Different Ways of Looking at the Birth of Jesus

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Biblical scholarship has long recognized the significant differences between the details of the birth of Jesus in the gospels of Matthew and Luke—the only two gospels to contain an account of his birth, Rarely, however, have biblical scholars gone beyond the basic observation that the accounts of the birth differ, as indeed do the gospels as a whole. The recent focus in biblical studies on literary criticism of biblical narratives has opened up many new ways of considering the rich literature of the New as well as the Old Testament. The insights gained by applying literary criticism to the texts have considerably expanded our understanding of the strategies of biblical narratives, and, indeed, have significantly influenced the teaching of the Bible as literature in secondary schools, colleges, and universities throughout the United States.

Literary criticism strikingly reveals the extraordinarily different approaches taken by the gospels of Matthew and Luke to a description of what is, after all, the same event, (We may be reminded of how witnesses often describe the same event—for example, an automobile accident or an argument—in a variety of ways.)

A literary critic is interested in such matters as how a narrative begins, the significance of parallels and contrasts, and of repetition. The literary critic also examines changes in characters or images or setting; information withheld from the reader as well as information provided to the reader; changes in the physical or material or psychological or spiritual situation of the characters; interaction among the characters and the effect of those chance or planned encounters; the revelation of character by what the character say and, more important, by how they say it; and the plausibility of what occurs in a narrative, even if in “real life” the event is totally implausible.

Nine years ago, in a Commentary article that was later expanded in The Art of Biblical Narrative, Robert Alter expressed surprise that there had been no serious literary analysis of the Bible. No one had really paid much attention to the artful use of language, the shifting play of ideas, conventions, tone, sound, imagery, narrative viewpoint, compositional units, and so on. During the past decade, he and others in this country and abroad have shaken conservatives and liberals alike with startlingly new readings of biblical narratives and poetry.

The remarkable differences between the infancy narratives in Matthew and Luke are naturally of great interest to the literary critic. These differences reflect the fact that the same basic event can be described in vastly different ways, that a writer, even when depicting a well-known event—such as the circumstances surrounding the birth of Jesus—selects and augments his material. We must be alert to the voice of a narrator, a voice that, whether we like it or not, leads us to whatever meaning or significance we derive 034from the narrative.

Our two writers, Matthew and Luke, describe the same event, a miraculous birth of someone who they believe is very important—the King of the Jews, the Savior, the son of God. Our question is really their question—how are they going to do it? Many stories must have circulated about this man Jesus, conflicting versions of his birth and life and death, of his family and disciples, of his sayings and influence. How do Matthew and Luke decide what elements to select? What questions go through a writer’s mind as he considers his sources and subjects? For Matthew and Luke, perhaps questions like these: How will the birth be described? What is the audience like? How much does it know? Does it need to be persuaded of the importance of the birth? How can this best be done? Does the birth of a child to a virgin need to be made believable? How can that best be done? Into what narrative context should the birth be set? Which events, of the many known, should be emphasized? Which characters should be included and which ones emphasized? Who should speak? What should they say? Should the sources be made known? In what ways should the birth set the pattern and tone of the rest of the narrative, for this is, after all, only the introduction to a longer account of Jesus’ life? Our problem is to see how Matthew and Luke answered their questions—those of any writers—by looking at the narratives and then asking why certain choices, why certain decisions, were made.

Matthew’s gospel tells of the birth of Jesus in the first two chapters. The gospel opens by tracing Jesus’ genealogy through Joseph, back to King David and then back to Abraham (Matthew 1:1–17). By contrast, Luke postpones his genealogy until the end of chapter three, at a time when Jesus is 30 years old.

Matthew tells us, “Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way (Matthew 1:18).”^a But instead of telling us about the birth, Matthew immediately tells us why Joseph does not divorce Mary after she becomes pregant—she has become pregnant by the Holy spirit. We are told how this fulfills a prophecy in Isaiah 7:14, that a virgin shall bring forth a child who shall be called Emmanuel, “God is with us.”

Chapter two of Matthew’s gospel opens by telling 035us that Jesus was born in Bethlehem during the reign of Herod the Great. Wise men from the East arrive in Jerusalem on their way to visit the child. King Herod is troubled, especially when he learns from his chief priests and scribes that the prophet Micah has prophesied that a ruler of Israel will be born in Bethlehem (Matthew 2:3–6). Herod summons the wise men and instructs them to complete their journey in search of the child and then let him know where the child is so that he too may worship him. They continue on to Bethlehem where they find the child, to whom they present gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. The wise men are then warned in a dream, however, not to follow King Herod’s instruction to report to him where they found Jesus, but to return home by a different route.

Joseph also is warned in a dream that Herod plans to destroy the child and is told to flee to Egypt. This flight, Matthew tells us, was prophesied in Hosea (Hosea 11:1).

Herod, in a rage, orders that all male children in Bethlehem two years old or under be killed (Matthew 2:16); thus is fulfilled the terrible prophecy of Jeremiah 31:15, which Matthew quotes in 2:18:

“A voice was heard in Ramah,
wailing and loud lamentation,
Rachel weeping for her children;
she refused to be consoled,
because they were no more.”

When Herod himself dies, Joseph, following instructions given in a dream, returns to Israel (Matthew 2:20). In another dream Joseph is instructed to settle in Nazareth, rather than in Judea where Herod’s son now rules (Matthew 2:22). Matthew concludes by noting that thus were fulfilled the words of Isaiah which Matthew quotes in 2:23: “He [Jesus] shall be called a Nazarene.”

As a literary narrative, Luke’s gospel is far different. It opens with a formal preface to the “most excellent Theophilus.” The author immediately announces his intention to write an “orderly account” of those things of which Theophilus has only been “informed” (Luke 1:4).

The narrative itself begins not with the story of Jesus but with the story of Zechariah, a righteous priest, whose wife Elizabeth is barren. Both of them, we are told, are now of advanced years (Luke 1:7). While Zechariah is serving in the temple, the angel Gabriel appears to him and tells him that his wife Elizabeth, though old and barren, will bear a son, who shall be named John; John will “make ready for the Lord a people prepared.” Zechariah questions Gabriel’s prediction; as a result, he is struck mute. Zechariah returns home and Elizabeth soon conceives.

In the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, the angel Gabriel appears before Mary—the first 036mention of Mary—who is living in Nazareth. Gabriel announces that Mary, though a virgin, will bear a son, who shall be named Jesus and who “will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High” (Luke 1:32). Gabriel explains that nothing is impossible for God, as evidenced by Elizabeth, who was barren until her old age and is now pregnant.

Mary decides to visit Elizabeth, her kinswoman, in Judea. When Mary greets Elizabeth, the unborn John stirs in her womb. Elizabeth cries out aloud, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!” (Luke 1:41–42).

When her time comes, Elizabeth gives birth to a son. Neighbors and relatives gather at the mute Zechariah’s house for the child’s circumcision, urging that the child be named for his father. Elizabeth, however, indicates that the boy will be named John. They are surprised because no one in the family has had that name and inquire what Zechariah would like the child to be called. Unable to speak, he asks for a tablet. To the amazement of the crowd, he writes on the tablet, “His name is John.” By this act, his ability to speak is restored. He praises the Lord and prophesies that his son “will be called the prophet of the Most High.” When John has grown strong in age and spirit, he goes into the wilderness (Luke 1:80). Thus ends the first chapter of Luke’s gospel.

The story then returns to Joseph and Mary, who leave their home in Nazareth and journey to Bethlehem to obey the decree of Caesar Augustus that all the world should be “enrolled.” For the enrollment, Joseph must return to Bethlehem, because he is of the house of David, and David was a Bethlehemite. Although Mary is pregnant, she returns with him.

The time comes for Mary to give birth, but because the inn is filled, she wraps the child in swaddling 037clothes and lays him in a manger. An angel of the Lord appears to shepherds in the fields to tell them the “good news” of the birth of a “Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” The shepherds decide to visit the child. When they find him (they do not give gifts), they tell Mary and Joseph what they have been told by the angel.

Jesus is circumcised after eight days, and his parents name him Jesus, in accordance with the angel Gabriel’s instructions when he first made known to Mary that she would conceive a son by the Holy Spirit.

Later, Mary and Joseph take Jesus to Jerusalem “to present him to the Lord” (Luke 2:22), in accordance with the Levitical law relating to the first-born (Leviti- cus 12:1–8).

What is striking about these two narratives is that even though they describe the same basic event, they are totally different. The differences are not only in details but in essentials, in structure, in emphases, and in point of view toward the birth and toward those concerned with it. In Matthew’s narrative, Joseph and Herod play central roles, but they are only names in Luke. Mary, only a name in Matthew, is central to Luke’s narrative. Zechariah, Elizabeth and John do not even appear in Matthew. Bethlehem is the site of Jesus’ birth in both accounts, but the circumstances differ greatly; wise men visit Jesus in Matthew, shepherds visit him in Luke. The list could be extended by noting the details that are unique to one narrative or the other. The only things they have in common, in fact, are several names and places, and two important details—the mother is a virgin and the child’s name is given as Jesus by an angel of the Lord. Clearly, the same momentous historical event is being reported but in two markedly different narratives. Finally, it is important to note that one account is not an elaboration of the other—nothing in Matthew’s version suggests what is in Luke’s, or vice-versa.

What are we, as readers of literature, to make of these two stories? What does each reveal about the narrator’s viewpoint toward the implications of the birth of a man whom both present as the son of God? Surely such questions are provocative, if only because of our surprise at discovering that the Nativity story with which we are so familiar is actually a composite of two stories in the gospels.

To begin with, in Matthew’s gospel, we notice the importance of dreams and prophecies. In two short chapters, we find five dreams and five prophecies fulfilled. By contrast, in Luke, neither dream nor prophecy occurs. We must attribute the dreams and prophecies in Matthew either to clumsy narration or to some intended purpose. Reading Matthew’s narrative with dreams and prophecies in mind, we learn that nothing in the narrative happens—that is, no action is begun or ended—that does not result from a dream or that is not the fulfillment of a prophecy. (See second sidebar to this article)

The only action in the entire narrative not directly related to dreams and prophecies is the journey of the wise men. But even they, having calculated astrological changes, follow a star, so their decision concerning the time to seek Jesus is predetermined.

What does this apparently purposeful emphasis on dreams and prophecies suggest about the narrator’s view of history and of the role of individuals in history? This is, after all, a narrative describing a major historical event. A narrative that describes actions as the outcomes of dreams or as the fulfillment of prophecies invites us to view history as the result of predetermined patterns and not of individual choice. Such a narrative is not going to be much interested in individual personalities. The pattern, the fulfillment of the plan, is what is important.

Further analysis of the text of Matthew’s narrative confirms this suggestion. The dreams always alter human decisions—Joseph had resolved to divorce Mary quietly until his dream. The wise men had presumably planned to return to Jerusalem to report to Herod until their dream. Joseph presumably had decided to remain in Bethlehem until the angel in his dream told him to take the child to Egypt to avoid Herod’s massacre. Joseph does not leave Egypt until he is told to do so in another dream.

Moreover, the prophecies are always given to us after facts and events are described. We know Mary, the virgin, is pregnant before the narrative recalls the prophecy in Isaiah. We know that Jesus is born in Bethlehem before Herod’s chief priests and scribes tell him that, and then we learn that it is a fulfillment of prophecy. We know of the family’s flight to Egypt, of Herod’s mass murder, of Joseph’s returning to Nazareth, before the prophecies that these events fulfill are recalled. The narrator obviously could have reversed the pattern, but the effect of concluding actions by recalling fulfilled prophecies is to make the prophecies seem like afterthoughts recalled to confirm information the narrative has already given us.

Additional evidence for the narrator’s view of history comes from the long genealogy at the beginning of Matthew’s gospel. Here we are told that there are 14 generations from Abraham (the first in the genealogical line) to David, 14 generations from David to the deportation to Babylon following the destruction of the Temple in 586 B.C., and 14 generations from the deportation to the birth of the Messiah, Jesus (Matthew 1:17). The history of humanity has been planned, as the narrative demonstrates by Abraham’s line and by the triple-fourteen pattern; history is still being directed from elsewhere, as demonstrated through the devices of dreams and 038prophecies.

As the genealogy further suggests, history is dominated by men, a logical conclusion if central historical importance is given to Abraham, David, and Jesus. This may explain why Matthew’s narrative is also heavily male-dominated. The angel instructs Joseph to name the baby Jesus (Matthew 1:21), Herod plays a central role, the wise men take the journey to Bethlehem, an angel appears to Joseph four times in dreams. Mary is barely mentioned. We conclude the narrative remembering men—Joseph, the wise men, Herod, Jesus, Jesus’ ancestry. Such a view of history explains, perhaps, why the account of Herod’s mass murder is emphasized—the killing of all the male children in the region of Bethlehem would be in this narrative an event of major historical importance. This may also explain why so few women are mentioned in the genealogy and why the narrative does not even allude by name to Bathsheba, the woman who caused David’s downfall—she is only “the wife of Uriah.” All the more striking it is then, after several dozen repetitions of the pattern, “X the father of Y,” to read in 1:16: “Joseph the husband of Mary, of whom Jesus was born, who is called Christ.” Alert readers of literature should know who is to be the subject of this narrative.

A conception of history that reflects a divine plan and of men in history who act simply as instruments of that plan is going to create a very special kind of literature, one that describes major occurrences and largely ignores dramatic action, human emotions and responses, and other details. Matthew’s narrative offers us few descriptions of individual responses. Those few that are mentioned are almost narrative fillers between a dream and the next prophecy.

Turning from Matthew to Luke, we recognize how complex are the differences between the two narratives. Instead of a structure dominated by dreams, prophecies, and events written on a large canvas, in Luke we find a structure that is controlled by the carefully worked out parallels between the births of John and Jesus, and the varied responses of those connected with these births. Instead of a male dominated narrative, Luke, if not female-dominated, is at least more balanced in presenting us with the responses and emotions of Elizabeth and Mary, as well as of Zechariah.

Furthermore, instead of having characters suddenly appear or being directed to go elsewhere, as in Matthew, in Luke characters move from place to 039place with narrative logic. Zechariah, as a priest, has a reason for being in the Temple when he is confronted by the angel Gabriel telling him that he and his wife Elizabeth are to have a son.

Mary’s trip to Judea to visit Elizabeth is described in detail. We learn that the neighbors and kinfolk are as excited about the birth of the child as Elizabeth is and that they urge that the newborn child be named after Zechariah (Luke 1:58–59).

Joseph has a specific reason for going to Bethlehem—the census. After the angel tells the shepherds to look for Jesus in the manger, the shepherds discuss their decision to visit the manger (Luke 2:15).

Events in Luke are connected. In other words, history, or the reporting of history, or the creation of literature, involves not only recording events or their causes, but also describing what happens to people in time and space as events unravel. Matthew, by contrast, tells us simply “the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way.” He then proceeds to describe Joseph’s decision not to divorce Mary and the fulfillment of the prophecy concerning the virgin birth; the birth itself is not described at all. The next thing we hear—another event—is that Jesus has been born in Bethlehem.

Matthew reports that the angel directs Joseph to go to Egypt, but he then shifts to an account of Herod’s rage—his interest, in other words, is in the instruction to Joseph and not in the human problems and difficulties involved in carrying it out. Luke, on the other hand, is much more interested in human emotions and responses: Zechariah’s fear and disbelief at Gabriel’s announcement that he and Elizabeth will have a son; the multitude’s puzzlement at Zechariah’s delay in coming out of the temple; Elizabeth’s delight to have the baby in her womb; Mary’s wonderment at Gabriel’s announcement that she too will bear a son; Elizabeth’s ecstatic response to Mary’s visit, and so on. History may be worked out in advance, as the songs in Luke suggest to us that it is—the Magnificat which Mary recites (Luke 1:46–55) and the Benedictus recited by Zechariah (Luke 1:68–79)—but Luke is as interested in the people involved in history as he is in the history that results from what they do. True, the tight parallel structure in Luke indicates his belief, similar to Matthew’s, in the ordering and patterning of human events, but Matthew would not have included the details Luke does about human responses and movement nor the asides, typical of Luke, that fill out the narrative for us. For example, Luke does not have to mention that Zechariah is of the division of the priesthood called after Abijah (Luke 1:5), or that the angel Gabriel was on the right side of the incense altar when he told Zechariah that he and Elizabeth would have a child (Luke 1:11), or that the friends and neighbors of Zechariah gossip about what will become of his son John (Luke 1:66), or that the enrollment for which Joseph goes to Bethlehem is the “first enrollment” (Luke 2:2). Matthew would not have included such details and responses; to him they would not have seemed relevant to the larger patterns of history.

A different sensibility is at work in Luke, creating a different kind of literature. The very preface to Theophilus suggests that the narrator has a strong sense of self; he conceives of his function in time and space—he will be the reliable narrator, writing an “orderly account” of what has recently transpired. He seems aware of his audience—an official, someone in power, skeptical perhaps, but knowledgeable about contemporary events, interested in the human details of a remarkable birth. The personal voice speaking to a specifically identifiable auditor differs remarkably from Matthew’s impersonal, somewhat majestic voice, giving us the long genealogy from Abraham to Jesus.

Dreams and prophecies that determine or alter human decisions and actions do not dominate Luke’s account, but this does not mean that Luke’s characters are not fulfilling prophecies or following divinely inspired instructions. It means rather that the narrative centers on human consciousness as it participates in history, instead of on the prophecies being fulfilled and the instructions being given. Mary’s song to the Lord (the Magnificat: Luke 1:46–55), for example, may be an independent hymn artificially inserted at this particular point in the narrative, but it nevertheless accurately reflects Mary’s wonder at having been selected to be the mother of the son of God. Similarly, while Gabriel’s song praising John (Luke 1:14–17) may have been inserted for instructional purposes, the narrator refers back to the part of the song where we are told that John “will be filled with the Holy Spirit, even from his mother’s womb,” by telling us that the unborn John leaped in his mother’s womb when Mary greeted Elizabeth (Luke 1:41). Luke insists on recording these human responses.

Different sensibilities are at work in Luke and Matthew, with different concepts of history, of the individual in history, of the function of self in the creation of art. For Matthew, the birth is another major event, like the birth of Abraham, the selection of David as King, the deportation to Babylon. History is the total of these significant moments; it is made up of announcements and instructions from angels and the fulfillment of prophecies. The time and space the characters move in is not time and space as we know them. For Luke, however, the birth of Jesus has suggested a different kind of emphasis. Luke wants to know how people respond to events, how they get from place to place, what they’re doing when they are not present in the narrative.

Notice the narrative neatness of Luke. The scene at 040the temple—where Zechariah the priest goes, meets Gabriel, becomes mute, and comes out—has its beginning, middle and end. Mary goes to and from Elizabeth’s house. When Zechariah writes “His name is John,” the neighbors are amazed and discuss the incident in the countryside (Luke 1:63–66). John is in the wilderness when he is not in the narrative. Joseph is required to go to Bethlehem.

There are several obvious reasons for Luke’s parallel structure involving the birth of John and Jesus. What happens to the virgin Mary is more believable because something comparable has happened to the old and barren Elizabeth. A pattern is established for much of the narrative that follows. Gabriel’s announcement to Zechariah that he and Elizabeth will have a child prepares us for Gabriel’s announcement to Mary that she, a virgin, will conceive. The same pattern is seen in the fact that John the son of Elizabeth will prepare the way for Jesus the son of Mary. Zechariah’s skeptical response to Gabriel’s announcement sharply contrasts with Mary’s humble acceptance of the announcement.

But there is also a major difference in the parallel accounts that may explain Luke’s special interest in individual emotions and actions and in specific details. The events surrounding the birth of John are heavily publicized. Many people are involved—the multitude perplexed at Zechariah’s delay in coming out of the temple, the neighbors and kinfolk marveling when Zechariah recovers his speech at John’s circumcision, the countryside gossiping about “What then will this child [John] be?” By contrast, the events surrounding the birth of Jesus are private and isolated; Gabriel appears to Mary when she is alone. Her news is shared only with Elizabeth and presumably with Joseph. The narrative takes Joseph and his family away from their home town, and therefore away from their neighbors and kinfolk, to be enrolled in Bethlehem. And even in that town, there is no room for them at the inn and the child must be born in a manger, out of sight, unnoticed by those who fill the inn. The good news of the birth is told to shepherds in the fields, not to multitudes in the temple, nor to assemblies in the city or court. In fact, we know from Luke 1:65 that the big news in Judea (where Jesus is born), “talked about through all the hill country,” is the birth of John. Only when Jesus goes to Jerusalem does he begin to receive public attention. The differences between the multitudes who know about John and the few who know about Jesus is striking.

While Luke thus emphasizes the privacy and isolation of Jesus’ birth, Matthew emphasizes the fact that Jesus’ birth comes as a fulfillment of Old Testament prophecies. In Matthew this has an enormous public impact on Herod the King, as well as on the entire city of Jerusalem.

This contrast may suggest Luke’s different understanding of this birth and of its significance for the individual in history. Perhaps for Luke, events become major events, become “history,” only after the fact; they are made up of seemingly minor events, involving people we do not know, the results of births we did not hear about. In Luke, people marvel at John’s conception and birth, not realizing that unknown to them, a more important conception and birth is taking place elsewhere. This irony as used by Luke is similar to the literary device of the “still small voice,” a strand that runs through the Old Testament, for example in 1 Kings 19, when Elijah covers his face with his mantle at the sound of the still small voice of the Lord, ironic because he did not cover his face at a more likely time, when the storm and whirlwind raged around the mountain. Another example is found in Isaiah 53, when, surprisingly, the suffering servant, despised and rejected by many, is later exalted as king.

The diffenences in the accounts of the birth of Jesus in Matthew and Luke are not simply alternate versions of an oral tradition. The characters in Luke wonder, exclaim, rejoice, marvel, ponder; they are troubled, perplexed, filled with fear. By contrast, only the wise men rejoice in Matthew, and only Herod expresses emotion of any kind. For Luke, Jesus’ birth has altered the meaning of individual actions and responses, anyone of which might become significant for history and for literature. For Matthew, Jesus’ birth is part of a predetermined plan that prophecies have predicted and that instructions given in dreams will help to fulfill. There is not one Jesus birth story in the gospels but two, told in profoundly different narrative styles, offering us two different interpretations of history and the individual’s role in its creation, two different ways of representing the same reality.

By asking appropriate literary questions of the birth stories in the gospels of Matthew and Luke, we realize how important the selection of narrative strategy is in a reader’s understanding and appreciation of the text. Biblical scholars have long explained the differences between the two accounts by focusing on the historical and cultural circumstances at the time the narratives were composed as well as the audience to which the narratives were directed. These explanations, of course, follow important and legitimate avenues of scholarly research. A literary approach to the beginnings of these gospels, however, not only asks different questions than those posed by biblical scholarship, but illuminates the strategies of the narratives in ways that enhance and broaden our appreciation of the artistry of the compilers of the New Testament.

Biblical scholarship has long recognized the significant differences between the details of the birth of Jesus in the gospels of Matthew and Luke—the only two gospels to contain an account of his birth, Rarely, however, have biblical scholars gone beyond the basic observation that the accounts of the birth differ, as indeed do the gospels as a whole. The recent focus in biblical studies on literary criticism of biblical narratives has opened up many new ways of considering the rich literature of the New as well as the Old Testament. The insights gained by applying literary criticism to the […]