Kinship Relations in the Gospel of John (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph)

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Kinship Relations in the Gospel of John

BY

Joan Cecelia Campbell

The Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series 42


EDITORIAL BOARD Mark S. Smith, Chairperson Lawrence E. Boadt, C.S.P.

Richard J. Clifford, S.J.

John J. Collins

Frederick W. Danker

Robert A. Di Vito

Daniel J. Harrington, S.J.

Ralph W. Klein

Léo Laberge, O.M.I.

Bruce J. Malina

Pheme Perkins

Eugene C. Ulrich

Ronald D. Witherup, S.S.

Kinship Relations in the Gospel of John

BY

Joan Cecelia Campbell


© 2007 The Catholic Biblical Association of America, Washington, DC 20064

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the Catholic Biblical Association of America. Produced in the United States of America Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Campbell, Joan Cecelia, 1956Kinship relations in the gospel of John / by Joan Cecelia Campbell. p. cm. — (The Catholic biblical quarterly monograph series ; 42) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-915170-41-8 (alk. paper) 1. Bible. N.T. John—Criticism, interpretation, etc. 2. Family—Biblical teaching. I. Title. II. Series. BS2615.6.F33C36 2007 226.5'067—dc22 2007007259

In memory of Reverend Terence Campbell and Sister Patricia Cullen My inspiration and my ally

Contents

1.

CHAPTER ONE: JOHANNINE FAMILY ISSUES • 1 Introduction • 1 Procedure • 1 The Shape of Johannine Kinship • 3 The Critical Context • 8 Assumptions • 9 I. Gospel Communities • 9 II. A Two-Storey Story • 11 The Johannine Group, Its Rivals and Opponents • 17 Provenance • 23

2.

JOHN’S PORTRAYAL OF FAMILY IN SCHOLARLY DISCUSSION • 26 Introduction • 26 The Mother of Jesus (John 2:1-12; 19:25-27) • 27 I. Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ σοί • 28 II. Γύναι • 32 III. The Mother of Jesus • 35 IV. The Mother of Jesus and the Beloved Disciple • 38 The Brothers of Jesus (John 2:12; 7:1-10) • 44 I. Who Were the “Brothers” of Jesus? • 45 II. The Relationship between Jesus and His Brothers • 57 Conclusion • 65

2.

DEVELOPING THE MODEL • 67 Introduction • 67

vii

viii · Contents

The Foundations of the Model • 68 I. Introduction • 68 II. Culture • 69 III. Social Change • 71 IV. Circum-Mediterranean and Middle Eastern Boundaries • 75 V. Cultural Change in the Middle East • 76 VI. Culture Area • 79 VII. The Middle East as a Culture Area • 80 VIII. The Mediterranean Region as a Culture Area • 81 Social-Science Models • 84 I. Introduction • 84 II. The Meaning and Use of Models • 86 III. Cultural Considerations • 87 The Model • 89 I. Introduction • 89 II. George Peter Murdock • 89 III. Emmanuel Todd • 91 IV. Raphael Patai • 93 V. Additional Anthropological Data • 96 A. Introduction • 96 B. Mothers and Sons • 102 C. Brothers • 107 Conclusion • 112 4.

JOHN 2:1-12, 7:1-10, AND 19:25-27 REVISITED • 114 Introduction • 114 John 2:1-12 • 118 I. Introduction • 118 II. His Mother Asks Jesus for Assistance • 119 III. A Mother’s Request • 121 IV. Jesus, His Mother, and the Wine Crisis • 124 V. Honor, Humility, and the “Hour” of Jesus • 127 VI. Conclusion • 134 John 7:1-10 • 136 I. Brothers in Conflict • 136 II. Honor and Conflict among Family Members • 138

Contents · ix

III. Secrecy versus Trust • 140 John 19:25-27 • 142 I. Introduction • 142 II. Crucifixion as a Status-Degradation Scene • 143 III. The Mother of Jesus in John’s Status-Elevation Scene • 144 IV. The Brothers of Jesus in John’s Status-Elevation Scene • 146 Conclusion • 151 5.

THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THE TWO FAMILIES AND THE SOCIAL LOCATION OF THE JOHANNINE ANTI-SOCIETY • 153 Introduction • 153 From Narrative Time to the Evangelist’s Time • 154 I. The Hermeneutical Significance of Lapse of Time • 154 II. Literary Criticism and Historical Inquiry • 155 III. A Two-Storey Story • 157 IV. Conclusion • 162 Halliday and Malina on Language and Anti-Language • 163 I. The Nature of Language • 163 II. The Social System • 164 III. What Is an Anti-Language? • 166 IV. Anti-Language and the Fourth Gospel • 171 The Continuing Conflict between the Kinship Groups • 180 I. Introduction • 180 II. John 2:1-12 • 181 III. John 7:1-10 • 184 IV. John 19:25-27 • 189 Conclusion • 191

6.

SUMMARY AND IMPLICATIONS FOR JOHANNINE RESEARCH • 194 Summary • 194 Implications • 199 I. The Intended Audience • 199 II. The Mother of Jesus • 201 III. The Brothers and Sisters of Jesus • 202 IV. Concluding Remarks • 203

x · Contents

WORKS CITED • 205 INDEX OF ANCIENT SOURCES • 230 INDEX OF AUTHORS • 240 INDEX OF SUBJECTS • 244

Abbreviations

A. Biblical and Apocryphal Books Gen Ex Deut Lev Num Josh Judg 1-2 Sam 1-2 Kgs 3-4 Kgs 2 Chr Job Ps/Pss Prov Isa Dan Hos Jud Sir Wis 2 Macc 4 Macc Matt Rom

Genesis Exodus Deuteronomy Leviticus Numbers Joshua Judges 1-2 Samuel 1-2 Kings 3-4 Kings 2 Chronicles Job Psalm/Psalms Proverbs Isaiah Daniel Hosea Judith Sirach Wisdom 2 Maccabees 4 Maccabees Matthew Romans

xi

xii · Abbreviations

1-2 Cor Gal 2 Tim Rev

1-2 Corinthians Galatians 2 Timothy Revelation

B. Pseudepigrapha Gos. Thom. Inf. Gos. Thom. Jos. Asen. Jub. Let. Arist. Prot. Jas. Ps.-Philo T. Ab. T. Adam T. Benj. T. Dan T. Gad T. Job T. Jos. T. Jud. T. Sim.

Gospel of Thomas Infancy Gospel of Thomas Joseph and Aseneth Jubilees Letter of Aristeas Protevangelium of James Pseudo-Philo Testament of Abraham Testament of Adam Testament of Benjamin Testament of Dan Testament of Gad Testament of Job Testament of Joseph Testament of Judah Testament of Simeon

C. Works of Josephus Ant. J.W.

Jewish Antiquities Jewish War

D. Greek and Latin Works Aristophanes Ran. Frogs Aristotle Pol. Politics

Abbreviations · xiii

Euripides Iph. Taur.

Iphigeneia at Taurus

Homer Od.

Odyssey

Virgil Aen.

Aeneid

E. Early Christian Literature Cyprian Zel. Liv.

Jealousy and Envy

Eusebius Hist. Eccl.

Ecclesiastical History

Origen Comm. Matt. Commentary on Matthew Theophilus Autol.

To Autolycus

F. Modern Publications AB AnBib Bib BR BTB CBQ DRev HTR Int JBL JSNT

Anchor Bible Analecta biblical Biblica Biblical Research Biblical Theology Bulletin Catholic Biblical Quarterly Downside Review Harvard Theological Review Interpretation Journal of Biblical Literature Journal for the Study of the New Testament

xiv · Abbreviations

JSNTSup NIBC NovT NovTSup NTS SBLDS SBLSP SNTSMS SJT TJT

JSNT Supplement Series New International Biblical Commentary Novum Testamentum NovT Supplements New Testament Studies Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series SBL Seminar Papers Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series Scottish Journal of Theology Toronto Journal of Theology

CHAPTER 1

Johannine Family Issues

Introduction Using the methods and models of cultural anthropology, this book investigates kinship relations in the Gospel of John. Historical-critical reconstructions of the so-called Johannine community, and historicalcritical and literary analyses of text segments involving the mother of Jesus, have brought many significant insights to bear upon expressions of Jesus’s kinship in the Fourth Gospel. There has, however, been no comprehensive examination of relationships between two core kinship groups depicted in the Fourth Gospel: the biological family of Jesus and his fictive family of disciples. Nor has the issue of relationships between the family of Jesus and the Johannine group received adequate attention. Because of the nature of the questions proposed by historicalcritical and literary approaches to biblical interpretation, such approaches have not addressed many key questions of Johannine kinship. Such questions are better served by the social-science approach used in this book.

Procedure This chapter lays the groundwork for the subsequent analysis of relationships between the blood family of the Johannine Jesus and his fictive family of disciples. Specifically, in order to embark upon the task of explicating how relationships between Jesus and members of his two

1

2 · Kinship Relations in the Gospel of John

“families” are depicted in the narrative, and subsequently, to analyze relations between the Johannines and their opponents, certain assumptions must be made. To this end, the meaning of “family” is discussed, and scholarly research on the family of antiquity is introduced. It has been noted that a particular group endorsed the narrative’s point of view, and that the Fourth Gospel provides clues about this group. The chapter also discusses how to translate the name of the Johannines’ major opponents, οἱ ᾽Ιουδαῖοι, into English, and it considers the question of the Fourth Gospel’s provenance. In Chapter Two, the focus is broadened to survey how critics have understood the significance of Jesus’s mother and his ἀδελφοί in the Fourth Gospel, as well as their relationship to Jesus and his disciples. Jesus, his mother, and his brothers have been studied in isolation, rather than as members of a real blood family, but analyzing the passages about them in tandem has the potential to clarify how the mother and brothers of Jesus function in Levels Three (narrative world) and Four (social world) of the Johannine tradition, especially if a social-science approach is employed. Chapter Three identifies the modern and ancient sources that provide the information required to amplify issues pertinent to this study, such as rivalry within Jesus’s family, mother-son pressure, and the duty of sons to care for elderly mothers. Armed with this cultural information, it is possible to address questions that cannot be adequately dealt with by means of historical-critical or literary studies. To mention just one example, the information provided will allow the reader to sort out the difficult exchange between Jesus and his mother in John 2:3-5. From such sources, a model of Mediterranean families that stresses mother-son dynamics and relations among brothers will be constructed, and in Chapter Four, this cross-cultural model is employed as a template for reading John 2:1-12, 7:1-10, and 19:25-27. This particular approach to the study of kinship relations in the Fourth Gospel has not been previously attempted, but has the potential to shed new light on relations between the Johannines and their opponents, notably those represented by the brothers of Jesus. Chapter Five investigates how the narrative relationship between the two families can be used to illumine the social location of the Johannine group. In other words, how might the tensions between Jesus and his brothers that are visible within the narrative be operative in the Evan-

Johannine Family Issues · 3

gelist’s time? The sociolinguistic model known as anti-language, which is derived from the work of Halliday1 and Malina,2 helps to link the investigation of family relationships within the narrative to the study of relationships between the Johannines and their opponents at the time when the Fourth Gospel was reaching its final form. The concluding chapter presents the implications and conclusions of this research. Three questions are of special interest. What kind of biological kinship relationship does the Fourth Evangelist imagine between Jesus and his brothers? How does this author portray relationships between Jesus, his mother, and his brothers at the narrative level? And finally, how might narrative relationships (Level Three) have manifested themselves in the lived reality of the Johannines (Level Four)?

The Shape of Johannine Kinship In first century Mediterranean societies, kinship was the primary social institution, profoundly influencing social relationships and cultural values.3 Even politics, the only other major social institution, was deeply affected by kinship. For example, patronage, a dominant aspect of politics, involved patron-client relationships, which were modeled upon those of the family, the patron often being referred to as “father.” In essence, then, patronage moved political relationships into the sphere of kinship, by fusing political and personal relationships.4 The Fourth Gospel reflects the pervasive influence of kinship in antiquity. This gospel expresses two types of kinfolk for Jesus. References to his father, Joseph (John 1:45; 6:42), to his mother (2:1, 3-5, 12; 6:42; 19:2527), and to his ἀδελφοί (2:12; 7:3-10) co-exist with statements about believers whose relationship with him is also expressed by kinship 1

Michael A. K. Halliday, Language as Social Semiotic: The Social Interpretation of Language and Meaning (London: Edward Arnold, 1978). 2 Bruce J. Malina, The Gospel of John in Sociolinguistic Perspective (ed. Herman Waetjen; Colloquy 48; Berkeley: The Center for Hermeneutical Studies in Hellenistic and Modern Culture, 1985). 3 Bruce J. Malina, The New Testament World: Insights from Cultural Anthropology (rev. ed.; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1993) 30. 4 Bruce J. Malina, “Patron and Client: The Analogy Behind Synoptic Theology,” Forum 4 (1988) 2-32, here 8.


terms. For example, Jesus addresses believers as his little children (John 13:33; 21:5) whom he will not leave as orphans (14:18), and as his siblings (20:17). Thus, the Johannine Jesus can lay claim to two circles of kin. But what kinds of social groups do they represent? Anthropologists have learned that kinship systems vary in different societies with respect to the linguistic forms that denote the diverse categories of kin. In many societies, the terms for mother, father, sister, brother, and so on, are not restricted to the immediate family group. They may, in fact, be extended to another generation, or to all the members of a particular lineage or clan, or even metaphorically, to non-kin and various aspects of nature.5 When persons are addressed by means of kin terms but not related by virtue of descent or marriage, they are referred to by anthropologists as pseudo-kin.6 According to Julian Pitt-Rivers, three such categories have been identified: figurative kinship, fictive kinship, and ritual kinship. The first, figurative kinship, would involve, for example, the use of a kinship term, such as “daughter,” to underscore the seniority of the speaker rather than a blood relationship between the speaker and the young woman. The second, fictive kinship, occurs when persons are given status similar to that of the natural kinsperson by a means other than birth. The third, ritual kinship, such as blood brotherhood, involves no fiction, and while the participants recognize a bond that is likened to kinship, they do not understand themselves as brothers in any real sense. In the Fourth Gospel, those who believe in Jesus—that is, his disciples (John 16:27, 30; 17:8)—enjoy a type of familial relationship with the Father that does not stem from physical descent. Believers are God’s children (John 1:12) by means of a birthing process that is not human, but divine (1:13): they are born from “above,” from the Spirit (3:3, 5). Those who believe in Jesus are “his own” (John 10:3-4, 14; 13:1) whom the Father has given him (17:6, 9-12). They are his sisters and brothers (John 20:17) and will eventually be brought by Jesus into his Father’s house 5 Fred Eggan, “Kinship: Introduction,” in International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences (ed. David L. Sills; 18 vols.; USA: Macmillan and the Free Press, 1968) 8. 390-401, here 390-92. 6 Julian Pitt-Rivers, “Kinship: Pseudo-Kinship,” in International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences (ed. David L. Sills; 18 vols.; USA: Macmillan and the Free Press, 1968) 8. 408-13, here 408.


(14:2-3). In anthropological terms, then, the Father, Jesus, and those who believe in him constitute a fictive kinship group, which may be referred to as a fictive family. Definitions of the term “family” have underscored the biological, residential, or functional aspects of families. A well-known definition, acceptable to earlier generations of anthropologists, combines these elements: “The family is a social group characterized by common residence, economic cooperation, and reproduction. It includes adults of both sexes, at least two of whom maintain a socially approved sexual relationship, and one or more children, own or adopted, of the sexually cohabiting adults.”7 Today, while there is wide agreement that the family is an institution that occurs in every human society, efforts at a more precise definition of “family” remain controversial. This is, in part, because the term in its contemporary usage covers a multitude of degrees of relatedness. It may, for instance, refer to those who are linked by blood and marriage, or it may function as a synonym of the term “household.”8 Of the several family forms that have been documented, however, three figure frequently in anthropological discussion because of their supposed widespread existence: the conjugal or nuclear family (a heterosexual couple and their children); the extended family (at least two related conjugal families); and the stem family (a couple, their unmarried children, and one married child with spouse and offspring).9 While family members are generally related biologically, social relations of family and kinship, such as adoption or fictive kinship, can exist independently of genetic links, and are deemed just as real as blood ties. Fictive kin are individuals who are treated as if they were kin and referred to by kinship terms, and even though they are not usually related by blood or marriage, they may be considered as related.10 Thus, fictive kinship relationships resemble those between actual kin. Hence, although the family is often coincident with biological links, it is not necessarily defined solely by means of them, a factor that allows the George Peter Murdoch, Social Structure (New York: The Free Press, 1949) 1. Adam Kuper, “Family,” in The Social Science Encyclopedia (ed. Adam Kuper and Jessica Kuper; 2d ed.; London and New York: Routledge, 1996) 283-85, here 283. 9 Frances Pine, “Family,” in Encyclopedia of Social and Cultural Anthropology (ed. Alan Barnard and Jonathan Spencer; London and New York: Routledge, 1996) 223-28, here 223. 10 Gwen J. Broude, Marriage, Family, and Relationships: A Cross-Cultural Encyclopedia (ed. David Levinson; Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 1994) 114. 7 8


possibility that the Johannine disciples may be correctly referred to as a “family.” Tellingly, their claim of rebirth suggests that they truly consider themselves God’s children, members of God’s family. This is obviously not a biological family based upon blood ties (John 1:13), but a fictive family that stems from belief in Jesus, the prerequisite for birth into the realm of God. The biological family of the Johannine Jesus does not fit neatly, however, into the category of fictive kinship. For one thing, because they do not believe in Jesus (John 7:5), the brothers fail to qualify as children of the Father and cannot represent members of the aforementioned fictive family. In addition, the status of Joseph’s faith is impossible to determine. He is designated the father of Jesus (John 1:45; 6:42), but makes no appearance in the narrative. While he is not specified as a believer, there is no evidence to suggest that his relationship with Jesus is depicted as discordant, a factor that might imply his unbelief. The mother of Jesus, however, makes more than one appearance. She interacts with Jesus at the wedding (John 2:1-11), and subsequently travels to Capernaum with him, his ἀδελφοί, and his disciples (2:12). At this point, though, there is no clear indication that either she or the ἀδελφοί believe in Jesus, and so they cannot be construed as his fictive kin: their relationship to Jesus appears to be simply biological. Interestingly, while blood ties remain the sole connection between Jesus and his unbelieving brothers, his mother is later associated with Jesus’s fictive kin (John 19:25-27), which allows for the unique possibility that she, a member of his real family, is also a member of his fictive family, thereby suggesting that the two groups do not operate as isolated entities. These two families are clearly identifiable in the narrative, but there is a second fictive family of Jesus that is pertinent to this study. This is the Johannine community. For several decades, Fourth Gospel scholars have posited the existence of a community whose concerns have influenced the shape of the gospel and whose voice echoes in the gospel’s “we” language. One such echo has been detected in John 1:14, where scholars have attributed the statement about those who have seen the glory of the Logos to the Evangelist and a group of witnesses.11 John 3:11, which articulates the testimony of a group, constitutes an additional example of how the first person plural pronoun may denote a commu11 Rudolf Schnackenburg, The Gospel According to St. John (3 vols.; New York: Seabury, 1968, 1980, 1982) 1. 270.


nity that has “seen” and now bears witness to their opponents about what they know.12 Critics have often detected a third narrative echo of this group in the statement that reveals why the gospel was written (John 20:31). The textual witnesses are divided as to whether one should read a present subjunctive (πιστεύητε) or an aorist subjunctive (πιστεύσητε). The present subjunctive (“in order that you may continue to believe”) depends upon the earlier manuscripts (p66vid ‫* א‬B Θ) and implies that John 20:31 was directed at people who were already Christbelievers, thereby exhorting them to remain steadfast in their faith. The aorist subjunctive (“in order that you may come to believe”) has broader geographical support and gives the impression that the gospel was written in order to win converts. The matter cannot be decided on the basis of textual evidence. However, since the author places so much emphasis upon perseverance in faith (John 2:23-25; 8:30-32, 59; 15:4-7), it shall be maintained, along with a number of other critics,13 that John 20:31 is directed primarily toward a group that, in a manner similar to Jesus’s own fictive family of disciples, is already defined by belief. Relationships between the two families who play a role in the gospel’s narrative—one fictive and the other biological—comprise the major focus of this book. Investigation of these two families will concentrate primarily upon relationships depicted solely within the Fourth Gospel’s narrative (Level Three of gospel tradition) and material dealing with the lived reality of John’s intended audience (Level Four). Analysis pertinent to the historical Jesus layer of gospel tradition (Level One) plays only a minor role in this work, while attention to oral transmission in the Jesus-movement before the canonical gospels were written (Level Two) will not be required. The second, and equally important task, is to explain how the dynamics between Jesus, his family by blood, and his fictive family, as depicted in the narrative, might illumine relations between the Johannine group and its opponents. While numerous critics have explored aspects of family life in antiquity and other commentators have contributed to the history of the Johannine community, 12 Robert Kysar, “The Making of Metaphor: Another Reading of John 3:1-15,” in What is John? Volume 1: Readers and Readings of the Fourth Gospel (ed. Fernando F. Segovia; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996) 1. 21-41, here 27. 13 George R. Beasley-Murray, John (WBC 36; Waco: Word Books, 1987) 387; Craig S. Keener, The Gospel of John: A Commentary (2 vols.; Peabody: Hendrickson, 2003) 2. 1215-16.


much remains to be done with respect to the relational dynamics among these groups.

The Critical Context The family of antiquity has attracted a great deal of scholarly interest in recent decades. Roman and Greek families have been the subject of considerable scrutiny. Scholars have delineated their general features and focused on specific issues of the relationship between law and the family, “patria potestas,” women’s succession to property, marriage, child care, adultery, gender roles, slavery, and divorce.14 Archaeological, social-historical, and cultural-anthropological analyses of GrecoRoman, Israelite, and early Christian houses, households, and family life have provided insights into the world in which John’s Gospel was written. Critics have examined anti-familial statements and the tensions between family ties and discipleship ties, as well as early Jesus-movement groups as examples of fictive kinship.15 Other works especially relevant to this investigation include those dealing with members of Jesus’s biological family, particularly the more prominent James.16 14

Thus, Suzanne Dixon, The Roman Family (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992); Geoffrey S. Nathan, The Family in Late Antiquity: The Rise of Christianity and the Endurance of Tradition (London: Routledge, 2000); Cynthia B. Patterson, The Family in Greek History (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998); Sarah B. Pomeroy, Families in Classical and Hellenistic Greece: Representations and Realities (Oxford: Clarendon, 1997). 15 Stephen C. Barton, Discipleship and Family Ties in Mark and Matthew (SNTSMS 80; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994); Philip F. Esler, “Family Imagery and Christian Identity in Gal 5:13 to 6:10,” in Constructing Early Christian Families (ed. Halvor Moxnes; London and New York: Routledge, 1997) 121-49; Joseph H. Hellerman, The Ancient Church as Family (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001); A. D. Jacobson, “Divided Families and Christian Origins,” in The Gospel Behind the Gospels: Current Studies on Q (ed. R. A. Piper; NovTSup 75; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1995) 361-80; Santiago Guijarro Oporto, “Kingdom and Family in Conflict: A Contribution to the Study of the Historical Jesus,” in Social Scientific Models for Interpreting the Bible: Essays by the Context Group in Honor of Bruce J. Malina (ed. John J. Pilch; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2001) 210-38. 16 Pierre-Antoine Bernheim, James, Brother of Jesus (trans. John Bowden; London: SCM Press, 1997); Robert Eisenman, The Cup of the Lord (vol. 1 of James: The Brother of the Lord; 2 vols.; London: Faber and Faber, 1997); John Painter, Just James: The Brother of Jesus in History and Tradition (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999).


Yet while these numerous works have addressed various elements pertinent to the present inquiry, pericopae about Jesus and his mother have been analyzed in isolation from material about Jesus and his ἀδελφοί so that these characters have not been studied as a family. Especially since Jesus’s relationship with his mother appears amicable while the one with his brothers seems hostile, there is a need for a study that would read the passages about the biological family of Jesus in tandem and in relation to Jesus’s fictive family. Furthermore, critics have not delved into how relationships between characters in the narrative of the Fourth Gospel might be operative in the time of the Evangelist. Investigation along these lines would further clarify (1) the much-discussed role of the mother of the Johannine Jesus and (2) the sources of the conflict between the Johannine group and its opponents.

Assumptions Two major objectives provide the impetus for this investigation. The first is to explicate how relationships between Jesus, members of his biological family, and his disciples are depicted within the narrative of John’s Gospel. The second is to argue that the biological brothers of Jesus represent persons with whom the Johannine group was in conflict, to speculate about their identity and the nature of the conflict, and to see how the mother of Jesus functions at this level. The second endeavor involves two inherent assumptions: that a group or community endorsing the narrative’s point of view lies behind the Gospel of John and that the text is written in such a way that it provides clues about the experience of this group at the time that the gospel was written. Before the major objectives of this investigation are pursued, these assumptions require clarification in light of recent criticism of their hermeneutical expediency. I. Gospel Communities The widespread view that the canonical gospels were written for particular groups has encountered determined opposition. A few critics, notably Richard Bauckham, have argued that, unlike letters that were written for specific groups and addressed issues of local concern, the


gospels were intended for general circulation. Bauckham contends that Paul wrote letters because he was geographically removed from his converts and concludes that if the evangelists had been living among their addressees, communication would have been oral rather than written. Bauckham also maintains that by the time the Gospel of Mark reached Matthew and Luke, it had already enjoyed a wide readership and, on that basis, he argues that the latter two evangelists must have envisioned a comparable or even larger audience for their work. Hence, the Jesusmovement envisioned itself as a worldwide movement that consisted of a network of assemblies in constant and close communication by means of letters and highly mobile leaders.17 The important contribution of Bauckham’s work is the challenge that it offers contemporary scholarship to reflect on the presumed reality of the gospel communities. A cogent response has come from Philip Esler who points out that group-belonging has long been fundamental to Mediterranean culture. The people who populate the pages of the Christian Scriptures were group-oriented, and competition between both individuals and groups was rife.18 Culturally speaking, therefore, it would have been inconceivable for the evangelists to endeavor to target all groups of Christ-believers. It would have been entirely realistic, however, to envision an evangelist in close association with a local assembly and, when on the road, representing the views of its members to others. Moreover, adds Esler, redaction critics who espouse the TwoDocument Hypothesis have demonstrated that Matthew and Luke were apt to take issue with certain aspects of Mark’s account. It is reasonable, therefore, to conclude with Esler that Matthew and Luke would have expected similar opposition to their own views and may well have concluded that attempts to address a universal audience would be futile. Further weaknesses in Bauckham’s theory have been exposed by David Sim.19 Sim notes that Bauckham’s position is based on entirely circumstantial evidence. Unlike many works that envision a community behind a given gospel, no element of Bauckham’s proposal is based upon internal evidence. The linchpin of his offensive, that early Christ17

Richard Bauckham, “Introduction,” in The Gospels for all Christians: Rethinking the Gospel Audiences (ed. Richard Bauckham; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998) 1-7, esp. 1-3. 18 Philip F. Esler, “Community and Gospel in Early Christianity: A Response to Richard Bauckham’s Gospels for all Christians,” SJT 51 (1998) 235-48, esp. 237-41. 19 David C. Sim, “The Gospels for all Christians?: A Response to Richard Bauckham,” JSNT 84 (2001) 3-27.


believers envisioned themselves as part of a unified movement, must be substantiated, states Sim, because circumstances suggest otherwise. The Pauline corpus, for example, testifies to deep division over the criteria for membership in the Jesus-movement. It is likely that rival groups perceived one another with suspicion rather than as members of a united front, and that contact was frequently marked by hostility. In addition, says Sim, the mobility of early Jesus-movement leaders does not appear to have been as pervasive as Bauckham posits. Paul and his co-workers neither traveled to nor wrote to some of the major Jesus-movement centers, and at least one important leader, Apollos, was unacquainted with Paul’s message. Nor, argues Sim, is it valid to hold, as Bauckham does, that the gospel genre presumes a wide readership, given that many gospels, such as those written by Gnostics, targeted specific Jesus-movement groups. Turning to the Fourth Gospel, Andrew Lincoln maintains that the witness of those who believe that Jesus came from above is contained in the “we” language of the prologue (John 1:14, 16) and epilogue (21:24), verses that both provide a frame for the gospel’s testimony and reasonably indicate a group that endorses the narrator’s point of view.20 It could be added that since the Johannine narrator’s point of view was not universal in the Jesus-movement, the gospel’s “we” language probably points to a more restricted circle of people who heard and accepted this gospel’s testimony. This study therefore espouses the view that John’s Gospel was not intended for general circulation but was oriented toward a specific group or intended audience. II. A Two-Storey Story There has been widespread scholarly acceptance of J. Louis Martyn’s two-level Johannine drama. Martyn argues that Johannine references to expulsion reflect the lived experience of the gospel’s intended audience.21 He holds that a major factor behind the Fourth Gospel was a polemic struggle between the leaders of the Jewish synagogue and the Johannine group, and, as a result of this struggle, Johannines were being expelled from the synagogue. Martyn’s explanation of his theory rests, 20

Andrew T. Lincoln, Truth on Trial: The Lawsuit Motif in the Fourth Gospel (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2000) 264-65. 21 J. L. Martyn, History and Theology in the Fourth Gospel (2d ed.; Nashville: Abingdon, 1979).


in part, on his conclusion that John’s Gospel is enacted on a “two-level stage.”22 By this, he means that events in Jesus’s life are projected through the lens of the experience of the Johannine group, with the result that the Fourth Gospel is revelatory of both. As part of his rationale for the two-level reading strategy, Martyn has identified several features in the story of the man who was born blind (John 9:1-41), that he deems anachronistic with respect to the Jesus-level but chronologically appropriate to the context of emerging Christianity and Pharisaic Judaism at the end of the first century C.E. He concludes that this story actually recounts the exclusion from the synagogue of one who confesses Jesus to be the Messiah. Adele Reinhartz argues that the two-level reading strategy does not support the expulsion theory as proposed by Martyn.23 She maintains, rather, that a bi-level reading approach is viable only if it is consistent with a reading of the whole gospel. She argues that a second-level reading of either John 12:11 (which mentions that many people believed in Jesus because of the resurrection of Lazarus) or John 11:1-44 (which recounts this sign) is inconsistent with a second-level reading of John 9:141 (the story of the healing of the man born blind). She contends that the first two references do not support the notion of an official policy of expulsion instigated by the political-religious leaders because they provide no indication that those who believed Jesus to be the Christ were thereby expelled from their community. She states that “the comments of the Jewish leadership in 12:11 express alarm concerning those who were leaving the community—apparently through their own volition— in order to join the Johannine church” and further, that “the story of Mary and Martha implies that known members of the Johannine community were comforted in their mourning by Jews who did not have a prior faith in Jesus as the messiah.”24 While Reinhartz admits that John 12:11 does not rule out the possibility that those who defected to the ranks of the Johannine group were later forcibly excluded from their former community, she insists that John 11:1-44 does not support the expulsion theory. Martha and Mary were not secret believers and did not, therefore, manage to escape expulsion for this reason. Furthermore, since exclusion is a consequence of known allegiance to Jesus—as it is Martyn, History and Theology, 37. Adele Reinhartz, “The Johannine Community and its Jewish Neighbors: A Reappraisal,” in What is John? Volume 2: Literary and Social Readings of the Fourth Gospel (ed. Fernando F. Segovia; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998) 2. 111-38. 24 Reinhartz, “Johannine Community,” 2. 122. 22 23


in the case of the man who was born blind—then all of the Bethany mourners are theoretically in danger of expulsion. This consequence, she notes, does not materialize. She concludes, therefore, that a twolevel reading of John 11:1-44 suggests that Christ-believers maintained contact with the synagogue community, and that members of that community exhibited “awareness of, interest in and openness to Jesus.”25 But are John 12:11 and John 11:1-44 really incompatible with the twolevel reading strategy as outlined by Martyn? John 12:11 reveals that in the aftermath of the resurrection of Lazarus, many people were withdrawing their allegiance from the political-religious authorities in favor of following Jesus. On a second-level reading, this statement could reflect, from the Johannine group’s point of view, the reason for the tension between them and the authorities and therefore lend credence to the expulsion theory. John 11:1-44 can also be read in a way compatible with a second-level reading of John 9:1-41. There are signs that the family at Bethany is under pressure in a manner perhaps comparable to that encountered by members of the Johannines in their conflict with the synagogue. But before such a reading is provided, it is necessary to clarify the meaning of “confessing Jesus as the Messiah” (John 9:22). Reinhartz maintains that “confessing” Jesus is not equivalent to making a public profession of faith in him but has the more general meaning of affiliation with Jesus. She concludes this because the man who was born blind is driven out (John 9:34) prior to his confession of faith in Jesus (9:38). John 9:28, however, argues against this interpretation. Although the man’s interrogators know that he is a disciple of Jesus and therefore affiliated with him, they do not expel him. Rather, they attempt to discredit Jesus by questioning his origins. A battle of wits ensues (John 9:30-33) in which the authorities are stymied by the man’s adamant claim that Jesus is from God. His brilliant testimony challenges them to recognize the truth of their own dilemma regarding Jesus’s origins (John 9:16). Their response is to drive him out, an inappropriate riposte and admission of defeat on their part.26 Expulsion clearly results from more than a known affiliation with Jesus. The man’s insightful testimony is an important factor in his expulsion but does not include his admission that Jesus is the Messiah. FurtherReinhartz, “Johannine Community,” 2. 128. Richard L. Rohrbaugh, “Legitimating Sonship—A Test of Honour: A Social-scientific Study of Luke 4:1-30,” in Modelling Early Christianity: Social-scientific Studies of the New Testament in its Context (ed. Philip F. Esler; London: Routledge, 1995) 183-97, here 195. 25 26


more, no Johannine character is expelled from the Judean community for testifying that Jesus is the Messiah. While those who identify him as the Messiah often speak privately or to neighbors (John 1:41; 3:28; 4:29; 11:27), some Jerusalemites claim that Jesus is the Messiah (John 7:41) in a public context that is charged with disagreement (7:43-44). If others were to report them to the authorities, not an uncommon phenomenon in this gospel (5:15; 11:46, 57), they could face expulsion from the synagogue if “confessing Jesus as Messiah” referred specifically to one’s public declaration of Jesus as the Messiah. No such consequence, however, is recorded. What, then, does the author mean by “confessing Jesus as Messiah” (John 9:22), and how is this act related to expulsion from the synagogue? The parents of the man born blind are asked to verify whether or not he is their son and, if so, to explain how he has received his sight. Since in this gospel “seeing” is closely associated with the act of “believing” (John 6:40; 11:45; 12:45; 14:9), the question of how their son now sees (9:19) refers not only to their knowledge of Jesus’s role in the restoration of his sight but, on another level, to how their son has become a believer. This scenario, in combination with their fear that their response will lead to their expulsion for “confessing Jesus as Messiah” (John 9:22), strongly suggests a connection between testifying about Jesus’ transformative effect on people and “confessing him as Messiah.” It is possible to test this proposition by noting the actions of those who have become believers as a result of time spent with Jesus, and the vital role of testimony in this process. In the Fourth Gospel, testimony about the identity of Jesus functions to bring people to him and to elicit their belief in him. The Baptist testifies in order that people might believe in the light (John 1:7). Furthermore, upon hearing the Baptist testify that Jesus is the Lamb of God, two of John’s disciples follow Jesus. After spending time with him, Andrew, the first to recognize that Jesus is the Messiah, finds his brother Simon, announces that Jesus is Israel’s Messiah (John 1:41), and brings him to Jesus. He assigns a new name to Simon, thereby signifying that he will become a core member of the group.27 Philip, who is recruited by Jesus, testifies to Nathanael that Jesus is the one of whom Moses and the prophets wrote (John 1:45) and invites Nathanael to meet Jesus. 27 Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh, Social-Science Commentary on the Gospel of John (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998) 55.


The fact that Jesus finds no falsehood in Nathanael suggests that he, too, will become a core member of the group. It is important to note here that Andrew and Philip speak not only of their personal experiences of Jesus but on behalf of others as well: the formation of a group is in process. In a manner akin to that of the first disciples, the Samaritan woman is transformed into a disciple as a result of her time with Jesus. In this case, however, Jesus himself reveals to her that he is the Messiah (John 4:26). Returning to the city, she recounts her experience of Jesus to others and proposes that he might be the Messiah (John 4:39). As a result of her testimony and of Jesus’s transforming effect on other Samaritans (John 4:41-42), many more become believers. As earlier, we see the essential role of testimony in the formation of new followers. In this gospel, disciples are witnesses (John 15:27), and through their word, others believe in Jesus (17:20). Testimony is pertinent to the dilemma of the blind man’s parents in yet another way. If they describe how their son has received his sight, they will be testifying to the Judean authorities about a sign performed by Jesus. This is important because Jesus’s works constitute testimony (John 5:36) on his behalf and sometimes elicit belief, thereby increasing the ranks of the Johannine group. For example, when Jesus heals an official’s son, the man and his household become believers (John 4:53). In addition, many Jerusalemites believe Jesus to be the Messiah because of his signs (John 7:31). Furthermore, while many people believe because they have seen signs, there is also evidence that people are attracted to Jesus because they have heard about his signs (John 12:9-19). The resurrection of Lazarus appears to be especially powerful in this regard, so much so that the authorities attribute the defection of many of their followers to Lazarus (John 11:48). Since Jesus’s signs are deemed so powerful that even those who have simply heard about them turn to him (John 12:19), the parents of the former blind man may well fear that their description of how Jesus restored their son’s sight might convince others to follow Jesus and, as a result, be construed by the authorities as an outright attempt to steal their followers. A successful attempt might leave the man’s parents open to retaliation. In the author’s view, telling the story of Jesus is so compelling that it sometimes swells the ranks of his disciples, thereby resulting in retaliation in the form of expulsion. Yet, as in the case of the


parents of the man born blind, such testimony would not necessarily include the claim that Jesus is Messiah. Thus, “confessing Jesus as Messiah” (John 9:22) is a way in which the Evangelist refers to testimony about Jesus whether or not reference is made to Jesus as the Messiah. John 9:24-27 supports this proposal. The man who was born blind has already related the story of his healing, but his interrogators demand that he again explain how he received his sight. Although insincere, his invitation to discipleship, “Do you also wish to become his disciples” (John 9:27d), drives home an unwelcome message. It implies that even his interrogators might be swayed by tales about Jesus’s feats. After all, they wish to hear the man’s story a second time. In a most insulting manner, therefore, he underscores the power of Jesus’s works to attract new disciples, thereby undermining their authority. Not surprisingly, they retaliate, and he is eventually expelled. Since “confessing Jesus as Messiah” (John 9:22) refers not to known affiliation with Jesus but to the act of testifying publicly about his identity and feats, a second-level reading of John 11:1-44 is not incompatible with the theory that members of the Johannine group were facing expulsion from the synagogue. Therefore, even though there is no indication that the Bethany family has been excluded from the synagogue, their story (John 11:1-12:8) is still compatible with the claim that expulsion was the lot of some disciples who confessed Jesus as the Messiah by recounting his achievements in the presence of the Judean political religious authorities. Notably, the death of Lazarus is recounted in an atmosphere of persecution. To begin with, those whom the gospel calls the ᾽Ιουδαῖοι have been seeking to stone Jesus (John 11:8), and Thomas believes that going to Judea will mean the death not only of Jesus but also of the disciples (11:16). Martha, presumably alone, comes to meet Jesus (John 11:20). Upon her return to the house, she quietly calls her sister Mary to inform her that Jesus wishes to see her (John 11:28). The term used to describe how Martha relates the request to Mary, λάθρᾳ denotes secrecy.28 Although Mary arises quickly and goes out, the Judeans consoling her follow, supposing that she is going to the tomb. Evidently, the sisters are surrounded by other mourners and closely watched by them. 28 Frederick William Danker, ed., A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and other Early Christian Literature (3d ed.; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000) 581.


The aftermath of the sign reveals a more disturbing picture of some of the mourners. Prior to the raising of Lazarus, Jesus prays that people will believe and, upon witnessing the sign, many do believe (John 11:45). Others, however, report Jesus’s actions to the Pharisees who, upon realizing that many Judeans are defecting because of the sign (John 11:48), decide that Jesus must die (11:49-53). For a time, Jesus goes into hiding (John 11:54). As Passover approaches, his opponents continue to pursue him. Many in Jerusalem are looking for him (John 11:55-56), and the ᾽Ιουδαῖοι have given orders that those who know of his whereabouts are to inform them so that they might arrest him. It is in this context of persecution that Mary, Martha, and Lazarus express their deepening loyalty to Jesus. Despite the demand to turn him in, they host a supper for him at which Martha serves, Lazarus reclines with Jesus, and Mary anoints him. The danger to the family escalates as many people come to see Lazarus whom Jesus has raised from the dead. That Lazarus himself is now a provocative sign of what Jesus can do is evident: many believe in Jesus because of him (John 12:11). Given the magnitude of the problem, expelling Lazarus from the community may seem an ineffective response. Lazarus must also die (John 12:10). A second-level reading of this story paints the somber picture of a family surrounded by unpredictable and hostile forces. In such a situation, it is plausible that Martha and Mary might also face expulsion if they were to testify publicly about Jesus, thereby causing others to transfer their allegiance from the political-religious authorities to Jesus.

The Johannine Group, Its Rivals and Opponents While Martyn’s claim that the Johannine expulsions are directly related to the revision of the Twelfth Benediction has met with considerable opposition,29 many critics still hold that expulsion from the synagogue best reflects the historical context of the Fourth Gospel. While it is beyond the scope of the work at hand to refute or to defend the expulsion theory as set forth by Martyn in detail, it is nevertheless evi29

R. Kimelman, “Birkat Ha-Minim and the Lack of Evidence for an Anti-Christian Jewish Prayer in Late Antiquity,” in Jewish and Christian Self-Definition (ed. E. P. Sanders; 3 vols.; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981) 2. 226-44; Stuart S. Miller, “The Minim of Sepphoris Reconsidered,” HTR 86 (1993) 377-402.


dent by now that the view that the Fourth Gospel is a two-storey narrative is defensible. The first “storey” portrays the story of Jesus, while the second “storey” reveals aspects of the setting operative at the time of the gospel’s composition. Within this second “storey” can be located the Johannines and other collectives in competition with them. The Johannine group may be described in terms that are characteristic of Jesus’s own fictive family of disciples. While in altered states of consciousness, they experience themselves as born of God (John 1:13) or born “from above” (3:3), thereby entering the kingdom of God of which Jesus has spoken (3:5).30 Just as disciples “believe into” (πιστεύειν εἰς) Jesus, express their loyalty and deep attachment to him and to one another (John 13:13-15, 35), so, too, do the Johannines. They believe that Jesus is Israel’s Messiah (John 1:41) and the Son of God (1:49), and because of their testimony (15:27), others come to believe in Jesus (17:20). Among the ranks of the Johannines are Galileans (John 1:43; 21:2), Samaritans (4:39-42), and Gentiles (12:20-22), some of whom are women (4:28-30; 11:27; 12:1-8; 20:16-18). Within this second “storey,” critics have identified several groups with which the Johannines are at odds. Raymond Brown, for example, proposes six such groups: “the world,” “the Jews,” the adherents of John the Baptist, the Crypto-Christians, the Jewish Christian churches of Inadequate Faith, and the Christians of apostolic churches.31 Many of these groups have also been identified by other scholars. Regarding apostolic groups, it has been commonplace for commentators to attribute the Beloved Disciple’s supremacy over Peter to rivalry between the Johannines and Jesus-movement groups rooted in Petrine traditions or even to an intense anti-Petrinism.32 And other critics posit the existence of a Thomas group that formed a distinctive religious and social current in competition with John’s group.33 Brown further proposes that the hostile portrait of the brothers of Jesus in John 7:1-10 may reflect tension between the Johannines and Jesus-movement groups aligned with Malina and Rohrbaugh, Commentary on John, 83-85. Raymond E. Brown, The Community of the Beloved Disciple: The Life, Loves, and Hates of an Individual Church in New Testament Times (New York: Paulist Press, 1979) 62-88. 32 G. F. Snyder, “John 13:16 and the Anti-Petrinism of the Johannine Tradition,” BR 16 (1971) 5-15. 33 Gregory J. Riley, Resurrection Reconsidered: Thomas and John in Controversy (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995) esp. 2, 4-5, 78-82. 30

31


Jerusalem.34 He includes the brothers of Jesus in the category “Jewish Christian Churches of Inadequate Faith.” These, he argues, may have been Christ-believers who had a low Christology and celebrated James, the brother of Jesus, as their hero. Since they accepted Jesus as Messiah, but were unwilling to embrace a bolder vision of Jesus, they may have been a target of the Evangelist’s condemnation since in the opinion of that author, they lacked true faith.35 The clear statement about their unbelief (John 7:5) and their association with the broader “world” that hates Jesus confirms Brown’s statement that the brothers of Jesus are condemned by the Johannine author. They manifest affinities with disciples such as those who reject bread of life teaching and subsequently move from the realm of faith into that of unbelief (John 6:6066). In similar fashion, the brothers of Jesus, who may have initially been portrayed as followers of Jesus (John 2:12), are later labeled as unbelievers (John 7:5). Critics have long identified οἱ ᾽Ιουδαῖοι and ὁ κόσμος (John 7:7; 9:39; 12:31, 35-36; 14:17; 15:19; 16:8-11, 20, 33; 17:14, 16; 18:36) as the major opponents of the Johannines. Regarding οἱ ᾽Ιουδαῖοι Martyn has interpreted the hostility between Jesus and these characters as integral to the lifesetting and the purpose of the Fourth Gospel rather than as typical of the experience of the historical Jesus. These opponents of Jesus, he argues, play a primary role in the community’s conflict with the synagogue. Although the present study is intent upon family relationships rather than upon an in-depth analysis of Martyn’s work, the centrality of the ᾽Ιουδαῖοι in the gospel’s second “storey” necessitates some consideration of their identity as well as how one might best translate the epithet, οἱ ᾽Ιουδαῖοι into English. In Fourth Gospel research, the term ᾽Ιουδαῖος is generally translated as “Jew.”36 However, the prolific scholarship on this expression indicates that there is by no means a consensus on this issue. Regarding the 34

Raymond E. Brown, “‘Other Sheep not of this Fold’: The Johannine Perspective on Christian Diversity in the Late First Century,” JBL 97 (1978) 5-22, here 13. 35 Raymond E. Brown, An Introduction to the Gospel of John (ed. Francis J. Moloney; New York: Doubleday, 2003) 179. 36 Shaye J. D. Cohen, “Religion, Ethnicity, and ‘Hellenism’ in the Emergence of Jewish Identity in Maccabean Palestine,” in Religion and Religious Practice in the Seleucid Kingdom (ed. Per Bilde et al.; Studies in Hellenistic Civilization 1; Denmark: Aarhus University Press, 1990) 204-23; Urban C. von Wahlde, “The Terms for Religious Authorities in the Fourth Gospel: A Key to Literary Strata?” JBL 98 (1979) 231-53.


term’s referent, there is little doubt that when it is employed in hostile fashion, the Evangelist has in mind opponents of Jesus and his mission (John 5:16, 18; 6:41-42; 7:1; 8:37, 40, 59; 10:31, 33, 39; 11:8, 54; 19:7, 12, 14-15). But who are these opponents? Urban Von Wahlde has claimed that they are virtually synonymous with the political-religious authorities in the region known to the Evangelist.37 While the authorities often appear to be implicated, this is not always so. Jouette Bassler, for example, has demonstrated that even a crowd of Galileans merit the designation οἱ ᾽Ιουδαῖοι. This, she argues, is because it is one’s response to Jesus rather than one’s geographical location that determines whether or not one is labeled in this way: οἱ ᾽Ιουδαῖοι are those who reject Jesus.38 If this is so, even Pilate may qualify as a ᾽Ιουδαῖος (John 19:35), which suggests that the Evangelist has more than the political-religious authorities in mind when employing this epithet. Perhaps Rudolf Bultmann’s symbolic description of οἱ ᾽Ιουδαῖοι as those who represent unbelief39 is as apt as any other assessment of their identity. There are also certain critics who maintain that ᾽Ιουδαῖος is best translated as “Judean.”40 In his analysis of its usage in the canonical gospels, for example, Malcolm Lowe states that while ἡ ᾽Ιουδαία usually refers to the southern part of Palestine in contrast to Samaria, Galilee, Perea, and Idumea, it can also be understood to refer to the entire region occupied by the people of Israel. Hence, οἱ ᾽Ιουδαῖοι are the inhabitants of Judea understood in either its strict or broader meaning. While Lowe acknowledges a variety of possible meanings for ᾽Ιουδαῖοι, he argues that the geographical meaning, “Judeans,” preeminent in New Testament times, is the proper translation in all but four occurrences in the Fourth Gospel (John 4:9b, c, 22; 18:20) and even these can, with some explanation, be similarly translated. A weakness in this position is Lowe’s failure to explain why the Evangelist bears such hostility toward the inhabitants of Judea. 37

60. 38

Urban C. von Wahlde, “The Johannine ‘Jews’: A Critical Survey,” NTS 28 (1982) 33-

Jouette M. Bassler, “The Galileans: A Neglected Factor in Johannine Community Research,” CBQ 43 (1981) 252-54. 39 Rudolf Bultmann, The Gospel of John: A Commentary (trans. George R. BeasleyMurray; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1971) 86. 40 Malcolm Lowe, “Who Were the ΙΟΥΔΑΙΟΙ?” NovT 18 (1976) 101-30.


Other critics adopt the translation “Judean” for cultural reasons. They maintain that Mediterranean people identified themselves primarily by their region of origin, their group, or their family.41 Dennis Duling agrees that one of the marks of ethnicity is one’s place of origin but notes that in English usage, “Judean” traditionally refers to the geographical region of Judea, and not all ᾽Ιουδαῖοι were from Judea.42 In spite of this difficulty, Duling maintains that the translation “Judean” is to be preferred over “Jew.” John Pilch, also preferring “Judean,” argues that in the first century, Israelites referred to themselves as members of the house of Israel (Matt 10:6), while non-Israelites designated the entire land of Israel “Judea” and its inhabitants “Judeans.”43 Similarly, Frederick Danker states that non-Israelites employed the expression ᾽Ιουδαῖοι in reference to all, including Christ-believers, who practiced customs associated with Judea.44 The observations of Pilch and Danker are supported by the view that people who do not belong to a particular group generally perceive it to be less diverse than do group members.45 The identity of the ᾽Ιουδαῖοι, their function in the Fourth Gospel, and why they are regarded with such hostility by the Evangelist are all critical issues related to the question of whether or not the Fourth Gospel is anti-Jewish. Lowe’s proposal that the expression refers to residents of Judea, Bultmann’s conviction that the ᾽Ιουδαῖοι play a symbolic role, and von Wahlde’s general preference for the political-religious authorities, point to the complexity of this issue. While scholars continue to debate these matters, especially the translation of this much-discussed term, we may be wise to heed Danker, who renders it “Judean” and cautions: “Incalculable harm has been caused by simply glossing ᾽Ιουδαῖος with ‘Jew,’ for many readers or auditors of Bible translations do not practice the historical judgment necessary to distinguish between 41 John J. Pilch, “Jews or Judeans: A Translation Challenge,” Modern Liturgy 20 (1993) 19. 42 Dennis C. Duling, The New Testament: History, Literature, and Social Context (4th ed.; Canada: Thomas Wadsworth, 2003) xv. 43 John J. Pilch, The Cultural Dictionary of the Bible (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1999) 101-3. 44 Danker, A Greek-English Lexicon, 478. 45 J. Krueger, “Psychology of Social Categorization,” in International Encyclopedia of the Social and Behavioral Sciences (ed. Neil J. Smelser and Paul B. Baltes; 26 vols.; Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2001) 21. 14219-23, here 14222.


circumstances and events of an ancient time and contemporary ethnicreligious-social realities, with the result that anti-Judaism in the modern sense of the term is needlessly fostered through biblical texts.”46 Strong support for translating Johannine usage of ᾽Ιουδαῖοι as “Judeans” comes from Shaye J. D. Cohen who has surveyed Hebrew and Aramaic texts, Judean authors in Greek, Greek and Latin authors, and inscriptions and papyri in order to determine how the term ᾽Ιουδαῖος ought to be rendered in English.47 Cohen explains that while a ᾽Ιουδαῖος is “a member of the Judean people or nation . . . living in the ethnic homeland of Judea,”48 both Greeks and Romans perceived that all ᾽Ιουδαῖοι belonged to the same group. Hence the ethnic meaning remained for ᾽Ιουδαῖοι living in the diaspora. Moreover, it was only by the end of the first century C.E. that ᾽Ιουδαῖος acquired the religious sense of one who worshipped the God of the Judeans.49 There is evidence to suggest that it is anachronistic to speak of “Jews” in the first century C.E. and translating Johannine references to ᾽Ιουδαῖοι as “Jews” may foster misunderstanding. For these reasons the translation “Judean” will be employed in this text. With respect to the second group ὁ κόσμος, when used in an antagonistic sense in this gospel, is generally thought to refer to that which is hostile to God. For the Johannine group, “the world” includes the surrounding Judean society, from which they are alienated.50 Additionally, in the opinion of some scholars, the expression may represent an even wider concept, perhaps implying that by the time the gospel was written the Johannines were also facing Gentile opposition.51 The gospel clearly implies the former interpretation in a number of places. For example, the brothers of Jesus encourage him to go to Judea and show his powers to “the world” (John 7:3-4), in other words, to Judean society. Again, a great crowd that comes to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover is referred to as “the world” (John 12:19): these pilgrims are undoubtedly Judeans. Moreover, Jesus informs the high priest that he Danker, A Greek-English Lexicon, 478. Shaye J. D. Cohen, The Beginning of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999) 69-106. 48 Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, 71. 49 Cohen, Beginnings of Jewishness, 96. 50 Malina and Rohrbaugh, Commentary on John, 86. 51 Duling, New Testament, 414. 46

47


has always spoken openly to “the world,” and that he has done so in the synagogues and in the temple where Judeans gather (John 18:20), thus implying a close relationship between “the world,” Judeans, and their central gathering places. In addition, Jesus prepares his disciples for the persecution that they will receive from “the world,” warning them that they will be expelled from the synagogues (John 16:2). And finally, as Jesus’s “hour” approaches, he implies that it will be in Jerusalem where the “ruler of this world” will attempt to triumph, though in the end without success (John 12:31; 14:30; 16:11). The wider perspective, however, is implied by Pontius Pilate’s central role in the passion narrative. The fact that he knowingly hands the innocent Jesus over to those who will crucify him signifies the involvement of the nonJudean world in the death of Jesus (John 19:16). Roman opposition to Jesus is further suggested when the οἱ ᾽Ιουδαῖοι claim that Caesar is their king (John 19:15). Hence, in this extended Roman trial Judean society is, in effect, placed against the backdrop of the larger Roman Empire.

Provenance To this point, it has been argued that the Fourth Gospel was written for an intended audience (the Johannines) and that traces of the group’s concerns can be detected within the gospel. Since the ultimate aim is to investigate relations between the gospel’s intended audience and their opponents, however, a consideration of the provenance of the Fourth Gospel is necessary. There is no way to precisely determine where the Gospel of John was written. Even so, if the model of family to be developed here is to adequately reflect that presupposed by the gospel author, it is necessary to narrow down, as far as possible, the geographical region from which the gospel emanated. Before commenting specifically on the gospel’s geographical origins, a few words about the background of the Fourth Gospel are necessary. According to C. H. Dodd, the Fourth Gospel exhibits affinities with “Rabbinic Judaism” but also presumes views akin to those of “Hellenistic Judaism as represented by Philo” and the Hermetic literature.52 52 C. H. Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1953) 133.


The influence of Hellenism on the Fourth Gospel is certainly well attested. More recent scholars, however, have upheld the importance of Judean influence on the Fourth Gospel and note that John reflects elements of Qumran literature, Rabbinic Judaism, and the Tanak.53 In addition, while the Gospel of John bears the unmistakable influence of both Hellenistic and Judean thought, the fact that it was written within the political and geographical constraints of Roman rule adds a further contextual factor. It has been argued, for example, that the Fourth Gospel was written in order to provide encouragement for Jesus-movement groups living under Roman rule.54 Whether or not this is the case, there are undoubtedly many points of contact between the Fourth Gospel and the cultural matrix in which it is embedded. Ephesus, Alexandria, and Antioch are most often proposed as venues for the writing of John. While no certain case can be made in favor of any one of them, many critics allot a slight edge to Ephesus. Dodd acknowledges Alexandria or Antioch as possibilities but favors Ephesus because the Johannine Epistles, which appear to be rooted in Asia, are closely connected with the Fourth Gospel.55 Brown points out that Alexandria has been favored by some scholars because the Gospel of John widely circulated in Egypt. He cautions, however, that Egypt’s climate, unlike that of Palestine, favored the survival of papyri. For Brown, the possibility that Ignatius of Antioch drew upon John’s Gospel is an important factor in its favor as the place of composition, but he concludes that Ephesus is the primary contender. Besides the almost unanimous voice of ancient witnesses who mention the subject, there are those who note the parallels between John and Revelation, the latter work definitely belonging to the area of Ephesus. As support, Brown states that the anti-synagogue motif is at home in Ephesus, and Revelation contains two references (Rev 2:9; 3:9) to bitter anti-synagogue polemics in this area of Asia Minor. Furthermore, Qumran parallels with the Gospel of John are most obvious in Colossians and Ephesians, epistles addressed to the Ephesus region.56 53 W. D. Davies, “Reflections on Aspects of the Jewish Background of the Gospel of John,” in Exploring the Gospel of John: In Honor of D. Moody Smith (ed. R. A. Culpepper and C. C. Black; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996) 43-64, here 59. 54 Richard J. Cassidy, John’s Gospel in New Perspective (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1992) esp. 82-88. 55 Dodd, Interpretation, 5. 56 Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel according to John (2 vols.; AB 29-29A; Garden City: Doubleday, 1966-70) 1. ciii-civ.


A more literary approach to the Fourth Gospel’s provenance is taken by Sjef van Tilborg, who examines inscriptions dealing with Ephesus, and compares them with John’s Gospel in order to assess how this information would have been understood by Ephesian readers and hearers.57 In other words, what associations might such persons have made when they encountered Johannine ideas that were already full of meaning in the Ephesian milieu? To this end, van Tilborg investigates onomastics, titles of rulers, city structures (especially the temple), and the status of various groups of people, teaching activities, meals, and the emperor cult. While he does not aim to “prove” that the Gospel of John was written in Ephesus, he favors the traditional location. Rudolf Bultmann is the foremost modern scholar who rejects the possibility that the Gospel of John originated in Asia Minor. For Bultmann, John’s Semitic style and its relationship to the gnostic revelation discourses, the letters of Ignatius of Antioch, and the Odes of Solomon strongly support the possibility that the author of the Fourth Gospel originated from Syria. Bultmann opts for Gnosticism as the significant influence on the Fourth Gospel and has proposed that the gnostic redeemer myth underlies the Johannine portrait of Jesus as one who came from God and returns to God.58 While this holds a certain attraction, Bultmann has been unable to convince many scholars that a preChristian myth of this kind existed. Works such as the letters of Ignatius, the Odes of Solomon, and the Hermetic and Mandean literatures are often considered post-Johannine, and, therefore, one must consider the possibility that they have been influenced by John.59 Given the amount of scholarly debate on the subject, it seems likely that influence on the thought of the Fourth Gospel was multifaceted, and this, in turn, clouds the question of where it was penned. However, it may be safe to assume that the Fourth Gospel had Judean roots and it developed in a number of areas, perhaps culminating in Ephesus.

Sjef van Tilborg, Reading John in Ephesus (NovTSup 83; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1996). Bultmann, Gospel of John, 7-9. 59 Oscar Cullmann, The Johannine Circle (trans. John Bowden; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1975) 33. 57 58

CHAPTER 2

John’s Portrayal of Family in Scholarly Discussion

Introduction John’s portrayals of the mother of Jesus (John 2:1-12; 19:25-27) and of his ἀδελφοί (2:12, 7:1-10) have generated a great deal of scholarly interest. While substantial attention has been given to how these characters relate to Jesus and his disciples at the narrative level, discussion of the potential impact of these narrative relationships on the gospel’s intended audience has been practically non-existent. Before turning more fully to a social-science approach to these various kinship groupings, and an examination of the way their dynamics might be reflected in the time of the Fourth Evangelist, a brief survey of the most pertinent studies is in order. Perhaps not surprisingly, in the course of this assessment, several questions will emerge regarding how we are to understand the depiction of the mother and brothers of Jesus. For example, how are we to understand Jesus’s seemingly unsympathetic reply to his mother’s concern about the lack of wine (John 2:3-4)? Does it suggest that the relationship between this particular mother and son is strained? And how close is the relationship between Jesus and his brothers? Why would his brothers advise Jesus to go where people want to kill him (John 7:1, 3)? Is he lying to them when he retorts that he is not going to the feast (John 7:8)? How does this exchange square with the ideal of solidarity among Mediterranean brothers, the way that secrecy functions in the Mediterranean region, and the core values of honor and shame? Since Jesus has 26

John’s Portrayal of Family in Scholarly Discussion · 27

brothers (John 2:12; 7:3, 5, 10), why would he commend his mother to the Beloved Disciple (19:27)? Finally, Jesus, members of his family by blood, and his disciples are depicted as enjoying amicable relations in the scene in Capernaum (John 2:12), but the only son with whom his mother has further contact in the Fourth Gospel is Jesus. At no time are words exchanged between the mother of Jesus and his siblings, and aside from John 2:12, there is no mention of her presence among them. The silence causes one to wonder what sort of relationship the Fourth Evangelist might have envisioned between the mother and brothers of Jesus: amicable, indifferent, antagonistic, or otherwise. In many cases, adequate responses to these questions require information about the culture, and, as will become clear in due course, are better served by a social-science approach than by historical-critical or literary methods. In the meantime, situating the present discussion within the domain of Johannine research will create a fruitful dialogue between previous scholarship and social-scientific analysis, and will set the stage for subsequent arguments.

The Mother of Jesus (John 2:1-12; 19:25-27) Interest in the portrayal of the mother of Jesus in John’s Gospel has generated an enormous amount of literature. The passages that feature her (John 2:1-11; 19:25-27) have often been treated as a unit because they are strategically located, framing as they do her son’s public life. In each, Jesus refers to her as “Woman.” And his “hour” is a principal theme. Periodically, one encounters the theory that her role evolves from one passage to the next, supposedly from a negative role in the first to quite an impressive one in the second. There are those who hold that Jesus dissociates himself from his mother at the wedding feast, but that when she reappears at Golgotha, she is elevated to the status of model for all believers.1 Or, she is seen as the woman whose intervention at Cana is rejected but who is brought into the realm of discipleship at the foot of the cross.2 Or yet again, his mother asks Jesus to perform a miracle 1

Raymond E. Brown, Joseph A. Fitzmyer, and John Reumann, eds., Mary in the New Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1978) 191-94. 2 Raymond E. Brown, The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsemane to the Grave (2 vols.; New York: Doubleday, 1994) 2. 1025.


(John 2:3), a request that likens her to the people of Israel who expect the Messiah to be revealed by signs, while at the crucifixion, she embodies Mother Church, to whom Jesus entrusts the Beloved Disciple, the representative of all the faithful.3 It might well be asked whether this line of reasoning results in a fair assessment of her role. Is she, in fact, favorably or unfavorably portrayed in the earlier pericope, John 2:1-11? What do these passages reveal about her relationship with her son and his followers and about her significance in the Fourth Gospel? One’s response to these questions is greatly influenced by one’s position with respect to four much-debated factors. First, how is Jesus’s sharp response to her remark that the wine has run out (John 2:4bc) to be interpreted? Second, how is Jesus’s use of the epithet “Woman” (John 2:4b; 19:26) with respect to his mother to be construed? Is it a polite form of address? Does it create distance between them? Or, is there some other way to explain why Jesus addresses his mother with this epithet? Third, why is she consistently referred to in terms of her motherhood (John 2:1, 3, 5, 12; 19:25-27)? Fourth and finally, how does her association with the Beloved Disciple (John 19:26-27) have an impact on her relationship with Jesus and with his disciples? I. Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ σοί Precisely what message Jesus communicates to his mother by means of the expression Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ σοί in John 2:4b has proven to be a scholarly conundrum. Critics have by and large turned to other biblical passages where this question occurs in order to assess its meaning in John and have discovered that human interlocutors employ it as a means of protesting unjust treatment (Judg 11:12; 1 Kgs 17:18; 2 Chr 35:21) or of dissociating themselves from the issue at hand (2 Kgs 3:13; Hos 14:8). In the Synoptic Gospels, it is shrieked by demons objecting to their imminent destruction by Jesus (Matt 8:29; Mark 1:24; 5:7; Luke 4:34; 8:28). Reflection upon these passages has led to widespread agreement that Jesus’s use of the question in John 2:4 creates distance between his mother and him.4 Thus, depending upon how much distance is posited, his response 3 Max Thurian, Mary: Mother of the Lord, Figure of the Church (trans. Neville B. Cryer; London: Faith Press, 1962) 136, 163. 4 Matthew S. Collins, “The Question of Doxa: A Socioliterary Reading of the Wedding at Cana,” BTB 25 (1995) 100-109, here 103; Leon Morris, The Gospel According to John (rev. ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995) 159.


is deemed either a polite refusal of her indirect request to help remedy the wine crisis or an emphatic rejection. This reading of the expression, however, stands in uneasy tension with other signals in the text. Her instruction to the servants (John 2:5) betrays no evidence that she perceives his reply as a refusal. Moreover, shortly thereafter, Jesus responds to the predicament by providing an extraordinary amount of choice wine. Not uncommonly, scholars who interpret John 2:4b as a refusal of her implied request attempt to skirt the resulting tension. André Feuillet, for instance, reasons that although Jesus refuses her appeal, there is no incongruity in his subsequent action because Jesus’s wondrous deed does not correspond to his mother’s expectations. She has requested, albeit indirectly, the messianic wine but, since Jesus’s “hour” has not yet come, he provides a sign of what he will accomplish one day.5 More mundanely, Frédéric Godet states that Jesus will not display his miraculous power at her behest but eventually performs the miracle because he understands that something has to be done about the lack of wine.6 James Montgomery Boice concurs, arguing that Jesus will not be manipulated by his mother’s desire that he declare himself openly, but to prevent the host’s embarrassment, he responds quietly to the need.7 Such efforts to explain away the tension are feeble, however, and in no way resolve the problem in supposing John 2:4b to constitute a rejection. The most common attempt to reconcile Jesus’s “refusal” with his subsequent provision of the wine interprets his announcement that his hour has not yet come (John 2:4c) to mean that his deeds constitute a response to God’s directives and will not be dictated by human initiative.8 Charles Giblin, who has identified a pattern of suggestion, negative response and positive action in four pericopae (John 2:1-11; 4:46-54; 7:2-14; 11:1-44), André Feuillet, Johannine Studies (Staten Island: Alba, 1965) 31-33. Frédéric L. Godet, Commentary on the Gospel of John with an Historical and Critical Introduction (trans. Timothy Dwight; 2 vols.; New York: Funk and Wagnalls, 1886) 1. 348. 7 James Montgomery Boice, John 1:1-4:54 (vol. 1 of The Gospel of John: An Expositional Commentary; 5 vols.; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1975) 1. 201-2. 8 Gerald L. Borchert, John 1-11 (New American Commentary 25A; Nashville: Broadman and Holman, 1996) 155-56; Turid Karlsen Seim, “Roles of Women in the Gospel of John,” in Aspects on the Johannine Literature: Papers Presented at a Conference of Scandinavian New Testament Exegetes at Uppsala, June 16-19, 1986 (ed. Lars Hartman and Birger Olsson; Coniectanea Biblica: New Testament Series 18; Sweden: Almqvist and Wiksell, 1987) 56-73, here 62. 5 6


maintains that Jesus responds negatively to human concerns in order to underscore his commitment to act in accord with his “hour.” Yet as Giblin admits, Jesus always attends to the situation at hand.9 Some interpreters deal with Jesus’s initial “refusal” by emphasizing the words and actions of the mother of Jesus. Colleen Conway, for one, maintains that she ignores her son’s refusal because Mary, rather than Jesus, is in tune with what is about to occur. Although Jesus thinks that his mother should not intervene because his hour has not yet come, as a result of her persistence, he performs his first sign and reveals his glory. In effect, she, rather than Jesus, comprehends the Father’s plan for him.10 In order to be fully persuasive, however, Conway would have to explain Jesus’s lack of enlightenment in a gospel that more generally depicts him as the revealer of God, who mediates knowledge of God to other characters. It is also unconvincing to interpret John 2:5b to mean that his mother’s persistence in spite of rejection causes Jesus to reveal himself to others.11 Her words to the servants do not imply that she is trying to convince Jesus to change his mind, and, by advising them to act in accord with Jesus’s instructions, she appears to acquiesce rather than to persist. It is more likely that she, knowing that Jesus will assist in some way—albeit perhaps not in the way that she has hoped—has allowed him the freedom to respond in a manner determined by him. Thus, John 2:4-5 cannot plausibly be read as Jesus’s rejection of his mother’s request, followed by her persistence and his subsequent change of heart. In contrast to scholars who hold the view that Jesus has refused his mother’s request are a number of critics who do not interpret John 2:4b as a refusal. John McHugh maintains that prior to relating the signs of Jesus, the Fourth Evangelist typically warns the reader that the importance of the sign lies not in the external event but in the spiritual truth it signifies. Therefore, by responding to his mother in this way, Jesus is 9

Charles H. Giblin, “Suggestion, Negative Response, and Positive Action in St. John’s Portrayal of Jesus (John 2:1-11; 4:46-54; 7:2-14; 11:1-44),” NTS 26 (1980) 197-211, esp. 202-4, 210. 10 Colleen M. Conway, Men and Women in the Fourth Gospel: Gender and Johannine Characterization (ed. Mark Allan Powell; SBLDS 167; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 1999) 76-78. 11 Adeline Fehribach, The Women in the Life of the Bridegroom: A Feminist Historical-Literary Analysis of the Female Characters in the Fourth Gospel (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1998) 40-41.


indicating that neither he nor she should be upset by something as trivial as the lack of wine at a wedding. She, already a believer who understands the nature of his mission, fully comprehends the deeper meaning communicated by Jesus, and takes his part against other characters. In this interpretation, then, Jesus’s remark simply constitutes a reminder of what is truly important.12 Yet there is no indication in John 2:4 that Jesus intends to provide a heavenly gift of which the wine is but a symbol. Nor does McHugh explain why one might regard the mother of Jesus as a believer or a privileged insider. Furthermore, the expression Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ σοί never suggests such cooperation on the part of those involved. In essence, then, while the response (John 2:4b) may not constitute an outright rejection of his mother’s implicit request, it does convey a level of agitation, that is not explained by such criticism. Ritva Williams observes that Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ σοί is employed in response to a threat or an intrusion, and that any more than this must be deduced from a thorough investigation of the context where the expression occurs.13 In John 2:1-11, the mother of Jesus, acting as broker on behalf of the bridegroom’s family, requests his assistance, thereby issuing Jesus a positive challenge that constitutes a form of intrusion into his social space. Thus, Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ σοί is his way of questioning why they should get involved in the wine shortage, since it is not their problem. His response is not one of rejection but of resistance: Jesus does not wish to be drawn into the local system of reciprocal relationships.14 Ultimately, however, while he is distancing himself from his mother and her claims on him, their relationship is not severed as a result of her initiative. As has been noted, Jesus’s reluctance to become involved in the problem is somehow related to his “hour,” but this too can be variously interpreted. On the one hand, reading his response (John 2:4c) as a statement would indicate his knowledge that his hour has not yet come. On the other hand, it is also conceivable that Jesus is posing a question that presupposes a positive answer: “Has my hour not now come?” Williams chooses to treat οὔπω ἥκει ἡ ὥρα μου in the latter way because it works well in the context of the unfolding narrative. In the first chap12

John McHugh, The Mother of Jesus in the New Testament (London: Darton, Longman and Todd; Garden City: Doubleday, 1975) 392-99. 13 Ritva H. Williams, “The Mother of Jesus at Cana: A Social-Science Interpretation of John 2:1-12,” CBQ 59 (1997) 679-92, esp. 686-87. 14 Williams, “Mother of Jesus,” 689.


ter of John’s Gospel, Jesus has been singled out for his divine ministry, but his mother now expects him to become involved in a matter of family honor. If he helps to allay the problem, her son’s acquired honor will extend to her entire family. Jesus resists on the basis that it is time for him to proceed with God’s plan for him. Confident that he will respond, however, in part because of her privileged relationship with him, she instructs the servants to follow his directions. The favor is granted in a fashion beyond her expectations. Williams’s social-scientific reading is very plausible, if John 2:4c is to be read as a question that expects a positive answer. But is it really unfeasible, as she implies, to read οὔπω ἥκει ἡ ὥρα μου as a negative statement, as is most often the case? After all, the term οὔπω occurs twelve times in John, and all other instances result in negative statements. Two of these are strikingly similar to John 2:4c, because the words οὔπω and ὥρα appear together: in John 7:30, and again in John 8:20, it is unambiguously stated that Jesus cannot be apprehended because οὔπω ἐληύθει ἡ ὥρα αὐτοῦ. In another use of οὔπω, Jesus informs his unbelieving brothers that his time has not yet come (John 7:6, 8). Moreover, while there is evidence that οὐ, οὐχ, and οὐχι occur in questions that expect an affirmative answer, such evidence appears to be lacking in the case of οὔπω.15 The negative sense of οὔπω, therefore, is very much at home in John 2:4c. The manner in which critics interpret this brief exchange between Jesus and his mother (John 2:3-5) has exercized a profound impact on the exegesis of the entire pericope as well as our understanding of the quality of the relationship between Jesus and his mother as it is portrayed in the Fourth Gospel. But to this point, scholarship has failed to adequately explain what Jesus’s resistance has to do with his “hour.” An explanation of this critical point will be provided in a subsequent chapter, by means of a social-science approach, but that is to anticipate a later discussion. II. Γύναι A second factor that affects the understanding of his mother’s relationship with Jesus is his use of the term of address γύναι with respect to her. That Jesus does so is very unusual. In fact, Hebrew and Greek 15 Frederick William Danker, ed., A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and other Early Christian Literature (3d ed.; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000) 734, 737, 742.


literature are devoid of instances that show a son referring to his mother in this manner.16 In view of this, critics have understandably wondered whether the epithet establishes distance between Jesus and his mother, particularly in the story of the wedding feast at Cana. Leon Morris states, for example, that on the lips of Jesus, the appellation indicates that, as he commences his public life, a new relationship exists between them: she no longer possesses the same authority over him.17 An alternative proposal is that Jesus addresses his mother in this manner in order to point to the human bond that they now share but that will be transformed into the deepest bond of union during his passion. Or again, the epithet may constitute a form of resistance to human ties and obligations: Jesus must now listen to another voice.18 It is customary for scholars to conclude that Jesus communicates no disrespect when he refers to his mother as γύναι. Uncomfortable with the brusqueness of his tone in John 2:4, they mention cases where γύναι conveys respect or affection, often noting that in Hellenistic literature the vocative rarely conveys a tone of disregard but, more often, one of respect or affection.19 Critics also routinely mention that the Johannine Jesus politely addresses other women the same way (John 4:21; 20:15) and note that he again refers to his mother in this manner during the crucifixion where it can hardly be considered disrespectful. Arguing against this approach, Robert Maccini contends that in the canonical gospels, Jesus employs a term of address, such as γύναι or θυγάτηρ to address women whom he does not know, but calls by name those with whom he is acquainted. The two notable exceptions involve Mary Magdalene (John 20:15) and the mother of Jesus (2:4; 19:26). Maccini goes on to provide examples where the use of the term γύναι undoubtedly conveys contempt (T. Jos 5.2; T. Job 24.9) and concludes that in John 2:4, Jesus has created a palpable barrier between his mother and himself by addressing her in this manner.20 Since the tone of the expression can probably express everything from 16 Robert G. Maccini, Her Testimony is True: Women as Witnesses according to John (JSNTSup 125; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996) 101-2. 17 Morris, John, 158. 18 Rudolf Bultmann, The Gospel of John: A Commentary (trans. George R. BeasleyMurray; Philadelphia: Westminster; Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1971) 116-17. 19 Henry George Liddell and Robert Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon (9th ed.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1996) 363. 20 Maccini, Her Testimony, 100-102.


affection to contempt, the message that Jesus communicates may be clarified by its context. His mother has intruded into his social space by asking him to help remedy the wine predicament. She has issued a positive challenge, and his ensuing question (Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ σοί) conveys substantial annoyance. Γύναι, uttered in the same breath, may be comparable in tone and may explain the choice of what seems to be an impersonal form of address. Yet while his response is firm, the subsequent sign implies that it does not constitute a dismissal of her request. Indeed, her intervention is the catalyst behind his first sign whereby he reveals his glory and through which his disciples believe in him. The next time that Jesus addresses his mother as γύναι occurs in the context of his “hour” of glory (John 19:26). This time, the meaning of this form of address is connected to concern for his “own,” his disciples, a prevalent theme in the second half of the Fourth Gospel (John 14:1-3, 16-19, 26-29; 15:9-11; 15:18–16:33; 17:11-19). A significant aspect of Jesus’s concern for his disciples involves the persecution that they will suffer in his absence (John 15:18-16:4). The suffering of the disciples is often thought to reflect the λύπη of the woman in labor (John 16:21) and her subsequent χαρά upon the birth of her child (ὁ ἄνθρωπος).21 During the “hour” of Jesus, his disciples will experience what the woman experiences during her “hour.”22 Jesus’s departure will devastate them, but they will experience joy when they are reunited with him. Some critics believe that the woman in childbirth (John 16:21) anticipates the mother of Jesus who acquires a son (ὁ υἵος) at the cross.23 However, since the woman of John 16:21 gives birth not to a “son,” but to a “human being” (ὁ ἄνθρωπος), the connection between her and the mother of Jesus may be better understood in terms of their association with the disciples. It has already been stated that Jesus’s concern for his disciples is a prevalent theme in the second half of the Fourth Gospel. It is here that Jesus promises to send another Paraclete (John 16:7) to be with them (14:16-17) and to continue his work among them (14:26). Παράκλητος refers to one who is called to someone’s aid, an advocate, mediator, 21 Francis J. Moloney, “The Function of John 13-17 within the Johannine Narrative,” in What is John? Volume 2: Literary and Social Readings of the Fourth Gospel (ed. Fernando F. Segovia; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998) 2. 43-66, here 57-58. 22 Fernando F. Segovia, The Farewell of the Word: The Johannine Call to Abide (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991) 254. 23 Judith M. Lieu, “The Mother of the Son in the Fourth Gospel,” JBL 117 (1998) 6177, here 72.


intercessor or helper.24 According to R. Alan Culpepper, there is a striking correlation between the promised work of this Paraclete and the functions of the Beloved Disciple.25 Although he is not the Paraclete, the Beloved Disciple remains with the disciples (John 14:17), teaches them all things (14:26), declares what he has heard (16:13), honors Jesus (16:14) and bears witness to him (15:26). Just as Jesus is in the bosom of the Father (John 1:18) and is therefore able to make the Father known, so too the Beloved Disciple is able to make Jesus known (13:23). He alone appears to be privy to certain information (John 13:24-26) and is the one who validates the gospel’s testimony (21:24-25). Little wonder that many scholars consider this disciple the successor of Jesus. At Golgotha, Jesus demonstrates that he will not leave his disciples as orphans (John 14:18); rather, he will provide for their care, and when he hands his mother over to the Beloved Disciple, he is, in effect, handing over his disciples to the central personage of the second half of the gospel. In other words, his mother stands in for Jesus’s “own,” the fictive family of Johannine disciples.26 Thus, this time, when Jesus addresses her as γύναι and entrusts her to the care of a trusted friend, he is, at the same time, providing a new leader and protector for his disciples. Their time of suffering, like that of the woman giving birth, will soon cease. This is the beginning of their joy, that, despite persecutions (John 16:2), no one will be able to take from them (16:22). As stated earlier, Jesus’s reference to his mother as γύναι is most unusual. While we cannot ascertain why the Evangelist has Jesus address his mother in this manner, subsequent chapters dealing with relationships between Mediterranean mothers and sons, together with the Fourth Evangelist’s use of unique language, will provide clarification as to whether it may be concluded that Jesus’s words create distance between his mother and him. III. The Mother of Jesus A third element has garnered considerable interest, particularly with respect to Mary’s significance in the Fourth Gospel, namely the appelDanker, A Greek-English Lexicon, 766. R. Alan Culpepper, Anatomy of the Fourth Gospel: A Study in Literary Design (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983) 122-23. 26 Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh, Social-Science Commentary on the Gospel of John (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998) 270. 24

25


lation “the mother of Jesus” used instead of “Mary.” For some commentators, this phenomenon places her among the ranks of the Fourth Gospel’s anonymous characters. Anonymity functions to create a gap that the reader is invited to fill by identifying with such figures. According to David Beck, Mary’s response of faith, following as it does on the heels of Jesus’s rebuke, is remarkable and challenges the reader to identify with her and to respond to Jesus in the correct manner.27 This approach seems apt with respect to such anonymous characters as the woman of Samaria or the man born blind: their developing insights regarding the identity of Jesus and subsequent confessions attract readers who may wish to emulate them. However, this does not appear to be the case with the mother of Jesus. There has been resistance to this approach. Although other interpreters agree with Beck that the injunction, “Do whatever he tells you,” (John 2:5b) implies faith, Raymond Brown also (and more correctly) points out that “if the miracle is a response to her persistent faith, this motif is not made explicit.”28 Moreover, the same degree of anonymity cannot be ascribed to her as, for example, to the woman of Samaria. Jesus is so powerfully introduced in the Johannine prologue as the preexistent logos and protagonist of this gospel, that readers readily align themselves with him. Although his mother is never identified by name, the fact that she is the mother of Jesus provides her with a level of individuation that other unnamed characters do not possess. Furthermore, it is not so much her anonymity that attracts readers as it is her interaction with her son. Readers may well wonder why Jesus responds brusquely to her comment that the wine has been exhausted, but then, almost immediately, produces an enormous quantity of select wine. They may also puzzle over how her command to the servants is to be construed in light of Jesus’s apparently angry retort. The fact that questions such as these have dominated scholarly investigations of John 2:111 suggests that readers note not only her faith but also what appear to be the unusual dynamics in this verbal exchange between a mother and her son. Thus, neither the elements of anonymity nor her supposed faith 27

David R. Beck, “The Narrative Function of Anonymity in Fourth Gospel Characterization,” in Characterization in Biblical Literature (ed. E. S. Malbon and A. Berlin; Semeia 63; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993) 143-58, esp. 149-50. 28 Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John (2 vols.; AB 29-29A; Garden City: Doubleday, 1966-70) 1. 103.


provide an adequate explanation of why she is called “the mother of Jesus” (John 2:1, 3) or “his mother” (2:5, 12; 19:25-26) rather than “Mary.” Another explanation was proposed by Troy Martin, who analyzed the epithet, “mother of N,” well-attested in Greek literature of the first two centuries C.E. He has noted that mothers were described in this manner when their names were unknown, or disputed, but sometimes even when they were well known.29 There is no evidence in John’s Gospel to indicate which option pertains to Jesus’s mother. However, in John 6:42, Jesus’s opponents claim to know his mother and father. The verb οἶδα when used as it is here with the accusative of the person (οἴδαμεν τὸν πατέρα καὶ τὴν μητέρα) means to know someone or to know of that person.30 Elsewhere in the Fourth Gospel, this construction is employed in reference to Jesus and the Father: Jesus knows the Father (John 7:29; 8:55), but his adversaries know neither him nor his Father (1:26; 7:28; 8:19; 15:21). Their information about Jesus and his origins is restricted to the human realm (John 7:28). Their knowledge of Jesus’s parents is also devoid of the higher wisdom that God is his true Father. Nevertheless, the fact that Jesus’s opponents claim to know his parents suggests that the Fourth Evangelist considers them well-known figures. The atmosphere created is one of familiarity: Joseph, who plays no active part in the story, is known to friend (John 1:45) and foe (6:42) alike. Therefore, although women were commonly identified as daughter, wife, or mother of N,31 it is possible that the mother of Jesus, who plays a pivotal role, was also known by name to the Fourth Evangelist. The use of the appellation, “the mother of Jesus,” may well be intentional, but it is unlikely that the intention is to stress that “her role in the gospel lay only in her relationship to her son.”32 In scene one (John 2:1-11) she is, admittedly, described as his mother and interacts primarily with him. In scene two (John 19:25-27), however, the mother of Jesus becomes the mother of the Beloved Disciple (19:27b), a transition that intimately associates her with someone other than Jesus. While this new 29 Troy W. Martin, “Assessing the Johannine Epithet ‘the Mother of Jesus,’” CBQ 60 (1998) 63-73, esp. 68-72. 30 Danker, A Greek-English Lexicon, 555. 31 Sarah B. Pomeroy, “Women’s Identity and the Family in the Classical Polis,” in Women in Antiquity: New Assessments (ed. Richard Hawley and Barbara Levick; London and New York: Routledge, 1995) 111-21, here 119. 32 McHugh, Mother of Jesus, 361-62.


relationship reinforces the belief that her importance derives from her motherhood, it also suggests that it is not solely dependant upon the fact that she is the mother of Jesus. The challenge, then, is to determine how to understand her new tie with the Beloved Disciple. IV. The Mother of Jesus and the Beloved Disciple Scholars have demonstrated that John 19:25-27 is a fundamental element in the Johannine crucifixion scene. Most notably, Raymond Brown has identified seven episodes in chiastic arrangement in John 19:16-42 and has demonstrated that the scene at the foot of the cross is the centerpiece of this composition.33 But while their importance is widely accepted, the intention behind Jesus’s words to his mother and the Beloved Disciple is notoriously difficult to unravel. In fact, use of γύναι as a form of address for his mother, the repeated reference to her as “mother,” and the new relationship established between these two unnamed characters have led many critics to imagine that the mother of Jesus and the Beloved Disciple must function symbolically. A wide range of interpretations invite critique. Do these characters, for example, symbolize the new Eve and her offspring?34 Do they stand in for Jewish Christianity and Gentile Christianity?35 Are they correctly identified as Israelites who seek true salvation in company with the guarantor of Jesus’s earthly revelation?36 Or, is it preferable to deem them representative of the Church and its members?37 And as a final example, are they to be viewed as illustrative of all disciples loved by Jesus and the Father because they keep the commandments?38 No one interpretation is adequate, because while each emphasizes what the mother of Jesus and the Beloved Disciple may symbolize, all fail to pay adequate attention to the new relationship that Jesus has established between them. Brown, John, 2. 910-11. Brown, John, 2. 926. 35 Bultmann, John, 673. 36 Rudolf Schnackenburg, The Gospel According to St. John (3 vols.; New York: Seabury, 1968, 1980, 1982) 3. 278-79. 37 R. H. Lightfoot, St John’s Gospel: A Commentary (ed. C. F. Evans; Oxford: Clarendon, 1956) 317. 38 André Feuillet, “L’heure de la femme (John 16:21) et l’heure de La Mère de Jésus (John 19:25-27): Les Allusions allégoriques de Jn 16:21 et leur Application à la Scène de 19:25-27,” Bib 47 (1966) 361-80, here 370. 33 34


The prevalent opinion of critics who reflect on this relationship is that Jesus establishes a new family just prior to his death. This is plausible since the mother of Jesus gains a new son and the Beloved Disciple a new mother. The nature of this family and its relationship to Jesus’s biological family will be considered in a later chapter. At this point, a comment upon several proposals is in order. While it is impossible to review all interpretations of the words of the dying Jesus with respect to this new family, the following represent a cross-sampling of scholarly opinion. The declaration of the dying Jesus has been described as an example of filial piety, wherein he provides for the care of his mother after his death.39 Interestingly, Joseph plays no active part in the plot, and one may wonder if the mother of Jesus is depicted here as a widow whose other sons are notably absent. While this is possible, the Fourth Evangelist seems to imply that Joseph is alive during the public life of Jesus: “Do we not know his father and mother (John 6:42)?” Has Joseph abandoned the family? Or, is the author simply unaware that Joseph probably died prior to Jesus’s public life? Regardless of the reason for Joseph’s absence, Jesus commends his mother to the Beloved Disciple, who takes her to his home (John 19:27); this suggests that he will assume care for her. Nevertheless, the Beloved Disciple is also commended to her, which suggests that the new relationship is about more than providing for the future care of the mother of Jesus. Beverly Gaventa’s literary exploration of the role of the mother of Jesus in the gospels is a notable contribution to Marian scholarship.40 She holds that, in the Fourth Gospel, the importance of Jesus’s mother derives from her relationship to him. But, she argues, if the mother of Jesus is a symbolic character, her symbolism must emerge from the story itself, rather than from the fact that her name is not stated. Gaventa admits that John 19:25-27 might well hold an emotional or symbolic meaning but seeks to read it in some other way. She deduces that this scene concludes the crucifixion’s separation of Jesus from all earthly ties so as to return to his Father. To this end, he divests himself of his mother

39

Ernst Haenchen, John: A Commentary on the Gospel of John (ed. Robert W. Funk and Ulrich Busse; trans. Robert W. Funk; Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984) 193. 40 Beverly Roberts Gaventa, Mary: Glimpses of the Mother of Jesus (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995).


and his Beloved Disciple and is removed from the human family ascribed to him at Cana.41 If Gaventa is correct, how does the Beloved Disciple, who is not a member of Jesus’s biological family, function in the divestiture? If Jesus wants to dissociate himself from his human family before returning to the Father, why does he designate the Beloved Disciple son of his own mother? Surely, handing his mother over to the disciple would suffice. Gaventa does not go so far as to state that, at Golgotha, the mother of Jesus somehow represents the entire biological family of Jesus. How, then, does Jesus divest himself of Joseph and his brothers who are also, according to Gaventa, members of the human family attributed to Jesus at Cana? It seems more likely that, at Golgotha, Jesus establishes a new relationship between his mother and the Beloved Disciple: the latter is to assume Jesus’s role in relationship to her, and she is to accept the disciple as her son, a factor that implies that she now has some kind of duty toward him as well. This new relationship is intended to carry on and constitutes more than an act of divestiture. In an engaging analysis of guardian relationships in the Roman world, Beth Sheppard proposes that, in John’s crucifixion scene, the mother of Jesus might be depicted as the Beloved Disciple’s caretaker.42 Sheppard maintains that John 19:26-27 does not appear to reflect the institution of adoption in the Roman world, but proposes that it could illustrate the foster kin relationship. Women as well as men were eligible to serve as fosterers for minors called “alumni,” who were not their natural children. The Beloved Disciple may have been an “alumnus” of Jesus who was given by Jesus into his mother’s care.43 To support her argument, Sheppard attempts to demonstrate that the Beloved Disciple fits the Roman stereotypical understanding of youth: impetuosity, lack of reflection, lack of constraint, fickleness, cheerfulness, and idealism. She states that the disciple is unable to control his curiosity (John 13:25), is uncharacteristically reticent to enter the tomb (20:3-8), and is quick to blurt out that it is Jesus standing on the shore Gaventa, Glimpses, 91. Beth M. Sheppard, “Behold Your Son: John 19:26-27 and Guardian Relationships in the Roman World” (paper presented at the annual meeting of the national SBL, Denver, CO, November 19, 2001). Permission to use this paper has been graciously provided by the author. 43 Sheppard, “Behold Your Son,” 9-13. 41 42


(21:7). With respect to the first item, curiosity, Jesus has told his disciples that one of them will betray him and all wonder of whom he spoke (John 13:21-22). Prompted by Peter’s question, the Beloved Disciple inquires about the identity of the betrayer and Jesus discloses that information to the one who is reclining closest to him. The Beloved Disciple is curious, granted, but there is nothing impertinent about the question. In the second instance, it may well be, as Sheppard states, that the Beloved Disciple allows Peter to enter the tomb first because Peter is his elder. The third example occurs in an appearance of the resurrected Jesus to his disciples. In this scene, the identity of Jesus is of interest to all of the disciples (John 21:12). After the miraculous catch of fish, the Beloved Disciple recognizes Jesus and makes his identity known to Peter. There is no reason to conclude that this scene “accords well with the portrait of a young man filled with youthful enthusiasm” who “readily blurts out, ‘It is the Lord!’”44 Furthermore, Sheppard has given insufficient attention to the statement that the Beloved Disciple takes the mother of Jesus “to his own” (John 19:27). For many commentators, these words imply that the Beloved Disciple is depicted as the primary caregiver in this newly-established relationship. And since in Mediterranean culture, a person’s status increases with age,45 why would such a young disciple be held in high esteem and acclaimed as the guarantor of the testimony behind the Fourth Gospel (John 19:35; 21:24)? A fourth interpretation is offered by Francis Moloney, who understands this scene at the crucifixion as foreshadowing the unity and faith of the church, symbolized by the seamless robe.46 Moloney begins by highlighting the notion of trust, maintaining that the mother of Jesus is the first character in the narrative to come to faith in him. He argues that since John 2:4 constitutes a rebuke, or at least a distancing of Jesus from his mother, “do whatever he tells you” (John 2:5b), represents an amazing illustration of her trust in the efficacy of Jesus’s word. Because of her trust, the disciples see Jesus’s glory and believe in him. Moloney further states that at the end of Jesus’s life, this faithful woman and the Sheppard, “Behold Your Son,” 15. John J. Pilch, “The Roles of Women and Men in the Family, Society and Church,” in The Roles of Women and Men in Scripture in the Context of Family, Church and Society (Manila: Catholic Biblical Association of the Philippines, 2002) 12-26, here 16. 46 Francis J. Moloney, Glory not Dishonor: Reading John 13-21 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998) 146. 44 45


Beloved Disciple are made one by Jesus who forms them into a new family. Having completed the mission given to him by his Father, Jesus pours out the Spirit upon that “tiny church” gathered at the foot of his cross.47 As mentioned earlier in the discussion of the epithet “the mother of Jesus,” Moloney’s assertion that the statement, “do whatever he tells you,” demonstrates unconditional faith in Jesus’s word on the part of his mother, is less than convincing. Furthermore, since the Fourth Evangelist does not use the term ἐκκλήσια, any reference to the family established by Jesus as “church” requires some clarification. For her part, Adeline Fehribach undertakes an exploration of the bridegroom motif in the Fourth Gospel, concluding that the character of the mother of Jesus enhances the implied author’s Christology. In her consideration of John 2:1-11, Fehribach casts the mother of Jesus as a character-type from the Hebrew Bible (Genesis 12-50), which she designates the “mother of an important son.” She notes that in stories involving the mothers of Israel, their actions often propel the plot and guarantee the fulfillment of the promise made to Abraham. Fehribach holds that Jesus’s mother similarly enhances the plot by her persistence (John 2:5): her actions contribute to the subsequent belief of the disciples that marks them as children of God.48 To Fehribach, the role of the mother of Jesus is quite different when she appears again at the foot of the cross. The Johannine passion narrative is replete with references to the kingship of Jesus, culminating in Pilate’s inscription, “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Judeans” (John 19:19). Fehribach describes John 19:25-27 as an adaptation of the “dying king” type-scene of GrecoRoman novels wherein women function as exchange objects to establish the kinship bond between the dying ruler and his successor. She maintains that Jesus, the dying king, hands over his mother to his successor with whom he wishes to establish a kinship relationship. The Beloved Disciple is representative of those in Jesus’s kingdom:49 the disciples, or community of believers. Although Fehribach acknowledges the mutuality inherent in the fact that mother and disciple are given to each other, she concludes that the mother’s role functions solely as an exchange object symbolizing Jesus’s establishment of a patrilineal kinship group. 47 48 49

Moloney, Glory, 145-46. Fehribach, Women, 26-32. Fehribach, Women, 136-37.


But if Fehribach is correct, why is the Beloved Disciple given to the mother of Jesus? In the Greco-Roman writings that Fehribach cites, the king’s successor is not given to those entrusted to his care. It seems plausible that, in this instance, the Beloved Disciple will guarantee the perpetuation of the earthly revelation of Jesus. But this disciple who is to “rule” in Jesus’s place cannot represent both the successor of Jesus and his subjects as Fehribach implies. Is it not more fitting, then, to imagine the mother of Jesus as representing the believing “subjects” of Jesus who are symbolically handed over to the disciple who will succeed him? In addition, the fact that the Beloved Disciple is also entrusted to her suggests that her function surpasses that of an exchange object. Lastly, Raymond Brown is rightly convinced that this scene is not primarily about the mother of Jesus or the Beloved Disciple but rather about the new relationship generated between Jesus’s natural family and the family created by discipleship. When the Beloved Disciple takes the mother of Jesus εἰς τὰ ἴδια, natural family (his mother) is initiated into the realm of discipleship. The mother, related to Jesus by the flesh, is now related to him by the Spirit, and as the mother of the Beloved Disciple, she gains a unique status. His physical brothers, however, are replaced by the Beloved Disciple who, by becoming her son, becomes Jesus’s brother.50 Unfortunately, Brown does not explain what her entrance into the domain of discipleship has accomplished or what constitutes her unique status within it. Colleen Conway offers some assistance in this regard. She observes that the Beloved Disciple becomes the mediator of Jesus’s revelation after his death and adds that the mother of Jesus will continue to be important precisely because she is the mother of Jesus. John 19:25-27 constitutes the creation of a new family of God that will ensure the continuation of the earthly mission of Jesus. In this regard, states Conway, the mother of Jesus is just as vital as the Beloved Disciple.51 This insight leaves an important question unanswered, however. Why does her significance in the mission of Jesus carried out by his disciples derive from the fact that she is his mother? To answer this question, it must be accepted that an integral part of the disciples’ mission is their testimony about Jesus whom they know and have seen, testimony that coexists with their deep concern about 50 51

Brown, Death of the Messiah, 2. 1023-25. Conway, Men and Women, 83-84.


others who do not receive it (John 3:11; 20:24-25). The movement of the mother of Jesus into the Beloved Disciple’s sphere strengthens ties between her and the Johannine disciples, who claim to have seen the glory of Jesus (John 1:14), the same glory his mother witnesses at Golgotha in the company of the Beloved Disciple, the guarantor, and core witness of this revelation (19:35; 21:24). By accompanying this disciple into “his own,” the special discipleship that Jesus loves,52 she demonstrates her acceptance of Jesus’s “own,” his disciples, and her willingness to be affiliated with them. Their testimony can now be augmented by hers. In sum, John 19:25-27 is of central import in the Johannine crucifixion scene. While Jesus’s words here represent an example of filial piety, they also establish a new and ongoing relationship between the mother of Jesus and the Beloved Disciple, the successor of Jesus. Even so, a number of questions about this relationship and about his mother’s relationship with Jesus remain. Why does Jesus entrust her to the Beloved Disciple when Jesus has brothers? Should they assume this responsibility? Why does she remain attached to her crucified son and then, without resistance, move into the sphere of discipleship? This is to anticipate a later point, however. Relationships between Mediterranean mothers and sons will be investigated in a subsequent chapter, which will return to these and related questions.

The Brothers of Jesus (John 2:12; 7:1-10) In the search for the role of the mother of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel, scholars have tended to confine their analysis to John 2:1-11 and John 19:25-27. As a result, they have largely ignored the brothers of Jesus in their deliberations. This is unfortunate, however, as an examination of the brothers may shed additional light on the portrayal of the mother of Jesus. The brothers of Jesus have not enjoyed center stage in Johannine exegesis. Scholars motivated by doctrinal considerations have focused primarily on whether or not these brothers are to be construed as true siblings of Jesus. The brothers’ significance in the gospel’s story and in the life of the Johannine group has been virtually ignored. The previous chapter referred to them as members of the “real” or “blood” 52

Brown, Death of the Messiah, 2. 1024.


family of Jesus. Nevertheless, the question of their relationship with Jesus should be analyzed in more depth in order to determine more precisely what manner of kin relationship between Jesus and his ἀδελφοί (John 2:12; 7:1-10) is most likely presupposed by the Fourth Evangelist. In addition, a review of critical exegesis of John 2:12 and of John 7:1-10 will establish what scholars have concluded about a different kind of relationship between Jesus and his brothers; that is, are the brothers of Jesus in communion with him and his disciples? I. Who Were the “Brothers” of Jesus? Johannine scholars have often considered the mother and brothers of Jesus to constitute members of his earthly biological family.53 Claims about the preexistence of the Johannine Jesus coexist with references to persons who seem to comprise members of his biological family. The Incarnate Word (John 1:14) who repeatedly speaks of God as his Father is also Jesus, the son of Joseph (1:45; 6:42). Jesus has a mother (John 2:1, 3, 5, 12; 6:42; 19:25-26) and brothers (2:12; 7:3, 5, 10). The natural sense of the story is that Jesus and his brothers are siblings. In antiquity there were three points of view as to the identity of the ἀδελφοί of Jesus: Helvidian, Epiphanian, and Hieronymian. Regarding the first, in approximately 382 C.E., Helvidius writes that after the birth of Jesus, Joseph and Mary consummated their marriage, and she eventually gave birth to other children. Helvidius presupposes the virginal conception of Jesus but identifies the ἀδελφοί as true siblings of Jesus, more specifically, as what moderns would refer to as half-brothers and half-sisters of Jesus. Epiphanius, the fourth-century bishop of Salamis in Cyprus and major advocate of the second theory, teaches that the brothers and sisters of Jesus were children of Joseph by a previous marriage and, therefore, step-brothers and step-sisters of Jesus. Since at the same time Epiphanius also assumes the historicity of the virginal conception, he envisions no biological relationship between Jesus and his ἀδελφοί Epiphanius derives much of his information from Hegesippus, a pre-

53 Adriana Destro and Mauro Pesce, “Kinship, Discipleship, and Movement: An Anthropological Study of John’s Gospel,” Biblical Interpretation 3 (1995) 266-84, here 270.


Nicene Father, who wrote his Memoirs approximately 180 C.E.54 It is Hegesippus who relates that after the martyrdom of James the Just, the brother of the Lord, Symeon, the son of Clopas, was appointed to succeed his cousin James as overseer of the church (Eusebius Hist. Eccl. 3.11.1; 4.22.4). According to Hegesippus, this Simon (Symeon) was the son of the Lord’s uncle (Eusebius Hist. Eccl. 3.32.6), Clopas, the brother of Joseph (Eusebius Hist. Eccl. 3.11.1). As Hegesippus does not indicate that James was the son of Joseph by a first marriage, however, Epiphanius may have added this detail to substantiate his belief in the virginal conception of Jesus. The third view, the so-called Hieronymian perspective, has been attributed to Jerome toward the end of the fourth century C.E. Jerome argues vehemently that Jesus’s ἀδελφοί were not his siblings but his cousins. Accordingly, James, the brother of Jesus, was one of the Twelve and equated with James, the son of Alphaeus. And the wife of Alphaeus, Mary of Clopas (John 19:25), and Mary, the mother of Jesus were supposedly sisters. Jerome notes that the term ἀδελφός is sometimes used in the Scriptures to refer to blood relatives beyond one’s birth family and contends that there would be nothing unusual about referring to Jesus and his cousins as brothers. The driving force behind Jerome’s argument is his desire to defend the perpetual virginity of both Mary and Joseph.55 In part because of the doctrinal positions of various churches, these three theories, or variations of them, are still debated. As has been noted, the Hieronymian approach has had advocates in recent years,56 but it is generally considered the least probable option. Ancient writers use only the term ἀδελφός to describe the brothers’ relationship to Jesus. If they were, in fact, cousins of Jesus, one would expect words such as ἀνεψιός to surface occasionally in the literature. As this is not the case, proponents of this theory must demonstrate that ἀδελφοί is not being employed in its usual sense. To this end, they identify James and Joses in Mark 6:3, with James “the little,” and Joses in 54

This work is no longer extant. Sections have been preserved in Eusebius Hist. eccl. Richard J. Bauckham, “All in the Family: Identifying Jesus’s Relatives,” Bible Review 16 (2000) 20-31, here 23. 56 The following three critics travel somewhat different routes to the common conclusion that Jesus and his brothers were cousins; Josef Blinzler, Die Brüder und Schwestern Jesu (ed. Herbert Haag, Norbert Lohfink, and Wilhelm Pesch; Stuttgarter Bibelstudien 21; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1967) 145-46; McHugh, Mother of Jesus, 200-254; Harold Riley, “The Brothers of the Lord,” DRev 116 (1998) 45-54. 55


Mark 15:40, whose mother is called Mary. This Mary is equated with Jesus’s mother’s sister, Mary of Clopas (John 19:25), James “the little” with James the son of Alphaeus who was one of the Twelve, Alphaeus with Clopas, and brother Simon (Mark 6:3) with Symeon, the son of Clopas (Eusebius Hist. Eccl. 4.22.4; cf. 3.11). This series of identifications would mean that Jesus’s maternal aunt Mary and her husband Clopas were the parents of James “the little,” Joses, Simon, and Judas. The likelihood of this reconstruction has been ably refuted.57 The majority of modern critics deem the Helvidian position the most probable. Its most serious critic, however, is Richard Bauckham, who has energetically set out arguments in support of an Epiphanian approach.58 Traditionally, the latter presupposes the virginal conception. Bauckham asserts, however, that if one combines the Epiphanian theory with denial of the historicity of the virginal conception, Joseph’s children by a previous marriage would have been half-brothers and halfsisters of Jesus, sharing with him a common father, Joseph, but not a common mother. Furthermore, even though Matthew and Luke make reference to the virginal conception, they do not indicate that it was common knowledge to Jesus’s contemporaries. In all probability, states Bauckham, people thought that Joseph was Jesus’s biological father and that the children from his former marriage were half-brothers and halfsisters of Jesus. Bauckham subsequently turns to the Gospel of Peter, the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, and the Protevangelium of James in an attempt to demonstrate that the Epiphanian view rests on good historical tradition. His premise is that the common tradition that predates these writings may be historically reliable with respect to claims about Jesus’s familial relations. Written approximately 150 C.E.,59 The Protevangelium of James does not provide strong support for such a premise. First of all, the author 57

Richard Bauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus in the Early Church (Edinburgh: T. and T. Clark, 1990) 9-19; J. B. Lightfoot, Saint Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians: A Revised Text with Introduction, Notes and Dissertations (London: Macmillan, 1902) 255-65. 58 Richard Bauckham, “The Brothers and Sisters of Jesus: An Epiphanian Response to John Meier,” CBQ 56 (1994) 686-700. 59 Ron Cameron, ed., The Other Gospels: Non-Canonical Gospel Texts (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1982) 108; Oscar Cullmann, “Infancy Gospels: The Protevangelium of James,” in New Testament Apocrypha. Volume 1. Gospels and Related Writings (ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher; 2 vols.; rev. ed.; Cambridge: James Clarke, 1990) 1.426-39, here 423.


is ignorant of Palestinian geography and Jewish customs.60 Second, the text is replete with events, legends, and Midrash that fit well into the context of mid-second century growth in Marian piety.61 Since the document proves unhistorical in many details, its claim that Joseph had been married and fathered children before the birth of Jesus (Prot. Jas. 8:3-9:2) cannot be trusted. Third, it seems inconsistent for Bauckham’s argument to claim that the Epiphanian theory does not necessarily entail acceptance of the virginal conception and then turn to the Protevangelium, which glorifies the virginity of the mother of Jesus. Because of its complex textual tradition, attempts to reconstruct or date The Infancy Gospel of Thomas are, at best, daunting.62 This work gives the impression that James, the brother of Jesus, was older than Jesus (Inf. Gos. Thom. 16:1), an element that draws upon the tradition that James was born to Joseph by a previous marriage and does not constitute explicit testimony in support of the Epiphanian theory. Nor does the text inspire confidence in the claim that it may be based on historically reliable tradition about the relatives of Jesus. Moreover, the application to Jesus of legendary material about the birth and infancy of the children of gods is unrestrained.63 In fact, the miraculous abilities of the young Jesus are so sensationalized that his portrait is strikingly different from what is attested in the canonical gospels. It is unlikely that the Infancy Gospel of Thomas provides viable testimony regarding the relationship between Jesus and his brothers. Bauckham further maintains that, on the basis of Origen’s comment on Matthew 13:55, The Gospel of Peter might be considered a credible witness to the Epiphanian view: “As for the brothers of Jesus, some persons maintained on the basis of The Gospel according to Peter, as it is entitled, or The Book of James, that they were Joseph’s sons by a for60 John H. Elliott, “The Protevangelium of James,” in The Apocryphal New Testament: A Collection of Apocryphal Christian Literature in an English Translation (Oxford: Clarendon, 1993) 48-67, here 49. 61 Ronald F. Hock, The Life of Mary and the Birth of Jesus: The Ancient Infancy Gospel of James (ed. Ray Riegert; Berkeley: Ulysses, 1997) 18, 32. 62 Oscar Cullmann, “Infancy Gospels: The Infancy Story of Thomas,” in New Testament Apocrypha. Volume 1. Gospels and Related Writings (ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher; 2 vols.; rev. ed.; Cambridge: James Clarke, 1990) 1. 439-43, here 439. 63 Oscar Cullmann, “Infancy Gospels: General Introduction,” in New Testament Apocrypha. Volume 1. Gospels and Related Writings (ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher; 2 vols.; rev. ed.; Cambridge: James Clarke, 1990) 1. 414-20, here 416-17.


mer wife to whom he was married before Mary. Those who hold this theory wish to safeguard belief in the perpetual virginity of Mary” (Origen, Comm. Matt. 10.17.14-15). Such a conclusion is shaky. Origen, an early Church Father (ca. 185-253) born in Alexandria, mentions Joseph’s children by a previous marriage. However, he appears uncertain as to the source of his information and could be recalling either The Gospel of Peter or the Protevangelium of James. John Meier has understandably taken issue with Bauckham’s use of these texts. Meier argues persuasively that second-century apocryphal gospels are unreliable as sources of tradition about the family of Jesus.64 Meier argues that philology challenges the validity of both Epiphanian and Hieronymian theories. His point is that while the term ἀδελφός was used in many ways in first-century koine Greek, its literal use in the Christian Scriptures is restricted to mean a blood brother, either a full or a half-brother, never a step-brother or a cousin.65 If Meier is correct, the Helvidian theory—which assumes the virginal conception—and the Epiphanian theory as revisited by Bauckham— which denies the historicity of the virginal conception—result in ἀδελφοί who in modern parlance would be half-brothers and half-sisters of Jesus. This view complies with the normal usage of ἀδελφός in the New Testament. If this understanding of the term ἀδελφός is correct, what, then, should be concluded about the meaning of ἀδελφοί in John 2:12 and in John 7: 3, 5, 10? It is not easy to choose from among the varying approaches to the identity of Jesus’s brothers. That the Fourth Evangelist consistently designates the brothers of Jesus by the term ἀδελφοί renders the Hieronymian view unlikely, but not impossible. Furthermore, even though the Fourth Gospel offers no indication that the mother of Jesus is Joseph’s second wife, or that the brothers were children born to Joseph from a previous marriage, there are only arguments stemming from silence against the Epiphanian view. Moreover, some scholars have 64

John Meier, “On Retrojecting Later Questions from Later Texts: A Reply to Richard Bauckham,” CBQ 59 (1997) 511-27, esp. 513 n. 4. 65 John Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (3 vols.; New York: Doubleday, 1991, 1994, 2001) 1. 327-28. Johannes P. Louw and Eugene A. Nida, eds. (GreekEnglish Lexicon of the New Testament: Based on Semantic Domains [2d ed.; New York: United Bible Societies, 1989] 1. 118) emphasize that the interpretation of ἀδελφός in John 2:12 as meaning “cousins” is not attested in Greek and derives from ecclesiastical tradition.


argued that the Fourth Evangelist presupposes the virginal conception of Jesus. If they are correct, all three traditional positions garner a little support. Some critics have argued that John 1:13, which mentions that believers are given the authority to become children of God (οἵ οὐκ . . . ἐγεννήθησαν), indirectly attests to the virginal conception.66 In addition, if the singular reading (ὅς οὐκ . . . ἐγεννήθη) which is found in one Old Latin manuscript (b), some manuscripts of the Syriac versions, Tertullian, Ambrose and Augustine, as well as in the Latin versions of Irenaeus and Origen, is accepted, then John 1:13 is clearly a statement about the virginal conception of Jesus. But is the singular reading the preferred reading? If it is not, are scholars who hold that the plural reading attests to the virginal conception of Jesus correct? It is important that these questions be addressed, because if the Fourth Evangelist presupposes the virginal conception of Jesus, this means that Joseph is in no way to be construed as the biological father of the Johannine Jesus, and an understanding of the sibling relationship must reflect this piece of evidence. J. Galot demonstrates that many patristic writers either cite John 1:13 with a singular verb or allude to the singular, and he therefore concludes that the singular reading is the original one. He further maintains that a plural verb does not work well in the context of John 1:12-13. Because verse twelve mentions humans becoming children of God, a plural reading in verse thirteen would introduce a tautology. Thus, argues Galot, the singular provides a better development of the thought; the Word gives humans the authority to become children of God, because the Word has been born of God.67 While Galot’s examination of the evidence is comprehensive and persuasive, it is not clear how a tautology is problematic in the gospel’s prologue, which is replete with repetition. Furthermore, not a single ancient Greek manuscript attests to the singular reading: the vast majority of witnesses, including the Bodmer papyri, support the plural, and with regard to internal criteria, it is much easier to imagine a scribal C. F. Burney, The Aramaic Origin of the Fourth Gospel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1922) 34-35; William Temple, Readings in St. John’s Gospel: First Series: Chapters I-XII (London: Macmillan, 1939) 12-13. 67 J. Galot, Être né de Dieu: Jean 1:13 (AnBib 37; Rome: Institut Biblique Pontifical, 1969) 80, 123-24. 66


alteration intended to promote the virginal conception than to envision such evidence being later eliminated. It is easy to say with Rudolf Bultmann that to interpret John 1:13 as a reference to Jesus rather than to all believers “is simply wishful thinking.”68 The plural reading is to be preferred, and even if John 1:13 does contain an allusion to the virginal conception, as some scholars maintain, there is still no explicit reference to the virginal conception. It has even been argued that John 6:42 contains an ironic allusion to the virginal conception.69 In this scene, Jesus’s opponents fail to understand the truth of his assertion that he has come down from heaven, because they claim to know of his local parentage. There is an irony here, but it has to do with the preexistence of Jesus, a truth that eludes his adversaries. Preexistence does not necessarily imply the virginal conception, of course, rendering questionable any such allusion in John 6:42. However, even if one were to accept the interpretation that both John 1:13 and John 6:42 allude to the virginal conception of Jesus, still there remains no explicit reference to the virginal conception in the Fourth Gospel. Moreover, John 8:41 houses a possible accusation that Jesus was born of fornication. If such an accusation is indeed implied, the logical conclusion is that the author believes Jesus’s human father to be an issue. Therefore, the possibility that the Fourth Evangelist is unaware of the virginal conception of Jesus and consequently believes the ἀδελφοί of Jesus to be his siblings cannot be excluded. Studies of paternity add an interesting slant to this discussion. Carol Delaney70 has argued that within the cultural construction of procreation, the meaning of paternity is not the semantic equivalent of maternity. While maternity has long been associated with nurturing and giving birth, paternity has meant begetting. The asymmetry of meaning is reflected in the belief that only the male exercises a creative role in procreation. The inevitable result, she contends, is that the child is thought to originate entirely from the male parent. Bultmann, Gospel of John, 59. C. K. Barrett, The Gospel According to St. John: An Introduction with Commentary and Notes on the Greek Text (2d ed.; London: SPCK, 1978) 295. 70 Carol Delaney, “The Meaning of Paternity and the Virgin Birth Debate,” Man 21 (1986) 494-513; idem, “Seeds of Honor, Fields of Shame,” in Honor and Shame and the Unity of the Mediterranean (ed. David D. Gilmore; American Anthropological Association Special Publication 22; Washington, DC: American Anthropological Association, 1987) 121-34. 68 69


Delaney’s fieldwork in Turkey provides an apt example of the belief that the male is the causative agent in procreation. The Turkish peasants studied hold a simple theory of procreation. The male plants the seed, which encloses the potential child, into the woman, who is like a field in which the seed is nurtured. Even though the peasants acknowledge that the growth and development of the child are enhanced by the mother, nevertheless, they believe that the essential identity of the child is not influenced by the woman. In fact, they imagine that any woman can provide the nurturing environment for the developing seed. Their fundamental conviction, therefore, is that the child originates from the father.71 This view of procreation is reflected in biblical references to the generation of children. Men beget or engender children (Gen 5:3-32; Matt 1:1-16; Luke 3:23-38). Children, moreover, are identified with their father’s seed. For example, the Abrahamic covenant will include the multiplication of Abraham’s descendants whom God thrice identifies as Abraham’s seed (Gen 22:17-18). Sarah is not mentioned. This idea is not restricted to the Hebrew Scriptures. The Gospel of Matthew describes Jesus’s conception as ἐκ πνεύματος ἁγίου (Matt 1:20). The Greek implies that Mary is the receptacle: she does not engender Jesus. The major Greek voice on this subject, Aristotle, teaches that woman was a passive creature, her body a vessel that receives and nurtures the male seed until the child is born. While the mother contributes only matter, menstrual blood, to the developing baby, the father’s seed contributes the activating soul.72 Moreover, the male seed represents the totality of the creative principle that contributes the child’s physical features and the soul. The woman is simply a vessel that receives and cultivates the seed. She plays no active role in generation.73 This understanding of male and female roles in procreation is especially poignant in Aristotle’s teaching on the production of semen in humans: Delaney, “Meaning of Paternity,” 496-99. Michael R. McVaugh, “Moments of Inflection: The Careers of Arnau de Vilanova,” in Religion and Medicine in the Middle Ages (ed. Peter Biller and Joseph Ziegler; York Studies in Medieval Theology III; York: York Medieval Press, 2001) 47-67, esp. 52-53. 73 Valeria Finucci, The Manly Masquerade: Masculinity, Paternity, and Castration in the Italian Renaissance (Durham: Duke University Press, 2003) 9-11; Eireann Marshall, “Sex and Paternity: Gendering the Foundation of Kyrene,” in When Men Were Men: Masculinity, Power and Identity in Classical Antiquity (ed. Lin Foxhall and John Salmon; London: Routledge, 1998) 98-110, here 106. 71

72


Does the female discharge semen as the male does, which would mean that the object formed is a single mixture produced from two semens, or is there no discharge of semen from the female? And if there is none, then does the female contribute nothing whatever to generation, merely providing a place where generation may happen, or does it contribute something else, and if so, how and in what manner does it do so? . . . This much then is evident: the menstrual fluid is a residue, and it is the analogous thing in females to the semen in males. . . . [T]he residue which goes to produce those characteristics in males is in females discharged together with the menstrual fluid. . . . Now it is impossible that any creature should produce two seminal secretions at once, and so as the secretion in females which answers to semen in males is the menstrual fluid, it obviously follows that the female does not contribute any semen to generation (Aristotle Generation of Animals 1.19.726a.30-35; 727a.14, 15-20, 25-30). Since the woman contributes no “semen,” the male represents, according to Aristotle, the true human author of life. This conviction also underlies many classical Greek myths that describe parthenogenetic birth to males.74 Moreover, from the thirteenth century onwards, the Aristotelian view greatly impacted the western understanding of human generation, in large degree because of Aquinas’s espousal of this Aristotelian teaching.75 All of this suggests that the view of paternity delineated by Delaney exercised tremendous influence for several centuries. Even so, it remains to establish the relevance of this longstanding interpretation of the roles of the female and male in procreation in the present investigation of the identity of the Johannine brothers of Jesus. In First Corinthians, Paul twice mentions that women originate from men: γυνὴ ἐξ ἀνδρός (1 Cor 11:8) and γυνὴ ἐκ τοῦ ἀνδρός (1 Cor 11:12). He also states (1 Cor 11:8) that men do not originate from women (οῦ γάρ ἐστιν ἀνὴρ ἐκ γυναικὸς) but are διὰ τῆς γυναικὸς. Critics maintain that Paul is alluding to the creation of humanity, particularly to the second 74 Lynn Thomas, “Fathers as Mothers: The Myth of Male Parthenogenesis,” in Paternity and Fatherhood: Myths and Realities (ed. Lieve Spaas; London: Macmillan, 1998) 204-18, here 204. 75 Marina Warner, Alone of All Her Sex: The Myth and the Cult of the Virgin Mary (New York: Vintage, 1983) 40-41.


chapter of Genesis, which describes how God creates the woman through the man.76 While this is highly probable, implicit in Paul’s argument is the belief that in procreation the male is the creative agent that begets female (and male). Paul does state that the male comes through the female (1Cor 11:8), but this is simply a reference to the process of childbirth. The preposition διά does not denote creative causality on the part of the woman. The belief that the male represents the sole causative agent in the formation of a child naturally leads to the conclusion that children represent the offspring of their fathers and only of their fathers. This notion is expressed by Abraham as he explains to King Abimelech why he earlier claimed that his wife Sarah was his sister: “She is indeed my sister, the daughter of my father but not the daughter of my mother, and she became my wife” (Gen 20:12).77 According to the biblical writer, Sarah is Abraham’s sister because they have the same father. Whether or not they were born of the same mother is irrelevant. The implication is that the male is the essential agent in parenthood. In a similar fashion, the Hebrew Scriptures describe brothers as males who have the same father, but not necessarily the same mother. The sons of Jacob, for example, are repeatedly referred to as brothers (Gen 37:4-5, 9-14, 16, 26-27) even though Jacob has two wives—Leah and Rachel—as well as two concubines—Zilpah and Bilhah. Solomon, the son of Bathsheba, is referred to as the brother of Adonijah, the son of Haggith (1 Kgs 1:10; 2:15, 21-22) as well as the brother of Absalom (1 Kgs 2:7), the son of Maacah (2 Sam 3:3). All three men are thought to have the same father, David, but different mothers. Again, the point is that sisters and brothers are identified as such because they are believed to have the same biological father. The Fourth Gospel provides no examples of siblings who have the same human father, but different mothers. It does, however, provide evidence to suggest that the Evangelist espouses the idea that the human 76 C. K. Barrett, A Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians (2d ed.; London: Adam and Charles Black, 1968) 252-53; Gordon D. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987) 515. 77 Although one might deem Sarah Abraham’s kinswoman rather than his biological sister, the natural meaning of “sister” in Gen 20:12 is that Abraham refers to a biological relationship between him and Sarah. See Susan Rattray, “Marriage Rules, Kinship Terms, and Family Structure in the Bible,” SBLSP 26 (1987) 538.


male is the creative agent in procreation. As Jesus and his adversaries engage in one of their most vitriolic exchanges, the Judeans claim to be σπέρμα ᾽Αβραάμ (John 8:33). Jesus agrees that this is so (John 8:37), but denies that they are children (τέκνα) of Abraham since they do not act as Abraham (8:39-40). The term σπέρμα (John 8:33, 37) may be translated as “semen.”78 In other words, Abraham is described as the source or the semen from which his descendants have been propagated. The role of the male as the active agent in procreation is more evident on a different level of the gospel’s discourse. Disciples are children of God who are begotten (γεννάω), not of human will, but by God (John 1:13), who is repeatedly designated as father. Moreover, after his resurrection, Jesus commissions Mary Magdalene to inform the other disciples (ἀδελφοί) that he is ascending to his father and their father (John 20:17). In other words, Johannine disciples—the brothers and sisters of Jesus—are those who have the same father as Jesus. The Fourth Evangelist probably envisions paternity in a manner akin to Aristotle and, more recently, Delaney’s Turkish peasants. Given the lack of evidence to suggest that the Evangelist espouses the notion of the virginal conception, in addition to the longstanding conviction that the male represents the active, creative agent in procreation, the Fourth Evangelist almost certainly understands ἀδελφοί to refer to sons of the same father, but not necessarily of the same mother. Thus, Joseph, who is twice identified as the father of Jesus (John 1:45; 6:42), is also perceived to be the father of those identified as the brothers of Jesus (2:12; 7:3, 5, 10). The natural meaning of references to Joseph as the father of Jesus is that he is believed to have been the biological father of Jesus. Before espousing this position, however, a potential challenge to this line of reasoning must be addressed. During one of the most vitriolic controversies between Jesus and his opponents, he refutes their claim to be children of Abraham and of God. They retort, ἡμεῖς ἐκ πορνείας οὐ γεγεννήμεθα (John 8:41). Their riposte can be understood in more than one way. The ᾿Ιουδαῖοι, aware that Jesus is intimating that they are not children of Abraham, claim that their origins are legitimate, and that they have remained loyal to God.79 In this case, their “we” is a response to the plural “you” in Jesus’s accu78 79

Danker, A Greek-English Lexicon, 937. Schnackenburg, St. John, 2. 211-12.


sation that they imitate their father (John 8:41a), identified in John 8:44 as the devil. However, the emphatic ἡμεῖς may be understood to imply a charge by the Judeans that they, in contrast to Jesus, were not born illegitimate.80 Johannine evidence in support of this latter interpretation, unless sufficiently refuted, casts some doubt on the premise that the Fourth Evangelist believes Joseph to be the biological father of Jesus. The charge of illegitimacy appears unmistakably in later Christian reports of Jewish polemics, such as the Acts of Pilate (2:3), and the writing of Celsus, as reported in Origen’s Against Celsus (1:28, 32). Moreover, Jewish Tannaitic writers refer to Jesus as “the son of Panthera,” a title that, according to Brown, is difficult to dissociate from Origen’s rendition of a Jewish story about adultery between Mary and Panthera.81 Brown argues that these reports represent polemic stimulated by the infancy narrative tradition of the virginal conception of Jesus, Matthew’s account in particular. He finds no reason to believe that the Fourth Gospel contains an independent accusation of illegitimacy and concludes that John 8:41 contains no more than an indirect accusation. Even if Brown is correct, all evidence should be addressed even if it is indirect. In fact, it is apparent that the Fourth Evangelist is aware of the claim that Joseph is not the biological father of Jesus. The response to the charge of illegitimacy lies within the context of John 8:41. Jesus accuses his rivals of the intention to kill him, refutes their claim to be children of Abraham (John 8:39) and of God (8:42), and labels them children of the devil. More significantly, Jesus argues that they live in obedience to the devil, who is a murderer and liar (John 8:44). If his adversaries are actually implying that Jesus was conceived outside of marriage, the Evangelist effectively refutes this claim by putting it on the lips of those who are said to imitate the father of lies (John 8:41). Moreover, they are so designated by Jesus himself, the one who embodies truth (John 14:6) and who knows the motivations of people (2:25; 13:27, 38). Finally, with respect to the earlier discussion about the virginal conception of Jesus, if an accusation that Jesus is illegitimate is intended, further doubt is cast upon the belief that the Fourth Evangel80

Raymond E. Brown, The Birth of the Messiah: A Commentary on the Infancy Narratives in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke (rev. ed.; New York: Doubleday, 1993) 54142; Jane Schaberg, The Illegitimacy of Jesus: A Feminist Theological Interpretation of the Infancy Narratives (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1987) 157-58. 81 Brown, Birth of the Messiah, 536.


ist espouses the notion of the virginal conception. Such an accusation implies that both the author and the implied readers believe Jesus to have a human father. For the gospel writer, then, Jesus is the son of Joseph and the Son of God; accusations to the contrary are made by false witnesses. This discussion of the kinship relationship between Jesus and his brothers as depicted in the Fourth Gospel has been an extended one because this issue has been complicated by arguments over the perpetual virginity of Mary and Joseph, which at most has only faint echoes in the canonical gospels. There is no unquestionable solution to the identity of the human parents of Jesus and his brothers. However, as argued in Chapter One, since the Johannine brothers of Jesus are unbelievers, they are not portrayed as members of his fictive-kinship group. Their relationship with him must be physical rather than a form of pseudo-kinship. Moreover, the study of paternity provides strong evidence to suggest that, while the Fourth Evangelist depicts Jesus as the Son of God, the writer also imagines Jesus and his ἀδελφοί to be sons of the same human father, presumably Joseph (John 1:45; 6:42). This evidence argues against all three traditional views of the identity of the brothers and sisters of Jesus. Unfortunately, paternity studies provide no assistance in determining whether the mother of the Johannine Jesus is also portrayed as the mother of his brothers. Therefore, the following assumptions will underlie subsequent arguments. First, it will be assumed that the Fourth Evangelist understands the terms “brother” and “sister” to refer to children of the same biological father but not necessarily of the same biological mother. Hence, Jesus and his brothers are understood to be biological sons of Joseph. Second, while setting aside the anachronistic categories of half-brothers and full-brothers, it will be assumed that Jesus and his brothers are portrayed as biological siblings. Two different scenarios are possible: one, Jesus and his brothers are all sons of Joseph and Mary; or two, the brothers of Jesus are sons of Joseph, but not of Mary. II. The Relationship between Jesus and his Brothers Having set forth the presupposition that the Johannine Jesus and his brothers are portrayed as biological brothers, it remains to attend to scholarly assessments of another aspect of their relationship. Specifi-


cally, does the author’s depiction of them suggest an atmosphere of solidarity or one of division? Even though the brothers’ presence at the wedding in Cana is presumed, the passage relates no interaction between them and Jesus that might shed light on this question. They are first mentioned en route to Capernaum with Jesus, his mother, and his disciples in John 2:12. The verse contains a textual variation that may reflect a general confusion regarding which characters were originally included in this little entourage. For one, Brown suggests that the words “and his disciples” may have been omitted from some manuscripts, because the term “brothers” originally referred to the disciples, and that later scribes, forgetting this association, added “and his disciples.”82 Brown’s approach would omit Jesus’s siblings from the verse, and thereby eliminate their sudden appearance in the transition from Cana to Capernaum. However, evidence from Vaticanus, p66 and, p75 strongly supports a reading that includes the brothers. The fact that the mother and brothers of Jesus “remain” or “abide” (μένειν) with him and his disciples in Capernaum for a few days raises another, important possibility, namely that his family members are to be counted among his followers. In the Fourth Gospel, μένειν is an important term related to discipleship: those who abide in Jesus bear much fruit and prove to be his disciples (John 15:5, 8). Not infrequently, characters who abide with Jesus eventually become his disciples. In the process, they testify about him and bring other potential disciples to him (John 1:38-51; 4:29-30, 39-42). There is no indication that members of Jesus’s family either testified about him or brought others to him. Accordingly, they may have been transformed into disciples of Jesus as a result of this time spent with him. Indeed, John 2:12 may use μένειν in a more colloquial sense,83 meaning that the group simply resides in Capernaum for a short time. The possibility that their time with Jesus in Capernaum is to be understood as their initiation into the ranks of the followers of Jesus cannot be ruled out, however. If this represents the proper interpretation of John 2:12, subsequent references to the mother 82

Raymond E. Brown, “The Problem of Historicity in John,” in New Testament Essays (New York: Paulist Press, 1965) 143-67, here 156-57. 83 Jürgen Heise, Bleiben: Menein in den Johanneischen Schriften (Tübingen: JCB Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1967) 44; Dorothy A. Lee, “Abiding in the Fourth Gospel: A CaseStudy in Feminist Biblical Theology,” Pacifica 10 (1997) 123-36, here 127.


(19:25-27) and the brothers of Jesus (7:1-10) constitute important evidence for or against their inclusion in the ranks of the Johannine disciples. It is in John 7:1-10, however, that Jesus’s brothers make their primary impact on the plot. There is wide divergence in scholarly perceptions of this scene, combined with a marked tendency to interpret the brothers’ intentions benignly. Their demand that Jesus go to Judea is thought to be in his best interests, as by doing so, he will gain a reputation and win back his disciples who have recently defected.84 Despite what may seem to be well-meaning words, however, they want to send him to a place of death (John 7:1). And since John 7:25 implies that the crowds in Jerusalem know that some people seek to kill Jesus, it cannot be certain that his brothers are thought to be oblivious to the plot against his life. The desire to absolve the brothers of any ill will is evident in those scholarly interpretations of John 7:5, which view the brothers’ unbelief as a failure on their part to understand Jesus’s signs or mission.85 Their unbelief is even reduced to the kind of doubt sometimes displayed by the disciples.86 A few critics wrongly deduce that the brothers of Jesus possess faith akin to that of the disciples.87 Yet just because it is possible to interpret John 7:4 as meaning that the brothers know of Jesus’s ability to perform signs, it does not follow that the author believes they have the faith of the disciples. The ᾽Ιουδαῖοι, for example, believe that Jesus could perform signs, but they persecute him for doing so on the Sabbath (John 5:16). Moreover, the Pharisees, fearing Roman punishment, resolve that Jesus must die because his signs have the potential to attract a great following (John 11:47-53). It is impossible to suppose that hostile Judeans or Pharisees have faith in Jesus. Further, while it is true that disciples sometimes fail to comprehend identity (John 21:4) or to understand aspects of his speech (4:33; 11:13; 13:6-10, 36-38; 14:5-11; 16:17-18), it must be acknowledged that their faith in Jesus is amply affirmed (2:11, 22; 6:69; 9:38; 11:27; 17:8; 20:28). Destro and Pesce, “Kinship, Discipleship, Movement,” 274-75; Lightfoot, St. John’s Gospel, 174. 85 Francis J. Moloney, Signs and Shadows: Reading John 5-12 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995) 71. 86 G. D. Kilpatrick, “Jesus, His Family and His Disciples,” JSNT 15 (1982) 3-19, here 16. 87 John Painter, “Who was James? Footprints as a Means of Identification,” in The Brother of Jesus: James the Just and his Mission (ed. Bruce Chilton and Jacob Neusner; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001) 10-65, here 27-28. 84


But Jesus’s brothers utter no such statements of faith. What is found, rather, is an unambiguous reference to their lack of faith (John 7:5), incriminating in a text that holds no sympathy for unbelievers: God’s word does not abide in them (5:38); they will die in their sins (8:24); and they are condemned (3:18). In the end, the claim that the author communicates the idea that Jesus’s brothers possess even an imperfect form of faith in him founders in view of the evidence. Finally, Jesus’s association of the brothers with “the world” (John 7:7) solidly indicts them. “The world” is understood in this instance as the realm of unbelief (John 6:8) that knows not Jesus (John 1:10), his Father (15:21; 17:25), or the Spirit of truth (14:17). This “world” hates Jesus (John 7:7b), his disciples (15:18-19; 17:14), and his Father (15:24), and persecutes Jesus and the disciples (15:20) who are “not of the world” (17:14, 16). In the Christian Scriptures, to love someone is to be bonded to that person, whereas to hate is to withdraw any sense of attachment, to be socially disconnected.88 Since “the world” hates Jesus and those associated with him, it has placed itself in opposition to them. In the Fourth Gospel, major opponents of Jesus, the Judeans, belong to “the world” because they are incapable of belief (John 12:37-40); the Pharisees are relegated to the same domain (8:23). By going up to Jerusalem, the brothers appear to align themselves with these opponents (John 7:1011). Furthermore, the fact that the brothers are not hated by “the world” means that they are portrayed as relatives whose loyalty does not lie with Jesus, but with his opponents who seek to kill him (John 7:1, 19c, 25; 8:40a, 59; 11:8, 53). In keeping with this view is the scholarly suggestion that the unbelieving brothers belong to “the world” that is ruled by Satan and loves “its own.”89 The brothers’ challenge to Jesus in John 7:3b-4 has been likened to that of Satan, who dares Jesus to throw himself off the pinnacle of the temple (Matt 4:5-6; Luke 4:9-11).90 According to Brown, Jesus connects the brothers’ taunt with the evil world, which, in Johannine thought, is Satan’s domain. If this association is correct, it allows

88

Bruce J. Malina, “Love,” in Handbook of Biblical Social Values (ed. John J. Pilch and Bruce J. Malina; rev. ed.; Peabody: Hendrickson, 1998) 127-30, esp. 129. 89 Schnackenburg, St. John, 2. 139-41. 90 Raymond E. Brown, “Incidents that are Units in the Synoptic Gospels but Dispersed in St. John,” CBQ 23 (1961) 143-60, esp. 152-55.


for the possibility that the author means to suggest that their intention is to throw Jesus to the metaphoric wolves.91 Brown argues that such a harsh portrait of Jesus’s brothers is significant in light of the tradition that James was a prominent leader in the early Jesus-movement.92 He wonders if the Johannine hostility toward the brothers of Jesus may reflect a struggle between members of the Johannines and groups of Christ-believers sympathetic to the Jesusmovement in Jerusalem.93 The ecumenical task force that investigated the portrayal of Mary in the Christian Scriptures concurs, adding that the hostile picture of brothers makes the favorable presentation of his mother in John 19:25-27 all the more remarkable.94 Bauckham, who argues for a much more favorable depiction of the brothers of Jesus in the Gospel of John, resists any notion of hostility between the Fourth Evangelist and leaders of the Jesus-movement in Jerusalem, because of the inclusion of Mary, the wife of Clopas, in the Johannine crucifixion scene (John 19:25). She, he maintains, is probably the wife of Joseph’s brother Clopas mentioned by Hegesippus in Eusebius (Hist. Eccl. 3.11; 3.32.6; 4.22.4), and the mother of Simeon, James’s successor as leader of the Jerusalem church. This is an intriguing possibility. However, John does not tell us whether Clopas is the husband, son, or father of this Mary (John 19:25). Even less convincing, Bauckham categorizes the brothers’ unbelief as a “narrative opportunity for Jesus to clarify his own understanding and intentions.”95 Without further elaboration, Bauckham indicates that such clarification occurs in John 7:6-8. This is an overly optimistic interpretation that pays no attention to the hostility inherent in these verses. Furthermore, even if Mary of Clopas is the wife of Clopas and the mother of James’s successor, it does 91

Pierre-Antoine Bernheim, James, Brother of Jesus (trans. John Bowden; London: SCM, 1996) 84. 92 Raymond E. Brown, The Community of the Beloved Disciple: The Life, Loves, and Hates of an Individual Church in New Testament Times (New York: Paulist Press, 1979) 75-76. 93 Raymond E. Brown, “‘Other Sheep not of this Fold’: The Johannine Perspective on Christian Diversity in the Late First Century,” JBL 97 (1978) 5-22, here 13. 94 Raymond E. Brown, Karl P. Donfried, Joseph A. Fitzmyer and John Reumann, eds., Mary in the New Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1978) 199-201. 95 Richard Bauckham, “James and Jesus,” in The Brother of Jesus: James the Just and His Mission (ed. Bruce Chilton and Jacob Neusner; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001) 100-137, esp. 107-8.


not necessarily follow that her presence at the cross rules out conflict between the Fourth Evangelist and the Jesus-movement located in Jerusalem. Some critics have found the tension between the brothers’ unbelief in John 7:5 and their presence with Jesus and the believing disciples in John 2:12 somewhat surprising.96 In the Fourth Gospel, however, it is not unknown for believers to move into the realm of unbelief. The Judeans who have believed in Jesus (John 8:31) are shortly thereafter branded as unbelievers (8:45) and appear to be among those who attempt to stone Jesus (8:59). Moreover, after Jesus’s discourse on the bread of life, his disciples begin to murmur at his teaching (John 6:61), and Jesus later exposes their unbelief (6:64). Many ultimately defect (John 6:66). In John 2:12, relations between Jesus and his brothers appear harmonious. At this point, they seem to be counted among those who believe on the basis of signs. It may even be correct to conclude that their “remaining” with Jesus indicates that they are now followers of Jesus. The evidence, however, is insufficient to support any number of scholarly views: first, that the Evangelist gives the impression that they are an essential part of Jesus’s retinue;97 second, that mother and brothers form a unique group within the Jesus-movement;98 and finally, that the brothers are disciples of Jesus for much of his public life.99 Having just made their debut, they are hardly core members of his movement, like those disciples who earlier gathered around him and who more recently have seen his glory and believed in him (John 2:11). While his brothers may support him for a time, there is no indication that they are still among his followers when they meet him again in John 7:3. Rather, by this time they are identified as unbelievers with an antagonistic attitude toward Jesus. Therefore, at some unspecified point between the two scenes, the author has shifted them into the realm of unbelief. As a result, they can no longer be construed as followers of Jesus. One item in their encounter with Jesus that has caused consternation for scholars is the perceived contradiction between his claim that he is not going to the festival (John 7:8) and his ensuing action (7:10). BultBrown, John, 1. 112. John Painter, Just James: The Brother of Jesus in History and Tradition (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999) 15. 98 Destro and Pesce, “Kinship, Discipleship, Movement,” 273. 99 Bauckham, “James and Jesus,” 107. 96

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mann recognizes the impossibility of reconciling these two verses but thinks that it is still possible to remove the contradiction insofar as the Fourth Evangelist is concerned. In Bultmann’s view, although Jesus goes to the festival and teaches publicly, he remains the hidden Revealer.100 Many critics conclude that Jesus is not actually denying his intention to go the Feast of Tabernacles. They attribute the perceived incongruity to Jesus, the protagonist who will only act in accord with the Father’s will or time:101 he will not go to the feast at the time appointed by his brothers. It is true that the Johannine Jesus is not guided by human expectations, but this does not fully eliminate the apparent discrepancy. Other scholars contend that ἀναβαίνειν can involve a play on words, so that Jesus is not denying that he will go to the pilgrimage; he is merely stating that he will not ascend to the Father during this pilgrimage.102 But this message is not communicated by his use of ἀναβαίνειν. Whenever Jesus employs the verb ἀναβαίνειν to refer to his heavenly ascent, he states his destination: his is an ascent into heaven (John 3:13); to where he was before (6:62); or to the Father (20:17). Moreover, ἀναβαίνειν is used here in its ordinary sense to mean that the brothers have gone up to the feast (John 7:10), suggesting a similar meaning for its use by Jesus. This being said, when Jesus states that his “time” has not yet come, he means that he will not return to the Father during this Passover. Jesus is not going up to the feast because the time of his “hour”—of his passion, death, resurrection, and return to the Father—is not yet to commence.103 This is not to imply that καιρός and ὥρα are synonymous terms. What Jesus is saying is that he is not yet summoned by his Father to make the journey to Jerusalem that will result in his death.104 His brothers’ time, however, is always present. The implication is that they do not act in response to the Father’s will. Their actions are determined by the system to which they belong—the “world” that has no loyalty to Bultmann, Gospel of John, 294. Gerald L. Borchert, John 1-11: An Exegetical and Theological Exposition of Holy Scripture (The New American Commentary 25A; Nashville: Broadman and Holman, 1996) 281-82. 102 Thomas L. Brodie, The Gospel According to John: A Literary and Theological Commentary (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993) 312; Charles H. Talbert, Reading John: A Literary and Theological Commentary on the Fourth Gospel and the Johannine Epistles (New York: Crossroad, 1994) 144. 103 Brown, John, 1. 308. 104 Schnackenburg, St. John, 2. 140. 100 101


Jesus, but is loyal to them (John 7:7). In due course, this issue will be examined in light of Mediterranean cultural norms, and it will be established that for the Fourth Evangelist there is indeed no contradiction. This is to anticipate a later point, however. While erring Johannine characters sometimes have the opportunity to reestablish right relations with Jesus (John 20:26-28; 21:15-19), his brothers are not among them. In fact, there is no further mention of them in the Johannine literature. Researchers have, on occasion, wondered why the brothers are unmentioned at the crucifixion. Does this mean that Jesus’s earthly relationship with his biological family is no longer important?105 His mother’s presence may well rule out this possibility. Are his brothers now replaced by the Beloved Disciple?106 Is the mother of Jesus entrusted to this disciple because Jesus’s brothers are represented as unbelievers107 while she is a believer? Does the silence imply an affront to the brothers whose duty it is to provide for their mother?108 Or, is their absence no more incriminating than the absence of virtually all of the male disciples?109 By and large, scholars remain divided over how to interpret the portrayal of the brothers of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel. While their absence at the cross may simply mean that the Evangelist failed to tie up loose ends, it is clear that while their relationship may have once been characterized by cooperation (John 2:12), it is hostile when Jesus meets them again (John 7:1-10). A fundamental reason why Johannine family dynamics, such as the relationship between Jesus and his brothers, have sometimes stymied critics is that the Bible was produced by writers who lived in high-context societies. Members of these societies possessed a large pool of shared knowledge, including many details that the written texts do not explain. The first hearers of the Gospel of John, therefore, possessed not only the ability to interpret its contents, but also the cultural knowlBauckham, Jude and the Relatives of Jesus, 52-53. J. Ramsay Michaels, John (NIBC 4; Peabody: Hendrickson, 1989) 125. 107 Craig R. Koester, Symbolism in the Fourth Gospel: Meaning, Mystery, Community (2d ed.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003) 241. 108 Martin Hengel, “The Interpretation of the Wine Miracle at Cana: John 2:1-11,” in The Glory of Christ in the New Testament: Studies in Christology in Memory of George Bradford Caird (ed. L. D. Hurst and N. T. Wright; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987) 83-112, here 103. 109 Painter, Just James, 20. 105 106


edge necessary to understand many aspects of the story that were implicit. The lack of such details, however, provides a serious interpretive challenge for readers who not only hail from a vastly different time and cultural background, but also belong to low-context societies where writers spell out a myriad of details that would be deemed unnecessary in high-context documents such as the Gospel of John.110 It would be wrong-headed for contemporary North American readers, for example, to assume that the Fourth Gospel contains all of the information that they need in order to interpret it in a manner akin to that of a firstcentury Mediterranean hearer. Clearly, a broader cross-cultural model is needed.

Conclusion At first glance, this review of the history of scholarly assessments of the role of the mother of Jesus, as well as the identity and role of the brothers of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel reveals a peculiar phenomenon. The evidence suggests that the narrative relationship between Jesus and his mother is characterized by respect and loyalty, with no dividing rift. The same conclusion regarding his brothers, whom John most likely presumes to be Jesus’s biological siblings, cannot be drawn. In fact, quite the opposite is true: the Evangelist has Jesus himself associate them with the unbelieving “world,” indicating that they are not in a positive relationship with Jesus. It is a strong possibility that—at the narrative level, at least—the hostility may even place the brothers of Jesus in a position of enmity with respect to both Jesus and his disciples. Having established the critical background, and having pointed out some of the more salient gaps in the scholarship, it is time to turn to an in-depth analysis of the various narrative relations between Jesus, his mother, his brothers, and his disciples, with a view to ultimately filling those gaps. To this end, the next step is to test the conclusion that Jesus’s relationship with his mother is positive while that with his brothers is negative. Here, cultural anthropology provides a useful heuristic tool. Accordingly, Chapter Three constructs a model based on Mediterranean 110 Bruce J. Malina, The Social Gospel of Jesus: The Kingdom of God in Mediterranean Perspective (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001) 2-5.


family relations—particularly those between mothers and sons, and among brothers. The model combines evidence from existing familial models, numerous anthropological studies of the Mediterranean region, ancient witnesses, and scholarly investigations of ancient families. Then, with this model in hand, Chapter Four revisits Johannine passages involving Jesus and members of his biological family in order to offer culturally plausible explanations of the human dynamics contained within its pages. That is to anticipate a later application: the first order of business is the construction of the model.

CHAPTER 3

Developing the Model

Introduction As discussed in the preceding chapter, Jesus and his mother appear to be on amicable terms in John’s Gospel, but the relationship between Jesus and his brothers is conflict ridden. Interestingly, the unanswered questions about this biological family and its inner workings are essentially social, dealing with such matters as inner-family rivalries and mother-son pressures. In light of this situation, it is eminently plausible that the Fourth Evangelist’s depiction of the dynamics between Jesus, his mother, and his brothers is reflective of family conditions embedded in first-century Mediterranean life and ought to be analyzed as such. Therefore, a social-science approach is highly appropriate, especially if one were to develop a model that delineates inner-familial relationships—particularly mother-son and brother-brother—in a manner applicable to biblical families. To this end there are two useful sources of information readily at hand: first, cultural anthropology; and second, ancient Judean, Greek, and Roman witnesses who provide firsthand accounts of familial relationships. Cultural anthropology provides numerous studies of family dynamics in traditional1 twentieth-century Mediterranean societies, studies 1

There are several salient characteristics of “traditional” Middle Eastern societies: the Islamic tradition, the Arab and Ottoman heritages, a social structure consisting of nomads, villagers, and townspeople living in mutually dependent communities, the extended family, elevated rates of illiteracy, high birth and death rates, and low life

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that describe elements such as family solidarity and how it is manifested, inner-familial relationships, sibling rivalry, and relationships with persons who are not considered kin, all of which are fundamental to this investigation. Although these ethnographic analyses derive from a variety of traditional Mediterranean societies, they manifest many similar familial values and behaviors. They constitute, therefore, a valuable resource for biblical studies. In addition, there is a significant amount of information about family life in the Greco-Roman world, including recent studies based on sources such as inscriptions and literary works, as well as the writings of ancient historians, philosophers, poets, and playwrights who testify to familial values and practices. While some of these ancient sources are more imaginative than others, they provide information comparable to more realistic witnesses and are therefore helpful in understanding family dynamics in antiquity. Although these ancient informants are useful, however, many focus upon the activities of elite persons, and are therefore limited regarding information about peasant life. Fortunately, the aforementioned ethnographic studies focus upon the activities of villagers and nomadic peoples, thereby painting the bigger picture. In sum, ethnographic studies of traditional Mediterranean societies, research on ancient biblical families, and evidence gleaned from such ancient sources as the Hebrew Scriptures, the Pseudepigrapha, Greek and Roman political history, philosophical, and historical works, comic drama, epic poetry, and mythology, provide ample information to build a model suitable for the study of how the Johannine Jesus and members of his family interrelate. But before the model is constructed, the salient assumption—that the application of such a model to John 2:1-12; 7:1-10, and 19:25-27 can enhance the understanding of these passages—requires some explanation about how social-science models can enhance biblical research.

The Foundations of the Model I. Introduction Scholars who employ social-science models in their study of biblical texts acknowledge that the Bible was written in an agrarian, pre-indusexpectancy. See Benjamin Rivlin and Joseph S. Szyliowicz, “Introduction: The Middle East in Perspective,” in The Contemporary Middle East: Tradition and Innovation (New York: Random House, 1965) 1-35, esp. 18-35.

Developing the Model · 69

trial world that differed vastly from much of twenty-first century North America. They remind contemporary readers that they are removed from the culture of those who first heard the Gospel of John by two millennia, and, perhaps more importantly, by the tremendous cultural changes generated by the Industrial Revolution. Nevertheless, despite the enormous social distance between present-day readers and the Johannine group, these critics rightly insist that the Social Sciences can help in reconstructing, at least partially, the outlook and way of life of these ancient people. The justification for this position is rooted in evidence that in traditional Mediterranean societies there is a significant measure of cultural comparability over a very long period of time. Social-science advocates argue that while changes have undoubtedly occurred in their cultural patterns, many Circum-Mediterranean societies stand much closer to ancient Judea than most North American societies. In fact, the values and social structures of nineteenth- and twentieth-century traditional Mediterranean societies, they contend, are more akin to those of biblical societies than are those of any other surviving groups.2 Since the notion of comparability over time is one of the major foundations underlying the use of social-science models in biblical studies, advocacy of this theory calls for an examination of how change impacts culture. II. Culture Culture is a highly complex topic, and how one is to understand culture is a much-contested issue in contemporary anthropological theory. One commonly-voiced view is that culture entails a way of thinking, feeling, and believing that is learned and transmitted from one generation to the next through face-to-face interaction and linguistic communication.3 In this view, culture represents a kind of social heritage learned and shared by members of a society and transmitted to future generations by them. This approach notes that the most basic symbol systems constitutive of any society’s culture are its spoken and written languages, the primary means for transmitting information. These are supplemented by body language, conventional gestures, and facial 2 Philip F. Esler, “Introduction: Models, Context and Kerygma in New Testament Interpretation,” in Modelling Early Christianity: Social-scientific Studies of the New Testament in its Context (ed. Philip F. Esler; London: Routledge, 1995) 1-20, esp. 4-8. 3 Alessandro Duranti, Linguistic Anthropology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997) 24.


expressions, whose meanings are understood by individuals within the society.4 The result is a shared system of symbols that conveys information, thereby enabling humans to interact meaningfully. This is a fairly static notion of culture wherein humans receive and pass on culturally encoded information, which appears to be structurally determined. Such an approach, which implies that culture has only to do with the passive acquisition of established practice, is ultimately limited, not only because it fails to incorporate more recent aspects of anthropological discussion.5 For example, does the object of anthropological enquiry exist in a stable and unchanging cultural framework? What is the relationship between structure and human agency? If human beings are agents with the potential to shape society and history, how are we to understand the impact of women’s agency? Some mainstream anthropological contributions have looked at these questions, thereby opening the door to the notion of human agency and its impact on culture. Clifford Geertz argues, for example, that culture is a system of meanings encoded in symbolic forms such as language to which humans gain access by the interpretation of the symbols.6 Therefore, while the acquisition of symbols and their meanings is an important aspect of culture, it is neither symbol nor discourse that produces meaning. Rather, human beings produce meaning, and they do so in combination with the cultural system.7 In other words, symbols are interpreted. Herbert Blumer’s view of human society as symbolic interaction underscores the important role of interpretation in human relationships. He comments that: from the standpoint of symbolic interaction the organization of a human society is the framework inside of which social action takes 4 R. A. Barakat, “Arabic Gestures,” Journal of Popular Culture 6 (1973) 749-92; John J. Pilch, “Gestures,” in Eerdmans Dictionary of the Bible (ed. David Noel Freedman; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000) 497-99. 5 For a review of the challenges that feminist gender studies have brought to the fields of anthropology and biblical interpretation, see J. Dorcas Gordon, “Where to Lay Their Heads? Gender, Anthropology, and New Testament Interpretation,” TJT 18 (2002) 115-28. 6 Sherry B. Ortner, “Introduction,” in The Fate of “Culture”: Geertz and Beyond (ed. Sherry B. Ortner; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999) 1-13, esp. 3-6. 7 Kenneth Allan, The Meaning of Culture: Moving the Postmodern Critique Forward (Westport: Praeger, 1998) 4-5.


place and is not the determinant of that action … such organization and changes in it are the product of the activity of acting units and not of “forces” which leave such acting units out of account. Structural features, such as “culture,” “social systems,” “social stratification,” or “social roles,” set conditions for their action but do not determine their action. People—that is, acting units—do not act toward culture, social structure or the like; they act toward situations. Social organization enters into action only to the extent to which it shapes situations in which people act, and to the extent to which it supplies fixed sets of symbols which people use in interpreting their situations.8 In other words, Blumer emphasizes that social change is mediated by humans whose interpretation of any given situation is not predetermined. Sherry Ortner expands this view by stressing human intention as well as action. While not denying that society and culture shape, guide, and, to some extent, dictate human behavior, she argues that humans are not passive agents in the face of these systems. Rather, human beings are active agents capable of producing and reproducing society and culture through their intentions and actions.9 Given that society and culture both powerfully constrain humans and are also shaped by them, therefore, how is it justifiable to assume that the culture of nineteenth- and twentieth-century Mediterranean folk societies is somehow comparable to the culture of those who first heard the Gospel of John? Part of the response to this question may be found in the nature of social change. III. Social Change Social change can broadly be defined as the following: “Social change is the significant alteration of social structures (that is, of patterns of 8 Herbert Blumer, “Society as Symbolic Interaction,” in Human Behavior and Social Processes: An Interactionist Approach (ed. Arnold M. Rose; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1962) 179-92, esp. 189-90. 9 Sherry B. Ortner, “Theory in Anthropology,” in Culture/Power/History: A Reader in Contemporary Social History (ed. Nicholas B. Dirks, Geoff Eley, and Sherry B. Ortner; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994) 372-411, esp. 402-3.


social action and interaction), including consequences and manifestations of such structures embodied in norms (rules of conduct), values, and cultural products and symbols.”10 According to Evon Vogt, certain factors have the potential to generate significant shifts in the rate of social change: any change in the ecological niche occupied by a society, any contact between two societies that possess different cultural patterns, and any evolutionary change such as the shift from a food-gathering to a food-producing economy.11 These and other stimuli ensure that a culture is never static: indeed, one of the fundamental properties of culture is change. The role of the individual in social change is addressed by Sherry Ortner and Gudmund Hernes, who contend that while individuals are shaped by their physical and social environment, they also have the capability to act upon it and to change it.12 Consequently, two basic kinds of change can occur, wherein humans function either as agents or as recipients. Moreover, unpredictability is the partner of change. Ortner and Hernes agree that while human efforts to produce certain results are sometimes realized, there are times when the resultant change is not what the actor had in mind. Generally speaking, both change and continuity are principles informing the operation of our universe: while everything is in a state of change, some degree of continuity is maintained.13 Moreover, as Georgette Wang notes, continuity and change are not competing forces but serve to complement and regulate each other, as they impact humanity. Human societies eventually change their cultural patterns in response to a number of factors such as the powerful influence of new inventions or conquest by other societies. 10

Wilbert E. Moore, “Social Change,” in International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences (ed. David L. Sills; 18 vols.; United States: Macmillan and the Free Press, 1968) 14. 365-75, here 366. 11 Evon Z. Vogt, “Culture Change,” in International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences (ed. David L. Sills; 18 vols.; United States: Macmillan and the Free Press, 1968) 3. 554-58, here 555. 12 Gudmund Hernes, “Social Changes: Models,” in International Encyclopedia of the Social and Behavioral Sciences (ed. Neil J. Smelser and Paul B. Baltes; 26 vols.; Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2000) 21. 14228-33, esp.14229-31; Sherry B. Ortner, Making Gender: The Politics and Erotics of Culture (Boston: Beacon, 1996) 1. 13 Georgette Wang, Continuity and Change in Communication Systems: An Asian Perspective (ed. Georgette Wang and Wimal Dissanayake; Norwood: Ablex, 1984) xix.


Yet while social scientists acknowledge that culture surely changes, the idea that culture is fundamentally conservative, changing at a very slow pace,14 enjoys significant support. Moreover, cultural practices will persist in sentiment even when they have been replaced by new developments. John Honigmann, for example, points out that while the practice of “Almauftrieb” as an economic pattern has all but disappeared in rural Austria, it retains an emotional hold on peasant sentiment.15 “Almauftrieb” refers to the ancient practice whereby in the spring, Austrian peasants drove their cattle from the village up to the Alpine meadows to graze until the onset of autumn. This migration safeguarded much of the village hay crop that would be necessary for feeding the cattle during the winter. Interestingly, despite the disappearance of “Almauftrieb,” peasants continue to recall and celebrate it in their folk songs and religious ceremonies and to ritualize “Almauftrieb” with special observances on July 26, the feast of Saint Ann. Gerhard and Jean Lenski argue that cultural change is primarily a cumulative process that introduces new elements into the socio-cultural system far more frequently than older elements are eliminated.16 Such hesitancy to dispense with established cultural elements means that societies tend to become more complex as time goes on. The Lenskis also maintain that even in societies that appear to be changing rapidly, many cultural elements remain unchanged for long periods of time, as for example, the calendar, the alphabet, and the numeral system. According to the Lenskis, there are many reasons why certain cultural elements persist in a society. One of the most significant is that people are reticent to eliminate a cultural component when they have nothing more efficient with which to replace it. In other words, elements such as language, and medical and military procedures, are retained because people depend on them in order to operate. Additionally, certain pivotal cultural components involve standardized behavioral responses. Driving a car on the right side of the road, for example, is preserved in 14 Fernand Braudel, The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II (trans. Siân Reynolds; London: Collins, 1973) 773-76. 15 John J. Honigmann, “Survival of a Cultural Focus,” in Explorations in Cultural Anthropology: Essays in Honor of George Peter Murdock (ed. Ward H. Goodenough; New York: McGraw-Hill, 1964) 277-92, here 277-78. 16 Gerhard Lenski, Jean Lenski, and Patrick Nolan, Human Societies: An Introduction to Macrosociology (6th ed.; New York: McGraw-Hill, 1991) 48-50.


Canada for reasons of public safety. Other patterns of behavior are retained because of the tremendous financial or psychic cost of changing them. But the Lenskis contend that the greatest force for cultural continuity within societies is the process of socialization whereby children acquire skills that will enable them to become functional members of their society, a cycle repeated in each generation. Laura Thompson’s analysis of nine cultures leads her to a similar conclusion. Groups strive to maintain cultural patterns that have worked well in the past and, as a result, changes are as few, as delayed, and as superficial as possible.17 Human groups are basically conservative and reticent to change learned beliefs, attitudes, and patterns of behavior, particularly when a way of dealing with a situation constitutes an efficient response. If, in general, cultural change, albeit inevitable, occurs slowly, then the premise that the culture of nineteenth- and twentieth-century and ancient Mediterranean societies are somehow comparable has some support. More information is needed, however, before this conclusion can be drawn. Societies experience and cope with pressure for change in different ways and the rate of cultural change appears to be more rapid in some areas of the world than in others. It is important, therefore, to have some sense of the rate of change in nineteenth- and twentieth-century Mediterranean folk societies. The anthropological data relevant to this question and to the construction of the forthcoming model of family relationships derives from Middle Eastern studies, as well as studies conducted in other Mediterranean countries. It should be pointed out at this juncture that certain aspects of family relationships deemed characteristic of Middle Eastern societies have been identified by anthropologists working in other Mediterranean societies. Moreover, limiting the model of family relationships to the admittedly copious Middle Eastern data would not do justice to the family dynamics presupposed by the Fourth Evangelist, if John’s Gospel reached its final form somewhere in Asia. Therefore, while utilizing Middle Eastern data, the model should also include family studies based on other Mediterranean societies. To be specific, available information flows from two overlapping levels of geographical abstraction, the Middle East and the Circum-Mediterranean region. 17 Laura Thompson, The Secret of Culture: Nine Community Studies (New York: Random House, 1969) 311-12.


IV. Circum-Mediterranean and Middle Eastern Boundaries The territories of the Circum-Mediterranean region are basically those directly around the Mediterranean Sea and include the Iberian Peninsula, France, Italy, the Balkans, Greece, Turkey, the Levant, Egypt, and North Africa. According to George Peter Murdoch, the people of the Circum-Mediterranean region consist of the Cushites of the African Horn, Ethiopian Semites, Nubians and Beja, Kanuric Peoples, Inland Berbers, Hilalian Bedouin, Peoples of the Magreb, Peoples of Egypt, Jews, Ancient Mesopotamia, Arabs of the Near East, Turkic Peoples, Greeks, Italians, Iberian Peoples, French-speaking Peoples, Englishspeaking Peoples, Dutch-speaking Peoples, Germans and Scandinavians, Finnic-speaking Peoples, Baltic and West Slavic Peoples, South Slavic Peoples, Non-Slavic Peoples of Southeast Europe, East Slavic Peoples and Peoples of the Caucasus.18 Since there is considerable variation regarding how anthropologists delineate the boundaries of the Middle East, this study uses the geographical confines described in the Human Relations Area Files (HRAF); and when appropriate, variant descriptions are provided. Founded in 1949 at Yale University, the HRAF comprise a major archive of cultural information and an efficient system for retrieving cultural data. The purpose of the HRAF is to provide information that facilitates the cross-cultural study of human behavior, society, and culture. It is a constantly-expanding collection of mainly primary source materials that deal with cultures from all areas of the world. According to the HRAF, the Middle East includes southwestern Asia from Iran west, northern and northeastern Africa, the Sahara, and the adjacent Muslim fringe of the Sudan. Hence, the following countries would be included: Iran, Turkey, Cyprus, Syria, Lebanon, Israel, Jordan, Iraq, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, Oman, Yemen, Aden, Eritrea, Somaliland, Ethiopia, Arab Sudan, Egypt, Sahara and Sudan, Libya, Tunisia, Algeria, Morocco, Spanish Morocco, Western Sahara, and Middle East Islands.19

18

George Peter Murdock, Atlas of World Cultures (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1981) 25-34. 19 George Peter Murdock, Outline of World Cultures (6th ed.; New Haven: Human Relations Area Files, 1983) iv, 86.


V. Cultural Change in the Middle East While it cannot be denied that Middle Eastern societies are changing, in part due to the influence of Westernization, it is important to note that respected social scientists have argued that rural Middle Eastern societies have tended to change slowly. The traditional outlook, C. Van Nieuwenhuijze contends, is still prevalent in rural areas and will remain influential for a long time to come.20 His thesis is that while all the social structures of the past are being subjected to change, Middle Eastern societies have a built-in longevity and flexibility. The persistence of traditional values is supported by religious doctrine, which strongly influences how people perceive reality, act it out, and function within it. In other words, faith, life, and religion are inseparable for many Middle Eastern people, especially the numerous adherents of Islam. Religion has played a pivotal role in shaping its adherents’ attitudes toward family. In many cases, individuals have depended upon the extended family for survival. The family, in turn, has been sanctioned and supported by religion. The result is a sense of commitment to one’s family that is so intense that even though Westernization has helped to break up the extended family, a measure of its influence persists.21 In the following passage, Ilse Lichtenstadter comments on the perseverance of traditional family values in Muslim family life: On the credit side, both from the ethical and the social point of view, is the continued solidarity of the Muslim family. Even where the ancient institution of the “extended” family is dying out, as has happened especially in the cities, the relations between the members of a family unit is still very close. Blood relatives retain a strong feeling of responsibility for each other: marriages within the family circle are frequent in urban and all but habitual in rural environment. Inherited customs continue to be cherished and traditional ceremonial and courteous manners are cultivated, in spite of the increasing pressure of disrupting “modern” ways. The 20 C. A. O. Van Nieuwenhuijze, The Sociology of the Middle East: A Stocktaking and Social Interpretation (Social, Economic, and Political Studies of the Middle East 1; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1971) 158-60, 796-98. 21 Nuha Abudabbeh, “Arab Families,” in Ethnicity and Family Therapy (ed. Monica McGoldrick, Joe Giordano, and John K. Pearce; 2d ed.; New York: Guilford, 1996) 333-46, here 338.


father’s authority over his sons and daughters is still intact; in case of his father’s death, the eldest son feels responsible for the welfare of his sisters and brothers, as his representative and successor in authority. The respect for the oldest and wisest member of the larger family circle is still great. These factors work for the coherence of a particular family group; they also teach its youth to acknowledge group responsibility and solidarity, and promote the acceptance of membership in larger groups with the obligation to consider their interests in all actions.22 While the face of the Muslim family is changing, traditional concepts continue to exercise significant influence over both private and public affairs. Benjamin Rivlin and Joseph Szyliowicz go so far as to claim that Islamic families tend to resist change rather than give up sanctified traditions. While they correctly observe that stability and continuity coexist in the Middle East, Rivlin and Szyliowicz give the somewhat erroneous impression that prior to the twentieth century, change did not significantly impact this region.23 Patai agrees that social change occurs very slowly in traditional Middle Eastern societies but does not deny that change has always impacted this area. In fact, he opposes as naïve the view that life in the biblical lands has remained virtually unchanged since the days of Abraham, and he offers a more nuanced approach to social change in the Middle East: Folk life in the nineteenth- and twentieth-century Middle East is essentially comparable to the life of the ancient Hebrews as reflected in the Bible. No student of culture would, of course, assume that life in the Middle East has remained unchanged in the three and a half millennia which passed since the days of Abraham. Changes have occurred, as they must, in every century and in every generation. But in the Middle East, possibly more than any other world area, changes have been slow. The way of life and even the physical appearance of a village in Palestine or in Syria of the twentieth century are consequently very similar to what they were in the days of David. The same holds good for the nomads of the 22 Ilse Lichtenstadter, Islam and the Modern Age: An Analysis and an Appraisal (New York: Bookman, 1958) 119-20. 23 Rivlin and Szyliowicz, “Introduction,” 10-11.


Syrian Desert who greatly resemble the nomads among whom was the ancestral family group of the Hebrews. All folk society exhibits the trait of conservatism beneath superficial and insignificant change. Middle Eastern folk society is characterized to a remarkable degree by the persistence of the basic underlying pattern. Thus it is completely legitimate, from a methodological point of view, to seek a fuller understanding of what the Biblical characters did and said and thought through observing how the folk societies in “Bible lands” behave and speak and think thirty to thirty-five centuries later (italics mine).24 Patai’s approach to social change in the Middle East acknowledges that a degree of continuity has been maintained through change, enough that, until well into the twentieth century, the lives of many traditional Middle Eastern peoples remained somewhat comparable to those of biblical peoples. But how can one explain the continued persistence of some very ancient behaviors and practices in spite of powerful forces for change? According to Patai, opposition to change is strongest when change exerts pressure upon the focal areas of a culture, and two primary aspects of Middle Eastern culture are traditionalism and what he refers to as familism.25 In the Arab world, the preference for the old means that the maintenance of the status quo is considered a good, a factor that may serve to slow the rate of social change. Patai further contends that the dominance of the paterfamilias and elders within traditional families and the centrality of family loyalty have favored the retention of traditional patterns of behavior. Thus, while continued change is inevitable, it is not always embraced enthusiastically, with the result that many traditional values and patterns of behavior perdure. In fact, other critics have even claimed that the pressure of Westernization has sometimes intensified traditional family patterns, particularly those concerning gender identity and the preservation of family honor.26 Hence, the assumption appears to have Raphael Patai, Family, Love and the Bible (London: McGibbon and Kee, 1960) 13. Raphael Patai, The Arab Mind (rev. ed.; New York: Hatherleigh, 2002) 296, 299. 26 Elizabeth Fernea, “Muslim Middle East,” in Children in Historical and Comparative Perspective: An International Handbook and Research Guide (ed. Joseph M. Hawes and N. Ray Hiner; New York: Greenwood, 1991) 447-70, here 455. 24 25


adequate support that, while social change has had an impact on Middle Eastern societies, a measure of cultural comparability has persisted over a very long period of time. Having established this basic premise, the study now turns to a second premise underlying social-scientific studies of the New Testament that employ cross-cultural models—namely that the Mediterranean region may be referred to as a “culture area.” In recent anthropological studies, the attitude toward the utility of this concept has been subjected to radical rethinking on the part of some anthropologists; thus, the topic will require extended discussion, beginning with a definition of culture area. VI. Culture Area The idea of a “culture area” is associated principally with the works of George Peter Murdock and with the Human Relations Area Files, which Murdock helped to found. Generally speaking, a culture area denotes “a part of the earth’s surface on which more or less related groups of people, over many millennia, worked out a variety of adaptive mechanisms for survival, beginning with a common heritage: similar ecological conditions, similar economic, social, and ideological systems, and related languages.”27 Yet, while the inhabitants of a culture area share cultural traits, the existence of shared traits does not mean that all societies within a given culture area are carbon copies of one another: they may be very different with respect to some lifestyle patterns but appear to possess similar qualities, especially when they are compared with societies belonging to surrounding culture areas.28 It was in the United States that the concept of culture area first had an impact on social-scientific studies. A major factor in its growth was the need to understand the expanding pool of ethnographic data produced by anthropological studies of the American West, particularly that concerning Native American tribes.29 In the process of these investigations, social scientists have discovered that culture-area analysis can 27 Mary Ann Foley, “Culture Area,” in Encyclopedia of Anthropology (ed. David E. Hunter and Phillip Whitten; New York: Harper and Row, 1976) 104. 28 Joe E. Pierce, Understanding the Middle East (Rutland: Charles E. Tuttle, 1971) 1112. 29 Thomas Buckley, “Kroeber’s Theory of Culture Areas and the Ethnology of Northwestern California,” Anthropological Quarterly 62 (1989) 15-26.


be fruitfully employed to facilitate regional comparisons, assist in the historical reconstruction of cultural development, and advance the study of how the natural environment impacts human societies. Hence, culture-area analysis in North America has set the stage for similar studies in the Middle East and the broader Mediterranean region. VII. The Middle East as a Culture Area The Middle East, the territory of which stretches across much of the Circum-Mediterranean region, has been the subject of culture-area analysis by many social scientists. Van Nieuwenhuijze, for instance, has offered a comprehensive study of the sociology of the Middle East wherein he contends that factors such as climate, geology, and geography have contributed to the specific features of this region.30 Rivlin and Szyliowicz agree, stating that the physical environment plays a central role in the formation of culture and conclude that, even though most Middle Eastern countries display diverse physical habitats, aridity constitutes the most characteristic physical feature.31 Even in areas that receive a decent annual rainfall, precipitation is concentrated in a few winter months, while the summers are hot and dry. This rainfall pattern affects soil conditions and largely determines the kinds of vegetation capable of survival, not to mention the crops that can be successfully cultivated. These critics go on to say that the culture of Middle Eastern peoples has been greatly influenced by the region’s strategic location. The Middle East, they state, is essentially a middle land where three continents meet along the Mediterranean Sea and, as a consequence, the Middle East has been the center of the many power rivalries that have shaped the pattern of life in this region. But culture and lifestyle, they argue, are also affected by social patterns. For example, the focal point of traditional societies within this region is religion, particularly Islam, which provides a way of life for the vast majority of Middle Eastern peoples. Islam pervades the private, political, social, economic, and religious lives of its adherents, because it posits no division between the secular and the sacred. One final point underscored by Rivlin and Szyliowicz concerns the social structure of the Middle East. Traditional society, they state, con30 31

Van Nieuwenhuijze, Middle East, 20-21. Rivlin and Szyliowicz, “Introduction,” 18-35.


tains three main types of people—nomads, villagers, and townspeople— living in three types of mutually dependent communities—the tribal camp, the village, and the town/city. Nomads raise animals for food; villagers produce vegetables and grains; townspeople provide manufactured goods. The key social group within each of these components is the extended family, whose structures and functions are strikingly similar in many Middle Eastern societies. Similarly, Patai argues that over the course of millennia, a set of common cultural institutions developed in the Middle East. Beneath the significant local differences, he claims, lie the same fundamental features whose presence sets Middle Eastern culture apart from the cultures of contiguous world areas. . . . Just as each area of the Middle East comprises both desert and sown and transitional zones between these two extremes, so also the demographic picture of each country is composed of at least three types of population elements that constitute a recurrent configuration in every part of the area. The desert is the habitat of the camel nomad, the steppe belt the domain of the sheep and goat nomad, and the sown the home of the agriculturalist.32 Because of the enormous land mass included in the Middle East and the internal variations among constituent societies, Patai refers to this area as a culture “continent” rather than a culture “area.” In sum, the aforementioned social scientists agree that although the physical and social patterns that they have discussed do not apply to the entire Middle East today, they continue to shape the lives of a significant number of people. Further, their long history suggests that this vast region may be designated a culture area—or indeed, a culture continent. VIII. The Mediterranean Region as a Culture Area The Circum-Mediterranean region has frequently been the subject of culture-area analyses. For example, in his examination of sixteenthcentury Spain’s conquest of much of America, George Foster discusses the influence of Spain’s geography, climate, and political structure on the 32 Raphael Patai, Golden River to Golden Road: Society, Culture, and Change in the Middle East (3d ed.; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1969) 4, 17.


culture of its peoples. In his deliberations, Foster refers to Spain “as part of a ‘Circum-Mediterranean’ culture area which has existed for several millennia, and which even today unites the countries that border this inland sea.”33 As stated earlier, a culture area is so designated because anthropologists have identified within it a complex of cultural traits thought to be characteristic of the area. With respect to the characteristic traits of the Mediterranean region, several proposals have been made. It has been argued, for example, that the arid Mediterranean climate and the topography of this vast region have resulted in similar cultivation and settlement patterns by its peoples.34 Stanley Brandes, in summarizing the perceptions of several anthropologists, points out that a major distinguishing feature of the Mediterranean region is its inhabitants’ concern for honor.35 Continuing this train of thought, Jane Schneider focuses on the origin of the values of honor and shame. She begins by delineating patterns of dependency among villagers and pastoralists throughout the Mediterranean region and argues that honor and shame developed as they did as a means of establishing social order and boundaries among these dyadic groups. As this system of relationships developed, women, a contested resource in rural Mediterranean regions, provided a focus for family honor. As the pastoral way of life emerged, their sexual comportment spontaneously evolved into a determining aspect of family honor throughout the Mediterranean region.36 For his part, Jack Goody expands the list of unifying features to include sexual segregation—predominantly in public situations—honor and shame, and the prevalence of clientelism.37 33

George M. Foster, Culture and Conquest: America’s Spanish Heritage (Viking Fund Publications in Anthropology 27; New York: Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research, 1960) 25. 34 David D. Gilmore, “Anthropology of the Mediterranean Area,” Annual Review of Anthropology 11 (1982) 175-205, esp. 177-78. 35 Stanley Brandes, “Reflections on Honor and Shame in the Mediterranean,” in Honor and Shame and the Unity of the Mediterranean (ed. David D. Gilmore; American Anthropological Society Special Publication 22; Washington, DC: American Anthropological Association, 1987) 121-34, esp. 121-22. 36 Jane Schneider, “Of Vigilance and Virgins: Honor, Shame and Access to Resources in Mediterranean Societies,” Ethnology 10 (1971) 1-24. 37 Jack Goody, “The Family, Kinship and Marriage in the Mediterranean,” in L’anthropologie de la Méditerranée: Anthropology of the Mediterranean (ed. Dionigi Albera et al.; Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, Maison méditerranéenne des sciences de l’homme, 2001) 269-74, here 269.


Historian Peter Burke supports such approaches, arguing that there are clear benefits to studying the Mediterranean region as a unity.38 First, it discourages the tendency toward narcissism prevalent in the attitude that local customs are unique. Second, because study of the Mediterranean region sometimes involves analogies between cultures inside and outside Europe—for example, Spain and North Africa— Mediterranean studies can help social scientists and historians avoid Eurocentrism. Yet in contrast to these kinds of arguments are those criticizing the notion of the Mediterranean region as a culture area because of a lack of consistency in the criteria used to delineate this vast region.39 Dionigi Albera and Anton Blok, for instance, have argued that if one focuses on the common features in an area, the differences are overlooked. But their admission that one can conceptualize the Mediterranean region as a field of ethnological investigation, while demonstrating enough similarities and differences for fruitful comparative study,40 reveals that they are not entirely prepared to abandon the culture-area approach. In fact, even those anthropologists who reject outright the culture-area concept continue to speak of the Circum-Mediterranean or Mediterranean region. To resolve the dilemma, Paul Magnarella proposes that we enhance the culture-area concept by commencing with an image of the CircumMediterranean area as an open and dynamic system that engages in interchange with its cultural-natural environment, and then applying a theoretical paradigm, such as inter-areal systems comparisons.41 The application of this paradigm, he states, allows one to compare various aspects of the Circum-Mediterranean region, such as its politics or 38 Peter Burke, “Passing Through Three Crises,” in L’anthropologie de la Méditerranée: Anthropology of the Mediterranean (ed. Dionigi Albera et al.; Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, Maison méditerranéenne des sciences de l’homme, 2001) 99-103, here 99. 39 Victoria A. Goddard, Josep R. Llobera, and Cris Shore, “Introduction: The Anthropology of Europe,” in The Anthropology of Europe: Identity and Boundaries in Conflict (ed. Victoria A. Goddard et al.; Oxford: Berg, 1994) 1-40, esp. 21-22; João de Pina-Cabral, “The Mediterranean as a Category of Regional Comparison: A Critical View,” Current Anthropology 30 (1989) 403. 40 Dionigi Albera and Anton Blok, “The Mediterranean as a Field of Ethnological Study: A Retrospective,” in L’anthropologie de la Méditerranée: Anthropology of the Mediterranean (ed. Dionigi Albera et al.; Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, Maison méditerranéenne des sciences de l’homme, 2001) 15-37, esp. 18-20. 41 Paul J. Magnarella, “Conceptualizing the Circum-Mediterranean for Purposes of Social Scientific Research,” Journal of Mediterranean Studies 2 (1992) 18-24.


economics, with their counterparts in regions such as North America or the Far East. But João Pina-Cabral contends that the Mediterranean culture-area complex is not particularly useful for purposes of social anthropological comparison. He prefers to begin with sub-regional comparisons and move toward wider levels of comparison, perhaps between regions such as Mediterranean Europe and Atlantic Europe. Pina-Cabral does, however, admit the possibility of Western European, European, and Eurasian cultural uniformity.42 In other words, his argument appears to represent the culture-area approach dressed in a slightly different garb. Thus, it seems that Albera and Blok’s conviction is well-founded: “Taking issue with the culture area concept is not easy: everybody is ready to throw it out, but it comes in again through the window.”43 Clearly, anthropological experts are far from proposing a viable alternative to the culture area approach to studying the Mediterranean region, and it serves as a useful premise upon which to base the methodology of this text.

Social-Science Models I. Introduction This premise underpins many social-scientific studies of the Bible. Social-science advocates argue that the Mediterranean culture continent, while not identical to the first-century culture continent, exists even today.44 Drawing upon the work of anthropologists who have worked extensively in the Mediterranean region, biblical scholars who employ social-science models in their study of biblical texts have identified within this vast geographical area a set of cultural institutions that has persisted over a very long period. They have elucidated several features of the Roman Empire in the first two centuries C.E. and have noted that these features still exist in some form. First-century CircumMediterranean societies, they contend, were based upon the values of Pina-Cabral, “The Mediterranean,” 404. Albera and Blok, “The Mediterranean,” 22. 44 Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh, Social-Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels (2d ed.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003) 3-4. 42 43


honor and shame, patronage and clientage, dyadic interpersonal relationships, the concept of the limited good, and an economy embedded in kinship and politics. Sociologist John Coleman argues that such a macro-sociological perspective of the Roman Empire is legitimate at a high level of abstraction and is preferable to anachronistic, ethnocentric models derived from individualistic cultures where, for example, the economy is the dominant free-standing institution.45 Beneath the approach that employs cross-cultural models in the interpretation of biblical texts lies the assumption that the meaning of a text is derived from a social system, and since the social system of first-century Christ-believers was so unlike that of most twenty-first century North Americans, it behooves people today to familiarize themselves with the social values embedded in biblical texts46 and to approach these texts in a manner respectful of these values. But how is this to be done? As noted at the beginning of this chapter, certain issues concerning the relationships between Jesus and other members of his biological family constitute social questions best addressed by a model suitable for the study of Mediterranean families. However, no adequate model exists. Therefore, it is necessary to construct one using a variety of sources, including other cross-cultural models, as well as anthropological research of Mediterranean families and the kinds of relationships that occur therein, particularly those between mothers and sons and among brothers. Since models are generalizations that operate at various levels of abstraction, it is important that the resultant model operate at a level of abstraction that fits the data to be examined. And as it is not known with certainty where the Gospel of John was written, an appropriate model must operate at a fairly high level of abstraction. Ephesus, Alexandria, Antioch, and Palestine have all been proposed as venues for the writing of the Fourth Gospel but there is no strong case for any of them. An earlier discussion of the Fourth Gospel’s provenance noted the desirability of assuming that the gospel has Palestinian roots and a process of development that is indebted to more than one area. John A. Coleman, “The Bible and Sociology: 1998 Paul Hanly Furfey Lecture,” Sociology of Religion 60 (1999) 125-48, esp. 137-42. 46 For the theoretical background to this premise, see Bruce J. Malina, “The Social Sciences and Biblical Interpretation,” Int 36 (1982) 229-42; idem, “Why Interpret the Bible with the Social Sciences?” American Baptist Quarterly 2 (1983) 119-33. 45


In order to provide the requisite flexibility for subsequent analysis, therefore, the model will combine two well-known cross-cultural familial models, as well as data gleaned from numerous anthropological studies of Mediterranean societies, scholarly investigations of ancient Israelite, Roman, and Greek families, and several ancient texts. But first, a few words about what models are and how they are used responsibly. II. The Meaning and Use of Models A social-science model is variously defined. For one thing, it is “a simplified picture of a part of the real world. It has some of the characteristics of the real world, but not all of them. It is a set of interrelated guesses about the world. Like all pictures, a model is simpler than the phenomena it is supposed to represent or explain. . . . We construct models in order to explain and appreciate the world . . . models as a generic term for any systematic set of conjectures about real world observations.”47 Or, it can be seen as “an abstract selective representation of the relationships among social phenomena used to conceptualize, analyze, and interpret patterns of social relations, and to compare and contrast one system of social relations with another. Models are heuristic constructs that operationalize particular theories and that range in scope and complexity according to the phenomena to be analyzed.”48 Or again: “A model is an outline framework, in general terms, of the characteristics of a class of things or phenomena. This framework sets out the major components involved and indicates their priority of importance. It provides guidelines on how these components relate to one another.”49 As these definitions suggest, a model is a hermeneutical device or pattern that can offer a systematic way of organizing information in order to focus attention on social structure and social process. When applied to biblical texts, models can illuminate poorly understood aspects of the culture embedded in the text.50 Furthermore, they provide “a set of 47

Charles A. Lave and James G. March, An Introduction to Models in the Social Sciences (New York: Harper and Row, 1975) 3-4. 48 John H. Elliott, What is Social-Scientific Criticism? (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993) 132. 49 T. F. Carney, The Shape of the Past: Models and Antiquity (Lawrence, Kansas: Coronado, 1975) 7. 50 Richard A. Wood, “The Use and Significance of Models for Historical Reconstruction,” SBLSP 30 (1991) 488-98, here 494.


questions which can produce new insights or even new answers to exegetical dilemmas.”51 In other words, models make explicit what is implicit in a text. Furthermore, they can be tested, and they encourage the interpreter to make presuppositions explicit, thus precluding an ethnocentric or anachronistic reading—the danger inherent in implicit models and their unexpressed assumptions. Consequently, there is less temptation to see the ancients through modern eyes. This is not to claim that the use of explicit models is infallible, as they do involve certain methodological weaknesses. First, since models are abstractions that delineate certain characteristics of a phenomenon, they assume a particular perspective, thereby ruling out others. (Yet whether or not one uses an explicit model, one’s perception is always selective.) Second, models are inherently subjective. A viable model is one that fits the data. Finally, different models can lead the interpreter to very different conclusions. Despite these limitations, models encourage methodical research and make explicit the viewpoint that the interpreter uses to consider the problem at hand. III. Cultural Considerations To prove useful in the study of biblical family relationships, a model must be built on the premise that Mediterranean persons understand and live out familial relationships in a manner markedly different from that of most contemporary North Americans. On the one hand, generally speaking, North Americans are individualistic. While they may belong to various groups, they tend to experience themselves as autonomous. They are also motivated by their own preferences, needs, and rights, and believe that their personal goals ought to take precedence over the goals of others. Finally, they tend to weigh the advantages and disadvantages to associating with others.52 Mediterranean persons, on the other hand, are collectivists. Harry Triandis maintains that in collectivist cultures, individuals define themselves as members of a collective, such as the family or tribe, and emphasize their connectedness with the members of the group.53 Collectivist individuals, he J. Dorcas Gordon, Sister or Wife? 1 Corinthians 7 and Cultural Anthropology (ed. Stanley E. Porter; JSNTSup 149; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997) 55. 52 Harry C. Triandis, Individualism and Collectivism (Boulder: Westview, 1995) xiii, 2. 53 Harry C. Triandis, “Collectivism: Cultural Concerns,” in International Encyclopedia of the Social and Behavioral Sciences (ed. Neil J. Smelser and Paul B. Baltes; 26 vols.; Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2001) 4. 2227-32, esp. 2227-29. 51


argues, give priority to the goals of the group rather than to their personal goals, and their behavior is primarily determined by group norms. Furthermore, they tend to maintain these relationships even when to do so is not advantageous. These patterns of behavior are instilled in the very young: children are taught to be obedient, reliable, dutiful, and to sacrifice their interests to those of the group. These kinds of values, prevalent in Mediterranean societies, are absolutely essential for nomadic groups, such as the Bedouin who require strong group cohesion in order to survive in the harsh physical environment of the desert.54 The model must also be built upon the foundation of other core cultural values that persistently impact family life in Mediterranean societies. Two such values are honor and shame, which, while nuanced in every culture, permeate the Mediterranean region—and the Bible. According to Vasso and George Vassiliou, honor is the highest Greek value and the most important element of the Greek self-concept. It is the social value that guides proper behavior toward those to whom one owes loyalty, generally speaking, one’s family and friends.55 Honor is defined as the value of a person in his or her own eyes, which must be publicly acknowledged.56 Shame, in the positive sense, has to do with one’s concern to safeguard one’s honor and therefore the honor of one’s family. To be shamed is to claim a personal pride, which is publicly denied.57 The people of the Mediterranean region habitually use the concepts of honor and shame to evaluate their own conduct and that of others. Even though the work at hand investigates only a particular aspect— family relationships—of one of the primary social institutions of antiquity— kinship—it is necessary to keep in mind that the diverse relationships within the institution of kinship, and therefore within the family, are significantly shaped by the core cultural values of honor and shame. Patai, Arab Mind, 82-83. Vasso G. Vassiliou and George Vassiliou, “The Implicative Meaning of the Greek Concept of Philotimo,” Journal of Cross-Cultural Psychology 4 (1973) 326-41, esp. 326-28. 56 Julian Pitt-Rivers, “Honour and Social Status,” in Honour and Shame: The Values of Mediterranean Society (ed. J. G. Peristiany; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966) 19-77, here 21. 57 Julian Pitt-Rivers, The Fate of Shechem or the Politics of Sex: Essays in the Anthropology of the Mediterranean (ed. Jack Goody; Cambridge Studies in Social Anthropology 19; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977) xi, 1. 54 55


The Model I. Introduction Since the human social grouping referred to here as family is integral to most societies, social-scientific models that deal with the idea of family are fairly well-attested in the literature. Yet no one particular model is adequate for an analysis of Johannine biblical passages involving Jesus and members of his biological family. The problem is not insurmountable, however, because it is possible to dismantle a number of individual models and construct a new one from the appropriate pieces, an exercise that Bruce Malina calls kitbashing.58 Such an approach is supported by Richard Wood, who argues that the events of the Near East cannot be adequately explained on the basis of a single macroscopic model. More than one model is required for adequate analysis of social or historical events.59 Accordingly, in its construction of an appropriate model, this study employs elements of two well-known cross-cultural familial models, building upon these with the superb social description of Middle Eastern families set forth by Raphael Patai, as well as data gleaned from numerous anthropological studies of traditional Mediterranean societies, scholarly investigations of ancient families, and ancient literary witnesses. II. George Peter Murdock The first familial model informing the present kitbashed model is George Murdock’s macro-model of the family, derived from a sample of two hundred and fifty representative human societies, including data drawn from the files of the Cross-Cultural Survey. Examination of this vast pool of cross-referenced data leads Murdoch to identify the nuclear family as the most basic family type, consisting typically of a married man and woman with their offspring, although in some cases, other persons may reside with them. He points out, however, that among the majority of the peoples of the earth, nuclear families are combined into larger aggregates. The extended family, for example, consists of two or 58 Bruce J. Malina, Christian Origins and Cultural Anthropology: Practical Models for Biblical Interpretation (Atlanta: John Knox, 1986) iii. 59 Wood, “Use of Models,” 495.


more nuclear families in cases where the offspring of the senior couple and their children live with the couple or in adjacent dwellings. In addition, the polygamous family consists of two or more nuclear families that have one married parent in common.60 Murdoch delineates eight primary familial relations: • Husband and Wife: economic specialization and cooperation; sexual cohabitation; joint responsibility for support, care, and upbringing of children; well-defined reciprocal rights with respect to property, divorce, spheres of authority, etc. • Father and Son: economic cooperation in masculine activities under leadership of the father; obligation of material support, vested in father during childhood of son, in son during old age of father; responsibility of father for instruction and discipline of son; duty of obedience and respect on part of son, tempered by some measure of comradeship. • Mother and Daughter: relationship parallel to that between father and son, but with more emphasis on child-care and economic cooperation and less on authority and material support. • Mother and Son: dependence of son during infancy; imposition of early disciplines by the mother; moderate economic cooperation during childhood of son; early development of a lifelong incest taboo; material support by son during old age of mother. • Father and Daughter: responsibility of father for protection and material support prior to marriage of daughter; economic cooperation, instruction and discipline appreciably less prominent than in father-son relationship; playfulness common in infancy of daughter, but normally yields to a measure of reserve with the development of a strong incest taboo. • Elder and Younger Brother: relationship of playmates, developing into that of comrades; economic cooperation under leadership of elder; moderate responsibility of elder for instruction and discipline of younger. • Elder and Younger Sister: relationship parallel to that between elder and younger brother but with more emphasis upon physical care of the younger sister.

60 George Peter Murdock, “The Nuclear Family,” in Readings in Kinship and Social Structure (New York: Harper and Row, 1971) 358-65, here 358-59.


• Brother and Sister: early relationship of playmates, varying with relative age; gradual development of an incest taboo, commonly coupled with some measure of reserve; moderate economic cooperation; partial assumption of parental role, especially by the elder.61 Murdoch concludes that these relationships, as compared with extrafamily relationships, exhibit a high degree of reciprocal cooperation, loyalty, solidarity, and affection. He further contends that each of the eight primary relationships reveals a markedly similar fundamental character in all societies, in consequence of the universality of the family’s basic functions. His broad-based work on the structure and basic characteristics of families provides some of the framework within which to place Mediterranean family relationships. III. Emmanuel Todd The second of the two models, the global familial model of Emmanuel Todd, also operates at a high level of abstraction. Todd’s efforts are two-fold. He attempts to classify the fundamental family forms of the world and to explain the relationships between family structures and social systems. He identifies seven basic family forms: the exogamous community family of communist countries (Russia, Yugoslavia, Slovakia, Bulgaria, Hungary, Finland, Albania, central Italy, China, Vietnam, Cuba, north India); the authoritarian family of Socialism (Germany, Austria, Sweden, Norway, Belgium, Bohemia, Scotland, Ireland, peripheral regions of France, northern Spain, northern Portugal, Japan, Korea, Jews, Romany gypsies); the egalitarian nuclear families (northern France, northern Italy, central and southern Spain, central Portugal, Greece, Romania, Poland, Latin America, Ethiopia) and the absolute nuclear families (Anglo-Saxon world, Holland, Denmark), both of which tend toward individualism; the endogamous community family of Islam (Arab world, Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Azerbaijan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tadzhikistan); the asymmetrical community family of the caste system (southern India); the anomic family characterized by the absence of rules that promote a particular marriage type (Burma, Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, Philippines, Madagascar, South-American Indian cultures); and, finally, 61

George Peter Murdock, Social Structure (New York: The Free Press, 1965) 93-94.


African Systems that involve a higher instance of polygamy compared with their European, American and Asiatic equivalents.62 Todd’s thesis is that these family structures have strongly influenced the social ideologies and beliefs of people inhabiting the regions where they are prevalent. In his analysis of the Herodians and Mediterranean kinship, K. C. Hanson places the family types most characteristic of the Roman Empire within the framework of Todd’s social theory.63 Generally speaking, Roman, Greek, and Israelite families of the first century were all characterized by patrilineal descent. Daughters belonged to the patriline of their fathers and normally lived in their father’s household until marriage, which served to protect the family inheritance—in the case of an endogamous marriage—or to build alliances with other families if the marriage was exogamous. However, there were also visible differences among the three family groups. While ancient Roman families, states Hanson, would be best categorized as exogamous community families, Greek families were of the egalitarian nuclear family type, and Israelite families typified the endogamous community family.64 What follows is a brief description—at a high level of abstraction—of each of these family types. First, the exogamous community family stresses paternal authority, equality between brothers determined by rules of inheritance, cohabitation of married sons and their parents, and no marriage between the children of two brothers. The selection of an exogamous spouse potentially produces a somewhat unstable family unit because the presence of a new wife, who is a stranger in the household, means that all the affective relationships of the family group must be redefined.65 Second, the egalitarian nuclear family type emphasizes the equality of brothers laid down by inheritance rules, no cohabitation of married children with their parents, and no marriage between the children of brothers.66 62

Emmanuel Todd, The Explanation of Ideology: Family Structures and Social Systems (trans. David Garrioch; Family, Sexuality and Social Relations in Past Times; Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985). Todd’s social theory sets African family systems aside because of the many variations in family relationships displayed therein. 63 K. C. Hanson, “The Herodians and Mediterranean Kinship. Part I: Genealogy and Descent,” BTB 19 (1989) 75-84, here 77. 64 Hanson, “Herodians,” 77. 65 Todd, Ideology, 33-34. 66 Todd, Ideology, 99.


Finally, the endogamous community family endorses equality between brothers established by inheritance rules, cohabitation of married sons with their parents, and frequent marriage between the children of brothers.67 It is logical to assume that those who first heard the Gospel of John belonged to these family types. Like Murdoch’s model, Todd’s model represents an important foundation for the kitbashed model. Generally speaking, Murdoch’s model delineates general patterns of inner-familial relationships and describes some widespread characteristics of families, while Todd’s model acknowledges the family forms most characteristic of biblical families and notes some of their general features. These two models supply the larger framework within which to place biblical families, and thereby contribute to an understanding of Johannine familial relationships. However, many of the questions to be addressed require the introduction into the model of a lower level of abstraction. For example, issues such as why Jesus appears to be an outsider with respect to his brothers (John 7:3-10) cannot be clearly understood on the basis of these macro-models. Thus, additional social description of Mediterranean familial relationships is necessary in order to build a model that clarifies the particular family issues described in the Johannine text. Here, the reliable work of eminent social scientist, Raphael Patai, amplifies the work of Murdoch and Todd. IV. Raphael Patai Raphael Patai (1910-1996) had a life-long interest in the Arabs. Their language, literature, history, and culture were almost constant preoccupations. During his years in Jerusalem (1933-1947), he learned to speak Arabic, made many Arab friends, and traveled extensively throughout Arab countries. During this time, he became well acquainted with Arab culture by paying particular attention to societies located in regions of the Middle East where Westernization had not yet made appreciable inroads.68 It is important to note that when Patai refers to the endogamous community family, he is speaking of traditional Middle Eastern peoples, that 67 68

Todd, Ideology, 133. Patai, Golden River, 21.


is, those who live in remote villages and in nomadic tribal societies. His observations are invaluable because although this extended family unit still exists in some rural areas, it is becoming an increasingly rare feature of Middle Eastern towns. Patai, whose expertise in Arab culture has proved an invaluable contribution to many social-scientific studies of the Bible, writes: With a few exceptions . . . the traditional family exhibits identical basic characteristics all over the Middle East. Whatever the religious, ethnic, social, national or linguistic affiliations of the family, it is unmistakably stamped as Middle Eastern by a series of traits easily recognizable from one end of the area to the other, and not to be found again in its totality in any of the adjacent world areas. In general, it can be stated that the traditional Middle Eastern family is characterized by the following six traits: it is (1) extended, (2) patrilineal, (3) patrilocal, (4) patriarchal, (5) endogamous, and (6) occasionally polygynous.69 In his ensuing discussion of the general features of the Middle Eastern endogamous community family,70 Patai states that this unit consists of an elderly man, his wife (or wives), his unmarried daughters, and all of his sons, their wives, and children. The father is the undisputed ruler of the group, the patriarch. His power is so extensive that even though the eldest son is the traditional heir, the patriarch can make any son his successor.71 Residence is patrilocal: family members live in the same dwelling or in a number of adjoining dwellings. They work cooperatively on projects such as agriculture or animal husbandry. Property is held in common and controlled by the patriarch, who is ultimately responsible for the family’s well-being. A second feature of traditional Middle Eastern families, according to Patai, is patrilineal descent. It is reckoned in the father’s line, a practice that is aptly defined in an Arabic proverb: “In descent people rely on the father and not on the mother; the mother is like a vessel that is emptied.”72 There is a preference for marriage within one’s own social group 69 70 71 72

Patai, Golden River, 84. Patai, Golden River, esp. 84-94. Patai, Family, 192, 196. Patai, Family, 17.


(endogamy), especially marriage to a father’s brother’s daughter. Weddings are highly significant social events attended by large groups of family members, neighbors, and friends (Matt 22:9-10; Jos. Asen. 20:621:9).73 In fact, unless excessive factionalism serves to divide the villagers, everyone takes part in the festivities.74 In cases where the bride and groom come from different villages, the weddings are very colorful and may serve to connect the two villages. Newlyweds generally reside in or near the home of the bridegroom’s father.75 Polygyny, while lawful among most Middle Eastern societies, is the exception rather than the rule. Children, especially sons, are desired as a source of honor, of comfort in old age, and of strength against one’s enemies.76 In addition to the morphology of the extended family, Patai focuses on the expectations that surround inner-familial relationships. Group cohesion, collective responsibility, and hierarchical loyalties comprise the heart of family relationships.77 Ideally, family members are bound by love and obedience to the decisions of the senior member. Biblical law is strict regarding obedience to one’s parents. A recalcitrant son whose actions threaten the inner cohesion of the family theoretically could be put to death (cf. Deut 21:18-21). Even today, disobedience to parents is considered a grave sin by traditional Muslims. The socialization of Middle Eastern children prepares them to be obedient members of a family whose interests take precedence over personal ones.78 In more isolated areas, such commitment can be especially critical for the family’s survival. Hence, the people that Patai describes are dyadic—individuals who are always in relationship with one or more social units such as the family. The dyadic nature of these people also accounts for the belief that the crimes of any member of the family have consequences for the entire family (cf. Lev 20:4-5) or community (cf. Num 16:22). Similarly, the law of revenge is based on the belief that any hurt inflicted upon an individual is suffered by his or her whole 73

Lila Abu-Lughod, Writing Women’s Worlds: Bedouin Stories (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993) 167-202. 74 Frederik Barth, Principles of Social Organization in Southern Kurdistan (Oslo: Brodrene Jorgensen, 1953) 113. 75 Residence in archaic or classical Athens was also patrilocal; see R. J. Littman, “Kinship in Athens,” Ancient Society 10 (1979) 5-31, here 24. 76 Patai, Golden River, 94. 77 Patai, Arab Mind, 22. 78 Patai, Golden River, 97.


family. Close relatives are duty-bound to avenge the murder of a kinsman (cf. Num 35: 19, 21; Deut 19:6, 12; Josh 20:5, 9; Sir 30:6). Among other things, Patai’s work demonstrates how deeply Middle Eastern individuals are influenced by their family ties. V. Additional Anthropological Data A. Introduction In social scientific research, the term “in-group” refers to persons who perceive themselves as sharing similar interests and values and constituting a collective “we” against out-groups. The expectation is that a spirit of solidarity, cooperation, and reciprocity will exist among members of one’s in-group.79 Generally speaking, in-group members tend to highly esteem their group while looking upon other groups in a more or less disparaging manner.80 Collectivist cultures demand a higher degree of solidarity and loyalty from in-group members than is expected within individualistic cultures. However, one’s in-group can change or expand depending upon the circumstances. For instance, in many Mediterranean societies, neighbors who interact cooperatively sometimes claim common descent, even though confirmation of blood ties is hard to establish. For these people, knowledge of closeness precedes its justification.81 In the face of external threats, even households that are normally competitive will stand in solidarity against the enemy.82 Hence, in collectivist societies, while one’s first loyalty is usually to one’s family, every person with whom an individual interacts cooperatively constitutes a member of that individual’s in-group. The family is a primary example of the in-group. Ideally, relationships within Mediterranean families are to be characterized above all by honesty, respect, and loyalty.83 Elements of this ideal vision of family Juliet Du Boulay, Portrait of a Greek Mountain Village (Oxford: Clarendon, 1974) 21-22; Sandra Ott, The Circle of Mountains: A Basque Shepherding Community (Oxford: Clarendon, 1981) 54, 58; Irene P. Winner, “The Question of the Zadruga in Slovenia: Myth and Reality in Žerovnica,” Anthropological Quarterly 50 (1977) 125-35, here 127. 80 Murdoch, Social Structure, 83-84. 81 Dale F. Eickelman, The Middle East and Central Asia: An Anthropological Approach (4th ed.; Upper Saddle River, New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 2002) 146-49. 82 Pitt-Rivers, Fate of Shechem, 117. 83 Vassiliou and Vassiliou, “Philotimo,” 326-31. 79


are visible even in larger towns throughout the Middle East, where family solidarity is evident in the spirit of cooperation among relatives regardless of how distant the kinship relationship may be. A primary element within this web of family solidarity concerns respect for one’s parents, which continues to constitute a deep-seated expectation in many societies throughout the Mediterranean region, particularly respect for one’s father. Public ridicule of, or violence against, a father may merit severe punishment by local officials.84 Nineteenth- and twentieth-century anthropologists studying Mediterranean societies have repeatedly stressed that tremendous value is accorded elderly individuals.85 Furthermore, it is considered honorable to care for one’s aging parents, especially a widowed mother.86 Such care is to be provided by one’s own children rather than by other relatives. In addition, family members assume responsibility for the funeral rites of deceased family members and assemble in order to commemorate their deaths.87 These practices are by no means recent developments. In ancient Mediterranean societies, longevity (Ps 21:5; Ps 61:7; 1 Kgs 1:31; Dan 6:7) and respect for one’s elders (Lev 19:32; Job 32:4; Isa 9:14; Sir 3: 12-16) were cherished.88 Biblical and Greco-Roman writings are replete with admonitions to honor one’s parents (Ex 21:15, 17; Lev 20:9; Sir 3:111; Let. Arist. 228; Jub. 7:20; Ps.-Philo 11:9) because they represent one’s origins. In the Stoic as well as the Israelite tradition, the command to love, honor, and obey one’s parents follows closely upon the command 84

N. Abu-Zahra, “Family and Kinship in a Tunisian Peasant Community,” in Mediterranean Family Structures (ed. J. G. Peristiany; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976) 157-71, here 162. 85 Judith P. Hallett (Fathers and Daughters in Roman Society: Women and the Elite Family [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984] 38) states that the ancient Romans equated seniority with superiority. 86 John K. Campbell, Honour, Family and Patronage: A Study of Institutions and Moral Values in a Greek Mountain Community (Oxford: Clarendon, 1964) 166; Andrei Simicå, “Machismo and Cryptomatriarchy: Power, Affect and Authority in the Contemporary Yugoslav Family,” Ethos 11 (1983) 66-86, esp. 78-79. 87 Margaret E. Kenna, “The Idiom of Family,” in Mediterranean Family Structures (ed. J. G. Peristiany; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976) 347-62, here 358; Olive Lodge, Peasant Life in Jugoslavia (London: Seeley, 1941) 220-24; Beryl Rawson, “The Roman Family,” in The Family in Ancient Rome: New Perspectives (ed. Beryl Rawson; Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1986) 1-57, here 37. 88 Suzanne Dixon, The Roman Family (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992) 149-57.


to honor God.89 Duty toward one’s parents is considered very sacred. A case in point is Plutarch, who, although he wrote many essays against the Stoics, clearly agrees with them on this point: For through philosophy and in company with philosophy it is possible to attain knowledge of what is honorable and what is shameful, what is just and what is unjust, what, in brief, is to be chosen and what to be avoided, how a man must bear himself in his relations with the gods, with his parents, with his elders, with the laws, with strangers, with those in authority, with friends, with women, with children, with servants; that one ought to reverence the gods, to honor one’s parents, to respect one’s elders, to be obedient to the laws, to yield to those in authority, to love one’s friends, to be chaste with women, to be affectionate with children, and not to be overbearing with slaves (Plutarch The Education of Children 7.D-F.10). Honor of parents was highly regarded by many other ancient writers. Aristophanes, for example, recounts how Dionysus, disguised as Heracles, asks the real Heracles for directions to Hades so that he can return to earth the deceased poet Euripides, whose talents he believes unequalled by any living poet. Heracles advises him that after having passed a vast lake he will encounter horrors such as those reserved for persons who beat their parents (Aristophanes Ran. 145, 270). Aristotle, too, considers assault against a parent a most unholy act (Aristotle Pol. 1262b.25-29). In fact, respect for parents was so highly regarded in the Hellenistic world that a son who failed to provide burial for a father who had seriously abused him was liable to prosecution for parental maltreatment.90 It is no surprise, then, that the elder was considered superior to the younger in antiquity (Aristotle Pol. 1259a.1-15), a belief that reinforced parental honor. Plutarch states that the respect with which younger men relate to elder men serves to instill within the young the attitude that their parents deserve the greatest honor (Plutarch Sayings of Spartans 89

M. Eugene Boring, Klaus Berger, and Carston Colpe, eds., Hellenistic Commentary to the New Testament (Nashville: Abingdon, 1995) 221. 90 Sarah B. Pomeroy, Families in Classical and Hellenistic Greece: Representations and Realities (Oxford: Clarendon, 1997) 105.


232.B.3). Elderly mothers, it was taught, deserve the respect of their children. In ancient Athens, honor was due elderly widows who, according to societal norms, were entitled to remain in their husband’s home, where a son would assume responsibility for their lodging and maintenance. In cases of necessity, the son was to act as his mother’s public voice by defending her in court or prosecuting on her behalf. Furthermore, he was to provide for her burial and to perform rites at her grave after her death. Neglect on his part could lead to prosecution and the loss of his political rights.91 Specific examples of how children provide for the care of aged parents are not difficult to find. Virgil recounts the decision of Euryalus and Nisus to seek an escape route for the Spartan soldiers surrounded by the Rutilians. Before their departure, Euryalus asks Ascanius to take care of his aged mother, whom he has left without a word. Ascanius promises that she will be as his own mother (Virgil Aen. 9.280-300).92 Similarly, fearing that he will not return from war, Odysseus asks his wife Penelope to take care of his father and mother (Homer Od. 18.267-68). In Mediterranean countries, honor remains the collective property of the extended family and has to do with its respectability, good name, and love of ancestral lineage. However, while an individual is evaluated by the public in terms of his or her family membership, the qualities of the individual also impact family honor.93 Among the Bedouin of the Western Desert of Egypt, an individual who performs an outstanding achievement brings honor not only to his family but to all of his kin, who hasten to make their association with his family known.94 There is also, however, the tendency to disassociate from less significant ancestors and clan segments, a practice which points to the centrality of honor in issues of kinship. In fact, family honor is so important that a serious attack on the family’s honor, such as the murder of a father, son,

91

Virginia Hunter, “The Athenian Widow and her Kin,” Journal of Family History 14 (1989) 291-311, esp. 300-301. 92 See also Prov 23:22 and Tob 4:1-4. 93 John K. Campbell, “Honour and the Devil,” in Honour and Shame: The Values of Mediterranean Society (ed. J. G. Peristiany; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966) 139-70, here 145. 94 Ahmed M. Abou-Zeid, “Honour and Shame among the Bedouins of Egypt,” in Honour and Shame: The Values of Mediterranean Society (ed. J. G. Peristiany; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966) 243-59, esp. 251-52.


or brother, must be avenged by blood.95 Exacting vengeance for murder was also practiced in antiquity (Num 35:16-21).96 For example, Odysseus, upon his return, directs the slaughter of the suitors who have plagued his wife, Penelope and devoured a great deal of his property during his long absence. Eupeithes, whose son is the first victim of Odysseus’s wrath, subsequently reminds the mourners of their duty to avenge the deaths of their sons and brothers, lest they be forever shamed (Homer Od. 24.433-35). In collectivistic groups, the dishonorable behavior of an individual brings dishonor upon the entire family.97 Among the Sarakatsani of rural Greece, for instance, a person’s life is valued primarily in terms of his/her contribution to the group’s welfare. A kinsman who behaves in ways opposed to the group’s values is abandoned by the family and publicly condemned in an effort to save the family’s reputation.98 In fact, in many collectivist societies, those who fail to conform to in-group norms are rejected and may even be killed. Such is the case among some groups, such as the Bedouin, where group cohesion is so vital that a member’s life might be judged expendable if that individual puts the group’s honor at stake.99 Hence, the boundaries of the in-group are fluid: even family members can become the enemy, that is, members of one’s out-group. Even as the ideal family situation is one of solidarity among its members, relationships with outsiders are often fraught with suspicion, jealousy, competition, and hostility.100 As they compete for honor, people attempt to discover the activities of outsiders in the hope of securing information that can be used against them, thereby challenging their 95

Pierre Bourdieu, “The Sentiment of Honour in Kabyle Society,” in Honour and Shame: The Values of Mediterranean Society (ed. J. G. Peristiany; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966) 191-241, esp. 219-20. 96 Cynthia B. Patterson, The Family in Greek History (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998) 53. 97 Lila Abu-Lughod, Veiled Sentiments: Honor and Poetry in a Bedouin Society (Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press, 1986) 65-66; A. L. Maraspini, The Study of an Italian Village (Paris: Mouton, 1968) 17, 180. 98 Campbell, Honour, 112. 99 Patai, Arab Mind, 133. 100 John Campbell, “The Greek Hero,” in Honor and Grace in Anthropology (ed. J.G. Peristiany and Julian Pitt-Rivers; Cambridge Studies in Social and Cultural Anthropology 76; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992) 129-49, here 135.


honor.101 As a result, gossip is rife, and families must and do seek creative ways to ensure their privacy. Family households construct physical and symbolic boundaries around themselves in order to ensure privacy from outsiders.102 In addition, regardless of what relationships are actually like within the household, family members are expected to keep problems within the family and to present a united front to the outside world.103 In small, face-to-face societies where gossip is a prominent means of information-exchange, much creativity is required in order to ensure that potentially shameful information remains concealed. Individuals soon learn strategies for practicing secrecy, such as the construction of false or misleading information and polished evasion of questions.104 In every case, secrecy functions to restrict the social distribution of knowledge105 and ensures that outsiders will have great difficulty gaining access to the family and its concerns. Secrecy, therefore, sharply separates insiders from outsiders. Moreover, in many Mediterranean societies cultural norms dictate that individuals owe the truth only to their trusted inner circle of persons. Hence, it is considered honorable to lie in order to deceive outsiders, because by denying the truth to them one protects the honor of one’s family.106 Lying, however, has a two-fold function. It is not only a legitimate means by which family integrity is safeguarded, but is also practiced in order to discredit others, thereby gaining honor for oneself and one’s family within the public sphere. José Cutileiro, A Portuguese Rural Society (Oxford: Clarendon, 1971) 137-40; Juliet Du Boulay, “Lies, Mockery and Family Integrity,” in Mediterranean Family Structures (ed. J. G. Peristiany; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976) 389-406, esp. 391-92. 102 Graham Allan, “Family,” in The Social Science Encyclopedia (ed. Adam Kuper and Jessica Kuper; 2d ed.; London: Routledge, 1996) 283-85, here 284. 103 Leonard Moss, “The South Italian Family Revisited,” Central Issues in Anthropology 3 (1981) 1-16, esp. 6-7. 104 Elizabeth A. Brandt, “On Secrecy and the Control of Knowledge: Taos Pueblo,” in Secrecy: A Cross-Cultural Perspective (ed. Stanton K. Tefft; New York: Human Sciences, 1980) 123-46, here 129. 105 Michael Gilsenan, “Lying, Honor, and Contradiction,” in Transaction and Meaning: Directions in the Anthropology of Exchange and Symbolic Behavior (ed. Bruce Kapferer; ASA Essays in Social Anthropology 1; ed. Edwin Ardener; Philadelphia: Institute for the Study of Human Issues, 1976) 191-219, here 191. 106 John J. Pilch, “Lying and Deceit in the Letters to the Seven Churches: Perspectives from Cultural Anthropology,” BTB 22 (1992) 126-35, here 128; idem, “Secrecy in the Mediterranean World: An Anthropological Perspective,” BTB 24 (1994) 151-57, here 154. 101


In his study of lying in the Odyssey, Peter Walcot states that the exalted place of Homeric literature in Greek education suggests that ancient Greeks not only tolerated lying but commended it as a talent necessary to survival in a hostile world.107 Odysseus is a superb example of one who exercises great skill in the art of deceit. The narrator repeatedly refers to him as Odysseus of many wiles or devices (πολυμήτις). He is not only resourceful and inventive (Homer Od. 13.375; 14.486; 16.167; 24.192), crafty and cunning (Homer Od. 13.291), but also manifests great craft or cunning (Homer Od. 13.255; 23.77; 24.167). When Odysseus finally returns home, he commences to engineer his plan to take vengeance on the many men who have dishonored him by exploiting his property, his wife, and his son. At this point, his repeated lies and deceptions achieve a noble purpose (Homer Od. 14.162-64), helping to defend his honor, and by extension, that of his entire family and household. B. Mothers and Sons In regions of the world such as the Middle East, North Africa, and South Asia, where patrilineal and patrilocal families systems dominate, there is a distinct preference for sons over daughters,108 a phenomenon notable in antiquity as well (P. Oxyrhynchus 744.G; Euripides Iph. Taur. 57). The underlying belief is that it is through the male line that the family name and its life will continue. For women, however, the preference for sons concerns more than family continuity. A new bride hopes to bear a son because she is subordinate in the household of her husband until she is the mother of a son.109 The birth of a boy increases her social status and power.110 As a result, her emotional attitude toward her child Peter Walcot, “Odysseus and the Art of Lying,” Ancient Society 8 (1977) 1-9, here 2. A. Basu and M. Das Gupta, “Family Systems and the Preferred Sex of Children,” in International Encyclopedia of the Social and Behavioral Sciences (ed. Neil J. Smelser and Paul B. Baltes; 26 vols.; Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2001) 8. 5350-57, esp. 5350-51, 5354; Karel van der Toorn, From Her Cradle to Her Grave: The Role of Religion in the Life of the Israelite and the Babylonian Woman (trans. Sara J. Denning-Bolle; Sheffield, JSOT Press, 1994) 77. 109 Amal Rassam, “Women and Domestic Power in Morocco,” in International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 12 (1980) 171-79, here 176. 110 Philip E. Slater, “The Greek Family in History and Myth,” Arethusa 7 (1974) 9-44, here 21. The preference for sons and the status that they afford their mothers are evident in biblical passages, such as Gen 29:31-30:24. 107

108


may be influenced by the child’s sex. Because her son validates her position within the household, she may well be more lenient with him than with a daughter, take better care of him, and more readily fulfill his wishes.111 In many Mediterranean societies, a mother’s devotion functions to create a powerful emotional bond between her and her son(s) (Isa 49:15; Hos 11:1-4; 2 Macc 7:20-41).112 That the emotionally charged relationship between mothers and sons has a long history is suggested by Homer’s claim that the mother of Odysseus dies of grief because she believes her dear son to be lost (Homer Od. 15.358). Moreover, many ancient references speak of the deep loyalty between mothers and sons.113 Homer’s Iliad stresses a mother’s deep commitment to her son. As the epic poem opens, the reader learns that the priest, Chryses, has offered a handsome ransom for the return of his daughter, which has been refused by King Agamemnon. Chryses prays to Phoebus Apollo for assistance, and the god eventually engineers the reduction of Agamemnon’s army. The diviner Calchas, at the invitation of Achilles, reveals the reason for the army’s ill fortune. Outraged, Agamemnon releases the daughter of Chryses but seizes the young woman, Briseïs, who has been given to Achilles by the Achaeans as a prize. In his prayer to his mother, the goddess Thetis, Achilles complains of this tremendous dishonor and beseeches her to secure the assistance of Zeus. The mother of Achilles persuades Zeus to allow the Trojans to best the Achaeans until they restore the honor of her son (Homer Iliad 1.1-2.45). As the ensuing war drags on, Aeneas, the leader of the Trojans, is rescued from certain death by his mother, the goddess Aphrodite, who is wounded as she carries him out from the battle. Seeking comfort, she flees to her own 111 Mübeccel Kiray, “The New Role of Mothers: Changing Intra-Familial Relationships in a Small Town in Turkey,” in Mediterranean Family Structures (ed. J.G. Peristiany; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976) 261-71, here 266. 112 David D. Gilmore, “Mother-Son Intimacy and the Dual View of Woman in Andalusia: Analysis through Oral Poetry,” Ethos 14 (1986) 227-51, here 234; Susan Rogers, “Female Forms of Power and the Myth of Male Dominance: A Model of Female/Male Interaction in Peasant Society,” American Ethnologist 2 (1975) 727-56; Harry C. Triandis, The Analysis of Subjective Culture: Comparative Studies in Behavioral Science (New York: Wiley Interscience, 1972) 306. 113 Note, for example, the archetypal love of Rebecca for Jacob reported in Jub. 25:23, 18-20.


mother, Dione, and as she explains what has happened to Aeneas and her, she describes him as her dear son, the dearest of all men to her (Homer Iliad 5.310-80). Not all mother-son relationships are marked by such devotion, however. The account of Iphigeneia at Taurus, for example, recounts how Agamemnon sacrifices his daughter Iphigenia to Artemis so that the god will calm the winds that hold back Agamemnon’s fleet and prevent his victory over Troy. The decision proves fatal. Iphigenia’s death earns Agamemnon the hatred of his wife Clytaemestra, one so consuming that she murders him. Soon thereafter, their son Orestes avenges his father’s murder by killing Clytaemestra. For the heinous crime of matricide, Orestes, detested by the gods, is subsequently driven from his country as an exile. He is later captured by the Taurians who, when they hear of his matricide, are horrified, declaring that not even a barbarian would dare to murder his mother (Euripides Iph. Taur. 1170). While the motif of matricide is not a common one in ancient literature, this story suggests that matricide, while condemned, was not unknown. Neither was it unheard of for mothers to disown or to kill their sons. Plutarch mentions the Spartan mother, Damatria, who murders her cowardly son whom she deemed unworthy of her (Plutarch Sayings of Spartan Women 240.F.2). Another Spartan woman shuns her cowardly son who has deserted his post (Plutarch Sayings of Spartan Women 241.1). A third, having heard that her son has run away from the enemy, advises him that if he is unable to clear his name, he might as well die (Plutarch Sayings 241.3). Cowardly behavior means dishonor for the families and will not be tolerated by these mothers, who demand that their sons conduct themselves honorably by giving their lives in defense of Sparta (Plutarch Sayings 241.B.6; 241.C.7.8; 242.19.21.22). Cowards are shunned by the entire community, because it is widely believed that their behavior might be passed on to future generations. Shunning extends to the coward’s sister(s) as well, with the result that neither is able to secure spouses.114 Thus, the result could be disastrous—the extinction of a family. The deep loyalty that exists between many Mediterranean males and their mothers is fostered in childhood. During their formative years, boys are under the almost constant supervision of their mothers (cf. 114

Sarah B. Pomeroy, Spartan Women (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002) 69, 95.


2 Tim 1:5; 3:14-15) because, in many cases, their fathers are largely absent from the domestic scene. In many places women hold informal power over household economic decisions. Given the centrality of the family in many Mediterranean societies, a mother’s influence upon both her sons and her daughters is significant.115 Her assiduous efforts to provide them, particularly her sons, with all they need give her tremendous power over them.116 Consequently, boys above all experience the mother as a powerful figure. Eventually, these same boys must make the difficult transfer to the men’s world. Thrown into the male milieu, they are expected to scorn childhood and repudiate femininity.117 As a result of these powerful new expectations, a son’s deference to his mother may become mixed with a measure of machismo. As he tries to dissociate himself from her, his demonstrations of manliness may take the form of rude outbursts. Plutarch describes just such a mother-son relationship. According to him, the son of Themistocles treats his mother haughtily or with contempt (ἐντρυφάω). In Plutarch’s estimation the boy rules his mother who, in turn, rules Themistocles (Plutarch Sayings of Kings and Commanders 185.10). Rude outbursts notwithstanding, the more the paternal worldview is imposed on the young man, the more he may tend to idealize his relationship with his mother.118 As he matures, he will more easily exhibit his attachment to her, seek her advice, and acquiesce to her demands. In fact, her devotion to him has created such a close emotional bond that, although his machistic prowess remains, a loyal son will honor his mother’s wishes.119 Significant in this regard is the account of the martyrdom of a woman and her seven sons during the persecution of the

115 Ernestine Friedl, “The Position of Women: Appearance and Reality,” Anthropological Quarterly 40 (1967) 97-108. 116 Joe Giordano and Monica McGoldrick, “Italian Families,” in Ethnicity and Family Therapy (ed. Monica McGoldrick, Joe Giordano, and John K. Pearce; 2d ed.; New York: Guilford, 1996) 567-82, here 572; Josephus Ant. 11.3.5.50. 117 A. Bouhdiba, “The Child and the Mother in Arab-Muslim Society,” in Psychological Dimensions of Near Eastern Studies (ed. L. Carl Brown and Norman Itzkowitz; Princeton: Darwin, 1977) 126-41, esp. 130-34. 118 Bouhdiba, “Child and Mother,” 131. 119 A son’s obedience to the wishes of his mother is well attested in antiquity (1 Kgs 2:20; T. Jud. 10:5; Jub. 25:10; 35:1-4, 18-21; Ps.-Philo 33:1; 44:5).


Judeans by the Seleucid king, Antiochus IV: the sons loved their mother so much that they obeyed her wish that they die rather than transgress the laws of their people (4 Macc 15:10-12; 16:12-24). Thus, a Mediterranean mother remains a dominant influence in her son’s life. Her authority increases as she grows older and is exercised through her adult sons who occupy positions of authority. In fact, the bonds of attachment and loyalty between a man and his mother are generally closer than they are between him and his wife.120 Therefore, he will usually support his mother rather than his wife when a dispute arises between them. Evidence of the tremendous influence of mothers over their sons and the impact that some of these women are consequently able to exercise in society is well attested by ancient textual witnesses and studies of the family in antiquity. According to the chronicler, the ambitious Athaliah, mother of Ahaziah, king of Judah, is able to influence her son to perform actions that the writer considers evil in the sight of God. Furthermore, she rules for six years after the death of her son (2 Chr 22:1-3, 12). Writing of affluent Roman mothers in antiquity, Judith Hallett states that many of these women were formidable figures who managed to exert a significant impact on public affairs even though society dictated that a woman’s role is domestic.121 Upper class Roman mothers focused their ambitions on their sons. They exercised considerable influence over their sons’ activities, particularly if they were in the position to pass on significant wealth to their children. That some women were in such a position is indicated by evidence that by the late Republic, some Roman matrons independently controlled large amounts of property even though the formal law did not permit it.122 Since the achievements of an adult son reflected favorably on his mother,123 mothers were known to lobby actively to ensure positions of honor for their favorite sons. Cornelius Tacitus devotes significant attention to Agrippina the Younger, the sister of Caligula and mother of Nero. She manages to contract what many consider an incestuous mar120 Inger W. Boesen, “Women, Honour and Love: Some Aspects of the Pashtun Woman’s Life in Eastern Afghanistan,” Afghanistan Journal 7 (1980) 50-59. 121 Hallett, Fathers and Daughters, 6. 122 Sarah B. Pomeroy, Goddesses, Whores, Wives, and Slaves: Women in Classical Antiquity (New York: Schocken, 1975) 163. 123 Suzanne Dixon, The Roman Mother (London: Croom Helm, 1988) 168-203.


riage to her uncle Tiberius Claudius in an effort to gain the empire for her son Nero. To ensure her success in this matter, she engineers the exile of her major rival, Lollia Paulina, and the death of Calpurnia, whose beauty is mentioned by Claudius. Later, for fear that Claudius choose his own son Britannicus as his successor, she arranges that Claudius be poisoned (Tacitus Annals 12). As a further example, the Hebrew Scriptures contain the account of how Bathsheba, the mother of Solomon, and the prophet Nathan convince King David to designate Solomon rather than Adonijah his successor (1Kgs 1:5-31). Of course, women do have favorite sons (Prov 4:3) and while a woman’s eldest son may, at least initially, be her favorite child, his failure to perform his duty may motivate her to place her hopes on a more reliable son.124 An honorable adult son is a mother’s greatest ally and protector125 and she can rely upon him to defend her, especially against her husband. In families where the patriarch has two wives and favors the second, the sons of his first wife have been known to live with their mother and support her even though their father refuses them their inheritance for doing so.126 Sons such as these take seriously the expectation that an adult son is to provide a place for his aged mother within his household until her death.127 Since sons are a mother’s security, the death of an only son is especially tragic for an elderly mother, a tragedy evident in the grief and angry cries that the mother of Euryalus directs toward her son who has abandoned her by his death (Virgil Aen. 9.470-90). C. Brothers In spite of the primacy accorded family solidarity in many Mediterranean societies and the recognition of the close bond between broth124 Edith G. Neisser, The Eldest Child (New York: Harper, 1957) 9; Tullio Tentori, “Social Classes and Family in a Southern Italian Town: Matera,” in Mediterranean Family Structures (ed. J. G. Peristiany; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976) 273-85, here 275. 125 Mariella Doumanis, Mothering in Greece: From Collectivism to Individualism (New York: Academic Press, 1983) 34-37. 126 Jean Cuisenier, “The Domestic Cycle in the Traditional Family Organization in Tunisia,” in Mediterranean Family Structures (ed. J. G. Peristiany; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976) 137-55, esp. 147-48. 127 Paul Stirling, Turkish Village (New York: Wiley, 1965) 114.


ers, friction among brothers is commonplace and well-attested in daily parlance. So the African proverb goes, “They hate like brothers.”128 Enmity between brothers often leads to shifting allegiances, the subject of another proverb, this one found in a number of Middle Eastern tongues: “I and my cousins against the world; I and my brothers against my cousins; I against my brothers.”129 Sibling rivalry remains a feature of Mediterranean family life,130 and, according to Patai, stems naturally from the patriarchal nature of the family. A son’s future depends upon good relations with his father, who wields absolute authority over material and spiritual possessions. As a result, sons compete for the affection of their father (Gen 9:20-27), and disputes over inheritance are extremely common (Luke 12:13).131 Child-rearing practices also promote sibling rivalry; the mother will compare an unruly child with another in an effort to have the child do as she wishes. This provokes envy and the feeling that one’s sibling is an arch-rival (Rom 11:11, 14). Polygyny may spark conflict by fostering competition between co-wives, which in turn may breed resentment among what people today refer to as halfbrothers. Ancient witnesses suggest that the problem of brotherly enmity plagued Greco-Roman society. Tacitus, in describing the rivalry between Drusus and Nero, refers to “the hatred habitual to brothers” (Tacitus Annals 460). Moreover, in a treatise on brotherly love, Plutarch laments its rarity: And according to my observations, brotherly love is as rare in our day as brotherly hatred was among the men of old; when instances of such hatred appeared, they were so amazing that the times made them known to all as warning examples in tragedies and other Neisser, Eldest Child, 13. Patai, Family, 195. 130 Robert B. Edgerton, “An Examination of Hsu’s ‘Brother-Brother’ Postulate in Four East African Societies,” in Kinship and Culture (ed. Francis L. K. Hsu; Chicago: Aldine, 1971) 291-335, esp. 291-317. 131 Inheritance issues drive a deep wedge between siblings across the Mediterranean region; see J. Davis, Land and Family in Pisticci (London: Athlone, 1973) 55-8; David D. Gilmore, The People of the Plain: Class and Community in Lower Andalusia (New York: Columbia University Press, 1980) 157-58; Roger Just, A Greek Island Cosmos: Kinship and Community on Meganisi (Oxford: James Currey, 2000) 212-15; Carmelo LisónTolosana, “The Ethics of Inheritance,” in Mediterranean Family Structures (ed. J. G. Peristiany; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976) 305-15, esp. 307-12. 128 129


stage-performances; but all men of today, when they encounter brothers who are good to each other, wonder at them no less than those famous sons of Molionê, who, according to common belief were born with their bodies grown together; and to use in common a father’s wealth and friends and slaves is considered as incredible and portentous as for one soul to make use of the hands and feet and eyes of two bodies (Plutarch On Brotherly Love 478.1). In this same treatise, Plutarch explains that brothers are created not for difference and opposition but for cooperation. Nature, he states, has implanted a natural tendency for friendship within brothers; harmonious relationships between them lead to flourishing households and sustain their parents in their old age. However, harmony exists only when one resists the temptation to appear superior to one’s brother by publicly acknowledging his strengths and accomplishments, and allowing him to share in all honorable ventures. In addition, an elder brother must guard against arrogance, and the younger, against envy. While he underscores brotherly loyalty, Plutarch is all too aware of the detrimental effects of sibling rivalry on families. Parents bear the brunt of brotherly hatred when their warring sons blame them for the existence of their male siblings. Furthermore, he notes that serious difficulties frequently surface, when, after the death of a father, the family goods are to be divided. He admonishes brothers who fight a duel over the site of a building or a bit of property, or who publicly accuse one another of wickedness while taking no offence when others wrong them. Finally, Plutarch cites many examples of both honorable and dishonorable behavior on the part of brothers, in the hope of promoting brotherly solidarity (Plutarch On Brotherly Love 478.2-492.D). In societies, however, where people perceive both tangible and intangible goods to be limited, the overall tendency is toward envy and competition rather than cooperation. In the Bible and related literature, family conflict generally deals with siblings of the same sex and often arises out of parental favoritism, ranking, and inheritance.132 Stories of brotherly rivalries abound: Cain 132 Frederick E. Greenspahn, When Brothers Dwell Together: The Preeminence of Younger Siblings in the Hebrew Bible (New York: Oxford University, 1994) 136; Anselm C. Hagedorn and Jerome H. Neyrey, “‘It Was Out of Envy That They Handed Jesus


and Abel, Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, and Joseph and his brothers. Anger (T. Dan 2:3) and envy (Gen 37:11; Jub. 7:26-27) are identified as the root of much brotherly strife. The oft-mentioned account of Cain’s murder of his brother Abel (Josephus Ant. 1.2.1.52-55; 1.2.3.67; T. Ab. 13:2; T. Adam 3:5; T. Benj. 7:3-5; Jub. 4:1-7; Ps.-Philo 2:1; 4 Macc 18:11) appears to represent a standard example of wickedness (Wis 10:3; Jub. 4:1-6; Cyprian Zel. liv. 5; Theophilus of Antioch Autol. 2:29-30). For the Israelites, conflict between brothers had existed since the creation of humanity. In this primeval story, only Abel is honored by the divine approval of his offering. Cain’s reaction is one of envy and bitter anger, the prelude to homicidal acts (Gen 34:7; 1 Sam 18:8; 2 Sam 3:8). Writers habitually caution that envy may lead a man to desire the death of a brother who has gained a more prestigious reputation (Josephus Ant. 13.13.3.361) or greater parental favor (T. Sim. 2:6-7; T. Dan 1:49; T. Gad 2:1-5). Despite the authors’ conciliatory efforts, however, it is clear that a man cannot always trust his own brother (Jer 9:3). As they vie for honor (Josephus J. W. 1.6.1.120-22), imprisonment of a brother (Josephus J. W. 1.3.1.71; 1.3.2.72) and even fratricide (Josephus Ant. 9.5.1.95; 9.5.2.100; 13.12.1.323; 17:1.1.1) are not unknown. Mothers depicted as lobbying to ensure priority for preferred sons figure prominently in biblical stories (Gen 21:1-21; 27:1-46; Matt 20:20-23). Critics of ancient elite Roman families paint a similar picture. In their writings, while sisters and brothers are very close and generally amicable, relationships between Roman male siblings are strained, at best.133 The friction is very prevalent in royal families, where the question of succession sets brothers at odds with one another. In discussing the envy of Drusus toward Nero, Tacitus mentions the hatred common between brothers (Tacitus Annals 4.60.3). The Roman historian, Dio, reports many incidents of princely conflict. Three are worth mentioning here. First, he relates that Scipio holds funeral contests in honor of his father and of his uncle. Among the contenders are two brothers who are in conflict over a kingdom; despite Scipio’s efforts to reconcile them, the elder kills the younger (Dio Roman History 16.9.9). Second, Dio introduces Demetrius and his elder brother Perseus, sons of the Macedonian king Philip. Apparently, the younger has gained the affection of the Over’ (Mark 15:10): The Anatomy of Envy and the Gospel of Mark,” JSNT 69 (1998) 1556, here 26. 133 Hallett, Fathers and Daughters, 150-52.


Roman people and hopes to succeed his father. However, his brother, unable to accept his popularity, falsely testifies that Demetrius has been plotting against his father. The result of the accusation is that Demetrius is forced to drink poison and dies. Not long afterwards, King Philip ascertains the truth but dies before he can punish Perseus, with the result that Perseus gains the kingdom (Dio Roman History 20.9.22). The third and final example from Dio to be cited here does not involve the death of a brother but is an excellent example of how brothers may shift allegiances, given the circumstances. After the death of Ptolemy V Epiphanes, the ruler of Egypt (204-180 B.C.E.), his two sons vie for sovereignty. When the younger one is driven out, a certain Antiochus pretends to defend him so that he may gain control of Egyptian affairs. When the brothers learn of Antiochus’ designs, they become reconciled, but when Antiochus is no longer a threat, they resume their quarrel. They are again reconciled by the Romans, who divide the empire between them. The younger, however, thinking his portion inferior, is not satisfied until his brother relinquishes more territory and agrees to make fixed payments of money and grain (Dio Roman History 20.9.25). Ancient Greek and Roman mythology also attests to hostility among brothers. The sons of Oedipus—Polynices and Eteocles—murder each other in their struggle for the throne.134 Furthermore, Livy tells the story of how Remus and Romulus want to build a city in the locality where they were left exposed as infants. Each consults the deities by augury, and a dispute ensues regarding who will be the ruler of the new city. Livy goes on to say that while the parties of Remus and Romulus are fighting, Romulus kills Remus and assumes leadership of the city, which is eventually called Rome (Livy History of Rome 1:6-7). Perhaps a certain hard reality of strife among brothers lies behind the many ancient references that promote the priority of the bond between brothers. Plutarch reports, for example, that the dying King Scilurus hands a bundle of javelins to each of his eighty sons and instructs them to break the bundles. When all have failed, the king breaks the javelins one by one, thereby demonstrating that if his sons stand together, they will remain strong, but that they will be weak when in conflict with one another (Plutarch Sayings of Kings and Commanders 174F). Both the 134 Herbert Jennings Rose, “Eteocles,” in Oxford Classical Dictionary (ed. N. G. L. Hammond and H. H. Scullard; Oxford: Clarendon, 1970) 408.


beauty of loyalty and the consequences of enmity are stressed; agreement between brothers is beautiful in the sight of God and humanity (Ps 122:8-9; Sir 25:1; T. Jos. 17:1-3), but resentment of a brother merits punishment.

Conclusion The primary objective of this chapter has been the construction of a model suitable for the study of relationships between Jesus and his biological family, as depicted by the Fourth Evangelist. In order to prepare for this task, it has been necessary to define certain key concepts, such as culture, culture-area, and model, and to defend a number of presuppositions: namely, that the conception of the Mediterranean region as a culture area remains a helpful cornerstone for building cross-cultural models, that social-science models can be fruitfully employed as heuristic tools in biblical research, and finally, that cultural change has been slow in many parts of the Mediterranean region, and as a result, the notion of a measure of cultural comparability over a long period of time is a reasonable premise. This groundwork being laid, Bruce Malina’s kit-bashing approach is used here to combine elements of two familial models recognized by biblical social-science scholars—that is, the models of Todd and Murdock—with Patai’s social description of the Middle Eastern endogamous family community. Todd’s model contributes the basic characteristics of exogamous, endogamous, and egalitarian nuclear families, while Murdoch’s model delineates relationships among family members at a high level of abstraction. And Patai’s social description situates these relationships within a Middle Eastern context. Finally, in order to furnish the level of abstraction necessary to address the questions that have surfaced in previous chapters, much additional information about Mediterranean family relationships— particularly those between mothers and sons and among brothers—is included. These data are drawn from anthropological analyses of Mediterranean family relationships, critical studies of ancient families, and the testimony of several ancient witnesses. Despite the wealth of available data, however, the resources that one might use are by no means exhausted. Rather, this constitutes a representative sampling of


data, broad enough in scope to accommodate the Fourth Gospel’s uncertain provenance and to reflect a variety of ancient families. The resultant model provides an interpretive framework for revisiting Johannine passages (John 2:1-12; 7: 1-10; 19:25-27) that involve Jesus, his mother, and his brothers. The ensuing exegesis will, in no small way, advance the scholarly understanding of the human dynamics expressed in these passages. Before proceeding, it is worth making a quick point in passing. While this study deals primarily with the narrative world of the Fourth Gospel, cultural information which derives from the social system of the advanced agrarian Mediterranean world is relevant to all levels of the Johannine tradition. In other words, culturally sound information not only informs about aspects of the cultural world of the historical Jesus, but also forms part of the context in which oral tradition flourished and in which the Evangelist penned the Fourth Gospel. Hence, while concerned with how those steeped in first-century culture interpreted John’s story of Jesus, the model developed herein is in no way divorced from the Fourth Gospel’s narrative world, or from the world external to the text, because “both of these worlds depend on language embedded in a common social system and the anti-language spawned from that system.”135

135 Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh, Social-Science Commentary on the Gospel of John (2d ed.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998) 21.

CHAPTER 4

John 2:1–12; 7:1–10; and 19:25–27 Revisited

Introduction Although scholars differ over the degree of intimacy that the Johannine Jesus shares with his mother and brothers, the analysis in Chapter Two has pointed to a couple of significant conclusions. First, while on the basis of his retort to Mary’s implicit request for assistance with the lack of wine (John 2:4), several critics have perceived a serious rift between the Johannine Jesus and his mother, a closer look reveals problems with such an interpretation. Second, in view of the brothers’ unbelief and their association with the “world” that hates Jesus, there is little to commend the idea that the Fourth Evangelist intends no discord between Jesus and his brothers. At the commencement of Jesus’s public life, their relationship with him is not conflictive (John 2:12), but as the story unfolds, it develops into one of hostility (John 7:5-8). On the one hand, the Johannine Jesus is consistently depicted in a positive relationship with his mother; on the other hand, his relationship with his brothers evolves into one of conflict. This chapter will revisit John 2:1-11, 12, 7:1-10, and 19:25-27 and, with the assistance of the kit-bashed model constructed in Chapter Three, examine these preliminary conclusions. It will also elucidate several aspects of these particular passages, given what has been established with respect to patterns of familial relationships and the dominant cultural values operative within many Mediterranean societies. 114

John 2:1-12; 7:1-10; and 19:25-27 Revisited · 115

In the first of the three passages (John 2:1-12), John’s story of the wedding feast at Cana, a mother approaches her son for assistance with what constitutes a very serious problem for the hosts; they have no wine (John 2:3). Her son does not happily agree to become involved, but rather, speaks angrily to her (John 2:4). The meaning of his retort is not apparent within the context of the passage. She says no more to him, but turns to the servants and instructs them to do as her son wishes (John 2:5). Her words do not appear to communicate anger, but quite the contrary—confidence that he will do something. His response is, in fact, magnanimous: he somehow produces an enormous amount of wine, superior to that which has already been served. Jesus’s sharp response to his mother has led several critics to conclude that the writer is describing a son who rejects his mother’s request. A host of reasons for the supposed rejection have been proposed: she has no further claim on Jesus;1 Jesus must now listen to his Father’s voice;2 there is an anti-kinship orientation in the Fourth Gospel wherein Jesus identifies with his disciples rather than with his biological family;3 Jesus refuses to augment his own honor at the expense of the bridegroom;4 and finally, as Jesus commences his public activities, his new responsibilities mean a change in his relationship with his mother.5 While these explanations may find some support in the Gospel of John, they fail to substantiate the claim that Jesus has rejected his mother’s request. The tension between Jesus and his mother is better understood by examining her request and his reply within the context of widespread patterns of relationships between Mediterranean mothers and sons, and core cultural values as set forth in the model. While several aspects of the account of the wedding feast at Cana are worthy of notice, two are of particular interest, because they bear upon 1 C. K. Barrett, The Gospel According to St. John: An Introduction with Commentary and Notes on the Greek Text (2d ed.; London: SPCK, 1978) 191. 2 Rudolf Bultmann, The Gospel of John: A Commentary (trans. G. R. Beasley-Murray; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1971) 117. 3 Matthew S. Collins, “The Question of Doxa: A Socioliterary Reading of the Wedding at Cana,” BTB 25 (1995) 100-109, here 103. 4 Adeline Fehribach, The Women in the Life of the Bridegroom: A Feminist Historical-Literary Analysis of the Female Characters in the Fourth Gospel (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1998) 29. 5 Leon Morris, The Gospel According to John (rev. ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995) 158-59.


Jesus’s relationship with his mother: first, Jesus’s angry response to her (John 2:4), and second, his subsequent fulfillment of her request (2:9). As the model is held up against these issues, it is worth asking how the kind of tension depicted in the narrative would be expected to unfold in the cultural world of Jesus. In other words, under what circumstances would a Mediterranean son appear to speak angrily to his mother, then accede to her request? Does his response require the conclusion that Jesus’s relationship with his mother reflects a lack of intimacy? A third problem in this passage constitutes a longstanding interpretative dilemma in Johannine scholarship: what is the connection, if any, between Jesus’s statement, “My hour has not yet come” (John 2:4c) and his mother’s request? A plausible answer to this important question arises from an examination of how Jesus enacts the core cultural values of humility and honor in the Fourth Gospel, particularly in the context of the passion narrative. This information may afford some insight into how the wedding feast at Cana and the “hour” of Jesus might be associated. Similarly, the model provides the interpretative framework for reexamining John 7:1-10, the second narrative under scrutiny. An important and previously neglected aspect of this pericope is the change that appears to have taken place in Jesus’s relationship with his brothers. Rather than spending time together in a seemingly friendly fashion (John 2:12), Jesus and his brothers exchange words suggesting that suspicion and conflict now dominate their relationship. Here is a situation where a man’s biological brothers challenge him to go with them to a place where people intend to kill him in order that he might impress the public with his ability to perform wondrous feats (John 7:1-4). In response, he insults them by aligning them with his adversaries whom he identifies as doers of evil deeds (John 7:6-7). By implication, his brothers share much in common with his evil opponents. In the end, he categorically refuses to accompany his siblings to Judea for the feast, and denies that he has any intention of going there (John 7:8). However, after they leave for Jerusalem, he goes there secretively (John 7:10). The brothers of Jesus have metamorphosed in a direction which is highly undesirable in the Fourth Gospel. They have shifted from friends of Jesus (John 2:12) to foes (7:1-10), with the result that their relationship now fails miserably to reflect ideal relationships between biological brothers of Mediterranean origin. Thus, the basic thrust here will be to


illumine this transition which the Fourth Evangelist places primarily within the context of the brothers’ lack of belief in Jesus (John 7:5). The model will assist in this effort by providing cultural depth to other narrative issues such as family honor and secrecy, issues that reveal much about interpersonal relationships in Mediterranean societies. The third and final reexamination involves John 19:25-27, a significant moment in Jesus’s “hour” of glory, which may represent the defining moment in his relationship with his mother and his brothers. The crucifixion of Jesus is the moment of definitive revelation, when his true identity and his intimate relationship with the Father is known even by his adversaries (John 8:28), who have no choice but to tolerate the ironic truth that he is their king (19:21-22). The mother of Jesus, who was present at the incipient display of his honor (John 2:1-11), is now present for the ultimate display of his honor, experienced also by a number of other witnesses, such as her sister, Mary Magdalene, and the Beloved Disciple. If the term “sister” (John 19:25) refers to her blood sister, the group that witnesses the death of Jesus—and therefore his exaltation—consists of both biological and fictive kin. Notably absent, however, are the brothers of Jesus, and their absence sparks a number of questions. Does it in any way reflect upon their relationship with the mother of Jesus or their relationship with him? If they are to be construed as her biological sons, what is the significance of Jesus’s commendation of his mother to the Beloved Disciple rather than to one of them? Under what circumstances would we find fictive kin such as Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus assuming leadership in a man’s burial, rather than his biological brothers? In revisiting John 2:1-12; 7:1-10, and 19:25-27, it is not necessary to investigate how the author’s representation of relationships between Jesus and his biological family reflects the Jesus-level of tradition. The primary aim is not to discern the facts with respect to the life of the historical Jesus. In fact, distinction made by moderns between fact and fiction dates back only to the close of the eighteenth century.6 Thus it is unlikely that this particular author made any such straightforward distinctions. Rather, the primary concern here is to elucidate the cultural 6

Stephen Prickett (Origins of Narrative: The Romantic Appropriation of the Bible [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996] esp. 44-45) has cogently argued that the distinction made today between “fact” and “fiction” only dates back to the close of the eighteenth century.


plausibility of the report of these events. To this end, neither text nor model takes priority; each challenges and informs the other. In sum, this alternation between text and model serves to illumine two questions. First, how might the Fourth Gospel’s original audience have comprehended the family dynamics that the Evangelist describes? And second, how might the model, which is grounded in familial behaviors and values stereotypical of many Mediterranean societies, promote a fuller understanding of what is in the text?

John 2:1-12 I. Introduction Jesus, his mother, and his recently-acquired disciples (John 1:35-51) attend a wedding in Cana (John 2:1-2). That it is the bridegroom who has kept the finest wine until the other has been depleted (John 2:9-10) implies that the festivities are being hosted by the groom’s family, whose hometown is Cana. At least one of Jesus’s disciples, Nathanael, hails from Cana (John 21:2), but while this detail may account for the presence of Jesus, it fails to explain his mother’s attendance. Perhaps, as some have speculated,7 she is a kinswoman, or a friend of the bride or groom’s family. If so, her involvement in the wine crisis is understandable. There is no mention of either Joseph or the brothers of Jesus taking part in the festivities. Joseph’s attendance is relevant in light of a later controversy over Jesus’s origins, where his opponents inquire, “Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know?” (John 6:42). Their query is significant because it might imply that the Fourth Evangelist believes Joseph still alive at this point in Jesus’s life. Since weddings were well-attended social events involving the participation of relatives and friends, one can imagine Joseph—if presumed alive—as well as the brothers of Jesus, to be in attendance. John 2:12, which mentions that Jesus, his mother, his brothers, and his disciples leave the wedding and go to Capernaum, intimates that the brothers may partake of the festivities, while Joseph does not. It cannot be concluded with cer7 Albert Kirk and Robert E. Obach, A Commentary on the Gospel of John (New York: Paulist Press, 1981) 45.


tainty, however, that the Evangelist either presumes Joseph absent or considers him deceased at this point in time. II. His Mother Asks Jesus for Assistance Assuming the presence of the brothers at the wedding feast, the fact that his mother turns to Jesus for assistance may be significant. The earlier investigation of the type of Jesus’s kinship relationships is useful here, since the author’s perception of these relationships may lie behind Mary’s decision to approach Jesus instead of his brothers. A prevalent and longstanding view of the time saw the male as the sole active, creative agent in procreation, a view which meant that the mother was not deemed a causative factor in the generation of children. Siblings, therefore, were believed to be children of the same father, but not necessarily of the same mother. Recognition of this line of thinking leads to the conclusion that the Fourth Evangelist envisioned Joseph as the biological father of both Jesus and his siblings. If so, the three traditional explanations of the identity of Jesus’s brothers—Helvidian, Epiphanian, and Hieronymian—are incompatible with the meaning of ἀδελφός in the Fourth Gospel, because all three presuppose the virginal conception of Jesus, thereby denying that Joseph was the biological father of Jesus. Three other scenarios are plausible, however, when one considers “brothers” to refer to sons of the same biological father: that Joseph and Mary were the biological parents of both Jesus and his siblings; that Joseph had more than one wife simultaneously (polygamy); and finally, that Joseph was married prior to his marriage to Mary—more specifically, a scenario such as Richard Bauckham’s reinterpretation of the Epiphanian view, which denies the historicity of the virginal conception. Any attempt to discern which one of these options best suits the Johannine family scene must tackle the question of whether or not the Fourth Evangelist believes that the mother of Jesus is also the mother of Jesus’s brothers. The paucity of evidence in the Gospel of John provides little assistance with this critical question. While the Fourth Gospel clearly identifies Mary as the mother of Jesus (John 2:1, 3-5, 12; 19:25-27), the author offers no explicit enlightenment regarding whether or not she has other sons. Moreover, the aforementioned understanding of


paternity assumes that biblical brothers and sisters can have different biological mothers. A number of Johannine scholars have maintained that the author probably envisioned Jesus’s mother as the biological mother of his brothers.8 There are those, however, who have argued that Jesus was probably deemed her only biological child.9 An additional obstacle to our investigation is that the Fourth Evangelist does not mention the number of Jesus’s siblings, much less their names. If the author is familiar with the Synoptic tradition of four brothers and more than one sister (Mark 6:3//Matt 13:55-56), are we to suppose that Jesus’s mother is presumed to be the biological mother of five sons and at least two daughters, all of whom survived into adulthood? This seems unlikely, as demographic studies indicate that in antiquity, infant mortality rates were extremely high, and substantial numbers of women died in childbirth.10 In fact, it is believed that fewer than seventy percent of live births survived to the age of ten.11 Furthermore, even in the twentieth century, maternal mortality rates were significantly higher in Arab countries than in such countries as Canada.12 Hence, it is probable that in antiquity, few women could claim seven or more adult children as their own. In addition, if one supposes that all of Jesus’s siblings were born to just one prior wife of Joseph, the same argument applies. The suggestion that either she or Mary bore several children, all of whom reached maturity, is challenged by this data. A challenge, however, does not permit us to categorically rule out the possibility that the mother of Jesus bore several children who survived to adulthood, or that the Fourth Evangelist believes her to be the biologi8 John Painter, “Who Was James? Footprints as a Means of Identification,” in The Brother of Jesus: James the Just and His Mission (ed. Bruce Chilton and Jacob Neusner; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001) 10-65, here 23-24. 9 Richard Bauckham, “The Brothers and Sisters of Jesus: An Epiphanian Response to John P. Meier,” CBQ 56 (1994) 686-700, here 688; Harold Riley, “The Brothers of the Lord,” DRev 116 (1998) 45-54. 10 Bruce Frier, “Roman Life Expectancy: Ulpian’s Evidence,” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 86 (1982) 215-51, here 230; Beryl Rawson, “Death, Burial, and Commemoration of Children in Roman Italy,” in Early Christian Families in Context: An Interdisciplinary Dialogue (ed. David L. Balch and Carolyn Osiek; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003) 277-97, here 279. 11 Carolyn Osiek and David L. Balch, Families in the New Testament World: Households and House Churches (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997) 67. 12 Raphael Patai, The Arab Mind (rev. ed.; New York: Hatherleigh, 2002) 350.


cal mother of the ἀδελφοί. Hence, the application of the model that follows will entertain both possibilities. Returning to the story of the wedding feast at Cana, supposing the brothers to be children of Joseph from a previous marriage(s), or his offspring born of other wives in a polygamous arrangement, Jesus would represent his mother’s sole and, consequently, favorite son, to whom she predictably turns for assistance regarding the lack of wine. If she is not only the mother of Jesus, but also the mother of his brothers, her choice of Jesus may be even more significant. According to the model, a mother’s eldest son was often her favorite. If, therefore, the Fourth Evangelist believes Jesus to be her eldest son, it is again not surprising that she turns to Jesus for assistance. Yet her choice of Jesus does not necessarily imply that he is her eldest. Mediterranean mothers were known to shift their allegiance from one son to another. Perhaps she perceives her eldest less competent than Jesus and, therefore, less deserving of her loyalty, in which case she turns to Jesus, who is proving himself more worthy of her confidence. Her choice would imply that she deems Jesus the more honorable son, a situation that would readily generate envy on the part of any brother who may have fallen from favor. While this scenario is culturally plausible, it is improbable, given the Synoptic tradition, which indicates that Jesus was her firstborn son (Matt 1:18-25; Luke 1:26-35; 2:7), information with which the Fourth Evangelist may be familiar. If the author presumes the mother of Jesus to have more than one biological son, she turns to her favorite—and probably her eldest—for assistance in this serious matter. III. A Mother’s Request What kind of assistance might the mother of Jesus have been expecting? In the past, critics have opined that she asks Jesus to perform a wondrous deed.13 More recent scholars, however, have tended to disagree. The reason most often cited for the latter interpretation is that the transformation of water into wine is mentioned as the first of Jesus’s signs (John 2:11), and consequently, his mother would as yet have no 13 Stephen Hartdegen, “The Marian Significance of Cana (John 2:1-11),” Marian Studies 11 (1960) 85-103, here 88; Max Thurian, Mary: Mother of the Lord, Figure of the Church (trans. Neville B. Cryer; London: Faith Press, 1962) 134.


reason to suspect Jesus capable of performing such deeds. There are clues, however, that suggest that the Fourth Gospel was extensively edited in the process of its formation. Moreover, it is believed that the signs were reworked both to delineate Christological realities and to elicit faith in Jesus as Messiah and Son of God (John 20:31).14 As part of this process, the author may have chosen to recount only certain specific signs, although aware of many others (John 20:30). For example, it is expressly stated that the healing of the official’s son is the second sign performed by Jesus (John 4:54), but the author comments that Jesus has worked signs in Jerusalem prior to this one (2:23). Since many people believe in Jesus because of these signs, his reputation is apparently growing at a fairly early stage in his public life. While mention of these signs (John 2:23) post-dates the wedding at Cana, there are indications of Jesus’s unique abilities that pre-date it. In fact, from the Fourth Gospel’s commencement, he is presented as extraordinary. The Logos is the source of life (John 1:4) through whom all things were made (1:3), a claim professed by those who have seen his glory (1:14). The Baptist knows that Jesus is pre-existent (John 1:15, 30) and asserts that he is the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world (1:29). The first disciples, transformed by time spent with Jesus, attribute various honorific titles to him (John 1:41, 45, 49). Jesus, in turn, reveals his knowledge of Nathanael’s whereabouts (John 1:48), thereby eliciting Nathanael’s belief that he is the Son of God and King of Israel (1:49). Hence, from the Fourth Gospel’s inception, Jesus is presented as capable of astonishing feats. It should be remembered as well, that the context is that of an oral culture wherein gossip plays a central role in information-exchange for non-literate peoples.15 It is therefore quite possible that when Jesus and his followers arrive for the wedding, curiosity and anticipation greet them, and it is reasonable to assume that his mother is cognizant of what people are saying about her son. She, and many of her contemporaries, may even have reason to suspect that Jesus possesses the powers of a holy man. The concept of the holy man is not unknown to the Fourth Evangel14 Thomas H. Olbricht, “The Theology of the Signs in the Gospel of John,” in Johannine Studies: Essays in Honor of Frank Pack (ed. James E. Priest; Malibu, CA: Pepperdine University Press, 1989) 171-81, esp. 176-79. 15 Richard L. Rohrbaugh, “Gossip in the New Testament,” in Social Scientific Models for Interpreting the New Testament: Essays by the Context Group in Honor of Bruce J. Malina (ed. John J. Pilch; Leiden: Brill, 2001) 239-59, here 241.


ist. In fact, the Johannine Jesus is openly referred to as a holy man in Peter’s statement of loyalty: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the holy man of God” (John 6:69). And even though this title is not used in reference to Jesus elsewhere in the Fourth Gospel, his portrayal bears striking similarity to the ancient s\addîq or h\aµsîd. These humble persons, whose pious lives were habitually the object of imitation by their disciples, were believed to enjoy access to the divine denied the ordinary person.16 Accordingly, the Evangelist’s depiction of Jesus lays heavy emphasis on his intimate relationship with the divine. As the Fourth Gospel’s prologue makes clear, Jesus is with God in the beginning (John 1:1), is the means by which all things were made (1:2), is the source of life (1:4), possesses the power to enable humans to become children of God (1:12), embodies the presence of the divine among humanity (1:14), and, perhaps most importantly, resides in the bosom of the Father and is thereby able to reveal the divine to humanity (1:18). That Jesus can enable humans to become God’s children, and that he is the source of grace (John 1:16-17), means that he, like the s\addîq or h\asµ îd, is able to broker special gifts from the divine, an important characteristic of a holy man. Furthermore, since grace is that which clients receive from patrons,17 it is through the brokerage of Jesus that God bestows favors upon humanity (John 1:17b). But the parallels between Jesus and the ancient holy men do not end here. Many of the early h\a·sîdîm were imitated by their disciples and described as the embodiment of Torah, because it was believed that the actions of a holy man embodied Torah.18 Moreover, in keeping with Torah, holy men assiduously performed acts of loving-kindness. Such deeds were enacted within kinship circles, or in situations that replicated this context, such as the host-guest interaction.19 Taking the wedding at Cana as a case in point, and assuming that Jesus and his mother are kin or close friends of the wedding party, one would expect Jesus to come to their aid. By doing just that, Jesus conducts himself like 16

Robert Kirschner, “The Vocation of Holiness in Late Antiquity,” Vigiliae Christianae 38 (1984) 105-24, esp. 108, 120. 17 Bruce J. Malina, “Grace/Favor,” in Handbook of Biblical Social Values (ed. John J. Pilch and Bruce J. Malina; rev. ed.; Peabody: Hendrickson, 1998) 89-91, here 89. 18 John J. Pilch, “Appearances of the Risen Jesus in Cultural Context: Experiences of Alternate Reality,” BTB 28 (1998) 52-60, here 54. 19 John J. Pilch, “Steadfast Love,” in Handbook of Biblical Social Values (ed. John J. Pilch and Bruce J. Malina; rev. ed.; Peabody: Hendrickson, 1998) 184-86.


other holy men of his era, by demonstrating his loving-kindness and loyalty to insiders. Another demonstration of loving-kindness by Jesus is his intervention on behalf of Lazarus, whom he loves (John 11:3, 5); this situation is more poignant, because Jesus knows that this sign will directly lead to his own death (11:4). Then in Jesus’s final moments with his disciples prior to his arrest, and acting out of concern for “his own” (John 13:1), Jesus promises that he will prepare a place for them in his Father’s house (14:1-2, 29); he will also ask his Father to send the Holy Spirit to dwell with them and to act as their teacher and source of truth (14:16-17, 26; 15:26; 16:7, 13). He assures them that they will receive whatever they ask the Father in his name (John 15:16; 16:23). As his time with them draws to a close, he prays that his Father will protect them from the evil one (John 17:15). Finally, Jesus’s unfailing concern to provide for those whom he loves is demonstrated in his commendation of his mother to the Beloved Disciple, in what seems like mere moments before his death (John 19:26-27). It should also be mentioned here that the deeds of a holy man were performed for the honor of God, a characteristic that aptly fits the Johannine Jesus (John 7:18; 8:49). He teaches, for example, that Lazarus’s illness will reveal the honor of God, because it will lead to his own death (John 11:4). Moreover, by restoring life to Lazarus, Jesus demonstrates that he, like other holy men, possesses power over sickness (John 4:4654; 5:1-9; 9:1-7), even to the point of raising the dead (11:1-44).20 Returning to the issue that prompted this digression, if his mother’s request is interpreted in light of the Fourth Gospel’s depiction of Jesus as a holy man, it is plausible to imagine, first, that she is aware Jesus has the power to intercede with the divine, and second, that she is asking him to do so in order to remedy the crisis, thereby gaining a grant of honor for himself and for his family. IV. Jesus, His Mother, and the Wine Crisis When his mother brings the nature of the crisis to Jesus’s attention, his response, Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ σοί, γυναι; οὔπω ἥκει ἡ ὥρα μου (John 2:4), conveys very strong resistance. Contrary to what many scholars believe, however, this is not an outright refusal of her implicit request. After all, 20 Peter Brown, “The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity,” Journal of Roman Studies 61 (1971) 81-101, here 81.


Jesus does resolve the problem. That he does so magnanimously suggests that even though Jesus talks in machismo fashion to his mother,21 the Fourth Evangelist presumes that the strong emotional bond typical of Mediterranean mothers and sons exists between them. By providing wine for the festivities, Jesus conducts himself as a devoted son, who will refuse his mother nothing within his power to give, a conclusion supported by Jesus’s relationship with the Father. While the author of John’s Gospel does not describe Jesus’s relationship with his earthly father, Joseph, he depicts Jesus as an honorable Son of God, who faithfully seeks to accomplish the will of his heavenly Father (John 2:16; 5:19, 30; 6:38; 7:18; 8:28-29, 49, 55; 12:49-50; 14:10, 24, 31; 15:10; 17:1). In other words, the honor that Jesus gives to God—at the level of the Evangelist—reflects the honor that a dutiful human son shows his human father. It is difficult to imagine, in view of this, that the author perceives Jesus as the sort of son who would act dishonorably toward his mother. But if, as has been argued, Jesus is interacting with her in the manner of an honorable son, how is his response, which includes a cryptic statement about his “hour,” to be interpreted? The first part of Jesus’s reply, Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ σοί, is a Semitism that means literally, “What to me and to you?” The numerous English renditions of this idiom illustrate the challenge facing the translator: “What have we to do with one another?”;22 “Why do you involve me?”;23 “What has this concern of yours to do with me?”;24 “What concern is that to you and to me?”;25 “What have I to do with you?”;26 “What have you to do with me?”;27 “What would you have me do?”;28 “Let me handle this in my own way”;29 “Leave this 21

Bruce J. Malina, “Mary and Jesus: Mediterranean Mother and Son,” in his The Social World of Jesus and the Gospels (London: Routledge, 1996) 97-120, here 100. 22 George R. Beasley-Murray, John (WBC 36; Waco: Word, 1987) 32. 23 Gail R. O’Day, “The Gospel of John: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible. Volume 9: Luke: John (ed. Leander E. Keck et al.; Nashville: Abingdon, 1995) 491-865, here 535. 24 Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John (2 vols.; Anchor Bible 29-29A; New York: Doubleday, 1966) 1. 99. 25 Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh, Social-Science Commentary on the Gospel of John (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998) 65. 26 Bultmann, John, 116. 27 Barnabas Lindars, The Gospel of John (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1972) 129. 28 Rudolf Schnackenburg, The Gospel According to St. John (3 vols.; New York: Seabury, 1968, 1980, 1982) 1. 327. 29 William Barclay, The Gospel of John: Chapters 1-7 (2d ed.: Burlington: Welch, 1975) 1:95.


to me.”30 Arguably, the last three translations best capture Jesus’s response, which combines resistance with the intention to cooperate somehow. Nigel Turner has analyzed the meaning of Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ σοί in a selection of New Testament passages (Matt 8:29; Mark 1:24; John 2:4) and Septuagint (Judg 11:12; 2 Sam 16:10; 19:22; 1 Kgs 17:18; 2 Kgs 3:13; 2 Chr 35:21), and argues that, without exception, the person who utters the expression is troubled by the interfering behavior of the other party.31 This understanding is compatible with the Johannine context. His mother’s words (John 2:3c) provoke Jesus, because her request somehow interferes with his “hour” (John 2:4c). As the translations offered by William Barclay and Turner suggest, Jesus may be advising her to leave the matter to him. He is not refusing to offer assistance, nor does he wish to proceed as his mother suggests. This interpretation fits well with her subsequent advice to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you” (John 2:5). The servants will proceed according to Jesus’s instructions; his mother will have no part in determining the precise course of action. Birger Olsson concludes that the meaning of Jesus’s response to his mother’s request is dependent upon both context and intonation. He asserts that the expression, “What to you and to me?” is always dominated by strong tensions, and he concludes that in John 2:4, it implies a conflict between Jesus and his mother concerning his “hour.” He cogently adds that the disagreement is about how to respond to the lack of wine.32 According to Olsson, the mother of Jesus is absorbed with the problem that the lack of wine will cause, while Jesus is concerned about his commission from the Father. Olsson is heading in the right direction. The mother of Jesus is obviously concerned about the lack of wine: while Jesus acknowledges her concern, he opposes her approach to the problem at hand. Although their disagreement is related to Jesus’s desire to fulfill the commission given to him by his Father, however, it also has a great deal to do with how his mother and he intend to integrate the core cultural values of honor and humility into their respective approaches to the problem at hand. 30 Nigel Turner, Grammatical Insights into the New Testament (Edinburgh: T. and T. Clark, 1965) 43. 31 Turner, Grammatical Insights, 43-47. 32 Birger Olsson, Structure and Meaning in the Fourth Gospel: A Text-Linguistic Analysis of John 2:1-11 and 4:1-42 (trans. Jean Gray; Coniectanea Biblica, New Testament Series 6; Lund, Sweden: Gleerup, 1974) 38-39.


V. Honor, Humility, and the “Hour” of Jesus Social-science scholars have explained some of the ways in which the fundamental cultural value, honor, can illuminate this passage. In the first-century Mediterranean world, a marriage meant the fusion of the honor of two extended families. Hence, the lack of wine would put the honor of both families at serious risk. Furthermore, this appears to be a large wedding. Guests hail not only from Cana (John 21:2), but also from Bethsaida (1:44) and Nazareth (1:45-46; 18:5, 7). Failure to provide sufficient wine would soon become widely known, and the ensuing loss of face would be devastating. Bruce Malina and Richard Rohrbaugh have pointed out that the mother of Jesus may be a kinswoman of the wedding party, and seeks to help them by acting as broker on behalf of the bridegroom, thereby avoiding the shame that will fall not only upon the groom’s family, but upon her and her family as well, if the lack of wine is not remedied.33 His mother’s hope, they state, is that Jesus will help in some way, and bring honor to him and his family. Ritva Williams approaches this issue from the point of view of reciprocal relationships. That the mother of Jesus and her family have accepted the invitation to this wedding demonstrates their willingness to engage in a relationship of reciprocity with the groom’s family.34 If she is able to secure assistance, her brokerage will bolster her family’s honor. As Williams rightly points out, a request for help constitutes a positive challenge to Jesus’s honor. The mother of Jesus, therefore, is attempting to draw her son into the local system of reciprocal relationships and attempts to enhance public status. But Jesus vehemently resists participation in local competitions for honor. In Williams’s view, the reason for this is that Jesus believes that the “hour” in which he is to proceed with the commission for which his Father has set him apart is already here. Williams arrives at this conclusion because she translates John 2:4b as a question (“Has not my hour come?”) rather than as a negative statement (“My hour has not yet come.”) As previously discussed, however, John 2:4b should be read as a negative statement, as Jesus’s “hour” refers to the time of his passion and glorification, which is yet to come, rather than to events surrounding the Malina and Rohrbaugh, Commentary on John, 66-67. Ritva H. Williams, “The Mother of Jesus at Cana: A Social-Science Interpretation of John 2:1-12,” CBQ 59 (1997) 679-92, here 685. 33 34


commencement of his public life. Such an understanding stems, in part, from the fact that when Jesus’s opponents seek to arrest him, they are unable to do so because his “hour” has not yet come (John 7:30; 8:20). Later, as Jesus’s public activities begin to draw to a close, the Fourth Evangelist mentions that the “hour” in which Jesus is to be glorified and return to his Father has now come (John 12:23; 13:1). This statement is incompatible with the assumption that his “hour” is already a reality during the wedding at Cana. Therefore, even though Jesus is refusing to publicly engage in local competitions for honor, he is nevertheless willing to address the crisis at the wedding. Two questions remain. In what manner does Jesus intend to respond to this issue? And what connection is there between his “hour” and his reluctance to become overtly involved in the wine crisis as broker on behalf of the wedding party? The core Mediterranean values of honor and humility, as well as the perception of “limited good,” provide a means by which to approach these questions, and, in the end, render comprehensible Jesus’s enigmatic response to his mother. George Foster defines “limited good” as follows: By “Image of Limited Good” I mean that broad areas of peasant behavior are patterned in such fashion as to suggest that peasants view their social, economic, and natural universes—their total environment—as one in which all of the desired things in life such as land, wealth, health, friendship and love, manliness and honor, respect and status, power and influence, security and safety, exist in finite quantity and are always in short supply, as far as the peasant is concerned. Not only do these and all other “good things” exist in finite and limited quantities, but in addition there is no way directly within peasant power to increase the available quantities.35 In the cultural world of Jesus, the perception of “limited good” was widespread. People believed that advancement in honor or status by an individual or family meant a corresponding loss for other individuals or families.36 Successful individuals, therefore, were bound to reap envy 35 George M. Foster, “Peasant Society and the Image of Limited Good,” American Anthropologist 67 (1965) 293-315, here 296. 36 Foster, “Peasant Society,” 296-97.


from all sides. The ancient informant, Josephus, aptly describes this phenomenon: But when John, son of Levi, who . . . lived at Gischala, heard that everything was proceeding to my satisfaction, that I was popular with those under my authority and a terror to the enemy, he was in no good humor; and, believing that my success involved his own ruin, gave way to immoderate envy. Hoping to check my good fortune by inspiring hatred of me in those under my command, he tried to induce the inhabitants of Tiberias, Sepphoris, and Gabara—the three chief cities of Galilee—to abandon their allegiance to me and go over to him, asserting that they would find him a better general than I was. (Josephus The Life, 122-23) Because life’s goods were believed limited, and because one individual’s gain meant another’s loss, the entire community felt threatened by those who sought more than their share of any “good.”37 People who tried to gain more than what was thought rightfully theirs were readily criticized by those who felt a sense of loss and concomitant envy (Mark 10:41). Humble persons did not attempt to acquire more honor than the public would allow. In fact, the truly humble went so far as to place themselves below their rightful status,38 an action that allowed others to raise them to their rightful places (Luke 14:7-11). This is not to say that humility requires disregard for one’s honor. In fact, while humility discouraged attempts to better one’s lot in life at the expense of other people, it also served to maintain a person’s ascribed honor. Moreover, since grasping for honors was deemed arrogant behavior in the cultural world of Jesus, humility took precedence over honor. One biblical proverb accordingly states, “The fear of the Lord is instruction in wisdom, and humility goes before honor” (Prov 15:33).39 It could therefore be proposed that humility may impel Jesus’s reluctance to respond to the lack of wine. Such a reading is plausible, given that elsewhere in the narrative, the precedence of humility over honor is discernible in the public words and deeds of Jesus. Foster, “Peasant Society,” 302. Bruce J. Malina, “Humility,” in Handbook of Biblical Social Values (ed. John J. Pilch and Bruce J. Malina; rev. ed.; Peabody: Hendrickson, 1998) 118-20, here 118. 39 See also Prov 18:12, 22:14. 37 38


Jesus rejects the honor that comes from humans (John 5:41). In response to his brothers’ demand that he demonstrate his powers in Jerusalem, for example, Jesus refuses to accompany them to the feast (John 7:4-8). He does not perform signs in order to gain human recognition. Actually, even though many people have seen the marvelous works that Jesus has performed on behalf of the sick (John 6:2), there is an air of discretion, even secrecy, around many of his signs. For instance, rather than accompanying the official to Capernaum, Jesus heals his son from a distance (John 4:49-53) and appears to be alone with the man whom he heals at the Pool of Bethzatha (5:1-9). Only his disciples witness his epiphany on the Sea of Galilee (John 6:16-20), and Jesus does not disclose to the curious crowd how he has crossed to the other side of the sea (6:25-26). And, although his disciples are with him when he heals the man born blind, there is no mention of outsiders being present until after the man has received his sight. The neighbors’ query about how his eyes have been opened (John 9:10) implies that they have not witnessed the sign. This does not mean that Jesus fails to gain honor as a result of the signs that he has performed. Yet once word of his wondrous deeds spreads (John 4:28-30; 5:15; 9:8-13), some who hear of them grant him honor (4:39-40; 9:16c, d), even as others challenge him (5:1618; 9:16a, b). While the Johannine Jesus exercises great discretion when performing signs, there is, prior to the onset of his hour of glory, one possible exception to what looks like a pattern of socially sanctioned humility, namely, the feeding of the crowds, a sign performed on behalf of five thousand men and countless women and children (John 6:10). Given the huge numbers, however, it is probable that only the disciples and those in close proximity to Jesus are immediately aware of what he has done. The others would learn about it as word traveled through the crowd. Nor is there any indication that Jesus performs the sign in order to gain public recognition. In fact, had he been so desirous, he might have encouraged the crowd’s desire to make him king, instead of deliberately escaping from them (John 6:15). Furthermore, on the following day he admonishes them for focusing on the provision of food rather than on the cultivation of faith (John 6:26-29). Hence, even though Jesus performs this sign in the presence of a multitude, his acts accord with the humble who do not seek to raise themselves above others. Rather than seeking personal laurels (John 8:50), the Johannine Jesus


consistently promotes and defends his Father’s honor (7:18; 8:49, 54; 15:8). To this end, he drives the money-changers and those selling sacrificial animals out of the temple and charges them with defilement of his Father’s house (John 2:14-17). In another instance, having received word that Lazarus is ill, Jesus comes to Bethany so that God might be honored by the ensuing events (John 11:4). Moreover, Jesus habitually honors his Father by faithfully seeking the will of his Father (John 4:34; 5:30; 6:38; 18:11; 19:30), who has sent him (7:28-29, 33; 8:29). He does nothing on his own authority; rather, he speaks what he has learned from his Father (John 8:28) and does only what he sees his Father doing (5:19). Such imitation appears to lie behind his healing of the man at the Pool of Bethzatha; just as his Father gives life, so too does Jesus (John 5:21). Consequently, as one might expect, Jesus’s honor is intimately associated with his Father’s honor (John 5:23; 17:1, 5). To be specific, he teaches that the honor worth seeking comes from God (John 5:44), just as his own honor derives from God (8:50, 54; 11:4; 17:22). Hence, the Fourth Evangelist paints a picture of Jesus as one who has no urge to grasp for prestige. Thus he conducts himself in accordance with the core cultural value of humility. Paradoxically, the fruit of such humility, of course, is honor. The proverb holds true: “humility goes before honor” (Prov 15:33). Not only does Jesus reject public grants of honor (John 5:41), but he strongly criticizes those who seek honor from one another rather than seeking the honor that comes from God. Such people cannot believe (John 5:44) and, even if they do, they are unable to profess their belief (12:42-43). Therefore, if, as previously stated, the mother of Jesus is attempting to have him perform a sign or engage in any kind of public intervention, in order to gain honor for Jesus and, consequently, for her entire family, her approach is incompatible with Jesus’s humble behavior depicted elsewhere in the Fourth Gospel. Given the force of Jesus’s criticism of those who seek honor, his words to his mother are probably scathing. Jesus flatly refuses to proceed in the manner she proposes—although, as we have maintained, he does not refuse to act. Like many Mediterranean sons who share deep emotional bonds with their mothers, Jesus rises to the occasion. Cultural information thus helps to account for the kind of intermingled hesitancy and anger displayed in Jesus’s response to his mother’s appeal. But the connection between his “hour” and his enigmatic


response (John 2:4c) to her plea for help remains to be explicated. As previously mentioned, Jesus’s “hour” encompasses his arrest, trial, exaltation on the cross, and resurrection. When the disciples advise Jesus that the Greeks wish to see him, his response (John 12:23) is that the “hour” for him to be glorified has come (ἐλήλυθεν). As Jesus continues to speak of his impending death, he states that he has come (ἦλθεν) to this “hour” (John 12:27). Soon afterwards (John 13:1), the narrator relates that Jesus’s “hour” to depart from this world has already come (ἦλθεν). Hence, although the “hour” of Jesus is rightly associated with his passion, it must begin to unfold at some point prior to these references. It seems most likely that the raising of Lazarus, which prompts the authorities’ decision that Jesus must die, inaugurates his “hour.” Jesus himself states that Lazarus’s illness is the means by which he will be glorified (John 11:4). In other words, it is the catalyst for his arrest and the ensuing events. Prior to the sign at Bethany, Jesus engages in a great deal of secrecy, in performing signs discretely and intentionally eluding those who seek him. The illness of Lazarus, however, appears to initiate a change in his behavior. In contrast to most of his previous signs, the raising of Lazarus is a public event. Having witnessed the sign, many come to believe in Jesus (John 11:45), and the authorities now perceive his fame as sufficiently threatening that they plot his death (11:53). After hiding in Ephraim for a time, Jesus moves on toward Bethany and Jerusalem, where, in contrast to previous occasions, he does not withdraw when confronted with the public’s admiration. Jesus offers no resistance when a curious crowd gathers to see him and Lazarus, whom he has raised from the dead (John 12:9). On the following day, a great crowd hails Jesus as the King of Israel (John 12:13) because they have heard about Lazarus’s resurrection (12:18). While commentators have interpreted the crowd’s acclamations as a nationalistic expression and have pointed out that Jesus does not accept such an interpretation of his kingly role,40 it is important to note that he makes no attempt to escape, but acknowledges the honor they bestow upon him. In fact, he continues toward Jerusalem as the messianic king of peace (in the manner described in Zechariah 9:9),41 while the crowd that has witnessed the resurrection of Lazarus testifies about him (John 40 41

Beasley-Murray, John, 210. Schnackenburg, St. John, 2. 376.


12:17). This does not mean that Jesus has ceased to practice the cultural value of humility. Even now, he does not seek to be honored; rather, he allows people to raise him to what the narrator indicates is his rightful place as king (John 12:15). The accolade of kingship echoes throughout the Roman trial of Jesus. During the trial’s central scene, Jesus receives the kingly purple and the title, “King of the Judeans,” from those who scourge him (John 19:3). On more than one occasion, Pilate acclaims him as “King of the Judeans” (John 18:39; 19:14-15). In contrast to the Synoptic accounts (Mark 15:20; Matt 27:31), there is no mention of the removal of the royal garb in the Fourth Gospel. An impressive pronouncement located above him announces a truth in three languages—“Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Judeans” (John 19:19). The many ironic words and actions directed toward Jesus during the passion narrative actually constitute astonishing grants of public honor, with which he now cooperates so that he can fulfill his commission (John 19:30). In order for Jesus to make God known (John 1:18; 17:6, 26), to manifest his honor as well as the honor of God (13:31-32), to be lifted up (3:14; 8:28; 12:32-34) and thereby to give life (3:16; 10:10), his true identity cannot remain a secret. Hence, during his “hour,” the veil of secrecy is lifted. This is the time when even his opponents, who are “of this world” (John 8:23), finally recognize him for who he truly is (8:28). The earlier question about the connection between Jesus’s resistance to his mother’s plan of action and his “hour” still requires an answer. As noted, the fact that Jesus deals with the lack of wine discreetly is in keeping with his humble behavior depicted elsewhere in the Fourth Gospel. If Jesus were to perform a sign openly in the context of a public event such as a wedding, he might well merit hostility from those who feel a concomitant loss of honor through his success. Furthermore, a public sign might bring undue attention to the question of his origins and identity, particularly when he is so close to his hometown where people know him best. But what does his humble demeanor have to do with the fact that his “hour” has not yet come? It could be argued that the connection with his “hour” involves the proper manner and timing for revealing his identity. In other words, Jesus’s discreet behavior must continue until he raises Lazarus from the dead. It is at this point in the story where events lead directly to his arrest, trial, death, and resurrection, the major com-


ponents of his “hour.” And since Jesus’s true identity must be revealed in his “hour,” it is at its commencement that Jesus will begin to permit humans to honor him publicly. Even at this point, he will do so not for his own gain, but rather, to complete the commission given to him by his heavenly Father. During the wedding at Cana, it is not yet the time for his true identity to be openly revealed. If his mother is requesting a sign, Jesus’s harsh response is his way of refusing to do so openly. In the Fourth Gospel, while some characters experience Jesus’s signs only as a source of benefit for themselves, there are those who “see” more deeply, thereby gaining insight into the true identity of Jesus (John 9:30-33). At this point in the story, it is sufficient that insiders, such as the disciples, gain the deep insight that leads to belief (John 2:11). And the mother of Jesus, who may have begun by seeking a public grant of honor for herself and her family, quickly realizes that the proper procedure is to do whatever Jesus bids (John 2:5). VI. Conclusion Jesus’s abrasive response to his mother’s implicit request for help has long proved a perplexing interpretive problem for exegetes of John 2:111. Within the context of relationships between Mediterranean mothers and sons, which are formed in a milieu dominated by the values of honor and humility, as well as the perception of limited good, there is nothing disturbing in the tone that Jesus uses to address his mother. Culturally speaking, there is no contradiction between his harsh response and his subsequent provision of wine. Jesus conducts himself as an honorable son. He may not wish to proceed according to his mother’s plan, but he will not deny her the assistance she seeks. His angry response (John 2:4), therefore, does not stem from his refusal of her request, but from his reluctance to become overtly involved in local honor challenges. Truly humble persons should not appear to be grasping for more honor than the public will grant them, and as has been argued, there is ample evidence that the Fourth Evangelist portrays Jesus as one who embodies a value which was strongly embedded within Jesus’s cultural milieu—namely, that humility takes precedence over honor. In addition, if his mother suspects that Jesus can work signs, her request involves him in local honor competitions and challenges him to


put forward his true identity. In effect, Jesus may perceive his mother’s desire to act as broker as interfering with the proper unfolding of his “hour,” because it is only during his “hour” that his true identity may be openly revealed. Even then, he will not flaunt it because his purpose is not to gain honor for himself but to accomplish that for which the Father has sent him. The cultural value of honor may further involve the home of Jesus. Jesus and his mother come from Nazareth, a town not noted for the elevated ascribed honor of its inhabitants (John 1:45-46). Many of those attending the wedding are no doubt acquainted with Jesus’s family and hometown, and therefore, with his ascribed honor (John 1:46; 6:42). Earlier, Nathanael, a resident of Cana and now a disciple of Jesus, has challenged Jesus’s honor by suggesting that nothing good can come from Nazareth. Jesus, fully able to read people’s hearts (John 2:25), knows that Nathanael has issued a challenge. His provision of a large quantity of superior wine is the Fourth Evangelist’s first recorded example of the “greater things” that Nathanael is to see (John 1:50), driving home the fact that something very good comes from Nazareth. In the end, Nazareth gains a grant of honor over Nathanael’s hometown of Cana, and the sign serves as an impressive riposte to his criticism (John 1:46). The narrator states that when the festivities draw to a close, Jesus, his disciples, and members of his biological family go to Capernaum for a few days (John 2:12). While there is little mention of the disciples in John 2:1-11, they are present at the wedding (2:2), and they witness Jesus’s honor and believe in him (2:11). Their actions clearly mark them as insiders and explain why they accompany him to Capernaum. While John 2:12 mentions the mother and brothers of Jesus, it provides little enlightenment regarding Jesus’s relationships with them. Nonetheless, Jesus’s tie to his mother can only be positive. Despite his anger, Jesus has, at her behest, lavishly responded to a need, and, in doing so, has acted as an honorable son. For a Mediterranean mother, the sign would prove his filial loyalty along with a tremendous ability to augment the family’s honor. Jesus’s success would give his mother reason to return that loyalty and to continue to depend upon him. Therefore, it is culturally plausible that we are to think of them as members of the same in-group traveling together to Capernaum at this point in the narrative. Mention of the brothers of Jesus, however, is somewhat intrusive in John 2:12. There has been no indication of their interaction with Jesus—


or his mother—during the wedding. Yet out of the blue, we find them in the company of Jesus, his mother, and the disciples. How can the model illumine what appears to be their sudden association with Jesus and the others? Arguably, the notion of family honor may shed light on how firstcentury Mediterranean people would tend to interpret an event such as this. According to the model, the accomplishments of one family member reflect positively upon the entire family. Perhaps the author and intended audience perceive the brothers’ sudden affiliation with Jesus as prompted by the sign at Cana. Word of this deed—and possibly others—having begun to disseminate via the gossip network, Jesus—and consequently his family—will be gaining honor in the eyes of the public. In a situation such as this, John and his target audience would not be surprised to see the brothers of Jesus join his entourage in the hope that his reputation would continue to grow and positively impact their own. Furthermore, if the author presumes their knowledge of this sign, it is also possible that they are depicted as aligning themselves with Jesus because they possess faith based on signs. In the Fourth Gospel, belief on the basis of signs is not the most laudable position, but it is certainly preferable to lack of belief. While there is no reason to suppose that the Evangelist imagines Jesus’s brothers to be as close to Jesus as the disciples who have testified about him (John 1:41, 45, 49), witnessed his honor, and believed in him (2:11), there is, at this stage in the narrative, no apparent conflict between Jesus and them. In fact, as they abide with Jesus in Capernaum, they are perhaps offered the opportunity to become followers of Jesus at this point.

John 7:1-10 I. Brothers in Conflict The scene changes dramatically the next time Jesus meets his brothers (John 7:1-10). In fact, their verbal exchange betrays deep antagonism. His brothers challenge Jesus to go to Jerusalem in order to make a public display of his abilities (John 7:3-4). As noted above, this kind of behavior ills suits the Johannine Jesus, who usually acts with elusiveness and secrecy. The challenge, therefore, is insulting and implies that he


would shamefully seek honor at the expense of others. Jesus’s retort implies that he has heard their words as a negative challenge, an attempt to shame and humiliate the person addressed.42 He insults them in return, relegating them to the domain of the “world” (John 7:7a), which exhibits no loyalty toward him and engages in evil acts (7:7b). Negative challenges (John 7:3-4) and insults (7:7) such as these are not made by biological brothers whose relationships mirror the ideal, but typify situations of conflict. Moreover, since the brothers belong to the “world” (John 7:7), they have no reason to fear the “world’s” wrath. Hence, their willingness to go to Jerusalem does not imply that their lives, like that of Jesus, will be at risk in Jerusalem or that they intend to join Jesus in his confrontation with the “world.” Indeed, their demand that Jesus go to a place where people intend to kill him stands in stark contrast to the concern that his disciples later express regarding his safety in Judea (John 11:8). In the narrative world of the Fourth Gospel, it is unbelief that accounts for much of the hostility between Jesus and his opponents (John 5:44-47; 6:60-66; 8:24; 9:16a, b; 10:38). Despite the testimony on Jesus’s behalf, whether of the Baptist, the Father, the Scriptures, the works that Jesus performs, or of Moses (John 5:31-47), those routinely in conflict with Jesus refuse to believe in him (5:38; 8:46; 10:25-26). For the Pharisees, belief in Jesus is the equivalent of being led astray (John 7:47), and those who think well of Jesus are the butt of their insults (7:49, 52). In fact, growing belief in Jesus and fear of Roman reprisal become so threatening for the chief priests and Pharisees that they deduce that Jesus must die (John 11:48-53). The actions and words of Jesus have clearly divided people into two opposing camps. On the one side are those who do believe in Jesus, namely, his mother and the disciples or children of God. On the other side are all those who do not believe in him: for example, the “world,” the Judeans, Judas, and Pilate. The statement that, “not even his brothers believed in him” (John 7:5), serves to align his brothers with those who do not believe in Jesus and highlights his social-political isolation. Additionally, the events of John 6:41-71 seem to be especially significant with respect to the unbelief of the brothers of Jesus. This is a chal42 Bruce J. Malina and Jerome H. Neyrey, “Honor and Shame in Luke-Acts: Pivotal Values of the Mediterranean World,” in The Social World of Luke-Acts: Models for Interpretation (ed. Jerome H. Neyrey; Peabody: Hendrickson, 1991) 25-65, esp. 49-51.


lenging time for Jesus, as many of his disciples find his teaching difficult and turn back; that is to say, they revert to a state of unbelief. The close proximity of the brothers’ unbelief (John 7:5) with the withdrawal of many of Jesus’s disciples (6:66) may imply that the brothers who remained with Jesus in John 2:12 are now said to be like those “who no longer went about with him” (6:66). Perhaps they are even to be likened to Judas, who ranks with those who do not believe (John 6:64) and who is the disciple who will later hand Jesus over to the authorities (6:70-71). This would be harsh judgment in a gospel that demonizes Judas (John 6:70; 13:27), just as it demonizes Jesus’s major opponents, the ᾿Ιουδαῖοι (8:44). If the Fourth Evangelist is making these kinds of associations, the situation in John 7:1-10 is a long way from the Mediterranean ideal of brothers bound together by solidarity and loyalty. Under what kinds of circumstances would brothers withdraw their loyalty from one another (John 7:7) and engage instead in negative challenges and bitter insults? What kind of cultural information might help to illumine why brothers would encourage another brother to go openly into unsafe territory? II. Honor and Conflict among Family Members In many Mediterranean societies, the dishonorable actions of an individual damage the honorable reputation of his or her entire family. In order to save face, other family members mete out suitable punishment, even death, if the behavior is deemed serious enough. At Cana, Jesus comes to the aid of a wedding party facing certain disgrace because of the lack of wine, an intervention that earns a grant of honor for his family and for himself. His activities, however, soon become controversial. He begins to court the opposition of the Judeans by interrupting temple activities (John 2:14-20) and healing a man on the Sabbath, the latter seen as violating the Mosaic proscription of Sabbath work (5:15-16). From the point of view attributed to the authorities, the situation is critical, because Jesus has not only violated the Sabbath but has also made himself God’s equal, crimes for which he must die (John 5:18). They later add to their list of accusations the fact that Jesus is a Samaritan (John 8:48), an insult that may derive from their knowledge that he has befriended Samaritans (4:39-42). Furthermore, many of those who were once disciples abandon him (John 6:66), because his claim to be the


bread which has come down from heaven is unimaginable. Thus, by the time that Jesus reencounters his brothers (John 7:1-10), he has garnered opposition from elites and former disciples alike, and the criticisms heaped upon Jesus (6:41-42, 52, 60; 7:12) would negatively impact his family’s honor. In the model laid out in Chapter Three, it is noted that in many Mediterranean societies, gossip is rife, and people actively seek to uncover information that they can use to damage the honor of outsiders. In fact, in this cultural setting everyone minds everyone else’s business.43 In John’s Gospel, the fact that Jerusalemites know that Jesus does not circulate in Judea because the Judeans seek to kill him (John 7:25) suggests that the authorities’ intention has found its way into the ears of the general public. It follows naturally that the author assumes Jesus’s brothers to be aware of the plot against his life. While the narrative does not suggest that they wish to kill him themselves, his death at the hands of the Judeans would provide a means of halting his destructive behavior and its negative effects on the family’s honor.44 That the brothers of Jesus welcome his death seems a reasonable proposition for two reasons. First, his brothers belong to the “world” that exhibits no loyalty toward him (John 7:7; 15:18). And second, Jesus connects the “world” with the authorities (John 8:23), who seek to kill him (8:28, 37, 40, 59). The gentler claim has been made that the cultural impetus behind the brothers’ demand that Jesus go to Jerusalem and openly manifest his capabilities is their hope that they will share in the honor he will acquire.45 This suggestion is plausible, if considered in tandem with the previous one. If the situation is one where Jesus has seriously damaged the family’s honor, his death at the hands of the Judean authorities will probably be a source of relief for his brothers because it will rid the family of a troublesome individual. If, however, the Judean elite do not dispose of him at this time, his brothers might be happy to share in any honor he may acquire. 43 John J. Pilch, “Secrecy,” in his The Cultural Dictionary of the Bible (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1999) 129-34, here 130. 44 John J. Pilch, “Deception and Lying,” in his The Cultural Dictionary (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1999) 46-51, here 49. 45 Jerome H. Neyrey, “The Trials (Forensic) and Tribulations (Honor Challenges) of Jesus: John 7 in Social Science Perspective,” BTB 26 (1996) 107-24, here 121.


III. Secrecy versus Trust Another relational dynamic which the Fourth Evangelist weaves into this pericope involves secrecy. In response to his brothers’ negative challenge, Jesus tells them to go to the feast themselves because he does not intend to go (John 7:8). However, once they have departed for the Feast of Tabernacles, Jesus himself goes to Jerusalem, albeit furtively (John 7:10). Once again, this is not the way that biological brothers on amicable terms deal with one another. In what way can cultural information flesh out a situation such as this? The model delineates the need for secrecy and lying in many Mediterranean societies; such practices serve to establish or to protect an individual’s honor, as well as that of his family and other trusted insiders. Additionally, as Malina and Rohrbaugh observe, those persons socialized in Western individualist cultures recognize a discrepancy between Jesus’s words and ensuing action and therefore conclude that he has lied. Their erroneous presumption is that their understanding of truthtelling is entirely compatible with that of Mediterranean peoples. They fail to recognize that in collectivist cultures, a lie means withholding the truth from in-group persons, whereas it is considered honorable to withhold the truth from outsiders, because they have no right to it.46 As the model has indicated, such evasion derives from distrust and fear of outsiders who, armed with such information, might cause harm. The point here is that Jesus’s brothers have no loyalty toward him (John 7:5) and, consequently, are potentially hostile outsiders. To withhold the truth from them is the honorable thing to do. On a previous occasion, Jesus has performed signs in Jerusalem and many believe when they witness them (John 2:23). The Evangelist points out, however, that even though these people believe because of the signs, Jesus does not entrust himself to them because he is aware of their interior reality (John 2:24). Culturally speaking, since family solidarity is an esteemed cultural value in many Mediterranean societies, one would not expect Jesus to be suspicious of members of his biological family if his relationship with them was harmonious. Furthermore, when relationships are strong, one comes to the aid of kin who are in trouble. When Jesus and his brothers meet in John 7:1-10, the context is one of 46

Malina and Rohrbaugh, Commentary on John, 143-45.


persecution. Jesus is avoiding the region of Judea because the Judeans are seeking to kill him (7:1). If his relationship with his brothers was harmonious, Jesus would entrust himself to them and seek their support. Instead, he maintains strict boundaries by withholding the truth from them and by placing them squarely within the hostile world that he does not trust. Furthermore, the brothers’ demand that Jesus go to Judea in order to manifest himself to the world indicates the world’s—and consequently the brothers’—failure to understand his revelation.47 They presume that Jesus is striving for power and prestige in the public realm by attempting to increase his following.48 The reality that Jesus does not seek human honor (John 5:41) confirms the huge gap between his brothers and him. Little wonder that Jesus strongly contrasts his own time with theirs (John 7:6). While Jesus’s time is in harmony with the Father’s time, his brothers’ time is in keeping with that of the world, which has cut itself off from the divinely appointed time. Hence, Jesus and his brothers have opposing allegiances which, in the Fourth Gospel, find no resolution. Interestingly, the relational dynamics between Jesus and his brothers in John 7:1-10 stand in stark contrast to the way Jesus conducts himself with insiders. A notable example exists in his relationship with the family at Bethany, who are disciples of Jesus. After the raising of Lazarus, the authorities decide that Jesus must die (John 11:47-53), and they give orders that anyone knowing of his whereabouts should let them know, so that they might arrest him (11:57). Again, the scene is one of impending persecution, and Jesus is in hiding (John 11:54). He goes to the home of Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, where Martha serves a supper, Lazarus reclines with him, and Mary anoints his feet (John 12:1-8). Jesus, who knows people’s hearts (John 2:25), knows that these friends will not turn him over to the authorities. In fact, the Evangelist contrasts Mary’s loving action of anointing (John 12:3) with the dishonesty of Judas (12:4-6), the disciple whose betrayal of Jesus will relegate him—like the brothers of Jesus—to the unbelieving world (6:70; 13:30; 17:12). The fact that Jesus does not trust his biological brothers but spontaneously takes temporary refuge in Bethany with the family loyal to him (John 11:5), suggests a grave difference in his relationships with these various groups. The 47 48

Bultmann, John, 290. Schnackenburg, St. John, 2. 139.


logical conclusion, therefore, is that while Jesus and his brothers appear to be insiders in John 2:12, this is no longer the case in John 7:1-10. Their relationship has evolved into one more typical of outsiders in agonistic societies; it is fraught with conflict.

John 19:25-27 I. Introduction In simplest terms, the final passage to be discussed in this chapter shows a mother standing by the cross of her crucified son, accompanied by kinfolk and disciples. Oddly, her husband and any other children that she may have are absent, and just prior to his death, the crucified man hands his mother into the care of one thought to be his most intimate and loyal friend. In many ways, this story does not represent a typical crucifixion: while this form of punishment was widely known as a status-degradation ritual, which inflicted the utmost humiliation and suffering upon its victims, the Fourth Gospel creates a very different impression, particularly when it comes to how the crucified is portrayed. Authorial intentions have evidently influenced the manner in which traditions were integrated into this gospel. Few contemporary scholars would promote the Gospel of John as the work of a single author; quite simply, there are too many features that present difficulties to such a theory. Differences of Greek style, breaks and perceived inconsistencies in sequence, as well as repetitions that appear to derive from different traditions of the same words have led critics to posit a variety of theories of composition, such as accidental displacements, multiple sources, and multiple editions.49 Yet while proposals about the Fourth Gospel’s history differ greatly, few critics would disagree that its present form results from a process of composition that may have stretched across decades. With respect to the Fourth Gospel’s passion narrative, it has been proposed that some form of a passion story may have been available to the Evangelist, who subsequently infused it with new material.50 As a

49 Raymond E. Brown, An Introduction to the Gospel of John (ed. Francis J. Moloney; New York: Doubleday, 2003) 40-62. 50 Bultmann, John, 6.


related issue, it is commonly believed that a status-elevation motif has been superimposed upon the account of the crucifixion, with the result that the Fourth Gospel, in its present form, depicts this scene as Jesus’s supreme exaltation.51 In other words, for John, the crucifixion is not a story of a suffering and shamed Jesus, but one presenting Jesus in complete control and with enormous honor. As a result of the status-elevation motif, John’s story contains very different cultural dynamics from those which would be at work in a typical crucifixion scene. Therefore, in order to observe the cultural implications of the Johannine version, it will be useful to consider how in a typical crucifixion, the victim’s mother and brothers might be expected to respond. That is, how should cultural norms and expectations influence their relationship with the crucified? This consideration will be followed by an examination of the mother-son and brotherbrother dynamics expected to accompany John’s version of the story. II. Crucifixion as a Status-Degradation Scene First-century Mediterranean peoples belonged to a dyadic culture, in which individuals defined themselves primarily in terms of their families and other close insiders. Their connectedness with that group was of paramount importance unless serious conflict has driven them apart. Under normal circumstances, certain behaviors govern relations between brothers in collectivist societies. For example, the murder of a close relative, particularly one’s father, brother, or son, must be avenged by members of the family, in order to regain at least some of the honor lost by this most heinous offence against one’s family. However, if an individual’s dishonorable behavior led to his crucifixion, his family would disown him in an attempt to regain some of their lost honor. In light of this, it can safely be concluded that if the Johannine version of the crucifixion story describes a status-degradation scene, the brothers’ failure to rage against the death of Jesus might not be incriminating. But clearly, John’s is not a status-degradation scene, thereby necessitating a return to an examination of the brothers’ absence. If a Mediterranean mother was of the opinion that her son’s crucifixion was the result of his shameful behavior, one would expect her to 51 Jerome H. Neyrey, “Despising the Shame of the Cross: Honor and Shame in the Johannine Passion Narrative,” Semeia 68 (1994) 113-37, esp. 113-15.


abandon him and to transfer her loyalty to another son, whose actions might bring honor to her and her family.52 According to the model, a scenario in which a mother remains with a son who faces total dishonor is unlikely, unless he is her only son, and she is a widow. Moreover, such a situation would be devastating for a mother because it would leave her without male support in her old age. Even if the victim were able to provide a new home for her by handing her over to the care of a trusted friend, her situation would be anything but enviable. She would lose the son who was to provide for her in her old age. She would now go to the home of another man over whom she would never have the control that she would have had over her own son, and in whose home she would never enjoy the kind of prestige that an elderly mother normally enjoyed in her husband’s or son’s home. Her loss would be profound. As noted in the previous chapter, the grief and angry cries of the mother of Euryalus are occasioned by the knowledge that her son abandoned her by his death. The mother of a crucified victim, who has no other son to whom to turn, would be similarly inconsolable. The image of the “stabat mater dolorosa” is eminently suitable for such a situation. But does it have a place in John’s passion narrative? III. The Mother of Jesus in John’s Status-Elevation Scene There is no need to describe in detail how the passion narrative in the Fourth Gospel functions as a status-elevation scene vis-à-vis Jesus. However, a few general observations will provide a context for an analysis of relationships between Jesus and his natural family. Just prior to the arrest of Jesus, the narrator recounts that Jesus knows everything that is about to happen to him (John 18:4). Moreover, Jesus himself states that no one takes his life from him; rather, he lays it down of his own accord (John 10:18). Later, when the soldiers come to apprehend him, it is Jesus who assumes control of the situation. In fact, his selfidentification brings the cohort of soldiers to the ground (John 18:6), who thus put themselves in a position of subservience before him. When 52

The execution of a son, however, was considered honorable if he died for honorable reasons. The story of the elderly Hebrew mother who exhorted her seven sons to endure torture and death at the hands of their oppressors rather than eat defiling food provides a powerful example of a mother who believed that her executed sons died as honorable men (4 Macc 8:1-18:24).


brought before Annas, Jesus is neither silent nor humiliated. He speaks on his own behalf and skillfully defends himself when physically abused by one of the officers (John 18:22-23). Throughout the Roman trial, Jesus is depicted as king (John 18:33, 36-37, 39; 19:3, 15, 19, 21), and in the end, he goes to Golgotha as a king who carries his own cross (19:17). Thus, the crucifixion of the Johannine Jesus is his supreme triumph. As might well be imagined, family dynamics ought to play out very differently in a status-elevation scene, such as the one just described. Jesus is, without question, exalted by his death. Therefore, the situation is now one without any cultural pressure for his mother to transfer her allegiance to another son. Why, at the culmination of his hour of supreme honor, would she even entertain the thought of abandoning Jesus? After all, since she now has a son of higher status, she will share in his enormous gain of honor. Throughout his public life, Jesus has proved himself adept at the game of challenge-riposte, and now he receives a far greater grant of honor than any that he might have received during his lifetime. His brothers have not been depicted as men skilled in the art of augmenting their acquired honor. It appears, therefore, that the Fourth Evangelist envisions Jesus as much more successful in the public arena than his brothers. In light of his accomplishments, whether or not she had other biological sons, his mother’s loyalty to him makes eminent sense from a cultural point of view. Jesus, who delivered the goods for her at Cana, has been raised to an even higher honor-status. He has demonstrated himself a son who gives his mother tremendous pride. Hence, her place at the cross of her exalted son is a place of prestige. The question of Mary’s grief or lack thereof has been pursued by Lieu who, in her analysis of the woman in labor (John 16:21),53 compares the woman’s pain to the experience of the disciples, devastated by the death of Jesus. Lieu’s subsequent discussion of how this woman in labor anticipates the mother of Jesus at the cross is not entirely clear, however. On the one hand, she strongly states that the mother of Jesus knows no grief, and that the image of the “stabat mater dolorosa” is not supported by the Johannine crucifixion scene. On the other hand, she also states that Jesus’s mother does know grief, the mental54 anguish of loss 53

Judith M. Lieu, “The Mother of the Son in the Fourth Gospel,” JBL 117 (1998) 61-

54

In Mediterranean societies, where people are not only non-introspective but even

77.


at death. But, there would be no reason for his mother to grieve the loss of Jesus, because his death is a status-elevation scene. After the death of Jesus, she will retain—in the imagination of the author—a son of even higher honor. In such a scenario, Lieu’s comment that the mother of Jesus knows no grief is apt. In fact, the Johannine mother of Jesus would have more reason to rejoice than to grieve. IV. The Brothers of Jesus in John’s Status-Elevation Scene Brief mentions of scholarly views regarding the absence of the brothers during the crucifixion have already been made in Chapter Two. The fundamental question now is whether or not their absence is incriminating in any way. Under what circumstances, for example, might Jesus consign his mother to the care of the Beloved Disciple rather than to one of his own brothers? Or again, why would biological brothers show no signs of support for a dying brother? These questions may be approached by viewing the crucifixion account as the Fourth Evangelist has chosen to tell it, that is, as a status-elevation scene. Since it cannot be ascertained whether or not the author believes the mother of Jesus to be the biological mother of Jesus’s brothers, both angles should be considered in the analysis of how the brothers of Jesus function in this passage. How is the absence of the brothers of Jesus from the Johannine crucifixion scene to be interpreted? If the mother of Jesus is thought to be their biological mother, her commendation to the Beloved Disciple is quite unusual. Since the care of elderly parents by their biological children rather than by other relatives is a pervasive expectation in Mediterranean societies, one would expect them to provide for their mother’s care after the death of Jesus. Their absence and their failure to assume responsibility is difficult to explain unless, as has been argued, Jesus and his brothers are perceived to be enemies, while Jesus and his mother have remained insiders. By choosing to remain loyal to Jesus, his mother may have, in effect, become estranged from her other sons. Even if she is not their birth mother, Jesus’s commendation of her to the Beloved Disciple is still unusual. Since his brothers are Jesus’s closanti-introspective, anguish manifests itself in physical symptoms. Hence, Lieu ought to speak of “emotional” anguish rather than of “mental” anguish. Regarding the anti-introspective preference of Mediterranean persons, see Bruce J. Malina, “Is There a CircumMediterranean Person? Looking for Stereotypes,” BTB 22 (1992) 66-87.


est biological kin, one would expect him to request that the Beloved Disciple take her to the home of one of his brothers (cf. Prov 23:22). Why would Jesus issue a negative challenge to his brothers by failing to do so? The answer lies, at least in part, in the Fourth Gospel’s emphasis on belief in Jesus. Given the intimate emotional bond between Mediterranean mothers and sons evident in the relationship between Jesus and his mother, Jesus would never hand her into the care of unbelieving outsiders. In fact, the brothers’ unbelief (John 7:5) provides an important reason for Jesus to see that someone else assumes her care. According to John 1:13, belief in Jesus rather than human generation is what makes one a child of God. As has been noted, the mother of Jesus belongs to his fictive family of believers; she too is a child of the Father. Since believers and unbelievers belong to opposing realms (John 8:23-24), their destinies will differ. It is the Father’s will that all believers should have eternal life (John 3:16; 6:40). Unbelievers, however, will merit condemnation and the wrath of God (John 3:36). Jesus cannot hand his believing mother over into the realm that hates him (John 7:7; 15:18), because by doing so he would be sending her from the realm of light and life into the realm of darkness and death. In effect, he would be banishing his mother from his own presence. This woman, a believer and his mother, with whom he shares a deep emotional bond, must remain attached to him within the realm of believers. This necessity is poignantly signified by Jesus’s commendation of her to the one who best emulates the characteristics of believers, his Beloved Disciple. Other cultural factors may help to elucidate the absence of the brothers of Jesus from the crucifixion scene. It has been shown, for example, that Mediterranean patterns of socialization can lead to envy. If a man has more than one wife, competition between wives can lead to enmity between brothers who have the same father, but different mothers. If Jesus were his mother’s only child and his brothers were sons of other wives in a polygamous household, these factors could have shaped formative relationships between Jesus and his siblings. If the brothers were Joseph’s children from one or more previous marriages, competition between them and Jesus might have been encouraged by his mother’s preference for Jesus. Finally, if Jesus and his siblings were all biological children of Mary, she would have played a major role in the development of their relationships with one another. In addition to the role that socialization might have played, envy is


unavoidable and prevalent in societies where both tangible and intangible goods are perceived to be in limited supply. In reality, one brother’s achievements frequently lead to another’s envy, despite the belief that the honor earned by an individual reflects positively upon all members of the family. John’s Gospel ascribes notoriety to Jesus. Disciples gather around him and honor him with titles such as Messiah, Son of God, and King of Israel (John 1:41, 49). Shortly thereafter, he performs what is designated as his first sign in the town of Cana, thereby eliciting the belief of his disciples (John 2:11). As time passes, many believe because of the signs that Jesus performs (John 2:23), and the Galileans welcome him because they have witnessed these feats in Jerusalem (4:45). Furthermore, he feeds a multitude, which responds by declaring him a prophet and attempting to make him their king (John 6:14-15). Some officers associated with the chief priests and Pharisees are impressed by the teaching of Jesus (John 7:46), and many of the authorities actually believe in him but are afraid to confess it for fear of expulsion from the synagogue (12:42). After the resurrection of Lazarus, Jesus’s fame spreads. Crowds gather around him and acclaim him as King of Israel (John 12:13). And even his crucifixion raises him to a higher level of honor. Considering that envy could lead to fratricide (cf. Gen 4:1-16), Jesus’s growing popularity, which culminates in his glorious lifting up on the cross, might spark his brothers’ envy. On the basis of the Fourth Gospel’s portrayal of Jesus, then, it is hard to imagine that the author envisions the brothers of Jesus as more successful than Jesus. There is more cultural information that clarifies the absence of Jesus’s biological brothers from the crucifixion scene. In numerous regions of the Circum-Mediterranean region, quarrels over inheritance were, and continue to be, a root cause of brotherly conflict. This is not surprising in societies where people perceive goods to be limited. In first-century patriarchal families, sons, concerned for the future survival of their own families, would naturally compete for the affection of their father, who exercised control over the family’s possessions. The Fourth Evangelist does not indicate that Jesus and his brothers either vie for Joseph’s favor or fight over the family’s patrimony, but the commendation of the mother of Jesus to the Beloved Disciple suggests that the author believes Joseph deceased prior to the death of Jesus. In their cultural world, sons would receive their inheritance upon the death of their father. But in the case of Jesus, would his inheritance have amounted to much?


According to Mark 6:3, Jesus was a τέκτων, and according to Matt 13:55, the son of a τέκτων, a builder or carpenter skilled in the use of wood, stone, or even metal. Hence, Jesus would have belonged to the lower stratum of society which included both the relatively and absolutely poor, a construction worker who worked for a daily wage.55 The Fourth Evangelist makes no mention of Jesus’s trade, but assuming the Synoptic tradition, Jesus and his brothers would not have had a great deal of patrimony. The Fourth Gospel depicts Jesus as an itinerant preacher who wins disciples in Galilee (John 1:43-51), Samaria (4:3942), and Jerusalem (9:1-41). In a situation such as this, it would be reasonable for brothers to wonder whether the itinerant was squandering his inheritance, particularly if he had received the double portion allotted to the eldest son (Deut 21:17). The loss of that property, even if it was not of great value, might jeopardize the survival of future generations, a situation that would incur bitter conflict. On the basis of the narrative, little can be surmised about the Evangelist’s estimation of the resources and inheritance of the Johannine Jesus and his earthly family. The issues of paternal favoritism and inheritance clearly enter the picture on another level, however, specifically with respect to the relationship between Jesus, his heavenly Father, and the disciples. Jesus and his heavenly Father enjoy a relationship of deep intimacy (John 1:18; 10:15, 30, 38; 14:9-11; 17:25) and loyalty (5:20; 10:17; 14:31; 15:9-10; 17:24, 26). Moreover, Jesus is the only or unique son of the Father (John 1:14, 18; 3:16). In this regard, he has no rival. It is Jesus who receives all things from the Father (John 3:35; 13:3; 16:15; 17:7), which he then distributes in the name of the Father: grace and truth (1:17), judgment (5:22, 27), bread (6:11), living bread (6:51), eternal life (3:15-17, 36; 6:40; 10:28; 17:2), the Spirit (3:34), and living water (4:10). It is believers who will receive eternal life (John 3:36; 6:47) and the Spirit (7:39). Furthermore, they are the recipients of all that Jesus has heard from the Father (John 15:15; 16:15; 17:8, 14), and Jesus will do anything they request (15:7). In his concern for his disciples, Jesus promises to have the Father send the Holy Spirit into the world to act as their teacher (John 14:16-17, 26). The brothers of Jesus, however, are never designated children of the Father. In fact, their unbelief (John 7:5) disqualifies them. As a result, 55 Ekkehard W. Stegemann and Wolfgang Stegemann, The Jesus Movement: A Social History of Its First Century (trans. O. C. Dean, Jr.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999) 199.


they will have no share in the benefits that flow from Jesus’s relationship with the Father. They will receive nothing through Jesus, except perhaps condemnation (John 3:18). In their stead, the disciples will receive many advantages; they will even live in the Father’s house (John 14:2-3), a privilege normally accorded family members related by blood. On the narrative level, therefore, Jesus is the only and preferred son of the Father, who has access to all that his Father has to offer, while his brothers are not even designated sons of the Father. Jesus’s privileged relationship with the Father might earn him the envy of his brothers. In the Fourth Gospel, the mother of Jesus holds a unique position with respect to Jesus and the Father. She is never depicted as an unbeliever. Her attachment to Jesus even to his death and her affiliation with the Beloved Disciple clearly align her with the disciples. At Golgotha she clearly represents, as Brown has said, “a member of the ideal discipleship.”56 Furthermore, in John 7:37-39, Jesus promises that he will give the Spirit to believers when he is glorified. Later, having accomplished his mission, Jesus hands over his spirit (John 19:30). Since the Fourth Evangelist equates the spirit of Jesus with the Holy Spirit,57 the mother of Jesus and those assembled with her at the cross are the first to receive the Holy Spirit promised to believers. There is no doubt, therefore, that she is depicted as a believer, and that she too will receive the benefits that accrue believers. When all is said and done, since we are dealing with a status-elevation scene, one would expect the brothers of Jesus to be present with his mother at Golgotha. That way, all would share in Jesus’s elevated honor. Furthermore, since members of one’s biological family normally assume responsibility for and leadership in the process of burial, one would expect them to play a leading role here. Even in the case of status-degradation crucifixions, family members were, at least on rare occasions, successful in procuring the body of the crucified victim for burial.58 However, there is no indication that the brothers of Jesus make any attempt to provide this additional display of honor to their already 56 Raymond E. Brown, The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsemane to the Grave: A Commentary on the Passion Narratives in the Four Gospels (2 vols.; New York: Doubleday, 1994) 2. 1024. 57 Brown, Death of the Messiah, 2. 1082. 58 Kathleen E. Corley, “Women and the Crucifixion and Burial of Jesus,” Forum [n.s.] 1 (1998) 181-225, here 189.


exalted brother. It is a member of his fictive family, Joseph of Arimathea, who requests his body, and Nicodemus, another fictive kin, who assists Joseph with the kingly anointing and burial (John 19:38-42). The absence of the brothers of Jesus supports the conclusion that the Fourth Evangelist’s portrayal of relationships between Jesus and his brothers is characterized by conflict, and that the author may attribute the deep rift between them to envy or to the issue of inheritance. Moreover, as no longer members of his family, the biological now superseded by the fictive, the brothers have no place at the scene.

Conclusion Contrary to what many commentators have claimed, the positive relationship between Jesus and his mother is in no way diminished by his angry response to her request for help with the lack of wine. The tension between them stems from the fact that Jesus and she have chosen different paths to the resolution of the wine crisis. While both are motivated by the cultural value of honor, their respective approaches to the problem differ. His mother wishes to engage Jesus in local competitions for honor, perhaps even asking him to perform a sign. He, however, refuses to seek human honor. Nevertheless, like any honorable Mediterranean son, Jesus provides the assistance that his mother seeks. In somewhat similar fashion, Jesus refuses to comply with his brothers’ wish that he go to Jerusalem in order to impress people with the signs that he is said to perform. Just as he remedied the wine crisis in his own way, he now goes to Jerusalem on his own terms. This, however, is where any similarity in his relationship with his mother and that with his brothers ends. Jesus does not trust his unbelieving brothers and, therefore, will entrust neither himself (John 7:8-9) nor his mother (19:26-27) to them. Moreover, the Fourth Evangelist attributes the brothers’ hatred for Jesus (John 7:7) to their lack of belief (7:5), which is arguably tied to several other cultural factors—their socialization, envy, an inheritance feud, or the distinct possibility that his behavior shames the family. Using the model constructed and applied to John 2:1-12; 7:1-10, and 19:25-27, the conclusions are twofold. On the one hand, the Johannine Jesus and his mother are portrayed as a mother and son bound by an intimate emotional bond characteristic of many Mediterranean moth-


ers and sons. Furthermore, from the Fourth Gospel’s outset, Jesus and she interact as insiders. During his “hour” of glory, the mother of Jesus becomes even more firmly entrenched within the ranks of Jesus’s ingroup. On the other hand, while the biological brothers of Jesus do not initially dwell under the Johannine cloak of darkness (John 2:12), it is hostility, not uncommon among Mediterranean brothers, that ultimately dominates Jesus’s relationship with them (7:1-10). Moreover, from a cultural point of view, their absence from the crucifixion and burial scenes, as well as any subsequent scenes, in combination with Jesus’s commendation of his mother to the Beloved Disciple, suggests that their conflict with Jesus is not resolved in the Fourth Gospel. As a consequence, whether or not the author envisions the mother of Jesus as the biological mother of his brothers, her affiliation with the Beloved Disciple means that she, too, is depicted as an outsider with respect to Jesus’s brothers. To date, this study has primarily been concerned with how familial relationships are depicted within the narrative. It now remains to analyze how these relationships might have been realized in the lives of those who first heard this gospel. Therefore, Chapter Five introduces, in some detail, a sociolinguistic model derived from the work of Halliday59 and Malina.60 Subsequently, by superimposing this model— namely, anti-language—over the already established model of family relationships, it will be possible to speculate about how the various family relationships delineated in this chapter might reflect the experience of the Johannine group.

59

Michael A. K. Halliday, Language as Social Semiotic: The Social Interpretation of Language and Meaning (London: Edward Arnold, 1978). 60 Bruce J. Malina, The Gospel of John in Sociolinguistic Perspective (ed. Herman C. Waetjen; Colloquy 48; Berkeley: Center for Hermeneutical Studies in Hellenistic and Modern Culture, 1985).

CHAPTER 5

The Relationship between the Two Families and the Social Location of the Johannine Antisociety

Introduction This particular analysis of relationships between Jesus, his mother, and his brothers has issued in the conclusion that over the course of the Fourth Gospel Jesus and his mother become aligned squarely against his unbelieving brothers, who belong to the “world” that hates him (John 7:7). The plot gains substantial momentum when it is taken into consideration that those who hate Jesus and the Father will also hate the disciples in the future (John 15:18-19, 23-24; 17:14), whereas those who now keep Jesus’s word will later keep the disciples’ word (15:20). In other words, those who have aligned themselves with Jesus will align themselves with the disciples after his death and resurrection, while those who have alienated themselves from him will reject the disciples. The determining factor in the disciples’ future relationships, therefore, will be whether the people they encounter have accepted Jesus (John 15:1821; 16:3). Furthermore, Jesus’s commendation of his mother to the Beloved Disciple suggests that those such as the mother of Jesus, who are insiders vis-à-vis Jesus, will also be insiders with respect to his disciples. As has been noted, Jesus, his mother, and his disciples stand in clear opposition to groups such as the brothers of Jesus, and it appears that these nar-

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rative relationships are to continue into the future, with the disciples’ future relationships replicating Jesus’s present relationships. Finally, because the orientation of Jesus’s farewell words to his disciples points to a time beyond the story of Jesus, it is worth investigating how the familial relationships established within the narrative (what social-science analysts of the gospel have labeled Level Three) might have been operative in the lives of the Evangelist and those who first heard the Gospel of John. Before shifting the interpretive focus from Level Three to Level Four of the Johannine tradition in such a fashion, however, more critical justification of the move may be helpful.

From Narrative Time to the Evangelist’s Time I. The Hermeneutical Significance of Lapse of Time The Gospel of John was written within the context of a particular culture and time in order to instill within its hearers the belief that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of God (John 20:31). The Fourth Evangelist, like any author, was influenced by the events, customary beliefs, and social forms of the period. Furthermore, by the time that the gospel reached its final form, John was separated from the historical Jesus by approximately six decades. In the interim, the Jesus-tradition had continued to evolve orally and in writing, so that the uniqueness of this document is, in no small measure, the result of the creative impact of both culture and time. Accordingly, Franz Mussner proposes: A genuinely historical awareness cannot leave out of account its own present. John looks back into the past of the historical Jesus from his own present, that is to say, from the situation in theological development of the time at which he is writing. Its problems are mirrored in the way in which he envisages his historical subject. The encounter with the past and with tradition is prompted by the questions of the present. And so his hermeneutical situation is characterized by a peculiar merging of the two horizons of present and past.1 1 Franz Mussner, The Historical Jesus in the Gospel of St. John (Montreal: Palm, 1967) 15.

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For Mussner, lapse of time has hermeneutical significance, because one’s present situation influences how one understands and interprets past events and the lives of persons associated with those events. Xavier Léon-Dufour makes a similar point in stating that the Fourth Evangelist interprets past events for late first-century Christ-believers in such a way that John’s Gospel can be read at two levels. For one thing, while the author and those for whom the gospel was penned would have been able to hear this story in the light of the resurrection, Jesus’s contemporaries would not have possessed this capability. For another, the author describes events in the life of Jesus with the intention of assisting others to understand their present reality.2 Hence, the influence of the resurrection, in combination with the Evangelist’s interpretation of the tradition, generated new ideas that were then integrated into the Fourth Gospel. For critics such as Mussner and Léon-Dufour, therefore, it is conceivable that embedded within the Gospel of John are traces of key issues, concerns, and questions about the meaning of Jesus’ words and deeds, with which its author and first hearers grappled in order to understand and to express who Jesus was. II. Literary Criticism and Historical Inquiry Contemporary scholarship, and literary criticism in particular, may provide further validation for moving the discussion to the real world of the intended audience. According to R. Alan Culpepper, literary and historical critical approaches to biblical interpretation are quite distinct: The implicit purpose of the gospel narrative is to alter irrevocably the reader’s perception of the real world. The narrative world of the gospel is therefore neither a window on the ministry of Jesus nor a window on the history of the Johannine community. Primarily, at least, it is the literary creation of the evangelist, which is crafted with the purpose of leading readers to see the world as the evangelist sees it so that in reading the gospel they will be forced to test their perceptions and beliefs about the real world against the evangelist’s perspective they have encountered in the gospel.3 2

Xavier Léon-Dufour, The Gospels and the Jesus of History (ed. and trans. John McHugh; London: Collins, 1968) 86-93. 3 R. Alan Culpepper, Anatomy of the Fourth Gospel: A Study in Literary Design (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983) 4-5.


Or again: “Questions of historicity need not enter the discussion because the literary critic is concerned with the gospel and its meaning rather than with Jesus and the Johannine community.”4 Despite Culpepper’s firm distinction between the narrative world of the Fourth Gospel and the real world of its readers, his work does, in fact, provide a context where one can make the transition from the narrative world to the world of those who first heard the Gospel of John. Specifically, in his discussion of the implied reader, Culpepper rules out traditional options about the purpose of John’s Gospel for its actual historical or intended audience which Culpepper calls the Johannine community. In so doing, he comes close to building a bridge between the narrative world and the real world of the intended audience, thereby providing means for applying literary study to the Fourth Gospel’s real life setting. Mark Stibbe does not separate literary and historical studies as rigorously as Culpepper. In his attempt to combine literary and historical methodologies in “a multidisciplinary narrative methodology,”5 Stibbe discusses literary and theological questions, structuralism and historical criticism, literary and sociological inquiry, and literary and historical methods, and uses them in his analysis of John 18-19. His thesis is that aspects of the real world of the Fourth Evangelist and those who first heard this gospel are already implicit in the narrative, and that an approach to the text which integrates literary and historical methodologies can shed light on the real life story of those for whom the Fourth Gospel was written. Stibbe’s mixing of methodologies is problematic for those who consider literary and historical studies distinct forms of inquiry. Even so, his approach points out the validity of asking whether dynamics within the text, such as the conflict-ridden relationship between Jesus and his biological brothers, might have had some significance for the Johannine group. Wayne Meeks’s investigation of the literary and social function of the ascent and descent motif in the Fourth Gospel6 posits a close relationship between the Johannine group’s historical experience and the linCulpepper, Anatomy, 11. Mark W. G. Stibbe, John as Storyteller: Narrative Criticism and the Fourth Gospel (ed. G. N. Stanton; SNTSMS 73; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992) 1. 6 Wayne A. Meeks, “The Man from Heaven in Johannine Sectarianism,” JBL 91 (1972) 44-72. 4 5


guistic expression of that experience. The motif, he points out, occurs in the context of the inability of people such as Nicodemus and the ᾿Ιουδαῖοι to comprehend Jesus, and it draws a distinction between the disciples and the ᾿Ιουδαῖοι, who are later identified as the world. Furthermore, the ᾿Ιουδαῖοι are from below, while the disciples are from above because they have been chosen by God out of the world that hates Jesus and the Father. The entire Fourth Gospel, claims Meeks, reveals a gradual alienation of Jesus from the ᾿Ιουδαῖοι and the progressive enlightenment of a small number of characters, the disciples. Meeks concludes that this recurring theme of ascent and descent implies that the Fourth Gospel vindicates a group that sees itself as attached to Christ but alienated from its world. While the ᾿Ιουδαῖοι and the disciples do indeed become progressively more alienated, Meeks’s conclusions are perhaps overly confident in view of his discussion of the ascent and descent motif alone, because they are matched to a reconstruction of aspects of the experience of the Johannine community, which he derives from other parts of the Fourth Gospel. Despite this weakness, Meeks’s work certainly demonstrates that there is no single way to read the Fourth Gospel, and that there have been, for quite some time, questions in the scholarship about how to examine the narrative from a social-scientific point of view. III. A Two-Storey Story Taken together, the works of Mussner, Léon-Dufour, Culpepper, Stibbe, and Meeks suggest that the Fourth Evangelist has produced a narrative which is, in significant measure, an attempt to make sense of the lived reality of those for whom it was written. Additionally, their studies imply that there is a relationship between the Johannine author and the gospel’s intended audience. In John’s Gospel, the narrative clearly points beyond itself to a distinct group of people who are invited to persevere in their faith, or perhaps, to become more publicly associated with the followers of Jesus.7 The Evangelist, therefore, anticipates people who will align themselves with Jesus and his disciples by means of their belief that Jesus is the Messiah and Son of God (John 20:31). A 7 Craig S. Keener, The Gospel of John: A Commentary (2 vols.; Peabody: Hendrickson, 2003) 2. 1213.


similar invitation to belief occurs during one of the appearances of the resurrected Jesus to his disciples. In this instance, Jesus informs Thomas that those who have not seen and yet believe are blessed (John 20:29c). The beatitude implies that the Fourth Gospel is directed to people who have not seen Jesus, and that it deals with the second and probably third-generation challenge of believing in someone whom they have never seen. The critical issue of belief is further addressed by stories about the Beloved Disciple, whose witness lends authority to the testimony of the Fourth Gospel. It is emphasized that this disciple saw Jesus’s glory and believed in him and, above all, that the testimony of the Beloved Disciple is true (John 19:35; 21:24). Thus, those who have never seen Jesus are challenged to accept the validity and authority of this disciple’s testimony so that they too can believe in Jesus. Since references to later Christ-believers appear to be woven into the fabric of the Johannine narrative, the Fourth Gospel, as has been noted, has been referred to as a two-storey story.8 To quote Andrew Lincoln: It [the narrative] clearly provides a blending of two temporal perspectives: the narrative is a witness to the significance of certain past events in the history of Jesus; but this witness is shaped by the events and experiences of the recent and immediate past of the implied author and readers, and therefore the narrative is also a witness to these latter events. This two-level nature of the witness means that the written text is closer to the latter history. This history of the author and readers is, then, its most immediate extratextual reference.9 The second storey of this two-storey story is discernible in the Fourth Gospel’s “we” language which points to a group of people who endorse the narrator’s point of view. In these confessional statements, Jesus’s story is told from the perspective of both the narrator and the implied reader, so that two temporal perspectives merge. John 1:14, which announces, “we have seen his glory,” is often thought to represent the testimony of the Fourth Evangelist and a col8

Andrew T. Lincoln, “Trials, Plots, and the Narrative of the Fourth Gospel,” JSNT 56 (1994) 3-30, here 19. 9 Andrew T. Lincoln, Truth on Trial: The Lawsuit Motif in the Fourth Gospel (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2000) 264.


lective of like-minded believers. Moreover, it is believed that this group understood itself as heir to a tradition that stemmed from the historical Jesus.10 In his analysis of the statement, Rudolf Bultmann not only includes believing eyewitnesses among the community of those who claim to have seen the glory of Jesus, but also argues that the statement is spoken by the Evangelist on behalf of all believers.11 In his view, the special sight of Jesus’s contemporaries has been transmitted to succeeding generations of Christ-followers. If this insight is sound, the “we” for whom the narrator speaks represents not only the apostolic eyewitnesses but also the community represented by the narrator. Consider also John 3:11, where Jesus switches from the first-person singular to the first-person plural pronoun: “Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony.” The secondary literature offers a variety of explanations for the presence of the plural subject. It has been proposed that the term we may have already existed in the source behind this verse and that the author retains it in order to preserve an atmosphere of mystery with regard to Jesus’s identity as the Revealer.12 Alternatively, Nicodemus’s use of “we” in John 3:2 has been interpreted as arrogance on his part, and Jesus’s reference to “we” in John 3:11 is consequently viewed as an imitation of Nicodemus’s presumptuous claim.13 A third position holds that the narrator, while serving as the authoritative interpreter of the words of Jesus, does not always function as an observer,14 but still may be included among those who testify in John 3:11. As a fourth possibility, Jesus speaks in John 3:11 both for himself and proleptically on behalf of his disciples,15 who will continue his mission after his death. C. K. Barrett adds here that the perspective of the plural pro10

Raymond E. Brown, The Community of the Beloved Disciple: The Life, Loves, and Hates of an Individual Church in New Testament Times (New York: Paulist Press, 1979) 32. 11 Rudolf Bultmann, The Gospel of John: A Commentary (trans. George R. BeasleyMurray; Philadelphia: Westminster; Oxford: Blackwell, 1971) 69-70. 12 Bultmann, John, 146. 13 Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John (2 vols.; AB 29-29A; New York: Doubleday, 1966-70) 1. 132. 14 Culpepper, Anatomy, 16, 21. 15 C. K. Barrett, The Gospel of John and Judaism (London: SPCK, 1970) 38-39; Craig R. Koester, Symbolism in the Fourth Gospel: Meaning, Mystery, Community (2d ed; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003) 12, 44.


noun in John 3:11 does not reflect the actual ministry of Jesus, but the later dialogue between the Johannines and the synagogue. The variety of interpretations leaves open the possibility that the plural subject in this verse has representative value at Level Four of the Johannine tradition. Andrew Lincoln maintains there are times when the language of the major Johannine characters, particularly Jesus, and the language of the narrator correspond (John 3:11-21; 3:31-36).16 He argues that Jesus’s words represent the testimony of a wider group, the Johannines. In sum, the Fourth Gospel’s “we” often bespeaks a group that supports the narrator’s point of view; this group claims to have witnessed Jesus’s glory (John 1:14), a witness which they maintain has been rejected by others (3:11). A third and final example of the Evangelist’s usage of confessional language derives from the chapter commonly referred to as the gospel’s epilogue: “This is the disciple who is bearing witness to these things, and who has written these things; and we know that his testimony is true” (John 21:24). For many critics, these words represent the approval of the testimony of the Beloved Disciple by the Johannine group.17 More specifically, John 21:24 is said to represent the community’s endorsement of the narrator’s testimony, which is presented as the testimony of the Beloved Disciple.18 In short, there is considerable scholarly agreement that the second storey of the two-storey story is reflected in the Fourth Gospel’s confessional language. Before shifting to a consideration of how sociolinguistics can justify the move from Level Three to Level Four of Johannine tradition, a motif which has enjoyed center stage in the Johannine two-storey story should be briefly reviewed. This is the issue of expulsion from the synagogue, mentioned three times in the Fourth Gospel (John 9:22; 12:42; 16:1-4). The first reference specifies the already established agreement of the ᾿Ιουδαῖοι to expel those who confess Jesus as the Christ from the assembly (John 9:22), while the second refers to authorities who believe in Lincoln, Truth on Trial, 66. Oscar Cullmann, The Johannine Circle (trans. John Bowden; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1975); Beverly Roberts Gaventa, “The Archive of Excess: John 21 and the Problem of Narrative Closure,” in Exploring the Gospel of John: In Honor of D. Moody Smith (ed. R. Alan Culpepper and C. Clifton Black; Lousiville: Westminster John Knox, 1996) 240-54, here 244. 18 Lincoln, Truth on Trial, 143, 157. 16 17


Jesus, but who fear that confession will mean separation from the synagogue (12:42). Both statements are presented as integral to the story time of Jesus. The third reference (John 16:1-4), however, concerns the future expulsion of disciples from the synagogues. Thus, two temporal perspectives are juxtaposed, suggesting that the struggle of the implied readers has been telescoped into the story of Jesus. The trend-setting work of J. Louis Martyn19 has led many contemporary scholars to espouse the view that these ἀποσυνάγωγος statements reflect the lived reality of the Johannine group. Martyn proposes a direct connection between the Johannine references to expulsion and the reformulation of the Birkat ha-minim, which was composed and introduced into the synagogues after the fall of Jerusalem (80-90 C.E.).20 Some critics are convinced by Martyn’s arguments that some members of the Johannine group who could no longer worship in the synagogues would perceive the Pharisees in a manner consistent with the Johannine presentation of the Judeans. However, several scholars have challenged the notion of a direct connection between the reformulated prayer and Johannine references to expulsion. Discussion of whether the introduction of the “Birkat ha-minim” could have had a negative impact on the Johannines is usually based upon the Genizah version of the text: “For the apostates let there be no hope. And let the arrogant government be speedily uprooted in our days. Let the notsrim and the minim be destroyed in a moment. And let them be blotted out of the Book of Life and not be inscribed together with the righteous. Blessed art thou, O Lord, who humblest the arrogant.”21 Inclusion of the term “notsrim” in Samuel the Small’s revised version has been rejected by scholars who contend that this designation, which refers to Nazarenes or Christians, was a later addition.22 19 J. Louis Martyn, History and Theology in the Fourth Gospel (2d ed.; Nashville: Abingdon, 1979). 20 John Painter, “John 9 and the Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel,” JSNT 28 (1986) 31-61, here 39. 21 R. Kimelman, “Birkhat Ha-Minim and the Lack of Evidence for an Anti-Christian Jewish Prayer in Late Antiquity,” in Jewish and Christian Self-Definition. Volume 2: Aspects of Judaism in the Graeco-Roman Period (ed. E. P. Sanders, A. I. Baumgarten and Alan Mendelson; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981) 226-44, here 226. 22 S. T. Katz, “Issues in the Separation of Judaism and Christianity after 70 C.E.: A Reconsideration,” JBL 103 (1984) 43-76, here 67; P. W. van der Horst, “The Birkhat haminim in Recent Research,” ExpTim 105 (1993-94) 363-68, here 367.


They concur, however, that the term minim, meaning “heretic,” was most likely part of the original text of the twelfth benediction of the “‘Amidah,” and that Christ-believers would be included in this expression. If this is the case, it is possible to imagine that some Johannines may have encountered a form of the revised benediction, and that fear of reciting it could have led to separation from the synagogue(s). Unfortunately, it cannot be proved that this was so. There are some critics who completely reject the idea that John 9:22, 12:42, and 16:2 reflect an historical situation. Margaret Davies, for one, maintains that the Evangelist extrapolated from scripture in order to drive home the point that Christ-believers ought to have nothing to do with Judean society.23 And Reuven Kimelman argues that the Johannine references to synagogue expulsion might have been concocted to persuade the Johannines to stay away from the synagogues by claiming that they would be greeted with hostility.24 While there is reason to doubt that the reformulated twelfth benediction played a direct role in the Johannine conflict with the synagogue, expulsions were arguably a real part of their experience. The opposition between the Johannines and the Judeans is so intense and pervasive in the Fourth Gospel that it is hard to deny any basis in reality for its references to expulsion from the synagogue. IV. Conclusion The preceding review of issues, such as the hermeneutical significance of the lapse of time, literary criticism and historical inquiry, the meaning of the Fourth Gospel’s confessional language, and the issue of separation from the synagogue suggests that both the story of Jesus and the lived realities of the Evangelist and the Johannine group are woven into the text. While the issue of synagogue expulsion is not directly related to the study at hand, it nevertheless constitutes an important extra-textual historical issue which concerned the Fourth Evangelist. More pertinent to the present investigation of the family of Jesus is the rejection of the Fourth Gospel’s assertion that Jesus is the Messiah (John 3:11; 9:22) and the Son of God (11:27; 20:31). Might the textual con23 Margaret Davies, Rhetoric and Reference in the Fourth Gospel (JSNTSup 69; Sheffield: JSOT, 1992) 299. 24 Kimelman, “Lack of Evidence,” 234-35.


flict between Jesus and his unbelieving brothers reflect another extratextual issue pertinent to the author and the gospel’s implied audience? Is it possible, for example, that this brotherly conflict is somehow related to the statement that some people reject the claim that the Fourth Gospel’s testimony is valid (John 3:11)? In the attempt to move from Level Three to Level Four, the family model developed is less helpful here, especially as the Johannine group is part of Jesus’s family only in a fictive sense. But it is possible to explore the way in which certain aspects of Level Three (the language used by the author to describe relationships between Jesus and members of his family) may reflect realities at Level Four, through the introduction of an additional model. Helpful to this question is a sociolinguistic model dealing with what has been called anti-language, as it is developed and used by an “anti-society.” The work of two critics is especially important here: Michael Halliday,25 who delineates the features of anti-language; and Bruce Malina,26 who applies Halliday’s theory to the Gospel of John. In essence, the application of theories of anti-language to the text will give insight into some of the issues that concern the Johannine group.

Halliday and Malina on Language and Anti-Language I. The Nature of Language The British linguist Michael Halliday describes language as a social semiotic, that is, a system of information embedded within the broader cultural matrix.27 Halliday begins his study of language by focusing upon what happens between speaking persons, that is, the “inter-organism” event, which he calls “languaging.” While he acknowledges that one can also study language with respect to the internal make-up of an individual, he points out that such an “intra-organism” focus does not account for the fact that language is a social behavior in which social 25

Michael A. K. Halliday, Language as Social Semiotic: The Social Interpretation of Language and Meaning (London: Edward Arnold, 1978) 164-82. 26 Bruce J. Malina, The Gospel of John in Sociolinguistic Perspective (ed. Herman J. Waetjen; Colloquy 48; Berkeley: Center for Hermeneutical Studies, 1985). 27 Halliday, Social Semiotic, 10-34 passim.


beings engage. In other words, Halliday’s is a functional view of language. He focuses upon how language expresses what a social being can do by turning language into what that individual means. What one means is then encoded into what one says, that is, into wordings, which are subsequently recoded into sounds or spellings. Language, Halliday asserts, is a meaning potential. It is the ability to mean in a given situation or social context that is generated by the culture. According to Halliday, language is social in nature because one acquires it as one exchanges meanings with others. As children learn languages, they are also cultivating images of the surrounding social realities that are indivisible from the semantic systems in which the languages are encoded. Moreover, since there is a social reality encoded in a language, that language allows people to enact the social structure as they affirm their own statuses and roles, and transmit values and knowledge.28 Words, therefore, embody a meaning derived, not from the words themselves, but from a social system. Mary Douglas concurs: “If we ask of any form of communication the simple question what is being communicated the answer is: information from the social system. The exchanges which are being communicated constitute the social system.”29 It follows, then, that the study of a language and the role it plays in communication can help one better understand the social system in which the language in question is embedded. II. The Social System As sociologists define it, a system is a whole which is composed of transacting parts.30 Talcott Parsons teaches that social systems are founded upon relationships, and each person in a society is an actor playing a role within this system of relationships. Within the complete system of social action, he argues, there are three components: a social system, the personality systems of the interacting persons, and the cultural system which is built into their actions. He defines the first component: “[A] social system consists in a plurality of individual actors Halliday, Social Semiotic, 1-2. Mary Douglas, “Do Dogs Laugh? A Cross-Cultural Approach to Body Symbolism,” Journal of Psychosomatic Research 15 (1971) 387-90, here 389. 30 Magaly Queralt, The Social Environment and Human Behavior: A Diversity Perspective (Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 1996) 19. 28 29


interacting with each other in a situation which has at least a physical or environmental aspect, actors who are motivated in terms of a tendency to the ‘optimization of gratification’ and whose relations to their situations, including each other, is defined and mediated in terms of a system of culturally structured and shared symbols.”31 A social system, which includes human collectives, such as the family and other small groups, as well as larger social institutions, provides a meaningful way for people to interact, and involves accepted ways of interpreting the world, accepted ways of doing things, and accepted ways of being a person. Hence, at the societal level, a social system refers to the total social structure with all of its social usages.32 However, while the structure of a social system consists of the patterns of relationships among the system’s elements, this does not mean that social systems are based upon static relationships. As Charlotte Seymour-Smith explains: “A social system may thus be conceived of as a set of ordered relations within or between human groups or communities which tends to perpetuate itself over time. The notion of social system is however not a static one, but implies the possibility that social systems also adapt and evolve over time as a response to internal or external changes or contradictions.”33 In other words, the relationships among individuals or groups that constitute the social structure may or may not endure for a long period of time. Prolonged endurance of relationships may only be the case with non-literate societies.34 Since the meaning of language derives from a social system, the language of the Gospel of John can best be understood when interpreted within the framework of the social system in which the Evangelist was embedded. Broadly speaking, this refers to first-century Mediterranean, Hellenistic Judea. In order to apply meaning to the gospel’s language in a way that respects this reality, the social system that underlies the gospel must be interpreted by bringing to the reading a variety of scenarios, which are rooted in the social system behind the document. The Fourth Gospel has been described as a text written in an anti-language Talcott Parsons, The Social System (rev. ed.; London: Routledge, 1991) 5-6. Robert K. Merton, “Prevailing Postulates in Functional Analysis,” in Readings in Contemporary Sociological Theory (ed. Donald McQuarie; Englewood Cliffs: Prentice Hall, 1995) 14-22, here 14. 33 Charlotte Seymour-Smith, ed., “Social System,” in Dictionary of Anthropology (Boston: G. K. Hall, 1986) 262. 34 Merton, “Prevailing Postulates,” 16. 31 32


which derives from an anti-social group and reflects their experience of Jesus and of their opponents in alternate reality.35 It is therefore important to delineate the meaning of anti-language and its relationship to the overarching social system of meaning which the Johannines and Judean society shared. III. What is an Anti-Language? Die in your own good time, you grahzny starry forella. All I desire is like share and share alike. Me and my droogs have a malenky dollop of nichevo. Jobless, ah yes. Not one lomtick of deng in our empty carmans. You and yours have built the grahzny world we like live in. So now you pay. Yes, yes, pay. Ah—Ludwig van that I love. Lovely lovely and all for me. With that I start.36 The above citation derives from A Clockwork Orange, by author and linguist Anthony Burgess. The story is set in a future London. The voice is that of Alex, the leader of four young hoodlums who spend their nights fighting, stealing, breaking into houses, and raping. In this scene, they have invaded the home of an elderly woman. She resists, and Alex hits her on the head with a bust of Beethoven that he intends to steal. The language spoken by Alex and his gang is known as Nadsat and is Burgess’s creative fusion of British slang and Russian, not to mention Malay, German, French, Arabic, and Gypsy. Nadsat creates a chasm— both literally and philosophically—placing Alex and his friends on one side, and people such as their parents, the government, and the police, all of whom misunderstand it, on the other side. The language of the youths, loaded with irony, dark humor, repetition, metaphor, and word play, provides an apt starting-point for an analysis of anti-language. One of the major arenas for better understanding an anti-language and how it functions is prominent in A Clockwork Orange, namely, criminal subcultures and their languages. Their “anti-languages” are, at times, vastly different from those of the legitimate societies within which they operate. Take, for example, what is known of the language 35

Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh, Social-Science Commentary on the Gospel of John (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998) 9. 36 Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange: A Play with Music Based on his Novella of the Same Name (London: Hutchinson, 1987) 10.


of seventeenth- and eighteen-century British vagabonds—“canting” or “cant.” Maurizio Gotti refers to canting as an anti-language typical of anti-societies comprised of beggars and thieves who employ this language to denote the essential aspects of their lives, such as the tools of their various activities, the techniques that they employ, the various subgroups of the underworld, and the names used to identify various individuals.37 The anti-languages of what is commonly called the underworld, therefore, are marginal languages employed by marginal peoples to express their membership in counter-cultural groups, to bond with one another, and to exclude outsiders.38 In this sense, anti-language is an instrument of solidarity, which not only forms a boundary around the group but also establishes a bond among its members. David Maurer, a leading expert in criminal argot, argues that the formation and use of secret or semi-secret languages is motivated by the desire of criminals forming a counter-organization to protect themselves from legitimate society, which is organized against them. The language that criminals speak, he contends, is a significant factor in the origin and survival of criminal groups, and serves to promote group solidarity among their members.39 Moreover, these anti-languages or specialized argots are spoken almost exclusively within the in-group and reflect the group’s way of life; contrary to popular belief, however, except in very limited cases, they are not created to deceive victims or to fool the authorities. As Michael Halliday—who coined the term “anti-language”—and Maurer point out, secrecy is a very minor motive for the development of criminal languages. While it is true that anti-languages are employed for closed communication, it does not follow that the need for secrecy is a primary factor that gives rise to them in the first place. Secrecy is a feature rather than a determinant of anti-languages and is not the major cause of their existence.40 Maurizio Gotti, The Language of Thieves and Vagabonds: 17th and 18 h Century Canting Lexicography in England (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 1999) 1, 16. 38 Peter Burke, “Introduction,” in Languages and Jargons: Contributions to a Social History of Language (ed. Peter Burke and Roy Porter; Cambridge: Polity, 1995) 1-21, esp. 14-15. 39 David W. Maurer, The Language of the Underworld (ed. Allan W. Futrell and Charles B. Wordell; Lexington: The University Press of Kentucky, 1981) 260-61. 40 Michael A. K. Halliday, “Anti-Languages,” American Anthropologist 78 (1976) 57084, here 572. 37


Halliday states that an anti-language is generated by an anti-society, a group established within another society as a conscious alternative to it.41 Like any other language, an anti-language functions to express and maintain the social system that undergirds it. Anti-language is no one’s mother tongue, but exists solely in the context of re-socialization, constituting a type of protest against the society to which the anti-society stands opposed. Members learn this “back talk”42 as part of their socialization into the anti-society. An anti-language represents a mode of resistance which can attain hostile and even destructive proportions. According to Maurer, criminal subcultures tend to tighten their internal structure in response to pressure from the dominant culture or from competing subcultures, and the special languages they develop reflect their hostility toward opposing groups.43 An anti-language, therefore, is a forceful means for members of the anti-society to express their embeddedness in the group, to articulate those issues of central concern to them, and to oppose and even invert prevailing norms.44 In sum, because these groups are antithetical to the norm society, their language expresses a social and conceptual reality, which differs from that of the norm society. In his quest to understand how anti-language can contribute to understanding the relationship between language and social structure, Halliday examines several anti-societies, such as the counter-culture of vagabonds in Elizabethan England, an anti-society of modern Calcutta, and the inmates of Polish prisons and reform schools. In the process, he delineates several characteristics of anti-languages. First and foremost, an anti-language is a language that has been re-lexicalized; new words are created to replace old words.45 This re-lexicalization, however, tends to be partial rather than total, in that not all of the words in the dominant society’s language possess equivalents in the language of the anti-society. English underworld groups, for example, only create words for those that pertain to aspects of their everyday-life, such as the names and Halliday, Social Semiotic, 164. John E. Hurtgen, Anti-Language in the Apocalypse of John (Lewiston: Mellen, 1993) 52. 43 Maurer, Language of the Underworld, 386. 44 Gilbert L. Encinas, Prison Argot: A Sociolinguistic and Lexicographic Study (Lanham: University Press of America, 2001) 54; Judith T. Irvine, “When Talk Isn’t Cheap: Language and Political Economy,” American Ethnologist 16 (1989) 248-67, here 253. 45 Halliday, “Anti-Languages,” 571. 41

42


expressions referring to various members of criminal groups, the parts of their bodies, their clothing, money, food and drink, and crime and punishment.46 These new words pertain primarily to the anti-reality. Although new words are created, the English anti-languages shaped by anti-establishment groups, from Elizabethan vagabonds to today’s criminal subcultures, follow the same general rules of grammar as members of respectable English society. Hence, while members of anti-societies, such as criminals, tend to form their own idioms, the structure of their language does not deviate significantly from that of the larger society.47 Second, an anti-language is language that is not only re-lexicalized but also over-lexicalized; several terms or expressions communicate basically synonymous meanings.48 Over-lexicalization is common in the anti-languages of criminal subcultures, because words that become widely used by outsiders are replaced with new words known only by in-group members. In some cases, the result is multiple words for a single person, place, thing, or state. For example, American prison inmates employ numerous terms for “prison,” among which are included: big house, can, cannery, clink, coop, Disneyland, hen pen, iron house, joint, pen, poogie, campus, and slammer.49 To cite another example, in the languages employed by criminal subcultures, the state of intoxication has multiple synonyms, the following list of which is not exhaustive: blind, boiled, elevated, full, gassed, ginned, gowed up, high, lit, lush, oiled, paralyzed, pie-eyed, powdered up, rum dum, slopped up, to have had a snootful, soused, steamed up, stewed, stiff, tanked, and tanked up.50 Finally, the West Bengali criminal groups studied by Mallik have many terms for gambling: “andar-baµr,” “abayat,” “aµkar,” “juyaµ,” “kad,” “kanjirie,” “kaµtn \ i,” “kaµt,” “kaµtaµ,” and “gaddar.”51 Gotti, Thieves and Vagabonds, 117. Maurer, Language of the Underworld, 40. 48 Halliday, “Anti-Languages,” 571; Bhaktiprasad Mallik (Language of the Underworld of West Bengal [Calcutta Sanskrit College Research Series 77; Calcutta: Sanskrit College, 1972] here 22-24) found that over-lexicalization was also true of the language of the underworld of West Bengal. 49 William K. Bentley and James M. Corbett, Prison Slang: Words and Expressions Depicting Life Behind Bars (Jefferson: McFarland, 1992) 3-5. 50 Godfrey Irwin, ed., American Tramp and Underworld Slang: Words and Phrases Used by Hoboes, Tramps, Migratory Workers, and Those on the Fringes of Society: with a Number of Tramp Songs (New York: Sears, 1971) 30-188. 51 Bhakti P. Mallik, Dictionary of the Underworld Argot: West Bengal and the Bhoijpuri and Magahi Areas of Bihar (Calcutta: Praci Bhasha Vijnan, 1976) 2-47. 46 47


In Halliday’s theory, language has three major functions: the ideational (the content), the interpersonal (the expression of the speaker’s attitudes towards what s/he is saying, and towards the hearer), and the textual (making the utterance appropriate to the context in which it occurs).52 Over-lexicalization develops because an anti-society tends to place less emphasis upon the ideational mode of language and more upon the interpersonal and textual modes of language than does the dominant society in which it is embedded. In anti-societies, therefore, what one says—ideational—takes a back seat to how one speaks— textual—and with whom one speaks—interpersonal.53 The two functions that take center stage have to do with the self and how it is expressed, whereas the ideational has to do with the world external to the individual. Furthermore, while the two societies employ the same grammar (as has been noted), the vocabulary of the anti-society will differ in areas pertaining to its central concerns, and thereby serve to separate it sharply from the established society. Hence, as Halliday points out, the lexical features of a language are more affected in the development of an anti-language than are the syntactical features.54 Third, anti-languages are highly metaphorical. Both Encinas and Mallik note that metaphor is a striking feature of the languages employed by criminal groups.55 Halliday maintains that anti-languages are metaphorical entities replete with metaphorical modes of expression.56 Malina adds that when one compares an anti-language with the linguistic system of the culture from which it has originated, one can see how intrinsic metaphor is to an anti-language.57 This emphasis upon the metaphorical is especially evident in how the group talks about its special activities and in its attitudes toward the normative society. West Bengali criminals, for example, employ a variety of metaphors for the term girl: “caµmar” (white), “jihili” (membrane), “t\æpaµri” (gooseberry), “daµti\ bhaµti” (firm and lean), “bhaµti” (prostitute), “taµnuk” (body), “taµr” (that which is palatable), “bocaµ” (flat-nosed), “maµkri” (ear-ring), “maµl” Halliday, “Anti-Languages,” 571-72. Bruce J. Malina, “John’s: The Maverick Christian Group: The Evidence of Sociolinguistics,” BTB 24 (1994) 167-84, here 174. 54 Also William Schniedewind, “Qumran Hebrew as an Anti-Language,” JBL 118 (1999) 235-52, here 239. 55 Encinas, Prison Argot, 59-60. 56 Halliday, “Anti-Languages,” 578-79. 57 Malina, “Maverick Christian Group,” 178. 52 53


(goods), “misri” (sugar-candy), and “laµth \ im” (a playing top).58 And as will be seen in due course, the use of metaphor permeates the language of the Gospel of John. IV. Anti-Language and the Fourth Gospel While the vocabulary and syntax of the Fourth Gospel are simpler than the Synoptic Gospels, even the best translators have difficulty sorting out what John meant.59 David Rensberger notes the opaque but alluring quality of John’s language: John goes far beyond midrash and prooftexting to argue from the Christians’ own experience of God, and does so, moreover, in a dense and original symbolic language. If this language serves to make the text all but opaque to the newcomer or the outsider who does not know or admit its central secret, it also attracts and draws in by its very mysteriousness and its convoluted self-containment. The language of John is a kind of enchanting barrier, an irresistible obstacle that advertises a treasure within and yet seems designed to make the treasure all but inaccessible.60 A similar point is articulated by Meeks: The unbiased reader feels quite sympathetic with poor Nicodemus and the “believing” Jews with whom, it seems, Jesus is playing some kind of language-game whose rules neither they nor we could possibly know. What we are up against is the self-referring quality of the whole gospel, the closed system of metaphors, which confronts the reader in a fashion somewhat like the way a Semitist once explained to me how to learn Aramaic: “Once you know all the Semitic languages,” he said, “learning any one of them is easy.”61 But whence the opaque quality of John’s language? Mallik, West Bengal, 22. Malina and Rohrbaugh, Commentary on John, 4. 60 David Rensberger, Johannine Faith and Liberating Community (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1988) 137. 61 Meeks, “Man from Heaven,” 68. 58 59


Against those who have argued that John’s use of ambiguity, bi-level meaning, and breaks in chronological sequence are evidence of either Aramaic influence or simple Hellenistic Greek, Frank Thielman contends that the Fourth Evangelist’s peculiar grammar and unusual compositional style complement each other.62 The gospel’s redundancies, many variations, and seemingly contradictory statements, he maintains, are features of the author’s grammatical and compositional style which reflect John’s desire to underscore the mysterious and profound nature of the subject. If Thielman is correct, the opacity of John’s language is not accidental. In fact, it has been suggested by Meeks that the language of the Fourth Gospel would be best understood by those who are very familiar with the entire text, or by those acquainted with its symbolism and themes, because they belong to a group that constantly used this kind of language.63 While this insight helps to explain why the language of the Fourth Gospel is so difficult to translate, it is Bruce Malina’s work that best unravels some of the mystery of John’s language. Malina, building upon the sociolinguistic theory of Michael Halliday, sets out to account for the uniqueness of the Fourth Gospel as compared to the Synoptic Gospels. He demonstrates that John’s Gospel exhibits the characteristic features of anti-language enumerated by Halliday, particularly re-lexicalization and over-lexicalization.64 He also delineates John’s emphasis on the components of language, specifically the textual (linguistic form) and the interpersonal (of whom and to whom people speak). The interpersonal function of language is underscored by the many Jesus’ encounters with other characters, and the textual component is apparent in the Evangelist’s extensive use of misunderstanding, ambiguity, and clarification (John 2:19-20; 3:3ff; 4:10-14, 32-38; 6:33ff; 8:3137, 38-47; 11:11-15, 23-26; 13:8-12; 14:4-6, 7-11, 21-24; 16:16-24).65 Malina’s analysis of Johannine anti-language can be used as a guide to re-lexicalization in the Fourth Gospel. Re-lexicalization takes one of two forms: a new vocabulary item may be provided for a concept which 62 Frank Thielman, “The Style of the Fourth Gospel and Ancient Literary Critical Concepts of Religious Discourse,” in Persuasive Artistry: Studies in New Testament Rhetoric in Honor of George A. Kennedy (ed. Duane F. Watson; JSNTSup 50; Sheffield: JSOT, 1991) 169-83, esp. 169-72. 63 Meeks, “Man from Heaven,” 57. 64 Malina, Sociolinguistic Perspective, 12-13. 65 Malina, “Maverick Christian Group,” 174.


is specific to the anti-society, or an existing lexical item may be adapted in order to emphasize that a shift or an inversion of values has occurred.66 The word κόσμος provides a good example of how the Evangelist re-lexicalizes an existing term. “World” typically refers to matters such as adornment, the planet earth, the universe or humanity in general and carries a negative connotation when it refers to all that which is hostile to God.67 In John’s Gospel, κόσμος takes on many of these meanings and also refers to those in the synagogues and the temple, that is, all the Judeans (John 18:20). However, the Evangelist also employs this word to talk back to opponents. Particular individuals and groups of people who behave antagonistically toward Jesus and the anti-society are re-lexicalized by the term κόσμος which is loaded with antipathy. The hostile “world” does not know Jesus (John 1:10c), and since knowing and believing are sometimes used interchangeably in the Fourth Gospel, this is another way of saying that the “world” that has rejected Jesus consists of unbelievers. This same “world” is said to hate Jesus (John 7:7; 15:18), the Father (15:23-25), and the disciples (15:18-19; 17:14). Its adherents oppose Jesus, and persecute him and his followers (John 15:20; 16:2). In other words, those who belong to the “world” have no loyalty toward Jesus and those associated with him. In a nutshell, advocates of the “world” are sinners (John 8:24; 9:41) who practice their evil deeds in the realm of darkness (3:19-20), are alienated from God (14:17, 19; 17:9, 25), and are ruled by a demonic power (12:31; 14:30; 16:11). Notable examples of groups who belong to the unbelieving “world” include the Judeans, the Pharisees, the chief priests, and the brothers of Jesus. First, the Judeans neither receive (John 5:43) Jesus nor believe (5:38; 10:25-26, 38) in him. The priests and Levites, who act on behalf of the Pharisees, do not know Jesus (John 1:24-26). For their part, the Pharisees are major opponents of Jesus (John 7:32, 45-48): their claim to have sight triggers Jesus’s judgment that they are sinners (9:41); and in cooperation with the chief priests, they plot his death (11:47-53, 57). Finally, the brothers of Jesus are unbelievers (John 7:5) who belong to the “world” that hates Jesus (7:7). All of these groups are represented as exhibiting 66

Roger Fowler, Literature as Social Discourse: The Practice of Linguistic Criticism (London: Batsford, 1981) 147. 67 Frederick William Danker, ed., A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (3d ed.; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000) 561-63.


behaviors that betray the lack of belief typical of opponents of this antisociety, whom this writer has labeled the “world.” Certain individuals also fit into the realm of the unbelieving “world” rather than into the fictive family constituted by discipleship. The demonized Judas (John 6:70-71; 13:27), portrayed as a thief and a liar (12:6) who hands his teacher over to the chief priests and the Pharisees (18:3), is a member of the realm of darkness (13:30). So, too, is Caiphas; his pronouncement that Jesus must die for the people shows the blindness of the Judean authorities. Ironically, his pronouncement, which intends an act of cruel expediency (John 11:49-50), constitutes a profound truth (11:51-52). Pilate, too, numbers among the children of darkness. While he, as one of the would-be judges of Jesus, makes a threefold claim that he finds no case against Jesus (John 18:38; 19:4, 6), Pilate still decides to hand him over for crucifixion (19:16). A fourth servant of darkness is so closely connected with the unbelieving “world” that he is identified as “the ruler of this world” (John 12:31; 14:30; 16:11).68 While this figure may represent the devil69 and conjure up the apocalyptic image of Satan cast from heaven by the angels of God (Rev 12:9), the term ἄρχων is used in the Fourth Gospel only in reference to the Jerusalem elite (John 3:1; 7:26, 48; 12:42) and is associated with the Pharisees (3:1; 7:48; 12:42), major opponents of Jesus (7:32, 45, 4748; 9:40-41; 11:57). In light of the demonization of Judas in the Fourth Gospel, and the extensive use of metaphor in anti-languages, it is possible that the Evangelist is referring sarcastically to a particular religious figure or figures, such as the ruler(s) of the synagogue, whom the antisociety deems most responsible for their plight. John’s love for metaphorical expressions, prominent in the Gospel’s ἐγώ εἰμι statements, strengthens the likelihood of this type of association. In conclusion, therefore, when John employs “world” in a hostile sense, the referents include both groups (John 1:10c; 7:7; 8:23) and individuals (6:70-71; 11:49-53; 19:16) portrayed as opponents of Jesus as well as major groups pitted against the Johannine anti-society (15:18-19). The 68 While the precise expression ὁ ἄρχων τοῦ κόσμου is peculiar to the Fourth Gospel, the Christian Scriptures contain expressions that also depict a power that opposes God and Christ: the god of this world (2 Cor 4:4), Belial (2 Cor 6:15), and the prince of the power of the air (Eph 2:2). 69 C. K. Barrett, The Gospel According to St. John: An Introduction with Commentary and Notes on the Greek Text (2d ed.; London: SPCK, 1978) 426.


Evangelist’s creative application of the term κόσμος constitutes one example of Johannine re-lexicalization. As a second example, Malina and Rohrbaugh point out that the Fourth Evangelist’s tendency to speak of “believing into Jesus” constitutes re-lexicalization because it creates a new expression.70 But in what sense can it be claimed that the author has created a new expression? The motifs of belief (John 1:50; 4:21, 42; 6:47, 69; 11:15, 27, 40, 42; 13:19; 14:11, 20; 16:27, 30, 31; 17:21; 19:35; 20:8, 29, 31) and unbelief (3:12; 4:48; 5:44; 6:36, 64; 8:24; 9:18; 10:25; 12:39; 14:10; 20:25) are pervasive in the Fourth Gospel. The author sometimes employs the verb πιστεύω followed by the dative to refer to belief in the word (John 4:50), belief in the one who sent Jesus (5:24), lack of belief (5:38, 46, 47; 8:45; 10:38), or questionable belief (6:30; 8:31; 12:38). Less common is the occurrence of πιστεύω διὰ (John 1:7; 4:41) or πιστεύω ἐν (3:15). The preposition that most often follows πιστεύω is εἰς. John’s persistent exhortation to believe into Jesus (John 1:12; 2:11, 23; 3:16, 18c, 36; 4:39; 6:29, 35, 40; 7:5, 38, 39, 48; 8:30; 9:35, 36; 10:42; 11:25, 26, 45, 48; 12:11, 36, 37, 42, 44b,c, 46; 14:1c, 12; 17:20) and the single command to believe into God (14:1b) are intriguing, because neither secular Greek nor the Septuagint provides parallels for the πιστεύω εἰς construction.71 The only place where this expression unquestionably appears in the Synoptic Gospels is Matt 18:6, where Jesus warns of the gravity of causing even one of the little ones who believe into him to fall into sin, but the presence of πιστεύω εἰς in the Markan parallel (9:42) is textually uncertain. While the πιστεύω εἰς idiom is virtually absent from the Synoptic Gospels, there are instances of it elsewhere in the New Testament. Two occur in Acts. In the first, Luke has Peter pronounce that everyone who believes into Jesus (εἰς αὐτόν) receives forgiveness of sins through his name (Acts 10:43). The second reference concerns the appointment of elders committed to the Lord into whom they believed (Acts 14:23). Elsewhere, Paul makes threefold use of the idiom. First, in Romans 10:14a, he asks how people can call upon Jesus in whom they have not believed (εἰς ὃ οὐκ ἐπίστευσαν). Second, he informs his Galatian converts that believing into Christ Jesus leads to justification (Gal 2:16). Third, in his letter to the Philippians (1:29), he speaks of the importance of believing into Christ (οὐ μόνον τὸ εἰς αὐτὸν πιστεύειν). In another example, First 70 71

Malina and Rohrbaugh, Commentary on John, 4. Keener, Gospel of John, 1. 326.


Peter (1:8) promotes believing into Jesus without having seen him (εἰς ὃν ἄρτι μὴ ὁρῶντες πιστεύοντες). The final examples occur in the First Letter of John, which mentions believing into the Son of God (1 John 5:10a), believing into the testimony (5:10c), and believing into the name of the Son of God (5:13). Is it possible, then, that the Fourth Evangelist’s frequent usage of πιστεύω εἰς was influenced by its presence in any of these documents? With the exception of one reference to believing into the God who sent Jesus (John 12:44c), Jesus is the referent of πιστεύω εἰς in the Fourth Gospel. People are said to believe into his name (John 1:12; 2:23), to believe (or not believe) into him (2:11; 3:16, 18c; 4:39; 6:29, 40; 7:5, 39, 48; 8:30; 9:36; 10:42; 11:45, 48; 12:37, 42), to believe into the Son (3:36), to believe into me (6:35; 7:38; 11:25, 26; 12:44b,c, 46; 14:1, 12; 17:20), to believe into the Son of Man (9:35), to believe into Jesus (12:11), and to believe into the light (12:36). Even though Acts contains two instances of “believing into,” and the First Letter of John contains three, one can hardly argue that the expression is prominent in these works, and the other texts cited have only one occurrence of the idiom. Moreover, scholars are divided on whether the Gospel of John or the First Letter of John is prior, and in fact the majority opts for the priority of the Fourth Gospel.72 In light of the rarity of the πιστεύω εἰς construction outside of the Fourth Gospel, it is unlikely that John’s frequent usage of this expression is directly influenced by any of these texts. Thus, while it cannot be concluded that John has invented the πιστεύω εἰς construction, the scarcity of this idiom outside of the Fourth Gospel suggests that Malina correctly identifies “believing into Jesus” as a bona fide example of re-lexicalization. In other words, an existing lexical item (πιστεύω εἰς) has been adapted by repeated association with the person of Jesus: such an adaptation constitutes re-lexicalization. The prevalence of this expression in the Fourth Gospel suggests that it has a special meaning for the Johannine anti-society. According to Frederick Danker, when πιστεύω is followed by the preposition εἰς it can mean to entrust oneself completely to another; the further implication is one of total attachment to that person or entity.73 Considering that re72 Raymond E. Brown, The Epistles of John: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 30; New York: Doubleday, 1982) 32-35. 73 Danker, Greek-English Lexicon, 817.


lexicalized items point to issues of major importance to those who employ them, and given the preoccupation with attachment to Jesus in the Fourth Gospel, it is likely that the author uses this expression to promote total commitment to Jesus (John 20:31), in addition to group solidarity. John deems public demonstrations of believing into Jesus as evidence of the person’s affiliation with the anti-society (John 12:42-43; 1:12). In addition to the creation of new words and the adaptation of existing lexical items, re-lexicalization involves changes in the import of an existing term, even to the point of reversal, so that within the anti-society, it signifies the opposite of its meaning in the norm society.74 In the Gospel of John, a good example of this kind of re-lexicalization pertains to οἱ ᾿Ιουδαῖοι. Generally speaking, this term refers to Judean society, but John often employs it to refer to those in opposition to Jesus, especially the political-religious authorities. In these cases, the Evangelist not only narrows the focus of this term, but also assigns a hostile meaning. Furthermore, the author depicts these unbelieving οἱ ᾿Ιουδαῖοι in a manner diametrically opposed to their perceptions of themselves. These characters, who represent an important sector of the dominant society against which the anti-society is pitted, declare themselves children of Abraham (John 8:39) and of God (8:41). For the Evangelist, however, they are neither children of Abraham (John 8:39-40) nor children of God (8:42), but children of the devil (8:44), who imitate their murderous (8:44) and lying father (8:55). The ᾿Ιουδαῖοι also claim that God is their one Father (John 8:41). What they are saying here is that they respect and obey God, their ultimate patriarch, as dutiful children would obey a human father. Yet this is not how the author depicts them. According to the Evangelist, neither the love of God (John 5:42) nor the Father’s word abides within them (5:38). They are said to seek human honor rather than that which derives from God (John 5:44), whom they do not even know (8:55). Moreover, during the Roman trial, leading Judeans, the chief priests, cry out that Caesar is their only king (John 19:15), a statement which marks them as idolaters rather than faithful children of God. Finally, the ᾿Ιουδαῖοι claim to be disciples of Moses (John 9:28), but Jesus accuses them of failure to observe the Law (7:19) and to believe the teachings of Moses; in fact, Jesus pronounces that Moses himself will be their accuser (5:45-47). In 74

Fowler, Literature as Social Discourse, 149.


light of the stark contrast between the self-understanding of the ᾿Ιουδαῖοι and the author’s depiction of them, which approximates the anti-society’s opinion of them, then, this stands as a final example of relexicalization. It is easy to imagine the Johannines employing a number of unflattering expressions such as “children of the devil” in reference to them. A second feature of anti-language prominent in the Fourth Gospel, over-lexicalization, is easier to identify. As has been noted, the proliferation of terms in an anti-language reveals the dominant values of the group, and Malina explains how this plays out in the Fourth Gospel.75 He notes that over-lexicalization is especially evident in the many terms used to describe the realm of God—spirit, the above, life, light, not of the/this world, freedom, truth, love—and the antithetical realm of unbelievers—flesh, the below, death, darkness, the/this world, slavery, lie, hate. Moreover the activities of those who follow Jesus—believing into Jesus, following him, abiding in him, loving him, keeping his word, receiving him, having him, seeing him—provide an example of overlexicalization that is based on the interpersonal function of language. It could be added here that the unbelieving stance of the opponents of Jesus and his followers is also over-lexicalized, being variously described as failure to receive, to know, to see, to love or to honor Jesus and the Father, as well as the tendency to hate, to kill, to persecute, to walk in darkness, and to refuse to come to Jesus. The Gospel of John also deploys over-lexicalization based on the textual aspects of language. Malina states that it is manifested in Johannine punning and irony, and in patterns of ambiguity, misunderstanding, and clarification. These forms of word play are pervasive in the Gospel of John and deal with a variety of themes: the destruction of the temple (John 2:19-21), being born from above (3:3-5), water (4:15), food (4:31-34), bread (6:41-42), freedom (8:31-33), father (8:18-19), sleep (11:11-15), resurrection (11:23-24), washing (13:8-10), the way (14:5-6), seeing (14:8-11), and Jesus’s references to “a little while” (14:18-22; 16:16-19). Both re-lexicalization and over-lexicalization express the concerns of the Johannine anti-society. Malina maintains that their major concern is “that you may continue to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that believing you may have life in his name” (John 20:31). John’s new vocabulary, therefore, is meant to make Jesus’s identity as 75

Malina, Sociolinguistic Perspective, 12-13.


Messiah clear and to provide what Malina calls emotional anchorage “in Jesus” on the part of members of the anti-society. The people who originally resonated with this kind of language employed it to maintain “inner solidarity under pressure.”76 Hence, their anti-language reflects the counter-reality they established in opposition to the social reality of their opponents; it provides a means for group members to support one another, and it highlights their fundamental concerns. There is another major concern of the Johannine anti-society in evidence. Their testimony—that Jesus is the Messiah and the Son of God— which they insist is true because it derives from the authoritative witness of the Beloved Disciple (John 19:35; 21:24), is evidently being refuted by others: “We speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen, but you do not receive our testimony (John 3:11).” To defend themselves, the Johannines repeatedly stress that their testimony derives from their relationship with Jesus. Consequently, the Fourth Gospel is replete with how they have seen (John 1:14, 14:19), heard (4:41), and known Jesus (4:41; 6:69; 10:4, 14) and the Spirit (14:17), how they have found (1:41, 45), remained with (1:39; 3:22), believed into (6:69), listened to (10:16), and followed Jesus (10:27), how they know the way to Jesus (14:4), have been witnesses of Jesus from the beginning (15:27), have loved him (16:27, 30), have received his word (17:14), have shared his honor (17:22), and, perhaps most importantly, have seen the risen Jesus (20:18, 25). Their language of seeing, hearing, knowing, remaining with, believing, and loving Jesus, which reiterates their argument that their Jesus-tradition is valid, strongly reflects the interpersonal dimension of anti-language. Since an anti-society is a social reconstruction of reality, there is a necessary process of re-socialization for those entering such a group. As might be expected, an important part of this process is the acquisition of the language of resistance. Malina calls attention to how the Johannine discourses (John 3:1-4:42; 5:10-47; 6:22-59; 9:13-10:42; 11:1-44; 11:45-12:36a; 13-17) serve a re-socialization function.77 By means of the discourses, the author presents the Jesus professed by the anti-society and informs initiates about how they are to be in relationship with Jesus and other group members. In the interaction with Nicodemus, for example, the author depicts Jesus as the Son of God (John 3:16), whose 76 77

Malina, Sociolinguistic Perspective, 14. Malina, Sociolinguistic Perspective, 14.


lifting up will effect eternal life for all believers (3:14-16), the children of God, by means of birth through water and the Spirit (3:5). The lessons within the discourse, in combination with rubbing shoulders with other Johannines, will initiate new people into the in-group meaning of such language as being born of water and the Spirit. The Nicodemus discourse expresses the anti-society’s concern that outsiders disclaim their testimony (John 3:11). Their back-talk sends a message to these adversaries who, they charge, neither understand (John 3:13-17) nor believe (3:12). Back-talk about condemnation (John 3:18-21) highlights the tension between the anti-society and the dominant society, represented here by Nicodemus, a ruler of the Judeans (3:1) and the teacher of Israel (3:10). This passage, therefore, contains two kinds of information for initiates. It invites them into closer relationship with Jesus, the Father, and the anti-society, while teaching them the in-group response to those who would attack their beliefs. Like the Nicodemus discourse, the passages dealing with the family of Jesus are written in anti-language, and since this particular anti-language originates in the time of the Evangelist, it constitutes the voice of the anti-society, and is employed to teach initiates in-group norms. It therefore provides an effective means for approaching the issues, concerns, and beliefs of the anti-society. The narrative relationships between Jesus, his mother, his brothers, and his disciples have already been examined, with the conclusion that while the mother of Jesus has a positive relationship with him and his disciples, his brothers do not. In order to delve more deeply into how these familial relationships might manifest themselves at Level Four of the Johannine tradition, it is necessary to attend to the voice of the anti-society in John 2:1-12; 7:1-10 and 19:25-27.

The Continuing Conflict between the Kinship Groups I. Introduction Malina has stressed the role that Johannine discourses play in resocialization. However, since the whole of John’s Gospel is written in anti-language, it is not only the Johannine discourses that have the power of re-socialization. After all, the gospel is so skillfully written


that its Prologue alone goes a long way toward convincing the hearer to believe into Jesus. Therefore, the chosen passages (John 2:1-12; 7:1-10; 19:25-27)—which are not considered Johannine discourses—will be analyzed with respect to how they might have served a re-socialization function. In addition, evidence of re-lexicalization, over-lexicalization, and metaphor will be provided, in the hope of gaining further glimpses into the lived reality of the anti-society. How might these passages have fostered what Malina calls “emotional anchorage” within the anti-society? What can they suggest about the group’s concerns? And finally, how can anti-language shed light upon the significance of the mother and “brothers” of Jesus at Level Four of the Johannine tradition? II. John 2:1-12 Since the story of the wedding feast at Cana pays little attention to the biological brothers of Jesus, it will not shed much light on the relationship between the Johannines and their opponents, to whom they referred as the “brothers” of Jesus. Even so, this passage could be revisited with a view to analyzing how it might have served members of the anti-society. Does the treatment of Jesus’s mother reflect some actual relationship between the Johannine anti-society and some other group(s)? Does it, in any way, promote some representation of relationship between the Johannines and her? The mother of Jesus is the first person mentioned in the Cana pericope, a detail that suggests that she will play an important role in this story. She approaches Jesus with a specific agenda: she hopes that he will remedy the lack of wine. While Jesus does so, he does not conduct himself in the manner that his mother may have envisioned. Nevertheless, she accedes to his wishes. Not only does she listen to him, but she instructs the servants to do whatever he tells them (John 2:5). Although it is not clear that she is thought to be a bona fide disciple (John 2:12), her demeanor befits one who aspires to be a Johannine disciple. Hearing Jesus leads to believing in Jesus and to discipleship (John 4:42). Disciples listen to his voice and follow him (John 10:4). Had the ᾿Ιουδαῖοι listened to the man who was born blind, they might have become disciples of Jesus (John 9:27). However, they could not bear to hear the words of Jesus (John 8:43) because they were not of God (8:47). The way in which his mother conducts herself, therefore, provides important


information for those who wish to become disciples. The Evangelist and other members of the anti-society would know how influential mothers were in the lives of their sons. Yet according to John, Jesus’s mother chooses to act in a manner atypical of a Mediterranean mother. She relinquishes her intention to enhance her family’s honor in favor of listening to Jesus and encouraging others to do likewise. Thus, this aspect of her relationship with Jesus constitutes important information to be transmitted to aspiring members of the anti-society, notably, that advancement toward true discipleship may involve transition with respect to family allegiance. In the Fourth Gospel, one must hear the words of God in order to be of God (John 8:47). On the one hand, hearing the voice of Jesus is so powerful that it can give eternal life to the dead (John 5:25-29). On the other hand, failure to listen to Jesus (John 6:60) can lead even disciples into unbelief (6:64) and defection (6:66), choices that would have disastrous effects upon the anti-society. The desired behavior for members of this group, then, would consist of hearing the Johannine testimony about Jesus and embracing it, thereby remaining embedded within the anti-society. Since the ability to listen exhibited by the mother of Jesus is worthy of emulation, the story of the wedding feast at Cana has the power to be an effective tool of re-socialization. Moreover, since she exhibits a characteristic that leads to faithful discipleship, it is in this sense that she can be thought of as one who stands for the members of John’s anti-society in this particular passage,78 particularly those who are aspiring to become full-fledged members. In her, they are confronted with the expectation that they relinquish the views and practices of the status quo and embrace those of the anti-society. The stone jars set aside for the purpose of ritual purification (John 2:6) are also meaningful for the Johannines. In this story, they find a new purpose, which is linked with the Evangelist’s claim that some Johannines face expulsion from the synagogue (John 9:22; 12:42; 16:2). If, as has been argued, at least some members of the anti-society were no longer able to frequent the synagogue(s), the group faced a problem with far-reaching consequences. The synagogue functioned primarily as a place for reading and study of Torah, but as time went on, it became a popular place for public prayer79 and other aspects of communal life. Malina and Rohrbaugh, Commentary on John, 270. Zeev Safrai, “The Communal Functions of the Synagogue in the Land of Israel in the Rabbinic Period,” in Ancient Synagogues: Historical Analysis and Archaeological 78 79


It served as the centre for such activities as court proceedings, housing of travelers, collection and distribution of funds for charitable purposes, public meetings, and sales. It was here that people shared common meals, raised money to care for their members, and handled internal disputes.80 Hence, the synagogue was a person’s major community center and served a key social function. It provided individuals with a sense of belonging, as well as a place to facilitate contacts that would enable them to provide for their families.81 Clearly, the consequences of expulsion from the assembly were severe. Where will these people engage in prayer and Torah study? In response to their plight, the Evangelist draws parallels between their experience and that of Jesus. Jesus comes to what is his own and his own people do not accept him (John 1:11). He, too, testifies about what he has seen, but his testimony is rejected (John 3:32). He even warns his disciples that they too will be persecuted (John 15:20). By promoting their identity with Jesus and his disciples, the author offers consolation to those expelled from the assembly. And perhaps to reinforce the message, John uses another approach. The six stone jars, normally used for purposes of purification, become the repositories of fine wine for the festivities (John 2:6-10). Since wine mixed with water would render the water ineffective for purifications,82 this is an example of Johannine replacement (John 2:21; 4:20-23; 6:32-33; 7:37-39; 12:35-36, 46), as well as the theme of abundance flowing from Jesus (4:13-14; 6:10-13, 50-51; 12:3; 19:39; 21:11). In this way, the author presents Jesus as the one in whom persons who are no longer a part of the synagogue community will not only find all that they have lost but much more. The replacement motif teaches people about Jesus while encouraging their deeper emotional anchorage in him and in the group. As the story concludes, the Fourth Evangelist draws one final but significant point to the attention of the hearer: believing into Jesus is the appropriate response to his signs and the mark of a true disciple (John 2:11). Discovery (ed. D. Urman and P. V. M. Flesher; 2 vols.; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1995) 1. 181-204, esp. 181-82. 80 Derek J. Tidball, “Social Setting of Mission Churches,” in Dictionary of Paul and His Letters (ed. Gerald F. Hawthorne, Ralph P. Martin, and Daniel G. Reid; Downers Grove: Inter-Varsity, 1993) 883-92, here 887. 81 John E. Stambaugh and David L. Balch, The New Testament in its Social Environment (ed. Wayne A. Meeks; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1986) 48-51. 82 Keener, Gospel of John, 1. 509-10.


In conclusion, the account of the wedding feast at Cana would serve the Johannines well because it contains a great deal of information about the identity of Jesus and his relationship with members of his anti-society. Moreover, the story offers consolation to Johannines who are no longer members of the synagogue assembly. It also presents the mother of Jesus as a model for faithful members of the anti-society, the disciples who listen to Jesus. Earlier in the gospel, the theme of listening is underscored in the call of the first disciples. It is by listening to the Baptist (John 1:37, 40) and by remaining with Jesus (1:39) that Andrew becomes a disciple of Jesus. It seems that the anti-society places high value upon listening, because the act of listening leads to discipleship, and discipleship implies the acceptance of the anti-society’s testimony as true. Interestingly, the brothers of Jesus, unlike his mother, have no part to play in this passage, and are only mentioned after the wedding festivities are completed (John 2:12). Nevertheless, they provide the focus for the following section, which launches a search for clues about their relationship with the anti-society. III. John 7:1-10 The language of the brothers’ principal scene in this gospel is riddled with tension and hostility. The narrator’s aside identifies them as a group that does not believe into Jesus (John 7:5). Moreover, they are said to be embedded in the unbelieving world against which Jesus is pitted (John 7:7). While the Synoptic tradition—particularly Mark (3:21, 31-35)—reports a strained relationship between Jesus and his family, the Fourth Gospel, which betrays no antagonism toward either the mother or sisters of Jesus, reveals potent hostility toward his brothers (John 7:57). If the Fourth Evangelist has a memory of strained relations between Jesus and his family, why depict only a struggle between Jesus and his brothers? It has already been argued that behind the Evangelist’s depiction of the brothers’ advice that Jesus go to Jerusalem (John 7:3-4), where the ᾿Ιουδαῖοι might well bring him to his demise (7:1, 25-26), could have been from a memory that Jesus’s behavior shamed his family. The author may be picking up on the Synoptic tradition of tension between Jesus and his biological family, altering it slightly to portray that conflict as


one with his brothers. This is not surprising, as it would typically be the male members of the family who would settle accounts with a wayward son or brother. But the author has left a clue that suggests that the conflict, depicted as one between Jesus and his brothers, had a setting within the life of the anti-society. Language such as believing into Jesus and the hostile use of world are excellent examples of anti-language which originated in the time of the Johannine author. Furthermore, Jesus’s attack against his brothers bears a resemblance to the manner in which an anti-society talks back to its opponents. But assuming that the biological brothers of Jesus were deceased by the time that the Fourth Gospel reached its final form, what opponents might the Johannine anti-society have referred to as the “brothers of Jesus”? The notion of symbolic or representative characters is not new to Johannine research, and since anti-language is replete with metaphor, it would not be unusual to find that personages within the Fourth Gospel stand not only for themselves but also for someone else. In addition, the invention of new names for authoritative groups, a practice typical of anti-societies, is a means by which people employ metaphorical language to challenge the status quo.83 Evidence of this is seen in the Gospel of John. While the designation ᾿Ιουδαῖοι is not a creation of the Johannine author, its use as a negative label for Jesus’s major adversaries is an innovation. If John refers to the anti-society’s major opponents in this way, why not refer to another group(s) of enemies as the “brothers of Jesus?” Their affiliation with the “world” that hates Jesus (John 7:7) and the Evangelist’s condemnation of them as unbelievers (7:5) certainly mark them as opponents of the anti-society. Moreover, Jesus knowing that they do not believe in him (John 6:64) treats them as outsiders by withholding the truth from them. According to Malina and Rohrbaugh, the collectivist person represents the in-group and is expected to speak on its behalf; outsiders have no right to in-group information.84 At Level Four, anti-society members would have perceived themselves as insiders of Jesus and therefore as outsiders of the “brothers,” enemies with whom they would not share in-group information. 83

Timothy R. Burns, “Jargon of Class: Rhetoric and Leadership in British Labour Politics, 1830-1880,” in Languages and Jargons: Contributions to a Social History of Language (ed. Peter Burke and Roy Porter; Cambridge: Polity, 1995) 155-81, esp. 161-68. 84 Malina and Rohrbaugh, Commentary on John, 144-45.


Having argued that the “brothers of Jesus” is the name given to opponents of the anti-society, what more can be said about them? The context suggests that the group(s) identified by John in this way may be observant of Jewish customs such as the feasts (John 7:10), associated with Galilee (2:12; 7:1-3) rather than Judea, and may claim to possess a biological connection to Jesus. Raymond Brown suggests that the Johannine attack against the brothers of Jesus may reflect a polemic with Christ-believers, “particularly in Palestine, who regarded themselves as heirs of the Jerusalem church of James.”85 Brown’s comment is interesting in light of the prominence of James, the most famous brother of Jesus, in the early Jesus-movement (1 Cor 9:5; 15:7; Gal 1:1719; 2:7-12; Jas 1:1; Jude 1; Acts 1:14; 12:17; 15:1-29; 21:17-20; A.J. 20.197-203; Gos. Thom. 12). Could Brown be correct? Might the anti-society’s opponents claim some connection with James, the biological brother of Jesus? In the earlier discussion of the provenance of the Fourth Gospel, it was noted that scholarship continues to favor Ephesus as the venue for the writing of John. Craig Keener concludes that a location in Roman Asia, such as Ephesus or Smyrna remains the most likely possibility,86 and adds that John’s intended audience could include a large number of settlers displaced by the war of 66-73 C.E. The assumption here, then, is that the Johannine anti-society is to be located somewhere in Roman Asia, perhaps Ephesus or Smyrna, and that John’s intended audience might have included Palestinian emigrants. If, as Josephus claims, there were large numbers of emigrants (A.J. 20.256), it is reasonable to speculate that others who did not embrace the anti-society’s vision of Jesus settled in John’s vicinity. At Level Four, then, the “brothers of Jesus,” are opponents of the anti-society, most likely another group(s) of Christbelievers with Palestinian roots, who claim some connection with the biological family of Jesus, and perhaps trace their roots to the Jerusalem Jesus-movement and James, the brother of Jesus. The Johannine group’s continued presence in the synagogues (John 12:42-43) suggests a certain affinity with the Jamesian Jesus-movement, that is, those to whom Brown refers as Crypto-Christians.87 If they and 85 Raymond E. Brown, “‘Other Sheep not of this Fold’: The Johannine Perspective on Christian Diversity in the Late First Century,” JBL 97 (1978) 5-22, here 13. 86 Keener, Gospel of John, 1. 149. 87 Raymond E. Brown, An Introduction to the Gospel of John (ed. Francis J. Moloney; New York: Doubleday, 2003) 172-74.


the “brothers of Jesus” are somehow affiliated with James, why is there no obvious connection between the two in the Gospel of John? James was well-known and revered by many Jewish and Gnostic groups who appealed to him in the pursuit of their own interests and causes.88 John Meier maintains that James encouraged a fairly strict interpretation of the teachings of Jesus, and required converts to observe some Jewish practices such as food laws (Acts 15:13-21).89 Not all of those who associated themselves with James, however, fully embraced this way. Some insisted on full observance of the Mosaic Law, including circumcision, while others may have been willing to compromise some of James’s practices in order to accommodate the Gentiles among them. Hence, a broad spectrum of early believers looked to James for their own validation. In light of this, it is not surprising that in the narrative and social worlds of the Fourth Evangelist, there may have been more than one group claiming ties to James. Furthermore, the author lived in an agonistic world where relationships among competing groups were tense and, at times, hostile. The Johannine anti-society had a strained relationship with both “the brothers of Jesus” and the so-called CryptoChristians. However, since the Crypto-Christians believed into Jesus (John 12:42), they had more in common with the Johannines than did “the brothers of Jesus” who were labeled unbelievers (7:5). Even though the author scorns the Crypto-Christians, it may be that stories about characters such as Nicodemus, the man born blind, and Joseph of Arimathea are intended to encourage the Crypto-Christians to openly profess their belief.90 And if some of them did become full-fledged members of the anti-society, the Johannines would then have been able to claim a connection to James. Assuming the Fourth Gospel arose in a milieu dominated by agonistic groups, then, what might spark the bitter conflict between them and “the brothers of Jesus?” The Fourth Evangelist holds that there are people who recognize neither the testimony of Jesus (John 3:32) nor that of the anti-society (3:11; 20:24-25); in response to these people, he defends the validity of the gospel’s testimony by promoting the Beloved Disciple as the guarantor 88 John Painter, Just James: The Brother of Jesus in History and Tradition (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999) 3. 89 Raymond E. Brown and John P. Meier, Antioch and Rome: New Testament Cradles of Catholic Christianity (New York: Paulist Press, 1983) 3-4. 90 Brown, Introduction to John, 174.


of its tradition (John 19:35; 21:24). This disciple reclines next to Jesus during the supper just prior to Jesus’s arrest (John 13:23), has special access to information about Jesus’s fate (13:24-26), is able to remain close to Jesus after his arrest because he has connections with the high priest (18:15), is present at the foot of the cross with the mother of Jesus (19:26), witnesses the empty tomb (20:8), and is among a group of disciples who have a vision of the risen Jesus (21:7). An authoritative witness such as this Beloved Disciple would assure the priority and prestige of the antisociety over other Jesus-movement groups.91 The Fourth Gospel’s insistence that this disciple’s testimony is reliable and authoritative suggests that the rejection of the anti-society’s testimony is one of their concerns. Is there any evidence, however, that the conflict between the antisociety and the “brothers” of Jesus centers on their assumed knowledge of Jesus? The anti-society does claim knowledge of Jesus which their opponents contest (John 3:11). Furthermore, in the person of the disciple Judas, whom the narrator insists is not Iscariot, the anti-society declares that Jesus will manifest himself to them, but not to the “world” (John 14:22). Jesus will do so because they keep his words and commandments, and are attached to him and the Father (John 14:18-24). In essence, the anti-society claims that because of their special loyalty to Jesus, he has been revealed to them as to no others. The Johannines also argue that while they have received the Spirit (John 14:16-17; 19:30), the “world,” which includes the “brothers,” has not (14:17a, b). Hence, the anti-society judges the “brothers” as excluded from Jesus’s self-revelation. While the precise nature of the “brothers’” perceived ignorance remains unknown, the context can be analyzed. The exchange between Jesus and his brothers occurs on the heels of a sharp dispute at the synagogue in Capernaum (John 6:59). Many disciples (John 6:60) reject Jesus’s claim that he is the true bread sent from heaven to sustain life on a scale far beyond that of the manna given to their desert-wandering ancestors (6:58). Their incredulity leads to defections (John 6:66). Here, the author describes serious disagreement over Jesus’s self-revelation as the bread of life. At Level Four, this suggests sharp disagreement between the anti-society and other groups about the meaning of this teaching. 91 Paul S. Minear, “The Beloved Disciple in the Gospel of John: Some Clues and Conjectures,” NovT 19 (1977) 105-23, here 116.


With respect to the final paschal meal that Jesus shares with his followers, Keener maintains that John may have moved the Passover from the Last Supper to the crucifixion in order to stress that it is the death of Jesus and not the symbols pointing to his death that constitutes the real Passover. John’s focus upon “flesh” and “blood,” he argues, is the Evangelist’s way of saying that the believer is one who is dependent upon the death of Christ.92 Those outside the anti-society do not understand that eating the flesh of Jesus and drinking his blood is language which has to do with sacrifice, and is another way of talking about believing into Jesus; those who “eat Jesus’s flesh” and “drink his blood” are believers who accept that Jesus was lifted up and glorified upon the cross.93 The anti-society is saying to other groups of Christ-believers that, while they may partake of the supper, they do not share the Johannine understanding of its true meaning. Whether this message was directed to the group(s) represented by the “brothers of Jesus” we cannot say, but the “brothers” are not unlike those who asked Jesus to perform a sign (John 6:30) but failed to believe into him (6:36). And significantly, while the anti-society excludes the biological brothers of Jesus—and therefore their opponents known as the “brothers of Jesus”—from among those who have witnessed his death, it strategically places the mother of Jesus in the company of their Beloved Disciple. IV. John 19:25-27 Although the voice of the anti-society is most easily detected in John’s hostile references to the ᾿Ιουδαῖοι and the “world,” and in the “we” statements (John 1:14; 3:11; 20:25), the language of the entire Fourth Gospel is, in fact, anti-language. Even the brief scene in which his mother and the Beloved Disciple receive Jesus’s final words contains echoes of issues and beliefs relevant to the anti-society. For example, in view of the Beloved Disciple’s elevated status in this gospel, the designation, “the disciple whom he (Jesus) loved” (John 19:26), possesses the dual power to challenge adversaries and to teach initiates. It makes the implicit claim that this anonymous disciple is closer to Jesus (John 13:23) than other prominent figures, such as Peter, Thomas, or James. In turn, 92 93

Keener, Gospel of John, 1. 690. Malina and Rohrbaugh, Commentary on John, 134.


this claim provides a means by which the anti-society can talk back to groups who locate the authority of their teaching in well-known male apostles or disciples. Whereas the anti-society depicts such renowned disciples as absent from the crucifixion scene, it places the Beloved Disciple among the ranks of those who witness the “lifting up” of Jesus, the pinnacle of his glorious ‘hour.” New Johannines would learn that their hero was one of the first to receive the Spirit of Jesus poured out upon those assembled at Golgotha (John 19:30). In addition, they would be introduced to an important element of the anti-society’s insistence on the validity of their testimony: notably, the reception of the Spirit, which induces altered states of consciousness (Acts 2:17) and culminates in the Beloved Disciple’s vision of Jesus as the Passover lamb (John 19:34-37).94 The importance of the Beloved Disciple is further highlighted at Golgotha. Although the mother of Jesus is affiliated with this disciple and is one of the first to receive the spirit of Jesus, in addition to Mary of Clopas and Mary Magdalene, only the Beloved Disciple sees and testifies to the flow of blood and water from Jesus’s side (John 19:35). A similar subordination of the mother of Jesus occurs during the wedding at Cana. Although her initiative brings about the sign, we are not told what she has seen, only that Jesus manifests his glory, and his disciples believe into him (John 2:11). During the crucifixion scene, she is placed by Jesus within the realm of the Beloved Disciple, a phenomenon which, viewed in one way, looks like what Tal Ilan refers to as “subordination”—the attempt to bring prominent women into a patriarchal household (John 19:27).95 In the life of the anti-society, however, her commendation to the Beloved Disciple is especially significant and may not have been understood as an attempt to subordinate her. At Level Four, the role of Jesus’s mother stems from the premise that John’s language is anti-language, and that personages can stand for a group or category of people, as well as the individual named in the story.96 In the second half of the Gospel of John, Jesus articulates a great deal of concern about his “own” (John 14:1-3, 16-19, 26-29; 15:9-11, 26; 94 John J. Pilch, Visions and Healing in the Acts of the Apostles: How Early Believers Experienced God (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2004) 34. 95 Tal Ilan, “The Position of Jewish Women in Rabbinic Literature: Application of Redaction Criticism to Social History,” unpublished paper presented at the SBL in Atlanta, 2003. Permission to use granted by the author. 96 Malina and Rohrbaugh, Commentary on John, 270.


16:1-4, 7, 22, 33; 17:11-19) and promises to send another Paraclete to continue his work. The term ὁ παράκλητος refers to someone who is called to another’s aid; the Paraclete, therefore, is an advocate, mediator, intercessor, or helper. There is a striking correlation between the promised work of the Paraclete and the functions of the Beloved Disciple. The fact that Jesus hands over his “mother” to the Beloved Disciple means that he hands over someone of value to the central personage of the second half of the Fourth Gospel. The only ones Jesus is concerned about in the Book of Glory are his “own,” and he hands them, represented by his mother, into the care of the Beloved Disciple. Like the Paraclete, this disciple is to take care of the anti-society, guiding (John 16:13) and defending (16:8-11) it in times of conflict. Francis Moloney notes the Evangelist’s statement that Jesus’s inner garment is not to be torn apart (John 19:24) and asks whether this image might refer to something precious belonging to Jesus which must be preserved. He correctly opines that Jesus is concerned with preserving the unity of his “own,” the community of disciples.97 It could be argued that the anti-society understands Jesus’s commendation of his mother to the Beloved Disciple as an expression of Jesus’s concern and care for them. Furthermore, if the anti-society has a group(s) of opponents who insist that their testimony is superior because they trace it back to the biological brothers of Jesus, the Johannines can also lay claim to a biological connection with Jesus. Their relationship with his mother is intimate. She is one of them!

Conclusion In the interpretation of Jesus’ family, this chapter shifts the discussion from Level Three to Level Four of the Johannine tradition. As the first part of the chapter notes, critics such as Stibbe, Meeks, and Lincoln argue that John’s story of Jesus represents, in many ways, the story of the intended audience. For such scholars, the Gospel of John is a twostorey story: while it purports to recount the story of Jesus, it also reflects aspects of the lived reality of those for whom it was written. To this approach is added Bruce Malina’s sociolinguistic analysis of 97 Francis J. Moloney, Glory Not Dishonor: Reading John 13-21 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998) 143-44.


the language of John’s Gospel. Malina demonstrates that the Fourth Gospel reflects the salient characteristics of anti-language, as delineated by linguist Michael Halliday. John’s opaque language, therefore, is antilanguage, the language of an anti-society giving voice to issues that are significant with respect to their identity and critical in terms of their survival. Moreover, the fact that this anti-language emerges in the time of the Evangelist lends credence to the work of scholars who describe the Fourth Gospel as a two-storey story. This particular reading of John’s two-storey story has focused upon certain features of the gospel’s anti-language, particularly re-lexicalization, over-lexicalization, and metaphor, looking at how these elements manifest themselves in the stories involving the mother of Jesus and his brothers. Such analysis lends itself to Level-Four insights. Because the Evangelist recounts the story of Jesus in the language of the gospel’s intended audience, the text is replete with clues about the anti-society and its relationships with other groups. As a result, the gospel provides a picture of the anti-society and its claimed relationship with the biological family of Jesus. Through re-socialization, individuals become more deeply embedded into the fabric of the anti-society, and solidarity within the group is strengthened. This particular anti-society accentuates believing into Jesus, an act which necessitates the courage to publicly confess one’s belief according to anti-society norms: Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and the source of life (John 20:31). Moreover, the stories of the wedding at Cana, Jesus’s encounter with his unbelieving brothers, and of how his mother and the Beloved Disciple witness the climax of his “hour” of glory, serve to re-socialize anti-society initiates. The first story invites hearers to emulate the ability of Jesus’s mother to listen, to find consolation in Jesus, who can fill the void left by the rejection of significant others, and to believe into Jesus. The second might identify the opponents whom the anti-society calls “the brothers of Jesus.” It is reasonable to speculate that they are a group(s) who claimed superiority over the Johannines because they trace their Jesus-tradition back to the testimony of influential brothers of Jesus, such as James. The final text segment more deeply incorporates the mother of Jesus into the antisociety’s legacy of Jesus; through it, initiates would learn that the testimony of their Beloved Disciple is intimately connected to the biological family of Jesus in the person of his mother. In conclusion, this examination of the Fourth Gospel’s anti-language


suggests strong affinities in familial relationships at Levels Three and Four of John’s tradition. The narrative conflict between Jesus and his biological brothers lives on in the hostility between the anti-society and opponents to whom they refer as the “brothers of Jesus.” Yet the mother of Jesus, whose narrative relationship with Jesus reflects the intimate mother-son bond typical in Mediterranean societies, is brought into the Beloved Disciple’s company, the company of Johannine discipleship, the company of the anti-society.

CHAPTER 6

Summary and Implications for Johannine Research

Summary This re-reading of the Fourth Gospel takes a fresh look at how the mother and biological brothers of Jesus are portrayed in the Gospel of John, by asking what light the narrative portrayal might shed on the nature and social circumstances of John’s intended audience. The process has involved answering three sets of questions. First, what kinship ties are presumed in the stories about the Johannine Jesus, his mother, and his brothers? For example, did the Evangelist believe Mary and Joseph to be the biological parents of Jesus, or did this author espouse the notion of the virginal conception of Jesus? Did John imagine the brothers of Jesus as children of Mary and Joseph and therefore siblings of Jesus? Second, what then can be said about how the mother and brothers of Jesus interact with him—and therefore his disciples— at the narrative level? Are Jesus, his mother, and his brothers portrayed as trusted insiders, or are there significant divisions among them? Third, and finally, turning to the Fourth Gospel’s setting in real life, can any clues be uncovered about how these narrative relationships might be correlated with the lives of the intended audience? The purpose of this study, therefore, is two-fold: (1) to investigate relationships between Jesus, his fictive family, and his mother and his brothers, as they are depicted by the Fourth Evangelist; and (2) to probe the possible significance of these relationships in the lived reality of the Johannines. 194

Summary and Implications for Johannine Research · 195

At the outset of this investigation, it is noted that the mother and brothers of Jesus are evidently presented in contrasting ways in the Gospel of John. This disparity means that John’s portrait of the family of Jesus is unique among the canonical gospels and leads naturally to the question of why this evangelist has a different spin on this particular aspect of the Jesus-tradition. As has been noted, the issue is significant because of the high regard for James, the brother of Jesus, found in the writings of Paul (1 Cor 9:5; 15:7; Gal 1:18-19; 2:6-12), Josephus (A.J. 20:197-203), Thomas (Gos. Thom. 12), and Luke (Acts 1:14; 12:17; 15:1-29; 21:17-20). By and large, Johannine scholarship has not detected a significant contrast in the portrayal of Jesus’ mother and brothers. The most common assessment of Jesus’s relationship with his mother is that his sharp response to her request for assistance with the lack of wine at Cana (John 2:4) indicates a breach in their relationship, which is not detectable later at Golgotha. In other words, scholarship perceives her overall relationship with Jesus primarily in positive terms. As for the brothers, having given them no more than a cursory consideration, many commentators conclude that they are presented much like the disciples, whose faith is at times insufficient in Johannine terms. However, John’s language seems to preclude such a positive view of the brothers. In order to investigate this suspicion more closely, it has been necessary to take a fresh approach to the relationships between Jesus and members of his biological family. Passages about the mother of Jesus (John 2:1-12; 19:25-27) have been studied in tandem with those about his brothers (2:12; 7:1-10). To be specific, since this is a family, the methods of cultural anthropology can be used, and since this is a biblical family, relationships among these characters can be analyzed within the parameters of Mediterranean family relationships. To this end, a social-science model of relationships between Mediterranean mothers and sons, and among brothers, has been constructed, using existing models, numerous anthropological studies of Mediterranean families, and ancient references to Mediterranean family dynamics. The model has then been applied to John 2:1-12; 7:1-10; and 19:25-27. The results indicate that the Fourth Evangelist depicts the mother of Jesus as an insider of Jesus and his disciples, while at the same time, portraying his brothers as outsiders.


The model not only advances an understanding of the quality of relationships among these characters, but it also provides data which helps to explain why the Fourth Evangelist portrays the brothers of Jesus in such a negative light. According to this research, enmity among Mediterranean brothers was commonplace, frequently the result of envy, perceived affronts to family honor, or quarrels over inheritance. While the author clearly points to the brothers’ failure to believe (John 7:5) as the source of the hostility between them and Jesus (7:5), the story line also accommodates four cultural factors that frequently lay behind the brotherly strife of the period. First, Jesus’s outstanding achievements, such as his signs (John 2:1-11, 23; 3:2; 4:46-54; 5:1-9; 6:1-14), would bring honor to his family but might spark envy on the part of less successful brothers. In a society where many goods are in limited supply, even intangible resources, such as honor, are much coveted and may be understood in this way. Therefore, if one acquires significant public honor, a natural result is the envy of one’s peers, particularly one’s brothers. Second, Jesus and his mother are portrayed as enjoying the close emotional bond typical of Mediterranean mothers and sons. There is, however, absolutely no indication that the same is true of his brothers and his mother. If they, like Jesus, are presented by the author as her biological sons, and Jesus is portrayed as her favorite son, it is reasonable to suggest the possibility that the Fourth Evangelist believes the brothers of Jesus to be envious of her preference, a factor which might help to account for the author’s portrayal of the conflict between Jesus and his brothers. Third, in collectivistic groups, the dishonorable behavior of a family member tarnishes the collective honor of the family. As has been noted, the author portrays Jesus in conflict with the authorities (John 2:18-29; 5:15-47), in an insider relationship with Samaritans (4:28-30, 39-42), and as a leader whose peripheral disciples defect because they cannot accept his teaching (6:60-66). All are scenarios that could negatively impact Jesus’s honor and therefore that of his biological family. The inclusion of these dynamics suggests that the ensuing loss of family honor may have factored into the Fourth Evangelist’s hostile portrait of the brothers of Jesus. Fourth and finally, although the narrative is silent on the issue of inheritance with respect to Jesus’s biological family, it speaks loudly about how Jesus is God’s only-begotten Son (John 1:18; 3:18), in intimate


relationship with the Father (10:30), who has put all things into his hands (3:34). On the one hand, his biological brothers do not qualify as children of this father because they are unbelievers, a situation that deprives them of any inheritance as children of God. On the other hand, believing disciples of Jesus will live in the Father’s house (John 14:2). They will be able to perform the signs that Jesus performs and receive whatever they ask in his name (John 14:12-14; 15:7). Furthermore, the Spirit will declare to them the Father’s total gift to Jesus (John 16:15). In the cultural world of Jesus, irregularity—real or perceived—in the distribution of inheritance was a leading cause of brotherly strife. An author who portrays the kind of favoritism that the Father shows Jesus, and that Jesus subsequently shows his disciples rather than his biological brothers, has set up the type of situation which readily leads to envy and strife among brothers. In sum, while the Johannine narrator openly states that the brothers’ unbelief is the cause of the hostility between them and Jesus, at the level of the narrative, such unbelief appears to be rooted in, and manifested by, a set of familial tensions including damaged family honor, the unusual distribution of inheritance, as well as brotherly envy stemming from Jesus’s notoriety. To move the analysis to the level of John’s intended audience, clues have been sought as to how its situation has been encoded in the narrative. The sociolinguistic model of anti-language—first elucidated by Halliday and later applied by Malina to the Fourth Gospel—provides the means to seek such clues. The characteristic features of anti-language, such as re-lexicalization, over-lexicalization, and metaphor, are the vehicles for an anti-society to express its major issues, beliefs, and concerns. Since John’s Gospel is written in anti-language, and since antilanguage is the language of an anti-society, it follows that the Johannines constitute an anti-society. To hear John’s Gospel, therefore, is to hear the story of Jesus recounted in the unique language of the Johannine anti-society that articulates their major interests as it boldly talks back to its opponents. Having examined John 2:1-12; 7:1-10; and 19:25-27 in light of John’s use of re-lexicalization, over-lexicalization, and metaphor, John’s stories show the capacity to support the re-socialization of potential Johannines. More specifically for our study, it is possible to conclude that the Johannine anti-society claims the mother of Jesus as an insider while regarding those to whom they refer as “the brothers of Jesus” as outsiders.


Since an anti-society routinely employs metaphor in such a way that a character or a group can represent both itself and others, this makes sense also for the mother and brothers of Jesus. For the Johannine antisociety, they may represent more than members of Jesus’s biological family. Thus, Jesus’s tremendous concern for “his own” in the Book of Glory (John 13:1; 14:1-3, 16-18, 26-27; 16:1, 20-24, 33; 17:9-19) and his subsequent commendation of his mother to the care of the Beloved Disciple (19:26-27) are not unrelated; the mother of Jesus stands in for the disciples (Level Three) and for the Johannines (Level Four), whom Jesus gives into the care of this trusted disciple. Moreover, Jesus’s vitriolic response to his brothers in John 7:5-8 sounds very much like the voice of the anti-society talking back to opponents. Hence, the Johannines likely have face-to-face contact with a group(s) of adversaries whom they identify in the text as “the brothers of Jesus.” If so, the foregoing analysis of kinship relationships in the Fourth Gospel indicates important affinities between certain Level Three and Level Four relationships. While the mother of Jesus is incorporated as an ally of Jesus and his disciples (Level Three), as well as the anti-society (Level Four), the brothers of Jesus represent enemies in both levels. What additional reasons might the Fourth Evangelist have for depicting the mother of Jesus in solidarity with Jesus and his brothers at odds with him? Could it be that this author has access to oral and written sources that provide a view of the family of Jesus unlike that found in the Synoptic Gospels? While this possibility cannot be ruled out, it is more likely that enmity between the anti-society and another collective which situates its authority in ties with the biological brothers of Jesus has resulted in a very negative portrait of Jesus’s male siblings; the intention would be to assure the Johannines that their testimony is superior to that of the “brothers of Jesus.” By portraying the biological brothers of Jesus—and by extension, the anti-society’s opponents—in a bad light, and by elevating the Beloved Disciple to the status of Jesus’s most trusted disciple, the anti-society has attempted to undermine the testimony of their opponents while safeguarding their own testimony, and therefore, their honor. Their appropriation of the mother of Jesus is also intended to bolster the status of their Jesus-tradition. If others reject their testimony because they possess no connection to the biological family of Jesus, the anti-society has a compelling rejoinder: his mother is one of them.


Implications I. The Intended Audience The preceding analysis of the Johannine family of Jesus supports the idea that the various experiences of Jesus and his disciples reflect issues and relationships operative in lives of the gospel’s intended audience. There are two related claims here: the Fourth Gospel was written for a specific group of people rather than for a universal audience; and the text contains hints about the major issues, beliefs, and concerns of this group. The key to the argument lies in the Gospel of John’s anti-language. By its very nature, anti-language possesses a group-defining capacity, because it is an indispensable component of the alternative conceptual and social reality created by an anti-society. In the case of the Gospel of John, those immersed in the gospel’s anti-language represent a group of believers encouraged to continue to believe into Jesus as the Messiah and the Son of God (John 20:31). Clearly, not all members of this particular anti-society have the same loyalties, however. While some believers are core members, who remain loyal in difficult times (John 6:67-69), there are others on the fringes who are afraid to openly profess their belief (12:42-43; 19:38), and still others who defect (6:66, 70-71). That John’s Gospel was written for a group rather than for a universal audience is indicated by certain prominent features of John’s language that are highly characteristic of an anti-language. Anti-language is a form of protest, whereby the anti-society talks back to opposing groups. Evidence of protest exists, for example, in Jesus’s critiques of his opponents: the Judeans who will die in their sins unless they believe in Jesus (John 8:24); the “world” which will be judged by the Paraclete (John 16:8-11); and the brothers of Jesus who are not hated by the “world” that hates Jesus because they belong to it (John 7:7). Because anti-language constitutes back-talk, the harsh criticism of the Judeans, the “world,” and the brothers of Jesus most likely represents back-talk to groups opposed to the Johannines. Again, the situation is one where opposing groups have been established. Anti-language tends to divide people into classes or groups. For example, in the Fourth Gospel, individuals, as well as groups, are cate-


gorized on the basis of their perceived relationship with Jesus and his Father. On the one hand, believers follow Jesus, who speaks the Father’s word (John 8:38), and they are classified as children of God (1:12). On the other hand, unbelievers, such as the Judeans, are said to follow their father, the devil (John 8:44), while the “world”—and presumably the brothers of Jesus, who belong to it—are associated with the ruler of this world (12:31; 14:30; 16:11). Hence, the enemies of the Johannines are imagined as groups in league with the demonic. Thus, John’s anti-language illustrates the tendency of an anti-society to compartmentalize people into groups. It seems reasonable to conclude that the Evangelist had an audience in mind when composing a text aimed at sustaining people in their belief in Jesus. But since the Fourth Gospel is written in anti-language, and since re-socialization is necessary for the acquisition of an anti-language, it seems unlikely that this intended audience was a universal one. Indeed, many of John’s stories assist the anti-society to re-socialize, because they depict people struggling to come to grips with the identity of Jesus. While some characters move from darkness into light (John 9:35-39), or even from light into darkness (13:30), others remain in darkness (9:40-41). The one hearing these stories is therefore challenged to make a choice. Will this individual become a child of the light (John 12:36), that is, a member of the anti-society? John’s stories and monologues also serve the purpose of re-socialization as they reveal the proper relationship with Jesus and his Father, as well as with others. This re-socialization leads to insight into the identity of Jesus as Messiah and Son of God. Moreover, the flattering portrait of the Beloved Disciple and the less impressive portraits of Peter, Thomas, and the unbelieving brothers of Jesus are arguably intended to promote allegiance to the Johannine tradition, while at the same time serving as a critique of other, perhaps better-known, Jesus-traditions. In sum, the multi-faceted ability of John’s Gospel to serve the purpose of re-socialization suggests that it was written for a group of people, individuals who may have manifested different degrees of loyalties to the anti-society, but who were united in their opposition to other groups. In addition to its group-defining capacity, anti-language is the means by which an anti-society expresses major beliefs, concerns, and struggles. In the case of John’s Gospel, the central belief is that Jesus is the Messiah and the Son of God (John 11:27; 20:31). Of primary concern is


that this claim and perhaps others are being rejected by opposing groups (John 3:11). And a major struggle is claimed to exist between the Johannines and those who would eject them from synagogues for confessing Jesus as the Messiah (John 9:22). Regarding this last point, since antilanguage springs readily from a situation of perceived persecution, there is no reason to believe that the Evangelist’s references to expulsion from synagogues (John 9:22; 12:42; 16:2) are imaginary or concocted simply to keep people away from such assemblies. The full extent of the conflict between the Johannines and the synagogue(s) may never be known, but the language of the Fourth Gospel indicates that the author believes the conflict to be real. In conclusion, John’s anti-language provides strong evidence in support of the widespread scholarly belief that the Fourth Gospel was written for a group of Christ-believers rather than for a universal audience. Furthermore, since John’s Gospel is written in anti-language, the intended audience would have been able to identify aspects of their lived reality in the Fourth Gospel’s account of Jesus, particularly in his encounters with others, be they friendly or adversarial. II. The Mother of Jesus The mother of Jesus is clearly a significant figure in the Gospel of John. While she is portrayed as an insider of Jesus and his disciples, and while the anti-society lays claim to her, she is not depicted as a disciple in the typical Johannine sense of one who remains with Jesus, testifies about him, and brings potential disciples to him (John 1:35-51; 4:28-30). She does, however, provide potential members of the anti-society with important information about how to gain access to Jesus. Because she is his mother, she is portrayed as exercising tremendous influence over Jesus. Yet even she reassesses her relationship with him. She foregoes her desire to enhance her family’s honor when she listens to Jesus and instructs others to obey his words (John 2:5). In the Fourth Gospel, those who obey Jesus’ words are known as his disciples (John 13:34-35). Her words of instruction invite others to obey her son, thereby becoming his disciples and members of the anti-society. Although the mother of Jesus has attracted myriad symbolic interpretations in Fourth Gospel research, her real significance for the antisociety does not arise primarily from what or whom she might symbolize. Even though, as has been argued, she represents the anti-


society at Cana (John 2:1-11) and especially at Golgotha (19:25-27), it is her alleged association with the Beloved Disciple that suggests her importance for the anti-society. By affiliating her with its hero and by claiming that she goes with this disciple at Jesus’ behest, the anti-society claims her as one of its own. She provides a biological link with Jesus, a useful counterclaim to challenges by competing groups that trace their Jesus-tradition back to relatives of Jesus, such as his brothers. In fact, in the Fourth Gospel, her significance derives not only from her association with the Beloved Disciple, but also from the simple fact that she is the mother of Jesus. The emotional bond between mother and son is so intimate in Mediterranean societies that a loyal son will refuse his mother nothing. Since his mother would have more influence with Jesus than any other family member, she constitutes an extremely significant link to Jesus, and the anti-society’s claim on her is anything but trivial: the member of Jesus’s biological family closer to him than anyone else is one of them. By means of her intimate relationship with her son, the mother of Jesus provides the anti-society special access to him and thus a sense of heightened intimacy with him. III. The Brothers and Sisters of Jesus It has been argued that biblical references to “brothers” and “sisters” cannot be understood in terms of modern usage of the words. In the biblical world, biological brothers and sisters were not necessarily children from the same womb but children of the same biological father. Thus, since the mother’s identity did not determine who would or would not be considered siblings, terminology such as “half-brothers” and “sisters” or “full-brothers” and “sisters” is anachronistic in reference to biblical peoples, who did not use such categories. Moreover, since the Fourth Evangelist identifies Jesus as the son of Joseph, and since the Gospel of John does not openly espouse the notion of the virginal conception, there is little reason to think that the author considered Jesus and his brothers as anything but Joseph’s biological sons. Hence, the Helvidian, Epiphanian, and Hieronymian ways of defining the type of kinship relationship existing between Jesus, his brothers, and his sisters are incompatible with the presentation of the family of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel and probably reflect a later debate that did not concern


John the Evangelist. In Fourth Gospel research, therefore, we ought to assume that Jesus and his brothers are portrayed as sons of Joseph. The definition of “brother” or “sister” as a sibling born of the same father has implications for the idea of fictive kinship in the Fourth Gospel. While God’s life is mediated to believers (John 3:16; 6:40, 44, 57; 12:49-50) primarily through Jesus, who has affinities with the female figure of Personified Wisdom (1:2, 11; 4:13-14; 6:35), a dominant image of Jesus is the Son who has come from God (8:42; 9:33) or from the Father (1:14; 16:28; 17:8). In four cases (1:14; 9:33; 16:28; 17:8), his relationship with his Father is expressed by means of the preposition παρά and followed by the genitive case (παρὰ πατρός; παρὰ θεοῦ; παρὰ τοῦ πατρός; παρὰ σοῦ). The sense is, therefore, that Jesus is the Son, who has come from or originated from the presence of God who is father. There is one instance (John 8:42) where the preposition ἐκ is used and followed by the genitive (ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ). In this case, the author may be intimating that Jesus is actually born of this father-God. And since Jesus’s fictive kin are children of his heavenly Father, status as a child of God in the Gospel of John depends heavily upon God’s salvific paternity. Even though it is primarily Jesus who relates to God as Son, and for whom God is expressly named as Father, behind the Johannine notion of believers becoming children of God (John 1:12) is the root metaphor of God as the Father who gives life to his children. God is the Father of believers (John 20:17), and it is by the life-giving actions of God as Father (5:21, 24; 6:33), rather than the actions of humans, that one becomes a child of God in the Johannine sense (1:13). IV. Concluding Remarks Johannine scholars have traditionally drawn upon historical-critical or literary approaches to biblical interpretation in their analyses of the relationship between Jesus and his mother, as well as her role in the Fourth Gospel. The same has been true of the significantly fewer studies of the relationship between Jesus and his brothers. This exegesis, which employs the methods and models of a social-science approach, recognizes that a text written by biblical people who hail from a very different time, location, and culture from that of twenty-first century North Americans must be evaluated in a way that respects the social system available to those ancients who produced it. This approach to


the text, which draws on the methods and models of cultural anthropology, facilitates a study of the relational dynamics between Jesus, his biological kin, and his fictive kin at the narrative level. Furthermore, with the help of sociolinguistics, it is possible to analyze the language of the Fourth Gospel and to offer reasonable speculation about how the relational dynamics manifested in the narrative may have been reflected within a group of late first-century Christ-believers. Finally, this contribution to Johannine exegesis recognizes that the Fourth Gospel has both a narrative and a social world, and that they manifest strong affinities when it comes to kinship relationships and their significance.

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Index of Ancient Sources

35:19 35:21

OLD TESTAMENT AND APOCRYPHA Genesis 4:1-16 5:3-32 9:20-27 12-50 20:12 21:1-21 22:17-18 27:1-46 34:7 37:4-5 37:9-14 37:11 37:16 37:26-27

148 52 108 42 54 110 52 110 110 54 54 110 54 54

Exodus 21:15

97

Leviticus 19:32 20:4-5 20:9

97 95 97

Numbers 16:22 35:16-21

95 100

96 96

Deuteronomy 19:6 19:12 21:17 21:18-21 Joshua 20:5

96 96 149 95 96

Judges 11:12

28, 126

1 Samuel 18:8

110

2 Samuel 3:3 3:8 16:10 19:22

54 110 126 126

1 Kings 1:5-31 1:10 1:31 2:7 2:15 2:20

107 54 97 54 54 105

230

2:21-22 17:18

54 28, 126

2 Kings 3:13

28, 126

2 Chronicles 22:1-3 22:12 35:21

106 106 28, 126

Job 32:4

97

Psalms 21:5 61:7 122:8-9

97 97 112

Proverbs 4:3 15:33 18:12 22:14 23:22 Isaiah 9:14 49:15 Jeremiah 9:3

107 129, 131 129 129 99, 147 97 103 110

Index of Ancient Sources · 231 Daniel 6:7

97

Hosea 11:1-4 14:8

103 28

Zechariah 9:9

132

Tobit 4:1-4

99

Wisdom 10:3

110

Sirach 3:1-11 3:12-16 25:1 30:6

97 97 112 96

2 Maccabees 7:20-41

103

4 Maccabees 8:1-18:24 15:10-12 16:12-24 18:11

144 106 106 110

NEW TESTAMENT Matthew 1:1-16 1:18-25 1:20 4:5-6 8:29 10:6 13:55 13:55-56 18:6 20:20-23 22:9-10 27:31

52 121 52 60 28, 126 21 48 120 175 110 95 133

Mark 1:24 3:21 3:31-35 6:3 10:41 15:20 15:40 Luke 1:26-35 2:7 3:23-38 4:9-11 4:34 8:28 12:13 14:7-11 John 1:1 1:2 1:3 1:4 1:7 1:10 1:10c 1:11 1:12 1:12-13 1:13 1:14

1:15 1:16 1:16-17 1:17 1:17b 1:18

28, 126 184 184 46, 47, 120, 149 129 133 47 121 121 52 60 28 28 108 129 123 123, 203 122 122, 123 14, 175 60 173, 174 183, 203 4, 123, 175, 176, 177, 200, 203 50 4, 6, 18, 50, 51, 55, 147, 203 6, 11, 44, 122, 123, 149, 158, 160, 179, 189, 203 122 11 123 149 123 35, 123,

1:24-26 1:26 1:29 1:30 1:35-51 1:37 1:38-51 1:39 1:40 1:41 1:43 1:43-51 1:44 1:45

1:45-46 1:46 1:48 1:49 1:50 2:1 2:2 2:1-2 2:1-11

2:1-12

2:3 2:3c 2:3-4 2:3-5

133, 149, 196 173 37 122 122 118, 201 184 58 179, 184 184 14, 18, 122, 136, 148, 179 18 149 127 3, 6, 14, 37, 45, 55, 57, 122, 136, 179 127, 135 135 122 18, 122, 136, 148 135, 175 3, 28, 37, 45, 119 135 118 6, 27, 28, 30, 31, 36, 37, 42, 44, 117, 135, 196, 202 2, 26, 27, 68, 113, 117, 118, 151, 180, 181, 195, 197 28, 37, 45, 115 126 26 2, 3, 32, 119

232 · Index of Ancient Sources John (cont.) 2:4

2:4b 2:4bc 2:4c 2:4-5 2:5

2:5b 2:6 2:6-10 2:9 2:9-10 2:11

2:12

2:14-17 2:14-20 2:16 2:18-29 2:19-20 2:19-21 2:21 2:22 2:23 2:23-25

28, 31, 33, 41, 114, 115, 116, 124, 126, 134, 195 28, 29, 31, 127 28, 29, 31, 32, 116, 126, 132 30 28, 29, 37, 42, 45, 126, 134, 181, 201 30, 36, 41 182 183 116 118 59, 62, 122, 134, 135, 136, 175, 176, 183, 190 3, 6, 19, 26 27, 28, 37 44, 45, 55 58, 62, 64 114, 116, 119, 135, 138, 142, 181, 184, 186, 195 131 138 125 196 172 178 183 59 122, 140, 148, 175, 176, 196 7

2:24 2:25 3:1 3:1-4:42 3:2 3:3 3:3-5 3:5 3:10 3:11

3:11-21 3:12 3:13-17 3:14 3:14-16 3:15 3:15-17 3:16

3:18 3:18c 3:18-21 3:19-20 3:22 3:28 3:31-36 3:32 3:34 3:35 3:36 4:9b, c 4:10 4:10-14 4:13-14 4:15 4:17 4:19 4:20-23 4:21 4:22

140 56, 135, 141 174, 180 179 159, 196 4, 18, 172 178 4, 18, 180 180 6, 44, 159, 160, 163, 180, 187, 188, 189, 201 160 175, 180 180 133 180 175 149 133, 147, 149, 175, 176, 179, 203 60, 196 175, 176 180 173 179 14, 150 160 183, 187 149, 197 149 147, 149, 175, 176 20 149 172 183, 203 178 179 179 183 33, 175 20

4:26 4:28-30 4:29 4:29-30 4:31-34 4:32-38 4:33 4:34 4:39 4:39-40 4:39-42 4:41 4:41-42 4:42 4:45 4:46-54 4:48 4:49-53 4:50 4:53 4:54 5:1-9 5:10-47 5:15 5:15-47 5:16 5:16-18 5:18 5:19 5:20 5:21 5:22 5:23 5:24 5:25-29 5:27 5:30 5:31-47 5:36 5:38

15 18, 130, 196, 201 14 58 178 172 59 131 15, 175, 176 130 18, 58, 138, 149, 196 175, 179 15 175, 181 148 30, 124, 196 175 130 175 15 122 124, 130, 196 179 14, 130 196 20, 59 130 20 125, 131 149 131, 203 149 131 175, 203 182 149 125, 131 137 15 60, 137, 173, 175, 177

Index of Ancient Sources · 233 5:41 5:42 5:43 5:44 5:44-47 5:45-47 5:46 5:47 6:1-14 6:2 6:8 6:10 6:10-13 6:11 6:14-15 6:15 6:16-20 6:22-59 6:25-26 6:26-29 6:29 6:30 6:32-33 6:33 6:35 6:36 6:38 6:40 6:41-42 6:41-71 6:42

6:44 6:47 6:50-51 6:51 6:52 6:57 6:58

130, 131, 141 177 173 131, 175, 177 137 177 175 175 196 130 60 130 183 149 148 130 130 179 130 130 175, 176 175, 189 183 172, 203 175, 176, 203 175, 189 125, 131 14, 147, 149, 175, 176, 203 20, 139, 178 137 3, 6, 37, 39, 45, 51, 57, 118, 135 203 149, 175 183 149 139 203 188

6:59 6:60 6:60-66 6:61 6:62 6:64 6:66 6:67-69 6:69 6:70 6:70-71 7:1 7:1-3 7:1-4 7:1-10

7:2-14 7:3 7:3-4 7:3-10 7:3b-4 7:4 7:4-8 7:5

188 139, 182, 188 19, 137, 196 62 63 62, 138, 175, 182, 185 62, 138, 182, 188, 199 199 59, 123, 175, 179 138, 141 138, 174, 199 20, 26, 59, 60, 141, 184 186 116 2, 18, 26, 44, 45, 59, 64, 68, 113, 114, 116, 117, 136, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 151, 180, 181, 184, 195, 197 30 26, 27, 45, 49, 55, 62 22, 136, 137, 184 3, 93 60 59 130 6, 19, 27, 45, 49, 55, 59, 60, 62,

7:5-7 7:5-8 7:6 7:6-7 7:6-8 7:7

7:7a 7:7b 7:8 7:8-9 7:10

7:10-11 7:12 7:14 7:16 7:18 7:19 7:19c 7:25 7:25-26 7:26 7:28 7:28-29 7:29 7:30 7:31 7:32 7:33

117,137, 138, 140, 147, 149, 151, 173, 175, 176, 184, 185, 187, 196 184 114, 198 32, 141 116 61 19, 60, 64, 137, 138, 139, 147, 151, 153, 173, 174, 184, 185, 199 137 60, 137 26, 32, 62, 116, 140 151 27, 45, 49, 55, 62, 63, 116, 140, 186 60 139 60 60 124, 125, 131 177 60 59, 60, 139 184 174 37 131 37 32, 128 15 173, 174 131

234 · Index of Ancient Sources John (cont.) 7:37-39 7:38 7:39 7:41 7:43-44 7:45 7:45-48 7:46 7:47 7:47-48 7:48 7:49 7:52 8:18-19 8:19 8:20 8:23 8:23-24 8:24 8:28 8:28-29 8:29 8:30 8:30-32 8:31 8:31-33 8:31-37 8:33 8:37 8:38 8:38-47 8:39 8:39-40 8:40 8:40a 8:41 8:41a 8:42

150, 183 175, 176 149, 175, 176 14 14 174 173 148 137 174 174, 175, 176 137 137 178 37 32, 128 60, 133, 139, 174 147 60, 137, 173, 175, 199 117, 131, 133, 139 125 131 175, 176 7 62, 175 178 172 55 20, 139 200 172 56, 177 55, 177 20, 139 60 51, 55, 56, 177 56 56, 177, 203

8:43 8:44 8:45 8:46 8:47 8:49 8:50 8:54 8:55 8:59 9:1-7 9:1-41 9:8-13 9:10 9:13-10:42 9:16 9:16a 9:16b 9:16c 9:16d 9:18 9:19 9:22 9:24-27 9:27 9:27d 9:28 9:30-33 9:33 9:34 9:35 9:35-39 9:36 9:38 9:39 9:40-41 9:41 9:42 10:3-4 10:4 10:10

181 56, 138, 177, 200 62, 175 137 181, 182 124, 125, 131 130, 131 131 37, 125, 177 7, 20, 60, 62, 139 124 12, 13, 149 130 130 179 13 130, 137 130, 137 130 130 175 14 13, 14, 16, 160, 162, 182, 201 16 181 16 13, 177 13, 134 203 13 175, 176 200 175, 176 13, 59 19 174, 200 173 175 4 179, 181 133

10:14 10:15 10:16 10:17 10:18 10:25 10:25-26 10:27 10:28 10:30 10:31 10:33 10:38 10:39 10:42 11:1-44 11:1-12:8 11:3 11:4 11:5 11:8 11:11-15 11:13 11:15 11:16 11:20 11:23-24 11:23-26 11:25 11:26 11:27 11:28 11:40 11:42 11:45 11:45-12:36a 11:46 11:47

4, 179 149 179 149 144 175 137, 173 179 149 149, 197 20 20 137, 149, 173, 175 20 175, 176 12, 13, 16, 30, 124, 179 16 124 124, 131, 132 124, 141 16, 20, 60, 137 172, 178 59 175 16 16 178 172 175, 176 175, 176 14, 18, 59, 162, 175, 200 16 175 175 14, 17, 132, 175, 176 179 14 59

Index of Ancient Sources · 235 11:47-53 11:48 11:48-53 11:49-50 11:49-53 11:51-52 11:53 11:54 11:55-56 11:57 12:1 12:1-8 12:3 12:4-6 12:6 12:9 12:9-19 12:10 12:11 12:13 12:15 12:17 12:18 12:19 12:20-22 12:23 12:27 12:31 12:32-34 12:35-36 12:36 12:37 12:37-40 12:38 12:39 12:42

141, 173 15, 17, 175, 176 137 174 17, 174 174 60, 132 17, 20, 141 17 14, 141, 173, 174 17 18 141, 183 141 174 132 15 17 12, 13, 175, 176 132, 148 133 133 132 15, 22 18 128, 132 132 19, 23, 173, 174, 200 133 19, 183 175, 176, 200 175, 176 60 175 175 148, 160, 161, 162, 174, 175, 176, 182, 187, 201

12:42-43 12:44b 12:44c 12:45 12:46 12:49-50 13-17 13:1 13:3 13:6-10 13:8-10 13:8-12 13:13-15 13:19 13:21-22 13:23 13:24-26 13:25 13:27 13:30 13:31-32 13:33 13:34-35 13:35 13:36-38 13:38 14:1 14:1b 14:1c 14:1-2 14:1-3 14:2 14:2-3 14:4 14:4-6 14:5-6 14:5-11 14:6 14:7a

131, 177, 186, 199 175, 176 175, 176 14 175, 176, 183 125, 203 179 4, 124, 128, 132, 198 149 59 178 172 18 175 41 35, 188, 189 35, 188 40 56, 138, 174 141, 174, 200 133 4 201 18 59 56 176 175 175 124 34, 190, 198 197 5, 150 179 172 178 59 56 188

14:7b 14:7-11 14:8-11 14:9 14:9-11 14:10 14:11 14:12 14:12-14 14:16-17 14:16-18 14:16-19 14:17 14:18 14:18-22 14:18-24 14:19 14:20 14:21-24 14:22 14:24 14:26 14:26-27 14:26-29 14:29 14:30 14:31 15:4-7 15:5 15:7 15:8 15:9-10 15:9-11 15:10 15:15 15:16 15:18 15:18-19 15:18-21 15:18-16:4 15:18-16:33

188 172 178 14 149 125, 175 175 175, 176 197 34, 124, 149, 188 198 34, 190 19, 35, 60, 173 4, 35 178 188 173 175 172 188 125 34, 35, 124, 149 198 34, 190 124 23, 173, 174, 200 125, 149 7 58 149, 197 58, 131 149 34, 190 125 149 124 139, 147, 173 60, 153, 173, 174 153 34 34

236 · Index of Ancient Sources John (cont.) 15:19 15:20 15:21 15:23-24 15:23-25 15:24 15:26 15:27 16:1 16:1-4 16:2 16:3 16:7 16:8-11 16:11 16:13 16:14 16:15 16:16-19 16:16-24 16:17-18 16:20 16:20-24 16:21 16:22 16:23 16:27 16:28 16:30 16:31 16:33 17:1 17:5

19 60, 173, 183 37, 60 153 173 60 35, 124, 190 15, 18, 179 198 160, 161, 191 23, 35, 162, 173, 182, 201 153 34, 124, 191 19, 191, 199 23, 173, 174, 200 35, 124, 191 35 149, 197 178 172 59 19 198 34, 145 35, 191 124 4, 175, 179 203 4, 175, 179 175 19, 191, 198 125, 131 131

17:6 17:7 17:8 17:9 17:9-12 17:9-19 17:11-19 17:12 17:14 17:15 17:16 17:20 17:21 17:22 17:24 17:25 17:26 18-19 18:3 18:4 18:5 18:6 18:7 18:11 18:15 18:20 18:22-23 18:33 18:36 18:36-37 18:38 18:39 19:3 19:4 19:6 19:7 19:12 19:14-15 19:15 19:16 19:17

4, 133 149 4, 59, 149, 203 173 4 198 34, 191 141 19, 60, 149, 153, 173, 179 124 19 15, 18, 175, 176 175 131, 179 149 60, 149, 173 133, 149 156 174 144 127 144 127 131 188 23, 173 145 145 19 145 174 133, 145 133, 145 174 174 20 20 20, 133 23, 145, 177 23, 174 145

19:19 19:21 19:21-22 19:24 19:25 19:25-26 19:25-27

19:26 19:26-27 19:27 19:27b 19:30 19:34-37 19:35

19:38 19:38-42 19:39 20:3-8 20:8 20:15 20:16-18 20:17 20:18 20:24-25

42, 133, 145 145 117 191 46, 47, 61, 117 37, 45 2, 3, 6, 26, 27, 28, 37, 42, 43, 44, 59, 61, 68, 113, 114, 117, 119, 142, 151, 180, 181, 189, 195, 197, 202 28, 33, 34, 188, 189 28, 40, 124, 151, 198 27, 39, 41, 190 37 131, 150, 188, 190 190 20, 41, 44, 158, 175, 179, 188, 190 199 151 183 40 175, 188 33 18 4, 55, 63, 203 179 44, 187

Index of Ancient Sources · 237 20:25 20:26-28 20:28 20:29 20:29c 20:30 20:31

21:2 21:5 21:7 21:11 21:12 21:15-19 21:24

21:24-25

175, 179, 189 64 59 175 158 122 7, 122, 154, 157, 162, 175, 177, 178, 192, 199, 200 18, 118, 127 4 41, 188 183 41 64 11, 41, 44, 158, 160, 179, 188 35

Acts of the Apostles 1:14 186, 195 2:17 190, 195 10:43 175 12:17 186 14:23 175 15:1-29 186, 195 15:13-21 187 21:17-20 186, 195 Romans 10:14a 11:11 11:14 1 Corinthians 9:5 11:8 11:12 15:7

175 108 108 186, 195 53, 54 53 186, 195

4:1-7 7:20 7:26-27 25:2-3 25:10 25:18-20 35:1-4 35:8-21

110 97 110 103 105 103 105 105

Letter of Aristeas 228

97

Pseudo-Philo 2:1 11:9 33:1 44:5

110 97 105 105

2 Corinthians 4:44 6:15

174 174

Galatians 1:17-19 1:18-19 2:6-12 2:7-12 2:16

186 195 195 186 175

Ephesians 2:2

174

Philippians 1:29

175

2 Timothy 1:5 3:14-15

104 104

Testament of Abraham 13:2 110

James 1:1

186

Testament of Adam 3:5 110

1 Peter 1:8

176

Testament of Benjamin 7:3-5 110

1 John 5:10a 5:10c 5:13 Jude 1 Revelation 2:9 3:9

Testament of Dan 1:4-9 2:3

110 110

186

Testament of Gad 2:1-5

110

24 24

Testament of Job 33

176 176 176

Testament of Joseph 5:2 33 17:1-3 112

OLD TESTAMENT PSEUDEPIGRAPHA Joseph and Aseneth 20:6-21:9 Jubilees 4:1-6

95

Testament of Judah 10:5 105

110

Testament of Simeon 2:6-7 110

238 · Index of Ancient Sources NEW TESTAMENT APOCRYPHA AND PSEUDEPIGRAPHA

The Life 129

Gospel of Thomas 12 186, 195

PAPYRI AND INSCRIPTIONS

Infancy Gospel of Thomas 16:1

Oxyrhynchus Papyri 744 102

Protevangelium of James 8:3-9:2

48 OTHER GREEK AND LATIN AUTHORS 48

EARLY CHRISTIAN LITERATURE Eusebius The Ecclesiastical History 3.11 47, 61 3.11.1 46 3.32.6 46, 61 4.22.4 46, 47, 61

JOSEPHUS Antiquities 1.2.1.52-55 1.2.3.67 2.3.5.50 9.5.1.95 9.5.2.100 13.12.1.323 13.13.3.361 17.1.1.1 20.197-203 20.256 Jewish War 1.3.1.71 1.3.2.72 1.6.1.120-22

110 110 105 110 110 110 110 110 186, 195 186 110 110 110

Aristophanes Frogs 145. 270

98

Cyprian Jealousy and Envy 5 Dio Roman History 110 111 20.9.25

Odyssey 13.255 13.291 13.375 14.162-64 14.486 15.358 16.167 18.267-68 23.77 24.167 24.192 24.433-35

102 102 102 102 102 103 102 99 102 102 102 100

111

Origen Commentary on Matthew 10.17.14-15

49

98 98

Against Celesus 1:28 1:32

56 56

110

Plutarch On Brotherly Love 109 478.2-492D 109

111

Euripides Iphigeneia at Taurus 57 102 1170 104 Homer Iliad 1.1-2.45

104

Livy History of Rome 1:6-7

Aristotle Generation of Animals 1.19.726a.30-35 53 1.19.727a.1-4 53 1.19.727a.15-20 53 1.19.727a.25-30 53 Politics 1259a.1-15 1262b.25-29

5.310-80

103

Sayings of Kings and Commanders 174F 111 185.10 105 Sayings of Spartans 232.B.3 99 Sayings of Spartan Women 240.F.2 241.1 241.3

104 104 104

Index of Ancient Sources · 239 241.B.6 241.C.7.8 242.19.21.22 The Education of Children 7.D-F.10

104 104 104

98

Tacitus Annals 4.60.3 12 460

110 107 108

Theophilus of Antioch To Autolycus 2:29-30 110

Virgil Aeneid 9.280-300 9.470-90

99 107

Index of Authors

Abudabbeh, N., 76 Abu-Lughod, L., 95, 100 Abu-Zahra, N., 97 Abu-Zeid, A. M., 99 Albera, D., 83, 84 Allan, G., 101 Allan, K., 70 Balch, D. L., 120, 183 Barakat, R. A., 70 Barclay, W., 125 Barrett, C, K., 51, 54, 115, 159, 174 Barth, F., 95 Barton, S. C., 8 Bassler, J. M., 20 Basu, A., 102 Bauckham, R., 10, 46, 47, 61, 62, 64, 120 Beasley-Murray, G. R., 7, 125, 132 Beck, D. R., 36 Bentley, W. K., 169 Berger, K., 98 Bernheim, P. A., 8, 61 Blinzler, J., 46 Blok, A., 83, 84 Blumer, H., 71 Boesen, I. W., 106 Boice, J. M., 29

Borchert, G. L., 29, 63 Bordieu, P., 100 Boring, M. E., 98 Bouhdiba, A., 105 Brandes, S., 82 Brandt, E. A., 101 Braudel, F., 73 Brodie, T. L., 63 Broude, G. J., 5 Brown, R. E., 18, 19, 24, 27, 36, 38, 43, 44, 56, 58, 60, 61, 62, 63, 125, 142, 150, 159, 176, 186, 187 Brown, P., 124 Buckley, T., 79 Bultmann, R., 20, 25, 33, 38, 51, 63, 115, 125, 141, 142, 159 Burgess, A., 166 Burke, P., 83, 167 Burney, C. F., 50 Burns, T. R., 185 Cameron, R., 47 Campbell, J. K., 97, 99, 100 Carney, T. F., 86 Cassidy, R. J., 24 Cohen, S. J. D., 19, 22 Coleman, J. A., 85

240

Index of Authors · 241 Collins, M. S., 28, 115 Colpe, C., 98 Conway, C. M., 30, 43 Corbet, J. M., 169 Corley, K. E., 150 Cuisenier, J., 107 Cullmann, O., 25, 47, 48, 160 Culpepper, R. A., 35, 155, 156, 159 Cutileiro, J., 101 Danker, F. W., 16, 21, 22, 32, 35, 37, 55, 173, 176 Das Gupta, M., 102 Davies, M., 162 Davies, W. D., 24 Davis, J., 108 Delaney, C., 51, 52 de Pina-Cabral, J., 83, 84 Destro, A., 45, 59, 62 Dixon, S., 8, 97, 106 Dodd, C. H., 23, 24 Donfried, K. P., 61 Douglas, M., 164 Doumanis, M., 107 Du Boulay, J., 96, 101 Duling, D. C., 21, 22 Duranti, A., 69 Edgerton, R. B., 108 Eggan, F., 4 Eickelman, D. F., 96 Eisenman, R., 8 Elliott, J. H., 48, 86 Encinas, G. L., 168, 170 Esler, P. F., 8, 10, 69 Fehribach, A., 30, 42, 115 Fernea, E., 78 Feuillet, A., 29, 38 Finucci, V., 52 Fitzmyer, J. A., 61 Foley, M. A., 79 Foster, G. M., 82, 128, 129 Fowler, R., 173, 177 Friedl, E., 105

Frier, B., 120 Galot, J., 50 Gaventa, B. R., 38, 40, 160 Giblin, C. H., 30 Gilmore, D. D., 82, 103, 108 Gilsenan, M., 101 Giordano, J., 105 Goddard, V. A., 83 Godet, F. L., 29 Goody, J., 82 Gordon, J. D., 70, 87 Gotti, M., 167, 169 Greenspahn, F. E., 109 Haenchen, E., 39 Hagedorn, C., 109 Hallett, J. P., 97, 106, 110 Halliday, M. A. K., 3, 152, 163, 164, 167, 168, 169, 170 Hanson, K. C., 92 Hartdegen, S., 121 Heise, J., 58 Hellerman, J. H., 8 Hengel, M., 64 Hernes, G., 72 Hock, R. F., 48 Honigman, J. J., 73 Hunter, V., 99 Hurtgen, J. E., 168 Ilan, T., 190 Irvine, J. T., 168 Irwin, G., 169 Jacobson, J. D., 8 Just, R., 108 Katz, S. T., 161 Keener, C. S., 157, 175, 183, 186, 189 Kenna, M. E., 97 Kilpatrick, G. D., 59 Kimelman, R., 17, 161, 162 Kiray, M., 103 Kirk, A., 118

242 · Index of Authors Kirschner, R., 123 Koester, C. R., 64, 159 Krueger, J., 21 Kuper, A., 5 Kysar, R., 7 Lave, C. A., 86 Lee, D. A., 58 Lenski, G., 73 Lenski, J., 73 Léon-Dufour, X., 155 Lichtenstadter, I., 77 Liddell, H. G., 33 Lieu, J. M., 34, 145 Lightfoot, J. B., 47 Lightfoot, R. H., 38, 59 Lincoln, A. J., 11, 158, 160 Lindars, B., 125 Lisón-Tolosana, C., 108 Littman, R. J., 95 Llobera, J. R., 83 Lodge, O., 97 Lowe, M., 20 Maccini, R. G., 33 Magnarella, P. J., 83 Malina, B. J., 3, 14, 18, 22, 35, 60, 65, 84, 85, 89, 113, 123, 125, 127, 129, 137, 140, 146, 152, 163, 166, 170, 171, 172, 174, 178, 179, 182, 185, 189, 190 Mallik, B. P., 169, 171 March, G., 86 Marshall, E., 52 Martin, T. W., 37 Martyn, J. L., 11, 12, 161 Maurer, D. W., 167, 168, 169 McGoldrick, M., 105 McHugh, J., 31, 37, 46 McVaugh, M. R., 52 Meeks, W. A., 156, 171, 172 Meier, J., 49, 187 Merton, R. K., 165 Michaels, J. R., 64 Miller, S. S., 17 Minear, P. S., 188 Moloney, F. J., 34, 41, 42, 59, 191

Moore, W. E., 72 Morris, L., 28, 33, 115 Murdoch, G. P., 5, 75, 90, 91, 96 Mussner, F., 154 Nathan, G. S., 8 Neisser, E. G., 107, 108 Neyrey, J. H., 109, 137, 139, 143 Nolan, P., 73 Obach, R. E., 118 O’Day, G. R., 125 Olbricht, T. H., 122 Olsson, B., 126 Oporto, S. G., 8 Ortner, S. B., 70, 71, 72 Osiek, C., 120 Ott, S., 96 Painter, J., 8, 59, 62, 64, 120, 161, 187 Parsons, T., 165 Patai, R., 78, 81, 88, 93, 94, 95, 100, 108, 120 Patterson, C. B., 8, 100 Pesce, M., 45, 59, 62 Pierce, J. E., 79 Pilch, J. J., 21, 41, 101, 123, 139, 190 Pine, F., 5 Pitt-Rivers, J, 4, 88, 96 Pomeroy, S. B., 8, 37, 98, 104, 106 Prickett, S., 117 Queralt, M., 164 Rassam, A., 102 Rawson, B., 97, 120 Reinhartz, A., 12, 13 Rensberger, D., 171 Reumann, J., 61 Riley, G. J., 18 Riley, H., 46, 120 Rivlin, B., 68, 77, 80 Rogers, S., 103 Rohrbaugh, R. L., 13, 14, 18, 22, 35, 84, 113, 122, 125, 127, 140, 166, 171, 174, 182, 185, 189, 190

Index of Authors · 243 Rose, H. J., 111 Safrai, Z., 182 Schaberg, J., 56 Schnackenburg, R., 6, 38, 55, 60, 63, 125, 132, 141 Schneider, J., 82 Schniedwind, W., 170 Scott, R., 33 Segovia, F. F., 34 Seim, T. K., 29 Seymour-Smith, C., 165 Sheppard, B. M., 40, 41 Shore, C., 83 Sim, D. C., 10 Simicå, A., 97 Slater, P. S., 102 Snyder, G. F., 18 Stambaugh, J. E., 183 Stegemann, E. W., 149 Stegemann, W., 149 Stibbe, M. W. G., 156 Stirling, P., 107 Szyliowicz, S., 68, 77, 80 Talbert, C. H., 63

Temple, W., 50 Tentori, T., 107 Thielman, F., 172 Thomas, L., 53 Thompson, L., 74 Thurian, M., 28, 121 Tidball, D. J., 183 Todd, E., 92, 93 Triandis, H. C., 87, 103 Turner, N., 126 van der Hoorst, P. W., 161 van der Toorn, K., 102 Van Nieuwenhuijze, C. A. O., 76, 80 van Tilborg, S., 25 Vassiliou, G., 88, 96 Vassiliou, V. G., 88, 96 Vogt, E. Z., 72 von Wahlde, 19, 20 Walcot, P., 102 Wang, G., 72 Warner, M., 53 Williams, R. H., 31, 127 Winner, I. P., 96 Wood, R. A., 86, 89

Index of Subjects

Anti-language(s) characteristics of, 168-71, 197 definition of, 166-67 and the Fourth Gospel, 171-80 function of, 168 Halliday’s theory of, 163-64, 170 and secrecy, 167 Anti-society: definition of, 168 Beloved Disciple alumnus of Jesus, 40-41 and the Johannine anti-society, 18788, 189-91 Brothers: friction between, 107-112, 13637, 147-49 Brothers of Jesus absence from crucifixion scene, 14651 Epiphanian view, 45-46, 47 and fictive kinship, 6 followers or foes of Jesus, 57-65, 13738, 140-42, 196-97 Helvidian view, 45, 47 Hieronymian view, 46-47 James, 16, 61, 186-87, 195 and the Johannine anti-society, 18489, 197-98

and the Johannine community, 18, 19 step-brothers, cousins, or biological siblings of Jesus, 45-57 Circum-Mediterranean boundaries of, 75 as a culture area, 81-84 Collectivism: traits of collectivistic individuals, 87-88 Crucifixion and family honor, 143-44, 145-46 John’s status-elevation scene, 142-43, 144-46 Culture and change, 73, 76-79 defining culture, 69-71 and human agency, 70-71 Culture Area: definition, 79, 82 Expulsion: from synagogue, 160-62, 18284 Family definition, 5 egalitarian nuclear family, 92 endogamous community family, 9395 exogamous community family, 92

244

Index of Subjects · 245 extended family, 5 fictive family, 4, 5, 6 nuclear family, 5 stem family, 5 Gospel: communities, 9-11, 199-201 Gospel of John provenance, 23-25, 186 as two-storey story, 11-17, 157-62 Gospel of Peter: and the Epiphanian view, 47, 48-49 Honor and age, 97, 98 definition of, 88 family, 99-100, 138-39, 196 Humility and the hour of Jesus, 127-34 of parents, 97, 98-99 Illegitimacy: of Jesus, 55-57 Individualism: traits, 87 In-group definition of, 96 in collectivist cultures, 96-97 Infancy Gospel of Thomas; and the Epiphanian view, 47-48 οἱ ᾽Ιουδαῖοι: identity and English translation of, in John’s Gospel, 19-22

Limited Good definition of, 128 and envy, 128-29 Middle East as a culture area, 80-81 boundaries of, 75 Model(s) constituents of the model, 67-68, 8586 definition(s) of, 86 kitbashing, 89 methodological weaknesses of, 87 Murdoch’s family model, 89-91 Todd’s family model, 91-93 Mother of Jesus and Beloved Disciple, 38-44, 189 and fictive kinship, 6 and John’s anti-society, 181-82, 184, 190-91, 198, 201-2 Γύναι, 32-35 “The Mother of Jesus,” 35-38 Τί ἐμοὶ καὶ σοί, 28-32 relationship to the brothers of Jesus, 119-121 relationship with Jesus, 124-26, 134-35, 196 Mothers: and sons, 102-7

Jesus: holy man, 121-124 Johannine Community description of, 18 and the Fourth Gospel’s “we” language, 6, 7, 11, 158-60 rivals and opponents, 17-19 Joseph: relationship with Jesus, 6, 202-3

Outsiders: secrecy, 100-102

Kinship fictive kinship, 4, 5 figurative kinship, 4 pseudo-kin, 4 ritual kinship, 4 ὁ κόσμος: identity of, in John’s Gospel, 2223

Paternity and maternity, 51 and procreation, 51, 52-53 biblical view of causality in procreation, 52, 53, 54-55 Protevangelium of James: and the Epiphanian view, 47, 48

Narrative and History hermeneutical significance of lapse of time, 154-55 from narrative world to real world of intended audience, 155-63

246 · Index of Subjects Secrecy and honor, 140-42 of Jesus toward his brothers, 140-42 Shame: definition of, 88 Social Change and continuity, 72 definition of, 71-72 factors affecting, 72

Social System: definition of, 164-65 Synagogue: function of, 182-83 Virginal conception of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel, 50-51

The Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series (CBQMS) 1. Patrick W. Skehan, Studies in Israelite Poetry and Wisdom (CBQMS 1) $9.00 ($7.20 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-00-0 (LC 77-153511) 2. Aloysius M. Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom: A Redactional-Critical Study of the References to the Kingdom of God in Mark’s Gospel (CBQMS 2) $9.00 ($7.20 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-01-9 (LC 72-89100) 3. Joseph Jensen, O.S.B., The Use of tôrâ by Isaiah: His Debate with the Wisdom Tradition (CBQMS 3) $3.00 ($2.40 for CBA members) ISBN 0915170-02-7 (LC 73-83134) 4. George W. Coats, From Canaan to Egypt: Structural and Theological Context for the Joseph Story (CBQMS 4) $4.00 ($3.20 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-03-5 (LC 75-11382) 5. O. Lamar Cope, Matthew: A Scribe Trained for the Kingdom of Heaven (CBQMS 5) $4.50 ($3.60 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-04-3 (LC 75-36778) 6. Madeleine Boucher, The Mysterious Parable: A Literary Study (CBQMS 6) $2.50 ($2.00 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-05-1 (LC 76-51260) 7. Jay Braverman, Jerome’s Commentary on Daniel: A Study of Comparative Jewish and Christian Interpretations of the Hebrew Bible (CBQMS 7) $4.00 ($3.20 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-06-X (LC 78-55726) 8. Maurya P. Horgan, Pesharim: Qumran Interpretations of Biblical Books (CBQMS 8) $6.00 ($4.80 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-07-8 (LC 78-12910) 9. Harold W. Attridge and Robert A. Oden, Jr., Philo of Byblos, The Phoenician History (CBQMS 9) $3.50 ($2.80 for CBA members) ISBN 0915170-08-6 (LC 80-25781) 10. Paul J. Kobelski, Melchizedek and Melchires˚ a> (CBQMS 10) $4.50 ($3.60 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-09-4 (LC 80-28379) 11. Homer Heater, A Septuagint Translation Technique in the Book of Job (CBQMS 11) $4.00 ($3.20 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-10-8 (LC 81-10085) 12. Robert Doran, Temple Propaganda: The Purpose and Character of 2 Maccabees (CBQMS 12) $4.50 ($3.60 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-116 (LC 81-10084) 13. James Thompson, The Beginnings of Christian Philosophy: The Epistle to the Hebrews (CBQMS 13) $5.50 ($4.50 for CBA members) ISBN 0-91517012-4 (LC 81-12295) 14. Thomas H. Tobin, S.J., The Creation of Man: Philo and the History of Interpretation (CBQMS 14) $6.00 ($4.80 for CBA members) ISBN 0-91517013-2 (LC 82-19891) 15. Carolyn Osiek, Rich and Poor in the Shepherd of Hermes (CBQMS 15) $6.00 ($4.80 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-14-0 (LC 83-7385)

16. James C. VanderKam, Enoch and the Growth of an Apocalyptic Tradition (CBQMS 16) $6.50 ($5.20 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-15-9 (LC 8310134) 17. Antony F. Campbell, S.J., Of Prophets and Kings: A Late NinthCentury Document (1 Samuel 1-2 Kings 10) (CBQMS 17) $7.50 ($6.00 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-16-7 (LC 85-12791) 18. John C. Endres, S.J., Biblical Interpretation in the Book of Jubilees (CBQMS 18) $8.50 ($6.80 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-17-5 (LC 86-6845) 19. Sharon Pace Jeansonne, The Old Greek Translation of Daniel 7-12 (CBQMS 19) $5.00 ($4.00 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-18-3 (LC 87-15865) 20. Lloyd M. Barré, The Rhetoric of Political Persuasion: The Narrative Artistry and Political Intentions of 2 Kings 9 -11 (CBQMS 20) $5.00 ($4.00 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-19-1 (LC 87-15878) 21. John J. Clabeaux, A Lost Edition of the Letters of Paul: A Reassessment of the Text of the Pauline Corpus Attested by Marcion (CBQMS 21) $8.50 ($6.80 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-20-5 (LC 88-28511) 22. Craig Koester, The Dwelling of God: The Tabernacle in the Old Testament, Intertestamental Jewish Literature, and the New Testament (CBQMS 22) $9.00 ($7.20 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-21-3 (LC 89-9853) 23. William Michael Soll, Psalm 119: Matrix, Form, and Setting (CBQMS 23) $9.00 ($7.20 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-22-1 (LC 90-27610) 24. Richard J. Clifford and John J. Collins (eds.), Creation in the Biblical Traditions (CBQMS 24) $7.00 ($5.60 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-23-X (LC 92-20268) 25. John E. Course, Speech and Response: A Rhetorical Analysis of the Introductions to the Speeches of the Book of Job, Chaps. 4 - 24 (CBQMS 25) $8.50 ($6.80 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-24-8 (LC 94-26566) 26. Richard J. Clifford, Creation Accounts in the Ancient Near East and in the Bible (CBQMS 26) $9.00 ($7.20 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-25-6 (LC 94-26565) 27. John Paul Heil, Blood and Water: The Death and Resurrection of Jesus in John 18 – 21 (CBQMS 27) $9.00 ($7.20 for CBA members) ISBN 0-91517026-4 (LC 95-10479) 28. John Kaltner, The Use of Arabic in Biblical Hebrew Lexicography (CBQMS 28) $7.50 ($6.00 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-27-2 (LC 95-45182) 29. Michael L. Barré, S.S., Wisdom, You Are My Sister: Studies in Honor of Roland E. Murphy, O.Carm., on the Occasion of His Eightieth Birthday (CBQMS 29) $13.00 ($10.40 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-280 (LC 97-16060) 30. Warren Carter and John Paul Heil, Matthew’s Parables: AudienceOriented Perspectives (CBQMS 30) $10.00 ($8.00 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-29-9 (LC 97-44677)

31. David S. Williams, The Structure of 1 Maccabees (CBQMS 31) $7.00 ($5.60 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-30-2 32. Lawrence Boadt and Mark S. Smith (eds.), Imagery and Imagination in Biblical Literature: Essays in Honor of Aloysius Fitzgerald, F.S.C. (CBQMS 32) $9.00 ($7.20 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-31-0 (LC 2001003305) 33. Stephan K. Davis, The Antithesis of the Ages: Paul’s Reconfiguration of Torah (CBQMS 33) $11.00 ($8.80 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-32-9 (LC 2001007936) 34. Aloysius Fitzgerald, F.S.C., The Lord of the East Wind (CBQMS 34) $12.00 ($9.60 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-33-7 (LC 2002007068) 35. William L. Moran, The Most Magic Word: Essays on Babylonian and Biblical Literature (CBQMS 35) $11.50 ($9.20 for CBA members) ISBN 0915170-34-5 (LC 2002010486) 36. Richard C. Steiner, Stockmen from Tekoa, Sycomores from Sheba: A Study of Amos’ Occupations (CBQMS 36) $10.50 ($8.40 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-35-3 (LC 2003019378) 37. Paul E. Fitzpatrick, S.M., The Disarmament of God: Ezekiel 38–39 in Its Mythic Context (CBQMS 37) $11.50 ($9.20 for CBA members) ISBN 0-91517036-1 (LC 2004005524) 38. Jeremy Corley and Vincent Skemp (eds.), Intertextual Studies in Ben Sira and Tobit (CBQMS 38) $13.00 ($10.40 for CBA members) ISBN 0-91517037-x (LC 2004018378) 39. Michael L. Barré, S.S., The Lord Has Saved Me: A Study of the Psalm of Hezekiah (Isaiah 38:9-20) (CBQMS 39) $12.00 ($9.60 for CBA members) ISBN 0-915170-38-8 (LC 2005005066) 40. Gordon J. Hamilton, The Origins of the West Semitic Alphabet in Egyptian Scripts (CBQMS 40) $18.00 ($14.40 for CBA members) ISBN 0915170-40-x (LC 2006017360) 41. Gregory Tatum, O.P., New Chapters in the Life of Paul: The Relative Chronology of His Career (CBQMS 41) ISBN 0-915170-39-6 (LC 2006034840) 42. Joan Cecelia Campbell, Kinship Relations in the Gospel of John (CBQMS 42) ISBN 0-915170-41-8 (LC 2007007259)

Order from: The Catholic Biblical Association of America The Catholic University of America Washington, D.C. 20064

Kinship Relations in the Gospel of John (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph)

Roman Imperial Ideology and the Gospel of John (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph)

Hebrews: Chiastic Structures and Audience Response (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph)

The Story Within a Story in Biblical Hebrew Narrative (The Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series)

The Disarmament of God: Ezekiel 38-39 in Its Mythic Context (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series)

The Lord of the East Wind (The Catholic Biblical Quarterly. Monograph Series, 34)

Imagery and Imagination in Biblical Literature: Essays in Honor of Aloysius Fitzgerald (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series 32)

Studies in the Greek Bible : essays in honor of Francis T. Gignac, S.J. (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series 44)

The Lord Has Saved Me: A Study of the Psalm of Hezekiah (Isaiah 38:9-20) (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph)

Intertextual Studies in Ben Sira and Tobit: Essays in Honor of Alexander A. Di Lella, O.F.M. (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph)

The Gospel of St. John

Stockmen from Tekoa, Sycomores from Sheba: A Study of Amos' Occupations (The Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series)

The Temporal Mechanics of the Fourth Gospel: A Theory of Hermeneutical Relativity in the Gospel of John (Biblical Interpretation Series)

The Spirit-Paraclete in the Gospel of John (Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series)

The Gospel of Paul (Studies in Biblical Literature, V. 56)

The Gospel of Paul (Studies in Biblical Literature, V. 56)

Semeia 85: God the Father in the Gospel of John

The Character of Kinship

The Quest of the Historical Gospel: Mark, John and the Origins of the Gospel Genre

Voyages with John: Charting the Fourth Gospel

The Gospel to the Romans: The Setting and Rhetoric of Mark's Gospel (Biblical Interpretation Series)

The Genius of Kinship: The Phenomenon of Kinship and the Global Diversity of Kinship Terminologies

Memoir and Diary of John Yeardley, Minister of the Gospel

The Halakhah of Jesus of Nazareth according to the Gospel of Matthew (Studies in Biblical Literature)

The Gospel in Brief

Kinship in Bali

The Quarterly Review (london)

Literary Relations: Kinship and the Canon 1660-1830

This Tragic Gospel: How John Corrupted the Heart of Christianity

The Gospel and Epistles of John: A Concise Commentary

Ptolemy's Commentary On The Gospel Of John Prologue

Kinship Relations in the Gospel of John (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph)

Roman Imperial Ideology and the Gospel of John (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph)

Hebrews: Chiastic Structures and Audience Response (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph)

The Story Within a Story in Biblical Hebrew Narrative (The Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series)

The Disarmament of God: Ezekiel 38-39 in Its Mythic Context (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series)

The Lord of the East Wind (The Catholic Biblical Quarterly. Monograph Series, 34)

Imagery and Imagination in Biblical Literature: Essays in Honor of Aloysius Fitzgerald (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series 32)

Studies in the Greek Bible : essays in honor of Francis T. Gignac, S.J. (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series 44)

The Lord Has Saved Me: A Study of the Psalm of Hezekiah (Isaiah 38:9-20) (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph)

Intertextual Studies in Ben Sira and Tobit: Essays in Honor of Alexander A. Di Lella, O.F.M. (Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph)

The Gospel of St. John

Stockmen from Tekoa, Sycomores from Sheba: A Study of Amos' Occupations (The Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series)

The Temporal Mechanics of the Fourth Gospel: A Theory of Hermeneutical Relativity in the Gospel of John (Biblical Interpretation Series)

The Spirit-Paraclete in the Gospel of John (Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series)

The Gospel of Paul (Studies in Biblical Literature, V. 56)

The Gospel of Paul (Studies in Biblical Literature, V. 56)

Semeia 85: God the Father in the Gospel of John

The Character of Kinship

The Quest of the Historical Gospel: Mark, John and the Origins of the Gospel Genre

Voyages with John: Charting the Fourth Gospel

The Gospel to the Romans: The Setting and Rhetoric of Mark's Gospel (Biblical Interpretation Series)

The Genius of Kinship: The Phenomenon of Kinship and the Global Diversity of Kinship Terminologies

Memoir and Diary of John Yeardley, Minister of the Gospel

The Halakhah of Jesus of Nazareth according to the Gospel of Matthew (Studies in Biblical Literature)

The Gospel in Brief

Kinship in Bali

The Quarterly Review (london)

Literary Relations: Kinship and the Canon 1660-1830

This Tragic Gospel: How John Corrupted the Heart of Christianity

The Gospel and Epistles of John: A Concise Commentary

Ptolemy's Commentary On The Gospel Of John Prologue

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