Each chapter concentrates on one parable, but compares versions in different Gospels. After a brief introduction, I have included my own translations of the Greek texts. My basic intention is to provide a convenient means to study them side-by-side. But I would also assert that every translation is itself an act of interpretation. Many English versions of the Bible smooth out the ancient languages for modern ears; I have chosen to translate the original Greek quite literally. Like a child’s paint-by-numbers book, a lack of sophistication can result in greater clarity. While some of the phrases in my translations are admittedly awkward, my goal is to allow the reader to observe the Gospels as easily as distinguishing between colors.
Spring-boarding from these translations, we begin with close attention to the exact words used in Mark’s parable and where it falls in relation to the larger narrative of that Gospel because this text was recorded first. Next, we study the versions of Matthew and Luke through comparison and contrast, noticing particular details that were either maintained or changed by these editors. Then, we once again expand our study in reference to the surrounding material so that we gain an appreciation of the parable functioning in the larger scope of these narratives as well. If the parable is not found in Mark, then we assume it was part of the Q source and notice the similarities and variances between Matthew and Luke. We try and think like editors through the process of zooming in on the parable and panning out to the rest of the Gospel.
Underlying this method of interpretation is my belief that the editors of the Gospels were brilliant theologians. They were more like composers, masterfully directing the individual parts of an orchestra (sources of information about Jesus) to achieve the best overall sound (theology about the kingdom of heaven). In the following chapters, we will discover how the music delights, soothes, and challenges our opinions and worldviews.
Finally, I would re-emphasize my earlier point about a parable as a snapshot with a story. After careful attention to the parable itself, I hope to model one way of reading the Bible through the experiential lens of modern life. Each chapter concludes with illustrations of certain insights drawn from the biblical text through my experience as a parent. These “Alongside My Son” sections are not arranged according to the chronological order of Sam’s life, but spring from my reflections on the Bible. My friend, Tom, helpfully suggested coining a new term for this approach–the “hermeneutics of parenthood.” I agree that it has a nice ring! More importantly, he suggests that I am reading the text and my life simultaneously, a mixture of “in print” and “in person.” I think observing this dynamic will be clearer than talking about it, so I’d like to end the introduction on this note:
On October 25th, 2012 at 12:52 pm in southwestern Virginia, a newborn’s high-pitched wail pierced the tension of a hospital room with a triumphant crescendo. Our midwife, Mattie, placed a wet, gooey, and healthy baby on my wife’s chest. Samuel Greene Taylor-Troutman was here.
“Sam,” I gasped from the side of the hospital bed, tears of joy fresh on my flushed cheeks, “I’m your dad! I’m your dad! Sam, I’m your dad!”
Then, he stopped crying and looked directly at me.
I met his gaze with a look of love and whispered to my wife, “Here we go.”
1. Danker, A Greek-English Lexicon, 759–760
2. This theory is well-evinced in modern scholarship. For an accessible summary, see Ehrman, The New Testament, 83–90 (especially 85–86).
3. This lack of direct evidence, however, has not prevented some scholars from building their entire careers on this principle, so I feel quite justified in proceeding with this little book!
4. Ehrman, The New Testament, 86–89
A Velcro Swaddle
The Parable of New and Old
During those first few months of his life whenever someone asked about Sam, the subject of his sleeping habits inevitably came up, and this person would invariably have some advice. Well-intentioned people would flat out contradict each other and cite specific research to back up their divergent claims. Do you soothe your baby when he wakes up or do you let him cry until he wears himself out? Do you start your baby on solid foods before he goes to bed or continue to nurse him? Do you let your baby sleep in the bed with you or put him down exclusively in the nursery?
Over the course of navigating this maze of advice, we developed a few tricks of the trade. Ginny figured out that Sam was waking himself up because of his startle reflex, meaning that his arms would involuntarily flail around like helicopter blades at the slightest provocation. When he was about two months, we bought a special swaddle with Velcro straps. Even our little whirlwind had a hard time getting out of that one.
As first-time parents, we became keenly aware of the contrast and continuity between new and traditional parenting advice. Swaddling babies is as old as the birth of Jesus (Luke 2:7). Velcro is obviously a relatively new invention. Through trial and error, we moved forward, often discovering some kind of balance between the two.
But I have another reason for raising this specific illustration about the swaddle as the introduction to this chapter: either tradition or innovation can be imposed onto people. Babies have no choice. But what about adults who feel as though they are straight-jacketed by tradition or, conversely, forced to accept a new way of doing things? As a community of faith, how do we maintain the legacy that we have inherited while assuring the church remains vibrant and relevant in an ever-changing culture? These questions keep many Christians awake at night! As a result, there are contradictory and competing theories about tradition and innovation, often with each side claiming to offer the best model for today’s church. To help navigate this maze of advice, let’s consider what Jesus had to say about clothes and wineskins.
The Parable
| Mark 2:21–22 | Matthew 9:16–17 | Luke 5:36–39 |
| “No one sews a piece of unshrunk cloth onto an old garment; otherwise, the patch pulls away from it–the new from the old–and a tear becomes worse. And no one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise, the wine will burst the wineskins and ruin the wine and wineskins; instead new wine into new wineskins!" | “No one sews a piece of unbleached cloth onto an old garment; for the patch pulls away from the garment and a tear becomes worse. And no one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise, the wineskins are broken apart and the wine is poured out and the wineskins are ruined; instead they put new wine into new wineskins, and both are preserved.” | He also told them a parable: “After tearing off a piece from a new garment, no one puts it on an old garment; otherwise, it will tear the new and the piece which was from the new will not match the old. And no one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise, the new wine will burst the wineskins and it will be poured out and the wineskins will be ruined; instead new wine must be put into new wineskins. And after drinking old wine, no one wants new, for he says, ‘The old is good.’” |
Mark
Following the premise that Mark’s Gospel was written first and referred to by Matthew and Luke, let’s begin by examining a few literary features of this book of the Bible. Scholars have long noticed that Jesus hits the ground running in Mark’s Gospel. One of the evangelist’s favorite words is “immediately,” which he uses to narrate Jesus’ movements and actions in rapid fire sequence. As a reader, I barely have time to catch my breath until, boom, Jesus is doing something different again! Some interpreters have understood this tendency as evidence that Mark was a sloppy story-teller or that he was juvenile, flailing out facts like a newborn’s startle reflex.