If you’ve been with us the last few weeks at the Chapel, you know that we have been exploring the theme, The Cross and the King—exploring Jesus as the royal Messiah and heir of David’s throne. The Gospel writers focus on different aspects of Jesus; his kingly nature is only a part of the imagery that he is calling upon. But Matthew, with his emphasis on Jesus as the fulfillment of the promises of the Old Testament and the continuity of his life with the activity of God on behalf of and through his people, is particularly interested in presenting Jesus as a king. He opens the book with a genealogy that traces Jesus back through the kings of Judah. There is a sort of coronation ceremony akin to the anointing that David underwent at the hands of Samuel. Last week, we talked about how Jesus is authoritative in his royal pronouncements—how, as a teacher and proclaimer of the will of God, he displayed all the hallmarks of a king. This week, we will look at the kingly power displayed in his miracles. But for the blog this week, let’s stop and consider the voice of Jesus as the voice of the King.
Recall how oral the culture of the ancient world was. Writing materials were scarce and expensive. Even the relatively cheap papyrus used by the upper classes in the days of the early Roman Empire would have been out of reach for the common resident of Judea. Because the production and consumption of written material was an elite activity, literacy levels were relatively low—probably 10–20%, with rural areas like Galilee even lower. It is difficult for us to understand, in our modern world, how reliant on oral communication people were in those days. If news traveled, it traveled from person to person.
In our world, writing is sacred. We write documents and then affix our names to them—we sign them, and the signature is legally binding. In a pre-literate culture, what mattered was the spoken word, given in the presence of witnesses who could attest to it. To some degree, this heritage persists in the modern world. Think, for example, of a wedding. The key moment in a wedding is certain oral proclamations—the bride and groom’s declarations of “I do” and the officiant’s declaration that they are “now husband and wife.” When you sign a lease or a business agreement, what counts is not an oral declaration but the written forms—weddings preserve an older form of agreement.
In this world, therefore, the authority of a king was often embodied in his verbal declarations. The spoken word of the king often had the authority to alter reality—by declaring something, a king would summon it into existence. The power to pardon is an example of this. The king was the enforcer of justice, and therefore, by his spoken decree, he could choose to pardon. By speaking the words of pardon, he enacted it—it came into being, and the sentence was dissolved.
It is significant, therefore, that we often see Jesus exercising authority by declaration. His miracles generally (though not always) follow this pattern. Think of his rebuke of the wind and the waves. Think of how he summons Lazarus from the tomb in John 11: “Lazarus, come out.” He speaks, and the world around him changes—this is authority in action. Kings can do this to a certain extent, although, of course, their authority is limited—no earthly king can command the winds or summon someone back from the grave. This is a kingly authority of a different sort, which differentiates Jesus from a merely human king.
The authority demonstrated in these pronouncements is, of course, present in his promises as well. The promises of Jesus are given weight by the miracles his words perform. He promises, “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.” Perhaps the greatest pronouncement of them all comes upon the cross. His final words, just before his death—“It is finished”—are a declaration of the sufficiency and finality of his death and the accomplishment of the purpose of the incarnation, secured by all the authority of a divine King.