Matthew 27:3 Now when Judas, who had betrayed him, saw that Jesus had been condemned, he regretted what he had done and returned the thirty silver coins to the chief priests and the elders, 27:4 saying, “I have sinned by betraying innocent blood!” But they said, “What is that to us? You take care of it yourself!” 27:5 So Judas threw the silver coins into the temple and left. Then he went out and hanged himself. 27:6 The chief priests took the silver and said, “It is not lawful to put this into the temple treasury, since it is blood money.” 27:7 After consulting together they bought the Potter’s Field with it, as a burial place for foreigners. 27:8 For this reason that field has been called the “Field of Blood” to this day. 27:9 Then what was spoken by Jeremiah the prophet was fulfilled: “They took the thirty silver coins, the price of the one whose price had been set by the people of Israel, 27:10 and they gave them for the potter’s field, as the Lord commanded me.”

Acts 1:18 (Now this man Judas acquired a field with the reward of his unjust deed, and falling headfirst he burst open in the middle and all his intestines gushed out. 1:19 This became known to all who lived in Jerusalem, so that in their own language they called that field Hakeldama, that is, “Field of Blood.”)

Summary

The accounts of Judas’ death in Mat 27 and Acts 1 diverge in a number of ways.  Matthew says that Judas died by handing.  Acts describes the consequences of his headfirst fall.

Richard Longenecker states that these two accounts constitute what is ‘often considered the most intractable contradiction in the NT’.

These accounts need not be read as contradictory.  However, we should recognise and welcome their differences as bringing out meaning which was clearly important for the Gospel writers and  which should can be of interest and significance for Bible readers today.

Irreconcilable?

The contributors to Harper’s Bible Commentary seem to think that the two accounts are irreconcilable.  The Matthew account is ‘a legendary explanation of the name of Akeldama’ (‘Field of Blood’).’  Acts ‘may suggest an accidental fall from a building or even a suicidal leap.’  But to suppose that this led to a bursting of the abdomen requires a stretching of credulity greater than the supposition of a harmony between the two accounts.

David Williams (UBCS) thinks that any attempt to harmonise the two accounts would be ‘somewhat forced’, and that we may have to accept that two contrasting accounts of Judas’ death were in circulation.  But, even so, it is clear that Judas died a violent death and that his demise was in some way connected with a plot of land that became known as ‘blood field’.

Marshall, similarly, thinks it possible that either Matthew or Luke was simply reporting what was commonly said in Jerusalem, making harmonisation unnecessary.

Ian Paul cites Woods, who cheerfully states,

‘I don’t believe for one moment that the Bible is compromised by honesty about the parts where it contradicts itself or where the biblical writers, speaking spiritual truth in the context of erroneous ideas about science and nature, simply got things wrong.’

But, as Ian Paul points out, such an approach leaves us in an indefensible position regarding, not only the historical value of both these accounts, but of any and all of the historical records of the NT.

Indeed, as Blomberg points out, both Evangelists distinguish between popular but untrustworthy reports from reliable ones (Mt 28:11-15; Acts 9:11-14).

How might these accounts fit together?

Both events are, of course, terrible in their own way, and it is not difficult to see why one account might stress one thing and another account the other.

According to the Holman Apologetics Commentary,

‘It is evident that Matthew wants to discuss more than just Judas’s fate; he also wants to make known the involvement of the Jewish leadership in the betrayal of Jesus. This fits Matthew’s polemic against the leadership. In distinction from this approach, Acts is interested only in Judas’s eventual fate, not in any intervening activity, including any regret (however temporary or permanent) Judas may have felt.’

Marshall thinks that the following harmonisation is possible:

‘(1). Judas hanged himself (Matt.), but the rope broke and his body was ruptured by the fall (possibly after he was already dead and beginning to decompose);

(2). What the priests bought with Judas’s money (Matt.) could be regarded as his purchase by their agency (Acts);

(3). The field bought by the priests (Matt.) was the one where Judas died (Acts).’

It is to be noted that Acts does not tell us that this was how Judas died (whereas Matthew does).

Osborne comments:

‘What may well have happened is that the rope broke and his body fell into the field (or perhaps that his body was thrown into the field afterward). This is possible, for Luke in Acts 1 is explaining the name of the field and chose those details that fit his explanation.’

Comparing Matthew’s account with that found in Acts 1, Green remarks:

‘It is not very difficult to reconcile those two accounts. Judas went and hanged himself: then either his corpse rotted and fell, or the rope broke and he fell and his insides were ruptured and gushed out. Either Judas had already acquired this field previously, or the priests bought the field in Judas’ name with the money that was still legally his and which they could not receive back into the treasury because it was blood money (6). The field fittingly became a cemetery (the meaning of the Aramaic ‘Akeldama’ in Acts 1:19).’

James Bejon: Judas as recalling Absalom (Matthew) and Ahab (Luke)

James Bejon, while acknowledging the differences between Matthew’s and Luke’s accounts, maintains that the two are not irreconcilable.  Each has its own emphases, serving the different purposes of the authors:

‘Matthew wants us to see Judas as an Absalom—a man who ends up hung as a result of his own selfish ambition—while Luke wants us to see Judas as an Ahab—a man whose ill-gotten ends up soiled by his blood—and each author’s portrayal of Judas has important Christological implications.’

The substance of the two accounts is the same:

‘Judas betrays Jesus for a pre-agreed sum of money; a field is purchased with the money; and Judas ends up dead in the field.’

But,

‘Matthew has Judas hang himself in a field purchased by the chief priests (Matt. 27.3–8), while Luke has Judas’s body burst open in a field owned by Judas (Acts 1.18–19).’

But there is no compelling reason to dismiss either (or both) of the accounts as ahistorical, for each account simply describes a different aspect of Judas’ death:

‘Matthew describes the means by which Judas decides/tries to kill himself, that is, asphyxiation, while Luke describes the final state/position of Judas’s body, that is, prostrate on the ground.’

Of course, a body hung on a tree can end up on the ground for a number of reasons, especially bearing in mind that Deut 21:23 forbids a body hanging on a tree overnight, and that Absalom’s body was hung from a tree and later cut down (2 Sam 18:9-11,17).

So it is quite plausible that one witness saw Judas hanging from the tree, while another saw his body after it had fallen.

This is not a case of desperate harmonisation, but rather a case of one account tying up the loose ends of another:

‘By way of illustration, consider the situation described in Matthew 27. To distance themselves from Judas’s blood money, the chief priests buy a field with it. Yet, if it wasn’t permissible for the chief priests to keep Judas’s blood money, why was it permissible for them to own a field bought with it? Furthermore, if Judas died a bloodless death (because he hung himself), how come the field in which he died acquired the name ‘the Field of Blood’?’

Further:

‘Matthew provides us with a theological answer to the question, viz., because the field was bought with ‘blood money’. In historical terms, however, a different answer is required, since Judas’s money is referred to as ‘blood money’ only by the priests (Matt. 27:6), who are unlikely to have named a field after an incident they wanted to hush up.

Luke tells us ‘what comes to be known by the inhabitants of Jerusalem’ at large: Acts 1:19.’

Conversely, Luke’s account has some loose ends that are tied up for us by Matthew:

‘How did Judas’s body end up on the ground burst open? People fall over every day, often quite hard, but their insides don’t normally burst out.’

Answer:

‘Judas’s body wasn’t simply hung: after it was hung, it fell to the ground, which it did from a significant height, quite possibly in a bloated state.’

And,

‘why does Luke employ the verb ‘acquire/possess’ (κτάομαι) to describe Judas’s acquisition of a field? If Judas bought the field in the standard way, why doesn’t Luke use a standard verb like ‘buy’ (ἀγοράζω)?’

Answer:

‘Judas didn’t in fact ‘buy’ the field in the standard way: the chief priests bought it on his behalf (with his money); hence, in Matthew, the field is said to be ‘bought’ (ἀγοράζω) by the chief priests, while, in Acts, it’s said to be ‘acquired’ (κτάομαι) by Judas.’

It is interesting that each account reflects something of the traditional understanding of each of the authors’ occupations and interests:

‘Matthew the tax collector is interested in the legal/financial details involved in Judas’s death— how the thirty pieces of silver were accounted for by the chief priests—while Luke the physician is more interested in (literally) the blood and guts of the matter.’

We don’t know how Judas’ body ended up on the ground.  Perhaps the branch snapped, or someone cut the body down.  But it is not necessary to answer this question in order to show that the two accounts are reconcilable.

But, since there are significant, though complementary, differences between the two accounts, we must enquire about the authors’ purposes in emphasising certain aspects.

Matthew’s purpose

Note the similarities between the death of Judas and that of Absalom, who, like Judas,

• is described as the king’s ‘friend’, 2 Sam 12:11 (cf. Mt 26:50)
• feigned loyalty to the king, 2 Sam 14:33
• dies hanging from a tree, 2 Sam 18:9f

We know that Matthew is very interested in how Jesus fulfils the story of Israel (see Matt  1:22, 2:15, 17, 23, 3:15, 4:15, 5:17, etc.).

More specifically:

‘For Matthew, Jesus is the true Son of David (Mt 1:1). As such, Jesus has to ‘fill up’ each and every aspect of David’s life (sin apart), which he does. At his birth, he becomes an heir of David’s throne (compare Matt 1.1 with 2–17); in his death and betrayal, he becomes separated from David’s kingdom (though not as a result of his sin); and, in his resurrection, he inherits the fulness of David’s kingdom—‘all authority in heaven and on earth’ (Matt 28.18).’

Matthew’s account of the death of Judas doesn’t differ from that of Luke because they are drawing on different (and incompatible) sources.  Rather, he picks out those features that best fit his overall purpose in writing his Gospel.

In short:

‘He omits the less Absalomic aspects of Judas’s death (the fact Judas ends up disembowelled) in order to draw his reader’s attention to the more Absalomic aspect of Judas’s death (the fact he’s hung).’

There are, of course, other OT connections that Matthew makes in connection with the death of Judas: note the references to Jeremiah and Zechariah.  So the Absalom allusion is not exhaustive; but it is significant.

Luke’s purpose

We have seen that

‘whereas Matthew has Judas end up in a field due to a technicality in Temple law, Luke has Judas acquire a field due to his love of money, and…whereas Matthew has Judas die by asphyxiation, Luke focuses on the spillage of Judas’s blood.’

It would seem that Luke, in making his selection of the material, wanted us to view Judas’ death (and, by extension, that of Jesus) in the light of a different OT incident.

At beginning of his Gospel, Luke has stressed the lowliness of Jesus:

‘Whereas Matthew has Jesus born ‘king of the Jews’, Luke describes Jesus’ birth in far more understated terms: he has Mary and Joseph hail from lowly Nazareth rather than royal Bethlehem; he has Jesus visited by mere shepherds rather than dignitaries from foreign lands; and he has Jesus presented at the Temple by parents who are unable to afford the standard sacrifices. As such, Luke emphasises Jesus’ poverty rather than his royal pedigree, which determines his portrayal of Judas.’

But now consider the distinctives of Luke’s portrayal of Judas:

‘a man consumed by greed who condemns a godlly Israelite to death for the price of a plot of land, and whose ‘reward’ ends up stained by the Israelite’s blood.’

This brings to mind one OT character in particular – Ahab,

‘a man who was consumed by his desire for a vineyard, who condemned a godly Israelite to death in order to acquire it, and whose blood ended up spilt on the soil not far away (1 Kings 21:19, 22:38). Consider also how both Ahab and Judas’s lineages are alike condemned (compare Elijah’s imprecation in 1 Kings 21:20–25 with Peter’s in Acts 1:20).’

But if Judas recalls Ahab, then Jesus recalls Naboth:

‘If Matthew’s Jesus is the David to Judas’s Absalom, then Luke’s Jesus is the Naboth to Judas’s Ahab—a vineyard-owner who was slandered by false witnesses at a religious assembly so the powerful could take possession of his vineyard (or at least try). Luke’s portrayal of Jesus is thus very different from Matthew’s: while Matthew’s Jesus is a Davidic king, Luke’s is a Naboth-like victim.’

So, whereas Matthew and Mark emphasise the crucified Jesus’ kingship (dressed in a royal robe of purple or scarlet, and declared ‘the Son of God’, cf. Psa 2),

‘Luke has him clothed in the resplendent (λαμπρός) robe of the saints in reflection of his Naboth-like innocence (compare Luke 23.11 with Rev. 19.8, 22.1); and [Luke’s centurian] simply declares Jesus “innocent”.’

All of this fits well with Luke’s overall scheme:

‘For Luke, the Gospel is for the poor and oppressed, and the kingdom of God is about the reversal of the world’s wrongs—a time when valleys are lifted up and mountains brought low, the lowly are exalted and the proud humbled, and Lazarus-like beggars change places with the rich.’

If at the end of Luke’s Gospel we find Jesus in the place of the poor and the oppressed, then at the beginning of Acts the great reversal begins:

‘Jesus ascends into realms of glory, the Ahab-like Judas receives his comeuppance, and, as the Gospel goes forth, the mighty continue to fall.’

27:3 Now when Judas, who had betrayed him, saw that Jesus had been condemned, he regretted what he had done and returned the thirty silver coins to the chief priests and the elders, 27:4 saying, “I have sinned by betraying innocent blood!” But they said, “What is that to us? You take care of it yourself!” 27:5 So Judas threw the silver coins into the temple and left. Then he went out and hanged himself. 27:6 The chief priests took the silver and said, “It is not lawful to put this into the temple treasury, since it is blood money.” 27:7 After consulting together they bought the Potter’s Field with it, as a burial place for foreigners. 27:8 For this reason that field has been called the “Field of Blood” to this day. 27:9 Then what was spoken by Jeremiah the prophet was fulfilled: “They took the thirty silver coins, the price of the one whose price had been set by the people of Israel, 27:10 and they gave them for the potter’s field, as the Lord commanded me.”

The quotation appears, at first sight, to come from Zechariah, not from Jeremiah:

Zech 11:12 Then I said to them, “If it seems good to you, pay me my wages, but if not, forget it.” So they weighed out my payment—thirty pieces of silver. 11:13 The LORD then said to me, “Throw to the potter that exorbitant sum at which they valued me!” So I took the thirty pieces of silver and threw them to the potter at the temple of the LORD.

(a) Some think that there is a clear error here, either on the part of the original author of this Gospel, or a copyist.

Calvin says:

‘How the name of Jeremiah crept in, I confess that I do not know, nor do I give myself much trouble to inquire. The passage itself plainly shows that the name of Jeremiah has been put down by mistake, instead of Zechariah 11:13 for in Jeremiah we find nothing of this sort, nor anything that even approaches it.’  Calvin clearly thinks that the name of ‘Jeremiah’ has ‘crept in’ as an error of a scribal copyist (see Packer, Selected Short Writings IV, p155).

According to Harper’s Bible Commentary,

‘Matthew ascribes the citation to Jeremiah. Most of it, however, comes from Zech. 11:12–13, though there are slight reminiscences of Jer 32:6–15 and Jer 18:2–3. It was difficult to verify references when there were no chapter and verse numbers and when books were in scroll form.’

(b) Others think that the difficulty, such as it is, may be resolved by a better understanding of how such citations worked.

Carson says:

‘The quotation appears to refer to Jer 19:1–13, along with phraseology drawn mostly from Zec 11:12–13. Such fusing of sources under one “quotation” is not unknown elsewhere in Scripture (e.g., Mk 1:2–3). Jeremiah alone is mentioned, perhaps because he is the more important of the two prophets, and perhaps also because Jer 19 is more important as to prophecy and fulfillment.’ (EBC)

According to the Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament, it was common practice in Jewish writing of the day to allude to two texts, but only to cite one of them (frequently the more obscure one).  Indeed, this is what we see in Mark 1:2 (a combination of Isa 40:3 and Mal 3:1, with only the first of these references being mentioned).  The more obvious reference in the present verse is to Zech 11:12f.  But the less obvious allusion is to Jer 32:6-9, although Jer 19 is an alternative, or additional, contender.  (A similar line is followed in the IVP Bible Background Commentary)

Bill Mounce notes the similarities between Matthew and Zechariah – both mention thirty piece of silver, and both mention that the money was thrown in the temple.  But there are difference, too:

‘In Zechariah, there is no mention of a field, and the money was not used to buy anything but was thrown to the potter, not the leaders as in Matthew.’

Moreover, Zechariah and Matthew have different purposes:

‘In Zechariah 11:4–17, the shepherds of Israel (the leaders) failed to do their job, so Zechariah steps in as a “sign–action” and prophecies the coming destruction of the nation. The people paid him 30 pieces of silver for his work, the price of a slave, and Zechariah threw it to the potter in the temple, demonstrating their rejection of God as their shepherd.’

These differences, urges Mounce, should suggest that we are not dealing with a literal prediction/fulfilment.

Various passages in Jeremiah may also be regarded as providing source material for Matthew.

In Jer 18:2-6, the prophet pays a visit to the potter’s house and notes that the potter is free to shape the jar however he pleases:

‘Likewise, the Lord is free to do whatever he wishes to the nation, including destroying them if they do not repent. Judas was destroyed.’

In Jer 19 Jeremiah buys a jar from a potter for 17 sheckels.  He takes some of the religious leaders to the Valley of Ben Hinnom (aka the Valley of Slaughter).  He smashes the jar there, indicating the Lord’s judgement on their sin, and that the valley would become a burying place for the dead.  It is thought that the field that was purchased with Judas’ money was in this same area.

In Jer 32:6f there is mention of the purchasing of a field (this is not mentioned in Zechariah).

It is reasonble to conclude, with France and others, that Matthew has given us a ‘mosaic of scriptural motifs’ which a blended together to suit his purpose.  Matthew names Jeremiah because he was the more prominent of the two prophets.

Mark does the same thing, combining prophecies of Isaiah and Malachi and naming the more significant prophet, Isaiah (Mark 1:2, citing Isaiah 43:3 and Malachi 3:1).

All four Gospels record that, during the trial of Jesus, he was mockingly dressed in a robe:

Mt 27:27 Then the governor’s soldiers took Jesus into the governor’s residence and gathered the whole cohort around him. 27:28 They stripped him and put a scarlet robe (χλαμύδα κοκκίνην) around him, 27:29 and after braiding a crown of thorns, they put it on his head. They put a staff in his right hand, and kneeling down before him, they mocked him: “Hail, king of the Jews!” 27:30 They spat on him and took the staff and struck him repeatedly on the head. 27:31 When they had mocked him, they stripped him of the robe and put his own clothes back on him. Then they led him away to crucify him.

Mk 15:16 So the soldiers led him into the palace (that is, the governor’s residence) and called together the whole cohort. 15:17 They put a purple cloak (πορφύραν) on him and after braiding a crown of thorns, they put it on him. 15:18 They began to salute him: “Hail, king of the Jews!” 15:19 Again and again they struck him on the head with a staff and spit on him. Then they knelt down and paid homage to him. 15:20 When they had finished mocking him, they stripped him of the purple cloak and put his own clothes back on him. Then they led him away to crucify him.

Lk 23:11 Even Herod with his soldiers treated him with contempt and mocked him. Then, dressing him in elegant clothes (ἐσθῆτα λαμπρὰν), Herod sent him back to Pilate.

Jn 19:1 Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged severely. 19:2 The soldiers braided a crown of thorns and put it on his head, and they clothed him in a purple robe (ἱμάτιον πορφυροῦν). 19:3 They came up to him again and again and said, “Hail, king of the Jews!” And they struck him repeatedly in the face.

So, according to Matthew, the robe was scarlet.  According to Mark and John, it was purple.  According to Luke, Jesus was dressed in ‘elegant clothes’ – sometimes taken to mean ‘respledent’, or even ‘dazzling’ (with the possible implication that they were white).

I put to one side the rather lazy conclusion that these differences are merely due to misremembering on the part of the evangelists or their sources.  I’m not much more impressed with this proposed solution, according to which Jesus was, at different times, made to wear three different robes (in addition to his own clothes).

We are left with a couple of more interesting possibilities.

1. Symbolic interpretation

This is discussed by Ian Paul in this post, which draws on this post by James Bejon.

According to Bejon, the colour of Jesus’ robe has a different significance in each of the Synoptics.

In Matthew (scarlet robe):

‘Jesus emerges from a genealogy stained with deep red—the colour both of sin and of its remedy (Matt. 1, Isa. 1). First we have Judah, the one destined to wash his garments in the blood of grapes (Gen. 49); then we have Tamar, who ties a scarlet thread around her chosen son’s hand; and finally we have Rahab, saved by a scarlet thread. These strands of sin and salvation reach their climax in the true Son of Judah—the one who is clothed in scarlet as he bears his people’s sins to the cross.’

In Mark (purple robe), we are introduced to Jesus

‘as Israel’s king—the one before whom messengers run, crying out ‘Prepare the way of the Lord!’. And so, in Mark, Jesus is clothed in purple (the colour of royalty)—the colour of the kings of Midian (Judg. 8), of Solomon’s chariot (Sngs. 3), of Daniel’s royal robe (Dan. 5).’

Turning now to Luke (resplendent robe):

‘Luke doesn’t open his gospel with an account of the sin-stained history of Judah, nor does he open it with a royal fanfare. Instead, Luke talks to us about innocence and righteousness—about a blameless couple from the line of Aaron, a virgin overshadowed by the Holy Spirit (to bear the holy Son of God), a genealogy which connects Jesus with the innocence of Adam. Hence, in Luke, Jesus begins his ministry at the priestly age of thirty. As he goes to the cross, he is arrayed in a white/resplendent robe, like the linen of the saints (or, perhaps better, vice-versa).’

Taking all three Synoptics together, we find that:

‘Jesus fills up the pattern of Joseph, he wears a robe of purple, scarlet, and white—a coat of many colours. And the specific colours of his coat find a distinct echo in those of Joseph’s garments.’

In particular:

‘At the start of his story we find Joseph clothed like royalty, marked out as his father’s heir (just like Jesus). The high priest transferred his authority to his successor by the transfer of his garments (Num. 20); so too did Jonathan and Elijah (1 Sam. 18.4, 23.17, 1 Kgs. 19.19, 2 Kgs. 2); and so too did Jacob (Gen. 37.7). Not much later we find Joseph’s coat stained scarlet with blood (just like Jesus’ robe). And finally Joseph’s coat is exchanged for a linen one as he is sent into the courts of a Gentile king (Gen. 41.42, Luke 23.11).’

Comment

This may be reading too much into the biblical text.  In fact, it appears to be akin to the ‘spiritualising’ of the text that was favoured by preachers in the old, pre-critical days.

To point out a couple of weaknesses:

Lk 23:11 – This verse may imply that Herod dressed Jesus in a white garment, but this is by no means certain.

Gen 37:3 – The identification of Joseph’s garment as ‘a coat of many colours’ is highly dubious.  According to a note in the NET Bible:

‘It is not clear what this tunic was like, because the meaning of the Hebrew word that describes it is uncertain. The idea that it was a coat of many colors comes from the Greek translation of the OT. An examination of cognate terms in Semitic suggests it was either a coat or tunic with long sleeves (cf. NEB, NRSV), or a tunic that was richly embroidered (cf. NIV). It set Joseph apart as the favored one.’

2. Harmonising interpretation

Yes, I know that harmonisation of Gospel differences is frowned upon in some circles.  But not so much in this circle.  So here goes.

Carson (EBC on Matthew) says that the ‘scarlet robe’ was probably the short red cloak worn by Roman soldiers and civilian officials.  There is evidence that indicates that such cloaks were sometimes described as ‘purple’.  Carson adds that the ancients did not distnguish between different colour so precisely as we do today.

This article comments that:

‘The tinting of colors can be very close to one another. For example, compare hex codes scarlet #560319 to purple #660066.’

Luke’s esthēta lampran, means that the clothing was resplendent, and may have been white, like the finest linen (cf. Rev 19:8).  But Luke Timothy Johnson comments:

‘The adjective lampros can mean “white” or “radiant” (Acts 10:30; 26:13), but also simply “magnificent” (Jas 2:2–3), as in the adverbial form used to describe the feasting of the rich man (16:19).’

Nolland (WBC) thinks that the garment could be described as ‘splendid’.

Garland thinks that dressing Jesus thus was not part of the soldier’s mockery, but was intended to convey a message from Herod to Pilate.  The resplendent garments mock Jesus’ claim to be royalty and indicate that he is not to be taken seriously.

Conclusion

I think that all four evangelists are describing one and the same garment – variously depicted as ‘scarlet’, ‘ purple’ or ‘splendid’.  In each case, the main point is that Jesus’ tormenters seek to humiliate him by dressing him in attire that mimics that of a king.  The irony, of course, is that the one who is mocked as king really is King.  In choosing different words to describe the robe, the evangelists may have been hinting at further symbolism (scarlet = blood; purple = royalty), but I am not sure.

‘At the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?” – which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”‘ (Mark 15:34)

The cry is also recorded in Matthew 27:46.  Mark’s quotation is in Aramaic; Matthew’s mainly in Hebrew.

Six hours after he was nailed to his cross, the dying Jesus shouted out these awesome words.  According to Hard Sayings of the Bible, ‘this is the hardest of all the hard sayings. It is the last articulate utterance of the crucified Jesus reported by Mark and Matthew; soon afterward, they say, with a loud cry (the content of which is not specified) he breathed his last.’

As Murray Harris (Navigating Tough Texts) remarks, these words were spoken in a loud voice, probably with great difficulty at the end of six hours of unspeakable agony.

The words are quoted from Psalm 22, showing that what Jesus suffered is not without some kind of parallel in the lives of others.

Some have thought that Jesus may have recited the whole of Psa 22.  Even if he did not, it is reasonable to see Jesus as identifying himself with the message of the psalm as a whole, with ‘the righteous sufferer who endures insult and injury but anticipates divine vindication.’ (DJG)

According to the NBD:

The very difficulty of this saying is the strongest argument for its authenticity.  It is an unfathomable mystery.  What we can say that It is insufficient to account for it merely in terms of the intensity of the Lord’s human feeling, still less that it reveals the disappointment of his hope that in his extremity the Father would usher in the new age, or that he was merely reciting the Psalm as an act of devotion.  We must understand it in the light of the NT doctrine of the atonement.  Christ so identified himself with human sin that he endured separation from God (cf. Php 2:8; 2 Cor 5:21).

‘A strange complaint to come from the mouth of our Lord Jesus, who, we are sure, was God’s elect, in whom his soul delighted, (Isa 42:1) and one in whom he was always well pleased. The Father now loved him, nay, he knew that therefore he loved him, because he laid down his life for the sheep; what, and yet forsaken of him, and in the midst of his sufferings too! Surely never sorrow was like unto that sorrow which extorted such a complaint as this from one who, being perfectly free from sin, could never be a terror to himself; but the heart knows its own bitterness. No wonder that such a complaint as this made the earth to quake, and rent the rocks; for it is enough to make both the ears of every one that hears it to tingle, and ought to be spoken of with great reverence.’ (MHC)

How shall we approach this cry?

• Is it a cry of self-pity (“Why me?  What have I done to deserve this?”)?
• Is it a cry of protest: the innocent crying out against the unjustness of it all, even though he has lived his entire life knowing that he would thus bear the sin of the world (cf. Mk 10:45)?
• Is it a cry of incomprehension, as though for a moment he had forgotten the eternal covenant?
• Or is it, perhaps, the cry of amazement, as, knowing all along that he would face a violent death (Mk 2:2), he now confronts a horror that he cannot fully have anticipated?

There are several possible ways of understanding this ‘cry of dereliction’ theologically:-

1. As an expression of a crisis of faith: he thought that God’s plan had failed, and his expectation that his Father would uphold him (see Jn 16:32) had been dashed.  Stott responds:

‘Those who thus explain the cry of dereliction can scarcely realise what they are doing.  They are denying the moral perfection of the character of Jesus.  They are saying that he was guilty of unbelief on the cross, as of cowardice in the garden.  They are accusing him of failure, and failure at the moment of his greatest and supremest self-sacrifice.  Christian faith protests against this explanation.’

2. As an urgent enquiry.  In this case, the “Why?” may be taken literally.  Alternatively, Grudem (Systematic Theology) understands this cry to mean: “Why have you abandoned me for so long?”  He believes that this is the sense in Psalm 22.  Grudem reasons that Jesus knew that he must suffer, but he didn’t know how long he would suffer for.  This view appears to assume more than the text itself warrants.

3. As an expression of robust faith: possibly, he recited the whole psalm from the cross, ending with the words, “It is finished (accomplished)!”  So Garland (on Mark).

Or, even if our Lord did not quote the whole of Psa 22 from the cross, it is reasonable to see Jesus as identifying himself with the message of the psalm as a whole, with ‘the righteous sufferer who endures insult and injury but anticipates divine vindication.’ (DJG)

‘Though commentators often speak of Jesus’ cry of abandonment on the cross, Psalm 22 as a whole moves from apparent despair of God’s presence to a hope of vindication. Since Mark when quoting the OT normally refers to the larger context of a particular verse, readers of the Gospel are to hear Jesus’ words as those of the suffering just one who dies with the hope of vindication.’ (Harper’s Bible Commentary)

‘It is not probable (as some have thought) that he repeated the whole psalm; yet hereby he intimated that the whole was to be applied to him, and that David, in spirit, there spoke of his humiliation and exaltation. This, and that other word, Into thy hands I commit my spirit, he fetched from David’s psalms (though he could have expressed himself in his own words), to teach us of what use the word of God is to us, to direct us in prayer, and to recommend to us the use of scripture-expressions in prayer, which will help our infirmities.’ (MHC)

This view would be supported by the several occasions when Jesus did express utmost confidence in his ultimate vindication – Mk 8:31; 9:31; 10:34; Jn 2:19.  Also in support of this view is the fact that entire psalms were identified simply from their opening sentences; but there is no indication that this ever happens in Matthew’s Gospel or in Jesus’ teaching.  The fact is that we do not know that Jesus uttered any more than the first verse of the psalm at this time.  As Morris points out, ‘the evangelists do not give the impression that they are recording a pious meditation.’  And Stott asks that if Jesus had quoted from the Psalm’s first verse while actually alluding to its last verse, ‘would anybody have understood his purpose?’

4. As an expression of feeling, not of fact.  He experienced ‘the dark night of the soul’.  He has not lost his faith, but he has lost all comfortable feeling.  He cannot, for the moment address God as ‘Father’, but can still call out, ‘My God’:

‘I have sometimes thought there never was an utterance that reveals more amazingly the distance between feeling and fact’ (Glover).

For Fred Gaiser, the cry is the language of prayer, rather than of doctrine or creed:

‘When we hear Jesus take up the cry, “Why have you forsaken me?” we learn more clearly than possible in any creedal or doctrinal language that Jesus is fully and completely human, sharing not only in the physical pain and suffering of the world but also in the spiritual suffering that comes with the feeling of being separated from God.’

Steve Chalke has asserted in debate with Andrew Wilson that when Jesus uttered the ‘cry of dereliction’ from the cross he was not forsaken by God.  Rather, his feeling of abandonment

‘mirrors those of countless millions of people who suffer oppression, enslavement, abuse, disease, poverty, starvation and violence.’ (The Lost Message of Jesus, p185)

In any case, it would be wise not to speculate on our Lord’s psychological state at this time.  Hurtado counsels against using this cry of Jesus as a clue to his innermost feelings:

‘Mark’s purpose in giving this statement is to make the allusion to Ps 22:1, so as to portray Jesus as the righteous sufferer who is beset unjustly by his enemies and appeals to God.’

‘It would be wise not to make the utterance a basis for reconstructing the inner feelings which Jesus experienced on the cross. The question “Why?” was asked, but remained unanswered…If it is a hard saying for the reader of the Gospels, it was hardest of all for our Lord himself. The assurances on which men and women of God in Old Testament times rested in faith were not for him. “Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all,” said a psalmist (Ps 34:19 RSV), but for Jesus no deliverance appeared.’ (Hard Sayings of the Bible)

It seems to me that this interpretation, while rightly emphasising the humanity of our Lord, neglects other elements.

5. As an expression of real abandonment: sin separates us from God, and he experiences that separation as he bears our sins in his person.  Vincent Taylor (cited by Morris) declares that

‘it appears to be an inescapable inference that Jesus so closely identified himself with sinners, and experienced the horror of sin to such a degree, that for a time the closeness of his communion with the Father was broken, so that his face was obscured.’

Cranfield:

‘The burden of the world’s sin, his complete self-identification with sinners, involved not merely a felt, but a real, abandonment by his Father.’

‘Did he merely feel abandoned? No, it was a reality attested by the companion darkness that settled on the scene. The great teacher on prayer now finds prayer unavailing. God cannot look upon sin, and now his Son is bearing the sin of the world in his own person, taking the sinner’s judgment. What a terrifying loneliness! Yet his cry appeals to relationship – not “God” but “my God.”‘ (ISBE)

Carson:

‘What does this psalm quotation signify? It is best to take the words at face value: Jesus is conscious of being abandoned by his Father. For one who knew the intimacy of Mk 11:27, such abandonment must have been agony. If we ask in what ontological sense the Father and the Son are here divided, the answer must be that we do not know because we are not told.’

Stott:

‘So then an actual and dreadful separation took place between the Father and the Son; it was voluntarily accepted by both the Father and the Son; it was due to our sins and their just reward; and Jesus expressed this horror of great darkness, this God-forsakenness, by quoting the only verse of Scripture which accurately described it, and which he had perfectly fulfilled, namely, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”’

Harris:

‘All active communion between Father and Son was suspended, although God was still Jesus’ God (“my God”). God had actually hidden his face (cf. Ps 22:24) from his dearly loved Son, the constant joy of his heart. Given the fact that constant, undisturbed, blissful fellowship with the Father was the essence of Jesus’ existence on earth, how can humans, even redeemed humans, begin to understand his agonizing spiritual trauma in being abandoned by his Father?’

Perhaps surprisingly, it is William Barclay (DSB) who gives one of the most forthright theological accounts of this cry.  Barclay says that Jesus had endured everything – ‘the failure of friends, the hatred of foes, the malice of enemies’.  The one thing he had not experienced was the consequence of sin; the effect of that impenetrable barrier that sin places between ourselves and God.  Now, at this moment, Jesus does experiences this, not because he is himself a sinner, but because he totally identifies with us as sinners.  In his pure and holy soul, which had hitherto known unbroken communion with God, he now feels the horror and desolation of separation.

‘The only recorded prayer of Jesus which does not address God as “Father” is Mk 15:34 (par. Mt 27:46) -“My God, my God, why have you for forsaken me?” But here the words are those of Ps 22:1, and the very sense of forsakenness which they express may well be sufficient explanation of why the more familiar Abba did not come so naturally to Jesus’ lips on that occasion.’ (DJG)

Some have objected that this would introduce a novel element into the accounts of Matthew and Mark: they have Jesus predicting his sufferings at the hands of cruel men, but not any anticipation of abandonment by God.  But this objection is not conclusive.  Neither is the objection that this interpretation is ‘inconsistent with the love of God and the oneness of purpose with the Father manifest in the atoning ministry of Jesus’ (Taylor, cited by Garland).  To be sure, we must give full weight to those scriptures that teach that ‘God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself.’  But we must also recognise those that teach that in a very real sense the suffering of Christ (spiritual as well as physical) was caused by his heavenly Father.

We have a number of indications in the Gospels that Jesus’ experience was something that was ‘no ordinary perturbation’ (Morris): his extreme distress in the Garden of Gethsemane (Mk 14:33), his reference to drinking the ‘cup’, Mt 20:22f; 26:39; Mk 10:38f; 14:36 (suggestive of God’s wrath), the supernatural darkness that fell over the land.  Many have pointed out how cheerfully Jesus’ followers so often face martyrdom.  Jesus was no coward, and cannot have been afraid of leaving this life (Morris).  It was not death, but this particular death, that he feared so much.

There was, then, an element of uniqueness to his agony, for no-one else could occupy the place that he occupied as the world’s sin-bearer.  His was an unspeakable torment; he could find no words within himself to express it, and he had to appropriate the words of the psalmist in order to do so.

If we accept Isa 53 as predictive of the cross, then we note the solemn statement that ‘it was the will of the Lord to bruise him; he has put him to grief’.  And if we take seriously the apostolic witness to Jesus death, then we must accept that God did not simply ‘give’ Jesus, but ‘gave him up for us all’, that Jesus ‘bore our sins’ (1 Pet 2:24), that ‘God made him sin’ (2 Cor 5:21), and he became a ‘curse’ for us (Gal 3:13).  Perhaps this experience forms the essence of his ‘descent into hell’ (so Cranfield, cited by Morris).

MacLeod notes that for once, his address was not to ‘Abba’ (as it was even in Gethsemane, Mk 14:36), but ‘my God’.  He stood in the relation not of a son, but of a sinner.  He was numbered with the transgressors.  He was sin (2 Cor 5:21).  He was condemned to bear sin’s curse.  No-one could deliver him; God would not spare him.  God was forsaken by God.

His sense of divine sonship was restored later, as he prayed, “Father, forgive them.”  But, for a moment, he experiences utter abandonment.  His beloved Father, with whom he has enjoyed unbroken fellowship since before time began, is out of reach.  He is acknowledged as ‘God’, but not known as ‘Abba’.  There is no sense of divine love, and no sense of divine approval.  He cries out, but there is no answer.  He is in trouble, but no help is at hand.  No comforting scriptures are brought to mind, no reassuring voice from heaven is heard (as at other times of crisis – see Mk 1:11; 9:7), no strengthening angel, no promise of ultimate victory, no vision of a future redeemed multitude.

McLeod:

‘He hears only the derision of the spectators, the curses of the soldiers and the whispers of the Prince of Darkness.  He is on his own.’

And again:

‘Never before had anything come between him and his Father, but now the sin of the whole world has come between them, and he is caught in this dreadful vortex of the curse. It is not that Abba is not there, but that he is there, as the Judge of all the earth who could condone nothing and could not spare even his own Son (Romans 8:32).’

‘The sense of being abandoned by God must have caused unfathomable pain to him whose whole life had been supported by the experience of the presence of God.’ (Goguel, cited by Morris)

Morris connects this with the incarnation.  Although we may not speculate on some kind of intra-Trinitarian disruption, nevertheless

‘the incarnation means something. It means among other things that it became possible for Christ to die.  And if it became possible for him to die it became possible for him to die the most bitter of deaths, the death of God-forsakenness.’

Harris asks: ‘why would a holy God abandon his dearly loved and holy Son, even temporarily, especially since Jesus had earlier reassured his readers, “I am not alone, for my Father is with me” (John 16:32)?’  Harris answers:

‘Two scriptural passages provide an adequate answer: 2 Corinthians 5:21 (see part 2, ch. 27) and Galatians 3:13. In both verses, God’s abandonment of Christ is said to be “for us” (hyper hēmōn). When the Father totally identified his sinless Son with the sin of sinners (2 Cor 5:21) and so abandoned him, and when Christ endured the divine curse that rightly belonged to lawbreakers (Gal 3:13) and so was abandoned by God, the action was both “on our behalf” and “in our place.” Substitution as well as representation was involved.’

What, then, does this forsakenness mean?

Negatively, it cannot mean that the eternal communion between Father, Son and Holy Spirit was broken.  God did not cease to be triune.  Nor could it mean that the Father ceased to love his Son – especially now that Jesus was demonstrating the ultimate sacrificial obedience.  Nor yet could it mean that the Holy Spirit had ceased to minister to Jesus: it was by that very Spirit that Jesus offered himself to God (Heb 9:14).  Again: it does not mean that Jesus was in despair: from the depths of his loneliness and pain, he still calls out to “My God”; he still retains a sense that God is holding him.

Calvin says:

‘Now some would have it that he was expressing the opinion of others rather than his own feeling. This is not at all probable, for his words clearly were drawn forth from anguish deep within his heart. b(a)Yet we do not suggest that God was ever inimical or angry toward him. How could he be angry toward his beloved Son, “in whom his heart reposed” [cf. Matt. 3:17]? How could Christ by his intercession appease the Father toward others, if he were himself hateful to God? This is what we are saying: he bore the weight of divine severity, since he was “stricken and afflicted” [cf. Isa. 53:5] by God’s hand, and experienced all the signs of a wrathful and avenging God.’

(Institutes, 2.16.11)

Matthew Henry notes:-

1. That our Lord Jesus was, in his sufferings, for a time, forsaken by his Father. So he saith himself, who we are sure was under no mistake concerning his own case. Not that the union between the divine and human nature was in the least weakened or shocked; no, he was now by the eternal Spirit offering himself: nor as if there were any abatement of his Father’s love to him, or his to his Father; we are sure that there was upon his mind no horror of God, or despair of his favour, nor any thing of the torments of hell; but his Father forsook him; that is, First, he delivered him up into the hands of his enemies, and did not appear to deliver him out of their hands. He let loose the powers of darkness against him, and suffered them to do their worst, worse than against Job. Now was that scripture fulfilled, (Job 16:11) God hath turned me over into the hands of the wicked; and no angel is sent from heaven to deliver him, no friend on earth raised up to appear for him. Secondly, he withdrew from him the present comfortable sense of his complacency in him. When his soul was first troubled, he had a voice from heaven to comfort him; (Jn 12:27,28) when he was in his agony in the garden, there appeared an angel from heaven strengthening him; but now he had neither the one nor the other. God hid his face from him, and for awhile withdrew his rod and staff in the darksome valley. God forsook him, not as he forsook Saul, leaving him to an endless despair, but as sometimes he forsook David, leaving him to a present despondency. Thirdly, he let out upon his soul an afflicting sense of his wrath against man for sin. Christ was made Sin for us, a Curse for us; and therefore, though God loved him as a Son, he frowned upon him as a Surety. These impressions he was pleased to admit, and to waive that resistance of them which he could have made; because he would accommodate himself to this part of his undertaking, as he had done to all the rest, when it was in his power to have avoided it.

2. That Christ’s being forsaken of his Father was the most grievous of his sufferings, and that which he complained most of. Here he laid the most doleful accents; he did not say, “Why am I scourged? And why spit upon? And why nailed to the cross?” Nor did he say to his disciples, when they turned their back upon him, Why have ye forsaken me? But when his Father stood at a distance, he cried out thus; for this as it that put wormwood and gall into the affliction and misery. This brought the waters into the soul, Ps 69:1-3.

3. That our Lord Jesus, even when he was thus forsaken of his Father, kept hold of him as his God, notwithstanding; my God, my God; though forsaking me, yet mine. Christ was God’s servant in carrying on the work of redemption, to him he was to make satisfaction, and by him to be carried through and crowned, and upon that account he calls him his God; for he was now doing his will. See Isa 49:5-9. This supported him, and bore him up, that even in the depth of his sufferings God was his God, and this he resolves to keep fast hold of.’

‘No further entry of the Supreme God into the tangle and bewilderment of finitude can be conceived.  All that we can suffer of physical or mental anguish is within the divine experience; he has know it all himself.  He does not leave this world to suffer while he remains at ease apart; all the suffering of the world is him’ (Temple, cited by Morris).

‘But then, suddenly, it is over. The sacrifice is complete, the curtain torn, and the way into the Holiest opened once and for all; and now Jesus’s joy finds expression in the words of another psalm, Psalm 31:5. In the original, it had not contained the word Abba, but Jesus inserts it: “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit” (Luke 23:46).  We have no means of knowing what intervened between the two cries. We know only that the Cup is drained and the curse exhausted, and that the Father now proudly holds out his hands to the spirit of his Beloved Son.’ (MacLeod)

Harris concludes:

‘Christ was forsaken by God for a temporary but agonizingly long period on the cross so that believers may never be separated from God, either during life or after death (Rom 8:35–39; Heb 13:5–6).’

Murray Harris, Navigating Tough Texts, p35f.

Donald MacLeod, Christ Crucified (pp47-49), and also this article.

Leon Morris, The Cross in the New Testament

John Stott, The Cross of Christ

27:52f And tombs were opened, and the bodies of many saints who had died were raised.  (They came out of the tombs after his resurrection and went into the holy city and appeared to many people.)

The issue to be discussed here is the historcity or otherwise) of this account.

So-called ‘mainstream’ critical scholarship regards it as ‘legendary’.  According to Harper’s Bible Commentary, for example,

‘One wonders what the resurrected saints were doing between Good Friday and Easter. The story flatly contradicts Paul’s teaching that other resurrections will occur only at the Parousia (1 Cor 15:23)…This legend was evidently designed to stress the fact that the resurrection is essentially a corporate event and that the resurrection of Jesus is the cause of all other resurrections, since his resurrection was the victory over death. It cannot be stressed too strongly that this legend is peculiar to Matthew and that it should be ignored in any attempt to reconstruct what happened on Good Friday.’

Some of the difficulties are outlined by Wilkins in the Holman Apologetics Commentary:

‘If the tombs of many saints opened at the time of Jesus’ death on Friday and the bodies were at that time raised from the dead, why did they wait until after Jesus’ Sunday resurrection to emerge from the tombs? What did they do in the meantime? Did they grow hungry? Did they receive glorified human bodies or simply revived human bodies? If they had been dead a year or more, their bones would likely have been transferred to an ossuary box, leaving them with no grave clothes. If so, what did they do for clothing when they emerged and went into Jerusalem? And why do no historical records mention the social upheaval that would have certainly occurred if many resurrected people arrived in Jerusalem? Jesus would have been just one among many returning from the dead. Surely it would have been one of the most noteworthy events in history. Given these difficult questions, are the elements of this account best understood as legend or a literary device Matthew used to portray the significance of Jesus’ death?’

Even conservative teachers tend to express doubts.  Michael Green, for example, says,

A straightforward historical reading of these verses is hard to contemplate.  Who were these people?  Were they resurrectioned or resuscitated?  Why did they go into the holy city?  What happened to them subsequently.  Indeed, what happens to the priority of Jesus’ resurrection?  And if they appeared to many people (53), why is there no reference to this event elsewhere, either inside or outside the New Testament?  (The Message of Matthew, BST)

Boice, who accepts the historicity of the account, points out the following as some of the unanswered historical questions:

‘We do not know whether these saints had died long ago or only recently. We do not know how long they remained alive. Was this a permanent resurrection? If it was, what happened to them? Were they transported to heaven, like Elijah? Or did they die again? We do not even know whom they went into Jerusalem to see or why they went or what they said to those they saw.’

N.T. Wright (The Resurrection of the Son of God) outlines his own set of questions:

‘Is the earthquake intended to explain how the Temple veil was torn apart? Does he imply that the centurion and the others saw the tombs opening and corpses getting ready to emerge? Why does he say they only came out after Jesus’ resurrection, two days later? What were they doing in between? And what happened to them next? Matthew did not suppose, did he, that they remained alive and resumed some kind of normal life? Did he think, then, that having ‘appeared to many’, they returned to their tombs, like the ghosts in Ruddigore, and lay down again?’

Hagner (WBC) raises a similar raft of questions:-

‘For example, there is the question of the nature of the bodies of the resurrected saints. Do these saints have what may be called new-order resurrection bodies, i.e., permanent bodies not subject to decay, or are they resuscitated bodies (like that of Lazarus) that later died again? (Could they have new-order resurrection bodies before Jesus, “the first-fruits of the dead” [1 Cor 15:20], did?) Related to this is the further question about what happened to these saints after they made their appearance in Jerusalem. (Were they raptured to heaven and, if so, when? Did they remain on the earth and, if so, where?) Furthermore, why is such a spectacular event “seen by many”—surely of great apologetic significance—referred to only here in the NT and not at all outside the NT? A further question concerns the basis on which this number of saints and these particular saints, and no others, were raised from the dead (was it arbitrary or do unknown criteria come into play?).’

Hagner notes that many commentators sidestep the historical question altogether.  Those who do raise it

can be found to use terms such as “puzzling,” “strange,” “mysterious.” Stalwart commentators known for their conservatism are given to hesitance here: A. B. Bruce: “We seem here to be in the region of Christian legend” (The Expositor’s Greek Testament, ed. W. R. Nicoll [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1897] 332); A. Plummer: “a tradition with a legendary element in it” (402); W.Grundmann: “mythic-legendary” (562).

Craig Evans thinks that this account is a late gloss:

‘I do not think the tradition in Matthew 27:51b–53…has any claim to authenticity. This legendary embellishment, which may actually be a late-first- or early-second-century scribal gloss, is an attempt to justify the Easter appearances of Jesus as resurrection, in the sense that Jesus and several other saints were the “first fruits” of the general resurrection. This is, of course, exactly how Paul explains the anomaly (see 1 Cor. 15:23).’

Evans elsewhere suggests that the story might be an attempt to offer an answer to Jesus’ promise in Matthew 16:18 when he said, “I also say to you that you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build My church; and the gates of Hades will not overpower it” is cited explicitly or implicitly by any church father till after the Council of Nicea in 325 A.D. 3) is sequentially awkward as how can Jesus be the first fruits if they are already raised; 4) The position that the Akhmim Gospel fragment, which Evans dates in the second century, might allude to Matthew when it says in the  gospel of Peter “have preached to  them that sleep” is a stretch so that information for the gospel of Peter did not come from Matthew but from somewhere else.’

James McGrath (The A – Z of the New Testament) find a literal reading fraught with problems, and so opts for a symbolic intrpretation:

‘Like the imagery in Hebrews and Revelation regarding topics like resurrection and heavenly existence, we can grasp the point even if we find the way it was made strange. Matthew presumably wanted to convey that Jesus’s death and resurrection were connected with the general resurrection of the dead, in which not only his contemporary followers but also those who lived in earlier times would participate. As so often, when we turn symbols into stories and take the details of the latter literally, the result is confusing and awkward.’

Some express agnosticism on this matter.  Concerning the cluster of miracles recorded at this point in Matthew’s Gospel, Brown (The Death of the Messiah) remarks:

‘The issue of the historical reality of such signs is surely beyond our calculation.’

Writing in the NBC, France comments:

‘There is no other record of this remarkable occurrence, and Matthew does not give enough detail for us to know exactly what he thought happened. For instance, why the delay between the raising of the bodies and their appearance in Jerusalem; and what happened to them afterwards? The symbolism is fairly clear, but we do not have the resources to determine the status of the story as sober history.’  In his Tyndale commentary on Matthew, France says, ‘its character as ‘sober history’ (i.e. what a cinecamera might have recorded) can only be, in the absence of corroborative evidence, a matter of faith, not of objective demonstration. It was, in any case, a unique occurrence and is not to be judged by the canons of ‘normal’ experience.’

Leon Morris says:

‘Nobody else mentions this, and we are left to conclude that Matthew is making the point that the resurrection of Jesus brought about the resurrection of his people. Just as the rending of the temple curtain makes it clear that the way to God is open for all, so the raising of the saints shows that death has been conquered. Those so raised went into Jerusalem and appeared to many. Since there are no other records of these appearances, it appears to be impossible to say anything about them. But Matthew is surely giving expression to his conviction that Jesus is Lord over both the living and the dead.

Blomberg is similarly non-committal, saying that

‘all kinds of historical questions remain unanswered about both events.’

So also Wright (The Resurrection of the Son of God), who, at the end of his discussion of this passage, concludes:

‘It is better to remain puzzled than to settle for either a difficult argument for probable historicity or a cheap and cheerful rationalistic dismissal of the possibility. Some stories are so odd that they may just have happened. This may be one of them, but in historical terms there is no way of finding out.’

Hagner argues that the event makes little ‘historical’ sense, even though it makes good ‘theological’ sense.  He thinks it likely that a historical core of events, such as the darkness and the earthquake, have prompted a degree of ‘elaboration’ as the account has been passed down.  What we end up with is ‘a piece of theology set forth as history’.

‘By the inclusion of this material Matthew wanted to draw out the theological significance of the death (and resurrection) of Jesus. That significance is found in the establishing of the basis of the future resurrection of the saints. We may thus regard the passage as a piece of realized and historicized apocalyptic depending on OT motifs found in such passages as Isa 26:19; Dan 12:2; and especially Ezek 37:12–14…Ezek 37:12–14 is apposite: “Therefore prophesy, and say to them, Thus says the Lord GOD: I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people … And you shall know that I am the LORD, when I open your graves, and bring you out of your graves, O my people. I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live … ”’

In his 2010 book, The Resurrection of Jesus: A New Historiographical Approach, Michael Licona has taken a similar view.  Licona suggests that Matthew has used a ‘poetic device’ to underscore the meaning and significance of the momentous events surrounding Jesus’ death and resurrection.  He cites, as a partial parallel, the quotation of Joel 2:28-32 in Acts 2:15-21, even though there was not, on the day of Pentecost, any of the sweeping cosmic events spoken of by the prophet.  Licona concludes:

‘It seems to me that an understanding of the language in Matthew 27:52-53 as ‘special effects’ with eschatological Jewish texts and thought in mind is most plausible…It seems best to regard this difficult text in Matthew a poetic device added to communicate that the Son of God had died and that impending judgment awaited Israel.’

Licona adds, incredulously:

‘If the tombs opened and the saints being raised upon Jesus’ death was not strange enough, Matthew adds that they did not come out of their tombs until after Jesus’ resurrection. What were they doing between Friday after- noon and early Sunday morning? Were they standing in the now open doorways of their tombs and waiting?’

(Despite his robust defence of Jesus’ resurrection, reaction to his exposition of this passage forced his resignation from his teaching post at Southern Evangelical Seminary.  I regard the way he was treated as scandalous, and symptomatic of what I have called ‘the heresy of inerrancy’.)

Further study and reflection have caused Licona now to regard a historical approach as at least as plausible as a symbolic approach.  In this article, he suggests that the main arguments in favour of understanding this account as historical are (a) the near-unanimous view of the Church fathers; and (b) this account appears in the context of other details that clearly historical – such as the crucifixion itself.  To my mind, the first of these argument carries relatively little weight.  With regard to the second argument, however, Licona notes that just three chapters earlier Matthew records Jesus as speaking about certain future cosmic events, adding that most scholars view these as apocalyptic symbolism.

Licona’s chief critic was Norman Geisler, whose acumen seems to have deserted him when he writes:

‘In terms of the broad spectrum of orthodox scholars down through the centuries, there are relatively “few” contemporary scholars who deny its authenticity, and they are overshadowed by the “many” (vast majority of) historic orthodox scholars who held to the historicity of this Matthew 27 resurrection of the saints.’

While it is undoubtedly true that the majority of pre-critical writers upheld the historicity of this account, it is simply not the case that there are ‘relatively few’ contemporary scholars who deny the authenticity of this passage.

In response to those who argue for a non-historical interpretations, Wilkins responds that:

‘little of anything in the events surrounding Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection make sense on the normal historical level. These are all unique events that uniformly testify to the most unique acts of God in human history—Jesus’ vicarious death on the cross and his vindicating resurrection. The darkness of the crucifixion scene, the thirty-foot-high temple curtain being torn from top to bottom, an earthquake that opens tombs, and the resurrection of OT saints are all extraordinary, supernatural testimonies and “confirmation that Jesus is who he had claimed to be and that his ministry stands vindicated before the nation” (Bock 2002, 391).’

Wilkins continues:

‘Matthew’s narration of the resurrection of the saints is congruent with the other scenes, and to contend for the historical plausibility of one is to argue for them all. Recalling the imagery of Ezekiel, who prophesied that the sovereign Lord would open graves and resurrect people to life in the valley of dry bones (Ezek 37:11-14), Matthew lets this event stand unadorned because its meaning is clear.’

Noting such questions as are raised by Green, Hagner and others, Tidball (The Message of the Cross) comments:-

‘No matter how much we wish to interrogate the text, it will yield nothing to satisfy our rationalism or our scepticism.  Using the imagery of Ezekiel, who prophesied that the Sovereign Lord would open graves and resurrect people to life in the valley of dry bones, Matthew is content to let the event stand unadorned because its symbolic meaning is clear.  The raising of these holy ones is a foretaste of the resurrection to which all believers can look forward.  Through the death of Jesus a new day has arrived, a day when death has been defeated by death and resurrection to life eternal has been made possible.’

This event points to the future more than any other.  It is the bridge to the good news of the resurrection of Jesus, as well as heralding the new age which will one day climax in the resurrection to life of all believers in Christ.  The cross of Christ was an apocalyptic event.  The future has already arrived.  Or, in R.T. France’s more measured words, “In his coming a new has dawned; nothing will ever be quite the same again.”

Gundry (Commentary on Matthew), who seems more interested in Matthew’s putative sources than in the historical value of his narrative, thinks that

‘Matthew probably means that the resurrected saints entered Jerusalem only after Jesus’ resurrection. It is unclear whether they also came out of their tombs only after Jesus’ resurrection, or came out earlier but stayed in the countryside till Jesus had risen. The doctrine that he is “the from the dead” (Col 1:18; Rev 1:5) and “the first fruits of those who are asleep” (1 Cor 15:20) favors the former view because a delayed exit from the realm of death would seem less liable to contradict that doctrine. Thus Matthew probably means that the saints stayed in their tombs for several days even though their bodies had been raised to life. Then they came out and “entered into the holy city and appeared to many.”‘

But the ‘non-historical’ view is not without its problems.  As the Apologetics Study Bible notes:

‘That they “appeared to many” indicates that Matthew’s intention in this report was historical, for the detail is irrelevant if his intention was merely symbolic.’

Osborne makes the same point, noting that Paul uses in the same expression in 1 Cor 15:6 to underscore the apologetic thrust of the event being referred (in Paul’s case, Christ’s own resurrection).

Osborne further notes that the ‘and’ at the beginning of this verse connects the raising of the saints with the other events just mentioned.  Would Matthew be likely to switch so rapidly between history and legend without at least giving his readers a hint?

Can the historicity of this account be defended?

There is, first of all, a question about the correct translation.

Many commentators balk at the idea of these saints being raised before Jesus was raised.  But this is not necessarily implied by the passage.  Carson (EBC) thinks that a full stop should be inserted after ‘broke open’, so that what follows is a parentheses in the narrative. The passage would then read something like:

‘The tombs were also opened. And many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised, and they came out of the tombs after his resurrection, entered the holy city, and appeared to many.’

John Wenham has also discussed the punctuation of this passage, concluding that:

‘Matthew understood the opening of the tombs to have occurred at the time of the crucifixion and the raising of the saints after the resurrection.’ (Facing Hell, p221.  Written up in an article I have not been able to see: When Were the Saints Raised? A Note on the Punctuation of Matthew 27:51–53,” JTS 32 (1981): 150–52.)

The resurrection of the ‘holy people’ is then to be linked with that of Jesus himself, with the implication that they were raised at the same time as Jesus was.  We are then to believe that the resurrection of the OT saints is as dependent on the resurrection of Christ as the resurrection of NT believers.

Grant Osborne regards Wenham’s as the best solution:

‘The best solution is provided by John Wenham, who places a period between vv. 52a and 52b–53, meaning that the earthquake and opening of the tombs belong with the death of Jesus, while the raising of the saints and their appearance in Jerusalem belongs with the resurrection. This provides a satisfactory separation between the events at Jesus’ death and at his resurrection, showing that Matthew’s purpose is to bring the death and resurrection together as a single event in salvation history. While the tombs were opened at the earthquake, the OT heroes were not raised until “after Jesus’ resurrection.”’

Then there a question about whether these ‘raisings’ should be regarded as ‘resurrections’ (like that of Jesus), or ‘resuscitations’ (like that of Lazarus).

Most commentators regard this as a record (legendary or otherwise) of a resurrection.  These holy people, rather than living for a while and then dying and resting in their graves, were resurrected in their glorified bodies, and taken up to heaven with (or after) Jesus.  Indeed, one of the gravest objections to this passage is that it seems to teach that Jesus’ resurrection was not the only resurrection, or even the first.  It is to be noted, however, that this objection would still apply even if the event was understood symbolically, rather than historically.

However, I think that some of the difficulty with this event comes from likening it too much to our Lord’s resurrection.  If we regard it as more similar to the raising of Lazarus, then this difficulty is eased.  We are then free to say that these holy people may have been raised before Jesus’ resurrection (just as Lazarus was), that they were raised in their mortal (not immortal) bodies, and that, some time later, they died and now rest until the general resurrection.  This interpretation does not, of course, remove all the difficulties (how long had they been dead, how were their bodies reconstituted, what were they wearing?).  But a judgement of historicity does not depend on being able to answer all the questions.

Raymond Johnson argues that this should be regarded as a ‘lesser’ (not glorified) resurrection, functioning in Matthew’s narrative as a foil and pointer to the ‘greater’ (glorified) resurrection of Jesus.

It has been suggested that the very oddness of the account should lead Christians to rejoice in it, for it subverts the idea that Christianity is merely a system of good works, and affirms that Jesus’ death and resurrection bring new life.

In conclusion, I don’t think that the various doubts and objections mentioned above count decisively against the historicity of this account.  They simply indicate that we have some unanswered (and probably unanswerable) questions about it.  Nor does it count against the historicity of these events that they have symbolic and theological significance.

Nature and purpose of this miracle

They appeared

‘not to converse again, as heretofore, with men, but to accompany Christ, that raised them, into heaven; and to be as so many visible demonstrations of Christ’s quickening power, whereby he shall also raise our vile bodies, and conform them to his glorious body, the standard, Php 3:21.’ (Trapp)

The purpose:

‘This wonder was done both to adorn the resurrection of Christ, and to give a specimen or pledge of our resurrection. To enquire curiously, as some do, who they were, what discourse they had with those to whom they appeared, and what became of them afterwards, is vain. God hath cast a veil on these things, that we might content ourselves with the written word.’ (Flavel)

Amongst other things,

‘Matthew is telling us that the resurrection of people who lived before Jesus Messiah is as dependent on Jesus’ triumph as the resurrection of those who come after him.’ (Carson)

This miracle was done, according to David Dickson:-

1. To show the power of Christ over death, and that not on his own account, but in order to redeem his people from death, and give them life.

2. To show that Christ is the Saviour of those who believed in him before his Incarnation.

3. To show that the death of the godly is only a sleep of the body until the resurrection.

4. To show that the benefits of Christ’s death and resurrection accrue only to the saints: for it was the bodies of holy people only which were raised.

5. To show that the harvest which will finally be gathered in on the day of judgement is already yielding its first-fruits.

6. To show that the resurrection of the saints depends on the resurrection of Christ, for he is the ‘first born from the dead.’

7. To show that the miracles of our Lord did not lack witnesses: for the holy people ‘went into the holy city and appeared to many people.’ (Adapted)

Flavel:

‘This wonder was designed, both to adorn the resurrection of Christ, and to give a specimen or pledge of our resurrection; which also is to be in the virtue of his. This indeed was the resurrection of saints and none but saints, the resurrection of many saints, yet it was but a special resurrection, intended only to show what God will one day do for all his saints. And for the present, to give testimony of Christ’s resurrection from the dead. They were seen, and known of many in the city, who doubtless never thought to have seen them any more in this world. To enquire curiously, as some do, who they were, what discourse they had with those to whom they appeared, and what became of them afterwards, is a vain thing. God has cast a veil of silence and secrecy upon these things, that we might content ourselves with the written word, and he that “will not believe Moses and the prophets, neither will he believe though one rise from the dead”, as these saints did.’ (The Fountain of Life)

See David Wenham’s discussion in Tyndale Bulletin 24 (1973), pages 42-46.

Raymond Johnson: Mathew 27:51-54 Revisited: A Narratological Re-Appropriation