There’s so much to think about in chapter 12 of Matthew’s Gospel that I’ve split it up into relatively short segments for these posts. Unfortunately, given the interruptions in posting, it would be easy to lose the connection between the previous two installments and this one. So—a reminder.
The previous segment concluded with a sweeping denunciation of the Pharisees. It’s important here to say once again that the Pharisees were not “bad” people. Indeed, there were great teachers of the faith among them, such as the much admired Hillel, and the entire group was dedicated to practicing their faith with great seriousness. Their conflict with Jesus, as Matthew presents it, arises from disagreements about how this was to be done. Because they disagreed radically with his approach to interpreting scripture (as did he with theirs), they came to see him as an enemy of truth and righteousness—and a dangerously successful one. This, in turn, led them to brand his miracles and exorcisms as covert disguises for hidden evil, even accusing him of being in league with Beelzebub.
This is why he accused them (12:31-32) of having moved to the extreme of evil themselves, a state in which the poles of good and evil have become reversed and one may no longer be able to recognize or repent of one’s misdeeds. But these are not deliberately evil people. To the contrary, they are pillars of society, deeply responsible, and very religious. Jesus is making the astonishing claim, then, that even our human endeavor to be the best possible people can actually lead to something profoundly destructive. These warnings are not aimed at them because they were Pharisees and certainly not because they were Jews like Jesus and his followers. They are applicable to devout and committed religious people of any religion—and of all the various political and philosophical “isms” that function as religion equivalents in our own time.
In the verses covered by this post, we have a kind of concluding statement for this stage of the developing conflict with the devout. The conflict will continue in later chapters, but, here, Jesus sets out a fundamental challenge to the sins of religion-as-usual and to the devout who mistake their devotion as a guarantee of their goodness and their favor with God.
But, in vs. 38, the scribes and Pharisees sound reasonably respectful. They address Jesus politely as “teacher.” And since he’s been doing signs all along, why is he angry when they ask for another one?
This group does approach Jesus more respectfully than the last one. And, for that matter, they may be different individuals, for neither scribes nor Pharisees were monolithic groups. Opinions about Jesus undoubtedly varied among them, and there may well be a hint of that here.
But he speaks of them as “an evil and adulterous generation.”
The problem here is partly one of timing. Why are they asking for a sign now? Why now, when so many signs of God’s love and generosity have already been performed? Another part of the problem is context. The request is, in a way, a rejection of Jesus’ arguments from scripture (e.g., 9:10, 12:1-8). Since they reject Jesus’ way of interpreting Torah through Israelite history and prophetic insights and, above all, the gospel of God’s love, they imply, in effect, that the only way he can establish his authority would be through some particularly astounding sign. Under the circumstances, it is hard to imagine what kind of a sign they would accept as adequate.
When he calls them “evil,” he implies that they are infected, to some degree, with the reversed polarization of good and evil we saw in the previous post. When he calls them “adulterous,” he suggests that they have, in effect, abandoned the real worship of God for something else, for “adultery” is a common metaphor for the worship of false gods in the Hebrew scriptures.
But what sort of idol does he think they’re worshipping?
Given all that we’ve read in the last few chapters, it seems to be a conviction that their own interpretation of Israelite faith—and thus their own righteousness—is unassailable.
So he just gives them riddles instead of the sign they want?
That’s about it. The phrase “the sign of Jonah” has no one clear meaning in itself. The prophet Jonah was a very reluctant servant of God. He didn’t want to preach judgement and repentance to the people of Nineveh (capital of the bloody and tyrannical Assyrian empire) because he was afraid they really would repent and God would spare them. As he tried to escape to Spain, God sent a great storm, which Jonah finally had to admit was directed at him. Having told the ship’s crew to throw him overboard in order to still the storm (which they did only with great reluctance), he was swallowed by the “great fish”—which helped him learn that he needed to become more humble and to cooperate with God’s love of the world. Each of these events was a sign.
At last, Jonah goes to Nineveh and preaches. The people do repent, but he goes out to a spot where he hopes he’ll be able to watch the city’s destruction. Trying to bring Jonah to see things another way, God shows him an example: first God makes a bush grow up to shade him. But at dawn God sends a worm to destroy the bush and Jonah gets very hot and cranky as he sits in the broiling sun waiting for the city to be destroyed. But God calls his attention to the bush and how much he misses it, even though he did nothing to grow it. Why should not God love and rescue the people of Nineveh—not to mention all the animals there—all of them God’s creations (Jonah 4:11)?
The “sign of Jonah” could be any aspect of this story.
But Jesus singles out the time Jonah spent in the belly of the big fish—or whale or sea monster or however it should be translated.
Take your choice! Nobody knows exactly what image the author had in mind. But the interesting thing about this is that it was a sign only to Jonah himself! There were no witnesses. Even if the sailors had seen him get swallowed (unclear that), we hear nothing of any witnesses to see him vomited up on the beach. (He was probably grateful for that. I imagine him as rather smelly and covered with slime.)
In other words, it’s a hidden sign? If that’s a possible notion. . . .
Yes, a good phrase for it. Matthew understands Jesus as alluding to his death and resurrection. But we only know that because we know the rest of the story. There’s nothing to suggest that this meant anything at all to his audience. (Later on, he’ll begin to be more explicit with his disciples and, even then, they still can’t make any sense of it.)
But the mention of Jonah is a chance for Jesus to raise once again his repeated topic of the Gentiles: some of them may turn out to be better, more faithful, more worshipful people than his very devout interlocutors. The Ninevites heeded Jonah and repented. This is a “sign of Jonah,” too. And the Queen of Sheba came to hear the wisdom of Solomon.
And “something greater” than either Jonah or Solomon is here. What does that mean?
Interesting that he says “something” not “someone.” The neuter gender would apply most naturally to Jesus’ message or mission (or both, since they’re intimately tied together). As in 12:37, he’s not demanding respect for himself. The respect he demands is for the gospel he carries.
Then we have another of Matthew’s annoying jumps. What is this little technical discussion of unclean spirits doing here?
The clue is at the end of vs. 45: “So will it be . . . with this evil generation.” Remember that the audience is still the one we met in vs. 38: “some of the scribes and Pharisees.” Whether their request for a sign was an expression of an honest willingness to be persuaded or a device to entrap Jesus, they are missing the point of all the signs he’s already done.
Are they the empty house?
Yes. And the world is full of unclean spirits happy to take up residence. And what sort of house better than one that has been kept scrupulously clean–”swept and put in order”? It is a parody of our human hopes for purity–whether physical or doctrinal or liturgical—hopes that are so close to the hearts of the religiously devout and, for that matter, the ideologically militant of all sorts. Obsession with purity, Jesus says, leaves you open to all sorts of demon possession.
Okay, you managed to connect that with the preceding verses. But what about vv. 46-50 and Jesus’ rejection of his family?
The point doesn’t seem to be any personal rejection of his family. It’s something much more radical—a reversal of prevailing assumptions about family. In Jesus’ world your identity depended above all on your family. He replaces that with a much deeper kind of identity: we become family to one another by virtue of our equal connection with God. This doesn’t make his words any less shocking, however. Jesus is overturning one of the most basic concepts of his society, sanctified by the commandment to honor father and mother.
This is as radical as Jesus’ stance on purity. And it’s a repeated theme in Matthew. We’ve already met it when Jesus said to his disciples: “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me. . . .” (10:37) And it’s of a piece with the way he places the gospel of God’s love above all human convictions and conventions, however sacred they may be. We’ll encounter it yet again at the end of chapter 13, when Jesus visits his hometown.

Next up: PARABLES (13:1-23)