At the very beginning of his gospel, and unique for being first addressed to a specific individual, the Theophilus who is also the recipient of the book of Acts, Luke immediately reveals his purpose and intent: much more aware of himself and his writing (he does seem to be knowledgeable about narrative traditions90 and conceits) he begins self-consciously with first acknowledging that “since many have undertaken to set down an orderly account of the events,” he relies on them and the people who have seen, heard, and experienced the teachings of Jesus. Luke admits to being dependent on a newly-established tradition. He has at least one manuscript (by Mark), and possibly more in front of him that he consults as he writes. These prior writers were connected to both “eyewitnesses” and “servants of the word” (1:2). Finally, Luke identifies with and understands himself to be in the service of the word, subservient to the word; he reflects on everything he has read and heard. The last claim is intended to give himself authority and justification – as a writer and, equally important, as a teacher. He can be trusted as a reliable source: “I too decided, after investigating everything carefully from the very first, to write an orderly account for you” (1:3). By writing, in order – as the narrative has come down to him – he defends his accuracy, that is, his faithful rendering of whatever he has read, or heard. Luke understands himself to be a teacher, writing so as to pass on and continue the knowledge he has been given. He writes and tells Theophilus he does so “so that you may know the truth concerning the things about which you have been instructed” (1:4). As a writer, Luke knows he is now contributing to new scriptural tradition; he represents a confirmation of what is to be learned from Jesus’ new ideas. After he reads Luke’s account, Theophilus and others will then be in a position to know; the gospel has pedagogical relevance, for it will be passed on to others, to listen to, to read. Luke educates and edifies. Theophilus will have been taught; and so Luke proceeds to structure his narrative with particular ends in mind, the events he considers most important. He makes editorial decisions on the substance and chronology of his story, beginning with the history and the rule of King Herod of Judea. In the gospel of Luke, and beginning with an uprooting and dislocation in ←38 | 39→order to obey the orders of Roman bureaucracy, one difficulty will stand out – as it will in Matthew: the relationship between the virgin birth and the extensive genealogy of his family line. Jesus is both born without a biological father and as a consequence cannot be tied to a genealogical descent while, at the same time, given a history extending to the very beginning of history and Genesis and preceding the “son of Adam” since he is proclaimed to be “son of God” (3:38).
Immediately prior to the genealogy, when he is baptized, “Jesus was about thirty years old when he began his work. He was the son (as was thought) of Joseph” (3:23). Luke is making two significant statements; and they are both necessary so as to then turn back to his account from the narrative beginning: one, Jesus “began to be” only when he made the decision to initiate his life as a minister. He was figuratively born at the age of thirty – or, to use John’s language of baptism, he was “regenerated” and therefore born from out of himself; two, and this now allows Luke to clear up what appears to be some uncertainty about Jesus’ father. By emphasizing the “as was thought,” as was assumed, Luke now affirms what he believes to be a truth not easily perceived since it defies documented history. Fitzmyer writes: “whatever way the phrase is going to be understood, it will effect not only the paternity of Joseph (in a real sense? in a putative, legal sense?) but also the climax of the genealogy as a whole.”91 Everyone assumes Joseph is the father of Jesus; but, as a fact, it is not quite accurate, even misleading. One cannot easily determine if Luke is conscious of the complications of his narrative and the reason the family has to travel to Bethlehem for Jesus’ birth. On the one hand, an angel appears to shepherds and makes the extraordinary announcement that “to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah” (2:11); on the other, the family was forced to travel to Bethlehem, apparently Joseph’s home-town, to take part in a mandatory “registration” (a census) ordered by Quirinus, the governor of Syria. The contrast between the angels of Jewish metaphysics and the census of Roman bureaucracy will require, at the appropriate time, a solution; their worlds could not be further apart. Whether Luke can sustain their relationship remains to be seen.
The birth of Jesus occurs during the reign of Caesar Augustus and during a period of “registration,” (apographesthai) more properly a census first initiated by Quirinus, the governor of Syria.92 The census was an obligation imposed on the ←39 | 40→population by the Romans. The colony had to be organized and controlled, most especially because of the periodic outbreaks of rebellion; maintaining control of an occupied region required order and efficiency, both military and bureaucratic. At the time, the census could only be done in one’s home-town; therefore, Joseph and Mary had to travel to Bethlehem “because he was descended from the house and family of David,” (2:4) with “house” being a Jewish term for a lineage.
The journey had to be trying for the young, expectant mother. The days of travel had to be arduous, physically exhausting. She was emotionally apprehensive, a new bride, pregnant. Though now married, the young couple did not know each other well; conversations may have been halting, awkward. Mary is a young girl, in her early teens, Joseph not much older. The census ensures that Jesus will be Joseph’s legal son – that is, lawful as determined by the Romans. But this census, initiated bureaucratically so as to more efficiently organize and control the occupied people of the region, immediately acknowledges Jesus as registered, legitimate by law; his name is written down and included along with everyone else and as someone who exists. The writing of his name, however, does nothing to determine his own self-conception. Luke’s account here presents considerable challenges for the reader. Jesus has been adopted into two traditions, one according to a lineage extending back to King David, the other determined according to Roman law – inscribed, by some, but not contained, in fact eluding both simultaneously. Luke may not be conscious of his own narrative and how Jesus remains, despite old and new inscriptions, scriptural and bureaucratic, outside their definitions. When Jesus is described as “her first-born son,” being “first” cannot simply be related to Mary as a mother. He is indeed her first-born son; but, with much more significance and repeated often by Jesus himself when he calls himself “the son of man,” he is indeed first and unprecedented. Luke (and Matthew will experience the same difficulties) strains to represent Jesus as a unique and prototypical human being while also, at times and in constant oscillation, relating him back to a tradition that gives him precedence and legitimacy. In this case, the gospel of Luke (as writing, as a document) at least partly recognizes itself, though not without hesitation, as opposed to the Roman census ←40 | 41→that has defined him according to Roman law and to the scriptures who have anticipated him in the history of Judaism. One of the consequences of the gospels is the determination to alter existing social conditions and to re-define familial relations; in each case, laws will be ignored and, in part, superseded. Even if Luke has only an unclear intimation of his undertaking, he must in some sense be conscious of his writing to be independent of two other scriptural forms, both of them legal and reflecting laws – the laws