In his commentary on Matthew, R. T. France accuses scholars of focusing on the introductory, critical matters of the work while ignoring the lengthier, expositional part of the commentary.1 I wonder if the inverse is true for ministers and teachers. When I was a pastor, facing the weekly demands of preaching and teaching the Bible, I don’t think I ever read a commentary from the beginning. Rather, I would skip over the critical issues that scholars love to discuss in the introduction and go straight to the exposition of the text. Teasing out the implications of the sources Matthew used for a particular episode, determining the authenticity of a particular saying of Jesus, or sorting out the arguments of Matthew’s historical readers had little to no impact on the meaning of the text. In other words, the things that scholars say students are supposed to care about had nothing to do with what I, the preacher, cared about when it came to standing before a congregation to declare, “Thus saith the Lord.”
But then again, shouldn’t some of these questions matter to the preacher? For example, on the most basic level Jesus doesn’t say the exact same thing when we compare his sayings in Matthew with the other Gospels. (None of us appreciate being misquoted or mistranslated.) The same event can show up in different places in the Gospels, each writer setting forth a different chronology from the other. (Getting the facts right is crucial to determining what happened.) And, in light of these differences, why do we have four Gospels? Was it really necessary? Wouldn’t the church have been better off not having to deal with these differences, instead having one Gospel that covered it all? Evidently the early church didn’t think so, for after the first Gospel was written (Mark?) other writers decided to offer their accounts of Christ too. So, why did Matthew write his Gospel? Did he believe Mark’s was inadequate? And if that was the case, why did he use Mark as a source for his Gospel (especially since Mark wasn’t a disciple of Jesus, and Matthew was one of the Twelve)? Was Matthew writing for a different kind of reader, one that Mark’s Gospel didn’t relate to? (“I can’t get into Mark’s version, but I really like Matthew’s Gospel.”) Don’t we all do that, preferring one Gospel over the other three (most evangelical lay people I meet love John)? So, what makes Matthew’s Gospel unique? And, shouldn’t we appreciate Matthew’s version on its own terms, even though some of us may prefer the Gospel according to John?
All of these questions matter to the preacher and teacher. Even though we may teach or preach from a particular passage in Matthew’s Gospel, we know we can’t make sense of the part without the whole. And since we have three other Gospels with which to compare and contrast it, we can’t help but ask, “Why did Matthew tell the story like that?” and “Why did Matthew put that episode there?” and “Why did Matthew include that bit of information when no other Gospel writer did?” In fact, without Mark, Luke, and John we wouldn’t ask many of these questions. And yet, even if we had only Matthew’s Gospel, there are certain questions any reader would ask about any piece of literature: Who? What? When? Where? Why? How? Since we are reading more than a literary work—we believe we are reading the word of God—then answers to these questions are even more relevant. For the Gospel of Matthew isn’t just a story to be believed or discounted, to entertain or inspire, or to hear or perhaps admire. Rather, Matthew presents what he thinks is a “hold-on-this-changes-everything-because-it’s-a-real-life” account about a flesh-and-blood person, Jesus the Christ—a man who lived at a particular time, in a particular place, of a particular people, who did some amazing things and taught some peculiar ideas, who was rejected by religious leaders and executed by governing officials, who was raised from the dead, and who inspired several men and women to carry on with his mission. In other words, Jesus was more than a man. According to Matthew, Jesus is the very Son of God, predestined to make good on every promise God made to his people, Israel, for the sake of the whole world. And, since all of these things happened in this world and for our world, answering the basic questions of life (who, what, when, where, why, and how) are especially apropos—not only for the first book of the New Testament but also for the entire word of God.
Who? Author and Audience
Unlike John’s Gospel (John 21:24–25), there is no reference to the author of the first Gospel. And, unlike Luke (1:1–4), the author of our Gospel makes no reference to the recipient of his work and gives no explicit reason as to why he wrote it. But that doesn’t mean the Gospel according to Matthew is odd. Of the four Gospels, not a single author identifies himself by name. And, even though Luke wrote his Gospel for a certain “Theophilus,” some think he isn’t the recipient of the Gospel. Rather, Theophilus was more than likely the patron who provided the funds to publish Luke’s two-volume work.2 So, since the first Gospel is technically anonymous and his intended audience isn’t identified, how do we go about answering the first question, “Who?”
Regarding authorship, we could rely on church tradition, which assigned the first book of the New Testament to Matthew fairly early—at least by the end of the first century.3 That’s why the earliest extant manuscripts of the Greek New Testament ascribe the Gospel to Matthew. But scholars over the last two hundred years have questioned church tradition, especially when it comes to the authorship of certain books like Matthew’s Gospel. Since apostolic reputation was key to books being accepted as Scripture by the early church, some wonder whether anonymous works ascribed to famous followers of Christ were actually penned by them. Looking more carefully at the Gospel according to Matthew, scholars question whether a Galilean disciple of Jesus could have (would have?) written his Gospel in Greek. There was a very early tradition among the church fathers that Matthew actually produced a collection of the teachings of Jesus in Aramaic.4 But there is little evidence that what lies behind the Greek version of Matthew is an Aramaic Gospel.5 A few scholars have suggested that we’ve misunderstood the tradition: it is not that Matthew wrote his sayings source in the Hebrew dialect (Aramaic) but that he arranged his Gospel in a Hebraic way6; for example, his fondness for arranging the material in twos, threes, and sevens.7 But, even if that were the case, why would Matthew (an eyewitness of the life and times of Jesus of Nazareth) rely upon Mark’s Gospel as a source (as most scholars infer) for his “Jewish” arrangement of the material? Mark wasn’t an apostle, so why did Matthew use Mark?
Some think that is the wrong inference. A few scholars argue it’s the other way around: Mark used Matthew. But that raises other problems. Why would Mark cut out important material (like the infancy narrative, the Sermon on the Mount, and perhaps the resurrection appearances) in order to have enough room to add unnecessary details to the same stories? (The length of our Gospels is the maximum size for a document written on a papyrus roll.) Scholars who recognize Marcan priority and defend Matthean authorship point to another church tradition that may explain why Matthew used Mark. The same church father who claimed that Matthew wrote the sayings of Jesus in the Hebrew dialect also goes to great lengths to explain how Peter was the actual “author” of Mark’s Gospel. Serving as his secretary, Mark wrote down Peter’s recollections and didn’t arrange the material as deliberately as Matthew. So, in light of Peter’s important role in the early church—something Matthew highlights in his Gospel—it would make sense that Matthew would use Mark’s Gospel, especially since Matthew didn’t become a disciple of Jesus until much later (Matt 9:9).8 And, I can’t help but wonder if some of our modern sensibilities about ownership of intellectual property, the reservations we have about derivative work, and the taboos associated with plagiarism jaundice our view of what we consider credible authorship. In a world that prized honor and community identity, perhaps it would add credibility to Matthew’s work that he didn’t rely upon himself to author the most important story ever written. Besides, if the early church simply pulled an apostolic name out of the hat in order to add credibility to this Gospel, why didn’t they ascribe it to a bigger name, like James, Andrew, Philip, or any of the top six names listed in Matthew 10:2–3 (Matthew comes in eighth)?9
So, who wrote the Gospel according to Matthew? If we believe church tradition, the “eighth” disciple of Jesus did. If we don’t accept church tradition, then we have no idea. And the truth of the matter is that no argument carries the day, whether for or against Matthean authorship.10 I lean toward accepting church tradition on this matter. Nevertheless, whether we believe Matthew wrote it or not, there’s still more to learn about who wrote the first canonical Gospel from the “implied author.” The implied author (whom we will call “Matthew”) is derived from information we glean about him11 when reading his work, whether from his literary style or even the content he chose to include or ignore. Of course, what helps us see the distinctiveness of his work is when we compare Matthew to the other three Gospels. And, although he follows the same general chronology as the other synoptic Gospels, Matthew’s preferences are revealed by his arrangement of the material (sometimes he breaks from the synoptic order) and the way he tells the story—what he chooses to emphasize. Consider, for example, the beginning of his Gospel. Who starts a narrative like that except a man who finds the genealogy of Jesus incredibly important to the claims he makes about his subject from the start (Matt 1:1)? And, why all the talk about fulfilled prophecy unless the Hebrew Scriptures were vitally important to the story of Jesus “the Messiah”? We’ve already mentioned Matthew’s fondness for numbers (gematria), arranging material in groups of two, three, five, and seven—numbers with great symbolic meaning for Jewish people. Matthew also loves comparing Jesus to the heroes of Israel (typology), especially the giver of the law, Moses. The Pharisees play a heightened role as Jesus’s primary antagonists. Jesus sends his disciples on their first “mission trip” to recover the lost sheep of Israel—no gentiles or Samaritans wanted (Matt 10:56). Our writer cares very much about Jewish matters: how the law is to be rightly interpreted (5:27–48; 19:3–9), obedience to those who sit in Moses’s seat (23:2–3), hoping Judeans don’t have to travel on the Sabbath when Jerusalem is judged by God (24:20), paying the temple tax (17:24–27), and what will happen to the unrepentant Galilean cities (11:20–24). Add it all up, and most scholars come to the conclusion that the implied author is a Jewish Christian who is out to prove that Jesus is the Messiah of God for whom Israel has been waiting a long, long time.12
But who would want (or need) to hear a story like that? Sorting out the historical readers of Matthew’s Gospel proves to be more difficult than identifying the author. Church tradition gives us no clue (except location, which we’ll discuss below). So, scholars are prone to pick out golden nuggets about the implied reader embedded in the Gospel in order to fashion the makeup of Matthew’s community. It is a fairly speculative enterprise since we don’t know Matthew’s target reader, the exact audience Matthew was aiming at (the same is true for the other three Gospels). However, we know some things about the history of the early church (not only from Acts but other sources, especially the church fathers)—in particular that Jewish Christianity had a hard time maintaining its influence and identity in a sea of swelling numbers of gentile converts whipped about by a storm of controversy in the synagogues about Jesus. And so, putting it all together—a composite of the implied reader derived from a close reading of Matthew’s Gospel situated within the historical context of early Christianity that was evolving from a Jewish movement to a worldwide gentile religion—scholars come up with this: Matthew’s readers were probably Jewish Christians who were either recently driven out of the synagogue or were still worshiping God with kinsmen who didn’t appreciate their brand of messianic Judaism because it revolved around Jesus. That explains why Matthew’s implied readers seem to hold Jewish interests: they 1) knew the Hebrew Scriptures well, 2) wanted to see how Jesus fulfilled prophecy, 3) obeyed the law and, perhaps, respected the Pharisees, 4) followed Jewish customs yet were willing to criticize them, 4) supported the temple but were suspicious of its leadership, 5) were informed by Jewish eschatology (they especially anticipated the imminent day of the Lord), and 6) perhaps had some concerns about the gospel mission to the gentiles.13 In other words, as Luz colorfully describes the assumptions Matthew made about his reader, “he has a Jewish ‘encylopedia.’ ”14 Thus, from author to reader Matthew is a very Jewish Gospel—probably written by a Jew for Jews.
What? Story and Sermon
The answer to this question should be simple enough. What is the book of Matthew? It’s a Gospel. But what does the word “gospel” mean? Ask people, “What is the gospel?” and very few would say, “Matthew.” (When I occasionally poll my students, who primarily come from evangelical churches, most often they say something like “the plan of salvation” or “the good news that Jesus paid the price for our sins.” They rarely think of the entire literary work we call the Gospel according to Matthew.) Technically, Matthew is a narrative about the life and times of Jesus of Nazareth. Therefore, the first book of the New Testament could be called a story about Jesus according to Matthew. But some of us think the word “story” implies fiction. And yet we all know that Matthew is doing more than providing a history of Jesus. His work is an interpretation (some might even say, “biased interpretation”) of the significance of Jesus. This isn’t just about what Jesus did and said, but why it matters. So, is that the reason “Gospel” was applied to the first four books of the New Testament? It was a handy term that Mark used to introduce his work to the literary world (Mark 1:1), a title that seems to have been subsequently affixed to the other three “Gospels” as well.15
Of course, we see the problem right away. There is supposed to be only one gospel; Paul makes that very plain (Gal 1:6–9). And yet, we have four Gospels about Jesus, not to mention other perspectives on Christ that show up throughout the New Testament.16 Evidently, in the parlance of the early church, the term “gospel” came to mean two things at once: the past details of Jesus’s life and the present significance of his person and work (what theologians call “Christology”).17 So, the gospel is both a narrative and a message, a person and a theology, a source of faith and a way of life. Therefore, fittingly, the first four books of the New Testament came to be called “Gospels” because they serve a twofold purpose simultaneously: they are stories that preach,18 narratives that work like sermons, accounts of the life of Jesus that inspire faith and discipleship. And, the way Matthew tells his story says as much about his view of Jesus as the effect he hopes his Gospel will have on his readers. According to Matthew, Jesus is God’s Son who initiated the kingdom of heaven on earth. For readers who have eyes to see and auditors who have ears to hear, that means Jesus is the last king of Israel—the one who makes every promise of God come true. Therefore, those who see and hear will follow the king into his kingdom, the true reign of God that lasts forever. To say the least, this is not your average “life story.”
So, is this type of work—that which came to be called “Gospel”—unique to the literary world? Some scholars think so because of the way the Gospels came to be. At first, there were individual stories about Jesus circulating among Christians in oral form; some intended to inspire faith in unbelievers, other material (especially the sayings of Jesus) meant to teach the church how to live as disciples of Jesus. Whatever their origin or purpose, early evangelists discovered that these gospel stories preach. Each episode is a unit that works by itself—a mini story with an introduction, setting, conflict, and resolution (we commonly call them “passages of Scripture”; scholars refer to them as pericopae). When the apostles started dying, someone decided these gospel stories needed to be written down. Thus, the literary “Gospel” was born. This wasn’t an attempt to get on paper a biography of Jesus. In fact, some scholars say the Gospels do not rise to the level of the traditional Greco-Roman biography. Rather, the literary origin of the Gospel owes more to the evangelistic and catechetical needs of the early church. Therefore, some think “the Gospel” belongs to a brand new category of genre.19 If a first-century custodian of the library in Alexandria, Egypt were to come across a copy of the Gospel according to Matthew, he would have to shelve it by itself.
In the last few decades, however, a scholarly consensus has formed around the conclusion that in fact the four Gospels do classify as ancient biography. They are very similar in form, style, and content to Greco-Roman biographies written about the same time.20 These ancient bioi (“lives”) may not conform to our standards of modern biography (including a presupposed “distance” between the author and subject to preserve an attempt at objectivity),21 but like our literary Gospels they share several generic features common to Greco-Roman biography.22 Of course, that the Jews did not produce biographies about their famous rabbis means that Jesus would have been the first Jewish subject to be featured in this way—which makes perfect sense, since the absence of rabbinic bioi may prove that such a work would have been at odds with the primacy of the Torah as the subject of study. Since Jesus, according to Matthew, made himself the final interpretation of the law (“follow me!”), then it would follow that his disciples would write a story that featured him as the focal point of study. Indeed, according to Matthew it was Jesus’s life and work that defined righteousness. To obey him in word and deed is to follow him: the fulfillment of the law and the prophets. And, this may reveal a unique feature of the Gospels compared to standard ancient biographies. The story of Jesus is also a sermon; he is not only a subject to study but a life to imitate. Therefore, since the early church considered the life and times of Jesus of Nazareth the most important message the world would ever hear, it’s no wonder they wanted more than one Gospel.
When?
Even though Matthew teases us with a vague reference to his time—a rumor about the empty tomb that was “widely circulated among the Jews to this very day” (Matt 28:15, emphasis added)—he never tells his readers exactly when he wrote his Gospel. According to scholarly opinion, though, Matthew’s Gospel must have been written sometime between AD 40–100.23 Since Ignatius of Antioch quoted Matthew (ca. AD 107), then the first Gospel couldn’t “have seen the light of day much later than A.D. 100.”24 And, if Matthew used Mark’s Gospel, then the earliest it could have been written was sometime after Mark’s Gospel was published. If church tradition is reliable, some scholars believe that Peter’s imprisonment was the motivation behind Mark getting down on paper the gospel according to the apostle. Since according to church tradition Peter was martyred during the Neronian persecution (AD 64–68), then Matthew’s Gospel would have been written after that. Of course, if Matthew was the first Gospel written, then it was obviously published sometime after the resurrection of Jesus (AD 30 or 33), with enough time—ten years?—for a church of mixed ethnicity to have been established in Antioch (perhaps the location of Matthew’s community). But since the majority of scholars hold to Marcan priority, then the earliest date for Matthew is usually posited sometime in the mid-to-late 60s.25
Like the implied author and reader, scholars look for historical details in Matthew’s work that may indicate more precisely when the Gospel was written—hints about the implied date. For example, since the temple in Jerusalem was destroyed by the Romans in AD 70—a cataclysmic event predicted by Jesus (Matt 24:1–2)—then references to an operating temple or to certain details about its destruction may betray Matthew’s time of writing. That is why some scholars date Matthew in the 60s; they think the Gospel must have been written before AD 70 in light of Jesus’s instructions about proper devotion to God in his temple. For example, Jesus taught his disciples that they should leave their gift at the altar and be reconciled to their Jewish brothers before returning to the temple to complete their offering (Matt 5:23–24). The point would be irrelevant to Matthew’s readers if the temple were already destroyed. Furthermore, why include a story about paying the temple tax, an episode unique to Matthew’s Gospel (17:24–27), if the temple lay in ruins during Matthew’s time of writing? That would be another moot point, wouldn’t it?
Some scholars think the time of the temple’s destruction is determinative for dating Matthew’s Gospel, but for different reasons. They argue that Matthew must have been written after AD 70 because of the way he allows certain details about the event to creep into Jesus’s teaching. For example, they think Matthew’s version of the parable of the wedding banquet (Matt 22:1–14) betrays an ex post facto point of view. In particular, when Jesus refers to the mistreated king who sent his army to destroy the obstinate city—burning it to the ground (v. 7)—it sounds like the very thing that happened to Jerusalem when the Roman general Titus sacked the city in AD 70.26 Therefore, Matthew must have written his Gospel after the event since he colored the parable of Jesus in ways that are absent from Luke’s version (Luke 14:16–24). But if Matthew was sculpting Jesus’s teaching to fit the details of the destruction of the temple, wouldn’t it have served his purposes better to include such information when Jesus predicted the catastrophe (Matt 24:15–21)?27 Therefore, some scholars find other reasons to date Matthew’s Gospel after AD 70—for example, the more prominent role the Pharisees played in opposing Jesus. After the temple was destroyed, the only Jewish sect that survived the catastrophe was the Pharisees. The Sadducees (the custodians of the temple), the Herodians (who needs them? Rome is in charge), and the Zealots (the rebels who died fighting the Romans) all perished. Consequently, the Pharisees inherited the power of leading the Jewish people in the aftermath, establishing their interpretation of the law as the guide for all Israel. That is why Matthew highlights the contest between Jesus and the Pharisees over the proper interpretation of the Scriptures (Matt 5–8; 23). It reflects the hostilities that existed between Matthew’s community and the synagogue after the destruction of the temple.28
There is one more factor that should be considered: if Matthew the disciple was the author of the first Gospel, then knowing when he died would set the latest possible date for his work. But church tradition is vague about the details of Matthew’s death. So the range of possible dates for Matthew’s Gospel from AD 40–100 is still applicable. Little more can be said with much certainty. Nevertheless, in light of the probability that Matthew used Mark, I think the more compelling arguments concerning the implied date place Matthew sometime shortly after the destruction of the temple in the mid to late 70s.
Where?
There is no church tradition that locates Matthew’s audience specifically. We know that Matthew’s Gospel was first popular in Syria; the earliest references to the Gospel appear in the letters of Ignatius (bishop of Antioch) and perhaps the Didache (an early Jewish-Christian work possibly originating from Syria).29 That bit of information, coupled with the unusual reference to Syria as the place where Jesus’s fame spread pretty quickly (Matt 4:24),30 has led several scholars to suggest that Matthew wrote his Gospel for Christians in Antioch or Damascus—two well-known cities beyond Palestine where early (Jewish) Christianity flourished among Greek speakers. Others suggest a Galilean or Judean provenance or even contiguous regions surrounding Palestine (like Egypt, Phoenicia, or the Transjordan). But all of these are only suggestions, built on the assumption that Matthew wrote his Gospel for a particular community of a certain location at a particular time.31
Other scholars have questioned the idea of a “Matthean community”—that Matthew’s Gospel was written to address certain needs of a specific church in a particular location. Rather, they argue that Matthew published his Gospel for a general readership.32 That is not to say that the implied reader doesn’t exist in Matthew’s Gospel, as if it were a mere fabrication. Certainly Matthew wrote his account of the life and times of Jesus of Nazareth with a certain reader in mind. We can see the Jewish emphases of Matthew’s version of the significance of Jesus when compared to Mark’s Gospel. Yet to assume that the implied reader somehow shines a light on the intended recipients of Matthew’s Gospel as if it were a letter sent to certain readers is incredibly presumptuous. Just because Matthew’s Gospel seems to have been especially popular among Syrian churches with a strong Jewish-Christian identity doesn’t necessarily mean that Matthew wrote his Gospel only for those Christians—as if other kinds of Christians (whether Jewish, gentile, or even God-fearers in Egypt, Asia Minor, or Rome) who found the first Gospel useful would be seen as a bonus to Matthew (“Wow. Gentiles in Rome love my work? I never saw that coming”). We may see how Matthew’s work would have encouraged Jewish Christians facing difficulties in Syria or Palestine, but that doesn’t prove they were Matthew’s target audience.
Furthermore, bioi were never written for a specific, ethnic, geographical audience. Rather, works like these were published for mass consumption,33 which would have been especially true of our literary Gospels, consumed by all Christians scattered all over the Mediterranean world. The fact that the four Gospels were so quickly copied and distributed widely attests to their common appeal. Indeed, even though Matthew’s Gospel reveals Jewish interests, his literary work was never ghettoized, as if it were intended only for insiders. Besides, to say Matthew wrote his Gospel only for Jewish Christians in Antioch because they needed instructions directly from the mouth of Christ to address certain ecclesiological crises shifts the focus of the narrative away from the obvious subject of the Gospel.34 Jesus is the centerpiece of Matthew’s narrative, not the fabricated needs of a hypothetical congregation that supposedly compelled our writer to craft words that would come directly from the mouth of Jesus. Who Jesus is (more than what his readers wanted him to be) was the driving force behind Matthew’s Gospel.
Why?
The purpose of Matthew’s Gospel comes into clearer focus when we compare his work to the other three Gospels. Certainly all four evangelists wrote their stories to convince their readers of the significance of Jesus of Nazareth. But when we contrast the way they tell their version of events, it becomes quite apparent that each writer gave his own slant on the story, especially when we take into account all the unique material. For example, as we mentioned before, we can’t help but wonder why Matthew started his Gospel with the genealogy of Jesus. Moreover, why is his version so different from Luke’s? Why did Matthew group together this huge body of teaching material that we call “the Sermon on the Mount,” even placing it before the reader as the first, public, momentous thing Jesus did? And what’s the mission to the “lost sheep of Israel” all about (Matt 10:6; 15:24)? No other Gospel has Jesus sending his disciples first to the Jews, purposefully ignoring Samaritans and gentiles. Does that imply Jesus was reluctant to expand his ministry to those outside of Israel? Doesn’t that explain why Jesus spurned the Canaanite woman (Matt 15:21–24)? Or, why did Matthew make a big deal about Peter’s confession—something that inspired Jesus to hand over the keys of the kingdom to him? In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus rebuked Peter for what he said (Mark 8:29–30). Why did Matthew spend an entire chapter explaining how Jesus publicly put the Pharisees on notice for their hypocrisy (Matt 23:1–36)? Shouldn’t all the skirmishes between Jesus and the Pharisees over the law have sufficed to reveal the differences between them (the other Gospel writers thought so)? Furthermore, why did Matthew feel obliged to add several parables after Jesus’s famous Olivet Discourse? Mark has a simple warning from Jesus, “Be on guard! Be alert! You do not know when that time will come,” followed by a brief version of the parable of the absentee master (Mark 13:33–37). Matthew tells a much longer version of the story (Matt 24:45–51) and adds three more parables to hammer home the point: be faithful while the master/bride groom tarries (25:1–46). So why did Matthew include all of this unique material? Scholars think it may have something to do with Matthew’s purpose; they are literary additions that not only set his Gospel apart from the other three but also may reveal why he wrote it.
The trick is finding a literary or theological thread that holds the fabric of Matthew’s Gospel together—not only the unique material but also his version of episodes shared by the other Gospels.35 For example, some scholars think Matthew wrote his Gospel to present Jesus as the new Moses appointed by God to lead Israel out of exile.36 They point to the way Matthew purposely arranged the lineage of Jesus so that the last fourteen generations bring the story of Israel’s exile to an end because the Messiah has come (Matt 1:17). That also explains why the first thing Jesus does is to ascend a mountain and deliver his version of the law of righteousness—as if he were a new Moses. The imagery of a Shepherd King travelling about Galilee to reclaim the lost sheep of Israel as if Jesus were all of Israel’s heroes rolled up into one (prophet, priest, and king) serves Matthew’s typological purpose. That is why Matthew keeps pointing out all the Scripture that has been fulfilled with the advent of Jesus as the Christ. Jesus is everything Israel had been waiting for, the embodiment of every promise God made to Israel, and the people see it. Like a herd of sheep they follow him everywhere—even into the desert—knowing the Great Shepherd will take care of them, feeding them in the wilderness, performing signs much greater than anything Moses could do with a rod and staff. Only this new Moses will not only lead them out of slavery and through the desert but also into the promised land. The cross and resurrection proved it. Therefore, the culminating effect, the undeniable inference, the force of Matthew’s purpose is this: the exile is over; the meek will inherit the land; the kingdom of heaven has come to earth because the true Son of God has ascended to David’s throne forever.
Other scholars think Matthew was trying to negotiate a difficult problem that developed between Jewish Christians (including perhaps kinsmen who rejected Jesus as the Christ if the “Matthean community” was still part of the synagogue) and the influx of gentile Christians into the church.37 Did Jesus intend from the beginning to include gentile converts in his mission to reclaim Israel? Some say no, since “the mission commandment of the risen Lord is set in antithesis to the command of the earthly Jesus (28:19–20; 10:5–6).”38 Within a few decades of early Christianity the majority of Israel had rejected the gospel, and gentiles were responding favorably to it. Therefore, Jesus’s mission to reclaim the lost sheep of Israel had to be refashioned in light of the early church’s experience. So Matthew supposedly wrote his Gospel to redirect the predominantly Jewish-Christian community to embrace their new mission. In order to help them give up on reclaiming Israel and restoring the land, Matthew highlights the Jewish leadership’s rejection of Jesus (both in the synagogue and the temple) and shows how, from the very beginning, it was God’s plan to include gentiles for salvation. That’s why Matthew lists gentiles in the genealogy of Jesus. That’s why he tells the story of magi showing up for the birth of the Christ. That’s why Jesus praises the Roman centurion for having a faith greater than any Jew.39 Matthew includes these subtle hints throughout his Gospel (“Yes, Jesus really did embrace gentile believers”) in order to prepare his readers for the expanded, worldwide mission that shows up at the end of the story. To be sure, Jesus’s first priority was the reclamation of Israel and the land. But, just like the prophets before him, Jesus was rejected by his own people—especially Jerusalem. None of this took Jesus (or God) by surprise. All of this was by divine design, and Matthew’s Gospel shows his readers how and why it happened.
Since it is difficult to figure out in Matthew’s Gospel whether the kingdom of heaven has come to earth or not, some scholars think Matthew was trying to answer a different eschatological problem. Jesus proclaimed, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near” (Matt 4:17). At times it appears as though the heavenly kingdom has invaded earth—the miracles seem proof enough. For example, Jesus said that his ability to cast out demons proved that “the kingdom of God has come upon you” (12:28). He even talked about the kingdom of heaven being present among them, like seed growing or yeast leavening (13:31–33), that it already belonged to those who were poor in spirit and persecuted for righteousness (5:3, 10). But the presence of the kingdom of heaven on earth wasn’t obvious to everyone. It was hidden, mysterious, small, and barely noticeable. People needed the right kind of eyes to see and ears to hear it. But one day the kingdom would come with such ostentatious display—in dramatic fashion with undeniable power—that everyone would see it, both the damned and the faithful (24:29–31). The will of God will be evident on earth as it is in heaven. The day of reckoning is coming. Jesus will reign as the king of Israel and, therefore, over the whole world. The question was what would be the sign of his coming (24:3)? Had he already given it? Was it the “sign of Jonah” (16:4)? Or was it something else, like the destruction of the temple (23:38–24:2, 15–21) or some cosmic portent that signaled the end of the world (24:29–30)? The fact that Matthew leaves the question open leads some scholars to conclude that the first Gospel was written to encourage Christ believers to remain faithful in light of the imminent coming of Christ.
This is why the date of Matthew’s Gospel is crucial to some scholars. If his Gospel was written before the destruction of the temple, then Matthew was encouraging his readers to see the “signs of the times”—not only the events in Palestine that signaled the end of the temple (just as Jesus predicted), the end of the world, and therefore the second coming of Christ, but also to have eyes to see the kingdom’s mysterious presence in the ever-expanding mission of the church.40 On the other hand, some scholars think Matthew wrote his Gospel after AD 70—a disaster that created a crisis in the early church. Since Jesus seemed to tie his second coming to the destruction of the temple, then there must have been some sort of delay in the parousia of Christ. And so, with the temple in ruins and no obvious sign of Christ’s imminent return, Matthew wrote his Gospel to hold out hope to the faithful: “Yes, Jesus is still coming—perhaps even soon—but ours is not to know when. Rather, we’re supposed to remain faithful while the master is away.”41 Whether before the temple was destroyed or in light of it, Matthew’s expanded version of the Olivet Discourse may be key to understanding the ambiguity of the already/not yet kingdom of heaven coming to earth—a teaching that Luke revises according to his purposes (Luke 21:5–36; Acts 1:6–7) and John seems to have given up on (there is no Olivet Discourse in the fourth Gospel).
There are several odd references in Matthew’s Gospel that may point to another purpose. When Jesus sends the Twelve to recover the lost sheep of Israel, he gives them instructions that appear to be more relevant for a much later time.42 He warns them that they “will be brought before governors and kings as witnesses to them and to the Gentiles” (Matt 10:18)—a situation more indicative of the early church than the experience of the Twelve. He talks about welcoming prophets, emphasizing the importance of showing proper hospitality to itinerant disciples (vv. 40–42), advice that really wouldn’t apply to the Twelve since they were the ones travelling. And so these instructions sound like they were intended for the early church—Christians scattered all over the Mediterranean world, connected by their common gospel purpose of receiving and sending missionaries. Jesus also gives advice to the church, assuming his absence—in particular, how to deal with an unrepentant sinner (18:15–20). He warns them to be ready for his return, even though he hasn’t left (24:42; 25:13). Finally, as he gives a worldwide mission to the eleven who followed him to the mountain, he commands them to make other disciples by teaching them to keep his commandments—something he emphasized from the beginning (7:24; 28:20). Indeed, more than any other Gospel, Matthew emphasizes that disciples are made when they are taught to keep the commandments of Christ. Therefore, in light of these emphases, some scholars argue that Matthew wrote his Gospel as a kind of manual for discipleship—a careful recounting of the words and works of Jesus so that the early church would know how to carry on his mission in his absence.43 By seeing how Jesus made disciples, second, third, fourth, and following generations of Christians would know how to make disciples of all nations.
Some scholars prefer locating the purpose of Matthew’s Gospel in the person of Jesus rather than the supposed needs of his readers. For example, not persuaded by the arguments for seeing Jesus as the “new Moses,” scholars think Matthew was trying to present Jesus as the embodiment of the Torah, of Wisdom, or of Yahweh himself.44 In other words, Matthew wrote his Gospel to present his Christology, his theological view of the significance of the person and work of Jesus. Some of the peculiarities of his gospel story may indicate an attempt to address some minor issues within the early church. But the main point—the motivating purpose—of Matthew’s Gospel was to present Jesus as the king of Israel for the sake of the whole world. Therefore, it shouldn’t surprise us that perhaps all of these distinctive features (fulfillment of Scripture, new Moses, new temple, son of David, way of righteousness, reclamation of Israel, mission to the gentiles) would appear in Matthew’s Gospel. For he was convinced that Jesus was the Christ, the Savior, the Immanuel, the Son of God. And he would use every argument, promise, prophecy, typology, and commandment to prove it.
How?
Matthew’s Gospel reveals significant intentionality. His literary work didn’t result from some haphazard arrangement of stories. Rather, like a careful craftsman Matthew fashioned his work in ways that reveal his purpose, a literary design intended to have a rhetorical effect on his readers. After all, from the start Matthew makes the claim that Jesus is “the Messiah the son of David, the son of Abraham” (Matt 1:1), and what follows is a persuasive argument meant to back up his claim. But it’s how he goes about proving the point—a narrative that weaves the story of Israel and Jesus into one fabric—that inspires readers to take notice of his literary genius. Matthew’s Gospel is brilliant, taking his audience on a journey that not only recounts certain events in the life of Jesus and his disciples but shows us why every episode, every teaching, every ironic twist and turn of the plot, every character, every conflict, and every bit of dialogue matters. It’s not just that Jesus shows great intention in everything he says and does; Matthew does too. There’s strategic symmetry in what he writes, clever literary devices to help readers connect the dots, significant structure to the narrative that makes you want to sit up and take notice. He wastes no words, often trimming away unnecessary details found in Mark’s account. There is no filler, no throwaway line, no empty scene intended only to carry the plot along its predestined path. Rather, a turn of phrase here and an ironic pun there, an echo of Israel’s past and a sign of things to come, a story coming full circle and a new narrative breaking through—in Matthew’s literary world promise and fulfillment are fused together to inspire readers to see things they’ve never seen before. The delight of discovery, the hope of recovered meaning, loose ends tied up, all things becoming new—Matthew inspires us to see and hear the kingdom Jesus lived and proclaimed in ways that were barely imaginable before we picked up the first Gospel. Indeed, the more you read and the more you hear, the more you want to lean in and watch everything that happened, not wanting to miss a single moment. For we know this story matters more every time we read it—the brilliant work of a Spirit-inspired literary artist who helps us truly see his subject, Jesus, the one who saves the whole world.
A painter with words, Matthew captures his subject with broad brushes, sweeping colors, and fine techniques intended to inspire his readers to get the big picture as well as pay careful attention to the details. Scholars have noticed an overall literary structure to Matthew’s Gospel, perhaps even complementing his theological purpose. For example, the teaching of Jesus appears to come in five blocks of material (Matt 5–7; 10; 13; 18; 24–25) reminiscent of the five books of the Torah. At the same time, the first two words of the first Gospel, biblos geneseōs (lit., “book of generation/genealogy,” Matt 1:1), sends the reader back to the first book of the Torah, Genesis, with its repeating refrain literally rendered, “This is the book of the generations of. . .” (Gen 2:4; 5:1; etc.).45 This isn’t a happy coincidence; both in its macrostructure and microsemantics, the literary design of Matthew’s Gospel signals to the observant reader how the story of Israel has been fulfilled in the story of Jesus. Matthew has made these connections, and he expects his readers to see the same significance. Of course, the fact that from the beginning Matthew holds his readers by the hand to help them correlate prophecy and fulfillment (Matt 2:5, 17, 23; 3:3; etc.) doesn’t diminish the more subtle approach he takes at times. Indeed, Matthew appears to have written for a variety of readers on several levels of familiarity with the Scriptures. Some need to be shown; others will see what is hidden—just like the kingdom of heaven. In other words, perhaps Matthew has learned well from his teacher; his literary technique mirrors the way Jesus taught his disciples and the crowds about the kingdom of God. Sometimes the gospel is proclaimed plainly; at other times it is only understood by those who have eyes to see it.
There are other ways that Matthew has stitched his Gospel together to reveal a literary pattern of meaning. Some scholars have noticed another macrostructure in the first Gospel where the transitional phrase “from that time on Jesus began to. . .” (Matt 4:17; 16:21) marks the two most important pivotal points in the unfolding plot. Consequently, we can see how Matthew develops the story according to a three-part outline: “(I) The Presentation of Jesus Messiah (1:1–4:16); (II) The Ministry of Jesus Messiah to Israel and Israel’s Repudiation of Jesus (4:17–16:20); (III) The Journey of Jesus the Messiah to Jerusalem and His Suffering, Death, and Resurrection (16:21–28:20).”46 Some have seen a geographical pattern to the story of the Christ, perhaps even intended to mirror the story of Israel: from Jerusalem, to Egyptian exile, back to the promised land to reconstitute Israel, from the northern kingdom (Galilee) to the southern kingdom (Judea).47 Others say the structure of Matthew’s Gospel simply derives from Mark’s chronology. There is nothing peculiar about Matthew’s overall arrangement of the narrative; he has simply enhanced Mark’s version of the gospel story.48 So, which is it? Did Matthew inherit Mark’s outline, or did our writer organize the story of Jesus according to another discernible pattern? To be sure, in certain places there are significant differences in the chronologies of Mark and Matthew, making Matthew’s Gospel even more difficult to outline. There are many different ways we could arrange the story according to a particular literary grid. Perhaps that’s the key: Matthew’s narrative is so complex, we shouldn’t be surprised to discover several literary maps embedded in the Gospel—a set of coordinates that help the reader determine where the story came from and where it’s going geographically, theologically, politically, and scripturally. Indeed, while reading the Gospel according to Matthew, readers well travelled in the narratives of Israel’s story often find themselves saying, “This reminds me of the time when Jacob . . . or Moses . . . or David or. . . .” This is a big story where several plotlines of the narrative of God and his people intersect at one, precipitous moment.
Matthew’s ability to draw his readers into the narrative world, helping us not only to see the kingdom of heaven coming to earth in the ministry of Jesus but also to experience it, moves us from being visitors to the gospel story to becoming participants in it. The transformation is subliminal. One minute, we’re reading about how Jesus fell asleep in the boat during an awful storm. Convinced they’re going to drown, fear overcomes the disciples as they try to roust the Lord. And, before we know it, we’re in the boat with them, wondering why Jesus could sleep at a time like this, only to hear his words as if he were speaking directly to us, “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?” (Matt 8:26).49 Or, when Jesus teaches his disciples, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (5:44), we realize, of course, that he was referring to the Romans.50 And yet, having joined the crowd on the mountain, listening to his compelling sermon, before long we take his words to heart as if he were discipling us. There are even times when Jesus seems to lift his eyes past the Twelve and take notice of us standing on the margins of the narrative. All of the sudden he appears to look directly at us to give comforting words for our time, our situation, and the challenges we face: “For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them” (18:20).51 This happens all the time. Even though we know Jesus gave specific instructions to the Twelve to reclaim the lost sheep of Israel, we act like his advice applies to us gentiles. Certainly we know he gathered the eleven to the mountain to give them authority to make disciples of all nations, but we accept the Great Commission as if it were our responsibility too. Indeed, Matthew sucks us into the narrative, telling his version of events like an eyewitness—a story so compelling we can’t help but be transported back in time, watching the miracles of Jesus, hearing the teaching of our Lord, acting like we are eyewitnesses too.52 That’s the literary effect of Matthew’s Gospel. As Jesus makes disciples of the Twelve, he ends up making disciples of us too because we have ears to hear and eyes to read the Gospel according to Matthew.
Matthew writes a very inclusive story, inviting his readers to find their place in the gospel.53 But he doesn’t just accomplish his purpose by telling engaging stories. He expands the temporal boundaries of the narrative to include events that will occur beyond the end of the Gospel (Matt 28:20), things that will happen in the reader’s future. For example, the open-endedness of the parousia of Christ points the reader to a future that includes not only the twelve disciples but also Matthew’s readers. “Because implied readers find themselves in a world that shares the same temporal boundaries as the narrative world of the Gospel (i.e., the time prior to the coming of the Son of Man), they can be said to be included in the narrative.”54 Readers get the sense of a divine ordering of time in the ministry of Jesus as the Christ—not only in prophecies fulfilled and promises realized in his person and work but also in the certainty of a future predicted by the one who fulfills all righteousness. In other words, because Matthew helps us see how Jesus finishes what the God of Israel started—the covenant with all of its blessings and curses—then readers can’t help but believe that those who follow Jesus will enter into the fulfillment of that everlasting covenant: the kingdom of heaven coming to earth. That’s why we read the Great Commission as if it were our own. Making disciples of all nations and teaching them to obey the commandments of Jesus—this fulfills all righteousness and therefore continues the mission of Jesus Christ to the end of the world when he returns and reigns on earth as he does in heaven.55 We are a part of the kingdom work of God that started with Abraham, was realized through Jesus Christ, and extends through those who follow him—even those who come after us. This is God’s doing. Therefore, we get the clear sense in Matthew’s Gospel that everything happens for a reason, even the unlikely death and resurrection of the Messiah, because the divine ordering of time reveals the sacred hand of God. And so as we read Matthew’s Gospel and follow Jesus, we realize we are living in that sacred time too.
That’s one of the reasons why, I think, Matthew loves to frame episodes with what scholars call an inclusio. It’s a way to bracket material, where the author marks the beginning and end of things in order to bring the reader along to see how God is at work. Matthew’s narrative world is an orderly world where God starts something and then finishes it, and Jesus is the incarnation of that divine work. And so, for example, scholars point to the clever way Matthew frames his entire Gospel with the idea of divine presence—that “God is with us” from the beginning to the end. In particular, the story begins with the angel’s promise that Jesus will “save his people from their sins” (Matt 1:21), bringing back the long-desired presence of God (vv. 22–23).56 Then the entire gospel story reveals how that happens in the ministry of Jesus; the kingdom of heaven invades the earth. Therefore, it comes as no surprise to the reader when Jesus promises his disciple-making followers that “surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age” (Matt 28:20). Jesus is Immanuel from start to finish.
There are other places where Matthew frames the narrative to help the reader see a divine ordering of things.57 One of my favorite examples of inclusio is when Jesus sends the Pharisees away with some homework. They need to learn a lesson from Hosea (Hos 6:6): “Go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners” (Matt 9:13). The problem was that Jesus had shared table with Matthew and his notorious friends (“tax collectors and sinners,” vv. 10–11). Of course, that such a teaching came from a prophet who was commanded by God to take back his adulterous wife as a lesson for Israel’s unfaithfulness must have left a bad taste in the mouths of these righteous teachers of the law. How could one keep the righteous requirements of the law and yet claim to follow the teaching of the great prophet Hosea? Well, the following episodes in Matthew’s narrative reveal how it can be done (9:14–12:6): true righteousness is revealed by mercy (questions about genuine repentance, touched by an unclean woman and touching a dead girl, healing the blind and mute who beg “have mercy on us,” reclaiming the lost sheep of Israel, the martyrdom of John the Baptizer, the invitation to unrepentant Galileans to come to Jesus, the disciples eating grain on the Sabbath). Consequently, when the Pharisees attack Jesus’s disciples for violating the Sabbath, he’s not surprised. They hadn’t done their homework, hadn’t learned the lesson: “If you had known what these words mean, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice,’ you would not have condemned the innocent” (12:7).58
Jesus knows what he’s doing. It’s because he knows who he is and, therefore, what he came to do. And, Matthew shows us why we should believe him. Jesus lives up to his name. He is the embodiment of “Yahweh saves.” By his death and resurrection, the fortunes of humanity were changed forever. Jesus is Immanuel, “God with us.” Wherever he goes, so goes the reign of God, pushing back malevolent forces, healing the sick, raising the dead, reclaiming the lost, overcoming evil with good, and bringing light to those who sat in darkness for a very long time. In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus even lives up to what the people claim about him. He is the Son of David, the Messiah, the prophet with great authority, a friend of tax collectors and sinners. Matthew enables us to see all these things clearly. And yet, at the same time, we realize that we have much to learn. That Jesus gave the Twelve the nickname “little faith” is enough to give us pause. Would we fare any better? Having eyes to see and ears to hear Matthew’s Gospel, we might offer the proper confession, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God” (Matt 16:16). But like Peter, we may be just as offended by the cross when it’s time to pick it up and follow our Lord. It’s one thing to listen to him reverently when he says to us, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it” (vv. 24–25). It’s quite something else to do it (7:24–27).59 Matthew shows us not only why we should, but how. For he was a man who also knew what he was talking about since he left everything to follow Jesus (9:9).
1. R. T. France, The Gospel of Matthew, NICNT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 1.
2. David E. Garland, Luke, ZECNT (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2011), 56.
3. See W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison Jr., The Gospel according to Saint Matthew, 3 vols., ICC (London: T&T Clark, 1988–97), 1:7–8.
4. Craig A. Evans, Matthew, NCBC (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 1–3.
5. Craig S. Keener, A Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 38–39; Craig L. Blomberg, Matthew, NAC (Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1992), 40.
6. Evans, Matthew, 2–3.
7. For a lengthy list of examples, see Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:85–87.
8. Blomberg, Matthew, 43–44.
9. Evans, Matthew, 3–4.
10. See Scot McKnight, The Sermon on the Mount, SGBC (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2013), 15–17.
11. Assuming a male author due to the male-dominant, first-century Mediterranean world.
12. See the summary of the internal evidence in Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:72–96.
13. For a brief list of characteristics of the implied reader, see Ulrich Luz, Matthew: A Commentary, trans. James E. Crouch, 3 vols., Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001–7), 1:15–16. For a helpful summary of the issues surrounding the identity of Matthew’s community, see J. K. Brown, “Matthew,” DJG 575–76.
14. Luz, Matthew, 1:16.
15. See Scot McKnight, “Matthew as ‘Gospel,’ ” in Jesus, Matthew’s Gospel and Early Christianity: Studies in Memory of Graham N. Stanton, ed. Daniel M. Gurtner, Joel Willitts, and Richard A. Burridge, LNTS 435 (London: T&T Clark International, 2011), 68.
16. See David B. Capes, Rodney Reeves, and E. Randolph Richards, Rediscovering Jesus: An Introduction to Biblical, Religious and Cultural Perspectives on Christ (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2015).
17. Graham N. Stanton, The Gospels and Jesus (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 6.
18. John Nolland, The Gospel of Matthew: A Commentary on the Greek Text, NIGTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 20.
19. See Stanton, Gospels and Jesus, 15–30.
20. See the article by R. A. Burridge, “Gospel: Genre,” DJG, 337–41.
21. “For Greek and Roman historians, the ideal eyewitness was not the dispassionate observer but one who, as a participant, had been closest to the events and whose direct experience enabled him to understand and interpret the significance of what he had seen” (Richard Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses: The Gospels as Eyewitness Testimony [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006], 9).
22. Keener, Matthew, 16–24.
23. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:127–28.
24. Ibid., 130.
25. See Keener, Matthew, 42–44; Evans, Matthew, 4–5; France, Matthew, 19.
26. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:131–32.
27. Nolland, Matthew, 16–17; Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:131.
28. See Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:133–38.
29. Keener, Matthew, 41.
30. Evans suggests that “the reference to ‘Syria’ sticks out like a sore thumb” (Matthew, 5).
31. For all the possibilities, see Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:138–47.
32. See Richard Bauckham, “For Whom Were the Gospels Written?,” in The Gospels for All Christians: Rethinking the Gospel Audiences, ed. Richard Bauckham (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 9–48.
33. Richard A. Burridge, “About People, by People, for People: Gospel Genre and Audiences,” in Bauckham, Gospels for All Christians, 131–44.
34. Ibid., 123–24.
35. For a helpful survey of the material unique to Matthew and how it may reveal his purpose, see James D. G. Dunn, Neither Jew nor Greek: A Contested Identity, Christianity in the Making 3 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015), 249–76.
36. See the relevant passages discussed in the commentary below, 97–98.
37. See the discussion in Luz, Matthew, 1:50–56.
38. Ibid., 1:50.
39. In all of these instances, see the discussion below, 46–48, 53, 57–58, 166–68.
40. Nolland, Matthew, 14–17.
41. Keener, Matthew, 42–44.
42. See the commentary below, 211–18.
43. See Dunn, Neither Jew nor Greek, 260–65.
44. See the brief description in Brown, “Matthew,” 580–81.
45. See below, 42–43.
46. Jack Dean Kingsbury, Matthew as Story, 2nd ed. (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 40.
47. France, Matthew, 3–7.
48. For further discussion, see Nolland, Matthew, 4–9, 23–29.
49. See below, 173–77.
50. See below, 117–19.
51. See below, 363–67.
52. Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses, 164.
53. Luz, Matthew, 1:11–12; 3:640.
54. David B. Howell, Matthew’s Inclusive Story: A Study in the Narrative Rhetoric of the First Gospel, JSNTSup 42 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 159.
55. See below, 564–68.
56. See below, 55–56.
57. For several examples, see Brown, “Matthew,” 573.
58. See below, 242–43.
59. See below, 154–56.