Matthew Chapter 16:13-20

Once again we faced the prospect of two short sections or one very long section. I chose the former. The fear is that too short disturbs the sense of continuity and flow. Of course, too long can do the same thing. Of course, what truly destroys continuity is when it takes forever to complete a post. The problem is that I never know how much I’m going to say when I go into one of these. Things occur to me as I’m doing the translation. And if I were to go back to a previous post, no doubt I’d come up with other thoughts. Guess that’s better than writer’s block.

13 Ἐλθὼν δὲ ὁ Ἰησοῦς εἰς τὰ μέρη Καισαρείας τῆς Φιλίππου ἠρώτα τοὺς μαθητὰς αὐτοῦ λέγων, Τίνα λέγουσιν οἱ ἄνθρωποι εἶναι τὸν υἱὸν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου;

Jesus coming into the territory of Caesarea Philippi he asked his disciples, saying, “Who do people say the son man to be?” 

I hate to sound like a curmudgeon, but this is such an obvious set up that I doubt there’s any way that this actually happened. So much depends on how Jesus viewed himself during his lifetime. Did he see himself as “The Son of Man”? Or was he simply a teacher, someone who felt like he had something to say? I think it’s pretty clear he wasn’t a Zealot. Paul doesn’t talk about Jesus’ message; rather, he talks about Jesus’ meaning as the Christ. Did Jesus see himself as the Christ? I have my doubts. Why? Because of the way Paul and James acted during the interim between Jesus’ death and the time Mark wrote. Paul proclaims that Jesus became the Christ upon being raised from the dead.

This is a topic that may require additional thought. My first impulse was to conclude that Paul’s belief precluded that Jesus saw himself as the Christ. Perhaps. Perhaps not. Regardless, this scene has much too much of a dramatic quality to it–in the sense of being stage-managed–to ring true to life. This is myth, Truth. It’s not fact.

13 Venit autem Iesus in partes Caesareae Philippi et interrogabat discipulos suos dicens: “ Quem dicunt homines esse Filium hominis?”.

14 οἱ δὲ εἶπαν, Οἱ μὲν Ἰωάννην τὸν βαπτιστήν, ἄλλοι δὲ Ἠλίαν, ἕτεροι δὲ Ἰερεμίαν ἢ ἕνα τῶν προφητῶν.

 They answered, “Some say John the Dunker, others Elijah, the others say Jeremiah, or one of the prophets.”

The point of interest here is not what it says about Jesus, but what it says about John. Elijah was the greatest of the prophets of the HS, the most revered among Jews; recall that it’s Elijah who appears with Moses during the Transfiguration. Jeremiah was up there, too. So this puts John into some very exalted company.  And here again, if Jesus’ followers were embarrassed about the connexion to John, here is one place that it would have been very easy to edit John out of the picture. After all, the scene is fictional; why not use a different name? That would have been very easy to do, an no one would have been the wiser.

But the author of Mark and Matthew chose to use John’s name. And Matthew could have changed it, just as he changed the nationality of the woman from Syro-Phoenician to Canaanite. But both used the name in a deliberate attempt to emphasize, to underscore the connexion of Jesus to John. And why not? If John was seen to be worthy to be mentioned in the same breath as Elijah and Jeremiah–or any of the prophets–then such a comparison can only be flattering. Why on earth would this be an embarrassment, something to be downplayed and covered up?

Now that I’ve pooh-poohed the possible historicity of the episode, let’s stop and ask ourselves if, perhaps, there might be that proverbial kernel of truth buried under the legend? Was Jesus perhaps compared to the prophets? That is not out of the question. And if this did happen, this may tell us something about the perception of Jesus during his lifetime. A prophet. Important? Yes. Divine? Only by inspiration. Can we draw that inference? That’s the question, isn’t it? Because if this was said about Jesus, then it may have bearing on whether Jesus thought of himself as the Christ. Now, in Jewish belief, the Christ had originally been conceived as human, the descendent of David; however, Boyarin has muddied the waters sufficiently, I think, that we can no longer say for certain that the Messiah had not begun to be seen as a divine being, per the interpretations of Daniel 7. But I think that, for the most part, Jews considered the Messiah to be human; otherwise, Boyarin would not have had to make his elaborate argument to the contrary. If a divine Messiah was a common Jewish belief in the First–or any–Century, then the specialness of Jesus would not have been so pronounced. And Jewish orthodoxy settled on a human Christ, whether in reaction to, in spite of, or without the slightest reference to Jesus.

I’m about halfway through translating the Didache. This is a text containing what are supposed to be teachings of the Twelve Apostles. At least, that’s what the title indicates, but there doesn’t seem to be much inside about the Apostles. The odd thing is, in some ways, I’m not entirely sure that this is actually a Christian document. There’s very little indicating that it is, aside from some non-integral references to Jesus that could easily be interpolations. Absent these and a few other marginalia, and this could almost be a Jewish tract. The main thrust is moral: what to do, what not to do, reminiscent of the sin-lists that we have seen in Paul. Were these specifically Christian? Or did Paul simply repeat what he had learned as a Pharisee? As such, given the Didache, and assuming it was indeed Christian, there is nothing about Jesus life, his death, his resurrection, and almost nothing about his divinity. The lone (possible) exception, is that the reader is instructed to baptize in the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit. But the instructions are more about the quality, or the type of the water that is used. The point of all this is that, assuming it is Christian, we have a Jesus that is possibly more like a prophet than a divine son of God. 

Thus the question becomes one of when the Didache was written. Is it early? Like the 50s? Is it later, like the turn of the century? The lack of distinction between a Jewish and a Christian sensibility, or even of a clearly defined or recognizable Christian vocabulary might argue for an early date. But there are clear repetitions of things we find in Matthew, but not in Mark; this would imply and entail a later date, one not only after Matthew, but long enough after Matthew that much of his message had become part of the larger, or wider, tradition. If it was later, rather than earlier, closer in time to the composition of Luke than to Mark, let alone Paul, the implications are bigger, I think, because they indicate that a tradition of a non-divine Jesus ran parallel to, and co-existed with the tradition that Matthew followed and helped solidify as orthodox if he did not quite create this tradition.

Two traditions, two ideas about Jesus and what Jesus represented. Does this sound at all familiar? Doesn’t it sound like two gospels? Is it not reminiscent of the a divergence of attitude that separated Paul and James? As we discussed in the reading of Galatians, I believe there was something more at stake than just whether new followers kept kosher (that term is anachronistic, but allow a bit of license due to the familiarity of the term) as James insisted, and Jesus had. The dietary laws were may have been a proxy for the different way that Paul and James understoodJesus’ message and his role, his identity. If Jesus had been the Christ, if he had fulfilled the expectations of the Jews, then why bother with the old laws? What was the point? But if Jesus were another prophet, one who directed us to the way of life–as the Didache calls it–but was not the Christ himself, then maybe it was a good idea to maintain the old ways. Let’s face it, there is absolutely no good reason to doubt that James was indeed the brother of Jesus. Paul gains nothing by referring to James as such–quite the opposite. And Mark does tell us that Jesus did, indeed, have a brother named James. So as Jesus’ brother, James doubtless had good reason not to think of Jesus as in any way divine. A prophet? Sure. The mystical son of man foretold by Daniel, probably not. And unlike the identity of James, Paul would have had a good reason for glossing over this aspect of the disagreement he had with James. Disputing the need to follow dietary laws is one thing; disputing the very nature of Jesus, whether he was the Messiah, is quite another. Better to put that under wraps.

So my suggestion is that the Didache represents the the continuation of the tradition of James. In this tradition Jesus was seen as another prophet, or another Baptist. In this passage Mark and Mattthew are, if unwittingly, corroborating the existence of this tradition that would continue long enough to produce the Didache

14 At illi dixerunt: “ Alii Ioannem Baptistam, alii autem Eliam, alii vero Ieremiam, aut unum ex prophetis ”.

15 λέγει αὐτοῖς, Ὑμεῖς δὲ τίνα με λέγετε εἶναι;

16 ἀποκριθεὶς δὲ Σίμων Πέτρος εἶπεν, Σὺ εἶ ὁ Χριστὸς ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ θεοῦ τοῦ ζῶντος.

17 ἀποκριθεὶς δὲ ὁ Ἰησοῦς εἶπεν αὐτῷ, Μακάριος εἶ, Σίμων Βαριωνᾶ, ὅτι σὰρξ καὶ αἷμα οὐκ ἀπεκάλυψέν σοι ἀλλ’ ὁ πατήρ μου ὁ ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς.

He said to them, “Who do you say me to be?”  

(16) And answering, Simon Peter said, “You are the Anointed, the son of the living God”.

(17) Answering, Jesus said to him, “Blessed are uou Simon bar Jonah, that flesh and blood did not reveal this to you, but my father who is in the heavens.” 

So here is the payoff. The identification of Jesus as the Christ. I hadn’t realized that this was only the third time so far in Matthew that this identification is made explicit. The first was in the nativity story, when the magoi ask Herod where the Christ was to be born. The second was when John sent his disciples to as Jesus if he were the one. And the third is here.

This is interesting largely because Matthew has bee taking great pains to tell us that Jesus s divine, but the Christ par has bee relatively neglected. Why do we suppose that Matthew does this? Or perhaps doesn’t do this? Was he under the impression that Mark, and possiby Paul, had done a good enough job establishing that Jesus was the Christ, but hadn’t gone far enough towards the divine aspect? Or is it simply a matter that, up to this point, Mark’s narrative has not bee all that concerned with te Christ tradition? Recall that the first seven chapters or so of Mark were focused on Jesus the wonder worker. In fact, it is in this story, which occurs in Mark 8:29, that Mark first uses the word Christ [note: this doesn’t count the use of the word in Mark 1:1, which could easily be an interpolation.] . This fits with my suggestion that Matthew is following Mark. The implication of this is that Matthew is putting editorial process ahead of theology.

That, I think, is more revealing than a reading on Matthew’s theological outlook. It says that he didn’t necessarily go into the writing of this with something that we could call a thematic agenda. Rather, he went into this as following the basic outline of Mark and filling in where needed. Now, of course, this could be taken to mean that the basic outline of the gospel was set by Mark, and no one would really change it–until John. It would not be necessary for Matthew to maintain the basic outline of events while changing the emphasis of the theology. That is essentially, after all, what John did.

The final point is Jesus stating that Peter did not learn this from any human, but directly from the father. Does this remind us of anyone? This is, after all, what Paul said. Keep that in mind for a minute or two. The implications of this will be discussed in the next comment.

15 Dicit illis: “ Vos autem quem me esse dicitis? ”.

16 Respondens Simon Petrus dixit: “ Tu es Christus, Filius Dei vivi ”.

17 Respondens autem Iesus dixit ei: “ Beatus es, Simon Bariona, quia caro et sanguis non revelavit tibi sed Pater meus, qui in caelis est.

18 κἀγὼ δέ σοι λέγω ὅτι σὺ εἶ Πέτρος, καὶ ἐπὶ ταύτῃ τῇ πέτρᾳ οἰκοδομήσω μου τὴν ἐκκλησίαν, καὶ πύλαι ἅ|δου οὐ κατισχύσουσιν αὐτῆς.

And I say to you that you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my gathering, and the gates of Hades will not overpower it (= the gathering).

First, let’s get a couple of incidentals out of the way before getting to the juicy part. To start with, rendering as the “Gates of Hell” has way too much baggage of accrued association to be an effective translation. We have no real clue what this word meant to Matthew; but whatever it was, it was not anything like the idea of Hell as we all understand the word. Given that, the impulse to see this as a later insertion becomes extremely powerful. Now Hades did have gates, because they were guarded by Cerberus–or Kerberos–the three-headed dog. But these gates were designed to keep people out, which is the function of most gates, at least structural ones. Think castle gates, or gates to a city, rather than the gate to a fence that holds livestock inside. So how does a defensive structure overcome something? It would make more sense to say that the gathering would overcome the gates of Hades. Perhaps that is how it should be read.

Now here’s a thought. Mark referred to Gehenna. This is a very Jerusalem-centric reference, naming a location outside the walls of Jerusalem. As such, it would be familiar to Jews, but perhaps not so much to pagans. Hades, on the other hand, is very pagan. Matthew uses Gehenna, but only when he is reproducing Mark. OTOH, Mark does not use Hades. Does this indicate, perhaps, that Matthew’s audience was more–much more–pagan than Mark’s audience? I tend to suspect so. Does it indicate that Matthew himself was a pagan? This connexion is more–perhaps much more–tentative. What makes it more likely is that it’s not simply “Hades”, but the “Gates of Hades”. We go back to the myth, and the story of Cerberus who guarded those gates. This usage pretty clearly indicates that Matthew was familiar with the myth. Would this be something that a Jew–even one living in the Diaspora–would be aware of? Sure, it’s possible. Certainly a general awareness of Hades is likely, but the gates of Hades? That’s pretty specific; it must, however, be conceded that the story of Cerberus was a fairly well-known myth. Even so, the use of this phrase, I think, increases the likelihood that Matthew did, in fact, begin life as a pagan. To repeat, or to emphasize, this is by no means smoking gun proof. We will never have that. But we are accumulating a large number of such hints. At some point, this accumulation will have to become a “preponderance of evidence”. I need to gather up all these little clues and string them together to see what the aggregate body of evidence is. 

Next, I avoided translating as “upon this rock I will build my Church”, or even “church”. Again, “church”, even lower case, is fraught with too much accrued meaning. One of the early English translations of the Bible avoided translating “ekklesia” as “church” so as to avoid confusion with the institution that was run by the Bishop of Rome. And while I have generally translated “ekklesia” as “assembly”, or “community”, here I chose “gathering”. The literal meaning is “a calling out”, as in “a summons”. It was the call for citizens of the polis to gather, to assemble in the agora to discuss affairs of state.

And notice that Peter now has a patronymic: Peter bar Jonas, the son of Jonas. This is the legend-making process at work, resulting in the introduction of a new participant. Why would we expect Matthew to know the name of Peter’s father, when Mark didn’t, even though Mark wrote a generation earlier? As we progress, we will come across an increasing number of such incidental characters, like Clophas, or the member of the Twelve Nathaniel. Luke is particularly adept at introducing these new individuals. How is it that later “sources” knew this stuff while the earlier ones didn’t? The answer is simple: the names had been created in the interim, to fill out the story, to give it depth and richness. Arthur did not have knights name Launcelot, or Percival, or Gawaine. In fact, he didn’t have knights. In addition, a patronymic gives Peter a bit more status. It indicates that people–including Peter himself, or at least his mother–knew who Peter’s father was. Just as Matthew supplies the name of Jesus’ father, and Luke will name the parents of John. These weren’t bastards, or just inconsequential persons with no family background. Their fathers were known men.

Now we get to the real significance of this passage. This is perhaps the most famous pun in history. But more importantly, it is only found here in Matthew. Luke doesn’t repeat it. Why only Matthew? In response, I suggest this is the juicy part.

In the verse before, Jesus says that Peter did not come to understand who Jesus was through the agency of any human, but that the understanding came directly from God. Jesus builds on that (pun intended) to declare Peter as the rock on which Jesus will the community. Kind of sounds like Matthew is trying to elevate the stature of Peter. In fact, I am sorely tempted to see this as something added by a later Bishop of Rome to bolster the position of that office in relation to other bishops. After all, this is exactly what the bishop of Rome did. The problem with this being an interpolation, is that if it had been inserted by a bishop of Rome, I would expect it to be in Luke as well. It would not necessarily have to be in Mark, because the early church regarded Matthew as the original gospel. But regardless, it’s hard not to see this as a deliberate move to put Peter in a position superior to the other disciples. And Peter has “earned” this elevated position because God has chosen to reveal to Peter bar Jonas the identity of Jesus. This was not vouchsafed to any others, but alone to Peter. The question would be “who is doing the elevating?” If it wasn’t a bishop of Rome, then it had to be Matthew.

If Peter is being moved up, who is being moved down? If Peter is being promoted, who is being demoted? At whose expense does the Petrine primacy come? One interesting implication to note here is that Mark has traditionally been identified as a disciple of Peter. This identification is based solely on the coincidence of the name. This despite the fact that “Marcus” was a very, very common Roman name. I would suggest that, if Mark had been a disciple of Peter, why do we not find this passage in Mark? I think that is a very important question; the absence, I believe, blows a pretty big hole in the idea that Mark was connected to Peter. Assuming that Peter did actually make it to Rome (of which I’m skeptical, to some extent; the early traditions on this stuff are grossly unreliable, more wishful thinking than factual), wouldn’t Mark want to help establish the Petrine primacy?

One name I can’t help but think of is Paul. Suddenly, Paul is not the only one to receive direct inspiration regarding Jesus. And we’ve been bantering on whether, and to what degree, the writings of Paul were known. Had Matthew ever heard of Paul, let alone read him? By the time Luke wrote, Paul was obviously known well enough; and after Luke wrote Acts, Paul was famous. Given all of the glancing blows that seem to delineate Paul’s gravitational field, I tend to suspect that Matthew was familiar, to some degree at least, with at least some of Paul’s writing. How much, or which, is very debatable.  Is it possible that Paul’s writings were also coming into wider circulation at this time? The diffusion of Paul’s letters is a difficult topic from what I can gather. I read an impassioned argument that Mark was not aware of Paul, which means that other people are saying that Mark was. Personally, I find it very possible that Mark wrote without knowledge of Paul, but I find it difficult to believe that Matthew did. With Matthew the followers have likely become more pagan. That would put the different stories of Jesus into a wider circulation, as pagans interacted with pagans. It would seem much more likely that pagans would share their stories of Jesus with each other more readily than they would share them with Jews, or more than Jews would share with pagans. With the paganisation of the movement, the different traditions would start to run into each other. Paul helped establish a community in Corinth, and Corinth was a commercial city, which means Corinthians interacted with people from numerous areas of the Empire. It’s not difficult to see how the diffusion occurred.

Now, one thing needs to be clarified. Whether or not the first two evangelists had ever read anything Paul wrote, they could certainly be aware of some of the differences between the various traditions. This is crystal clear in Mark, with his wonder-worker tradition and his Christ tradition. The latter came, to some large extent, from Paul. Even so, the content of the tradition could have easily have gotten to Mark without any mention of Paul’s name. Tradition puts Matthew in Antioch–although I find such tradition largely…unreliable, to say the least. Antioch was a Greek city, named after Antiochus, a descendent of Seleucis, one of the successors of Alexander the Great. So a connexion between Antioch and Corinth is easy to imagine. So it’s very conceivable that Matthew had heard about the Assembly in Corinth, and had heard about Paul. And so, it’s possible that Matthew, aware of the story of Paul’s revelation, re-used the motif, putting Peter in the role of Paul. The motive for Matthew doing this is another matter. Why did he want to help establish the primacy of Peter? Because Paul was not sufficiently on-board with Jesus as a divine personage? That Paul only recognised Jesus as the Christ after, and by virtue of, the Resurrection? So we see the beginning of the elevation of Peter at the expense of Paul, a change in emphasis that leads modern scholars to parse the gospels while entirely ignoring the evidence of Paul’s letters. The Quest for the Historical Jesus falls into this trap, and so did Daniel Boyarin, the Judaic scholar.

There is one final point to be made. This refers back to the translation of ‘ekklesia’. In its purest Greek form, there is nothing tangible about an ‘ekklesia’. It does not exist apart from the gathered citizenry having been called out. A church, OTOH, is tangible, and it does exist outside of the people who really constitute the church, in the sense of the church as truly being an assembly of the faithful rather than a building. The problem comes in with the Greek word “to build”. The Greek verb has a certain tangible aspect to it; the Greek verb is rather narrower than the word “to build” is in English. In English we can build an argument, or a case as well as we can build a building; this sort of abstract construction does not really fit into the Greek word, which is much more focused on something concrete. As in, something made of concrete. From that sense, one could infer that maybe this was meant to refer to a church, as in a building. The only problem with that is that there weren’t any buildings used specifically and solely as a church for a hundred years (rather more than that, actually) after the time Matthew wrote. Given that Christians were not exactly welcome among the pagan population sort of precluded setting aside a building specifically as a gathering place for the eucharist.

So, if one were to attempt to argue that this was, indeed, an interpolation, it would have to be pretty late. Of course, that would really explain why Luke doesn’t have this passage. The earliest church fathers considered Matthew to be the original gospel, so an interpolation inserted at the behest of the Bishop of Rome would have been put into Matthew. But I also think it would have been put into Luke as well. Given this, the soundest conclusion is that this was part of the text from an early period, if not from the outset. That still leaves the question of why Matthew decided to bolster the Petrine Primacy in this way. Or, truly, to create the Petrine Primacy, since it was largely based on this text. 

Interesting point: some of the Protestant commentators try to shave this so that the rock to which Jesus refers is himself, not Peter. This was done to undercut the claims of the Bishop of Rome to be superior to the other bishops. Of course, the Protestants disputed this hotly. I can’t quite shake the sense that this passage was indeed added, fairly early, by, or at the behest of, the Bishop of Rome. Thise would have come at or about the time that the legend of Peter ending up in Rome would have started, that the Roman bishop would have started to circulate this story–for which there is absolutely no evidence other than the later tradition.

18 Et ego dico tibi: Tu es Petrus, et super hanc petram aedificabo Ecclesiam meam; et portae inferi non praevalebunt adversum eam.

19 δώσω σοι τὰς κλεῖδας τῆς βασιλείας τῶν οὐρανῶν, καὶ ὃ ἐὰν δήσῃς ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς ἔσται δεδεμένον ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς, καὶ ὃ ἐὰν λύσῃς ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς ἔσται λελυμένον ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς.

20 τότε διεστείλατο τοῖς μαθηταῖς ἵνα μηδενὶ εἴπωσιν ὅτι αὐτός ἐστιν ὁ Χριστός.

“I give to you the keys of the kingdom of the heavens, and what you bind upon the earth will be bound in the heavens, and that which you loose upon the earth will be loosed in the heavens”. (20) Then he enjoined the disciples so that no one they tell that he was the Christ. 

Now we come to the keys to the kingdom, the genesis of the folk legend that we will meet St Peter at the Pearly Gate (from The Book of Apocalypse) and he will decide where we will spend eternity. The further I go along here, the more this feels like it was added by the Bishop of Rome. As I’ve pointed out, there are a lot of problems with trying to support this hypothesis. What evidence that exists is not convincing; it’s really a matter of…hypothesizing, really. It’s too convenient, it’s unique, it just has all the earmarks of a non-disinterested group creating something for themselves. Anyone who’s ever heard of the Donation of Constantine (link below) will know exactly what I mean. This was an out-and-out fraud, a forgery perpetrated by the See of Rome. Given that, inserting a few lines of text would not seem like much. And the reasons would have been of the highest order, done with complete confidence that they were acting under the inspiration of God.

The problem with the interpolation theory is that placing the timing is really tough; although later would explain the absence of this in the other gospels. Was it done to counteract the story of Paul that began to circulate after Luke? Did Acts seem to give too much priority to Paul? Or did Matthew write this himself, at a time when Paul and his legend–and, perhaps his writings–were becoming common tales, and that it was Paul who seemed to be the real founder of the Church? I don’t know. Nor am I familiar enough with the literature to know if this has ever been suggested. I highly doubt it, given the reverential treatment accorded to the texts of the gospels until very recently. But that is how it feels.

The last bit is the Messianic secret. We needn’t spend too much time on this, as we covered it fairly thoroughly in treating Mark. For now, suffice it to say that my take on this is that Mark was trying to explain to later audiences, 30 or 40 years after the fact, why it was that Jesus was not recognized as the Messiah by the vast majority of Jews. Mark’s answer is the Messianic secret: that Jesus’ identity as the Christ was not more widely known because he actively suppressed this information. I believe that’s an eminently plausible explanation. While Matthew definitely was writing for pagans, as I believe the text tells us, even Mark was most likely already doing the same a generation earlier than Matthew. From a logistical perspective, the destruction of Jerusalem probably destroyed any Community that existed there. And Jews in other places were less receptive to the message of Jesus largely because they–or their parents–had not experienced Jesus first-hand. So the message fell upon pagan ears and this proved to be the good soil that returned thirty, sixty, or a hundred fold. 

19 Tibi dabo claves regni caelorum; et quodcumque ligaveris super terram, erit ligatum in caelis, et quodcumque solveris super terram, erit solutum in caelis ”.

20 Tunc praecepit discipulis, ut nemini dicerent quia ipse esset Christus.

Link for the Donation of Constantine


About James, brother of Jesus

I have a BA from the University of Toronto in Greek and Roman History. For this, I had to learn classical Greek and Latin. In seminar-style classes, we discussed both the meaning of the text and the language. U of T has a great Classics Dept. One of the professors I took a Senior Seminar with is now at Harvard. I started reading the New Testament as a way to brush up on my Greek, and the process grew into this. I plan to comment on as much of the NT as possible, starting with some of Paul's letters. After that, I'll start in on the Gospels, starting with Mark.

Posted on September 29, 2015, in Chapter 16, gospel commentary, Matthew's Gospel and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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