A Lesson in Authority: A Reflection on Matthew 21.23-32

Today’s Gospel reading is a strange one, the kind of reading one is often tempted to set aside because on first glance it doesn’t seem to make much sense. But, the passages we find odd or confusing are the ones we should spend more time contemplating, not less. And so that’s what I’d like to do today.

The reading records a confrontation between Jesus and the Temple authorities and religious elders. But what isn’t clear from the narrative itself is the context for this interaction, namely that Jesus is accosted by his accusers on the morning after his Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem, which we commemorate on Palm Sunday. The city is likely still abuzz with excitement and rumours of revolution. (Of course, these rumours are ironic, for Jesus was trying to send a very different message, and the revolution he was promoting was not one of the sword but of the heart.) On his way back into Jerusalem that morning, he is seen using a barren fig tree as an object lesson, cursing it for its lack of fruitfulness. (It withers immediately, leaving his disciples stunned.) It’s at this point that Jesus arrives at the Temple, and its leaders intercept him immediately. When trying to understand what’s happening here, it’s helpful to remember that, while very few in Judea liked the Roman occupiers, the Sadducee party was the most intent on making do, on not causing any trouble, and this party was the most closely associated with the priesthood and Temple. They knew full well that if pushed, the Romans would be more than happy to violate the Temple, either turning it into a shrine for one of their own gods or razing it completely — as indeed happened just a few decades later. And, as far as their religious values had it, losing the Temple was the one thing they were not willing to let happen. So we can assume that they are terrified of Jesus, seeing him as a threat, not just to their authority, but to the very survival of Judaism.

I can just imagine the Temple authorities scrambling up to Jesus and his party as quickly as possible, arms outstretched in defiance, like a barman trying to keep a biker gang out of his establishment. Without preamble, they ask him: “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?” Jesus responds slyly, knowing full well that after what happened the previous day, there’s likely a bounty on his head. (Remember, we’re only two days before Judas makes his deal to hand him over.) He replies:

“I will also ask you one question; if you tell me the answer, then I will also tell you by what authority I do these things. Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?” (Matthew 21.24-25)

They know he’s got them trapped. For John, like Jesus, undermined the authority of the Temple, even offering baptism as an additional (if not alternative) ritual. If they say John acted with heavenly authority, then it is tantamount to a public confession that they have disobeyed God, since they had not followed John and his message. But if they say he acted only on his own authority, it will be a public rejection of a man widely believed to have been a prophet. In the end they simply say that they don’t know, and Jesus shrugs and says that if they won’t answer his question, he won’t answer theirs.

But he doesn’t leave it here and launches into a strange parable:

“What do you think? A man had two sons; he went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work in the vineyard today.’ He answered, ‘I will not’; but later he changed his mind and went. The father went to the second and said the same; and he answered, ‘I go, sir’; but he did not go. Which of the two did the will of his father?” They said, “The first.” Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax-collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, but the tax-collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him.” (21.28-32)

Jesus offers his accusers a choice between A) someone who says ‘no’ to an authority but obeys in the end, and B) someone who says ‘yes’ but then doesn’t do it. They choose option A and Jesus tells them they’re worse off than than (stereotypically defined) ‘worst’ sinners. The way things are left is a bit strange (though, as we’ll see next week, he follows this up with a far more clear parable!), because it makes it sound as though they should have chosen option B — but we know from elsewhere that Jesus is no fan of those who claim to follow him but lack follow through. So, what much be happening here is that he once against trapped them and that the correct answer is that neither son did the will of his father. There’s clearly an unhealthy dynamic here, both between the sons and the father, and also between the sons.

There are a lot of possible references that come to mind here, but two are particularly in keeping with the spirit of the New Testament. The first is between Jews and Gentiles. In this case, Jesus could be drawing a contrast between those who claim to value the Law but don’t follow it and those who don’t have it yet respond to God anyway. The answer, of course, is that “all fall short of the glory of God” and need to repent; everyone is therefore in the same boat and are in need of God’s forgiveness. This would be a classic New Testament argument, which we see often in Paul (for example, in Romans and Ephesians). But because of the specific context, I think it’s more likely that Jesus is talking about the religious authorities and those they call “sinners.” This is a far more ‘Jesusy’ argument, one that overturns the stereotypes and expectations people have of who is ‘in’ with God and who is ‘out’. The “sinners” are better off than the “righteous”, not because they choose rightly but because they can see through the problem in a way the Temple authorities cannot. They understand that John’s message was from God and respond to it without reservation. More to the point, they see that it’s not a question of which group is ‘right’ at all, because both are wrong: their own sins and the authorities’ sins of hypocrisy and ‘majoring in the minors’ put them all in the same position before God. The real problem of “sin” the act of dividing the world between “sinners” and the “righteous,” an us-against-them mentality known in sociology as ‘mimetic rivalry.’ As Andrew Marr notes about this:

Both then, have failed to respond to the father and both are in need of forgiveness and mercy. When Jesus responds to his listeners by pointing out that tax collectors and prostitutes believed John the Baptist and they didn’t, he is hinting that the victims of their mimetic rivalry are entering the Kingdom ahead (and maybe instead) of them. (Moving and Resting in God’s Desire, p. 108)

So, we might rightly ask, what was Jesus doing in trapping the Temple authorities as he did here, aside from cleverly delaying his eventual arrest? In the moment, it seems he was responding to their impertinent questions about his authority by dismantling the whole premise of what it means to truly act on God’s authority. And more broadly, both in his day and ours, this in turn dismantles all conceptions of who is ‘in’ and who is ‘out’, who is ‘right’ and who is ‘wrong’. In other words, he’s rejecting the whole universe of socially constructed groups, teams, and parties, and ‘us’ against ‘them’ that the world tries so hard to get us all to buy into. In his day, the Sadducees weren’t wrong to want to limit the violence of Roman occupation, even if this was often self-serving in that the present state still afforded them privileges the rest of their people didn’t have. Likewise, the Pharisees weren’t wrong to love the Law as a symbol of the Jewish people’s special relationship with God, even if the way they interpreted it often led to self-righteousness and a disdain for their neighbours. And even the Zealots weren’t wrong in their belief that Roman occupation was fundamentally wrong and needed to be opposed, even if their advocacy of armed rebellion was a disaster waiting to happen and ultimately led to a devastation far worse than what had happened under Babylon.

And the same is true in our own world. It’s not that we can’t or shouldn’t have strong beliefs and opinions about the issues of the day, or that ‘all sides’ are equal contributors to dysfunction. Far from it. But, our labels are always going to be problematic, particularly when they cease to be descriptors but identities, identities we equate with value statements, like ‘good’ and ‘evil’, ‘us’ and ‘them’, ‘friend’ and ‘enemy.’ That whole construct of rivalry, of ‘if they want something, I have to be against it simply to oppose them’, is the heart of sin, because it breaks relationships and denies our shared status as both beloved children of God and people who fall short of who we are called to be.

And I think that’s what Jesus is doing here. As he said, “The tree will be known by its fruit.” By what authority did he curse the fig tree? The kind of authority that doesn’t care if a tree is a fig tree or an olive tree or an apple tree, but simply wants that tree to be healthy and fruitful.