On the surface, Spanish Cinema tells a familiar story along the lines of most of Global Cinema. A promising start is interrupted by war which leads to an eventual social revolution, a democracy, and then new found growth and success in cinema.

As I continue to travel the world through film in 2020 though, I am finding that while the template is familiar, every Country applies this narrative to different points of their cinematic history with a slightly different weight and nuance to particular, culturally located realities. The development of film is intimately tied to a Country’s ethos, and mirrors the socio-political reality. And thus the rise and fall of a film industry, and when it rises and falls, says something significant about the Country and its people.

For Spain, the emphasis is put on the contrast that exists between its modest and quiet start and a now thriving modern industry. Most of the interest of its cinematic development is weighted on the attention the Country has garnered by critics and viewers in the last 30 or so years, with the long shadows of Italy and France, and even Mexico, the three primary international film industries that partnered with Spain along the way, finally giving way to something that is now distinctly Spanish culture. This recent emergence has led to greater awareness of Spanish films, Spanish film companies, and Spanish culture, elevating both art and viewer in the eyes of critics and viewers across the world.

An Emerging Industry and the Demise of Spanish Colonies
One interesting aspect of Spain’s film industry is that the eventual emergence of films around 1896 coincided with the demise of Spanish colonization. In a sense, the early years of of the silent era wasn’t able to gain much momentum, either on a cultural or political front, leading to a modest start and a very gradual subsequent development following the arrival of the Lumiere Brothers and this new, mysterious technology. However, as film developed, so did a dictatorship, rising from the ranks of the monarchy (and the monarchies fall) to try and rally Spain around a new vision for its people. What sets the stage for this to happen is what history describes as The Spanish Civil War.

The Civil War, National Identity, and a Coopted Film Industry
To try and tap into a socio-political narrative and voice, a necessary facet of film’s development, presence and success, early silent films of this time tended to try and reach back into the pages of their history to locate a semblance of a time of unity and national identity. You see this same thing happening in Countries in the East at times of fracture, as locating a narrative from the past can help give them a sense of purpose and identity, a place to locate themselves within the less than ideal circumstances. Filmed mostly in and around Barcelona and then Madrid, Spain struggled to find a unified story in the divided peoples, eventually shifting into the sound era without much of an established industry, even despite the development of the the Spanish Industrial Film Company Inc. (1930), which tired to supply some direction and vision.

The Civil War started in 1936, seeing a push back against the monarchy happening alongside the rise of Franco, a fascist dictator who wanted to see the monarchy remain. This period saw the loss and destruction of all but “10 percent” of their silent films. Film became censored propaganda, with the industry being pulled into both sides of the war by way of competing studios and interests (with those on the side of Franco setting up the “National Department of Cinematography” to aid his purposes). This pushed Spanish culture and Spanish artists further into the shadows in the immediate onset, ensuring that a local industry had even less of a presence. What did happen in the midst of this though was the continued growth of international film industries coming into Spain, something that would pose even further of a challenge to finding a true Spanish Identity in film.

“Even if the indifference of Franco’s fascist regime to cinema meant the indigenous film industry progressed only in fits and spurts, the country took advantage of its unique landscape and low production costs to become an important location for international producers in the 1960s.”
– Spanish Film History

By the time the Civil War ended, the Spanish film industry would become known for three central international relationships- Spanish-Italian films, Spanish-French films, and Spanish-Mexican films. The only real presence in terms of Spanish culture at the time of The Civil and Second World War (which ironically Spain stayed out of, at least in part because they relied on American imports, including their filmmakers, coming in to shoot films) was a filmmaker by the name of Buñuel.

The Legacy of Luis Bunuel
Luis Bunuel might be one of the most important figures in Spanish cinematic history, and not just because of his films, but because of what he represented. A boxer from the upper class, Bunuel’s life was built on a desire to erase the lines that divided social classes in Spain at the time. He rebelled against state religion and the upper class rules, instead creating connections with the people and the stories they wanted and needed to tell. He is known for helping to inspire The Surrealist movement by way of his presence and time with the people. His own films bear the mark of someone who held a complicated relationship with himself and his past, bearing numerous emotions and flavors, including the surrealist film, undercut with a serious horror and expressionist vibe, Un Chien Andalou.

Since Bunuel traveled between Spain and France and Italy and Mexico, this well tread road also helped to instill the international presence in Spain as well, including the development of one of Spain’s more well known genres, the Spaghetti Western. When Franco died in 1975 (after 36 years in power), the monarchy would once again be established before leading the way, under King Juan Carlos 1 into democracy, and this would be where these Spaghetti Westerns would play a key role, with international collaborations, in helping to build something of a foundation for the Spanish Film Industry that was just now starting to find a sense of purpose and vision.

Eventually, José María García Escudero became the new Director of Spanish Cinema in 1962, and “Escudero helped spur on Spanish cinema” through the development of the “Official Spanish School of Cinema.” This became a key part of the rising voice of a people gradually beginning to push back against Franco, trading realism for metaphor, and eventually paving the way for what is known as The New Spanish Cinema, a movement and style which was just ready to break free. This school was ready to tap into emerging young filmmakers being cut on neo-realism of Italy and France. Even without the necessary “infrastructure”, these young voices were becoming the face of the future. This led, on the eve of the end of Franco’s reign, these young voices and this new school to helping lead the way towards Spain’s “first internationally acclaimed masterpiece with Victor Erice’s, The Spirit of the Beehive”:

“The story, in which a young village girl became obsessed with Frankenstein, was seen as a sly criticism of Franco’s regime. The dictator’s death two years later led to the liberation of creative ideas and a rush of activity from writers, directors, artists and playwrights. At the vanguard of the new Spanish cinema was a small town filmmakers named Pedro Almodóvar.”

An Industry and Culture Ready to Emerge
The rest of course is recent history, with a film industry in waiting now moving to take the world by storm. One could make a good argument that of all the film industries around the Globe, Spain seems to be the one with the most visible and obvious positive growth. One of the most under considered movements in fact is the Countries lengthy investment in English language films alongside Spanish language films, something that allows it to translate across cultures. One thing’s for sure, with so many years lost to the shadows of regimes, wars and international pressures, it’s about time they had their day in the sun. Their talent it just too great to keep a secret, and their culture too rich to stay hidden. And it just proves that it’s never too late to begin to find and discover your own story and carve your identity. In many cases this comes from the struggle. For others it comes from new found freedom.

Here is my working list of films that I have watched along my film travels, ranked, rated and reviewed:
https://letterboxd.com/davetcourt/list/film-travels-2020-spain-in-process/

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cinema_of_Spain
https://www.enforex.com/culture/spanish-films.html
https://www.theguardian.com/film/filmblog/2011/mar/29/short-history-spanish-cinema
https://www.volta.ie/#!/page/619/a-short-history-of-spanish-cinema
https://scholarworks.gvsu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1048&context=cine
“The Cinema Industry in the Spanish Civil War
Jordan, Barry. “Spain’s ‘new cinema’ of the 1990s
A History of Spanish Film Cinema and Society 1910-2010 by Sally Faulkner
http://people.wcsu.edu/mccarneyh/fva/B/LBunuel_bio.html

If there is a single narrative that emerges from the shadows of Denmark’s modest but significant cinematic history, it would be its ability to foster an ongoing conversation regarding the relationship between art and culture. You can see this conversation present on either side of the Occupation, in the early establishment of a “golden age” of Danish film, and the later emergence of a “vow of chasity”, a movement meant to protect and inform the value of art as that which informs culture, rather than culture informing the art.

Most of this conversation comes from Denmark’s socialist systems, flowing from the nature of state funding and the subsequent push and pull of private investment. This is a common narrative one finds in cinema throughout the Nordic Countries, although you find a greater consistency in Denmark, with its state funding arriving with slightly less controversy than it does in France, and it’s ability to find and recover a national identity in Danish film less burdened by international growth than a place like Norway, for example.

A Golden Age and the Building Blocks of a National Identity
To describe Danish Cinema one can reference a few of the earlier films and the development of the Nordisk Film Company, the single most significant development in their history, but one could only do that with the recognition that an “established” cinematic identity didn’t really emerge until the 1990’s.

That is not to say that these early years should be glossed over, and there is a bit of irony to be found in the fact that these years are still considered Denmark’s “golden age”. A “golden age” simply refers to, at its most basic definition, a period when significant or important things happened. This could describe the rise of successful Directors, the birth of an influential movement, economic success, technical innovation. Golden Ages tend to point to those moments, those artists, those innovations, that set a Country and their films apart and give it definition.

Who and What is Denmark and Danish Culture
So what set Denmark apart? It could be the rise of Asta Nielsen, the first female movie star in Europe, and considered the first international movie star. Nielsen, a force in the silent film era, was a dreamer- she went on to establish her own film studio in Germany, where she would make 70 of the 74 films she starred in; she was an innovator- she helped shape and usher in a commitment to realism and naturalistic and artistic integrity in an era defined by a more produced style; she was boundary pushing- she imbued her films with a recognizable eroticism that gave voice to female empowerment, a fact that interestingly kept her out of sight of Americans in her international growth and appeal; she was ambitious- for someone who was given to quiet and isolation, she was not content to simply make films that would not be seen, going on to pave the way for future international ambitions; and she made art with conviction- not only did she pour her life and soul into her films, she made her films with an eye for what excited and bothered her in culture at large. There is much documentation about her abandonment of her studio in Germany in the face of the Nazi regime, and the efforts she made to funnel her money into helping assist Jews whom were facing oppression. As one quote from M.S. Fonseca says, “Asta Nielsen” means the power to speak of pathos, to see pain, and to find the middle path between Baudelaire’s flower of evil and the sick rose of which Blake sang”, a descriptive that feels both apt and prophetic.

Or maybe it’s The Passion of Joan of Arc, the single most recognizable title of Denmark’s golden age. To quote the ever insightful Ebert,

“You cannot know the history of silent film unless you know the face of Renee Maria Falconetti. In a medium without words, where the filmmakers believed that the camera captured the essence of characters through their faces, to see Falconetti in Dreyer’s “The Passion of Joan of Arc” (1928) is to look into eyes that will never leave you.”

Ebert goes on to describe the films innovate design and structure in a period where German Expressionism and French Avante Garde were the major forces of the cinematic world in Europe at large.

“He wanted it all in one piece (with movable walls for the cameras), and he began with towers at four corners, linked with concrete walls so thick they could support the actors and equipment. Inside the enclosure were chapels, houses and the ecclesiastical court, built according to a weird geometry that put windows and doors out of plumb with one another and created discordant visual harmonies.”

Ebert points out that Falconetti only made one film, but “it may be the finest performance ever recorded on film.”

It would be rare, if impossible, to find a “greatest of all time list” that doesn’t recognize this film’s influential force and dynamic presence. What might be undercut or undersold is the way in which this film embodied the spirit of Denmark’s cinematic and cultural ethos, bringing the ever important and necessary conversation between art and culture to the surface in a unique way.

The Nordisk Film Company and Danish Cultural Identity
Or perhaps it is simply the Nordisk Film Company that gives definition to Denmark’s golden age. Danish film has a modest start (in 1897), with the first feature length film arriving in 1903 (The Execution) and the first movie theater opening in 1904 (going on to establish a chain of theaters all over the Country), but it is really the establishing of the film company by a man named Ole Olsen in 1906, a company that remains the central guiding force of Danish film still today, that the Danish film industry really starts to emerge. There is a connection between these theater chains the film company, given that Olsen, an amusement park operator, was behind the opening of the Biograf Theater in Copenhagen, an endeavor that would inspire him to establish the company. And what was his motivation? To develop Danish films that could establish his theater as a signature of Danish culture, and to help spread Danish film and culture around the world.

What the Nordisk Film Company also played a significant role in was the visionary push for longer run times and greater feature length film. Coming from this business and cultural background, but also employing and holding a value for the arts, this mixture of concern flowed out into competition, which gave rise to a film called The White Slave Trade, a film that was a revolutionary 40 minutes in length (the data explains that as being three reels long when the maximum at the time was one reel), which then gave rise, in the spirit of not so friendly competition of course, to the Nordisk Film company stealing the film and beating them to the punch. That’s what happens when you have established economic clout mixed with an eye for the evolving art form.

History describes this as a gamble. No one honestly could have known that audiences would respond to films of this length, but as history shows, it’s in taking the risk that you find innovation. While the Film Company would face a brief period of bankruptcy and eventually be reestablished through the strength of state funding, what makes it such a significant part of a Danish film industry that is marked by the emergence of policies and taxation and socialist idealism was and is its embodiment of this conversation between art and culture. The greatest challenge Denmark faced, and continues to face outside of its brief period of Occupation, is the threat of being swallowed up by international growth and international powers. It faced it at the time with Germany, France and Italy pushing in from a myriad of different directions, and it continues to face it today in a more fractured European environment that has isolated these Nordic markets and made it tough to establish a true sense of cultural identity with economic concerns tending to force a consistent and recognizable imbalance in the ongoing conversation regarding the relationship between art and culture. Once upon a time,

“despite the small size of its native market and its relatively limited resources, Denmark reigned supreme for several years (1909-14) as Europe’s most prosperous film center. Its films rivaled those of Hollywood, for popularity on the screens of Paris, London, Berlin and New York (Efraim Katz, Film Encyclopedia).”

Much of this came by way of the silent era, which could translate across cultures without the barrier of language, yet, as time moved forward “sound made it difficult for Danish films to be exported because of the language barrier”. and Denmark’s industry faced the increasing challenge of having the means of making Danish film without the economic gains of an international presence. What sets Denmark apart though is that through all of this their strong social policies, aided by the strength of the Nordisk Film Company, has kept the value of art and artistic integrity at the forefront of their socialist values, allowing it to function in a more modest fashion without getting swallowed up by the economic machine. This characteristic helps to continue to distinguish Denmark as a model, even amongst its small circle of Nordic Countries.

Across Europe there exists a fascinating discussion surrounding the power, pitfalls and successes that comes from state funding, taxation and policies that value and consider art as a necessary social function. In Denmark we see this surface in 1913 with the emergence of state “control” through policy. While this flirts with censorship, which is par for the course, the greater concern was for establishing an early, successive and functional system of taxation, one that would grow and evolve through the years into a consistent and assumed part of Danish culture.

Social Policies, Social Reform and The Conversation Between Art and Culture
The other dynamic in play here for Denmark was a directive that looked to establish forms of “licensing” that could act as a long term investment for artists and the Danish arts. One source defined this as a “type of artistic pension.” Recognizing the value of upholding the conversation between art and culture in a meaningful way, Denmark emerged from its Golden Age, which would be interrupted and stalled by the Occupation, with this system firmly in place, a system that would survive occupation and eventually give way to the establishment of the Danish Film Institute, which re-imagined the conversation of art and culture from the lens of the onslaught of television, the economic burden television placed on the film industry, and a reinvigorated investment in film as a public and architecturally dependent art form that remained integral to cultural reform and cultural identity. Once again, you can see the value of this conversation about the relationship between art and culture guiding the Danish concern, and “the Danish Film Institute was founded in 1972 to provide state subsidies for selected Danish movie projects. In 1989, it broadened the definition of films it would support, a development that laid the foundation for a revival of Danish film.”

As is true with any form of oppression, struggle and Occupation, these kinds of experiences tend to give shape to the kind of art that emerges and the kind of stories that we find with a particular cultural narrative. This was true for German Occupation, which ultimately shaped and affected Denmark by helping to shape a distinguishing and distinctive style informed by the darkness of this era. Challenge and struggle give way to  more serious films, and a more intense focus on exploring Danish identity through a new wave of filmmaking following the Occupation. It gave greater purpose to the established laws, taxations and policies implemented to help foster Danish voices and Danish art, allowing it to ultimately gain greater reward in the form of the raising up of filmmakers and the protection of Danish film.

“Between 1940 and 1945, the German occupation of Denmark during World War II pushed the film industry toward more serious subject matter. The darker tone during these years paralleled the rise of film noir in Hollywood.”

What began as films bent on realism and darker tones emerged out of the Occupation with a desire to direct this towards a critique and examination of culture at large. This mirrored the growth of a greater diversity of genres and films as the Denmark film industry moved into the 60’s and towards the 70’s. Two films that capture this transition in its resistance are Bodil Ipsen and Lau Lauritzen Junior’s The Red Meadows (De røde Enge) and Johan Jacobsen’s The Invisible Army (Den usynlige Hær).

“Henceforth Danish cinema delved into a more realist direction, a critical humanitarian realism with a focus on everyday fate” and “cultural issues”.

The Danish New Wave (60’s) and the Danish Film Institute.
Once you dig into this cultural and socio-political shift, what emerges is a very clear awareness of Denmark’s ability to navigate this ongoing balance between culture and art as it marries to economic growth, concern, and independence. The Danish Film Institute stands as an example of holding this middle ground, operating in tandem with social policies while standing apart from politics. This does, however, happen with an ongoing, and perhaps necessary, tension in tow. Part of the issue with these more isolated cultures is that, without being a dominant player in the international market, the weight is re-positioned onto the culture itself rather than the economics. It forces the culture to articulate the value of art, and then to establish it as a part of their social and political reality. This is where the Danish Film Institute really made its presence know as a cultural touch point. While it becomes a point of contention and conversation in terms of where that line exists between state and independent control, what helped Denmark to retain its cultural identity “as” an ongoing conversation of the relationship between culture and art is this working tension. This narrowed the separation that existed between popular art (privately funded, economically viable projects) and cultured art (state funded, socially valued) in a Country with a relatively small population, which enabled a relatively small population to foster a strong cultural presence and voice. When you read of how Danish policies, which informed the film industry, developed and adapted, it really is quite astonishing how much of it ebbed and flowed as a response to this tension between art and culture. As one article put it, with this holding tension, “25% of an entire year’s worth of financial support would be allocated for this purpose”, from which “the film support definitively changed from an artistic backing to a cultural backing”.

And yet, it is the foundation of Denmark’s social policy and support that helped to keep this from being subsumed by the economic machine. It is from this tension that we find a new, reengerized focus and concern for the conversation between art and culture that has pushed and pulled Denmark along the way, finding in the 90’s a new wave and a new interest in the importance of film and art as an informing voice of culture. This is progressed by Denmark’s most visible voice, Lars Von Trier (Europa), and was defined by what history sees as a shift from reflection to “optimism” in this newfound “realism” that was shaped out of the Occupation. Who is Denmark, what makes and distinguishes Denmark as a culture, and what informs the people of Denmark, becomes the mission of the “Vow of Chasity”, as informed by The Dogma Manifesto, that “Lars von Trier, Thomas Vinterberg, Kristian Levring and Søren Kragh-Jacobsen” undertake. These questions sit in contrast to the economic machine they observe taking over the international game.

This was a new found commitment to artistic integrity and social awareness. One of the great film studies of Danish film history is Per Fly’s trilogy (The Bench, Inheritance, Manslaughter), which helped to distinguish three definable social classes existing within Denmark’s social fabric, being a great example of how the conversation between art and culture happens. Another key focus of this push for artistic creativity was the strong social value of investing in youth and up and coming artists. Policies and funding recognized that to raise up voices who could comment on and speak to culture’s ongoing formation on a social level requires an investment in art that can give voice to the youth of their country. One stat I read said that 25 percent of all film directed subsidies are designated to making youth and children’s film.

A Country Built on Quiet Influence and Cultural Integrity 
A general thoroughline in all of the sources I read through below is that what makes Denmark so distinctive as a film culture is the perseverance of art as an integral part of culture, even in the face of cultural forces and cultural demands. As one commentator put it,

“The state controlled film industry might limit innovation, but it also maintains focus, intention and a high level of professionalism.”

https://denmark.dk/people-and-culture/film
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cinema_of_Denmark
David Bordwell: Essay on Danish Cinema, in Film #55, Denmark 2007
https://www.dfi.dk/en/english/danish-film-history/danish-film-history-1896-2009
http://www.filmreference.com/encyclopedia/Criticism-Ideology/Denmark-THE-GOLDEN-AGE-AND-AFTER.html
https://encyclopedia.1914-1918-online.net/article/filmcinema_denmark
M.S. Fonseca, The International Dictionary of Films And Filmmakers: Actors and Actresses
https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/great-movie-the-passion-of-joan-of-arc-1928

 

“In a country where there was still no debate about the war that had just ended, the films produced by the Polish Film School set out to engage the public in a deep emotional dialogue that would prove to be therapeutic. Through stories which unfold in a near past, they touch upon different current topics: the Poles spirituality and their future perspectives.“
– Film critic Professor Tadeusz Lubelski 

It’s 1989, and a Country plagued by a tragic and storied history finds itself finally standing on the precipice of change. Tadeusz Mazowiecki is almost quietly brought into power, representing the first democratic and non communist government in Poland’s postwar history. And yet, what is most interesting about this shift in power and politics is how it can reveal the difficult nature of rebuilding and re-imagining oneself following unimaginable tragedy. 

A Thriving Jewish Industry and The Promise of a Culture
An industry once driven and imagined by Jewish businessmen, it is documented that 70 of the 170 Jewish films brought out between 1910 and 1950 were made in Poland with over three million Polish Jews. This was particularly true for Poland’s celebration and representation of Yiddish culture, which, according to Nathan Gross (Jewish film in Poland) forms a key part of Polish cinema during the inter-war period. The tragic irony, according to Gross, is that an industry driven by Jewish businessmen and celebrated and formed from Yiddish culture had “no anti-Semitic films produced in Poland during the twenty years of the inter-war period”. Contrast this with the fact that Poland lost “90 percent of its Jewish population with the onset of the Second World War, which makes up half of the total population lost during this period. One source cites that as almost “22 percent of the entire population”, and the fact that Poland would also be the first Country to make an anti-Nazi film is just a reminder of the pain and the horror of Country that had now ceased to exist on that fateful day in September of 1939.

Any hope of rebuilding, in which film often plays a key role, would be halted by the eventual Soviet take over and subsequent Communist rule. This would include what is known as the “small stabilization (1960’s), which is described as a further irony of false prosperity under Wladyslaw Gomulka (Communist Party Leader), and the period of Martial Law that carried Poland through the 80’s, cutting spending, reinvesting in small budget fare, and bringing the film industry to the forefront as a measure of Communist propaganda and censorship. If it is true, as one writer suggests, that The chaos and destruction wrought by the second world war meant that “Poland had to reinvent its film industry from the ground up” following the complete devastation of the Second World War, then this final shift towards eventual democracy would represent simply the beginning of a long road forward, one forged out of the memories of their past.

Potential and Promise in An Emerging Industry and an Interwar Period
Perhaps there is a special tinge of sadness that accompanies the incredible real life tragedy in knowing the incredible potential that Poland held to make its mark on the cinematic landscape in a special and influential way. It is, in fact, its Jewish visionaries from Poland that planted the seeds, built and founded some of Hollywood’s most recognizable studios. More so though, they, not unlike Germany, were at the forefront of developing those initial ideas that eventually led to the formation of the “moving image” projector. In Poland two ideas emerged, one called the “telectroscope”, which belonged to an inventor coined the “Polish Edison”, and the other called the “Phantoscope”, created by Siegmund Lubin. Both of these were said to be in strict and powerful competition with Edison’s Kinetoscope, eventually culminating in the Cinematographe by way of the charismatic Lumiere Brothers from France, whom went on to take over the world’s imagination. Poland is one of the few places in the world that still hold to the story that Edison actually preceded the Lumiere Brothers in inventing the movies. In Poland, all of this would result in the first “cinema” being established in Lodz in 1899, and the very first Polish film maker of significance, Russian filmmaker Wladyslaw Starewicz whom relocated to what was then the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth

What makes all of this significant is that, following World War 1, Poland regained its independence after 120 years of occupation, giving them the environment they needed to begin to develop a cinematic and cultural identity, two things which often go hand in hand. Sitting at the heart of and being in the thick of cinema’s emergence, getting to watch it unfold from an intimate and fortunate angle alongside Germany (whom they would actually share productions with during and after World War 1), they felt a deep connection to the rise of the art form, particularly as it mirrored a rise in independence. This is where we can see the rise of what is known as Polish Avant-Garde films, which is simply a way of saying “experimental film. Kamila Kuc writes all about this period in the book Visions of Avant-Garde Film: Polish Cinematic Experiments from Expressionism to Constructivism, pointing out that “avant-garde film was a direct reaction against films that had “scenarios and stars”, using lighting and effects to push creative boundaries beyond static objects, and explaining that “various critics in the Polish territories analyzed the new cultural and social reality in relation to (these) freshly emerging artistic movements.”

Finally empowered with the ability to build and create culture, Poland was set to challenge the status quo, examine the meaning of their socio-political values, and give voice to a people finally ready to emerge from their oppression. This makes the events of the Second World War and the subsequent Communist overtaking and rule an equally starling force of a oppression, stripping Poland completely of this chance to build an identity. All of the promise and dreams that surfaced with Poland’s Golden Age, from its earliest silent films and the first sound film (The Singing Fool, 1929) to films like Black Pearl (1934) and Pawl and Gawel (1938) were met with a crushing blow that 1989’s proclamation of democracy could only represent as a bittersweet victory over.

A Hopeful Voice in the Midst of Tragic and Devastating Loss
It is no secret to the pages of history that the most haunting and lingering affect was the disappearance of the Jewish communities and culture that once led Polish Cinema and gave it its signature voice. And yet there is something inspiring to uncover the persistence of a largely silence culture that history also records, specifically in the development of the Lodz Film School in 1948. It would be here that we find Andrzej Wajda, Polands most formative and important voice and creative in the post war years. Following his first film, A Generation (1955), Wajda would go on to spark a fire in the collective consciousness of Polish identity, even in the face of persisting oppression and the “social realist doctrine” that would be forced onto Polish Cinema against its will. Wajda, and his accompanying classmates, would strive to push back, risking their own well being to provide a different narrative, one of social concern, to the people who so desperately needed it:

“Out of the ashes of the war, a current in film arose in the 1950s – the Polish Film School. Its followers set out to create works that would help in coming to terms with the war. Most of its students were from the generation born in the 1920s . The war had interrupted and ruined their young adulthood and they became adamant about showing its consequences on camera. The current was represented by several directors: Andrzej Wajda, Andrzej Munk, Jerzy Kawalerowicz, and Wojciech Jerzy Has.”

The Power of Film and Story To Help Rebuild a Culture and a People
One of the benefits of Communist rule is that, despite the control the government had over the kinds of films and the kind of productions that could happen, they ensured that film going and film watching stayed a vital and important (and even prestigious and intellectual) part of Polish culture. So when Stalin died and the Soviet Regime started to disassemble and fall apart, the film industry was primed to rise in its place, with those voices from the Film School ready to echo through its spaces as a means of making sense of this second chance at independence. But finding that necessary space to confront and come to terms with their story was not easy, as it not only no longer had its prominent Jewish voice, but it also had to filter through the false narratives that had dominated Soviet Directed film for so long. In the spirit of the Film School though, they continued, and continue, to fight and push for a true Polish narrative and character to find its way forward through the mess. And film, as it did in the early years of the century and through the interwar period, lies at the heart of helping that to become a reality. And if there is something that the Polish Spirit and perseverance can teach the world, it’s that one of the best things one can do when tragedy strikes is to find a way to keep speaking, to keep the voice of those people and their story alive in the Countries collective identity, and to allow those voices to be represented through the possibility of a better future. This is what makes film, and especially Polish film, so powerful, as it has the ability to help a collective community climb from the ashes of one of the greatest horrors history has scene, not just to document it, but to liberate it and give it purpose. And from out of Poland’s greatest films, including the spiritually laden The Mill and the Cross, the recent cultural touchstone Cold War, and the existential Ida, comes a spirit of resilience, contemplation, maturity, and reflection, all characteristics of a Country that has a rich heritage to share with the world. 

Here is a link to my working list of films for my Film Travels 2020:
https://letterboxd.com/davetcourt/list/film-travels-2020-poland-in-process/

SOURCES
https://www.moma.org/calendar/film/795
https://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/05/arts/international/polish-cinema-on-the-rise.html
https://www.theguardian.com/film/filmblog/2011/apr/06/short-history-of-polish-cinema
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cinema_of_Poland
https://culture.pl/en/article/a-foreigners-guide-to-polish-cinema
https://openjournals.uwaterloo.ca/index.php/kinema/article/view/1109/1308
The Red and The White: The Cinema of People’s Poland by Paul Coates
Polish National Cinema by Haltof Marek
Cinema of the Other Europe: The Industry and Artistry of East Central European Film by Dina Iordanova
Polish Cinema in Ten Takes by Nurczyńska-Fidelska, Ewelina, and Zbigniew Batko, eds. 
Polish Cinema: A History by Marek Haltof
Contested Interpretations of the Past in Polish, Russian, and Ukrainian Film
https://culture.pl/en/article/a-foreigners-guide-to-polish-animation
Visions of Avant-Garde Film: Polish Cinematic Experiments from Expressionism to Constructivism by Kamila Kuc

 

“The peasantry during and after the Revolution of 1910 – 1920 fell from the frying pan of dictatorship into a revolutionary fire caused by internecine feuds between the caudillos engaged in bloody warfare. Whether it was the cause of secular Revolution against a corrupt dictator, in defense of Catholicism against an atheist state, or to create a Marxist utopia by pulling society up by its roots, the result was always the same. The people, fleeing to cities or to work the fields in the southwestern United States, went to the movies to remember a Mexico that they had never known because it had never existed.”
– Mike MicKinley

On my journey to travel the world in film in 2020, it quickly became evident that any entry point into Latin America was going to go through Mexico first. This is true not only for understanding the diverse cultural identity that Latin America represents, but of the ongoing relationship between culture, politics and film. There are very real parallels one can find between a discussion of Mexican and Italian film industries in this regard, mirroring its development amidst cultural revolutions, war, and the liberation of its people.

The Politics of An Emerging Film Industry
Most of the available data dates Mexican Cinema to the “late nineteenth century” and the Presidency of Porfirio Diaz. As is a common mark of cinema worldwide, the early emergence of films, which of course were still of the silent era, fufilled the purpose of “documenting” (documentaries) a Countries political interest, most often in the interest of controlling the narrative. Film represented a new way to influence the masses, something his presidency saw in Salvador Barragan’s  Don Juan Tenorio (1898).

This is also how (and why) a documentary style would emerge as a way to give voice back to the people later on in Italy, with Mexico being no different. In terms of the Presidency, these early images (short films) were used to create what history refers to as an “idealizing” image. This became a mark of the Mexican Revolution, a socio-political struggle that has come to be defined as a ‘national” transformation (see: Alan Knight and “Mexican Revolution: Interpretations”). An underreported aspect of this revolution is the failure of Diaz’s attempt to control the narrative of the Country by way of film, which really depended on the reality of a succession of power. Where film could be controlled by the elite, it also exposed the voices of the people, creating a chaotic landscape in which we find a succession not of powers, but of revolutions (including the Ten Tragic Days). All of this, history suggests, hinges on the development of the Mexican Constitution (1917), an idea that lingered for a while amidst these back and forth revolutions which divided the Country into many different pockets and circles of social, economic and political powers. As historian John Womack, Jr documented, “Economic and social conditions improved in accordance with revolutionary policies, so that the new society took shape within a framework of official revolutionary institutions.”

All of this marries back into the development of the film industry as a key factor and role player in unifying a fractured Country by way of allowing the people to tell their stories, beginning in the trenches of the industry that first began to erect these house of “moving pictures”, but even more so, in like minded fashion to other global areas, via travelling shows (called Carpas, or tent shows in Mexico) that saved these stories from simply being a product of the elite. This is what played a key role in not allowing a singular political narrative to be established. The industry was actually being built on the backs of the common people, whom were the artists and the creatives developing the art form as an image and expression of Mexican culture.

A Unifying Culture and the Progression of a Developing Film Industry
The historians that I read seemed to be unified in the understanding that in a fractured Country a unified industry is difficult to establish, which meant that one of the key factors that weighed on the film industry as Carpas disappeared (largely due to problem of highly flammable film not lending itself to longevity and consistency) and the industry started to define itself as something uniquely “Mexican” was the question of distribution. A diversity of voices were making film, but getting those films seen and heard beyond the borders of these socio-political pockets proved difficult. Levels of attempted censorship that emerged out of these revolutions also played a role in how films could emerge from these circles.

This meant that any semblance of an industry was relegated to a narrow selection of smaller companies (see: Carlos Mongrand). Being in such close proximity to America as well, with all of the socio-political and economic developments that flow from that, meant that any discussion of an industry was being measured by what historians call “the genius of the system”. “This concept of what André Bazin referred to as “the genius of the system,” and its subsequent stability would ultimately prove the undoing of the very system it nurtured, as the industrial production process became ossified and incapable of innovation.” (See: The Genius of the System: Hollywood Filmmaking in the Studio EraBook by Thomas Schatz). What this quote points to is the tension that exists, especially as the film industry marries to socio-political realities, between the “social” and the “political”, the (liberated) people and the (controlled) system. It is for this reason that you see one of the greatest influences of Mexican system actually coming from Italy, a Country which mirrored Mexico’s own struggle.

From Italy to America to a Mexican Film Industry
When one studies the Mexican film industry, what gets uncovered is the deep “influence” of Italian filmmaking. It helped to anchor Mexico’s own cinematic development as a ground level endeavor. Out of the shared chaos of both Countries, filled with shared revolutions comes a dedication to protecting film as the “voice of the people”.

Which points to an interesting development following the exodus of filmmakers following the World War to America. Between the wars, there is documentation that shows how America tried to use the film industry to gain influence and control over Mexican development (which flows from their political involvement as well in Mexico’s ongoing revolutionary state). As one historian states,

“In the 1930s, once peace and a degree of political stability were achieved, the film industry took off in Mexico and several movies still experimenting with the new medium were made. Hollywood’s attempt at creating Spanish language films for Latin America failed mainly due to the combination of Hispanic actors from different ethnicities exhibiting various accents unfamiliar to the Mexican people.” To simplify this idea, America misjudged an assumed uniformity of a Latin American culture, causing them to make films that stereotyped a diverse culture into a single entity that made no sense to the diverse peoples that made up the Mexican landscape, culture and experience, and thus Latin America as a whole. Somewhat bridged by Mexico’s adherence to socialist and socially minded systems (see Italy and even Russia, by way of Sergei Eisenstien’s travels to the Country around 1930), what ended up happening is that this created a protective barrier between Mexico and America that allowed Mexico to develop its own style of industry alongside America, also making Mexico the most significant influencer of film industries across Latin America rather than America.

Mexican Film’s Golden Age
As information seems to establish, it would appear that as the 1930’s hits, we find a Golden Age of Mexican Cinema starting to emerge. As one writing suggested, “It’s widely accepted that the Fernando de Fuentes films Allá en el Rancho Grande (1936) and Vámonos con Pancho Villa (1936) set the wheels in motion for what would become Mexican cinema’s Golden Age.”

As with the development of the global industry, distinguising itself as a culture and amidst other cultures is often measured by way of the rise of recognizable “figures” or stars. What might be an underdocumented aspect of Mexico’s rise in the film world during this period is the fact that the second World War left them free to navigate a developing industry outside of the view of America and Europe. Which connects to Mexico’s eventual joining “in the war” when a German submarine destroyed a Mexican tanker. Mexico was looked at kindly as an outside entity joining the greater cause, which resulted in Mexico being provided with (gifted with) the necessary tools to make film at a time when other industries were struggling to maintain and keep afloat their industries. Being somewhat distanced and removed, and yet also sacrificially involved, meant that Mexico’s already established diversity was able to afford their films cherished stories that had nothing to do with the war. This is where you see the voice of Mexico essentially establishing a long lasting influence in the rest of Latin America as well (it is said that film development tripled during World War 2 in Mexico).

Yet another underdeveloped topic of Mexico’s rise in cinematic dominence is how this diversity filtered down into the mimicking of the “star system” that dominated other global entities, especially in America. In America, the system held power over the stars, while in Mexico the gradual and slow development of its constitutional awareness gave control to the stars to direct the industries within their diverse presence. This made for a cultural diversity and a diversity of genres that was unique to Mexico itself, protecting its culture through its lack of uniformity. And while different degrees of socialism formed an ebb and flow within Mexico’s socio-political growth, this diversity was interpreted in more fascist governments in Latin America as the freedom of language, people and culture. “Mexican films served as a conduit for a complex of ideas and influences: Mexican music, slang, performers, and folklore were popularized throughout the Hispanic world; on another level, the ideology and social view of the Mexican bourgeoisie were disseminated throughout Latin American society. In other words, Mexican cinema has practiced “cultural imperialism” just as Hollywood is so often accused of doing.”

Socialism and A New Mexican Cinema
As with the rest of the world, Cinema in Mexico went through some challenging times with the advent of television and changing political realities. What one finds is a similar narrative as well in terms of how the Mexican governments responded to these challenges by way of government funding, sponsorships and policies. “State supported film” helped lead the way to a revitalization now known as New Mexican Cinema. What makes Mexico stand out in this endeavor however is how this revitalization has persisted even to this day. The establishment of an industry during the war meant that they were able to develop filmmakers from the inside (through film studies, courses, education centers), and a marriage of private and state function/investment has helped to give it a necessary longevity, which gives it not only an authentic voice, but an established voice in terms of serious art. What continues to define Mexican cinema is its dedication to “independent and diverse voices, something that sets it apart from its American counterparts. What has aided in this longevity is Mexico’s dependence on and interest in a variety of local festivals in a Country without a unifying presence of a “Hollywood” type entity. It gives these individual entities more power, rather than filtering this power through singular entities. And what will continue to foster this strong relationship between people, culture and film is a ground level investment in film as a “social function”. This is something that Mexico’s “socially” minded progress has continued to uphold, even as other industries have gravitated towards more individualistic, market fueled, and industry based approaches (see the streaming wars). A wander into Mexican Cimema can feel like a retreat back to the good old days of film as a social presence, only in a curious way it arrives as a modern expression. This quote sums up the power of Mexican Cinema as well as any:

“In many of these (Mexican) films, we observe most clearly the clash of the diverse factions of Mexican society riven by centuries of unresolved cultural, class and gender disconnects and intersections — indigenous vs. Spanish, peasant farmer vs. landowner, factory worker vs. capitalist, religious vs. secular, folkloric vs. commercial — these elements all collided and simmered in the rich social heritage of indigenous and Spanish society that created Mexico.”

*I am still working on my personal list of Mexican films, but here is a decent watchlist for those interested
https://letterboxd.com/davetcourt/list/mexican-films-watchlist/

SOURCES
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cinema_of_Mexico
https://www.laits.utexas.edu/jaime/cinesite/history/IntroMexCine5-05.pdf
http://www.oxfordbibliographies.com › view › obo-9780199791286-0170
https://theculturetrip.com/north-america/mexico/articles/the-golden-age-of-mexican-cinema-a-short-history/
https://www.americasquarterly.org/content/and-el-oscar-goes
https://http://www.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/sight-sound-magazine/features/deep-focus/deep-focus-golden-age-mexican-cinema
The Genius of the System: Hollywood Filmmaking in the Studio EraBook by Thomas Schatz
John Womack, Jr
Alan Knight and “Mexican Revolution: Interpretations”

The author of Matthew goes to great lengths in his Gospel to reposition Jesus within the Jewish narrative, the story of the Israelites, and in my previous reflections I have noted how Matthew emphasizes, expounds on and elevates the Old Testament references in order to retell the story of Genesis and Exodus and essentially create a new Pentateuch that establishes Jesus as the new temple in the coming “Kingdom” of God. Understanding the nature of this Kingdom is paramount for the author, especially as he positions it as a contest between two Kingdoms, in which the religious leaders (Israel, the Jewish nation) is caught inbetween.

A Coming Death, A Coming Kingdom, and A Kingdom for the Least
In Chapter 16 we arrive at the first of three foretellings of Jesus’s coming death (16:21-23), where we find two essential markers of this coming Kingdom. First, it reemphasizes the context of the temptation narrative, in which Jesus and the devil drive this contest between the two Kingdoms. Which is interesting, because Matthew positions the confession of Christ as the “revealing” of the Father in line with his resistance to Jesus’s Kingdom as the work of the “devil”. When Jesus (in Matthew’s narrative) then moves to say “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up the cross and follow me”, he is giving definition to where the disciples are following him, which is to the Cross. This revealing gives way to the Transfiguration, which has Jesus once again ascending a mountain, which in ancient Israelite tradition is where God is often revealed (the root of that word “apocalypse” or “revelation”). In keeping with Matthews concern for establishing a new Pentateuch, this is where Jesus climbs the mountain with Elijah and Moses where Moses had his apocalyptic encounter with God (note the voice from the cloud), positioning John as Elijah and Jesus as the fulfillment of the Law (Moses). And then once again, as Jesus descends the mountain, he descends to do his work, which he says is to die and then to rise again (17:9). Just as Elijah came and suffered and died at the hands of their resistance to God’s Kingdom building, so must Jesus.

Here we get a crucial point of Matthew, which is this deep connection between the contest of the Kingdom of Rome and the Kingdom of God, the contest between the Devil and Jesus as the ones driving these Kingdoms, and the contest that exists within ourselves, both externally (the Kingdom of Rome and the person of Jesus) and internally (the spirit of the devil and the Spirit of God). It is a Kingdom that they are being asked to take up residence in, and this Kingdom is Jesus. And the way to this Kingdom, the straight path that John pointed us towards, is through the Cross as that which sets the Kingdom of God in contest to the Kingdom of this world.

This becomes the point of the Beatitudes, where Jesus on the mountain establishes the Kingdom of God as a Kingdom for the least. What we find in the temptation narrative is a contest of “powers”, and what the Cross does is reposition power towards the weakness and shocking nature of the Cross itself. In death comes life, in weakness comes power. This is what Jesus is dong in willingly settings himself under the powers of this world, under the powers of sin and death so as to establish a new Kingdom that proclaim liberation for the oppressed. This is the measure of the Cross.

As we now move towards the Cross, we once again find an establishing of this Kingdom nature sandwiched between what will be two more foretellings of Jesus’ death and resurrection (17:22-23; 20:17-19), beginning with this grand statement that declares children to be the greatest in the kingdom. “Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven (18:4).” Pushing this further, Jesus says, “whoever receives one such child in my name receives me.”

Here Jesus connects His own ministry to the ministry of his disciples, saying that what you do to them you do to me, and to receive them means you are receiving Jesus. Jesus raises up the idea of children as an embodiment of someone who is not yet formed by an understanding of the Law in the way the religious leaders were. They simply come to Jesus and are giving a place in the Kingdom apart from the Law. This is a disassociating of works from salvation, finding Jesus as the new Law, and this forms the idea that where we find Jesus is in the least, the oppressed, the marginalized, the Gentiles, all those who have been marginalized by the Law.

Doubling down on this idea of a Kingdom for children (or coming into the Kingdom as “children”), Jesus now moves to add that “whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin… (18:6)” would be better to have fastened a stone around their neck and thrown themselves into a lake then to face the woes that we find in 18:7-9. For it is necessary that temptations come, but woe to the one by whom the temptation comes.

This is obviously hyperbolic language, but it leaves a question about how Matthew is framing the attention of these verses pertaining to “children” and “temptation”, which Matthew’s Gospel seems to suggest are “necessary”. I think two things can help us as readers make sense of these verses- understanding who the children, the tempters and those being tempted are, and understanding how this relates to the Kingdom Jesus is establishing by way of the Cross,

The first clue I think is recognizing that Matthew is structured so as to kind of bookmark this passage about children with the later verse, “Let the children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven (19:15).” I found this helpful to read this almost like a “so then…” moment. The Kingdom of Heaven is framed by the question, “who is the greatest”, to which Jesus says whoever comes like a child will enter the Kingdom… “so then”, let the children come to me and do not hinder them.

Notice how this naturally shifts the focus away from them to those Jesus is calling into the Kingdom. This means the entire collection of passages are intended to speak to how those asking the question about who is the greatest (the disciples) are called to bring people into the Kingdom.

And who is Jesus bringing into the Kingdom? This is where Jesus positions the religious leaders (that brood of vipers) as the religious elite (the mature in the Law) over and against the gentiles, the oppressed, the marginalized, all those whom the Law has isolated ignored for the sake of building their Kingdom. “See to it” then, Jesus says, that “you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you that in heaven their angels always see the face of my Father who is in heaven.” This is curious language, but this reference to angels and “face” (note the face of God hidden to Moses and in the Cloud at the Transfiguration) alludes us to the ancient context of this understanding of the “hosts” of heaven (angels surrounding God in his throne room) and this freedom to imagine God as dwelling with us, watching over us. This is ultimately about the ways in which Jesus has come to reveal God, and in Him all those who are weak and burdened and sick and hurting find rest.

Pushing this further now into the heart of God in his Kingdom, we then find this passage connected to the 99 sheep, and the shepherd (Jesus) going out to look for the one. “It is not the will of my father who is in heaven that one of these little ones should perish. 18:14”

So again, who are the children, the little ones? This is the world that Jesus came to save. It is the Gentiles, the sick, the marginalized, all those who have been neglected by the temple establishment. This is why Jesus is coming to rebuild the temple as Himself. This is then positioned into a discussion of encountering the people, the ones Jesus is bringing into the Kingdom, in light of the law. Jesus says, “if your brother sins against you”, forgive him (18:15). “Let him be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector”, which is whom we have found Jesus reclining at the table with earlier in Matthew’s “call”. And if you want to find reasons for why someone should not be in the Kingdom, consider how many times we are meant to forgive our brother. Forgiveness here has not measure, for the Kingdom of Heaven is forgiveness. Therefore woe to you who does not forgive, because (as is often the argument that flows out of these positions), this will simply mean that this limiting of forgiveness will flow back on you.

All of this is wrapped up again in this “so then”. If this is who the Kingdom is for, “so then”, don’t stop one of these little ones (cause them to sin) from coming into the Kingdom. To accent this frame of reference, which is all pointing us towards the Cross, we get a story about a rich man coming to Jesus asking about what it means to follow Him into this Kingdom. Jesus once again flips his reference- if you would be perfect, well what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Don’t present the measure of the Law, present the measure of Christ and that will be given back to you. For, and here is the great proclamation that forms this entire passage as a collective force, “many who are first will be last (19:30), the last will be first, and the first last (20:16).

Who Then Can Be Saved?
There is a really curious dialogue that is worth puling out of the Rich Young Man story in 19:16-30. It says that the rich young man turned and went away “sorrowful” because he had great possessions and knew that he did not want to sell them. I imagine this sorrow coming not from a resolute position, but coming from the revealed tension that the two Kingdoms in contest raises. This causes Jesus to say, “only will difficultly will a rich person enter the Kingdom of heaven.” Matthew’s Gospel gives a great focus on the topic of money, but I think this can be expanded not just to riches, but to the measure of our desire, which is really what the temptation “narratives” in Genesis and in Jesus in the wilderness is all about. One exposes the desire of our heart, the other exposes the heart of God for the world. Which leads the disciples to say, well then who then can be save!?, which arrives with a sense of exasperation. Jesus’ response is to turn their focus back on God’s desire, saying that nothing is impossible with God (19:23-30). Jesus then raises up the 12, which Jesus has brought into His Kingdom work, as the “judge” of the 12 tribes of Israel. There is a lot of context that can be explored within this imagery, but what this ultimately expresses is this ongoing dynamic of God’s Kingdom beginning in Israel, with the disciples bringing the Gospel to the synagogues, and the placement of Jesus as the liberating work of God’s covenant with Israel. There is a connection that exists within the NT understanding, as it breathes life back into God’s indwelling and absence in the temple and life of Israel, between Israel’s stumbling, the Kingdom being built on the Gentiles (the least), and the fulfillment of God’s covenant promise with his people (Israel). This forms the sweeping nature of God’s Kingdom as it presents Jesus as the temple and us in Jesus (God’s dwelling among us).

In any case, the important idea of this judgment comes in how the disciples are raised up as workers, which we find in the parable of 20:1-16, and the Kingdom where the last shall be first and the first last. It is fitting that Israel is both the first and the last in this Kingdom paradigm as Jesus reorients our idea of power in weakness. In this way this judgement has a restorative work, which following the 3rd and final foretelling of the Cross and resurrection in 20:17-19 once again declares that “whoever will be great among you must be your servant 20:26.” The answer to their question is found at the Cross, the very image that we find foreshadowed in the Triumphal entry into Jerusalem (21). He comes in humility and weakness, riding on a donkey, the one who becomes the measure of the Law which is summed up as the “greatest” commandment, Love your neighbors and love God (22:37). You cannot have one without the other. This is what becomes embodied in the placement of John’s death where it is in the narrative, a move that allows it to foreshadow and point to Jesus’ death. What we see is John’s own suffering revealing Jesus’ liberating work in world, and as Herod mourns his death and falls back in on himself, Jesus mourns John’s death and it pushes him to heal and comfort in 3 subsequent narrative stories that underscore this entire repositioning of the Kingdom as for the least.

The Cross as Judgment and Liberation
So, as we recognize this paradigm in which Jerusalem comes both first and last in this Kingdom formation, this establishing of Jesus, we come to this grand collection of 7 woes or judgments directed to the scribes and pharisees, which leads Jesus towards a lament over Jerusalem. Here it is said that in the restorative work of the Cross, the house (the temple) is being left desolate, which alludes to the destruction of the temple (24:1-2), and will eventually be once again overtaken by the Kingdom of this world. All of this arrives as the “signs” of the end of the age, the abomination of desolation, the coming of the Son of Man to bring this new Kingdom to fruition. The image of the fig tree reemerges here as a sign that the season is now upon them, and that the Kingdom has now come. As it says, this generation will not pass away until all of this takes place, and then, when the kingdom is established, the parable of the ten virgins and the parable of the talents allude to the great reversal of power which calls them to not sleep, to work for the Kingdom (for the least) and to be ready. What the final judgement depicted here, in the heavily symbolic language of heaven or eternal fire, brings to the surface is the contest of these two Kingdoms being decided and declared through the Cross and the Resurrection of Jesus. And in the most poignant of expressions, raising to light the character of the Kingdom and the desire for the world that is declared in Jesus at the temptation narrative, Jesus proclamation of the “final judgment” in 25:31-46 asks the question, when did you feed the hungry, attend to the least and the marginalized, because when you did, you attended to me. As you did to the least of these, you did it to me.

All of this judgment is fixed within the raising up of Jesus’ disciples as the judge of Israel. This is whom these words are directed to, is the tradition of God’s people, the temple. As they find themselves caught between Jesus and the Kingdom of Rome, what we have are these images of both the temple and the Kingdom of Rome coming to destruction. The necessary question that emerges from this then becomes, how is this going to happen, and to what end is this moving as Jesus is being established as the new temple and building God’s Kingdom. The answer to this is what we find at the Cross itself.

The repositioning of power that we find Matthew building through the raising up of Herod as the contest of the Kingdoms in the earlier chapters, the the representing of John as power coming in weakness, now positions us into this picture of Pilate and Jesus. The two Kingdoms have now come to a head. What is important to note about Matthew’s Gospel, is that the familiar picture of Isaiah’s Servant in Matthew’s portrayal of Jesus’ death actually kind of fades away. Instead, the Righteous Sufferer of the Psalms emerges. Matthew’s appeal to Isaiah 53 in 8:17, his most definitive dealing of the suffering servant, is actually associated with Christ’s healing work, not his death. It is restorative in is suffering. Matthew underscores most prominently the larger image for Jesus’ death as set within the “righteous sufferer”. Isaiah 40-55 is what actually provides Matthew with the framework for the new Exodus, not the death. What is read into the death is Psalm 69-71, which coincides with the idea in Hebrews of Christ being made perfect “in suffering”, which is what establishes the new Kingdom over and against the powers of the world. The righteous sufferer is actually what frames our understanding of the Cross as both the judgement of the powers and the reforming of the powers. It is framed around one who is “cast out”, which is also how we come to the scapegoat imagery of Yom Kippur, who carries the load of our sin out into the wilderness (those who had been cast out by the religious leaders and institution), and who’s blood becomes the blood that saves the oppressed in the Exodus story on the doorstep.

What is really interesting about working through the Cross by way of the Psalm and by way of the scapegoat imagery is that the sin that God forgives (the sin which the the religious leaders have used to cast out people) is paired with the Sin that holds the world in bondage, forming into this larger language of judgment that positions the religious leaders (in whom the tradition of Yom Kippur would have held value) alongside the Kingdom of Rome. The force of the two goats of Yom Kippur can be seen seen in one of two ways- Jesus emboddies both, or Jesus and Barnabas represent the two goats. In either case, the image that the Cross evokes, when set within Matthew’s desire to present a new Pentateuch, is one in which the sins are being carried away, but also the power of Sin is being defeated. This is what would not have been represented in the usual sacrifice for sin. And all of this in Jewish/Israelite tradition has to do with the presence and dwelling of God in their midst. What is necessary though about Yom Kippur and its context, is that the death of the goat and the sending of the scapegoat into the wilderness are two different things. One sends the sin away, the other sends a message of liberation to the oppressed..

It can’t be missed as well the relevance of the Cross taking place at passover. This is where it emerges as the New Exodus, and this is where Jesus’ blood arrives in the way that it did for the Israelites. And so as we walk through the passion narrative- the plot to kill Jesus, Jesus annointed at Bethany in a way that becomes the expression of the Cross’ reveersal of power, the passover meal, the prayer in gethsemane as a prayer for the work of the Cross to made true for the world, the betrayal and arrest, Jesus set on trial and delivered to Pilate, Jesus before Pilate, the choosing of Barnabas (perhaps as the scapeboat imagery), Jesus then mocked, beaten, crucified, died and buried, the story of Genesis, Exodus, the giving of the Law, the building of the temple, all of this is supposed to come alive in the story of the righteous sufferer.

The necessary focus becomes the understanding of the role of the two goats as that which centers our understanding of what the death on the Cross is doing. It seems to me that this is the part that becomes so misunderstood. If we follow Matthew’s Gospel, he has set up Jesus as a retelling of the Genesis-Exodus narrative (fleeing to Egypt, coming out of Egypt, coming through the water, going into the wilderness, and then establishing life in the promised land (the new Kingdom of his ministry). This reaches forward to the Law being given to Moses in the transfiguration, and Jesus’ resurrection being the building of the temple.

In this sense, what happens with Jesus is He is bearing the weight of sin that has outcast those from the temple, and taking it away from them so that the presence of God can dwell among them freely (they can be invited into the Kingdom). This fits with the imagery of the suffering that leads to the Cross, which is what happens with the scapegoat symbolically before being let go into the wilderness. The death though falls in line with the painting of the door frames, which is a story of liberation, of the Powers (of Egypt) being subverted, and the power of God being made known in the liberation of the oppressed. The difference now though is that the Kingdom has come.

So many conflate the two and miss the force of this story arc, arriving at a retributive God who demands death because of sins. That misses so much of the story itself, which in context of the traditional context functions as both a removal of sins (the righteous suffering of Jesus’ ministry) and a restorative work (the death) which is what subverts the power (of Rome).

And what is so interesting about the way this plays out in the Gospel of Matthew is that it all seems to be in service of Jerusalem, the people of God, the Jewish people/Israelites. They are once again the first and last to emerge in this picture of the powers being subverted, the subject of the judgment that this subverting of power creates. It takes us back to that journey of the Israelites in the wilderness, and what seems to stand on a precarious and unsettled line in this story is this picture of God’s Kingdom being built inspite, and in light of their stumbling and rejection. But what comes after the Cross and Resurrection proclaim the Kingdom here in the not yet reality of their current oppression (under the Kingdom of Rome), is that the wilderness is something we still have to trudge through. the Resurrection moves us back to the way to the Cross as the way this Kingdom is being established. The story is not finished. Jerusalem has been judged, and now it is being rebuilt. To me this leaves so much room for that tension that the Gospel holds of this ultimately being hopeful for Israel itself, of the salvation of the Gentiles breathing God’s liberating force back into Israelites story and history. In rewriting the story (or revealing it for what it is declared to be in Jesus), this question, who then can be saved, comes back to their own story. With God all things are possible become the refrain.

And as we come to the end of this Gospel, we find Jesus once again on the mountain, where they saw him and they worshiped him. And yet some doubted. What an extraordinary picture of this not-yet reality. The Kingdom is here, and yet it arrives in the same doubts that John the Baptist had. The answer comes in the same fashion as it did to John though. If you are doubting, look to the healing work of Jesus, and let that push you to “go make disciples of all nations, baptizing and teaching them to obey.” And as we do so, we do so knowing that He (Jesus, the incarnate presence of God) is with us always, to the end of the age.

How do you recognize false prophets? Sheeps clothing but fruits reveal… tree with bad fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire… many who say “Lord Lord” will enter the kingdom, but Jesus will say “depart from me, I never knew you” (7:21-23)… the relationship between hearers and doers- house on a rock (7:24) or house on the sand (7:26)… fruits and trees from chapter 3
– all of these teachings astonished the crowds, because he was teaching “as one who had authority” 7:29

“Whenever religion becomes a depressing affair of burdens and prohibitions, it ceases to be true religion.”
― William Barclay (The Gospel of Matthew)

While the author of the Gospel of Matthew remains anonymous, tradition has long positioned it to be the words of Matthew, one of the Disciples of Christ and an Apostle (also known as Levi).

What is clear from the Gospel’s biting and often scathing critique of the religious leaders, those caught between competing visions of the Kingdom of Jesus and the Kingdom of Rome, is that the author, whom is clearly writing his Gospel in light of the Jewish tradition and Israelite story (see my previous reflections) has had some sort of a transformative experience regarding how he sees his own Jewish heritage. What we find are the words of someone who has been set on the margins of this tradition, and someone who is desperate to present a Gospel that echo the words of Jesus in his own life, words that say that he belongs, that he is a child of God. This is the force of the Genealogy, his decisions to set Jesus’ story in line with what appears as a new “Pentateuch, and it is the entire force of the Kingdom vision he is trying to point.

In Chapter 9, we find the “call” of Matthew to come follow Jesus. If this is in fact the author, what we have are more of the particulars of his context. He is said to be a tax collector (9:9), a Jewish man who was collaborating with the Romans. Someone who was towing the middle line, which might be why the author of Matthew is so attentive to painting a picture of Jewish leaders and a Jewish tradition caught between these two pictures of the Kingdom.

As the story goes, we find Jesus reclining at a table with other “tax collectors and sinners” (9:11), and inviting Matthew to “follow him”. This invites a distinctive for the Pharisees between a teacher of the Law and a teacher like Jesus. They ask his disciples, why is your teacher eating with these kinds of people. Which arrives with a bit of irony, because in the call of Simon, Andrew, James and John we find the context of humble fishermen whom were likely to have said “why me” as well. Overhearing the question, Jesus says in response, “those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick” do. And then he goes on to make the distinction, “I desire mercy, and not sacrifice”, contrasting the word of the Law with Jesus’ ministry. “I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.”

What is interesting to consider about these words is that the call of Jesus is consistently followed by them teaching in “their synagogues and proclaiming the Gospel of the kingdom.” In the sending of the 12 Disciples in Chapter 10, we find the workers sent to the house of Israel (10:6), declaring the kingdom (10:7). The message of Matthew’s Gospel, the one that declares a Gospel for the oppressed, the outsiders and the sinners, begins with the house of Israel in order to reestablish the temple as God’s dwelling place. In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus is being raised up as the new temple, the one in whom all of us reside, the new Kingdom, and thus declaring this new temple being built is part of this new Pentateuch that Matthew is drawing out, one in which the death and resurrection declare Jesus as the new temple in the center of this new Kingdom. This, Matthew insists, is what God is up to and has been up to all along, making a Kingdom for the least, the oppressed, a Kingdom that brings with it a true message of liberation for all the nations and all the people of the world as it states in the Abrahamic covenant.

Up The Mountain
Unlike in Luke where Jesus is positioned on a level (equal) place, where Matthew has Jesus is ascending up a mountain in order to now declare the vision of this Kingdom in what we know as the Beatitudes (5:2-12). This elevated place is a continued repositioning of power from the rulers to the lowly, which arrives with a clear picture of who the Kingdom of God is raising up in power- the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, the hungry and thirsty, merciful, pure in heart, the peacemakers, the persecuted, and the reviled.

This elevated position then becomes the image that is passed on to the workers Jesus is calling (his disciples). They are called to be a light to the world set on a hill so God can do a good works 5:14)). You, Jesus declares, are the “salt of the earth (5:13), and these “good works” (the works of Jesus, which is the power given to the disciples when they are called in chapter 10) are to be seen so that God can be seen in our good works (5:16).

And yet there is a distinction between the works of Jesus and the works of the Law. “Do not think that I came to abolish the Law of the Prophets” Jesus says. I have come to fulfill them (5:17).” This leads him to once again express a bit of irony in terms of these competing visions of the Kingdom that Matthew is trying to establish. Just as he tells them to let their works be displayed on the hill, we then get a series of challenges in chapter 6 that caution against “practicing their righteousness before other people in order to be seen by them (6:1).” This includes a call to given in secret (6:1-4), pray in secret (6:5-15), and fasting in secret, all of which correspond to gaining the heavenly riches as opposed to the external praises of people.

So what is this distinction about? At the beginning of the section we gewt this sentence that says, “unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and pharisees, you will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven (5:20)”, for whoever relaxes even the least of these commandments (and teaches others to do the same) will be called least in the Kingdom of Heaven, and whoever dose them will be called great (5:19). Which all feels slightly convoluted and contradictory given how Matthew has been setting up his Gospel as a Gospel not for the righteous, but for the least. This is followed up with examples of anger (5:21-26), to emphasize this point (you will never get out of the prison until you have paid the last penny, fulfilled the Law perfectly), and then he does the same thing with Lust, Divorce, Oaths, Retaliation, and all matters of the Law.

But then he ends with love (5:43-48), which he has established as the “greatest” commandment. And not just love, but the hardest form of love (the call to love their enemies). In this, Jesus says, “you must be perfect, as your heavenly father is perfect.” Notice the shift here from exceeding even the perfection of the Pharisees under manner of the Law to the call to be perfect “as” your heavenly father is perfect. The difference is this phrase “in love”. The difference between mercy and sacrifice, is that Jesus, God’s chosen servant has come to declare God’s love to the world on that mountain in the work of the Cross. This is not to elevate the Law, but it is, as Paul often says, so that the Law can point to Jesus as the measure of our perfection, the one we are then called to follow and imitate in the work He called us to do, which is to enter into the suffering of others, eat with the tax collectors, reside with sinners, forgive our enemies. We cannot underscore just how radical this would have been for someone like the author of Matthew.

Down the Mountain
And so, as we now find Jesus coming down the mountain (8:1), we see him entering into this work, healing the sick and the broken, liberating the oppressed, with all of this work arriving as a visible sign of the light for the world in declaring the forgiveness of sins, the loving of the enemy. The forgiveness of sins is to that they can know the Son of Man has authority (9:6), the same authority that is then given to his workers.

This is the faith that Jesus continues to uphold in the work of these healings, faith that is found and upheld in the faith of the Centurion (8:8), the healing stories throughout chapter 9 (9:20; 9:29), the faith of those bringing in the paralytic (which coincides with the declaration “your sins are forgiven” 9:1-17)

Jesus upholds the faith of the Centurion saying “with no one in Israelhave I found such faith (8:10).” Contrast this with the disciples of little faith Jesus finds in the boat and in the storm (8:26). And I think it is here where we get Matthew’s point. Jesus continues saying, “Many will come from east and west and recline at the table witih Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the Kingdom of Heaven, while the sons of the Kingdom will be thrown into the outer darkness…. so go, let it be done for you as you have believed, and the servant was healed at that very moment (8:11-13).” This is in line with the parables (such as the wedding feast) which we find later on. Matthew once again positions Jesus as establishing His Kingdom in Jerusalem “for the world”. This is why he heals a leper and sends him to the religious leaders to offer proof according to the law (8:4). Whereas the religious leaders stand above their disciples, Jesus now declares in 10:24-25 a different picture. “A disciple is not above his teacher, nor a servant not above his master.” This is their reality. But in Christ, it is enough to be like the teacher and like the master.

What is curious here is that Jesus then adds this. “If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household (10:25).” This of course brings us back to the accusation that in Jesus’ healings and forgiveness of sins, the religious leaders called Jesus the devil. Notice how Jesus spins this into his establishing of authority over the house, and consider the setting (the house of Israel). This blends in Jesus’ words with Him as the new temple for the world. The house of Israel (the temple) becomes a picture of the whole order being God’s temple, which for someone like Matthew would have been recognized in the imagery of Genesis (the whole cosmos is God’s throne room, God’s temple) and the language of the prophets (God sits above the waters of the sky on his throne looking down on us and with the earth as his footstool). The Jewish narrative had to do with God’s presence no longer dwelling in the temple. What Jesus is establishing is not only God’s presence in the temple, but he is reestablishing God’s presence with them in the whole of the world, the world that the religious leaders were rejecting in the hope of their salvation. It is for this reason that it can be said then to “have no fear (of those calling them Satan)”, for it is enough to be “like” Jesus who himself was called Satan. For “nothing is covered that will not be revealed, and nothing hidden that will not be made known.” And what is it to be like Jesus? This brings us back to this up the mountain, down the mountain movement. Jesus is raising up the weak as the powerful (on the mountain) by eating with sinners and tax collectors, healing the sick and the oppressed and the marginalized (coming down the mountain). This is why he ends his walk through the measure of the Law with love. Love is what we find at the Cross, the Way in which they are following Jesus and called to be like Jesus. What Jesus demonstrates on the Cross, the weak being made powerful, the suffering being made strength, is theirs to give to the world. So don’t be like the Jewish religious or the gentiles who want their works to be seen as the measure of their salvation, be like Jesus, whose work is in the business of pointing people to His liberating work on the Cross (6:7). This is the light for the world. Pray so that others may be lifted up. Give so that others may be lifted up. Forgive so that Jesus may forgive. This is the measure of love as the fulfillment of the Law. This is the same hope that Jesus offers John the Baptist as he is languishing in prison. It is enough to be like me (suffering, being called an enemy), because in this the sick are healed, the blind see, the oppressed are freed, the marginalized find acceptance. This becomes the measure of John’s faith, this becomes the measure of the disciples faith, and it must become ours.

As I reflected on in my last post, the writer of Matthew’s Gospel is intently interested in matters of the “Kingdom”. In Herod and Jesus we find a picture of two competing Kingdoms with two different types of Kings. with Matthew playing with these perceptions of power and weakness. The power that we find in Herod’s Kingdom is revealed to be driven by fear, while the weakness we find in Jesus (and John the Baptist, whom Mathew uses to speak to the nature of Jesus’ establishing Kingdom in weakness) is revealed as power.

It is from this repositioning of power that Matthew narrows in on the Temple and the religious leaders (Sadducees and Pharisees), criticizing the way in which their power (as religious leaders) has come at the expense of those who are deemed weak and lowly. This would include the author’s own story as someone who found himself on the margins and oppressed by the religious leaders of his day. As the Kingdom of Jesus is being established in their midst, it begins in Jerusalem, and the concern of the author becomes no more clear than in John’s initial description of the Jewish religious leaders in Jerusalem as a “brood of vipers”.

Brood of Vipers: Fields, Barns, Fruit and Fire
This language, brood of vipers, arrives in the tradition and imagery of the Garden narrative, where a “creature” becomes the personification of evil (death, sin, satan, the evil one). The viper was considered a dangerous creature, and attached to the religious leaders, stands resistant to the ways of the Kingdom that is being established. They are reactionary, and strike in fear, injecting their venom in order to protect themselves.

Now, this is definitely strong language, but there are a couple key, important points to note with about the nature of this viper imagery:
1. Brood is a collective term. It indicates an institutionalized problem. By no means though should we be considering the whole of these religious leaders as bad. They tend to get a bad rep because of the way they were singled out, but for the most part these were well meaning people who thought they were doing the right thing and on the side of God’s law. As becomes clear in Matthew, it is often fear, especially of those who found themselves caught between Jesus and the Roman rule (upsetting the balance meant that the freedoms that they did have could be taken away), that can be most destructive.

2. Second, Matthew is using the imagery of the viper to evoke a bigger picture. “Who told you to flee from the wrath that is to come” is a question that the author (through John) has positioned within the image of a farmers field at harvest. Once the wheat has been stored in the barn, they then set the fields on fire, causing whatever was in those fields to flee. The picture of all these snakes fleeing the fields would have been recognizable to his audience.

Likewise, this picture of the fields, the fire, and the barn is echoed in further imagery of the fruit and the trees that we find working its way (like a thread) through Matthew’s Gospel, beginning with John’s word in 3:9-10. “Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”

All of this imagery has to do with Jesus’ Kingdom first being established in Jerusalem, and the judgement of Jerusalem. The mention of Abraham brings us back to the genealogy, and the picture of the ax is one that is directed at Jerusalem and the destruction of the temple, with Matthew’s genealogical line re-configuring the picture of who belongs and who doesn’t belong as the covenant people. Who warned you to flee is used in a satirical fashion by John to indicate these leaders coming from Jerusalem, the very place that is being deconstructed (set on fire). Clearly this is not why they are there, but this is why John says, “don’t presume” your position in the Kingdom, for even now the fruitless trees (the religious leaders) are being cut down and thrown into the fire. Rather, “repent, for the kingdom is at hand”, the same words Jesus uses following John’s imprisonment (4:17; 4:2). Repent is a a turning towards, a looking in a different direction than one is currently. It evokes a repositioning. What is interesting about the way these words are used for the religious leaders is that they are being asked to turn and look in the direction of the Kingdom that is being established by Jesus, which is in Jerusalem, the direction they have in-fact come from.

A Kingdom Built, a Kingdom Divided
To further unpack the nature of this Viper language, turning to Chapter 12 and 13 can be helpful. In Chapter 12, we find this gradual progression, beginning with the “work” of the disciples (gathering wheat from the field on the Sabbath 12:1-8)) and moving to the work of Jesus (healing on the Sabbath 12:9-14). This leads to the Pharisees condemnation (12:2) and their conspiring on how to destroy him (12:14). This then also leads to Matthew setting up Jesus in light of Isaiah’s prophecy, which declares God’s chosen servant as the one who will “proclaim justice to the Gentiles”, and this servant will not resist or lift a hand until he “brings justice to victory”. In his (the servants name) the the Gentiles will hope (12:15-21).

If this is how God’s servant (Jesus) is going to bring about the Kingdom, against their resistance and not by the power of Herod’s kingdom but by the power found in his willing weakness, the question that then follows is “how will this kingdom stand (12:26).” Here we find a picture of these contrasting Kingdoms once again, with the religious leaders calling Jesus the devil (the brood of vipers calling Jesus the viper), and Jesus being declared as the chosen servant of God. Here, knowing their thoughts, Jesus uses these contrasting images (of the devil and the chosen servant) to a paint a picture of a Kingdom divided against itself and a Kingdom undivided. “Every kingdom divided against itself is laid to waste (12:25)” Jesus says, evoking once again the imagery of the fruit and the trees, the fire and the field. “Satan cannot cast out Satan”, because that would represent a conundrum, a contradiction, a division of reasoning and motivation. This brings the focus back on them labeling Jesus “Satan”. Jesus now turns it back on the religious leaders. “If I cast out demons by Beelzebul, by whom do your sons (presumably their followers) cast them out (12:27)?” Let them be “your” judges about (their) Kingdom, Jesus says. “But”, Jesus pushes further, if it is “by the Spirit of God that “I” cast out demons, then you will know that the Kingdom of God has come “upon” you. Therefore, “whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather with me “scatters”, once again forming a distinction between the Kingdoms (the Son of Man and the Spirit).

Here, then, is the picture of the vipers fleeing the fire. “You brood of vipers” Jesus conjures up again in 12:34, either make the tree good and its fruit good or make the tree bad and its fruit bad, for “the tree”, Jesus posits, is known by its fruits. The positioning of this picture within this good and evil dichotomy is one that Jesus sets as a demonstration of “the heart” which is revealed by their words (with their words justifying them or condemning them on the coming day “of judgment”). The sign of this judgment is the Cross (the sign of Jonah 38:42), then picturing the rising up of the gentiles that God’s servant came to bring justice to as the judgement of the religious leaders (Israel/Jews). As he goes on to say in 12:49, the world is Jesus’ family.

According to Jesus they will turn (that ironic image of repent) back to Jerusalem only to find a house (a temple) being reoccupied by “unclean spirits” and once again making their dwelling that of evil (the viper as the image of evil). Which leads us to Chapter 13 and the parable of the sower (13:1-9) and the weeds (13:24-30), two parables that will set us up to encounter the death of John and the movement towards the Cross and Jesus’ death. After establishing the purpose of the parables as to give the secrets (the mystery) of the Kingdom to some (the disciples) so that the others (Jerusalem, the religious leaders) may not turn (13:10-17), Jesus explains the parable of the sower like this:
– Those who hear but don’t understand are snatched up by the evil one
– Those who hear and respond with joy but don’t have a good foundation fall away
– those who hear but the desires of the world (power, cares and riches) are choked so that it can’t bear fruit
– Those who hear and understand are those who bear fruit

And then explains the parable of the weeds like this:
– The good seed is sowed by Jesus
– The world is the field
– The good seed is the sons of the kingdom
– The weeds are the sons of the evil one
– The sower of the bad seeds is the devil
– The reapers are the angels
– The harvest is the close of the age.

In the context of the sower and the weeds, “The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth”, while for those who hear and understand, “then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father.” Therefore, Matthew says, “Let both of them grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.”

These two parables are then blanketed by three smaller parables intended to explain what the Kingdom Jesus is building will be like:
1. A treasure that one finds hidden in the field (the mystery of the parables revealed) and selling all in order to buy up
2. Searching for and finding a fine pearl and selling all in order to buy
3. Like a net catching up fish of every kind, and sorting those fish into good and bad containers.

All of these parables are positioned once again, as we move in 13:51, into this picture of competing Kingdoms and the focus on the religious leaders and their tradition. The idea of new and old treasures implies that Jesus is establishing a new kingdom among the old, with the final “Kingdom of heaven is like” image pointing this in a definitive fashion towards Jerusalem, the temple, and the religious leaders/tradition. A scribe trained up for the kingdom of heaven (Jesus’ disciples) will be like the master of a house (the temple, which Jesus earlier imagined being emptied and sorted 12:45) and brings out his treasure (Jesus as the new temple) what is new and what is old (the Gentiles and the Jews, the lowly and the rich/elite). As Jesus describes in 13:31-33, the Kingdom will be like a mustard seed and leaven, which although seemingly small and insignificant, will spread into the whole world. And yet, in another great play of irony, “a prophet is not without honor except in his hometown (Jerusalem) and in his own household (the temple and the Jewish tradition).”

Using this “brood of vipers” language. Matthew recognizes that Jesus arises from the prophetic tradition that has both defined and rejected the author. What these pictures of the two competing Kingdoms brings to light is that while the Kingdoms of the world come at the expense of justice and at the expense of the oppressed, the marginalized and the week, God’s Kingdom is being built in power, but power that comes through weakness. As they awaited the return of God’s presence to the temple, this tradition finds itself caught between these two competing visions of the Kingdom, that of Jesus and that of Rome, that of their tradition and that of Jesus. It is for this reason that we continually find Jesus “teaching in their synagogue proclaiming the Gospel of the Kingdom”, and providing parables that they don’t understand, and giving images that distinguish between the Kingdom of men and the Kingdom of God being established in Jerusalem and in the temple.

This is going to be the Way of Jesus, is towards the Cross, and in the seeming weakness of the Cross will come power, power “for” the sake of the weak, the marginalized, the oppressed. This, as we will see later in chapter 21, is what will come to the forefront as we approach the Cross. At last entering Jerusalem, cleansing the temple (calling back to this picture of it being emptied and reordered), and once again conjuring up that picture of that fig tree and the lack of fruit as a matter of “justice” coming to the lowly, this definitive picture of Jesus restoring Jerusalem and the temple “in faith”. The same faith, as he says, the disciples (the lowly) have in them, to meet out justice and injustice and “move mountains for the sake of the Kingdom come, a Kingdom in which the tax collectors and the prostitutes will enter first (21:31).

This is a Kingdom that is like a grand wedding feast (22:1-14) where those who were invited (the Jews, the religious leaders) “were not ready” and “were not worthy”, and thus Jesus was sent (and sent his disciples) to go and invite others, as many as they could find both good and bad, only to be sorted according to many being called and few chosen. What is shocking about this is the chosen part, as this distinction between “good” and “bad” does not come by way of the Jewish religious leaders (according to the Law) but by way of the Cross for the lowly, the marginalized, the sick, the oppressed. What defines the good are those in bondage who find liberation in the Kingdom of God. A kingdom built on the greatest commandment, Love God and love others as yourself, a love undivided, interconnected, and wholly imagined in the Kingdom that Jesus is establishing on the Cross.

A few final words on this whole picture of the competing Kingdoms. First, when we hear of the end of the age in Matthew, what lies ahead, right in front of us is the Cross. This is the arrival of the new age. This is the judgment. And yet, what the Cross is ultimately a judgement of is the Kingdom that is being established. It is defining, over and against the Kingdom of the world, or in a way redefining for the religious leaders who stood in the long tradition of their people who failed to hear, a Kingdom for the least, a Kingdom that gives power in weakness, a Kingdom that gives love where there is hate, a Kingdom the gives justice (freedom) to the injustice. A Kingdom that is making what is wrong right. This is where we need to locate the hard words in Matthew. And as the Cross establishes this in light of Jesus, God’s called servant to bring justice to the gentiles, this Kingdom is then looking to reach back into the life of Israel and the Jews, deconstructing the temple and rebuilding it, and recasting it in Matthew’s Genealogical interest. In a sense, as I said in part 1, he is reimagining the story of the Pentateuch in the light of Jesus and the Cross, God’s full revealing of His Kingdom work, the same work He has been up to all along.

With this in mind, I am inclined to see all of these words as hopeful. Certainly if we were to read them as the oppressed would, through the eyes of someone like Matthew, these words arrive as hopeful words. Striking words in their repositioning of power in weakness (and weakness in power), but hopeful because of what the Kingdom is said to be doing and building in their midst. But I also feel like there is a thread of hope that finds its way through these words of judgment for Israel and the Jews. The heart of Jesus for Israel is clear. He weeps for them. And the trajectory is also clear- the Cross will condemn them in its repositioning of power in the Kingdom come. And yet all of this language, which is apocalyptic language (revealing language of what the Cross is doing in the temple, in Jerusalem, in the Jewish/Israelite story), becomes actualized in the Cross, and further perpetuated in the eventual (full destruction) of the temple that will happen soon after this. When set in the larger picture of God’s story, and certainly in the words of the Apostle Paul (see Romans), what we find in these words is a judgement, but than also something forming out of that, which is where I think we can find a picture of God’s restorative work “in” Israel, in the Jewish world and tradition. As Paul says, were they a stumbling block for no reason? No. They were a stumbling block so that this Kingdom could be established for the Gentiles. Does that mean that they have lost hope for their place as God’s covenant people? No. In this way, Paul says, all Israel will be saved. So don’t think all of this judgment (the fire, the deconstructing), just as they rejected the prophets of old, will be the last word. God is at work, and He is still at work repositioning power within His Kingdom, bringing justice and liberation to the world. Most of all, as becomes clear in Matthew’s Gospel, the greater truth is that on the Cross Christ defeated the Powers of Sin and Death that hold this world bondage, that given way for sin to oppress and ignore the widows and the orphans.

The imagination of this Kingdom is a reality, Matthew says, both one that has arrived and one that is still coming. It is for that reason that we can have hope.

In my previous reflection, I talked about how the author of Matthew establishes his Gospel in line with the Genesis-Exodus story. He does this to raise up Jesus as the New Exodus, not only in a retelling of the Exodus story, but a re-imagining of the story in light of Christ ushering in the new, promised Kingdom.

Matthew continues to paint for us this new Kingdom picture with the way he places of the stories of John the Baptist and Herod alongside Jesus’ ministry, first in chapter 2-4, and later in chapter 11-14.

In chapter 2, Herod is positioned as the one who is behind this movement that takes Jesus to Egypt and eventually out of Egypt. In Chapter 2, we see him devising a plan regarding the Christ child with the magi, eventually massacring the children when things don’t go his way, and then finally his death.

What becomes immediately obvious in chapter 2 is that Matthew is presenting both Jesus and Herod as Kings with contrasting pictures of power. One comes from a humble birth, the other comes from the assumed power of being given position under Roman rule as a “vassal” King (read: puppet). In his article called Power and Authority in Matthew’s Gospel, FP Viljoen talks about how the story of the magi underscores this reality. After establishing Jesus as born “in the time of Herod”, and locating Jesus in the way of the Prophets words, which state “And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd^[d] my people Israel (2:6), we move from royalty and power (Herod) to the least among the rulers of Judah and the picture of a shepherd. This movement comes by way of the Magi, who come from the east to Jerusalem wondering “where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star in the east and have come to worship him'” (Matt. 2:1-2). Viljoen notes that the east is indicative of Parthia, Rome’s enemy. In this way, the Magi do not recognize the authority of Herod and place their search for Jesus above Herod’s Kingship.

Viljoen also notes the reaction of Jerusalem when Herod recognizes this threat to his Kingship. “When King Herod heard this he was disturbed, and all Jerusalem with him” (Matt. 2:3). This is something that is going to emerge for Matthew following Herod’s death as he narrows in on the Sadducees and the Pharisees in the fear they had of Jesus disrupting the Roman rule and leaving them in even more danger as a people.  

Fast forward to Chapter 14 and this picture of Herod, now a different Herod (the “ruler” 14:1), becomes even more interesting in terms of this question of power. Whereas chapter 2 eventually leads to John’s imprisonment and the start of Jesus’ ministry, here we find John in prison facing his death. Herod is once again represented as powerful and John appears in the position of the week. Only, the way Matthew writes this passage in chapter 14, it becomes immediately clear that what appears as a position of power in Herod is actually a position of fear and uncertainty based on John’s words (14:4), the crowd (14:5), and his own brother (14:3). He is far from in control of anything in this story, and John’s death arrives in his “grieving” (14:9), a picture that is immediately contrasted by Jesus moving to a “desolate place” (to grieve) only to be disrupted by the power of His Kingdom work (the crowds).

Contrast this then with Jesus’ words about John in Matthew 11 as John was languishing in prison and wondering whether Jesus was in fact the true King of the Jews. The message that Jesus sends to John is “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them (11:5).” This is how John is to know that in his weakness, in the lowly place, comes power. In Jesus’ death, this same liberating picture applies to the work of the Cross. Speaking to the crowd about John’s lowly position, Jesus declares “Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist (11:11)”, and yet, “the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.”

This repositioning of power is now fueled into this proclamation, “From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force. For all the prophets and the law prophesied until John came; and if you are willing to accept it, he (John) is Elijah who is to come. Let anyone with ears listen!” (11:12-15) If they are willing to accept that power comes not by way of violence, force and might, but from the lowly places, from the places of suffering, they will then see who John is, and thus who Jesus is and the Kingdom He is building. Although John stands in chains and in bondage, he is considered within the liberating picture of Christs work.

And then we come to Jesus and Pilate by way of this triumphal entry into Jerusalem, this movement into Jerusalem by way of a humble donkey. Jesus, stripped of power and now presented in front of the seeming powerful Kingdom of Rome. Jesus’ eventual declaration of power through the Cross (which comes by way of this proclamation of natural (supernatural) forces) is contrasted, just as Herod’s power was, by Pilate being revealed as powerless in front of the people he feared.

Two Kingdoms in contest, one in the way of Rome, the other in the way of Jesus. As Matthew moves forward in His Gospel, He is going to show how it is Jesus’ Kingdom that is being established in power, just not the kind of power they expected.

Here is the article on Power and Authority. It is worth a read.
http://www.scielo.org.za/scielo.php?script=sci_arttext&pid=S1015-87582011000200010

In part one I talked about how the Genealogy sets up Matthews larger concern for establishing Jesus and the new Kingdom as a Kingdom for the least, the oppressed and the marginalized, which is where he understands Jesus found him. The way he weaves the line is unconventional to say the least, and yet also set firmly within the writers own Jewish tradition.

Moving into the birth narrative, we can begin to see how Matthew uses this to now establish Jesus as the New Exodus and establish the religious leaders (the Saduccees and the Pharisees) as a picture of Israel’s long held resistance to the Prophets message of liberation for those on the margins. We even see this in how he emphasizes the magi (pagans) as coming in to this line in the birth narrative.

The Birth Narrative
Emerging from the genealogy, Matthew explains that there are 14 generations in all (1:17), a number that symbolizes the name of David which lies at the center of his genealogy (Abraham-David, David-Babylon, Babylon-Christ), and 3 sets of 14 names which reflects 6 weeks (symbolic of 6 days), which now leads us into the Sabbath week (Jesus).

So with this grand vision in place, we can understand the words to Joseph as redemptive in nature. “Do not fear” the angel says regarding Mary’s pregnancy (1:20), for “he will save his people from their sins” (1:21). This then leads to Jesus’ birth and the establishing of John’s ministry, where the baptism of John’s call to repentance, a word that evokes a turning of direction or turning to face a different direction (which is paired with the idea of the straight paths John came to turn people towards), comes with confession of their “sins” (3:6) and comes because the Kingdom is at hand, the Kingdom being established in this Sabbath week.

Jesus’ birth and John’s ministry then sets up Jesus as the picture of the New Exodus.

Jesus and John: Baptism and The New Exodus
Just as John baptized the Jewish people in water for repentance, he now baptizes Jesus (3:13-17) as the establishment of the promised Kingdom. This is said to be fitting “so as to fulfill all righteousness”, and it is here that we hear Jesus declared to be God’s beloved son, being brought through water (the Exodus story) to a new exodus (the wilderness and the temptation narrative).

This word righteousness is one that will reoccur in Matthew’s Gospel over and over again. It is a word that evokes a recognizable Jewish context, a word that shares a root word with justification or justice. It is tightly connected to the idea of a Israel’s hope for a restored Kingdom, God once again taking up residence in their temple. It is communal in nature. Here is a great link to understand the connection between the two words and why it is important.
https://kgsvr.net/xn/tsedeq.html

The use of this word “righteousness” carries with it this grand vision of the New Exodus, an establishing of the promised Kingdom through the promised Messiah raised up from the Prophetic tradition. And all throughout Matthew’s Gospel we find this sort of fulfillment structure (“and this took place to fulfill the prophets” 1:22) repeated over and over and over again. Everything that happens in Matthew is interpreted through a particular (and very intentional) OT passage as a “fulfillment”. And when I say everything, Matthew goes out of his way to do this. In the early chapters alone we see it in 2:6; 2:15; 2:17; 2:23; 3:3; 4:4, 4:6; 4:7; 4:10, and it just keeps going. Take a tally next time you read through it, it’s astounding the number of times this appears.

In Jesus’ baptism we not only find the image of this promised Kingdom, we find the Spirit (again, language the Jewish tradition and experience would have understood) descending on him and the Spirit sending him into the wilderness for 40 Days, 40 Nights. Given how Matthew imagines Jesus as one who fled to Egypt (fleeing the wrath of Herod) and now comes out of Egypt through the waters and into the wilderness in a direct callback to the Exodus story. I get excited every time I read this, because to me this interconnected image arrives with so much wonderful and liberating drama. What is important to recognize though as readers is how this connects directly to the Israelite story and the image of the Kingdom. The entire temptation story revolves around this competing image of the Kingdoms of the world and the new Kingdom that Jesus is bringing and establishing (4:8). So often we relegate this story to be in line with our interpretation of the garden story in Genesis, where we see the temptation as sin and Jesus’ resisting of this temptation as his righteousness proved and declared in his not giving into temptation. There is certainly overlap between what is happening in this story and the idea of sin, but this is not the full emphasis of this story. If you follow the opening narrative in Matthew, we have already moved from the garden narrative and are now in the exodus story. And what the exodus story is about is about establishing a new Kingdom over against their slavery, their oppression. It is a story of liberation.

The Temptation Narrative and The Exodus Story
In Jewish tradition, the Exodus is what they reenact and relive in memory of the grander story of God’s liberating work in their lives, and to push them towards the promise of a new future, a new Kingdom. Jesus arrives not only as a reenactment, but it’s fulfillment. This is the point of Matthew’s Gospel. The story of Genesis and Exodus are recognized as “temple” texts in scholarship and Jewish tradition, texts that revolve around the establishment of God’s Kingdom and the story of God’s dwelling among them. What the Jewish history understood was that God’s presence had left the Temple and their longing was for God’s presence to return and take up residence. This is what Jesus is going to become in the image of the temple being destroyed and rebuilt. Jesus is the new Kingdom and, in the important prophetic words of Jeremiah, God’s presence is written on the hearts and minds of the people.

This is the context of this image of the tempter (4:3), who is called the devil (the one whom we find in the garden narrative 4:10). the tempter (4:3) is the devil (4:10), bringing us back to the garden. If one understands the force of Paul’s own Jewish language, in which sin came into the world through “one” man (Adam), and death through sin (Romans 5:12), we can see him recognizing this as a systemic problem, a collective issue as it moves from person to person leaving nothing unturned (in the whole of creation).

And what is the sin that we find in the temptation of the garden narrative? James helps us to understand the root of the problem:
Let no one say when he is tempted, “I am being tempted by God,” for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one. But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death. (James 1:13-15)

Temptation at its root is about desire. This is what temptation exposes and reveals. And what does the tempter attack in the garden? This idea of true liberation. God has tasked Adam and Eve to be in communion with creation, God and one another, and the tempter suggests that they are not truly free BECAUSE “God knows that when you eat from it (the tree of knowledge of good and evil) your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil (3:5).” So the question is, understanding this as a temple text in which the trees symbolize a key aspect of this broken relationship the Exodus story is looking to restore, what does the tree (or trees) symbolize? It symbolizes life (God’s dwelling among them) and death (knowledge of good and evil). In midrash they understand this life to be found in God’s created order, and in the life of Israel. This is why God singles out trees rather than the garden (symbolically speaking). When set into the context of the temple life, what you have is the hope of their liberation, God’s dwelling among them (the tree of life, or the tree as the source of life) and the knowledge of good and evil (which is understood as the Law). This forms the later understanding of Paul in which his Jewish tradition, set in light of his encounter with Jesus as God’s dwelling among them (life), sees the Law not as life but as death. It is through the Law that we become aware of sin, and through sin comes death. And yet, as Paul declares, through one man (one tree, one cross), salvation (life) comes to all.

Just to reinforce this contest between life and death, note how the conversation unfolds with the tempter. As the Genesis text reads, “I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; he will crush your head, and you will strike his heel (3:15).”

What this does is set in play this key contest that holds the whole of the created order in contest- life and death, humankind and the tempter, Jesus and the tempter. This is the grand narrative we find being declared in the New Exodus, this wilderness journey to the New Kingdom. What is being established is this reestablishing of God’s Kingdom, and what is being emphasized in the wilderness is the “source” of life that lies at the center of this Kingdom, the dwelling of God in the temple that Jesus is raising up in Himself in the Spirit, as as the new temple. We will reside in Him, and in Him we will find the new Kingdom being established. This is why the reeneactment of the Exodus in the temptation narrative doesn’t move us through the garden, but through the elements of the Exodus story, with each temptation recalling a key aspect of God’s provision (food, water, and ultimately we come to this grand summation in the picture of the coming Kingdom, the promised land).

Here is what is most important though. If James is right and the tree of knowledge of good and evil is about the revealing of the “desire” of our heart, what is being revealed in the temptation narrative, in this grand contest, is the desire of God’s heart. God’s heart is for His creation. It is life giving, not death giving. That is what Matthew’s Gospel is going to begin to unfold as it places this contest between the forces of good and evil that hold this world bondage into the narrative of the religious leaders and Jesus’ kingdom that is about to unfold. Matthew adds to this temptation narrative that this happened “before the time” (3:29), which is super important, because the traditional narrative ends the temptation narrative with the “devil” (the tempter) leaving until a more opportune time. What is going to become revealed in Matthew’s Gospel is that the way this Kingdom comes, the way it is going to be reestablished is not by way of the Israelite story of conquest and failure, but way of God entering into our suffering reality. By way of Jesus, who knew no sin (the knowledge of good and evil) placing himself in bondage to sin along with us. This is how the Gospel will reestablish the source of life in the midst of our suffering world, one held captive by the toiling of the ground, enmity between our natures, and ultimately by death. Jesus is the source of life, not us, and in this we discover (or rediscover) God’s true heart for his creation. He is the temple (the image of the new Kingdom, the garden, God’s dwelling), and we dwell in him, in which traditionally the final thing to be placed in the temple is the idol, the image of God. We are the image of God, bearing witness to the source of life.

Here is a good further resource for understanding the Exodus story in Jewish understanding and the Jewish narrative.
https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/the-exodus-effect/

Moving forward, what we are going to see in Matthew’s Gospel is a very intentional, parallel placement of the story of John the Baptist, Herod (the two Herods) and Jesus, something that Matthew uses to emphasize the nature of the new Kingdom has set within the competing forces. For now though, what Matthew has established is that promise of the new Kingdom is coming. Liberation is here. This is the declaration of the New Exodus.

Personal confession time: It has been a while since I’ve spent some time with this Gospel. I’ve always struggled to get into Matthew. It might be the language. It might be the context. If this time through uncovered something, it is that Matthew feels and seems more than a little bit feisty, particularly when it comes to the way he positions the Saduccees and the Pharisees. And so I led with a prayer. God, please reveal to me what you want me to hear.

With this in mind, there are 3 essential things that I noticed about the Gospel of Matthew when reading through it again:

1. IT IS VERY STRUCTURED: One of the first things I noticed about Matthew is the structure. Even without knowing the context, one can easily see the use of repetition and key phrases, and the book feels like it is built on patterns.

2. IT HAS A LOT OF DISCOURSE: The other thing I noticed is that Matthew gives us a lot of Jesus’ discourse relatively speaking. In fact, the whole book follows this basic pattern of a block style structure: narrative-discourse-narrative-discourse (broken up in this way: 5-7; 10; 13 18-20; 24-25).

If one breaks it down, you get 5 of these different movements all framed around a recognizable question that starts the discourse, and the shared phrase that marks the end of the discourse (“when Jesus had finished these sayings”: 7:28; 11:1; 13:53; 19:1; 26:1)

3. AND YES, IT IS KIND OF ANGRY: If you set the Gospel of Matthew alongside the other Gospels, there is little question the author is particularly fired up. It becomes clear early on where this anger is directed towards- the Saduccees and the Pharisees. The Genealogy sets up the context, which Matthew molds around the Biblical figure of David, before moving quickly from Herod to the ones who will occupy the attention of his Gospel (the Saduccees and the Pharisees).

These three things stood out to me and helped me to engage with the narrative with a bit more intention. It is structured with a very real purpose, which helped me to distinguish the narrative from the discourse and the symbolism. It has a lot of discourse, which helped to give focus to how each block of discourse is framed, and the angry vibes helped me to note the direction of the anger and narrow in on Matthews very Jewish interest and very Jewish context.

And while Kingdom, Kingship, Royalty, and Forgiveness are all key themes in this Gospel, if there was one reigning theme that jumped out for me it would be this- justice for the oppressed and a Gospel for the lowly.

UNDERSTANDING THE GENEALOGY
Starting off with a bit of a strange lineage, which includes the startling inclusion of gentile women and an interesting list of names each telling its own story of how we get from here to there, there is a single name that Matthew instantly sets us up for us as readers to recognize- David. David is at the beginning of the genealogy, the middle and the end. And in between, if one was to look at the different names that are used to develop the lineage, you see this very purposed movement that skips certain generations, emphasizes some unexpected ones, and weaves its way through the story of Israel (Adam, Abraham, and David) in a creative way in order to raise up Jesus as the Davidic King, the son of David, the fulfillment of what Matthew recognizes as the Davidic promise set within the Abrahamic covenant.

One thing to point out about the Genealogy in scholarship is that there is contention surrounding the differences between the one in Matthew and the one in Luke. There are different ways that scholarship addresses this, ranging from the idea that one is false and one is true, to the idea of Joseph having two fathers (under the legal law of a widow remarrying). Sandwiched in-between are ideas that one is Mary’s and one is Joseph’s, and maybe one of the more popular ones which is that one is legal (royal) and one is biological.

In any case, no matter where one lands on a theoretical level, what is clear is that Matthew constructs the Genealogy with a purpose. There is lots to think about even in these opening words. Borrowing his genealogy from what scholars believe is 1 Chronicles 1-3 and Ruth 4, there is one really intriguing theory that sees Matthews opening verse paired with Genesis (recasting the words of Genesis in Christ), and given Matthews interest in numbers (part of his structure) also the pattern of 5, which fits with his desire establish a new Pentateuch (moving to cast Jesus as the New Exodus in His baptism).

Some more interesting stuff: Matthew also goes to lengths to write the Genealogy, which you can see if you compare it alongside Chronicles, in a way that maintains what is this 14-14-14 structure (the Davidic number). We see this following the Genealogy when Matthew explains the 14 paradigm (Abraham to David, David… and so on). The pattern of 14 also reflects a six week structure, which speaks to a Jewish custom (found in Abraham), which would traditionally be followed by the Sabbath week (see Daniel and the inference then to a coming Messianic age in Jesus).

All of which is to say, trying to fit this genealogy into a theory that reconciles all of the movements and placements Matthew makes here in an overly literal or historical way will miss the necessary symbolism he is trying to evoke. What Matthew seems to be trying to do is establish the Davidic King (Jesus) over all of Israel, working in a really interesting mix of women with questionable pasts, particular lines and remnants that say something important about this Davidic line (especially when set alongside the Chronicles passage in contrast), problematic moments in Israelite history, and a mixing of the line of David and Aaron (which is an important point in recognizing the Jewish context of this writing).

If you are interested in seeing in more detail how each of these names fits together, this is a good resource:
https://isthatinthebible.wordpress.com/2014/07/19/whats-the-deal-with-matthews-genealogy/

His lineage is a ragged, eclectic mix brought together in some creative, some puzzling, some intriguing, some mystical, and some obviously measured ways under Christ. But it is all in service to working with the Jewish backdrop the author emerges from, especially if we move back to this idea of him establishing a new Pentateuch. Just to underscore this, arriving at the last two names you get Jacob and Joseph, which is the same genealogy in Genesis, which then leads us to Jesus and a picture of Jesus coming out of Egypt and going into exile (the wilderness for 40 Days and 40 Nights). This establishes Jesus as the New Exodus. And then, as we shall see, this new Exodus is used to establish the religious leaders as the clear antagonists (under Law and lineage), positioning the New Covenant as liberating to people like the author, whom have been oppressed by the religious leaders, those who’s hearts God is said to have hardened (like Pharoah).

Which is all to say, Matthew’s Gospel begins with a good deal of symbolism that intends to say something very important to his audience and about the tradition he is going to criticize and the liberation he has found in Jesus. Although we have tradition, as is true for most of the Gospels, in truth the Gospel remains anonymous. But that doesn’t mean we can’t fit this into the traditional authorship (Matthew) and be perfectly fine. More importantly though is knowing what the text tells us about the author and why it was written. The author was likely someone who found himself on the margins of his Jewish culture and by way of his collaboration with the Roman Kingdom (which fits with the idea of the tax collector). This makes sense of why the author is so angry at the religious leaders. He himself has been isolated, marginalized and oppressed by them, and therefore finds in Jesus a picture of this necessary justice. If his encounter with and acceptance by Jesus is to have any justification, especially given his experience with Jesus was clearly transformative in nature, it has to say something about the Jewish context that has judged him under the Law. This explains why he bypasses the Roman context and sets his sights straight on the Jewish establishment, having zero sympathy for the religious leaders and far more sympathy for those whom he sees being oppressed by them.

As we move into Part 2 of my reflections, I think one thing that will keep becoming clearer and clearer is how sharp the distinction is between the language Matthew uses to describe and speak of the religious leaders, and the language he uses to describe those who share a position with him. This sharp back and forth between harsh judgments of the establishment and this raising up of the lowly and the oppressed is both sharp and notable.