Howard Thurman, "The Work of Christmas"

 

Another year; another opportunity to rededicate ourselves to this message from Dr. Thurman

"The Work of Christmas," by Howard Thurman 

 Howard Thurman’s poem, “The Work of Christmas” is my favorite Christmas poem, and I post it every year. It provides a vision of a society informed by Jesus’s parable of the Sheep and Goats in the Gospel of Matthew and the biblical principle of hospitality: 

When the song of the angels is stilled, 

When the star in the sky is gone, 

When the kings and the princes are home, 

When the shepherds are back with their flock, 

The work of Christmas begins: 

To find the lost, 

To heal the broken, 

To feed the hungry, 

To release the prisoner, 

To rebuild the nations, 

To bring peace among brothers, 

To make music in the heart. 

Thurman reminds us of how Jesus wants us to respond to our fellow human beings in ways that God demands and in ways that echo, as Jesus of Nazareth declared in the Sermon on the Mount and elsewhere, how God loves and treats us. May we truly make "music in the heart" for others and therefore ourselves in 2024.

Howard Thurman and the Parables: What Do Parables Want? (PART III, Chapters 5 & 6)

 

Part III: Two Sons and Their Father: A Parable about Us 

Chapter 5: Listening for the Whisper of God: “Thou Hast to Churn the Milk” 

Introduction 

The General Context in Luke 

The Departure (Luke 15:11–13a) 

Reading the Parable 

Insights from Howard Thurman’s Interpretations

 

Dissolute Living (Luke 15:13b–16) 

Reading the Parable 

Insights from Howard Thurman’s Interpretations 

The Prodigal “Comes to Himself” among the Swine (Luke 15:17–19) 

Reading the Parable 

Insights from Howard Thurman’s Interpretations 

• Thurman’s View of the Three “Lost” Parables: The Beginning of Community 
• The Prodigal Discovering Who He really is 
• The Prodigal Discovering Who He really is . . . that God is within Him 
• The Prodigal Son and “the Sound of the Genuine” 
• The Relationship between the “Inner” and the “Outer”
• There must be Community 

Chapter 6: A Father’s Love; A Brother’s Anger Return and Reception (Luke 15:20–24) 

Reading the Parable 

Insights from Howard Thurman’s Interpretations 

• The Prodigal Son and the Jewish Love-Ethic in the Religion of Jesus 
• The Prodigal Son and the Restoration of Community through Love 

The Older Brother, the Father, and the Prodigal (Luke 15:25–32) 

Reading the Parable 

Insights from Howard Thurman’s Interpretations 

• What is God Like? The Restoration of Community with God 
• What is God Like? The Restoration of Human Community 

Conclusion: (Love your enemy)

Howard Thurman and the Parables: What Do Parables Want? (PART IV, Chapters 7, 8, & 9)

Part IV: The Compassionate Samaritan: An Apostle of Sensitiveness

Chapter 7: Trauma on the Road to Jericho 

Reading the Parable: General Context in Luke 

The Good Samaritan Parable: The Trauma and Lack of Response (10:30–32) 

Reading the Parable 

Insights from Howard Thurman’s Interpretations 

• Identifying with the Wounded Man 
• The Love Commands 
• Modernizing, Humanizing, and Applying the Parable 

Chapter 8: Compassion, Mercy, and Hospitality: The Samaritan attending to the wounded man (Luke 10:33–34a) 

Reading the Parable 

Insights from Howard Thurman’s Interpretations 

• The Love-Ethic of Jesus 
• Compassion: Its Source and Implications for Human Society
• Compassion: Relating One-on-One as Children of God 

Chapter 9: Compassion, Mercy, and Extended Hospitality: The Samaritan bringing the Wounded Man to the Inn (Luke 10:34b–37) 

Reading the Parable 

Insights from Howard Thurman’s Interpretations 

• Hospitality 
• The Ultimate Source of Empathy is God 
• Creating Community One-on-One 
• Becoming “Apostles of Sensitiveness” (or “Eccentric Apostles”)
• Establishing Community through Practice 
• Affirmation Mysticism and Social Change 
• Love, Empathy, and Community 

Conclusion: The Good Samaritan as Parable 

With Whom do We Identify?

Howard Thurman and the Parables: What Do Parables Want?

Here is the current outline of my next book: What Do Parables Want?: Howard Thurman, the Parables, and the Quest for Common Ground. 

The book argues argue that the parables of the Prodigal Son and Good Samaritan are foundational to Thurman’s life and thought, fundamental to his understanding of the religion of Jesus, and, in our continuing search for common ground, exemplify a path toward community with God and our fellow human beings. 

 

It hopefully integrates several different aspects into a coherent whole, based on Thurman’s example:

• NT scholarship on the historical Jesus, the parables, and Thurman's Jesus and the Disinherited.
• Visual art both to illustrate “how parables work” in Chapters 3–4 (which also help explain Jesus and the Disinherited) and, primarily in the forthcoming Study Guides, following Thurman’s example, using the fine arts to raise spiritual awareness and create community.
• Analyses of the parables of the Prodigal Son and Good Samaritan parables and how Thurman’s perspectives on them fit into his life and thought.

 

The ultimate goal is by exploring what these parables want and using the insights of Howard Thurman, to continue the quest for common ground, for community, for, to paraphrase his words, “a friendly world of friendly human beings.”

The consists of 10 chapters (of about 6000 words each) in 5 parts, and I'll start from the back so they appear in order on the blog:

Part V 

Chapter 10: “We’re Connected” 

Introduction 

Main: Creating Community 

Why Should We be Good?: Because It is Good 

Why Should We be Good?: Because We are All One 

Why Should We be Good?: Because It Ultimately is for our own Good

Thurman’s Vision: A Prodigal Son Experience must lead to becoming a Compassionate Samaritan 

“Frighteningly Idealistic” and Unrealistic? 

Afterword: “We all do Better when We All do Better” 

A Religious or Secular Universal Ethic? 

There is no Sane Person in Hell 

A Web of Mutuality 

A Solidarity Dividend 

A Virtuous Spiral: The Relevance of the Prodigal Son and Good Samaritan Parables as a Compassion-in-Action, Justice, and Extending Community 

The Call to Respond Because or in Spite of It All

What Are They Saying About the Parables?: Greco-Roman Contexts (Chapter 6, Part 2): The Parables, Greek Fables, and Ancient Rhetoric

 

The Parables, Greek Fables, and Ancient Rhetoric 

Adolf Jülicher noted that “the majority of the parabolai of Jesus, the ones bearing a narrative form, are fables, such as the ones of Stesichoros and of Aesop.” Jülicher’s judgment did not gain wide acceptance, especially since his arguments primarily relied on the discussion of fable in Aristotle’s Rhetoric. Often when scholars do raise the issue of Greek fables, they are dismissed with a distinction between parable and fable such as the one used by T. W. Manson: parable tends to depict human relations by inventing cases analogous to what happens in real life. Fable, on the other hand, is “pure fiction,” which often invests animals, birds, and plants with human attributes. Madeline Boucher, for example, echoes Manson’s sentiments, but she adds that fables have a “prudential lesson,” whereas parables have a “religious or moral lesson” which is “typically Semitic.” 

Rhetoric, however, was pervasive throughout Hellenistic-Roman society by the first century C.E., and rhetorical modes of argumentation saturated everyday discourse in almost every form of oral and written communication. The most important rhetorical influences to the formation (and interpretation) of the gospels are the progymnasmata (or “preliminary exercises”), compositional textbooks used in secondary education that represent widespread educational practice for those who read/spoke/wrote Greek. These rhetorical handbooks, such as the ones by Aelius Theon of Alexandria (middle-to-late first century C.E.) and Hermogenes of Tarsus (second century C.E.), functioned in secondary education to instill the fundamental rhetorical skills to prepare students for more complex forms of oral and written composition: longer speeches and narratives. The parables, as well as other elements of composition in the gospels, reflect this progymnastic level of rhetoric and rhetorical training. 

Mikeal Parsons notes that the chapter in Theon’s Progymnasmata on the fable provides fertile yet under-tilled soil for examinations of the parables of Jesus, specifically where Theon states, “It may be possible for one fable to have several conclusions (or morals), if we take a start from each of the matters in the fable.” With this understanding in mind, the seemingly disparate applications of the parable of the dishonest steward (Luke 16:1–8a) in 16:8–9, 16:10–12, and 16:13 can be seen as a rhetorical unity instead of being evidence of “different traditions.” 

In antiquity the term fable denotes several kinds of brief narratives, including those stemming directly from human experience. Aelius Theon, for example, defined fable more generally as “a fictitious story picturing a truth,” a definition endorsed by the classicist Ben Edwin Perry. In fact, many fables are about humans and the Gods; thus they can convey religious truths (xxiv). In contrast to David Flusser’s claim that the mashal was dependent on the Greek environment (e.g., Greek philosophy, Aesop’s fables), Perry argues the reverse: The Greek fable had its literary-historical roots in the Semitic East. In fact, Perry claims, the Hebrew mashal is the precursor of the Aesopic fable.

Next up: Mary Ann Beavis and Joshua Stigall.

What Are They Saying About the Parables?: Greco-Roman Contexts (Chapter 6, Part 1)

 

Although Jesus was a first-century Jewish teacher and wonder worker, the parables, in their present contexts, are in Greek. The Jewish heritage of the Jesus portrayed in the Synoptic Gospels merges with Hellenistic-Roman forms of speech, thought, and action, so that the “Synoptic Jesus” speaks and acts in roles that combine Jewish and Hellenistic-Roman modes of words and deeds. Because Hellenistic culture influenced all Diaspora Judaism and Palestinian Judaism to a certain extent, the Jewishness of the Synoptic Jesus does not preclude the existence of Hellenistic elements. A careful reading makes clear that the gospels merge biblical patterns with Hellenistic patterns and conventions; they—and the Jesus they portray—are intercultural. 

Chapter 6 begins with a quick (and incomplete) review of scholarly views of the language(s) Jesus spoke, such as those who believed that the parables "almost certainly took shape in Greek" (Robert Funk) and opposing views (e.g., that Jesus told the parables in Aramaic). The latter is the more likely case, in my view, even though Charles Hedrick’s (and others) work seems to verify, at least in part, Funk’s arguments about the importance of euphony in the parables in Greek. 

Hedrick does not interact directly with Funk’s conclusion that the parables were initially spoken in Greek, however. Instead he notes that the form in which one analyzes the poetics of the parables will not be the language or the form of their “original audition.” While Hedrick’s investigation of euphony may give little information about the “initial” form of the parables, it does reveal much about their present characteristics in early Christian literature. In fact, one of Hedrick’s primary contributions is his innovative work of recognizing the critical nature of sound in both the structure of the parables and in the way the stories are organized.

Most of the remaining posts stemming from this chapter in the second edition will include discussions of fables and Greek rhetoric, but other aspects will be included as well.

Prodigal Son: “devoured your living (bios) with prostitutes” (pornōn)

Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, The Return of the Prodigal Son, 1667/1670. National Gallery of Art. 

An interlude before getting to the Greco-Roman contexts of parables.

While writing my current book project, What Do Parables Want?, I revisited an article by Callie Callon: Adulescentes and Meretrices: The Correlation between Squandered Patrimony and Prostitutes in the Parable of the Prodigal Son, CBQ 75 (2013) 259–78.  

It is a delight to encounter articles that drastically alter or enhance one's understanding of a puzzling text, and Callon's article is an excellent example of scholarship that accomplishes that feat. 

Skip down to the bold font below to get the main point.

In the parable of the Prodigal Son, the last section tells us that the older son had not yet been invited to the celebration of his brother's return, and, in fact, did not even know that his brother had returned: This “elder” (presbyteros) heard “music and dancing” and had to be informed what was happening by a slave boy (pais), who summarizes what had happened (cf. 15:23–24 and 15:27). 

Surely this omission adds to readers’ sympathy for the older brother, since he, once again, seems to be slighted. The older son so far appears to be hardworking and loyal to his father (e.g., he was “in the field” working when his wayward brother returned), and now his share of the inheritance is a real concern: the return of the younger son and the celebration with a fatted calf surely meant that his own share of the inheritance was already being used to support the younger son. 

[Deleted a bunch of other observations about the two sons and their father]

Once the older son appears on the stage, the parable begins to build a negative portrait of him. His refusal to enter the house and to engage in table fellowship insults his father, and the father has to come outside to plead with him—the Greek word plead can mean to invite, exhort, encourage, or comfort. Then the older son disrespectfully addresses his father without a title (even the younger son always uses the title, “father”; 15:12, 18, 21), states that he had “never disobeyed” his father’s commands (although, if true, he is rejecting his father’s entreaties now), and begins a litany of (exaggerated) complaints. He stresses his servitude to his father and complains about how his father had treated him (e.g., “me” in 15:29 is emphatic in Greek). He thus accuses his father of favoritism and attacks his younger brother by refusing any familial relationship with him—referring to him not as “my brother” but pejoratively as “this son of yours” (15:30)—and stressing and perhaps exaggerating the younger son’s failings. His claim that the younger son “devoured your living (bios) with prostitutes” (pornōn, which suggests a more negative translation than prostitute) might be questioned. How did the older son get that information, and is it accurate? 

One option cogently argues by Callie Callon is that Luke uses a “stock trope” of squandered patrimony and prostitutes: Luke, in telling a story that featured prodigality, could also avail himself of one of the stereotypical features of prodigality common in Greco-Roman comedy: “expending one’s patrimony on love interests, particularly prostitutes.” This accusation’s purpose is to defame his brother in a way that might also seem humorous to the intended audience. Another common feature in such comedies is the restoration of the prodigal through his father’s forgiveness.

What Are They Saying about the Parables?: Jewish Contexts (Chapter 5, Part 8): Reading Jesus’ Parables in their Jewish Contexts (Amy-Jill Levine)

 

What Are They Saying About the Parables? Second revised edition with three additional chapters and new content in every chapter 

A reminder: I am only selecting, editing, and revising selected sections of the book and deleting significant sections just to give a taste of what the book covers. For the full discussion--summaries and my analyses--please see the second edition of What Are They Saying about the Parables? 

Amy-Jill Levine

Amy-Jill Levine’s books on the historical Jesus, The Misunderstood Jew, and the parables, Short Stories by Jesus, also explicitly seek to be a “bridge” between Jews and Christians for whom “far too long Jesus has been the wedge that drives” them apart. Both books are written in an engaging style on an introductory level, are provocative yet constructive, and are essential readings for Jews who want to learn about the historical Jesus and his message and for Christians who need to learn about Jesus’ Jewish identity. 

In The Misunderstood Jew, Levine discusses how Christians generally tend to misunderstand Judaism—which can lead to intolerance and even hatred of Jews—yank Jesus out of his Jewish context, and thereby interpret the New Testament in anti-Jewish (and also sexist) ways.  

Jesus, Levine notes, actually is in a long line “of Jewish teachers and prophets, for he shares with them a particular view of the world and a particular manner of expressing that view” (20). As Levine argues: “Jesus cannot be understood fully unless he is understood through first-century Jewish eyes and heard through first-century Jewish ears.

The book discusses several key parables, but this post will focus on Short Stories by Jesus, in which Levine examines how Jesus’ provocative parables might have been heard by first-century Jewish audiences, how they have been domesticated, and how they have been misinterpreted in anti-Jewish ways. 

Levine’s treatment of the Lost Son (Prodigal Son) parable (Luke 15:11–32) illustrates her approach. She argues that Luke “misleads” by turning this parable and the other two “lost” parables—the Lost Sheep (15:4–7) and Lost Coin (15:8–10)—into allegories about repentance. Neither sheep nor coins are capable of repentance, and it is doubtful that the prodigal son repents either (27). This rather “harmless allegory” in Luke—where the younger son represents sinners and tax collectors and the older son represents Pharisees and scribes—later becomes a dangerous stereotype when the older son is interpreted as an allegorical representation of Jews who “slavishly serve God the Father in order to earn a reward” in contrast to Jesus’ proclamation of salvation by grace from a loving father (28). In the context of Jesus’ ministry, Levine argues, the parable is not a story of repentance and forgiveness, and these and similar misinterpretations “not only get Jesus wrong, and they not only get Judaism wrong; they inculcate and reinforce bigotry” (21). 

“Biblically literate” hearers of the parable recognize the biblical patterns encouraging them to identify with the younger son (e.g., Jacob versus Esau) and also suspect that the prodigal does not repent but “connivingly” concocts an insincere plan to return to his father so that he will no longer be hungry (53–54; cf. Exod 10:16; Luke 12:17; 16:3; 18:4–5). 

Levine also questions long-held assumptions of many scholars, such as ones popularized by Joachim Jeremias’s The Parables of Jesus (128–32). She argues, for example, that the prodigal does not treat his father as if he were dead, the prodigal’s problem is hunger not uncleanness (because of feeding swine), it is not surprising that the father is compassionate, and it is not undignified or dishonorable for the father to run to his son, and other details (47–57). Many of these arguments are convincing, although a few are not (e.g., whether the parable implicitly compares the father with God--although there clearly are some problems with a simplistic representation; cf. how the son claims to have "against heaven and before"shis father).   

 Levine closes by considering what the parable of the Lost Son “wants” (68–70). In a parable in which no one really repents, exhibits remorse at hurting another, or expresses forgiveness, Levine finds a simple exhortation that is “more profound” than a message of repentance and forgiveness: Do not wait for an apology or for the ability to forgive someone who wronged you. Instead: “Do whatever it takes to find the lost and then celebrate with others, both so that you can share the joy and so that the others will help prevent the recovered from ever being lost again” (69). By doing so, you will have begun a process that leads to reconciliation and a second chance for wholeness, whether in our personal lives, or communities, or even the world. 

Levine’s Short Stories by Jesus is essential reading for anyone interested in the parables of Jesus, just as her The Misunderstood Jew is essential reading for anyone interested in the historical Jesus. Careful readings of these two volumes will help to remove blinders that prevent Christians in particular from seeing the all-too-common anti-Jewish readings of New Testament texts. Yet Levine’s primary focus on reconstructing Jesus’ cultural context and criticism of “newer approaches” that are explicitly ideological (e.g., 22) minimizes the reality that all reconstructions of the cultural context of Jesus are, in part, also ideological representations of our own social and other locations. See WATSA Parables? for further details (e.g.,  her reading of the Rich Man and Lazarus parable, for example, omits insights about the culpability of the rich man).  

The Jewish contexts are critical for understanding Jesus' parables, but Greco-Roman sources and contexts should also be an essential part of the repertoire of any parable scholar, and the next series of posts will give highlights of some of those studies (rhetoric, fables, etc.).

What Are They Saying about the Parables?: Jewish Contexts (Chapter 5, Part 7): Reading Jesus’ Parables in their Jewish Contexts (Oldenhage and F. Stern)

 

What Are They Saying About the Parables? 

Second revised edition with three additional chapters and new content in every chapter

Reading Jesus’ Parables in their Jewish Contexts 

One of the most serious critiques of New Testament scholarship in general and parable studies in particular concerns the implicit and even explicit anti-Jewish interpretations that denigrate Judaism in order to contrast and elevate the “religion” of Jesus. Tania Oldenhage, for example, illustrates the existence of this problem in such works as Joachim Jeremias’s influential The Parables of Jesus, following on the earlier critiques of Jeremias and others by E. P. Sanders in his Jesus and Judaism. Thus a major emphasis in recent parable scholarship, similar to recent historical Jesus scholarship, is to situate Jesus and his parables firmly—and more correctly—within Judaism. 

Frank Stern’s A Rabbi Looks at Jesus’ Parables attempts “to strip away twenty-one centuries of interpretation and analysis to discover how listeners in Jesus’ audiences might have understood his stories.” Stern argues that Jesus’ Jewishness is essential to his life and teachings, and interpreters must attempt to “clear” the parables of centuries of Christian interpretations and present them in their first-century Jewish context (1). 

In Stern’s view, Jesus taught in parables because his teachings sometimes contained dangerous secrets (3). For example, the parable of the Wheat and the Weeds in its current context (Matt 13:24–30, 36–43) contains a “confusion of metaphors”: The righteous ones are called the “good seed,” and the “sons of the evil one” are the weeds in the interpretation given in verse 38, so the better parallel would be for the righteous ones to be symbolized by the wheat, not the seeds (43). Many of the parable’s ideas are found in earlier Jewish traditions, such as a harvest symbolizing the Last Judgment (e.g., Hosea 6:11), but two aspects stand out as unique: Jesus defines the righteous as those who accept his teachings (access to God was possible only through Jesus, 275) and proclaims the urgent message that “the conflagration was imminent,” so imminent, in fact, that the future was already present, the kingdom of heaven had begun in Jesus’ ministry (44). Instead of a standard Jewish tradition of the conflagration coming first “to punish the wicked and rescue the righteous,” Jesus was convinced that the “biblical period” had come to an end with John the Baptist and a new era of the kingdom of God had begun. In this intermediary period between the inauguration of God’s reign and the imminent conflagration, sinners and believers lived in the same world, just as the wheat and the weeds existed in the same field until the (final) harvest (46–47). A stunning aspect of this message is that Jesus believed that he was in charge of the angels who would punish the wicked and that the harvest would come at his command, an aspect that would explain why his teachings generated opposition among his contemporaries (49). 

Stern's book notes how “the Jewish and Christian communities drifted apart,” and Stern hopes his book will bridge that gap by teaching Jews more about the New Testament and Christians about their Jewish roots (278–80).

Next up: Two important books by Amy-Jill Levine: The Misunderstood Jew (on the historical Jesus) and Short Stories by Jesus (on the parables).

What Are They Saying about the Parables?: Jewish Contexts (Chapter 5, Part 6): Rabbinic Parables and the Parables of Jesus (Notley and Safrai)

 

Rabbinic Parables and the Parables of Jesus (Notley and Safrai)

The historical Jesus was a pious first-century Jew who led a renewal movement within Judaism and who debated with other first-century Jews how best to follow God, determine God’s will, and observe God’s Law. Attempting to reconstruct the larger first-century contexts in which Jesus’ parables were created, spoken, and heard is an indispensable element of interpreting the parables of this first-century Jewish teacher, one that can help prevent domesticating Jesus’ parables or interpreting them in an anti-Jewish manner. One should not—and does not have to—denigrate Judaism to emphasize positive elements in Jesus’ teachings. Some of those teachings are distinctive to Jesus, but all of those teachings are Jewish to their core. 

A significant step toward reading Jesus' parables in their Jewish context occurred in 2011, when R. Steven Notley and Ze’ev Safrai published an annotated collection of narrative parables from the earliest stratum of Rabbinic Judaism. The book includes over 400 parables, each interpreted briefly, and it draw conclusions from the entire collection. 

Since the meaning of mashal in late antiquity was evolving, Notley and Safrai refrain from attempting to define it (a definition of parable always loses almost as much as it gains for our understanding). Instead they list several distinguishing characteristics of a mashal, which they envision as a “form of metaphor” that tends to have some or all of the following elements: (1) the narrative explicitly defines itself as a mashal; (2) the story’s purpose is to teach a moral (included in a nimshal); (3) the story lacks identifying details, such as where the story took place; (4) the parable describes a “reality,” but it generally concerns a general type of person (e.g., a king, woman, sick person, etc.); (5) it does not contain divine visions; (6) the moral of the story is overt and explicitly explained; (7) the parable is always told in Hebrew (Notley and Safrai thus argue--which is doubtful--that Jesus originally spoke his parables in Hebrew). The more of these seven characteristics a story has, the more likely it is a mashal. 

Notley and Safrai demonstrate that parables were almost never used in halakah (legal material) and almost exclusively appear in interpretation of scripture. Jewish sages primarily considered parables to be a pedagogical instrument; in places they claim that it is impossible to understand the words or details of the Torah without the parable explaining them (32–33; as Midrash Song of Songs Rabbah I.1,8 indicates). These parables function to illustrate, reinforce, and emphasize—and sometimes exaggerate (e.g., the “king parables”)—a message. Thus they are inextricably related to the sermons preached by the sages and most likely used by Jesus in his public sermons, although one difference between the parables of the later Jewish sages and Jesus is that Jesus’ parables “are at the center of his sermon, and in effect are the sermon itself.” 

Notley and Safrai also note some key differences between rabbinic parables and the parables of Jesus: Jesus’ parables usually are about ordinary people and rural culture, usually stand on their own, and sometimes contain no application/nimshal or reference to Scripture.

The next post reflects further on reading Jesus' parables in their Jewish contexts.

Sit and listen; go and do: Mary and Martha as examples of faith and action

Christ in the House of Martha and Mary 

by Johannes Vermeer circa 1665 

Again, a post not about parables, (although I do mention the Good Samaritan parable) but selections from an article I published in the National Catholic Reporter, "Sit and Listen; Go and Do: Mary and Martha as Examples of Faith and Action, with insights from my research into Howard Thurman for my forthcoming book, What Do Parables Want?: Howard Thurman, the Parables, and the Quest for Common Ground.

One of my father's favorite sayings was, "If all else fails, read the instructions." That humorous advice is insightful in its analysis of human behavior, and its subtle underlying message is applicable to most areas of human endeavor: One must sit and listen before one can effectively go and do. 

Over the centuries, the story of Jesus in the house of Mary and Martha (Luke 10:38-42) was often misinterpreted as exalting the life of spiritual contemplation and minimizing a life of action. Those interpreters mostly built upon one of the third century theologian Origen's five different interpretations of the story. After all, Martha was "distracted by her many tasks," while Mary "sat at the Lord's feet and listened to what he was saying," and Jesus declared, "Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her." 

Johannes Vermeer's Christ in the House of Mary and Martha, for example, subtly depicts the elevation of Mary's spiritual contemplation over Martha's service. Jesus is the focus of the painting, and his authority and divinity are illustrated by the light emanating from his head. Martha, standing to the left and holding a basket of food, looks down at Jesus, and her raised eyebrows ask the question of Jesus that the text of Luke narrates. Mary, in contrast, sits at the feet of Jesus, with her eyes upraised to look at Jesus and her cheek resting on her right hand as she contemplates his teaching. Jesus looks at Martha, and points to Mary, demonstrating that Mary has chosen the better path. 

Yet Vermeer's painting presents Jesus, Mary and Martha as a unified image in its oval composition of the figures, with Mary and Martha balancing each other with respect to Jesus. Similarly, numerous interpreters have understood that the portraits of Mary and Martha are more complex than they initially appear. 

The narrative of Jesus in the house of Mary and Martha, for example, is immediately preceded by the parable of the good Samaritan, which ends with Jesus telling the lawyer to "go and do likewise" to prove to be a neighbor to those in need (Luke 10:25-37). This juxtaposition demonstrates that, as Origen noted elsewhere in a homily on this passage, "there is no action without contemplation, or contemplation without action" (Fragment 171, Homilies on Luke). 

What the great theologian Howard Thurman realized, however, is that spiritual contemplation must be the foundation on which action is based. Thurman argued that a fundamental aspect of the religion of Jesus is to sit and listen in the quietness so one can experience the spirit of God and, therefore, ascertain the will of God. 

Also key to Thurman's understanding of the religion of Jesus and religious experience itself is his insistence that personal, inner transformation is the foundational first step that leads to all other transformations of self and society. One's inner transformation — the actualization of the presence of God in one's life — includes the building of human relations, and true community should lead to social action. Sitting and listening is a prerequisite for, and must be followed by, going and doing. 

As Thurman noted in his autobiography, With Head and Heart, about the church he co-founded in San Francisco, The Church for the Fellowship of All Peoples: 

It was my conviction and determination that the church would be a resource for activists — a mission fundamentally perceived. To me it was important that individuals who were in the thick of the struggle for social change would be able to find renewal and fresh courage in the spiritual resources of the church. There must be provided a place, a moment, when a person could declare, "I choose!" 

Thurman envisions moving from the spiritual aspects of religious experience to the practical needs in the lives of his congregation and then to the needs of the local and larger community.

[Deleted sections] 

An essential element of Thurman's argument is that all human beings are children of God in a sacred community of humanity: We act because we become involved in an encounter from the core of ourselves to the core of other human beings, an inward community that then manifests itself as an outward community. J

[Deleted sections] 

Both Mary and Martha, then, are examples of discipleship to be emulated. Mary can be seen as a paradigm of what it means to follow the first great commandment, to love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength, whereas Martha illustrates the second great commandment, to love one's neighbor as oneself (Luke 10:27). 

[Deleted sections]

Understanding must lead to concrete action in the world, because truly understanding Jesus' radical message should create a profound moral obligation to reflect, decide and act accordingly, whether by working for civil and human rights, promoting justice in the midst of oppression, seeking peace among those who advocate for war or, in other words, proclaiming Jesus' good news to the poor, release to the captives and liberation of the oppressed (Luke 4:18).

What Are They Saying about the Parables?: Jewish Contexts (Chapter 5, Part 5): Rabbinic Parables and the Parables of Jesus (David Stern)

 Rabbinic Parables and the Parables of Jesus:

David Stern

David Stern provides a more sophisticated methodological approach to midrashic rabbinic parables. Stern gathers data to suggest that the rabbis initially used parables in a variety of contexts—including recitations at banquets, as responses to polemical questions and challenges, or a means of expression during a time of public crisis. The most common uses, however, were the delivery of sermons in the synagogues and the study of the Torah in the academy. In fact, the rabbis became convinced that the parable form itself was created for this latter usage. 

Stern argues that the mashal is “an allusive narrative told for an ulterior purpose,” whose purpose can usually be defined as praise or blame of a specific situation of the author and audience of this fictional narrative. 

In other words, the mashal draws a series of parallels between the story recounted in the narrative and the “actual situation” to which the mashal is directed. These parallels, however, are not drawn explicitly; the audience is left to derive them for themselves. So the mashal is not a simple tale with a transparent lesson nor a completely opaque story with a secret message; the mashal is a narrative that actively elicits from its audience the application of its message (i.e., the interpretation). 

The social context, then, clarifies the “message” of the mashal by giving the audience all the information they need. Here Stern’s approach encounters several problems: First, most meshalim in rabbinic literature are preserved not in narrative contexts, but exegetical ones (i.e., in the study of scripture), and there seems to be no important formal or functional differences between meshalim embedded in other narratives and those presented in exegetical contexts (1991:7); in both, the rabbis used them as rhetorical devices. In fact, once the mashal was embedded into any literary context, Stern admits, the “real context” was no longer immediately present or available. In an attempt to clarify “the original context” (1986:637), the nimshal was provided. In a later work Stern clarifies his position concerning the “original context” by stating that the nimshal provides the “secondhand audience” with the necessary information it needs to understand the mashal’s message (1989:45–48, 59, 72). At best, the narrative will present a secondhand account of what that “reality” was. As the context changes—in form and audience—a parable’s meaning will also change, and it will change even more when a parable’s medium is shifted from oral to literary (1991:17–18). 

Stern agrees that it is difficult to trace the “lineage” of parabolic narratives that have human characters in ancient Near Eastern literature. Yet parables and fables are very much at home in “traditional cultures” that still utilize oral traditions, as evidenced best, perhaps, by a literary form found in the ancient Greek epic: the ainos, a genre that includes fables and tales (1991:6). 

Stern also agrees that the parables of Jesus and rabbinic parables share a common background and compositional similarities: Jesus’ parables are the earliest datable evidence “for the tradition of the mashal that attains its full maturity in Rabbinic literature” (1989:43), where the mashal assumed its “normative, standard form” (1991:7). Because the rabbinic parables are the closest evidence for the literary form of parable as Jesus may have used it, they offer valuable, unique evidence for how a common literary tradition has been directed to different ends. 

In their present literary forms as ideological narratives, parables are constructed by design and rhetoric to impress a certain world view on their audiences. Stern attempts to ascertain how these ideological narratives perform that function. He argues that through the refusal to state its message directly, the mashal actually becomes more effective in persuading the audience of its essential truth: It deliberately gives the impression of naming its meaning “insufficiently” (1991:15). Thus the mashal artfully manipulates its audience to become actively involved to “deduce” meaning from the two “enactments” of that message (i.e., the mashal and the nimshal). 

To sum up, Stern concludes that the Jesus of the Synoptic Gospels used parable in essentially the same way as the rabbis employed the mashal—in public contexts (e.g., preaching) and as an instrument for praise and blame, often directed at persons present in his audience. Jesus’ parables, like the rabbis’ parables, were exoteric—their messages could have been comprehended by their original audiences without much difficulty (pace Mark 4:11–12). 

In WATSA Parables? I include some caveats about Stern's conclusions, as well as many other details about his approach and conclusions, but overall his works significantly increase our insight into the methodological, ideological, and historical problems involved in parable study, as well as our understanding of the rabbinic parables themselves. 

Next up, the R. Steven Notley and Ze’ev Safrai 2011 annotated collection of narrative parables from the earliest stratum of Rabbinic Judaism.

Max Beckmann, "Christ and the Sinner." 1917 (St. Louis Art Museum)

Max Beckmann, "Christ and the Sinner." 1917 (St. Louis Art Museum)

 

This post is an interlude in my posts on the Jewish Contexts of the Parables of Jesus. It is not about a parable, but I am using it in Chapter 2 of my current book project, What do Parables Want?: Howard Thurman, the Parables, and the Quest for Common Ground (Paulist Press) to talk about Howard Thurman's view of how to establish community. 

I am only including selections from my draft of what was published in National Catholic Reporter as "Painting urges viewers to speak and act as Jesus did in an inhumane world."

Speaking of/for God in an Inhumane World 

She should be stoned to death, her accusers say. In John 8:2–12, Jesus’s opponents bring to Jesus a woman they claim was caught in adultery, cite legal justification for executing adulterers, and ask Jesus: “What do you say?” 

 Jesus ignores their question and instead bends down and starts to write on the ground with his finger, the first step of his non-violent act of resistance. The woman’s accusers continue to press Jesus for an answer, so he stands and says, “if any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.” He then returns to writing on the ground. 

Jesus’s reply brilliantly turns the tables on the woman’s accusers—they become the accused—and one-by-one they depart, leaving Jesus alone with the woman. 

For the first time in this story, she is invited to speak and confirms to Jesus that no one is left to accuse her. The accusers thus never get to hear Jesus’s answer their “What do you say?” question. He says to the woman, “Neither do I condemn you.” Jesus shifts the focus from the woman as sinner to the accusers as sinners, those who abuse power, lack compassion and are painfully unaware of their own sinfulness. They do not seek justice; the narrator explains, for example, that Jesus’s opponents are trying to trap him so they could “have some charge to bring against him.” Other details of the story reinforce that assessment: otherwise, they would have also brought the male involved in the alleged adultery (cf. Lev. 20:10) and the witnesses required by law (cf. Deut. 19:15). 

[deleted sections on a related story in Luke 7]

Max Beckmann’s painting, Christ and the Sinner, similarly raises many intriguing questions, and it also merges the story of the adulterous woman in John 8 with the story of the “sinner” woman in Luke 7 (e.g., Beckmann’s labeling her a “sinner” in his description of the painting). 

This painting reflects the horrors Beckmann experienced during his medical corps service in World War I. Suffering from complete mental and physical exhaustion, he was discharged from the army in 1915, and his paintings during this era were religious protests. As he said in 1919: “In my paintings I accuse God of his errors. . . . My religion is hubris against God, defiance of God, and anger that he created us [such] that we cannot love each other.” 

"Christ and the Sinner" starkly expresses human themes of cruelty, anger, guilt and suffering. Beckmann’s use of space produces a sense of dread; the disjointed figures are displayed in a compact, narrow and agitated space; pale colors and angular forms create an almost nightmarish scene that draw viewers into the painting. 

[deleted sections of analysis of the painting] 

Yet two figures are joined in community: Note, for example, how the colors of the painting, except for the woman’s reddish-orange hair, unite the woman and Jesus through their lighter-colored clothing. 

Jesus stands at the horizontal center of the painting and his figure spans almost the entire vertical axis. By Jesus’s right foot lies a stone that will remain uncast, because of Jesus’s intervention on the woman’s behalf. 

Beckmann’s portrayal of Jesus—balding, beardless and with a prominent chin—is a self-portrait similar to one he painted in 1915 that also includes a cross-like symbol directly behind him. This self-portrait and his Jesus self-portrait in Christ and the Sinner reflect Beckmann’s reproaches against God and his accusations against an inhumane society. 

Although interpretations of works of art should be informed by the contexts in which they are created, the nature of art demands that interpretations cannot be limited to those contexts. Meaning, like beauty, is at least partially in the eyes of the beholders.

I argue that Beckmann’s Christ and the Sinner, like the story it represents, offers a disturbing but also potentially restorative vision of human existence in an inhumane world. 

Although Beckmann may have intended the painting to reflect his anger against God—placing himself in the role of Jesus amidst an unruly mob—it instead can be read as a call to speak and act as Jesus did: Putting ourselves in the role of Jesus in these stories. Not only speaking of God in an inhumane, turbulent world but speaking for God—offering words and actions that promote reconciliation, restoration and community in a world that seems all too eager to reject them. To accomplish those goals, one must strive to believe, contrary to Beckmann, that God has created us so that we can love each other in this inhumane world.

What Are They Saying about the Parables?: Jewish Contexts (Chapter 5, Part 4): Rabbinic Parables and the Parables of Jesus

 

Rabbinic Parables and the Parables of Jesus 

A lot to cover before we get to more recent scholarship, but to pick up where I left off, this post covers David Flusser and Brad Young (David Stern will be in the next post)

David Flusser investigated the mashal and found an identifiable trajectory that led him to conclude that the similarities between rabbinic parables and the Synoptic parables are much more striking than the dissimilarities. Flusser believes that Jesus’ primary language was Hebrew, although it was possible that Jesus also spoke Aramaic “from time to time.” 

 In his book, Die rabbinischen Gleichnisse und der Gleichniserzähler Jesus, Flusser argues that New Testament parables and rabbinic parables share compositional similarities. These similarities include such items as formulaic elements of diction, conventional themes, and stereotyped motifs, all of which indicate that both rabbinic parables and the parables of Jesus stem from a common narrative tradition. This common tradition has affinities with the fables of Aesop, so Flusser suggests that the antecedents of Jewish parables could be found in Greek philosophy. The parables themselves, however, were a development within Palestine. 

The differences between Jesus’ parables and rabbinic parables, Flusser argues, could be explained by the fact that the parables of Jesus belong to an older type of rabbinic parable, a nonexegetical “ethical” type (he also postulates an intermediate form, a parabolic proverb, which he sees reflected in Matt 9:37–38). The differences between Jesus’ parables and rabbinic parables are primarily due to a change of focus: the explanation of biblical passages. 

Flusser notes that many of Jesus’ parables focus on the kingdom of heaven, both its current presence and its future arrival. Although the rabbis also believed in the present and future kingdom of heaven, Jesus is “the only Jew of ancient times known to us who preached not only that people were on the threshold of the end of time, but that the new age of salvation had already begun.” Parables such as the Leaven (Matt 13:33) make clear that Jesus believed the kingdom of God was “erupting” in his ministry. 

Although some of Flusser’s conclusions about Jesus and his parables are idiosyncratic, recent scholarship has taken to heart that the Jesus and his teachings must be interpreted in light of their first-century Jewish contexts. The parables, a central element of Jesus’ message about the kingdom of God, were also, most scholars believe, a central element in his teachings. Therefore, to understand more fully the use and function of parables, as well as the creative understanding involved in their construction, parables must be explored in the first-century contexts in which they were spoken and heard. 

Flusser’s interesting, but speculative, reconstruction formed the foundation of the work done by his student, Brad Young. An important foundation of Young’s study is his acceptance of Flusser’s thesis that rabbinic parables and the parables of Jesus are the same, specialized genre of parabolic teaching that evolved into a “powerful tool of communication.” Jesus was one of the “outstanding Parabolists” of his day, one who stood firmly within Jewish tradition. Some of Jesus’ parables are not only similar in theme and form to rabbinic parables, but they contain similar illustrative motifs and examples, and they have a continuity of expression. Thus they stand in a common stream of the rabbinical world of instruction. 

To corroborate his thesis, Young seeks to demonstrate that Jesus, like the later rabbis, originally told his parables in Hebrew. Young even translates some of the parables from Greek into Hebrew, but the results of the translations are unconvincing. Young elaborates these insights in his 1998 book, The Parables. He argues that both Jesus’ parables and the parables of the (later) rabbis should be studied as Jewish haggadah: storytelling that “proclaims a powerful message that usually demands a decision” (8). As such, a parable may contain multiple points of comparison between the “picture and the reality, but it has one purpose” and makes one main point (14). Although rabbinic parables are from a later time period, rabbinic parables and the parables of Jesus share a common background, motifs, plots, points of reference, and conceptual world, demonstrating that Jesus and the Jewish sages have a “theological solidarity” (38). 

Young’s works are a helpful reminder that Jesus’ parables should be interpreted in the context of first-century Judaism, but some of his presuppositions and conclusions are nonetheless problematic. Jesus’ parables and the parables of the rabbis differ more than he allows. Rabbinic parables, in their final form, come from a much later time period, and Young underestimates the differences between the times in which the rabbis lived and the more diverse pre-70 CE Judaism (cf. 31, 37). A wider range of Jewish sources would be more helpful, and Hellenistic-Roman influences should also not be ignored. 

David Stern provides a sophisticated methodological approach to midrashic rabbinic parables, and the next post will cover some of his work.

What Are They Saying about the Parables?: The Parables in their Jewish Contexts (Chapter 5, Part 3): The Parable as Mashal: The Case of Rabbinic Literature

This post is in memory of my brother, Gary Gowler, who passed away ten years ago today, April 8, 2013. Can't believe he's been gone ten years. In many ways, it seems like yesterday; in many ways, it seems like a hundred years. I miss you, Gary.

To continue from the last post:

Thoma’s five “descriptive elements” do not, however, convey all the explicit structural characteristics found in most rabbinic parables. This task, in a midrashic context, was more fully undertaken by Harvey K. McArthur and Robert M. Johnston in their book They Also Taught in Parables. They assert that the immediate environment and internal structure of the narrative mashal in “its fullest narrative form” (i.e., frequently one or more elements is lacking) include five parts. I will define the various parts and then illustrate those parts with a rabbinic parable from Deuteronomy Rabbah (Deut R. 2:24): 

1. Illustrand—the matter to be illustrated, proved, or explained. It is not directly a part of the parable structurally, but it provides the immediate context and, in fact, the reason for its placement/existence. Most rabbinic parables have an explicit illustrand: 

Another explanation [of] “Thou wilt return to the Lord thy God” (Deut 4:30).  

2. Introductory Formula—the preparatory prefix to the story. There are many variations, but all serve the same purpose. A tripartite formula is common, such as: (a) “I will parable you a parable”; (b) “Unto what is the matter like?”; (c) “It is like a king who…”: 

R. [i.e., Rabbi] Samuel Pargrita said in the name of R. Meir: Unto what is the matter like? It is like the son of a king who took to evil ways.… 

3. Parable Proper—the illustrative story. Common examples are parables involving stories about kings, fables (with animals), or wisdom parables: 

It is like the son of a king who took to evil ways. The king sent a tutor to him who appealed to him, saying: Repent my son. But the son sent him back to his father [with a message], How can I have the effrontery to return? I am ashamed to come before you. Thereupon his father sent back word: My son, is a son ever ashamed to return to his father? And is it not to your father that you will be returning? 

4. Application—the great majority of rabbinic parables attach an explicit interpretation or application, which makes “the” point clear. The application is often introduced by the word kak (even so, or likewise):

Even so the Holy One, blessed be He, sent Jeremiah to Israel when they sinned, and said to him: Go, say to my children: Return. 

5. Scriptural Quotation—often introduced by the formula “as it is said” or “as it is written,” to which one or more scriptural quotations could be appended to “clinch the point.” The quotation is often followed by another application, which then could become an illustrand itself, thus producing another parable, and so forth (99–125). The following example intermingles scriptural quotations with additional applications: 

Whence this? For it is said: “Go, and proclaim these words” etc. (Jer 3:12). Israel asked Jeremiah: How can we have the effrontery to return to God? Whence do we know this? For it is said: “Let us lie down in our shame and let our confusion cover us” etc. (3:25). But God sent back word to them: My children, if you return, will you not be returning to your Father? Whence this? “For I am become a father to Israel” etc. (Jer 31:9) 

To this point, however, there appear to be striking dissimilarities between rabbinic parables and the parables of Jesus, both in form and content. The most common arguments for distancing the parables of Jesus from rabbinic parables are easily cited. First, among the extant evidence—even though dating of precise elements is problematic—the parables in the Synoptics predate the parables in rabbinic literature. Second, the form of all of these stories seems to have changed over time, with various usage, and in various contexts. The rabbinic parables, whatever their initial usage, primarily serve as a rhetorical device for exegesis. As such, rabbinic parables assume a much more standardized form and more stereotypical features, a change that tends to become more pronounced over time. In addition, rabbinic parables tend to exceed the Synoptic parables in the degree of their explicit interpretation. Finally, many (Christian) scholars argue that rabbinic parables—in contrast to many parables of Jesus—tend to reinforce conventional wisdom or societal norms of various rabbis and the community. That claim is problematic for at least two basic reasons. First, some rabbinic parables appear to critique society in a way comparable to many social critiques in Jesus’ parables. In fact, rabbinic parables can function as resistance literature in which the rabbis express opposition to the Roman Empire as an occupying power and articulate hopes for liberation. Second, in their present contexts, Synoptic parables are well on their way to being “domesticated.” By that I mean the parables of Jesus, as used in the gospels, begin to reinforce the “conventional wisdom” or the “societal norms” of early Christian communities.

What Are They Saying about the Parables?: The Parables in their Jewish Contexts (Chapter 5, Part 2): The Parable as Mashal: The Case of Rabbinic Literature

 

The Parable as Mashal: The Case of Rabbinic Literature 

Unfortunately, scholarship concerning the mashal has, over the years, been plagued by polemical discourse. Christian scholars tend to disparage the meshalim in rabbinic literature, for example, and Jewish scholars tend to react defensively to refute such charges. Israel Abrahams, in his work, Studies in Pharisaism and the Gospels, spends a chapter disputing the “inferiority” of rabbinic parables. He argues that there probably was no systematic dependence in either direction and agrees with scholars who posited that Jesus’ parables fit comfortably within an already-established Jewish tradition. A few years later, Asher Feldman, in his book, The Parables and Similes of the Rabbis, similarly has to “justify” the literary and artistic merits of the rabbinic meshalim. 

These books also have to be seen within the framework of (New Testament) parable scholarship’s massive “continental divide” before and after Adolf Jülicher. Christian scholars, such as Christian Bugge, used the mashal to refute Jülicher’s “Aristotelian” view of parables. Bugge argues, against Jülicher, that the Jewish mashal included allegorical elements and that Jesus’ parables arose in this Jewish context. Paul Fiebig’s works on the parables take Bugge’s work as their starting point but include a more extensive analysis. Fiebig’s first book incorporates an analysis of similes, parables, and allegorical sayings from the Mekilta, a commentary on part of Exodus, which he compares to the parables of Jesus. Fiebig discovers significant similarities, such as the presentation of the context, occasion, opening formulas, and explanations, as well as some slight resemblances in content. Yet Fiebig’s work is seriously flawed by its polemical tone and agenda—he stresses, for example, the “superiority” and “lack of trivialness” of the parables of Jesus in comparison to the parables of the Mekilta. Nonetheless, his emphasis on the importance of oral traditions, the necessity of understanding the Hebraic context of the mashal, and the similarities between the style, expression, and modes of thought in the Synoptic parables with the extant meshalim were significant contributions to our understanding of the parables of Jesus. 

Because of unresolved questions and deficiencies in previous research on rabbinic parables (such as the concentration on midrash—biblical interpretation or commentary on scripture, such as the Mekilta—or the shadow of Christian or Jewish presuppositions), scholars attempted more complete and less ideologically driven investigations of rabbinic parables. In a 1989 essay, for example, Clemens Thoma defines rabbinic parables as “simple, secular, mono-episodic, fictional narrative units that serve to explain the rabbinic understanding of the Torah.” The rabbis used these rhetorical and argumentative forms for preaching, to defend their identity, and to provide guidance in their audiences’ daily lives. All rabbinic parables have a twofold structure: the narrative proper (mashal) and normative instruction (nimshal). Although this structural analysis is limited to two parts, Thoma postulates five major elements involved in the communicative process of almost all rabbinic parables (27–31): 

1. Motivation—Motivation is the situation that is addressed, clarified, or answered. It could be a discussion among rabbinic scholars or the need for an apologetic clarification. This situation induced the creation of a metaphoric parable to provide insight into the Torah, as understood by the parable’s creator(s). 

2. Hiddush—The second part of the introduction is the Hiddush, the creative idea of the mashal teller, which makes clear the narrator-writer’s religious strategy for making the light of the Torah shine for a new audience. This “primary point of disclosure” includes a “hinge phrase” or aspect on which the primary comparison will be made with the mashal. 

 3. Mashal—The mashal proper is an ordinary narrative account with a simple plot. The dramatic episode, though referential, is not just a comparison, and it stems from the creative imagination of its creator. An important element is that the mashal is composed (or possibly modified from an existing story) “to fit into the normative preaching of the nimshal” (30). 

4. Nimshal—The nimshal is the explanation of the mashal, and the nimshal is always closely connected with the motivation of the parable. The nimshal can be introduced by the formulaic “so” or “in a similar way,” and it consists of biblical quotations and rabbinical expressions intended to give an authoritative explanation of the Torah.

5. The Addressees—The intention of the parable is to influence the community; therefore the addressees include the entire community, and they may even include future Jewish generations. 

Although Thoma does not compare his tentative conclusions with the parables of the Jesus tradition, a few of his conclusions have direct relevance: He argues that rabbinic parables appear to be the “best representatives of rabbinic theology” (37), which, if true, may give some credence to the assumption that the parables of Jesus portray major, essential elements of his teaching. Thoma also notes that the importance of the rabbinic parables is made clear by their simplicity, clarity, and the great conscientiousness of composition. This composition proclaims the presence of God with Israel, which, as always, has a clear ethical dimension—including the responsibility of the whole community to have an attitude of repentance (38–39). Finally, Thoma observes that many rabbinic parables deal with Israel’s salvation history and have eschatological aims. Thus these parables provide another important point of comparison with the parables of Jesus and his proclamation of the kingdom of God as found in the Synoptic Gospels.

The next post will examine the McArthur and Johnston book, They Also Taught in Parables.