The jaw-dropping backstory

Reflection on Luke 3:21-4:13

For Jews alive at the turn of the milennium, the coming of God’s long-awaited Messiah into the world was more exciting than any other event could possible be. And certainly, Luke’s account of the coming of Jesus into the world—his conception, birth and early life—is filled with amazing and wondrous acts:

• In Luke 1 and 2, Caesar is issuing decrees; angels appear in dreams and visions; a temple priest is struck mute; his old wife miraculously conceives; another angel comes to town; yet another miraculous pregnancy; a spirit-filled baby dances in utero; more angels are lighting up the night sky; ancient prophesies, both personal and public, are fulfilled; songs are sung of heavenly overthrows and abounding mercy.

• In Luke 3, the drama continues with the coming of John the Baptist. After 400 years of silence, the Word of God is coming to the people again! Luke’s introduction of John the Baptist in 3:1-2 shows that we’re meant to understand John as the next in the line of the Old Testament prophets. The drought is broken! More prophecies are fulfilled (3:4-6).
  And yet—John is looking forward to someone else. ‘One more powerful than I is coming,’ he says. ‘You’d better clean up your act.’ (In essence.)

With all this anticipation and excitement, you would think that Jesus’s appearance as an adult on the scene would be lit up with all the markers a storyteller has at his disposal that GUYS! We are in exciting territory here!

But it’s not how Luke does it. Jesus’s first adult appearance is at his baptism. By any normal measure this is a 100% wow moment, complete with the voice of God coming from the heavens. But Luke shows us that this whole event is given only as backstory.

How does he do this? And why?

How Luke shows that Jesus’s whole baptism story is backstory

There’s a wonderful little Koine Greek story opener called ἐγενετο. Ἐγενετο means (in this context) ‘it came about’ or ‘it happened’, and it’s frequently followed by a phrase like ἐν ἐκειναις ταις ἡμεραις ‘in those days’. And after this phrase, the verb is put in the infinitive.

This construction (ἐγενετο followed by infinitive verb) is used throughout the Gospels to introduce a new story; but particularly, to introduce some backstory before the story.

An example from Mark 2:23:

Καὶ ἐγένετο αὐτὸν ἐν τοῖς σάββασιν διαπορεύεσθαι (infinitive) διὰ τῶν σπορίμων,
Now it came about one Sabbath that Jesus was going through the grainfields,

καὶ οἱ μαθηταὶ αὐτοῦ ἤρξαντο ὁδὸν ποιεῖν τίλλοντες τοὺς στάχυας.
and his disciples started to walk along, picking the heads of grain.

Notice how the background details are provided in the first clause with ἐγενετο + infinitive (Jesus is going through the grainfields), and the first key action of the story, which kick-starts the chain reaction of events, is shown by our friend the aorist (ἤρξαντο, with complementary infinitive ποιεῖν).

Luke frequently uses this ἐγενετο construction to give backstory or background details throughout his first two chapters, as in the following:

1:8 ‘Now it so happened that Zechariah’s division was on duty.’

1:59 ‘Now on the eighth day they went to circumcise the child, and they were going to name him Zechariah.’

2:1 ‘Now in those days, Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken.’

2:6 ‘Now Mary and Joseph were there in Bethlehem.’

In each of these, you can see that Luke is orienting us to the scene. The key events of the story come next, and are all served up with aorists.

It’s no surprise, then, that when it comes to Jesus’s baptism, Luke begins with Ἐγενετο. What is surprising is that he narrates the entire baptism with infinitives. Usually ἐγενετο is followed by one infinitive, maybe two, and then the aorists take over to tell the story proper. So this is a striking departure from the norm, and it communicates throughout the entire baptism account: this is backstory. This is all part of the ‘Now, it so happened…’ clause. The real action—why the author is telling us all this—is yet to come.

This is completely invisible in English translations (as it must be). But if I was translating Luke 3:21-23 to make this explicit, it might sound something like this:

Now it so happened, when everyone was getting baptised, and Jesus also had been baptised and was praying, the heavens happened to open and the Holy Spirit happened to come upon him in bodily form like a dove and a voice happened to come from heaven: ‘You are my beloved son. I approve of you!’ By the way, Jesus was about thirty at this point, being the son (people thought), of Joseph…

Of course, this translation is far too casual in tone and sounds dismissive of the events. But you get the idea: these facts are not actually the point of Luke’s story. Luke is using infinitive verbs to show that for his purposes, amazing as the content may be, they are background. The point of the story is still to come. (The several participles and imperfect ἠν in the story—also backgrounding verb forms—complete this effect.)

Luke then launches us into the genealogy, where there is more to note from the Greek. Firstly, the word ‘son’ is absent from the list after the first line. It’s just ‘Jesus was the son, so people thought, of Joseph, of Heli, of Matthat, of Levi…’ I support most translators’ decision to insert ‘son’ throughout. But reading in Greek, I found that when the list got down to

…of Jared, of Mahalalel,

of Kenan, of Enosh,

of Seth, of Adam,

of God.

…it felt different to when I read it in English. Because ‘of’ can mean more than ‘son of’. ‘Of’ (genitive case in Greek) in this context seems to identify source or origin. So Adam is ‘of God’ in that God is his source—his genesis. Not his literal son. But if we remember that Jesus’s baptism is the backdrop of this genealogy, we remember that God has explicitly just said, ‘You are my beloved son.’ And Luke has just said that it was thought (ἐνομίζετο) that Jesus was Joseph’s son. This immediately got me thinking about the theme of fatherhood and source, and the following questions come to mind:

• In what way is Adam ‘of God’?

• In what way is Jesus ‘(the son) of God’?

• In what way is Jesus a son of Joseph? Or Adam? Or anyone else in that list?

• Who is his true father? Who can we expect him to be like?

The infinitives of the baptism narrative (3:21-22), and the continued absence of aorists in the genealogy (3:23-38), propel me into the next part of the narrative for the answer. And so, I launch into the first scene of chapter four to find the point of all this lead-up, as I wait for the aorists to discover what Luke is actually wanting to tell me about all this.

What is the effect?

The effect of this onward-propulsion upon me was startling.

By holding off on the aorists until 4:1, Luke shows that he considers 3:21-4:13 a unit; because all through 3:21-38, I’m still hanging out for my aorists. They finally start coming when Jesus leaves the baptism scene of the Jordan (see how Luke reminds us in 4:1 that this is where we are still meant to be, mentally) and takes us into the time of Spirit-led fasting in the desert.

Reading the temptation in light of the question ‘Who is Jesus’s source? Joseph? Someone else in the list? Or God?’ gave a whole new spin on it.

The first question: Are you of God?

In 4:3, the devil says, ‘If you are the son of God, tell this stone to become bread.’ Immediately the devil is challenging God’s own proclamation in the baptism.

But if Jesus really is from God, surely he will have power to do all sorts of crazy stuff. He’s hungry; so do the trick, Jesus.

But Jesus’s answer is amazing. Notice what he doesn’t say: ‘I am indeed the son of God, but…’ What he does say is: ‘It is written: “Man shall not live on bread alone.”’

But reading it in Greek is even better: the whammy comes at the end, where surprise emphasis often lies: ‘It is written: “Not by bread alone shall live the man (ὁ ἀνθρωπος).”’ The arrival of ὁ ἀνθρωπος at the end of this phrase is like the snap of a whip. Jesus is beautifully resisting Satan’s temptation with a perfect quote from Scripture, but he is also placing himself squarely in the line of human ancestry that Luke has just given. Son of God he may be; but as a man, he lives as God commands all humans to live.

The devil: Are you the son of God? Prove it!
Jesus: I’m as human as the men on that list, and I relate to God under those terms.

The second question: Are you of Adam?

Next, in 4:5, the devil shows him everything the world can offer: the kingdoms, with their authority and their glory. ‘It’s been given to me, and I can give it to anyone I want,’ he says. ‘So then, you—just bow the knee in front of me, and it’s all yours.’

All this is reminiscent of Genesis 3: the tantalising offer of something more, something that was not given by God—take it! Take it! All you have to do is one teeny-tiny little knee-bow. An offer not to be refused!

Jesus answers, ‘It is written: “It is the Lord your God whom you will worship, and he alone whom you will serve.”’

Devil: Jesus, are you of Adam?
Jesus: I choose differently to Adam.

The third question: Are you of David?

Working back through that genealogy, the devil has tried testing his connection to God, and then tests his connection to Adam, trying to exploit a weakness. The next biggest name on the list is David.

And so, we’re taken to Jerusalem, to the temple, to the highest point on the temple. And we’re reminded that David himself, as God’s chosen king, was described as a son of God in the Psalms. Through the quoted Psalm (Psalm 91), we’re reminded of the dizzying heights David ascended to by God’s power and protection. Thanks to his robust trust in his faithful God, he escaped multiple life-threatening situations completely unscathed: deadly battles, foreign kings, Saul’s spear. We’re reminded of the way he established the kingship and ushered in the golden era, leading to the building of the temple in his son’s reign.

(And in the talk of throwing oneself down from the pinnacle, are we possibly reminded of his reckless crash into adultery, murder, family dysfunction and kingly loss of authority? I wonder.)

Jesus replies: ‘It is said, “Don’t test the Lord your God.”’

Devil: Jesus, are you of David? Are you a man after God’s own heart? Are you his son? Will he protect you like he protected David? Will you crash to earth, and rely on the goodness of God to lift you up? He has promised, hasn’t he?
Jesus: I’m a different kind of Christ.

(I’m not 100% sure of my reading of this connection with David. I’m sure the connection is there, but am I missing what is being shown by it? What do you think?)

Wrapping it up

After these three probings, the devil leaves him—until next time (ἄχρι καιροῦ—a more ominous phrase you have never met).

So, what is Luke doing here?

• By indicating (through the use of ἐγενετο + infinitives) that the whole baptism story is a backdrop, he links the baptism, genealogy and temptation of Jesus into one literary unit. The focal point of this literary unit is where the aorists are: Jesus’s temptation and response.

• Reading the temptation with the baptism and genealogy in mind raises the question: ‘Whose son is Jesus? From whom did he spring? Whose behaviour should we expect him to mirror?’

• With the declaration of God in 3:22 (‘You are my beloved son’) still fresh in our minds, along with the genealogy linking Jesus to Adam, David, and the other forefathers, the temptation narrative then gives us the answer:

  • Although Joseph is not his biological father, Jesus firmly identifies himself as existing within the category of ἀνθρωπος ‘man/humankind’; and yet

  • Jesus is not like other men. He chooses differently; he behaves differently. He will be a new type of Adam, and a new type of Messiah. He is τοῦ θεοῦ ‘of God’ in a new way.

This narrative hearks back to the last story Luke told about Jesus, back when he was a child. When his human family were all headed home after a trip to Jerusalem, Jesus hangs back, and his distressed parents only realise very late that he’s missing. When they finally find him, back in the Jerusalem temple, he says, ‘Why were you looking for me? You knew that I had to be in my father’s place, didn’t you?’

And so, the temptation narrative extends and develops a theme from the early chapters of Luke. In those early chapters, where there are two miraculous God-sourced births (John’s and Jesus’s), the same set of questions are raised for both:

• Who does John come from? What shall he be called? (Will he be like his doubting father?)

• Who does Jesus come from? What shall he be called? Will he be like his father? And if so—which father?

All this is (necessarily) invisible in the English translations, but is so very present in the text, and it is so wonderful. I could (hopefully) have found all this in a commentary… but how much more fun and satisfying to get it straight from Luke!

This is why we learn Greek.

Postscript

I was recently very briefly introduced to a translation of the New Testament by David Bentley Hart. I had only a minute to peruse it, so I immediately turned to Luke’s baptism story to see how it had been translated; to see if the backgrounding infinitives had worked their magic. I was stunned to find they had done just that! This translation reads:

And it happened that when all the people were being baptized, and Jesus had been baptized and was praying, heaven was opened, and the Spirit, the Holy one, descended in the corporeal form of a dove, and a voice came out of heaven: ‘You are my Son, the beloved, in you I have delighted.’ And, when he set out, Jesus was himself about thirty years old, being the son—so it was supposed—of Joseph, son of Heli, …

Notice that Hart achieves this backgrounding effect by stringing all these clauses and sentences together with ‘and’. This is not good English style, but the effect is just right: it connects the ‘It happened that’ backgrounding phrase with all that follows. It leaves you a little breathless, and longing for the landing-place.

(Hart also puts one verb into English pluperfect tense (‘had been baptized’), which is also an effective backgrounding technique.)

I was so delighted with this, I immediately purchased Hart’s translation, and it arrived the next day. When I continued reading, however, I found that Hart translates every και throughout the narrative, so the whole Gospel is peppered with ‘and’s. As such, it wasn’t a deft masterstroke for this particular passage, but more of a feature of Hart’s translation as a whole.

Ah, well. I’m still glad to have found a nice alternative way of rendering that particular passage to highlight its natural flow into the genealogy and the temptation narrative.

I’d like to hear your thoughts. Leave a comment!