There is some indication in the very existence of his disciples (cf. chap. 5 above) that Jesus did not work with Scripture as a scribe would: the disciples did not come to Jesus to “learn Torah” but to “follow” him. Moreover, at the time of Jesus the scribes had already located themselves deliberately within the existing tradition of interpretation and relied on authorities for doing so. To ground an opinion on the Law, they appealed either to one or more passages in Scripture or to a respected teacher. Sequences of tradition handed down under the names of great scribes were of the greatest significance for rabbinic theology, for they build bridges to the oral Torah, which—according to the rabbinic view—had been given at Sinai in addition to the written Torah.5
But this very scribal technique apparently played no part in Jesus’ thinking. The gospels do not contain a single text in which he mentions acknowledged scribal experts by name and quotes them. He does use scriptural references, but they differ from those of the later rabbis.
So what was his way of drawing on Sacred Scripture? That subject would really require a whole book. In this chapter I will merely offer three samples; we might compare them to test shafts. They are meant to show how Jesus worked with his Bible. The samples touch on three themes: first, and once again, the subject of Jesus and the reign of God (cf. chap. 2 above), then that of Jesus and the state, and finally Jesus and nonviolence.
Jesus and the Reign of God
Biblical scholars have long since agreed that the concept of the reign of God was central to Jesus’ preaching. Paul scarcely used it at all, and in John’s gospel, in contrast to the Synoptics, it disappears altogether. Things continued that way in the early church: the concept of the “reign of God” or “kingdom of heaven” acquired a new content or else played only a secondary role in theology.
That is in itself astonishing, for in ancient Judaism God’s kingship played a very significant role indeed. But a finer distinction needs to be made. It was taken as a matter of course that God is already king and, as such, is ruler of the whole world and is Lord of Israel in a special sense, as the YHWH-is-king hymns themselves (Pss 93; 96–99) make abundantly clear. In the worship at the temple but also in synagogue worship God was addressed as king,6 enthroned in the midst of his people Israel. God effects justice and righteousness, protects the lives of those devoted to him, is master of all the powerful and mighty, and everything must bow to his rule. Still more, future salvation is already a reality in heaven, where the eschatological temple, the new Jerusalem, the heavenly city are already prepared. There the angels are already celebrating the reign of God around the divine throne. Biblical scholarship has called this notion of God’s kingship “theocratic.”
This is to be distinguished from another point of view that developed more and more clearly after the collapse of the Davidic kingdom and is rightly called “eschatological.” It expects the kingship of God as a manifestation, an event that breaks into history, a powerful eschatological and thus final revelation of God’s eternal kingship.
Of course, these two points of view, the theocratic and the eschatological, do not exist in complete isolation from one another. Combinations and overlappings appear again and again.7 In Jesus’ time both the theocratic and the eschatological notions of God’s kingship were in circulation. The Kaddish, a very ancient Jewish prayer, may stand as an example of the eschatological type. Its core was probably prayed as early as the first century CE.8 Originally it concluded the synagogal reading of Scripture. Today it begins:
May His great name be exalted and sanctified in the world which He created according to His will! May He establish His kingdom and may His salvation blossom and His anointed be near during your lifetime and during your days and during the lifetimes of all the House of Israel, speedily and very soon!
So the text does not speak simply of God’s eternal kingship, which is assumed. Its petition is that this kingship become a reality in Israel, that it be “established.” God is asked to establish it in Israel in this very generation, to reveal his lordship in the world as quickly as possible.
We do not really know with certainty whether the Kaddish was being prayed in Jesus’ time, but we cannot exclude the possibility because the Our Father has a certain kinship to the Kaddish. Both prayers ask first that the divine Name be sanctified and then in the second place that the reign of God may come. Given this striking agreement, it could well be that the Kaddish already existed in Jesus’ time and that, together with other prayers, it contributed to Jesus’ ability to assume that his listeners took the reign of God as a given. We may take it for granted that the concept of God’s malkutha, the royal rule of God, was commonly known and that Jesus himself was familiar with it from his youth.
And yet there must have been something more in Jesus’ view, because the way he then went on to speak about the reign of God had a unique contour. The very fact that for him the reign of God was absolutely central and imbued everything he said and did is unique to him. This phenomenon can only be explained by a very personal reference to Scripture, more precisely to the book of Isaiah. That is the only way to grasp the specific way he talked about the reign of God. Isaiah contains a text that was apparently of the highest significance for Jesus’ thinking and doing, namely, Isaiah 52:7-9:
How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace, who brings good news, who announces salvation, who says to Zion, “Your God reigns.”
Listen! Your sentinels lift up their voices, together they sing for joy; for in plain sight they see the return of the LORD to Zion.
Break forth together into singing, you ruins of Jerusalem; for the LORD has comforted his people, he has redeemed Jerusalem.
These verses are part of the larger text complex of Isaiah 40-55, which biblical scholars call “Deutero-Isaiah,” that is, “Second Isaiah.” This is because these chapters presuppose a situation that does not fit the time of the historical Isaiah, namely, the crisis of the Babylonian exile and the misery of those who remained behind in Jerusalem and Judea. In this situation a prophet arose who deliberately linked to the tradition of the historical Isaiah and even assumed his character and his voice. We do not know the name of the prophet because this person simply continued the prophetic words of Isaiah, writing against the danger that Israel would assimilate to Babylon and be sucked into the worship of the gods of Babylon. But the prophet also writes against the danger of resignation, radicalizing faith in the one, unique God (the “worship of YHWH alone” thus became “monotheism”) and announcing a new exodus. The deported will return to Zion in a solemn festival procession, and in that way the God of Israel will show himself to be the lord of all the nations.
Isaiah 40–55 is constructed as a great dramatic poem. Voices are interwoven: here the voice of God, there the voice of the prophet. Israel, the suffering servant of God in Babylon, is addressed; in other scenes the addressees are those who have remained behind in Jerusalem and Judea. The text we have quoted, Isaiah 52:7-9, has those still in Jerusalem in view. For them the future is brought into the present: the new Exodus from the land between the rivers into the motherland is already happening. Those remaining in Jerusalem already see how the procession of those formerly deported is approaching the city. They see the messengers of joy who run ahead of the caravans. They hear the jubilation of the watchers on the city walls. A shout of joy breaks forth over the ruins of Jerusalem.