?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m going to tell them stories . . . you know, parables.”

“What?” the reporter asks incredulously, “tell them parables? What good is that going to do?”

“Well,” Jesus says, smiling with an air of confidence, “everyone loves a good story. Besides, I’ve discovered that parables are effective weapons in a war of words.”

“But, it sounds to me like you’ll need more than words to fight your enemies,” the reporter says sarcastically.

“Yes, you’re right,” Jesus quickly affirms. “It’s going to take something more powerful than words to turn this thing around—I’ll mention that in my parables too. They will see with their own eyes that something greater than Solomon and the temple is here.”

It’s an amazing strategy when you think about it. Jesus didn’t mount a campaign to have the chief priests physically removed from the temple. (If he could cast out demons, surely he could throw his opponents out of the temple.) He didn’t try to destroy the temple. (If his words dried up a fig tree, then certainly he could say to Mount Zion, “Go, throw yourself into the sea”; 21:21.) And yet, he eventually created a new temple and established a new priestly nation by telling parables and offering himself as a living sacrifice. That’s it. That’s how he did it: by telling stories and dying for his enemies. Evidently, when fighting for the kingdom of heaven on earth, it’s the only way to get your enemies to see the truth. They won’t believe it, of course, because most of us are only interested in defending our position. That’s why arguments rarely settle anything. You make your point, I’ll make mine, and we go our separate ways. Iron may sharpen iron, but then all we have are sharper weapons that cut even deeper the next time we meet. I’ll stab you, and you take a swipe at me, and what’s the result? Another bloody mess.

When I was young, I relished the opportunity to cross swords with an opponent, fencing for the truth. Now, not so much. The older I get, the less I argue. Some of it has to do with experience. I see now that most of the time those arguments had less to do with the truth and more to do with my pride (just like the chief priests). It could also be that I’m tiring with age. My aversion to “standing up for the truth” in verbal wrestling matches may prove that I’m too old for these battles. Yet I’d like to think that it has more to do with Jesus. I want to learn from him, study his craft, pay closer attention to his deft approach when dealing with people who oppose the kingdom. To be sure, his wit was unmatched. Who could spin such creative stories on the spot to unmask the weakness of the opponent, even making them see it too? Most of us are not as creative as he was. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have stories to tell. Jesus told several, and they still work today.

His stories change my mind because they stay with me, especially if they reveal something that I had never seen before about me and my world. That’s what Jesus’s parables do. They invite me not only to see the world like he did, but his parables work like a mirror, reflecting back to me where I stand in the landscape of his kingdom. Kind of like a divine mapping of my heart and soul, with an arrow pointing, “You are here.” Most days I feel like the leftovers invited to the messianic feast, the stragglers brought to the table of the king. More times than not, I’d like to think I’m one of the servants sent to God’s vineyard to bring back his share of the harvest. In those moments of revelation—seeing the genius of Jesus—I wonder: “Since his parables work on me, then surely they can work on others too, especially enemies of the kingdom.” I think about a parable I could use to clobber my latest enemies, make them look foolish. Then, it hits me. In the story world of Jesus’s parables, I’ll see my reflection in the faces of the tenant farmers who act like they own the place, having “beat one, killed another, and stoned a third” (v. 35)—but I do it with words. At that moment, ironically, it’s the words of Jesus’s enemies that convict me: “He will bring those wretches to a wretched end” (v. 41).

God help my soul. When will I learn to lay down the sword and pick up a cross?

When I have ears to hear his parables.

1. There was no division of “religion” and “politics” in Jesus’s day. In American parlance, we would say the Jewish temple was the capitol of Jerusalem; see also Malina and Rohrbaugh, Synoptic Gospels, 138.

2. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:159.

3. France, Matthew, 799.

4. Evans, Matthew, 366.

5. According to Keener, Jesus claimed that he “shares the same source of authority as John” (Matthew, 506).

6. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:160; France, Matthew, 797.

7. Luz, Matthew, 3:29–31.

8. Garland, Reading Matthew, 220.

9. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:160.

10. Luz, Matthew, 3:29.

11. Turner, Matthew, 507.

12. Blomberg, Matthew, 320.

13. The participle, metamelētheis, is masculine.

14. Turner, Matthew, 509.

15. For a helpful chart, see Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:176.

16. France, Matthew, 808–9.

17. See, e.g., Bruner, Matthew, 2:380.

18. Nolland, Matthew, 876.

19. See Nolland, Matthew, 868–71.

20. Turner, Matthew, 514.

21. Luz, Matthew, 3:40–41, hears echoes of what Joseph’s brothers wanted to do to him (Gen 37:20). Bailey points out the necessity of murdering the son outside the vineyard to keep it pure—not cursed by blood—for future profits (Jesus through Middle Eastern Eyes, 420).

22. Luz, Matthew, 3:42–43. Although Luz says that ethnos here probably doesn’t refer to gentiles (but see p. 55 where the second guests are identified as the gentile mission), he claims that Matthew is “one of the fathers of the ‘succession theory’ ” (ibid., 44).

23. Talbert, Matthew, 252.

24. Turner, Matthew, 516.

25. Nolland, Matthew, 870.

26. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:185–86.

27. Some scholars hear a pun in Hebrew, ha-eben (“the stone”) and ha-ben (“the son”), probably also used by the Baptizer (Matt 3:9); see Evans, Matthew, 374–75.

28. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:197.

29. Luz hears the part about God’s house being filled with outsiders as bad news for Israel; there would be no more room for them (Matthew, 3:50).

30. What does the wedding garment represent? Repentance (Keener, Matthew, 522), resurrection glory (Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:204), good works (Luz, Matthew, 3:56; France, Matthew, 827), righteousness (Nolland, Matthew, 891; Bruner, Matthew, 2:390), or moral worthiness (Garland, Reading Matthew, 225)? Whenever we see such polyvalence, we should recognize that we’ve pushed the allegorical implications of the parable too far; see Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 28.

31. “What is envisaged seems to be more than merely a ‘regime change’ . . . rather a reconstitution of Israel” (France, Matthew, 800).