Jesus as Goat of the Day of Atonement in Recent Synoptic Gospels Research

John Dominic Crossan

The scapegoat typology of Jesus as both goats of Yom Kippur is an ancient interpretation of Christ’s passion (see Barn. 7.3-11; Justin, Dial. 40.4-5; 111.1; Tert., Marc. 3.7.7-8; Adv. Jud. 14.9-10; Hipp., Frag. 75; Origen, Hom. Lev. 9.5.2). Although the nuance of each Christian author’s typology differs, the maltreatment and mockery of Jesus (Mk. 15.16-20 parr.) is usually interpreted as corresponding to the abuses of the scapegoat, and Jesus’ death and second coming are construed as corresponding to the sacrifice of the immolated goat.

In recent years, Crossan has resuscitated aspects of this interpretation, positing that the early passion tradition was the progenitor of the typological trajectory of Jesus as the two goats of Yom Kippur. In The Cross that Spoke (1988), Crossan suggests that the Yom Kippur typology of Jesus as scapegoat was transmitted into all of the canonical PNs by means of the ‘Cross Gospel’ and its underlying traditions. His theory should be examined in view of his hypothesis regarding the development of the PN.

Crossan argues (1985: 125-81; 1988: 156-57; 1991: 375-76) that the passion tradition evolved through three primary stages: (P1) the historical passion, (P2) the prophetic passion, and (P3) the narrative passion. During P1, Jesus was crucified, but his earliest followers knew none of the details of his execution. During P2, Jesus’ disciples interpreted the meaning of his death in light of the Old Testament, but they did so without reference to the particular details of the passion events. During P3, Jesus’ followers organized this complex array of scriptural proof-texts into a coherent and sequential narrative, refining and augmenting the story with verisimilar historical detail.

According to Crossan, certain texts became crucial in the interpretation of Jesus’ death during P2. He seems to divide this stage into two parts: what I shall call ‘P2A’ and ‘P2B’. In P2A, Christians principally utilized the Old Testament prophets to interpret Jesus’ death. This stage is detected in the tradition of Barn. 7.8-9, which interprets Christ’s passion in light of (1) Isa. 50.6, which predicts that the Servant will be ‘spat’ upon; (2) Zech. 12.10, which prophesies that the inhabitants of Jerusalem will ‘pierce’ and ‘look upon’ a certain (messianic) figure; and (3) Zech. 3.1-5, which describes the ‘robing’ and ‘crowning’ of Joshua the high priest (1988: 120-39).

During P2B, Christian tradents interpreted this complex of Old Testament prophetic texts through the lens of a Day of Atonement typology, as perceived in the final form of Barn. 7.3-11:

Pay attention to what he commands: ‘Take two fine goats who are alike and offer them as a sacrifice; and let the priest take one of them as a whole burnt offering for sins.’ But what will they do with the other? ‘The other,’ he says, ‘is cursed.’ Pay attention to how the type of Jesus is revealed. ‘And all of you shall spit on it and pierce it and wrap a piece of scarlet wool around its head, and so let it be cast into the wilderness.’ (Barn. 7.6-8; trans. Ehrman 2003: 37, 39)

According to Crossan (1988: 120-39), the spitting of Isa. 50.6, the piercing of Zech. 12.10, and the robing and crowning of Zech. 3.1-5 are here reinterpreted in light of a christological goat typology. The convergence of Isa. 50.6 and Zech. 12.10 with the tradition of the scapegoat being spat upon and pierced rendered a typology of Jesus as the abused scapegoat (Barn. 7.8). The convergence of Zech. 3.3-5 with the tradition about the scarlet-ribbon tied around the scapegoat’s head rendered a typology of Jesus as the crowned and cursed scapegoat (Barn. 7.8-9a), gloriously robed at the parousia (Barn. 7.9b-10).

The passion tradition evolved further when the ‘Cross Gospel’, the purported source of the Gospel of Peter, introduced the motif of the mocked king into this commixture of prophetic texts and the christological goat typology (Crossan 1988: 139-44; I shall refer to this stage as ‘P3A’). Thus, in Gos. Pet. 3.6-9 (part of the ‘Cross Gospel’), the elements of a mock judgment (3.7) and royal-acclaim (3.9b) are included. Jesus’ scarlet robe, in its likeness to the scapegoat’s scarlet headband (Barn. 7.8-9), becomes a royal-purple robe (Gos. Pet. 3.7), and the scapegoat’s crown on thorns (Barn. 7.8b-11a) becomes Jesus’ crown of thorns (Gos. Pet. 3.8).

During the final stage of the development of the PN (what I shall call ‘P3B’) the goat typology is no longer explicit, although remnants of it remain in the accounts of Jesus’ abuse during the Jewish Trial (Mk 14.65; Mt. 26.67-68; Lk. 22.63-65), his mockery and maltreatment by the Roman soldiers (Mk 15.16b-20a; Mt. 27.26b-31), and the structure of the Synoptic PNs in general (Crossan 1988: 145-56). The motifs of striking, scourging, and spitting, which originally derived from Isa. 50.6 and then were interpreted through the scapegoat typology, are present in Mk 14.65; 15.15, 19; Mt. 26.67-68; 27.26, 30. The motifs of crowning and robing, initially taken from Zech. 3.3-5 and recast in light of the scapegoat typology, are present in Mk 15.17; Mt. 27.28-29; Lk. 23.11. The element of the reed (cf. Gos. Pet. 3.9; Sib. Or. 8.296), which Crossan conjectures was used to goad the scapegoat into the desert, was retained in Mk 15.19 and Mt. 27.30 (1988: 157-59).

Helmut Koester

In his Ancient Christian Gospels (1990: 220-30), Koester supports and elaborates upon Crossan’s thesis. He affirms that the canonical Gospels presuppose the prior historical development of (A) passion prophecy, (B) integration of the Yom Kippur typology, and (C) incorporation of the ‘royal mocking’ motif (pp. 224-25). The Jewish tradition of spitting upon the scapegoat (Barn. 7.8) established a bridge to Isa. 50.6 in the pre-canonical stage of the PN, and the supposed Jewish tradition of piercing (κατακεντέω) the scapegoat (Barn. 7.8) created a link to Zech. 12.10 (pp. 224-25). Here, one sees the transition from Crossan’s P2A to P2B.

Once the scapegoat typology was firmly established, Koester suggests that the passion tradition evolved to integrate the theme of royal mockery by means of the following motifs: (A) tying a piece of scarlet wool around the scapegoat’s head (Barn. 7.8); (B) placing the scarlet band among thorns (Barn. 7.11); and (C) (possibly) piercing the scapegoat (1990: 224-25; Barn. 7.8). Christian tradents blended these motifs with the theme of royal mocking, and they became: (A`) the purple/scarlet robe placed upon Jesus (Mk 15.17; Mt. 27.28); (B`) the crown woven from thorns (Mk 15.17; Mt. 27.29); and (C`) the reed placed in Jesus’ right hand as a mock scepter (Mt. 27.29; cf. Mk 15.19). The Synoptic Gospels finally incorporated this combined tradition into their PNs (p. 225).

Lastly, Koester suggests (1990: 225) that Matthew utilized an older christological goat typology independently from Mark. Thus, Mt. 27.28 changes the purple (πορφύρα) garment of Mk 15.17 to a scarlet (κόκκινος) garment to correspond to the scapegoat’s scarlet attire, conforming to the tradition preserved in Barn. 7.8. Similarly, Mt. 27.34 and 27.48 preserve the elements of vinegar (ὄξος) and gall (χολή) that were used in the older typology of Jesus as immolated goat retained in Barn. 7.4-5. This passage in Barnabas draws a correspondence between (A) a Jewish custom in which the priests are to eat the intestines of the immolated goat unwashed with vinegar, and (A`) the sacrificial death of Jesus, who was offered gall mixed with vinegar at his crucifixion, and the consumption of his body in the Eucharist. While Mk 15.36 and Lk. 23.36 only transmit the tradition concerning vinegar (ὄξος), Mt. 27.34 includes the tradition involving gall (χολή; cf. Mk 15.23) to conform to an earlier tradition that interpreted Ps. 69.21 (Ps. 68.22 lxx) in light of the immolated goat typology (Koester 1990: 227-30; see Barn. 7.5; Gos. Pet. 5.16).

Evaluation

Scholars have on the whole rejected Crossan’s thesis that the Gospel of Peter contains an earlier textual stratum reflecting a primitive passion tradition upon which the canonical Gospels were dependent (for a summary of criticisms, see Brown 1987: 321-43; 1994: 2.1317-1349). While this negative evaluation weakens Crossan’s particular argument that the christological goat typology played a crucial role in the early development of the PN, they do not discredit per se the claim that the Synoptic Gospels utilized such a typological schema or drew upon earlier Yom Kippur traditions.

Certain criticisms of Crossan’s thesis should be revisited in light of more recent scholarly research. For instance, Green critiques Crossan on the basis that the earliest known goat typology dates to the last half of the second century ce and that an evolution toward a greater developed passion prophecy is more probable than the trajectory Crossan proposes (Green 1990: 358). Green’s criticisms were well founded nearly thirty years ago, and I would agree that Crossan’s complex tradition history does not seem to hold the most explanatory power for the material. Yet more recent scholarship reveals the need to temper Green’s critique of Crossan’s use of later sources.

First, there is some (albeit sparse) evidence for an early scapegoat typology in the writings of Paul, especially in Gal. 3.13, 4.4-5 (see Schwartz 1983: 260-63; McLean 1996: 105-207; Stökl 2003: 173-76; Finlan 2004: 73-192; 2005: 39-62). Second, the Epistle of Barnabas is dated between 70–135 ce, and scholars agree that Barnabas made use of an earlier christological goat typology (see Prigent 1961: 99-110; Stökl 2003: 148-50, 159-61), which situates the traditions of Barnabas near the time of the composition of the Gospels. And third, since the primary basis for Barnabas’s typology is not Leviticus 16 but earlier Jewish traditions which he quotes at some length, the possibility that the Gospel writers were acquainted with these traditions should not be excluded, as some of them most likely date to the Second Temple era (Alon 1941: 29-32; Grabbe 1987: 161-65; Stökl Ben Ezra 2003: 19, 150-60). So while it is true that Crossan sometimes makes questionable use of later material in reconstructing an earlier stratum of tradition, this should not prevent scholars from responsibly utilizing these sources.

Some of Crossan’s critics find his analysis of Old Testament typologies in the PNs compelling (Fuller 1991: 72; Nickelsburg 1991: 160), and some affirm his suggestion that Mk 15.16-20 blends the mocked-king motif with the typology of the abused scapegoat (Koester 1990: 224; Maclean 2007: 332-33; DeMaris 2008: 96-97). Additionally, Stökl Ben Ezra endorses Koester’s proposal that Matthew changes Jesus’ purple garment (Mk 15.17) to a scarlet robe (χλαμύς κόκκινος; Mt. 27.28) to allude to the scarlet headband of the scapegoat (2003: 170-71; 2012: 183).

Generally speaking, the poor reception of Crossan’s PN thesis seems to have dissuaded scholars from exploring in more detail the purported christological goat typologies in the NT Gospels. Yet Crossan and Koester raise several questions that await further analysis. First, were the evangelists and/or their sources aware of extra-biblical Yom Kippur traditions, and did these traditions have an impact on the Synoptic PNs? Scholars have focused on the Gospel writers’ use of Old Testament texts but have studied less their use of Second Temple (ritual) traditions. Second, did the evangelists employ the goat typology as an organizing principle or interpretive lens for their appropriation of other scriptural allusions (e.g., the Suffering Servant)? And third, did the Gospel writers perceive a connection between the Jewish scapegoat ritual and parallel Greco-Roman rites, blending these motifs together or privileging one over the other?

Adela Yarbro Collins

In her article, ‘Finding Meaning in the Death of Jesus’ (1998), Collins argues that the author of Mark drew upon motifs from ancient Mediterranean ‘scapegoat’ rituals to interpret Jesus’ humiliating death. According to Collins, a striking parallel to the abuse scene of Mk 15.16-20 is the Greek pharmakos, an ancient ritual wherein two individuals at the margins of society functioned as a means to purify their community through the ritual action of being treated like kings, led in procession while being physically abused, and then exiled from their city (see Bremmer 1983, repr. 2000; Hughes 2010).

Following Bremmer (2000: 275-85), Collins studies the details of both the historical pharmakos ritual and its Greek mythic-literary configuration, finding traces of these currents in Mk 15.16-20 (1998: 186-87). As the pharmakos was often an individual of low societal status, so the evangelist portrays Jesus as a criminal worthy of execution (15.15). Jesus is then dressed like a king by the Roman guards (15.17-19); similarly, the pharmakos was treated as a high member of society before his expulsion, and the Greek myths often describe the voluntary death of a king as averting disaster. As the pharmakos was sometimes punished with wild plants (e.g., with quills and fig branches; see Hipponax in Tzetzes, Child., frag. 6), so Jesus was adorned with a thorny crown and beaten with a reed (15.17, 19). According to the Greek ritual logic, the death of a valued member of society can propitiate a deity (Bremmer 2000: 278). Thus, ‘the scene in which the soldiers mock Jesus seems to be a literary reconfiguration of the ritual in which the pharmakos takes on himself all the impurity, disease, and sin of the community’ (Collins 1998: 196).

Collins also suggests (1998: 176-78) that Jesus’ death ‘for many’ (ὑπὲρ πολλῶν; Mk 14.24) derives, in part, from the concept of the scapegoat bearing the sin of the people, although this notion is transmitted to Mark by means of Isa. 53.12. According to Collins, Isa. 53.12 lies behind Jesus’ saying over the cup (Mk 14.24) and contains an allusion to the sin-bearing scapegoat of Leviticus 16. She understands (pp. 177-78) the clause, ‘he poured out his soul to death’ (Isa. 53.12a) as evoking the sacrificial imagery of Leviticus, and the clause, ‘he bore [nasa] the sin of many’ (53.12b), as alluding to the scapegoat of Lev. 16.22: ‘the go-away goat shall bear [nasa] on itself all their iniquities’. Thus, the Isaianic poem provides ‘two related but distinct images for the suffering of the servant: he is the sacrificial offering for sin, and he is the scapegoat. The tradition preserved in Mk 14:24 combines the two images’ (pp. 177-78).

Richard DeMaris

DeMaris (2008: 91-111) argues that the Gospel of Mark narrates Jesus’ passion as a ‘curative exit rite’, patterned after two types of ancient rituals: the Greek pharmakos and the Roman devotio.

According to DeMaris (2008: 97-107), the ancient world understood pharmakos and devotio both as ‘curative exit rites’. These rites display the pattern of: (A) a group crisis; (B) a ritual response; and (C) a positive result. The pharmakos ritual manifests this pattern in: (A) an internal threat to the community; (B) the localizing and driving out of a pollution through a designee who undergoes status transformation; and (C) resultant purification or expulsion of said threat. The devotio ritual manifests this pattern in: (A) an external threat to the community; (B) the marshalling of supernatural power and the devotion of a designee to destruction; and (C) resultant safety or appeasement of said external threat (p. 98).

DeMaris suggests (2008: 99-100) that the Levitical scapegoat ritual possesses a pharmakos component: the community was threatened by the yearly accumulation of sins; the high priest ritually transferred these sins unto the designee (the scapegoat), which was banished into the wilderness, thereby removing the community’s internal threat. The scapegoat ritual also possesses a devotio component in one strand of the tradition, where the scapegoat placates an external threat: the desert demon ‘Azazel’, later associated with the fallen angel ‘Asael’ (p. 100; see also Lev. 16.8, 10; 1 En. 8-10; Apoc. Ab. 13-14; on Azazel as a demon and apocalyptic scapegoat traditions, see Janowski and Wilhelm 1993: 113-23; Milgrom 1991: 1.1020; Levine 1989: 102; Grabbe 1987: 153-58, 160-61; Helm 1994: 217-26; Stökl Ben Ezra 2003: 79-95; Orlov 2015b: 9-128, 2016: 81-130).

According to DeMaris (2008: 94-95, 107-110), Mark portrays Jesus as becoming both a pharmakos and a devotio in the Gospel narrative, as the concept of ‘curative exit rite’ would have provided a fitting solution to the problem of how Jesus’ dishonorable death could be construed as ‘good news’. Jesus becomes a pharmakos by undergoing a drastic status transformation and expulsion, thereby restoring order and wholeness to the demon-possessed land ruled by the corrupt temple establishment. Beginning with his triumphal entry and acclamation as Davidic King of Israel (Mk 11.1-10), Jesus is hailed as an authoritative prophet in the capital city of his people (11.15-19; 13.1-37), garnering such esteem from the crowds that his antagonists cannot speak a word against him (11.18; 12.12). On one occasion, even his opponents come to accept his teaching (12.32-34). After his apotheosis, however, Jesus suffers great status degradation during his passion by means of the humiliating expulsion rites that the Jewish (14.53-65) and Roman (15.1-15, 16-20) authorities perform upon him. Jesus therefore becomes a pharmakos (pp. 107-108).

DeMaris’s principal contribution is his argument that Jesus’ death also functions as an act of devotio in the Gospel of Mark (2008: 109-110). As early Christians encountered increasing conflict with Jews who rejected their claims, they began to view Jewish resistance to the Gospel message as an external threat facing the fledgling Christian community. Members of the Jesus movement, such as the author of Mark, interpreted the life of Jesus as a ritual response to this perceived threat: Jesus, through his suffering, diverts danger from his followers and channels it toward the Jewish temple establishment. Mark’s Gospel utilizes anti-temple rhetoric and themes throughout the narrative (e.g., chs. 7, 11, 13, and 15.38) to portray Jesus’ voluntary death as a devotio that protected the Christian community against the perceived threat of the opposing Jewish majority.

Evaluation

Collins’s interpretation of Jesus’ maltreatment as an ancient pharmakos advances Crossan and Koester’s suggestion that Mk 15.16-20 draws upon the ‘mocked-king’ motif. Whereas Crossan (1988: 139-40) and Koester (1990: 225) provide only one proof text for their claim (the Karabas episode in Philo, Flacc. 36-40), Collins appeals to a wider cultural trope. Unlike in the Karabas episode, the pharmakos was ritually maltreated in addition to being mocked as a king (see Mk 15.19). Thus, the pharmakos seems to be a more comprehensive background for the abuse scene of Mk 15.16-20 parr.

What is perplexing about Collins’s analysis is that, while she conceives the scapegoat ritual of Leviticus 16 as a substitution rite analogous to the Greek pharmakos (1998: 182), she does not comment on the Levitical ritual as potential background to Mk 15.16-20. This would not be puzzling if Collins had not argued that Mk 14.24 retains cultic imagery pertaining to the scapegoat (i.e., bearing the sins of many). It is interesting that in her 1998 article ‘Finding Meaning in the Death of Jesus’, Collins makes no reference to Koester’s work on the PN. In a more recent article, Collins affirms the cultic background to the saying over the cup in Mark, although she does not pursue further analysis of Yom Kippur typologies in the Jesus tradition: ‘The death of Jesus is interpreted, on the one hand, as a sacrifice that renews the covenant established on Mount Sinai. On the other, it is a sin offering, a metaphorical sacrifice that expiates the sin of man’ (2009: 550). Granted these cultic metaphors, the question arises whether the evangelist chose to incorporate these themes in his narration of Jesus’ passion. It would be a remarkable (yet possible) situation if the cultic metaphors of Mk 14.24—one of the rare passages in Mark that attributes explicit meaning to Jesus’ death—were later forgotten or abandoned in the narrative in favor of Hellenistic motifs.

The strength and weakness of DeMaris’s approach is his grouping of the pharmakos, devotio, and scapegoat rituals into the larger category of ‘curative exit rite’. Classifying these phenomena together allows DeMaris keenly to identify their common ritual structure and logic. This grants him the possibility of discerning parallels in the Gospel with a variety of ancient curative rituals. He adduces a wide range of support from the ancient world to anchor his reading of Mark. In general, scholars have not sharply criticized his interpretation of Mark’s PN as curative exit rite (e.g., see Gruenwald 2009: 400; Kloppenborg 2010: 307; Bokedal 2011: 515).

Yet DeMaris’s sweeping approach does not lend itself to identifying more precise parallels between the Markan PN and ancient exit rites. Is one able to discern which particular rites are echoed in Mark 14–15 and which ones are not? As DeMaris deftly recognizes (2008: 100-103), each ritual possesses different associations: a militarist connotation in forms of devotio and a demonic connotation in the apocalyptic scapegoat tradition, for example. These factors would seem to be important for interpreting the Gospel narrative as devotio, as DeMaris does. His theory regarding the threat averted by Jesus’ act of devotio is penetrating, but it does not address the question of the narrative function of Jesus’ death as devotio in Mark. In the Second Gospel’s literary landscape, the greatest external threat to the kingdom of God seems to be Satan, the ruler of demons (Mk 3.22-30), with whom Jesus is constantly in conflict (for a recent treatment of this theme, see Shively 2012). Does Jesus’ death as devotio relate to his victory over the spiritual powers of darkness?

DeMaris cursorily mentions Crossan’s work on the PN and does not engage Collins’s (1998) article or Stökl Ben Ezra’s (2003) book. Yet these studies would enhance and bolster his argument. DeMaris’s aversion to finding hidden theological meaning in or behind rituals (e.g., Jesus’ death as ‘sacrifice’) seems to deter him from seriously considering whether Yom Kippur traditions had a more pointed impact on Mark’s PN (2008: 8, 95-96).

Finally, neither Collins nor DeMaris incorporate substantial discussion of Mark’s christological exegesis of Scripture in their analyses of Jesus’ death in the Gospel. Though the theme of scriptural fulfillment is more prominent in Matthew, recent studies demonstrate its important place in Mark (see Marcus 1992: 1-11; Watts 1997: 47-52; Hays 2016: 15-104). How do these exit rite motifs intersect with Mark’s christological use of Scripture? Is the language of Isaiah’s Suffering Servant or the Psalms’ Righteous Sufferer, for example, mapped onto a ritual conception of Jesus’ death in Mark? Or are these concepts entirely distinct?

Albert Wratislaw

In his 1863 Notes and Dissertations (repr. 1891), Wratislaw revives an ancient interpretation of the Barabbas episode (Mt. 27.15-26 parr.; see also Origen, Hom. Lev. 10.2.2; Jerome, Hom. 93), suggesting that Barabbas and Jesus evoke the two goats of Yom Kippur. Wratislaw relays six points of correspondence between Leviticus 16 and the Barabbas account (1863: 18-19):

In truth, Wratislaw presents only five correspondences, since points (2) and (3) should be classified together. The correspondences can be summarized as follows:

Though he appears to be unaware of the extra-biblical tradition requiring the two goats to be similar in appearance (m. Yoma. 6.1; Barn. 7.6, 10; Justin, Dial. 40), Wratislaw perceives a correspondence between the duality of the two goats in Lev. 16.7-10 and the duality of the two figures in the Barabbas scene (1863: 18). He notes that a textual variant in Mt. 27.16-17 attributes the name ‘Jesus’ to Barabbas, drawing the two figures together (most scholars now accept this reading as original; see Metzger 1994: 56). Pilate’s question to the crowd becomes: ‘Whom do you want me to release to you, Jesus Barabbas or Jesus who is called Messiah?’ (Mt. 27.17). Further, the name Βαραββᾶς, which Wratislaw (p. 18) takes to mean ‘son of the father’, parallels Jesus’ claim that God was his Father (see, e.g., Mt. 10.32-33; 11.25-27, 12.50; 15.13; 16.17, 27; 18.10, 19, 35; 20.23; 26.29, 39, 42, 53).

Just as the two goats are juxtaposed by being designated ‘for’ opposing divine powers (‘one lot for the Lord and one lot for Azazel’; Lev. 16.8), so both Jesus and Barabbas represent opposing messianic ideals. Wratislaw draws a comparison between Aaron’s confession of Israel’s sin (Lev. 16.21), which was placed upon the head of the scapegoat (Lev. 16.21-22), and the crowd’s response to Pilate in Mt. 27.25: ‘His blood on us and on our children’ (1863: 19). Whereas in Lev. 16.21-22 the priest makes the confession and the scapegoat bears the people’s sin, in Matthew the crowd ironically both confesses and bears its own sin (p. 19). Wratislaw’s interpretation is drawn primarily from the redactional details of Matthew’s Gospel.

Daniel Stökl Ben Ezra

In his work, The Impact of Yom Kippur on Early Christianity (2003: 165-71; see also 2012: 179-84), Stökl Ben Ezra supports and modifies Wratislaw’s thesis, arguing that Matthew’s Barabbas account (27.15-26) evinces the goat typology, especially when viewed in light of the evangelist’s redactions. He posits that five prescriptions of Yom Kippur influenced Matthew’s typology: ‘(a) The lottery of the two goats; (b) The similarity of these goats; (c) Their contrasting destinations; (d) The confession over the scapegoat; (e) The washing of the hands at the end of the ritual’ (2003: 169). I will describe these points in the order of (b), (a), (c), (d), and (e).

(b): Stökl Ben Ezra argues (2003: 167-68; 2012: 181) that the redactions of Matthew betray an agenda to make Jesus and Barabbas appear similar, just as the two goats of Yom Kippur were required to be indistinguishable in Jewish tradition (m. Yoma. 6.1; Barn. 7.6, 10; Justin, Dial. 40). Matthew introduces Barabbas’s first name ᾽Ιησοῦς into the story (27.16-17) to create a similarity between him and Jesus: Ἰησοῦν τὸν Βαραββᾶν and Ἰησοῦν τὸν λεγόμενον χριστόν (27.17). Matthew’s addition of the adjective ἐπίσημος (‘notable’, ‘famous’; 27.16) in describing Barabbas, and his omission of Mark’s potentially incriminating statement regarding Barabbas (Mk 15.7; cf. Mt. 27.17) mitigates Barabbas’s identity as a wrongdoer, thus advancing the similarity between him and Jesus.

(a): According to Stökl Ben Ezra (2003: 168-69; 2012: 182), three Matthean redactions portray Pilate’s presentation of the two prisoners to the crowd as a ‘lottery’ between the two ‘goats’ (see Lev. 16.7-8). First, Pilate presents the two prisoners in a side-by-side manner: ‘Whom do you want me to release to you: Jesus Barabbas or Jesus who is called Christ?’ (Mt. 27.17; cf. Mk 15.9). Second, whereas in Mk 15.11 the chief priests motivate the crowd to choose Barabbas without mention of Jesus, Matthew introduces the duality again: ‘But the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowds so that they might ask for Barabbas but destroy Jesus’ (Mt. 27.20). Third, unlike Mark, Matthew has Pilate repeat his presentation of the two prisoners to the crowd: ‘And the governor answered and said to them, “Which of the two do you want me to release to you?”’ (Mt. 27.21).

(c): While Matthew makes Barabbas and Jesus similar in appearance, argues Stökl Ben Ezra, they also remain juxtaposed, like the two goats of Yom Kippur. Two men are brought before the people—one is killed and the other is released—and ‘of the goats/men, one will be considered as having an atoning function’ (2003: 179). Unlike in Mark, Matthew indicates that Jesus’ blood will be poured out ‘for the forgiveness of sins’ (Mt. 26.28; cf. Mk 14.24). Stökl Ben Ezra does not suggest a substantive sacerdotal function for Barabbas.

(d) and (e): Scholars tend to interpret the additional scene of Pilate’s hand-washing and statement of innocence (Mt. 27.24) in light of Deut. 21.1-9, which describes the ritual procedure for when a dead body is found and the murderer is unknown (e.g., Frankemölle 1997: 481; Luz 2005: 500). The elders of the city nearest the body are to slaughter a heifer and wash their hands over it, confessing their innocence. Stökl Ben Ezra (2012: 183) finds this reading problematic, since the situation in Matthew is different from that in Deuteronomy: in Mt. 27.24 no one has been slain, and the would-be murderer is known. He suggests that the symbolic actions of Mt. 27.24-25 additionally evoke Lev. 16.21-24, where the high priest confesses Israel’s sins, transfers them onto the scapegoat, and then bathes his body. Stökl Ben Ezra notes that Yom Kippur is the only Old Testament temple ritual that includes a washing after the procedures (2003: 169).

Finally, Stökl Ben Ezra postulates Matthew’s purpose in utilizing the Yom Kippur typology: ‘The labels Jesus of Nazareth and Jesus Barabbas symbolize two aspects of the historical Jesus. Jesus of Nazareth is the Messiah, as God wants him to be, while Jesus Barabbas is the Messiah as the people want him to be… Matthew mocks the temple ritual, and the people disregard the atonement in Jesus’ (2003: 170). He understands the immolated goat typology as embellishing the expiatory nature of Jesus’ death as understood in Mt. 26.28: ‘Passover does not really have connotations of atonement. By applying scapegoat imagery to Jesus who is killed on Passover Matthew merges the historical and chronological background of Passover with the ritual of Yom Kippur and its theological ramifications’ (2012: 182).

Jennifer K. Berenson Maclean

In her article published in Harvard Theological Review (2007), Maclean argues that both Matthew and Mark depict the events of the Barabbas episode as a curative exit rite, wherein Barabbas functions as the scapegoat, and Jesus the immolated goat. Notably, Maclean conceived this article without prior knowledge of Stökl Ben Ezra’s work on the subject (Stökl Ben Ezra 2012: 179).

Contrary to Douglas (2003: 123), Maclean categorizes (2007: 315) the Day of Atonement goat ritual as an ancient exit rite, thus affirming the position of DeMaris (2008: 99-100). Maclean contests that even if the scapegoat was not originally understood as a pharmakos, ‘by the time the gospels were composed, the Jewish scapegoat ritual had been deeply influenced by the pattern of curative exit rites, in particular the φαρμακός’, and thus ‘study of Christian appropriation of the scapegoat should likewise be informed by that broader context’ (p. 316).

According to Maclean (2007: 321-24), Mk 15.6-15 conforms to the three-fold schema of exit rites relayed by DeMaris (2008: 98): First, a recent ‘insurrection’ (ἡ στάσις; Mk 15.7) constitutes the crisis; second, the scapegoat designee is a character of marginal status, namely, Barabbas who had ‘been bound with the rebels who committed murder during the insurrection’ (15.7); and third—this is one of Maclean’s major innovations—Pilate’s release of Barabbas to the crowd (ἀπολύειν + αὐτοῖς/ὑμῖν; Mk 15.9, 15) ominously implies that he was released as a pharmakos to be ritually abused by the community (p. 322).

Maclean therefore reads (2007: 324) Mark’s Barabbas account in the following way: the crowd asks Pilate to release to them a scapegoat/pharmakos (Mk 15.6, 8), and Pilate responds by presenting to them Jesus (15.9). The crowd rejects this offer and is persuaded by the priests to ask for Barabbas instead (15.11), a fitting candidate for a scapegoat (15.7). Pilate then asks the crowd what he should do with Jesus, to which they reply, ‘Crucify him!’ (15.13-14), thus allowing Jesus to be designated as the immolated goat and Barabbas as the scapegoat (15.15).

For Maclean (2007: 321-24), the following factors support this interpretation. First, this reading explains why the Barabbas story was purportedly fabricated in the first place, as no evidence for a paschal pardon exists. Second, it better coheres with what is known about the character of Pilate, as it is historically improbable that he would have returned a criminal to society. Third, it explains why the priests and the crowd desired Barabbas in the first place. Fourth, it accounts for the unanimity of the crowd (15.13), as the abuse of the pharmakos/scapegoat was communal in nature. Fifth, it explains why the narrative is structured to guarantee the release of one prisoner and the death of the other. Sixth, it accounts for the odd phrase τῷ ὄχλῳ τὸ ἱκανὸν ποιῆσαι (15.15), which is best interpreted as ‘to indulge one’s passion’, indicating the crowd’s hunger for a scapegoat.

According to Maclean (2007: 324-30), Mt. 27.15-26 accentuates the goat typology in Mk 15.6-15. She affirms many of the suggestions made by Stökl Ben Ezra (2003: 165-71). For example, Matthew’s addition of Barabbas’ name ‘Jesus’ (27.16-17) evokes the requirement that the two goats be indistinguishable, as does his description of Barabbas as a ‘notable prisoner’ (δέσμιος ἐπίσημος; 27.16), a term that could well apply to Jesus (cf. Lk. 23.19, 25; Acts 3.4; and Jn 18.40). Moreover, Matthew’s additional statement that the crowd was on the verge of rioting (27.24a) meets a key criterion of devotio: the aversion of an external threat by means of a ritual designee.

Yet Maclean’s major contribution is the suggestion that Pilate’s disavowal of bloodguilt (Mt. 27.24) is with reference to Barabbas, not Jesus (2007: 326-29). In turn, the blood for which the crowd claims responsibility (Mt. 27.25) is not that of Jesus, but Barabbas. This reading takes Pilate’s symbolic gesture at face value, since the governor is still responsible for Jesus’ execution. She claims that Pilate’s phrase, ‘take care of the matter yourself’ (ὑμεῖς ὄψεσθε; Mt. 27.24), is more intelligible if the crowd is understood as receiving Barabbas as scapegoat; otherwise, Pilate tasks the crowd with crucifying Jesus—something they clearly could not accomplish. Maclean concludes: ‘the Day of Atonement rituals were central to the earliest reflections on the significance of Jesus’ death and the development of the Passion Narrative’ (p. 330).

Evaluation

Wratislaw, Stökl Ben Ezra, and Maclean all concur that Matthew’s Barabbas account evokes themes from Leviticus 16 and the Yom Kippur goat ritual. Stökl Ben Ezra (2012: 179) remarks that ‘only few reviewers of my book have expressed reservations against my understanding of this passage’, and he seems to be right. Although the goat typology in Matthew’s Barabbas narrative has been well received, it still remains widely unknown.

The ingenuity of Stökl Ben Ezra and Maclean’s analyses must be commended. Particularly striking are the five points of correspondence between the goat ritual and Mt. 27.15-26 which Stökl Ben Ezra posits (2003: 169). The key disparity between him and Maclean is whether Mark’s Barabbas account evinces the goat typology. Maclean’s broader ritual studies perspective helps her discern ritual phenomena in the biblical account. But in Stökl Ben Ezra’s opinion, in Mark ‘there are no truly striking allusions in the vocabulary or in the details of the narrative beyond the general observation that the narrative is “constructed to ensure that one prisoner is released and the other slain”’ (2012: 179; Maclean 2007: 323). Yet he offers little analysis of her arguments. Stökl Ben Ezra also does not explain the narrative function of Mark’s Barabbas story. This lacuna is problematic, since he takes the Barabbas episode to be fictitious (2012: 180-81). But if it is fictitious, then what is Mark’s reason for including it in the first place? The lingering question is whether Matthew’s Yom Kippur typology deviates from the original intent of Mark’s account, or whether it augments a theme already there.

Another question that awaits an answer is, from a theological perspective, how can Barabbas be a scapegoat? Does not the scapegoat’s expulsion (Lev. 16.21-22) possess a positive ritual result, like the maltreatment of the pharmakos? Maclean’s thesis, that the blood of Barabbas is in view in Mt. 27.24-25, is questionable. The purported ritual abuse of Barabbas (Maclean 2007: 328) is not reported by Mark or Matthew. If Pilate’s offer to the crowd to choose between Jesus and Barabbas (Mt. 27.17, 21) is taken at face value (contra Maclean [pp. 328-29]), then Pilate’s statement of innocence (Mt. 27.24) and the crowd’s acceptance of guilt (Mt. 27.25) need no further explanation. In light of passages such as Mt. 23.30, 35; 26.28; and 27.4, it is hard to imagine why at such a climactic moment in Matthew (i.e., 27.24-25) the blood of Barabbas gains central significance.

So is Barabbas simply a dark mirror of the messiah as the people want Jesus to be (so Stökl Ben Ezra 2003: 170)? This explanation does not result in a very straightforward reading of the passage. It is possible that ‘all the people’ fulfill the sacerdotal function of the scapegoat in Matthew (as hinted at by Wratislaw), who confess and bear the punishment of their sin (i.e., the destruction of the temple; cf. Lev. 16.21-22; Mt. 27.25; cf. 10.15, 33; 21.41; 22.7; 23.35-38; 25.32-33, 41), but this possibility has not yet been explored in detail.

Maclean (2007: 310) takes Mark’s Barabbas account as largely unhistorical and interprets many of its details as possessing a theological agenda. Yet scholars like Brown (1994: 1.77-86, 809-20) and Meier (1991: 400) would argue that, since the Barabbas story belongs to an earlier stratum of the passion tradition (both Mark and John independently attest to it), Mark needs no reason to invent the story nor many of its constituent parts. The tradition shared between Mark and John should be taken into consideration in the analysis of Mk 15.6-15.

Since both Stökl Ben Ezra (2003: 170-71) and Maclean (2007: 332-33) seem to perceive the scapegoat typology as operative in the Roman abuse scene (Stökl Ben Ezra only sees it in Matthew), the obvious question arises: how could the evangelist(s) first identify Barabbas and then Jesus as a scapegoat? How can there be two scapegoats in the PN?

Much to their credit, both Maclean and Stökl Ben Ezra connect the evangelists’ goat typologies to other themes in the Gospel narratives. Maclean suggests (2007: 331) that the rending of the temple veil at Jesus’ death in Mk 15.38 relates to Mark’s immolated goat typology, and Stökl Ben Ezra submits (2012: 184) that the saying over the cup in Mt. 26.28 is linked to Jesus’ death as the immolated goat. But how do the evangelists’ goat typologies intersect with their respective temple rhetoric and theology (see Chilton 1992; Gray 2008; Perrin 2010)? Are other Day of Atonement themes echoed in the Synoptic Gospels (see Fletcher-Louis 2001: 284-91; Byrne 2005: 218-24, 227-29; LaCocque 2015: 247-61)?

Douglas Moo: Christ’s Passion as Fulfillment of Isaiah’s Suffering Servant

In the 1983 publication of his dissertation, The Old Testament in the Gospel Passion Narratives, Moo provides an in-depth analysis of the evangelists’ use of the Old Testament in their accounts of Jesus’ death. He identifies four primary Old Testament intertextual nuclei: (1) the Isaianic servant songs; (2) Zechariah 9–14; (3) the lament Psalms; and (4) Old Testament sacrificial imagery (for a summary, see 1983: 352-56).

Moo concludes that, out of all Old Testament citations and allusions, the Synoptic Gospels primarily utilize the Servant Songs of Isaiah in their material pertaining to Christ’s death, especially in the sayings of Jesus (1983: 86-172). This is because ‘Isaiah 53, like no other Old Testament text, portrays vicarious, redemptive suffering, and portrays it as the very will of God’ (p. 171). Although Mt. 26.28 alludes to the general Levitical expiatory sacrifices, the Songs provide an implicit theory of atonement, as indicated in Mk 10.45 and 14.24 (pp. 301-11). For Moo, Mk 10.33-34 parr. provides the clearest allusion to the Servant Songs, as the two nouns μάστιξ and ἔμπτυσμα from Isa. 50.6 are echoed in the verbs ἐμπτύω and μαστιγόω (pp. 88-89). The dual occurrence of παραδίδωμι in Mk 10.33 strengthens this allusion, as the term occurs once in Isa. 53.6 and twice in 53.12 in reference to the Servant’s death. He suggests (pp. 92-97) that the use of παραδίδωμι in the passion predictions (Mk 9.31; 10.33; 14.21; 14.41; Mt. 26.2) alludes to Isaiah 53, because nowhere else in the Old Testament is God said to be the direct cause of the messiah’s sufferings (Isa. 53.6, 10), and Jesus clearly understands his suffering as prophesied in Scripture (Mk 8.31; 9.12; 14.21, 49; Lk. 22.37). Yet Moo acknowledges that ‘the Servant conception seems to play so small a role’ in the evangelists’ PNs (p. 170).

While the evangelists quote from Zechariah 9–14, Moo suggests that these chapters were not widely conceived as prophesying Jesus’ death (1983: 221-24). The Gospel writers make reference to Zechariah 9–14 in order to set Jesus’ passion in a context of eschatological deliverance (pp. 177-78). The lament Psalms, especially Psalm 22 and 69, had considerable impact on the Synoptic PNs, yet they ‘were inadequate as a final assessment of Jesus’ Passion because of the lack of explicit relationship between suffering and benefit for others’ (p. 296). Concluding that no single Old Testament passage functioned as a template for the PNs (pp. 111, 363-63), Moo understands Isaiah’s Servant as exerting the greatest influence on the evangelists’ conception of Jesus’ death (see also Bellinger and Farmer 1998).

Richard Hays: Christ’s Passion as Fulfillment of the Psalm’s Righteous Sufferer

Hays investigates the Old Testament reading strategies of each evangelist in Echoes of Scripture in the Gospels (2016). According to Hays, ‘it is universally recognized that Mark’s story of Jesus focuses relentlessly on the crucifixion as the central revelation of Jesus’ identity’ (p. 78). Yet he observes that, despite the scriptural ‘necessity’ of Jesus’ death (Mk 8.31; 9.12; 14.21, 49), Mark cites no particular texts (p. 79). The Second Evangelist’s style of scriptural allusion is veiled, indirect, and paradoxical: ‘Mark’s hermeneutical strategy…is to provide cryptic scriptural pointers that draw the discerning reader into the heart of the eschatological mystery’ (p. 350). In the entire Gospel, there are only four direct quotations linked to Jesus’ passion and death, and Isaiah’s Suffering Servant plays no major role (pp. 86-87). For Hays, ‘it is chiefly the Psalms of the suffering righteous one, along with the apocalyptic visions of Zechariah and Daniel, that provide the hermeneutical framework for interpreting the death of Jesus, the crucified Messiah’ (p. 87).

According to Hays, Matthew often amplifies Mark’s use of the Old Testament: ‘in many passages we find him supplying overt explanations to Mark’s hints and allusions’ (2016: 105). The evangelist frontloads the Gospel with fulfillment formulas, framing his story as Jesus’ fulfillment of Israel’s Scriptures. Yet when one arrives at the PN, ‘it is striking how little Matthew has done to create new correspondences between Jesus’ death and its scriptural foreshadowing’ (p. 160). Hays finds slim reference to Isaiah’s Servant in Matthew’s portrayal of Jesus’ death (pp. 160-61). Instead, the Righteous Sufferer of the Psalms emerges prominently. In Mt. 27.46, for example, Matthew reproduces Mark’s allusion to Ps. 22.1, but in Mt. 27.43 he includes an additional detail from Ps. 22.9. In Mt. 27.34 the First Evangelist amplifies and embellishes Mark’s allusion to Psalm 69 (Mk 15.36) with other elements from that text (Hays 2016: 140-41, 161-62). Hays underscores that the lament Psalms are the most important scriptural background for Matthew’s PN, Psalm 22 taking pride of place (pp. 161-62).

Morna Hooker: Christ’s Passion as Fulfillment of the Son of Man Figure

In her 1959 Jesus and the Servant, Hooker poses a significant challenge to the popular view that Jesus’ identity was interpreted in terms of Isaiah’s Suffering Servant early in the Jesus tradition (see also 1979; 1998a; 1998b). Instead, Hooker argues (1979) that the concept of the Son of Man from Dan. 7.13-14 had the most formative impact on early interpretations of Jesus’ death. According to Hooker, the term ‘Son of Man’ reflects neither a common messianic title in first-century Judaism, nor a mere term of self-designation (1959: 142-46; cf. 1979: 157-59). Instead, Jesus uses the phrase ‘Son of Man’ because it evokes the double-sided notion of suffering and vindication, the same pattern that Jesus and his followers experienced in their respective eschatological expectations (1979: 159-61).

Hooker (1956: 162-65) anchors her discussion in passages that assume an Old Testament prophecy of a suffering Son of Man figure (Mk 8.31; 9.12; 14.21; cf. 9.9, 31; 10.33, 45; 14.41 and parr.) and the three eschatological sayings that prophesy the future vindication of that figure, probably understood in terms of resurrection (Mk 8.38; 13.26; 14.62 and parr.). Mark preserves a more primitive dyad, highlighting both the suffering and vindication of the Son of Man and his followers, while Matthew and Luke go beyond this theme, emphasizing the Son of Man’s authority to judge (pp. 162-63; e.g., Mt. 16.27; 25.31-32; Lk. 21.36).

According to Hooker, Daniel 7 best explains why the evangelists associate Jesus with the Son of Man: ‘We find in this chapter precisely the theme of suffering-vindication which characterizes the Markan understanding of the Son of Man’ (1979: 166). Thus, while Jesus may use the term ‘Son of Man’ as a self-referential title, he refers primarily to the Danielic figure, presuming himself to fulfill the suffering of ‘the holy ones of the Most High’ (Dan. 7.21-26) and the exaltation of the Son of Man (7.13-14, 27). Jesus ‘appears to have seen his role in terms of the one like a son of man in Daniel 7, who stood for the righteous saints, persecuted because of their faithfulness to God’ (Hooker 1998a: 100). For Hooker, this background is most important for grasping the scriptural ‘necessity’ of Jesus’ death in the Synoptic Gospels.

Joel Marcus: Christ’s Passion as the Fulfillment of the Divine Warrior Figure

Marcus (1992) orients his analysis of the use of the Old Testament in Mark’s PN around a prevailing theme in the Gospel: the Christ event as fulfillment of the Deutero-Isaianic ‘way of the Lord’; that is, the ‘new action of God, who will make his victorious way through the wilderness and lead his people back to the promised land in a saving act of holy war’ (p. 46; see Mk 1.2-3; Isa. 40.3). Central to this theme is the concept of Yahweh as divine warrior (pp. 26-29). In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus fulfills the role of this figure not through waging physical warfare, but through an apocalyptic triumph paradoxically achieved in his suffering.

Like many scholars, Marcus acknowledges (1992: 153-98) the importance of Zechariah 9–14, Daniel 7, the lament Psalms, and Isaiah’s Servant in Mark’s PN, but he highlights the way in which these Old Testament figures intersect with the divine warrior motif. Zechariah’s references to the messianic shepherd in chs. 9–14 occur in the context of battle (p. 157). The multiple allusions to these chapters in Mk 14.24-28 paint the events of Jesus’ death as fulfilling Yahweh’s eschatological triumph and the restoration of Israel. God leads his people into the wilderness to renew them (1.4-5; 6.31-35; 8.4) and leads them ‘back to Jerusalem for the decisive battle against the gathering forces of darkness, with the “man of association” (Zech. 13.7) standing in for him as the shepherd of the flock’ (p. 162). The allusion to Dan. 7.13 in Mk 14.62 anticipates God’s victory over his enemies and the vindication of the Son of Man (pp. 168-69).

According to Marcus, Mark’s use of the Righteous Sufferer motif reflects a Jewish conception of the figure as one who must undergo suffering on account of righteousness, but who will be glorified at the eschaton (1992: 177-79). As an example, Marcus points to Qumran’s Hodayoth, which entails an eschatological interpretation of Psalm 22, wherein the suffering of the leader and his community constitutes the tribulations of their eschatological war (pp. 184-85). The Psalm itself speaks of God’s ensuing kingship over the world (Ps. 22.28, 31), which Jesus establishes by recapitulating the fate of the Righteous Sufferer (p. 182). Mark’s use of the Servant motif paints Jesus’ death as an apocalyptic event which achieves atoning value and eschatological conquest for God’s people: ‘the Deutero-Isaianic Servant triumphs over the hostile nations through the power of Yahweh…by establishing justice among them (Isa. 42.1-4), becoming a light to them (Isa. 49.6), and discomfiting them through his suffering on their behalf’ (p. 190).

Evaluation

An interesting trend in this survey is the lack of analysis of Old Testament allusions in the Barabbas and Roman abuse accounts. In his entire work, Moo notes just one possible (faint) Old Testament echo in both the Barabbas (i.e., Isa. 53.8) and Roman abuse narratives (Isa. 50.6; Mk. 15.19 parr.; 1983: 139-44, 161-62). Marcus, on the other hand, posits a single, broad correspondence between Isaiah 53 and the Barabbas story: ‘The general plot of the Barabbas episode—a criminal is saved, while an innocent man is handed over to be murdered—as well as the prominence of the verb παραδιδόναι…may mirror Isa. 53.6, 12’ (1992: 188). Hays (2016: 132-33) considers two echoes in the Barabbas account (Deut. 21.1-9 and 2 Sam. 1.1-16 in Mt. 27.24-25), but neither of these speak to the necessity of the messiah’s suffering.

Are these the only (or primary) Old Testament passages that have had an impact on the Barabbas and Roman abuse narratives? This is possible. But, if we are to take seriously the claim that the evangelists ‘are deeply embedded in a symbolic world shaped by the Old Testament’, that ‘their “encyclopedia of production” is constituted in large measure by Israel’s Scripture’, and that their ‘constructive christological affirmations are derived chiefly from hermeneutical appropriation and transformation of Israel’s sacred texts and traditions’ (Hays 2016: 10), then perhaps we should be surprised to find only these oblique Old Testament references in the Barabbas and Roman abuse accounts.

A key question in this discussion is, which Old Testament passage(s) provides the evangelists the mechanism by which Jesus’ death yields a positive result? Moo (1983: 171, 397) and Marcus (1992: 194-95) maintain that the Servant’s vicarious suffering provides such a mechanism, but Hooker (1959: 62-102) and Hays (2016: 86-87) cast doubt on allusions to the Servant. Indeed, the weight given to the Servant typology in providing a redemptive mechanism for the evangelists seems disproportionate to the lack of indisputable Servant allusions in the PNs. If the evangelists were aware of Servant allusions in their inherited material, why did they not exploit this Old Testament typology? While the lament Psalms and Daniel 7 may have provided the Gospel writers a pattern of humiliation and exaltation, they seem to provide no clear logic of redemptive suffering. The same might be said for the divine warrior motif.

Of course, it is possible that the evangelists were simply uninterested in this question. Thus Howard Kee writes (1975: 182): ‘No explanation is offered of the means by which suffering accomplishes redemption; all that is asserted is its divine necessity as recorded in the scriptures’. While it is true they offer no explicit explanation, it would seem naïve to leave the matter at that, given that the evangelists were steeped in the conceptual world of the Old Testament and its ritual praxes.

I would venture to guess that the analysis of the impact of Yom Kippur (and other Old Testament rituals for that matter) on the Synoptic PNs has been neglected for at least two reasons. First, modern scholarship on the passion tradition has by and large focused on the influence of Old Testament texts but has studied to a lesser degree the influence of extra-biblical traditions associated with those texts. If Yom Kippur was a prominent holy day on the Jewish calendar (Stökl Ben Ezra 2012: 167), then we might expect echoes of Leviticus 16 to be significantly informed by its living traditions. Second, modern biblical scholarship has acquired a discomfort with ancient ritual (see Collins 1998: 193-95; Klawans 2006: 17-48). To the contemporary mind, the bloody affair of ritual sacrifice may seem criminal at worst and barbaric at best. Many would rather contemplate the ‘abstract’ suffering of Isaiah’s Servant than the bloody sacrifice of an animal. Yet this is a contemporary prejudice and one not shared with the majority of first-century Jews.