Yesterday, we focussed on “the slaughter of the innocents” which is commemorated in the Western Church on 28 December. Today, 29 December, is the day when this commemoration takes place in the Eastern Church.
This this potent story, full of pathos, is so resonant with events in the world in which we live today: people dying in invasions and wars; people fleeing, seeking refuge, in a safe place. Sadly, this part of the story has all but faded from view in “the Christmas story” that is recounted each Christmas. So here are some more thoughts—largely from the words written by contemporary hymn writers that tell this story.
There are clear words in these carols which show how the story challenges political values and policies and how it connects with the deepest feelings of human existence.
One contemporary hymn writer who has turned his attention to the story of Herod’s tyrannical rampage against the male children in Bethlehem, is the British Methodist, the Rev. Dr Andrew Pratt. Here is a powerful hymn which he has written about this story.
Another person who has worked well with words over many decades is the late Shirley Erena Murray, a Presbyterian from Aotearoa New Zealand. She was right on the money when she highlighted the violence and fear at the heart of the story, claiming that the infant in the story has “come to plead war’s counter-case”, and articulating the hope that “goodness will outclass the gun, evil has no tooth that can kill the truth.” Here’s her words:
Summer sun or winter skies, Christmas comes —
shepherds, angels, lullabies, words recorded by the wise:
read it in the book — take another look . . . .
Shadows track the hawk in flight, Christmas now —
children born in fire and fight, silent night a violent night,
hawks are in control of a nation’s soul.
There where terror plies its trade, Christmas now —
children learn to be afraid, minefields of distrust are laid,
evil is in force on a winning course.
Child of peace, God’s human face, Christmas now —
come to plead war’s counter-case, bring the dove a nesting place,
though her wings are torn, though her blood is drawn.
Winter skies or summer sun, Christmas comes —
still the threads of hope are spun, goodness will outclass the gun,
evil has no tooth that can kill the truth.
This ancient story resonates so strongly with our situation today, not because “it really happened, exactly like this”, but because (like a good myth does) it takes us to the centre of our humanity and reveals the depth of God’s presence in our midst. We ought to sing more about it!
Today (in the Western Church) is designated as the Feast of the Holy Innocents. (It is celebrated tomorrow in the Eastern Church.) This festival day commemorates a tradition known as “the slaughter of the Innocents”, reportedly ordered by King Herod. It’s a gruesome attachment to the story that is told in the Gospel of Matthew that begins, “now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way” (Matt 1:18).
The tradition is that when Herod learnt of the birth of “the King of the Jews”, he feared that this king would pose a threat to his own rule (as a client king under the Roman Empire) over the Jewish people. Herod, it is said, ordered that all male children under two years of age should be killed, to ensure that this rival king was safely despatched (Matt 2:16). Jesus survived this because after visitors “from the east” came from the court of Herod to pay tribute to him (2:11), his parents were advised of the imminent pogrom by an angelic visitation (2:13).
“The Massacre of the Innocents,” an 1824 painting by Léon Cogniet, held in the Musée des Beaux-Arts
The story is told only in Matthew’s Gospel. It is highly unlikely that the events reported by Matthew actually took place. First, his is the only account of such an event in any piece of literature from that time. An event with so many deaths would surely have been noted by other writers. It is true that Herod was a tyrannical ruler; but amongst the various accounts of his murderous deeds, there is nothing which correlates to the events reported in Matthew’s Gospel.
Second, the story is embedded in the opening section of the Gospel, which uses typical Jewish typology and scripture-fulfilment to present the story of Jesus as a re-enactment of the story of Moses. The author of Matthew’s Gospel, a follower of Jesus who had been raised as a faithful Jew, was especially partial in the opening chapters of his work to quoting scripture and claiming that events that he reports “took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet” (1:22–23).
The chief priests and scribes in the royal court, says this author, told Herod that Jesus had been born in Bethlehem, “for so it has been written by the prophet” (2:4–6); the flight into Egypt of Joseph, Mary, and their newborn child was “to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophets (2:15); the slaughter of the children itself “fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah” (2:17–18); and the return of the family some time later and their settling in Nazareth was “so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled” (2:21–23).
Aiding and abetting these notes of scripture fulfilment are other typical elements in the Jewish traditions of storytelling, namely, that the events as they take place are guided by the appearance of an angel in the dreams of Joseph (1:20–21; 2:13; 2:19) as well as direct guidance mediated by a dream of the visitors “from the east” (2:12) and again in a further dream of Joseph (2:22). The story that appears in Matt 1:18–2:23 would readily have been recognised by Jewish listeners as employing the typical elements and patterns of Jewish haggadicmidrash.
The book of Exodus also employed these elements and patterns. It opens in the time when “a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph” (Exod 1:8). This king, unnamed except for the designation of “Pharaoh”, feared the increasing numbers and growing power of the Israelites who been enslaved in Egypt for hundreds of years, determined that he would slow the rate of increase and lessen the power of the Israelites by decreeing, “every boy that is born to the Hebrews you shall throw into the Nile, but you shall let every girl live” (Exod 1:22).
It is in this context that Moses is born; he is hidden “among the reeds on the bank of the river” (Exod 2:1–4), and then taken home by the daughter of Pharaoh (Exod 2:5–9), adopted by her, and raised as a member of the royal household (Exod 2:10). The origin of the child is revealed to the readers (but presumably not to the Pharaoh) by his being named Moses, because, as Pharaoh’s daughter said, “I drew him out of the water” (Exod 2:10b).
The fact that a name conveys a deeper meaning has been found again and again in the traditional tales collated to form the narrative of Genesis: Adam reflects his creation “from the dust of the ground” (Gen 2:7), Eve’s name indicates that she is “the mother of all living” (3:20), Cain means “acquired” and is reflected in Eve’s comment that “I have produced [or acquired, qanah] a man with the help of the Lord” (4:1), and Abel is related to the Hebrew word for “emptiness” (havel).
Abram’s name is changed to Abraham, which means “leader [ab] of multitudes [raham]”, to signal the covenantal promise of the Lord God that “I will make you exceedingly fruitful; and I will make nations of you, and kings shall come from you … for an everlasting covenant, to be God to you and to your offspring after you” (17:4–6). The name of the aged, barren Sarai is changed to Sarah, meaning “she laughed” (17:15), to signal her incredulous response to the news that she will bear a child (18:9–15). The name of Ishmael literally means “God listens” (16:11) and that of Jacob means “he who supplants” (25:24–26); after his all-night struggle with a man at the ford of Jabbok (32:22–24), his name was changed to Israel, meaning “the one who strives with God” (32:28). Names are deeply significant!
So Moses means “drawn from water”, and Jospeh is given the message that his son is to be given the name that signifies his role, Jesus: “for he will save his people from their sins” (Matt 1:21). And the ancient tale of the slaughter of infants at the time of the birth of Moses is replicated at many points in Matthew’s account of the slaughter of infants at the time of the birth of Jesus (Matt 2:1–18). This later account simply fits the pattern of the earlier account, as this chart shows:
The parallels are very clear!
And just as the literary structure of each story runs in the same pattern, so also the “historical” similarities are clear. Just as there is no historical evidence beyond Exodus to corroborate that the story of the pogrom at the time of Moses took place, neither is there evidence beyond the Gospel of Matthew to corroborate the account found there. Both patterns of events were stories, tales told, not history recorded.
But these non-historical stories are important for theological reasons. The Moses story is part of the whole Exodus complex that provides the fundamental explanation for the identity of Israel. The Jesus story as Matthew presents it is part of the foundational myth of the Christian faith. The writer of Matthew’s Gospel wants to make strong correlations between Jesus and Moses, as the two key figures in their respective stories—and religious systems. This starts in the mythological account found in the opening chapters, and continues throughout the following chapters of the Gospel.
As myth, the tradition found in Matt 1—2 points to important truths. The Slaughter of the Innocents grounds the story of Jesus in the historical, political, and cultural life of the day. It provides a dreadful realism to a story which, all too often in the developing Christian Tradition, has become etherealised, spiritualised, and romanticised.
So we remember this story as an important pointer to the counter-cultural, alternative-narrative impact of the person of Jesus. It is not history, but it offers a powerful myth.
A traditional hymn which remembers this tradition is the Coventry Carol. This dates from the 16th century, when it was performed in Coventry, England, as a part of a mystery play entitled The Pageant of the Shearman and Tailors.
The single surviving text of this pageant (including the words of this carol) was published by one Robert Croo, who dated his manuscript 14 March 1534. The carol is in the form of a lullaby, sung as a poignant remembrance by the mother of a child who is doomed to die in the pogrom.
The Gospel for the first Sunday in the season of Christmas (Luke 2:41–52) tells a story found only in this Gospel. It is set when Jesus was twelve years old, and he goes missing on what Luke reports was an annual pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the Passover festival (Luke 2:41).
The canonical Gospels included very little at all about the childhood of Jesus: Mark and John have nothing at all, while Matthew leaps from the two-year Jesus to his adult years, and Luke has only a couple of stories about the infant Jesus in the temple—except for this passage, set twelve years later. Because of this absence of material about the childhood of Jesus, from the second century onwards, various works were produced which recounted tales of “the missing years” of the childhood of Jesus.
Some of these works focussed on expanding the story of the birth of Jesus. TheProtoevangelium of James, also known as TheInfancy Gospel of James, is a mid-2nd century work, which provides many more details than found in the canonical infancy narratives. It claims that Mary was a temple virgin who remained a virgin for her entire life. I have explored some of the content of this work in
The Infancy Gospel of Matthew, also known in antiquity as The Book About the Origin of the Blessed Mary and the Childhood of the Saviour, offers an expanded account of the Flight into Egypt (it is not known on what this is based), and an edited reproduction of The Infancy Gospel of Thomas. This work which bears Mary’s name in the alternative title is dated to the 8th century; it has been the basis for developing Catholic traditions about Mary which still hold sway in popular piety.
In The Infancy Gospel of Thomas, a Gnostic work of perhaps the late second century, elaborated stories about the childhood of Jesus are told. One writer has described it as “a flamboyant and entertaining account of Jesus as a little child growing up in his hometown”.
The most famous incident in this work is when Jesus created gives clay birds on the sabbath; when accused of breaking Torah by working on the sabbath, he clapped his hands and the birds came to life and flew away! (The story is retold in the Quran, 5.10.) But Jesus in this Gospel also curses other children and causes some of them to die.
The last story it tells is of the twelve year old Jesus in the Temple, which we know from Luke 2:41–52. In Luke’s version, the teachers of the Law heard Jesus and “they did not understand what he said to them” (Luke 2:50). In the version told in Thomas, in this place in the story there stands this interchange between Mary and the scribes and Pharisees: “‘Are you the mother of this child?’ She said ‘I am’. And they said to her, ‘Blessed are you among women because God has blessed the fruit of your womb. For such glory and such excellence and wisdom we have neither seen nor heard at any time.’” (Infancy 19:4).
Most manuscripts that we have of this Gospel are medieval, although a fragmented manuscript of this work, dated to the fifth century, is held by a German library. For a translation of the Infancy Gospel of Thomas from the medieval manuscripts , see http://www.gnosis.org/library/inftoma.htm
Other later texts that contain material on the childhood years of Jesus include The Syriac Infancy Gospel (sixth century?) and The History of Joseph the Carpenter (seventh century?). The earliest manuscripts we have for these works are medieval.
So the story that Luke includes, from the end of the childhood years of Jesus, is somewhat related to these non-canonical works, in that it reveals a curiosity about the earlier years of Jesus. Perhaps Luke includes this story to satisfy a little of that curiosity. However, Luke’s story is quite different from these non-canonical accounts, which inevitably are speculative, flamboyantly elaborated, and utterly unreliable as any form of historical evidence.
The story told by Luke relates to some central themes found throughout his two-volume work. A number of elements in the story point forward to themes that recur later in the Gospel.
First, the setting is the Temple (2:46). In the Lukan version of the story of Jesus, the Jerusalem Temple plays a significant role. His “orderly account of the things that have been fulfilled among us” begins in the temple in Jerusalem, where we meet faithful Jewish people, Zechariah and Elizabeth (Luke 1:8–22) and then Simeon and Anna (2:22–38). This is the only Gospel that refers to these figures.
In Luke’s account of the story of the testing of Jesus (Luke 4:1–14), the order of testings found in Matthew’s account is altered, so that the testing relating to the Jerusalem Temple is placed at the climactic point of the last testing (4:11–13).
A reconstruction of how the Temple may have looked in the time of Jesus, towards the end of the Second Temple period
At a crucial point during his ministry in Galilee, Jesus “sets his face” to go to Jerusalem (9:51). On the way towards Jerusalem, Jesus laments the fate that is in store for Jerusalem (13:33–35) and when he enters the city, he weeps over the city (19:41–44) and provides more prophetic words about their fate (21:20–24). Each of these passages is found only in this particular Gospel.
Once Jesus has arrived in the city, the narration of his arrest, trial, betrayal, sentencing, death and burial follows the pathways recounted in other canonical Gospels. However, the risen Jesus appears, not in Galilee (as in other versions), but only in the nearby town of Emmaus (24:28–32) and then in Jerusalem itself (24:33–49). The final sentence of this Gospel indicates a return to the location of the opening scene, as the disciples “were continually in the temple blessing God” (24:53; cf. Acts 1:8–9).
The Lukan focus is singularly on the early movement as it formed in Jerusalem (Acts 1—7, 12) before spreading out from Jerusalem into other regions. Indeed, Acts 1:8 provides a programmatic statement that prioritises Jerusalem amongst all locations. And the disciples are noted as being in the temple a number of times (Acts 2:46; 3:1: 4:1–2; 5:21, 42). Indeed, this is specifically commanded by an angel of the Lord, who said, “Go, stand in the temple and tell the people the whole message about this life” (Acts 5:20). The Temple is a highly significant location in this Gospel.
A second important feature that points ahead is the fact that Jesus is engaged in discussion with the teachers of Torah. When he was found, he was “sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions” (Luke 2:46). Discussion about Torah runs through Luke’s narrative, just as it had done in the Markan source that we presume he used (5:17–26; 6:1–5, 6–11; 10:25–37; 11:37–52; 12:1–3; 13:10–17; 14:1–6; 16:14–18; 18:18–30; 20:1–47).
A Torah scroll
Indeed, such is the vigour with which Jesus debates the teachers of Torah that “the scribes and the Pharisees began to be very hostile toward him and to cross-examine him about many things, lying in wait for him, to catch him in something he might say” (11:53–54). And then “the elders of the people” conspire with the Temple authorities to arrest Jesus (22:52) and bring him to trial (22:66), “vehemently accusing him” when he is brought before Herod (23:10) and pressing Pilate to sentence him to death (23:13–18).
However, all of this is far into the future as the twelve year old Jesus sits in the Temple, “sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions” (Luke 2:46). The response at this stage is positive and encouraging; Luke comments that “all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers” (2:47). The story thus points to the way that amazement will be the response of people later in Luke’s narrative when the adult Jesus teaches and heals (4:22, 36; 5:9, 26; 8:25; 9:43; 11:14).
A third element looking ahead to later in the Gospel occurs in the words spoken by Jesus. During this exchange in the Temple, the young Jesus speaks words of wisdom. “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house” (2:49) is the first example of many of the short, pithy sayings which Jesus speaks throughout the Gospel.
We know this kind of saying well: “the Son of Man is lord of the sabbath” (6:5), “do to others as you would have them do to you” (6:31), “wisdom is vindicated by all her children” (7:35), “let anyone with ears to hear listen!” (8:8), “my mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it” (8:21), “if any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me” (9:23), “whoever is not against you is for you” (9:50) … and so on. The words of Jesus in this story, “I must be in my Father’s house?” (2:49) prefigure this wise saying style of Jesus.
And the one small word “must” plays a key role at the centre of Luke’s theological explanation that all that takes place is integral to “the plan of God” (see esp. Acts 2:23 and Luke 7:30). (This was the topic for my PhD thesis, published as The plan of God in Luke-Acts, CUP, 1993; one whole chapter was devoted to the motif of divine necessity that is conveyed by this word and a cluster of terms used in Luke—Acts.)
What “must” take place is Jesus’s proclamation of the kingdom of God (Luke 4:43), the suffering of the Son of Man (9:22; 17:25), the necessary journey on the road to Jerusalem (13:34), and the inevitable occurrence of wars and insurrections (21:9), the flight from Jerusalem (21:20–21),, and the death of Jesus itself (22:36–37), followed by his being raised from the dead (24:7, 44–46). In Acts, this divine necessity continues to impel the activities of the apostles (Acts 4:19–20; 5:29) and of Paul (9:16; 14:22; 19:21; 23:11). All of this (and more) “must” take place.
Indeed, an alternative translation of Jesus’ words from the Greek, οὐκ ᾔδειτε ὅτι ἐν τοῖς τοῦ πατρός μου δεῖ εἶναί με; (and the translation that I prefer) is that he says “do you not know that I must be about the business of my Father?”. This rendering highlights how this verse performs a key programmatic function for the Gospel narrative as a whole, which tells of how Jesus carries out the business of his Father. That adds another depth to the significance of this passage.
Finally, what might we make of the fact that in this story Jesus was twelve years of age? Modern readers might connect this note with the fact that today, Jewish boys celebrate their bar mitzvah—a coming-of-age ritual—when they turn 13. (Jewish girls have a similar ceremony, a bat mitzvah.) So could this story about the 12 year-old Jesus somehow relate to his own bar mitzvah?
However, there is no reference to a bar mitzvah ceremony in the Hebrew Scriptures or the New Testament, nor in later rabbinic texts such as the Mishnah (3rd century) and the Talmuds (5th to 7th centuries). There is discussion in various medieval rabbinic texts that begins to develop the idea that such a ceremony was known; but as is always the case with rabbinic discussion, the discussions are subtle, complex, and not crystal clear to those not used to reading these kinds of texts.
My Jewish Learning places the first reference to a bar mitzvah in a fifth-century rabbinic text which references a blessing to be recited by the father thanking God for freeing him from responsibility for the deeds of his child, who is now accountable for his own actions. However, this is simply a prayer, not a full ritual ceremony. It then notes: “A 14th-century text mentions a father reciting this blessing in a synagogue when his son has his first aliyah [the “going-up” to the front of the synagogue to be blessed]. By the 17th century, boys celebrating this coming of age were also reading from the Torah, chanting the weekly prophetic portion, leading services, and delivering learned talks.”
So we should not read any magical significance into the age of Jesus in the story that Luke tells, other than it seems to mark a moment in the orderly account that Luke writes which reveals something of the character of Jesus at a time well before his public adult activity began. We can’t attribute any historical value to the story (the author of Luke’s Gospel was probably not even born at the time that this story was alleged to have taken place). But it does play an important role in the literary structure of the Gospel—it is a hinge between the infant Jesus and the adult Jesus—as well as offering some key theological elements in the understanding of Jesus that this Gospel develops.
Where are the women in the story we tell at Christmas? We know that there was “no room at the inn” for Mary and Joseph, as they prepared for the birth of their son, Jesus. But it seems that there is precious room in the story for women. Where are the women in this story?
There are lots of men in the “traditional” story that is retold and enacted every year: the faithful father-figure Joseph, the excited shepherds (presumably males?) coming in from the fields, the innkeeper at the place where “there was no room”, and of course the infant baby, a little boy. Then, the angel who makes appearances to announce the imminent births of John and Jesus is identified as Gabriel, another male.
There are the “three wise men”—well, it is usually presumed that they were men—travelling from the east and the evil tyrant Herod conferring with his male advisors (the chief priests and the scribes, more men) before ordering the slaughter of infant boys. There is the census ordered by the male ruler, Emperor Augustus, and implemented by the male Governor, Quirinius, throughout the region of Syria. All men. Where are the women?
Many-a-time the girls and women who take part in the “traditional” nativity scene that we re-enact each year have to don the costume of a male character, and perhaps at times a false beard, so that they “fit the part”. It’s another way that women become invisible in the story that is told—as is so often the case with stories in the Bible.
Of course, we know that the “traditional” nativity scene is a fiction—an invention of Francis, a medieval monk (another man) who collated the two Gospel accounts (both written by men) and then added additional elements on the basis of his own informed (male) imagination. We sing about that scene in carols written, largely, by men: Joseph Mohr (Silent Night), Philip Brooks (O little town of Bethlehem), Edmund Sears (It came upon the midnight clear), Cecil Alexander (Once in Royal David’s city), Nahum Tate (While shepherds watched their flocks), Charles Wesley (Hark! the herald angels sing), John Henry Hopkins (We three kings), John Mason Neale (Good King Wenceslas), and John Francis Wade (O come, all ye faithful). All men.
And as far as the tunes we sing are concerned, there are yet more men involved: Felix Mendelssohn (Hark! the herald angels), Henry John Gauntlett (Once in royal David’s city), William J. Kirkpatrick (Away in a manger), John Henry Hopkins (We three kings), and Richard Storrs Willis (It came upon a midnight clear). The origins of the tune for O come, all ye faithful is not known, although at different times it has been attributed to no less than seven different composers—all, of course, being men! (George Frederick Handel is the best-known of the possible, but unproven, composers.)
And at least until fairly recently, most people have sent Christmas cards to each other that have been developed largely by men. These cards were originally popularised by the Hallmark company that began life as the Norfolk Post Card Company, established in 1907 by J.C. Hall and his older brothers, William and Rollie—three more men.
Lots of men. But where are the women?
Yes, there are some women in the story. Mary, for a start; every birth story needs a mother, and mothers must be female, and so we have Mary. And then there is Elizabeth, a relative of Mary, who is included in the story that Luke tells. And, in a wonderful version of the Christmas tale that my wife uses regularly in Christmas worship services, the cranky innkeeper has a wife who does her best to look after the visitors and keep the peace. So there are some women, explicit, and implicit, in the story.
But there are more women who would have been involved in the events surrounding the birth of Jesus. For a start, Mary would have had assistance—female assistance—as she gave birth. Midwives were present at births in the ancient world; the story of Moses refers to the midwives in Egypt—and they are rare amongst women in biblical narratives in that their names are recorded: Shiphrah and Puah (Exod 1:15–22). Midwives are also noted in the birth narratives about Benjamin, whose mother Rachel sadly died giving birth (Gen 35:16–20) and the twin boys, Perez and Zerah, born to Tamar (Gen 38:27–30).
Prof. Carol Meyers, writing in the Jewish Women’s Archive, notes that “the presence of such a health care professional, called meyalledet (“one who causes, helps birth”), was probably routine in Israelite and pre-Israelite society”. She further notes that “the belief that god is the creator of life underlies the metaphor of God as a midwife, one of several female metaphors for God in the Hebrew Bible”, citing a line of a psalm addressing God as a clear example: “it was you who took me from the womb; you kept me safe on my mother’s breast” (Ps 22:9). Prof. Meyers astutely observes that “the status of midwives—and their power to transform childbirth from what might be a negative experience to a positive one—did not erode until the advent of modern, male-dominated medicine”. See
J.M. Hochstetler, writing about “Childbirth in Jesus’ Time”, has hypothesised further: “Midwives, skilled practitioners of their profession, were significant figures in ancient society who provided comfort, pain relief, and encouragement to the laboring woman. They performed rituals and prayers to protect her and her baby, used their expertise to deal with any complications that might arise, delivered the baby and the afterbirth, and supervised the mother and baby’s aftercare.” Commenting specifically on the birth of Jesus, she deduces that “Joseph would definitely have been excluded, nor would he have protested. Giving birth was the province of women, and men were happy to absent themselves.” See
So it is a reasonable assumption that a midwife would have been present at, and assisted in, the birth of Jesus to his mother Mary. Why is there not at least a midwife (if not also some assistants) present in the “traditional” nativity scene that we re-enact each year?
Another place in the story at which women would most surely have been present would have been in the house where Joseph and Mary were staying at the time of this birth. Despite what the “traditional” story portrays, it was most definitely not a case of Joseph knocking on the doors of all the hotels in town, only to discover that, because of the census, every one of them was filled to overflowing, and so they had to settle for “a room around the back” with the animals.
Luke gives a minimum amount of detail concerning the birth of Jesus, informing us that Mary “laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn” (Luke 2:7). The word translated as “inn” is the Greek word κατάλυμα (kataluma). This is relatively rare in the New Testament, but appears in many places in ancient Greek literature, where it usually refers to a guest chamber or lodging place in a private home. The same term appears in Luke 22:11 with the meaning “guest room,” and the verb derived from this noun appears in two other places (Luke 9:12; 19:7) where it means something like “find lodging” or “be a guest.”
Moreover, and by contrast, in the story of the Good Samaritan, when Jesus refers to the place where the injured traveller rests—clearly a commercial inn—a different word is used; it means an inn frequented by travellers is used (pandokian; see Luke 10:34). So Joseph and Mary were not looking for lodging in an inn; they were most likely hoping to find shelter with a member of their family in Bethlehem.
That would make sense, given what we know of ancient life; in Jewish society (indeed, in all ancient Mediterranean societies), hospitality was very important. Travel to a town where members of the extended family lived would usually mean staying with them. Unfortunately for the key figures in the “traditional” Christmas story, once they arrived in town they found many other family members had arrived before them. So there was no room in the kataluma, the guest house in the family member’s home.
Luke’s story probably suggests that Joseph and Mary were planning to stay at the home of friends or relatives; but the home where they arrived was so full, even the guest room was overflowing, and so they had to be housed with the animals in a lower in the lower part of the house. It was the custom to house animals in a special section of the house, and that, of course, would be where the manger was to be found.
But once Mary and Joseph were given that space to stay, they would have been accepted into the family for the duration of their stay. And that meant including them in the family meals. And guess who prepared the meals? That’s right—the women of the family! And we know from familiar biblical stories that it was the women of the household who prepared and served the meals. When three visitors arrive unexpectedly at the tent of Abraham near the oaks of Mamre, the text says that “Abraham hastened into the tent to Sarah, and said, ‘Make ready quickly three measures of choice flour, knead it, and make cakes’” (Gen 18:6).
The last chapter of Proverbs praises the “woman of valour” who runs her household with such efficiency. Amongst her many and varied responsibilities, this woman “rises while it is still night and provides food for her household” (Prov 31:15). Overseeing the kitchen was integral to the efficient running of the household. The story of Abigail feeding the troops of David while they were in the wilderness, fleeing from Saul’s men and seeking sustenance from her husband, Nabal, a rich Calebite (1 Sam 25), reveals the proficiency of women as they brought provisions for the troops: Abigail took “two hundred loaves, two skins of wine, five sheep ready dressed, five measures of parched grain, one hundred clusters of raisins, and two hundred cakes of figs” and sent them off to feed David and his men (1 Sam 25:18). Abigail was the overseer of quite an impressive domestic operation, if these figures are to be believed!
So in Luke’s Gospel narrative, when Jesus visits the home of Martha and Mary, it is usually understood that “all the work” that Martha is undertaking, without the expected assistance of Mary, involved the preparation and serving of a meal for Jesus and those travelling with him (Luke 10:38–42). The same undertakings would have been the work of the women in the house where Joseph and Mary were staying when she gave birth to Jesus. They would have fed the new parents and ensured that they were well provided for as they cared for the infant Jesus in his first few days. There are more women at this point in this story!
So we ought to remember that there were actually many more women in the story of the birth of Jesus: present at the birth and immediately after it, involved in the food preparation and sharing food at table as the wider family gathered together, ensuring that there was support for the parents of the newly-born child. And we should make space in the story for these important characters to be seen and heard. Let’s remember that, and act on it, next time we prepare to tell or act out the “traditional” Christmas story.
For the Fourth Sunday in Advent this year, the Narrative Lectionary moves from words of the ancient prophets, to words which are similarly prophetic, in a song sung by a young woman who discovers that she is pregnant. The lectionary suggests that we hear about the message delivered to this young woman, Mary, which tells about the child she would bear—the scene often called “the Annunciation”—followed by the song sung by the young, pregnant Mary—the song that is best known as “the Magnificat” (Luke 1:46b—55). On the Annunciation scene, see
(Magnificat is the first word of the Latin version of this song. It makes sense, does it not, for a song that Mary most likely sang in Aramaic, and which is known to us from a Greek text, to be given a Latin title??? Such is the power of the western Roman Catholic Church, whose liturgy was in Latin for many centuries.)
The writer of the Gospel of Luke places this song in a scene that takes place after the pregnant Mary travels to visit a town in the hill country of Judaea. Mary is in the house of Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth, an elderly relative of Mary, who is also pregnant with child (Luke 1:39–45). This scene is rich with scriptural resonances.
I
Providing the Magnificat as the Psalm for the week has a certain poetic justice. Although this is part of the New Testament, this hymn is certainly a song in the mode of the psalms, as they are found in the book of that name in Hebrew Scripture. Indeed, such psalms are found not only in the book of Psalms, but in other places in those scriptures. Songs in the manner of psalms are scattered throughout the stories of the lives of the people of Israel—including into the century we identify as “the first century” (CE).
Included in these psalms are some striking songs. The Song of Miriam and the Song of Moses, both sung after the crossing of the Red Sea, are psalms of thanksgiving (Exod 15:21, and 15:1–18), whilst the Song of Moses at the end of his life recounts the story of the people (Deut 32:1–43). The Song of Deborah celebrates the defeat of Sisera of Canaan (Judges 5), whilst there are two Songs of David outside the book of Psalms: a psalm of thanksgiving after a series of battles with the Philistines (2 Sam 22) and another thanksgiving psalm after the ark was set inside the Tabernacle in Jerusalem (1 Chron 16:8–36).
Some prophetic books include psalms, such as a psalm of Hezekiah after he had recovered from illness (Isa 38:9-20), a psalm sung by Jonah from the belly of the fish that had swallowed him (Jon 2:1–10), and a prayer of praise sung by Habakkuk (Hab 3).
And then, at the beginning of the story of Samuel, his mother, Hannah, offers a long prayer in the manner of psalms of thanksgiving (1 Sam 2:1–10). We heard this song just a few weeks ago, on the penultimate Sunday of Year B (Pentecost 33). This particular psalm is most important when we come to consider the song sung about a later prophet, Jesus, by his mother, Mary (Luke 1:46–55).
II
We know that Jesus is intensely Jewish in the Synoptic Gospels. The story about Jesus begins in the heart of Jewish piety, and continues apace within the life of the people of Israel through his lifetime.
The opening scene of the orderly account of the things fulfilled among us (Luke’s Gospel), set in Jerusalem in the Temple precincts, reveals a pair of righteous Jews who faithfully keep the commandments of God (Luke 1:5–6). The first person we meet, Zechariah the priest, is devoted to the service of God in the Temple (1:8–9).
His wife, Elizabeth, expresses an attitude of deep faith in God, accepting her surprise pregnancy as “what the Lord has done for me” (1:25). They are both described as “righteous before God” (1:6). Elizabeth’s relative, Mary, demonstrates a similar faith as she submits to a similar fate, bearing a child, with the words, “here am I, the servant of the Lord” (1:38).
In turn, the traditional hopes and expectations of the people are articulated in spirit-inspired hymns sung by Mary (1:46–55, known as the Magnificat), Zechariah (1:67–79, known as the Benedictus), and Simeon the righteous (2:29–32, known as the Nunc dimittis, or the Song of Simeon). These songs set the strongly Jewish tone of the opening chapters.
The key characters operate as people of deep faith. God’s Spirit is active in these scenes; Mary is “overshadowed” by the Spirit (1:35), whilst Zechariah and Elizabeth are both “filled” with the Spirit (1:41, 1:67). Simeon is “righteous and devout” (2:25); the Spirit “rested on him” (2:25), then “revealed to him” the words he then speaks (2:26) before “guiding him … into the temple” (2:27).
This is the same Spirit that has been active since the moment of creation (Gen 1:2), that was breathed into human beings (Gen 2:7), and that infuses every one of the creatures brought into being in God’s wonderful creation (Ps 104:24–30). It is this Spirit that has endowed individuals with leadership (Exod 31:2–3; Num 11:25–26; Deut 34:9; and a number of judges) and which has inspired prophets to proclaim the word of the Lord (Isa 61:1; Ezek 2:2; Joel 2:28–29).
Mary stands in the long Jewish tradition of female singers. The story of the Exodus culminates in the short song sung by Miriam (Exod 15:21). Other females singing songs of salvation at key moments in the story include Deborah (Judges 5:1–31), Hannah (1 Sam 2:1–10), and Judith (Judith 16:1–17). These are the victory songs of the oppressed.
The two scenes involving Hannah and Mary have a number of parallels. The language and the events resonate with each other across the centuries. It seems to me that the author of this orderly account (by tradition, Luke) is well-read and very capable in his writing style. This whole section is shaped to read like a Hebrew Scripture narrative. So, in my understanding of Luke 1–2, the author has been influenced by the story of Hannah as he tells the story of Mary.
Indeed, we note this in the way the two songs begin. Hannah commences by singing out “my heart exults in the Lord; my strength is exalted in my God” (1 Sam 2:1). This is deliberately echoed in Mary’s song, where she begins “my soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour” (Luke 1:46).
Hannah describes God as the Holy One (2:2) and the Most High (2:10). Holy One is a term applied to God in the Writings (Ps 71:22; 78:41; 89:18; Prov 9:10; Job 6:10; Sir 4:14; 23:9; 53:10; 47:8; 48:20) and by the Prophets (Is 1:4; 5:19, 24; and a further 24 times; Jer 50:29; Ezek 8:13; Hos 11:9, 12; Hab 1:12; 3:3). Of course, Holiness was a central element of piety in ancient Israel, exemplified by the Holiness Code of Leviticus (Lev 11:44–45; 19:2; 20:7–8; see also Deut 7:6; 14:2, 21; 28:9). The followers of Jesus are instructed to consider themselves as God’s holy people (1 Cor 3:17; 6:19; Eph 5:25–27; Col 1:22; 3:12; Heb 3:1; 1 Pet 1:13–16; 2:5, 9) and to live accordingly.
Most High is also a very common way that God is described and addressed—23 times in the Psalms (Ps 7:17; 9:2; 18:13; etc) and a number of times elsewhere (Gen 14:17–24; Num 24:16; Deut 32:8; 1 Sam 2:10; 2 Sam 22:14; Isa 14:14; Lam 3:35, 38; Dan 3:26; 4:2, 17, 24, 25 and more; Hos 11:7; and also Wis Sol 5:15; 6:3; and 45 times in Sirach—4:10; 7:9, 15; 9:15, etc). It appears as a description of God in early Christian writings (Mark 5:7; Luke 1:32, 35, 76; 6:35: 8:28; Acts 7:48: 16:17).
Mary uses a similarly-familiar term, the Mighty One (1:49), which also is a biblical name for God (Gen 49:24; Ps 45:3; 50:1: 52:1; 132:2, 5; Isa 1:24; 49:26; 60:16; Sir 46:5–6, 16; 51:12), and then she goes on to affirm, “holy is his name”, alluding directly to the title of Holy One that Hannah has used.
Hannah’s declaration that “my strength is exalted in my God” (2:1) is echoed in Mary’s affirmation that “he has shown strength with his arm” (1:51). That strength is demonstrated in a series of claims made by Mary, regarding the proud, the powerful, and the rich, in contrast to the lowly and the hungry (1:51–53).
The clear juxtaposition of these categories, and God’s obvious preference for the latter group, is another way in which Mary’s song echoes and replicates Hannah’s song. Hannah’s “he brings low, he also exalts” (2:7) is expanded by Mary, “he has brought down the powerful, he has lifted up the lowly” (1:52). “He raises up the poor from the dust, lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes and inherit a seat of honour” (2:8) is reworked by Mary into her note that God “has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty” (1:53).
In these ways, it is clear that the righteous-justice desired by God for the people of God will in fact be evident; “the Lord will judge the ends of the earth” (2:10), sings Hannah; “he has helped his servant Israel in remembrance of his mercy” (1:54) is how Mary sings it. Both justice and mercy are fundamental aspects of the being of God which are worked out in the ways that God engages with the people of Israel. God is envisaged and experienced in the same way in each of these songs. The God of Hannah continues to be the God of Mary. These two songs strongly confirm that reality.
IV
What Hannah is celebrating is that God will be at work in the events of her time. In particular, despite her barren state (1 Sam 1:2, 5–8), Hannah prayed regularly for a son (1 Sam 2:10–18) and was blessed with just such a child: “in due time Hannah conceived and bore a son” (1 Sam 2:20, 27). Likewise, what Mary anticipates is that God will demonstrate the ongoing fulfilment of the promises made to Israel in the birth of her child given to her, despite her state as a virgin (Luke 1:27, 34).
Both newborn sons are dedicated to the Lord: Hannah’s son was dedicated as a nazirite (1 Sam 2:11, 22, 24–28), Mary’s son is recognised as the one who will have “the throne of David given to him” and who will “reign over the house of Jacob forever” (Luke 1:32–33). The son of Hannah is dedicated in “the house of the Lord at Shiloh” (1 Sam 2:24); the son of Mary is circumcised (Luke 1:21) and then taken “to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord” (Luke 1:22). The two stories mirror each other in the same way that the two songs run in parallel to each other.
So Mary affirms that “all generations will call me blessed” (1:48), in the same way that Leah exclaimed, “blessed am I! for the women will call me blessed” (Gen 30:13). Her song ends with the claim that the promise being fulfilled is made “to Abraham and to his descendants forever” (1:55), evoking the prayer of David, that the Lord “shows steadfast love to his anointed, to David and his descendants forever” (2 Sam 22:50). The exalting of the anointed is also noted at the very end of the song sung by Hannah (1 Sam 2:10).
V
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor and theologian who was executed by the Nazis, declared that the Magnificat, this song of Mary, “is at once the most passionate, the wildest, one might even say the most revolutionary advent hymn ever sung. This is not the gentle, tender, dreamy Mary whom we sometimes see in paintings … This song has none of the sweet, nostalgic, or even playful tones of some of our Christmas carols. It is instead a hard, strong, inexorable song about the power of God and the powerlessness of humankind.” (From a sermon during Advent on December 17, 1933; see http://cdn.bakerpublishinggroup.com/processed/esource-assets/files/1780/original/8.40.Luke_1.46-55__The_World%27s_First_Advent_Hymn.pdf?1524151427)
Martin Luther echoed Mary’s perspective when he declared, “the mightier you are, the more must you fear; the lowlier you are, the more must you take comfort.” Pope John Paul II noted the scholarly view that this song, as well as the songs by Zechariah and Simeon, are songs of the anawim (the faithful poor), whose songs offer “glorious praise of God … thanksgiving for the great things done by the Mighty One, the battle against the forces of evil, solidarity with the poor and fidelity to the God of the Covenant” (in a general audience on Psalm 149 on Wednesday 23 May 2001; see https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/audiences/2001/documents/hf_jp-ii_aud_20010523.html)
Sister Elizabeth Johnson sums it up well,
“The Magnificat is a revolutionary song of salvation whose political, economic, and social dimensions cannot be blunted. People in need in every society hear a blessing in this canticle. The battered woman, the single parent without resources, those without food on the table or without even a table, the homeless family, the young abandoned to their own devices, the old who are discarded: all are encompassed in the hope Mary proclaims”.
For the Fourth Sunday in Advent this year, the Narrative Lectionary moves from words of the ancient prophets, to words which are similarly prophetic, in a song sung by a young woman who discovers that she is pregnant. The lectionary suggests that we hear about the message delivered to this young woman, Mary, which tells about the child she would bear—the scene often called “the Annunciation”—followed by the song sung by the young, pregnant Mary—the song that is best known as “the Magnificat” (Luke 1:46b—55).
The orderly account of the things coming to fulfilment (which we know as the Gospel of Luke) tells us much more about the beginnings of Jesus (his conception, birth, and early days) than the other Gospels. The passage offered by the Narrative Lectionary for this Sunday, the Fourth Sunday in Advent this year, is one such passage.
The announcement that is being made in this scene, is to Mary, informing her that she will bear a child. Mary responds dramatically to this news. She is perplexed, amazed; she is a virgin. “How can this be?”, she asks. A messenger from God informs her, though, that impossibilities are now becoming realities. Indeed, her aged, barren cousin is now pregnant, and Mary will find herself bearing a child—but no ordinary a child; a child “who will be holy, who will he called Son of God”. Now that is really out of the ordinary!
We learn all of this through the “reporting” of a dialogue between the two characters, mother-to-be Mary, and the angel Gabriel. The dialogue isn’t an actual transcript of what took place—indeed, there is no way that the author of this Gospel could have been present to listen and remember.
Instead, the scene is based on the typical dialogue scene that we find at many places in Hebrew Scriptures. And it comes hard on the heels of a similar encounter, another dialogue scene, reported earlier in this chapter (Luke 1:5-22). The earlier dialogue involved an older man, Zechariah (although this dialogue ends up with Zechariah being completely mute); the next scene involves a young woman (who holds her own in the dialogue, as we shall see).
The dialogue proceeds, just as we would expect: he said, then she said; then he said, and so she said. He, of course, is the angel Gabriel. She is Mary, at this time identified simply as “a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph” (1:27).
Jews knew about the angel Gabriel from his appearances to Daniel (Dan 8:15-17, 9:21). He appeared to Daniel at the time of prayer (Dan 9:21)—presumably this is the same angel who had earlier appeared to Zechariah, in Jerusalem, at a time of prayer (1:10-11).
If this is indeed the same angelic person who appeared to Daniel (and to Zechariah, and Mary), then he was quite a sight; Daniel describes Gabriel as “a man clothed in linen, with a belt of gold from Uphaz around his waist. His body was like beryl, his face like lightning, his eyes like flaming torches, his arms and legs like the gleam of burnished bronze, and the sound of his words like the roar of a multitude.” (Dan 10:5-6).
Such an appearance would undoubtedly evoke fear. Indeed, before Gabriel even speaks to him, Zechariah is said to have been “terrified, and fear overwhelmed him” (Luke 1:12), as also was Daniel (Dan 8:17), who says that “my strength left me, and my complexion grew deathly pale, and I retained no strength”, before he fell in a trance to the ground (Dan 10:8-9).
So the words of the angel, in both scenes, seek to meet this understandable response. “Do not be afraid”, he says to Zechariah (1:13) and also to Mary (1:30). This is what angels do; this is how they greet people: “do not be afraid” (see Gen 15:1, 26:24; 2 Kings 1:15; Dan 10:9). Zechariah’s fear had gripped him before he spoke a word, but Mary had the presence of mind, before the angel spoke these words, to reflect on what she was experiencing.
The dialogue begins when Gabriel greets Mary (1:28) and informs her that she was favoured (the word comes from the Greek word charis, which means grace or favour, and becomes a key theological term in early Christianity). Mary is described as being “much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be” (1:29).
He then says, as we have noted, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favour with God.” That is followed by a declaration of the name of the child: “you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus” (1:31). This is parallel to the declaration made to Zechariah: “your prayer has been heard; your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John” (1:13).
This follows the same pattern in scriptural stories when divinely-favoured women are told they will give birth, and they name of their child: Hagar, mother of Ishmael (Gen 16:11), Sarah, mother of Isaac (Gen 17:19), Gomer, the wife of Hosea and mother of three children (Hosea 1:4,6,9); and see also the moment of naming for Leah, mother of Asher (Gen 30:13), the unnamed mother of Samson (Judges 13:24), and Hannah, mother of Samuel (1 Sam 1:20).
The angel continues: “He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David; he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end” (1:32-33). The Davidic ancestry of Jesus was an important claim for the early Christians. It was cited in early literature as a key element (Luke 2:4; John 7:42; Rom 1:3; 2 Tim 2:8; Rev 5:5, 22:16; see more on this at https://johntsquires.com/2019/12/19/descended-from-david-according-to-the-flesh-rom-1/).
In response to this good comeback, Gabriel responds with a number of significant points. First, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.” This statement references three central scriptural elements.
The Holy Spirit is understood to be active throughout the story of Israel: at the moment of creation (Gen 1:1-2), bringing all creatures into being (Ps 104:30), in equipping specific leaders (Exod 31:2-3; Num 11:25, 26; Deut 34:9; Judges 3:9-10, 6:34, 11:29, 13:25; 1 Sam 10:6, 10, 11:6, 16:13, 2 Sam 23:2; 2 Kings 2:9, 15), by inspiring the prophets (Isa 61:1: Ezekiel 2:2; Joel 2:28-29), and in the servant of the Lord (Isa 42:1). Mary here stands with others early in Luke’s story who experience the Holy Spirit coming upon them (John, 1:15; Elizabeth, 1:41; Zechariah, 1:67; Simeon, 2:25-26); and, of course, Jesus himself is filled with the Spirit (3:22; 4:1).
Holiness was a central element of piety in ancient Israel; the holy God called a holy people to live in covenant with him, and exhibit holiness in every aspect of life (Lev 11:44-45, 19:2, 20:7-8; Exod 19:6; Deut 7:6, 14:2, 21, 28:9). Following from this prophetic word to his pregnant mother, the adult Jesus was indeed known as “the holy one” (Mark 1:24; Luke 4:34; John 6:69; Acts 3:14, 13:35).
“Son of God” was also a phrase derived from older traditions; the king was regarded as God’s son (Ps 2:7; 2 Sam 7:14), commencing with David (Ps 89:26-28), and Israel as a whole was regarded as God’s son (Exod 4:22: Jer 31:9, 20). It is applied to Jesus with regularity in his adult life (Luke 4:3,9,41; 8:28; 22:70; Acts 9:20; John 1:34,49; 11:4,27; 19:7; 20:31) as well as in early confessions of faith (Rom 1:4; 2 Cor 1:19; Gal 2:20; Eph 4:13; Heb 4:14; 6:6; 10:29; 1 John 3:8; 4:15; 5:5; Rev 2:18).
Then, Gabriel tells Mary, “your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren” (1:35). The Hebrew Scriptures offer accounts of women thought unable to bear a child, being visited by an angel and gifted a child by God, such as Sarah (Gen 11:30), Rebekah (Gen 25:21), and the woman who bore Samson (Judges 13:3). This blessing from God is celebrated by the psalmist (Ps 113:9) and the prophet (Isa 54:1).
Gabriel’s final words are “nothing will be impossible with God” (1:35-36). This also is a biblical phrase; see Zechariah 8:6, and note also Gen 18:14 and Job 42:2.
Finally, to end the conversation, Mary concludes, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word” (1:38). She accepts what is in store for her. Traditional Christianity has highlighted this element in the story; Mary becomes the humble, self-effacing, obediently submissive, thoroughly passive figure of traditional Catholic piety.
This overlooks the fact that “here am I” was a standard response to a commission from God, spoken by faithful and fearless prophets, Moses (Exod 3:4), Samuel (1 Sam 3:4), Isaiah (Isa 6:8), Trito-Isaiah (Isa 65:1), and Jeremiah (Jer 26:14), as well as the psalmist (Ps 40:7), and the patriarchs, Abraham (Gen 22:1), Esau (Gen 27:1), Jacob (Gen 31:11 and 46:2). It is also the response of Ananias in Damascus to a vision of the Lord (Acts 9:10). Mary is here accepting a challenging divine commission, and pledging her commitment to the task. It is an activist’s response!
The interpretation of Mary as passive, humble, submissive and obedient also overlooks the feisty nature of Mary’s interchange with Gabriel, as we have traced it. And this feisty nature, with its prophetic focus and clarity, is made clear just a few verses later, as Mary sings in praise of God (1:39-45). In this song, she makes it clear that she is up for the task, that she has the vision of what God is doing in Jesus, that she is fully subscribed to working for the righteous-justice of God in the lives of her people!
The many scriptural resonances, both in that song (known as the Magnificat) and in the scene of the Annunciation, indicate that Mary is to be understand within the stream of prophetic figures in Hebrew Scripture. She was a force to be reckoned with!
The scene of the Annunciation closes with the brief note, “the angel departed from her” (1:38). The angel had left; but the consequences of this announcement would stay with Mary, through the coming months of her pregnancy and the birth of the child; and through the coming years, of his growth through childhood, his adulthood, and the tragic events of betrayal, trial, crucifixion and death.
Mary knew, from the start, of the significance of this child (at least as Luke tells in his orderly account). And what did Mary know, of the stories that were later told, that he proclaimed the kingdom, healed the sick, cast out demons, and had even been raised from the dead? And how did she speak of him, then?
For this coming Sunday, the Narrative Lectionary is offering a very familiar passage from Third Isaiah, that part of the long book of Isaiah that is usually dated to a time when the exiles were returning from Babylon and re-establishing life in Jerusalem and the surrounding area. The passage (Isa 61:1–11) is best known within Christianity as providing the key elements for the manifesto that Jesus—at least in Luke’s Gospel—sets out to follow.
Luke reports that Jesus quotes the opening verse of this oracle when he attends the synagogue in his hometown of Nazareth and was invited to read from the scroll of Isaiah (Luke 4:16–20). Most famously, Luke places the opening verse of the prophet on the lips of Jesus, and the first line of verse 2—but then stops short of quoting what follows, regarding “the day of vengeance of our God” and the mourning that will be associated with the mixed emotions of returning to a devastated city and engaging in the rebuilding programme: “they shall build up the ancient ruins, they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations” (Isa 61:4).
The passage offered by the lectionary needs to be seen, primarily, within the context in which it was first spoken. The third section of the book of Isaiah (chapters 56–66) has begun with a familiar prophetic announcement: “maintain justice, and do what is right, for soon my salvation will come, and my deliverance be revealed” (Isa 56:1). As the people of Judah were returning to their land, to the city of Jerusalem (from the 520s BCE), the book sets out what this justice will look like through a series of powerful oracles.
The prophet sounds a vivid counter-cultural note in the midst of the events of his time. He begins with the promise to foreigners and eunuchs that “I will give, in my house and within my walls, a monument and a name better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name that shall not be cut off” (Isa 56:5). This is a striking contrast to the narrative provided in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah, which tell of the return to the city, the rebuilding of the walls, the renewal of the covenant and the public reading of the Law, the rededication of the Temple—and actions designed to remove foreigners (especially women) from within Israel (see Ezra 10; Neh 13).
Ezra and Nehemiah exhibited a zealous fervour to restore the Law to its central place in the life of Israel. Ezra, learning that “the holy seed has mixed itself with the peoples of the lands” (Ezra 9:2), worked with “the elders and judges of every town” to determine who had married foreign women; the men identified “pledged themselves to send away their wives, and their guilt offering was a ram of the flock for their guilt” (Ezra 10:19). (So much for the importance of families!)
Nehemiah considered that this project to “cleanse [the people] from everything foreign” (Neh 13:30) was in adherence to the command that “no Ammonite or Moabite should ever enter the assembly of God, because they did not meet the Israelites with bread and water, but hired Balaam against them to curse them” (Neh 13:1–2; see Num 22—24). The restoration of Israel as a holy nation meant that foreigners would be barred from the nation.
The oracle at the start of the third section of Isaiah stands in direct opposition to this point of view; “the foreigners who join themselves to the Lord … and hold fast my covenant—these I will bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer; their burnt offerings and their sacrifices will be accepted on my altar; for my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples” (Isa 56:6–7).
Jesus, of course, quoted this last phrase in the action he undertook in the outer court of the Temple (Mark 11:17). Later, the welcome offered to the Ethiopian court official by Philip, who talked with him about scripture and baptised him, a eunuch (Acts 8:26–38), is consistent with the prophetic words, “to the eunuchs who keep my sabbaths, who choose the things that please me and hold fast my covenant, I will give them an everlasting name that shall not be cut off” (Isa 56:4–5). (From the earliest days, the church practised an inclusive welcoming of diversity that was consistent with this prophetic declaration.)
Other words in this last section of Isaiah also resonate strongly with texts in the New Testament. The ingathering of the outcasts (56:8) and the flocking of all the nations to Zion (60:1–18) together are reflected in the prediction of Jesus that “this good news of the kingdom will be proclaimed throughout the world, as a testimony to all the nations; and then the end will come” (Matt 24:14).
The statement that those coming from Sheba “shall bring gold and frankincense, and shall proclaim the praise of the Lord” (60:6) most likely informed the story that Matthew created, concerning the wise ones from the east who came to see the infant Jesus and “offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh” (Matt 2:11).
Further oracles set out exactly what the justice that God desires (56:1; 61:8) looks like. The extensive worship of idols (57:1–13) will bring God’s wrath on the people; “there is no peace, says my God, for the wicked” (57:13). Rather, “the high and lofty one who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy” chooses “to revive the spirit of the humble and to revive the heart of the contrite” (57:15).
Because God indicates that “I will not continually accuse, nor will I always be angry” (57:16), the prophet conveys what the Lord sees as the fast that is required; not a fast when “you serve your own interest on your fast day, and oppress all your workers” (58:3), but rather, a fast “to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke … to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin” (58:6–7). These words resonate with the actions of “the righteous” in the well-known parable of Jesus, as they gave food, water, a welcome, clothing, and care to those sick or imprisoned (Matt 25:31–46).
The prophet laments that “there is no justice … justice is far from us … we wait for justice, but there is none … justice is turned back … the Lord saw it, and it displeased him” (59:8–15); he declares that, as a consequence, God “put on righteousness like a breastplate, and a helmet of salvation on his head; he put on garments of vengeance for clothing, and wrapped himself in fury as in a mantle” (59:17)—a description that underlines the later exhortations to the followers of Jesus to “put on the whole armour of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil” (Eph 6:10–17).
Because the Lord “loves justice” (61:8), the prophet has been anointed “to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour, and the day of vengeance of our God” (61:1–2)—words which are appropriated by Jesus when he visits his hometown and reads from the scroll of Isaiah (Luke 4:18–19); “today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing”, Jesus declares (Luke 4:21).
Adhering to this way of justice, practising the fast that the Lord desires, means that he will give Israel a new name: “you shall no more be termed Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate; but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her, and your land Married; for the Lord delights in you, and your land shall be married” (Isa 62:4). We have already seen the symbolic significance of names in considering the prophet Hosea and in Isaiah 8.
By contrast, vengeance will be the experience of Edom; using the image of trampling down the grapes in the wine press, the prophet reports the intention of God: “I trampled down peoples in my anger, I crushed them in my wrath, and I poured out their lifeblood on the earth” (63:1–6). So vigorously does God undertake this task, that he is attired in “garments stained crimson” because “their juice spattered on my garments and stained all my robes” (63:1–3). Once again, the prophet speaks in graphic terms.
Confronted with this display of wrath and vengeance, the prophet adopts an attitude of penitence, yearning for God to “look down from heaven and see, from your holy and glorious habitation” (63:15). His plea for the Lord to “tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence—to make your name known to your adversaries, so that the nations might tremble at your presence!” (64:1–2) must surely have been in the mind of the evangelists as the reported the baptism of Jesus, when he “saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him” (Mark 1:10).
The book ends with a sequence in which the prophet reports the words of the Lord which indicate that Israel will be restored (65:1–16), followed by the statement that the Lord is “about to create new heavens and a new earth” (65:17–25; 66:22–23).
This vision is taken up and expanded in the closing chapters of the final book of the New Testament (Rev 21:1–22:7). The closing vision of Trito-Isaiah incorporates a number of references to earlier prophetic words: building houses and planting vineyards (65:21) recalls the words of Jeremiah (Jer 29:5–7); the image of wolves lying with lambs and lions “eating straw like the ox” recalls the vision of Isaiah (Isa 11:6–7).
The promise that “they shall not hurt or destroy all on my holy mountain” (65:25) recalls that same vision of Isaiah (Isa 11:9), whilst the next promise about not labouring in vain nor bearing children for calamity (65:23) reverses the curse of Gen 3:16–19. The story of creation from the beginning of Genesis is evoked when the Lord asserts that “heaven is my throne and the earth is my footstool … all these things my hand has made” (66:1–2); these are the words which Stephen will quote back to the council in Jerusalem (Acts 7:48–50) and will lead to his death at their hands.
Even to the very end of this book, the judgement of the Lord is evident; the prophet declares that “the Lord will come in fire, and his chariots like the whirlwind, to pay back his anger in fury, and his rebuke in flames of fire; for by fire will the Lord execute judgment, and by his sword, on all flesh; and those slain by the Lord shall be many” (66:15–16).
Nevertheless, the glory of the Lord shall be declared “among the nations” (66:19) and “they shall bring all your kindred from all the nations as an offering to the Lord” (66:20). The universalising inclusivism that was sounded at the start of this prophet’s work is maintained through into this closing oracle. In “the new heavens and the new earth which I will make … all flesh shall come to worship before me, says the Lord” (66:22–23). The vision lives strong!
This coming Sunday, the lectionary offers two choices for the First Reading. One option, following on from the First Reading last Sunday (from Jeremiah 33) is the last chapter in the book of Baruch, a short book bearing the name of the Baruch who served as a scribe to Jeremiah. The book is included in the canon in Roman Catholic and Orthodox churches, but not in Reformed churches—and also not in Judaism.
The passage (Bar 5:1–9) invites the exiles from Jerusalem to “put off the garment of your sorrow and affliction … and put on forever the beauty of the glory from God” (Bar 5:1), to celebrate that “God will lead Israel with joy, in the light of his glory, with the mercy and righteousness that come from him” (Bar 5:9). It’s a joyful song that is quite appropriate for the season of Advent, as we prepare for the joyous celebrations—both sacred and secular—of the Christmas season.
The alternative offering comes from the book of the prophet Malachi (3:1–4). The passage is obviously proposed because of correlates with the Gospel passage, in which John the Baptist declares that he comes to prepare for the coming of Jesus. “See, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me”, Malachi quotes the Lord as saying. “He is like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap; he will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver”, Malachi declaims, providing a description that correlates well with the fiery declarations made by John.
Malachi was active after the Babylonian Exile; the city and temple had been fully restored and worship was now active in the temple. In this context, Malachi called the people to repentance, starting with the priests, whom he attacks for their corruption (1:6–2:9); “the lips of a priest should guard knowledge, and people should seek instruction from his mouth, for he is the messenger of the Lord of hosts; but you have turned aside from the way; you have caused many to stumble by your instruction; you have corrupted the covenant of Levi, says the Lord of hosts” (2:8–9).
He then turns to the religious profanity of the people; “Judah has been faithless, and abomination has been committed in Israel and in Jerusalem; for Judah has profaned the sanctuary of the Lord, which he loves, and has married the daughter of a foreign god” (2:11), and instructs them to “take heed to yourselves and do not be faithless” (2:16). God threatens punishment in graphic terms: “I will rebuke your offspring, and spread dung on your faces, the dung of your offerings, and I will put you out of my presence” (2:3).
In the passage that is proposed for this coming Sunday, Malachi then looks to the coming of a messenger from God (3:1) who will bring judgment “like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap; he will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, until they present offerings to the Lord in righteousness” (3:2–3).
He then identifies a range of ways by which social inequities are practised; God threatens, “I will be swift to bear witness against the sorcerers, against the adulterers, against those who swear falsely, against those who oppress the hired workers in their wages, the widow and the orphan, against those who thrust aside the alien, and do not fear me, says the Lord of hosts” (3:5). He notes that people regularly shortchange the Lord with incomplete tithes (3:8–15); rectifying this will result in blessings from God (3:10–12).
The fierce imagery continues with a description of “the day [which] is coming, burning like an oven, when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble; the day that comes shall burn them up, says the Lord of hosts, so that it will leave them neither root nor branch” (4:1). The motif of “the day” has run through the prophets, from before the exile (Amos 5:18–20; Isa 2:12, 17; 13:6–8; 34:8; Zeph 1:7, 14–15), during the years of exile (Jer 35:32–33; 46:10), and on into the years after the return from exile (Joel 2:1–3, 30–31).
What is required of the people is clear: “remember the teaching of my servant Moses, the statutes and ordinances that I commanded him at Horeb for all Israel” (4:4). Adherence to the covenant undergirds the claims of this prophet, as indeed it does with each prophet in Israel.
This short book ends with a memorable prophecy from Malachi: “Lo, I will send you the prophet Elijah before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes. He will turn the hearts of parents to their children and the hearts of children to their parents, so that I will not come and strike the land with a curse.” (4:5–6). These words are explicitly picked up in the Gospel portrayals of John the Baptist as the returning Elijah (Matt 17:9–13; Luke 1:17), turning the hearts of people so that they might receive the promise offers by Jesus.
Whether Malachi himself understood these words to point to John and Jesus, of course, is somewhat dubious. But in the context of our Gospel passage for Advent 2, this passage is a timely offering—of a different nature from the Baruch passage, but relevant, nevertheless.
One of the passages offered by the lectionary for this Sunday, the second Sunday in Advent (Luke 1:68–79), comprises the text of a psalm-like song that is often called The Benedictus, after the opening phrase of the song in the Latin translation. The whole song resonates in every line with words, ideas, concepts from the Hebrew Scriptures. I’ve been considering that in earlier posts on this passage.
Luke, as we know, was writing many decades after the events he reports; he certainly wasn’t present at the time John was born, and it is most unlikely that any of the people he refers to as his sources (Luke 1:2) were witnesses to this. Rather, it is sensible for us to consider that he wrote this song, drawing extensively from the Hebrew Scriptures, and placed it in the mouth of Zechariah at what was an appropriate moment in the story that he was telling. (The story as a whole isn’t history; it is Luke’s way of introducing the figure of Jesus by placing him firmly in his historical context, as a Jew of the late Second Temple period.)
In my previous post, I have considered how God is described, and prayed to, in this song, drawing on various scriptural passages. Another way that Luke evokes scripture is when he has Zechariah sings that God “has remembered his holy covenant, the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham” (Luke 1:72–73). The phrase explicitly evokes comment in the ancestral narrative, when Moses fled to Midian, that “God remembered his covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” (Exod 2:24), repeated in words on the lips of the Lord to Moses, “I have heard the groaning of the Israelites whom the Egyptians are holding as slaves, and I have remembered my covenant” (Exod 6:5).
The phrase recurs in the psalm that recalls the sins committed by the people of Israel during their time in the wilderness, when “he regarded their distress when he heard their cry”, and so “for their sake he remembered his covenant, and showed compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love” (Ps 106:44–45). Reflecting on the sins of the people of a later generation, the prophet Ezekiel reports that the Lord God will nevertheless “remember my covenant with you in the days of your youth, and I will establish with you an everlasting covenant” (Ezek 16:60). This idea lies behind the promise offered at the same time by the prophet Jeremiah, that the Lord God “will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more”, and so “will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah” (Jer 31:31–34). Remembering and recommitting to the covenant is embedded in the scriptures.
Zechariah refers to two key characters from Israel’s ancestral stories: Abraham, in referring to “the oath that [the Lord God] swore to our ancestor Abraham” in making the covenant (v.73), and David, in referring to the “mighty saviour” that God has raised up “for us in the house of his servant David” (v.68). These are, of course, two key figures in the story of Israel, to whom much attention is given in the ancestral narratives (Abraham in Gen 12—25; David in 1 Sam 16—1 Ki 2).
Although the song is sung immediately after the birth of the son of Elizabeth and Zechariah (Luke 1:57), to be named John (1:59–63), the father celebrates the birth of his son largely, as we have seen, by celebrating the mighty deeds of God. He does note that this child “will be called the prophet of the Most High” and that he “will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins” (1:76–77). This is indeed how John is portrayed when, as an adult, he becomes active around the Jordan in calling people to repentance (Mark 1:2–8; Matt 3:1–12; Luke 3:1–18).
The one who “prepares the way” reflects the prophetic word of Malachi, who declares “I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple” (Mal 3:1). The fiery nature of this messenger’s language (Mal 3:2–3) is clearly reflected in John’s message of judgement (Luke 3:7–9, 16–17). That he proclaims “a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins” (Luke 3:3) guides Luke to give to his father words (1:77) that point forward to this very message.
The song ends with some observations about the response of people to what God has been and is doing. Zechariah anticipates that those who learn of this might “serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness before him all our days” (vv.74–75). All three characteristics of this response are, of course, fundamental elements in the piety of ancient Israelites and Jews of the Second Temple period. “You shall fear the Lord your God” is a priestly refrain (Lev 19:14, 32; 25:17, 36, 43) recurring in the words Gos speaks in Deuteronomy (Deut 4:10; 5:29; 6:1, 13, 24; 10:12, 20; 13:4; 14:23; 17:19; 31:12–13) as well as in subsequent narrative books.
Holiness amongst the people is also advocated by the priests, on the basis that God is holy. “I am the Lord your God; sanctify yourselves therefore, and be holy, for I am holy … I am the Lord who brought you up from the land of Egypt, to be your God; you shall be holy, for I am holy” (Lev 11:44–45; see also 19:2; 20:7, 26). And righteousness is declared by various prophets as who the Lord God requires of God’s people (Isa 5:7: 11:4–5; 32:16–17; 52:1, 7; Jer 22:3; 23:5; Hos 10:12; Amos 5:24; Zeph 2:3).
Finally, the closing verses of this song contain evocative imagery which draws from poems in Hebrew Scripture. “The dawn from on high will break upon us” (v.78) resonates with Third Isaiah’s words that “your light shall break forth like the dawn and your healing shall spring up quickly” (Isa 58:8). That dawn will “give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death” (v.79) references the numerous places where light breaks into darkness (Ps 18:12; Isa 9:2; 42:16; 58:10; Mic 7:8; and see the same dynamic in the creation account at Gen 1:1–5). The phrase “the shadow of death” (v.79) alludes to “the valley of the shadow of death” in Ps 23:4.
Then, the final affirmation that this breaking dawn will “guide our feet into the way of peace” (v.79) refers to Third Isaiah again, in his lament that “the way of peace”, missing in his time, will surely come. This oracle, in fact, splices together the same ending notes that we find in Zechariah’s song: “the way of peace they do not know, and there is no justice in their paths; their roads they have made crooked; no one who walks in them knows peace. Therefore justice is far from us, and righteousness does not reach us; we wait for light, and lo! there is darkness; and for brightness, but we walk in gloom” (Isa 59:8–9).
Indeed, in the following oracle the prophet declares: “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you. Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” (Isa 60:1–3). Or, as Zechariah sings, “By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (Luke 1:78–79).
One of the passages offered by the lectionary for this Sunday, the second Sunday in Advent, is a well-known and familiar passage, and although it is proposed as “the Psalm” for this Sunday, it is found in the New Testament—in the long first chapter of this Gospel, which leads into the Christmas story. The passage offered (Luke 1:68–79) comprises the text of a psalm-like song that is often called The Benedictus, after the opening phrase of the song in the Latin translation.
The whole song resonates in every line with words, ideas, concepts from the Hebrew Scriptures. Luke, of course, was writing many decades after the events he reports; he certainly wasn’t present at the time John was born, and it is most unlikely that any of the people he refers to as his sources (Luke 1:2) were witnesses to this. Rather, it is sensible for us to consider that this song was placed in the mouth of Zechariah, drawing extensively from the Hebrew Scriptures.
The blessing which opens the song (v.68) has the standard form of blessings found in prayers by Jews in antiquity, through until today; they begin with a phrase of blessing: “Blessed are you, O Lord our God …”. Blessed are You, O Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who brings forth bread from the earth is prayed before a meal. Blessed are You, o Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who creates the fruit of the vine is prayed before drinking wine. Zechariah begins in this pattern, “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel”, before proceeding to indicate how God has been at work.
Another key scriptural element in his song comes when Zechariah refers to God as “Most High” (v.76). This way of describing God is found in a prayer of Abraham (Gen 14:22), where he seems to have adopted it from King Melchizedek of Salem, who is introduced as “priest of God Most High” (Gen 14:18–20). It is repeated by Balaam in his oracle (Num 24:15–16), once in the lengthy Song of Moses (Deut 32:8), and once in the lengthy Song attributed to David at the end of his life (2 Sam 22:14).
Prophets who used this phrase included Isaiah, once (Isa 14:14), Hosea, once (Hos 11:7), the author of Lamentations (Lam 3:35, 38), and Daniel (Dan 4:24–25; 5:17, 21; 7:18, 21, 25–27), who appears to have picked up this phrase from King Nebuchadnezzar (Dan 3:26; 4:2, 17, 34). The phrase is most common in the psalms, where it appears 23 times (for instance, Ps 7:17; 9:2; 21:7; 46:4; 47:2; 50:14; 57:2; 91:1, 9; 97:9; 106:7; 107:11). The same appellation then appears in eight other places in the New Testament (Mark 5:7; Luke 1:32, 35; 6:35; 8:28; Acts 7:48; 16:17; and Heb 7:1, referring back to King Melchizedek).
The focus of this song, as is the case also in the song sung earlier by Mary, as well as in each of the missionary speeches reported in Acts 2–17, is on “what God has done”, a theme of significance throughout Luke and Acts—as I have argued in my PhD thesis, The plan of God in Luke—Acts (1993), and in my commentary on Acts in the Eerdman’sCommentary on the Bible (2003).
Three times in this song Zechariah mentions the redemptive power of God, who “has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them” (v.68), “saved [the people] from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us” (v.71), and “rescued [them] from the hands of our enemies” (v.74). Calling God “Redeemer” is typical of Second Isaiah (Isa 41:14; 43:14; 44:6, 24; 47:4; 48:1, 17; 49:7, 26; 54:5, 8) and continues in Third Isaiah (Isa 59:20; 60:16; 63:16). It is also found in other books (Job 19:1, 25; Ps 19:14; 78:35; Jer 50:34).
God is identified as Saviour (2 Sam 22:3; Ps 17:7; 106:21; Isa 43:3, 11; 45:15, 21; 49:26; 60:16; 73:8; Hos 13:4) and praised as one who saves (1 Sam 10:19; 14:39; Ps 34:18; 37:40) and also rescues (Ps 34:17, 19; 37:40; 97:10; Amos 3:12). The language on the lips of Zechariah is thoroughly scriptural.
Alongside this, there are two references in this song to the mercy of God, as Zechariah sings of “the tender mercy of our God” (v.78) and rejoiced that God “has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors” (v.72). In the ancestral narratives of Israel, mercy is noted as a quality of God by Jacob (Gen 43:14), David (2 Sam 24:14; 1 Chron 21:13), and Nehemiah (Neh 1:11). Of course, involved in the ritual of worship in the Tabernacle and then in the Temple is the sprinkling of sacrificial blood on the “mercy seat” in the holy place (Lev 16:2, 12–14); the seeking of mercy from the Lord was at the heart of the annual Day of Atonement ritual.
Even as they call the people to account for their sins, prophets occasionally proclaim the mercy of God (Isa 30:18; 55:7; 60:10; 63:7; Jer 31:20; 33:26; 42:12; Ezek 39:25; Dan 9:9; Hos 2:19; 14:3). Daniel instructs his companions, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, “to seek mercy from the God of heaven” (Dan 2:18) while in Zechariah’s first vision the angel pleads with the Lord for mercy (Zech 1:12).
Many times in the psalms there are prayers seeking God’s mercy: “be mindful of your mercy, O Lord” (Ps 25:6); “do not, O Lord, withhold your mercy from me” (Ps 40:11); “let your mercy come to me, that I may live” (Ps 119:77); and most famously, in the prayer attributed to David after he had committed adultery and murder, “have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions” (Ps 51:1). In the fifth Song of Ascents, the psalmist pleads, “have mercy upon us, O Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have had more than enough of contempt” (Ps 123:3).
Then, when Luke has Zechariah describe this mercy as a “tender mercy”, it may well be that the words of Hosea are in mind: “how can I give you up, Ephraim? how can I hand you over, O Israel? … my heart recoils within me; my compassion grows warm and tender. I will not execute my fierce anger; I will not again destroy Ephraim” (Hos 11:8–9). It is a touching moment in the prophet’s words; and a nice touch in the song that Luke places in the mouth of Zechariah.
An Informed Faith 