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part, it cannot be presumed upon. Such a theology of salvation fits Matthew’s
primarily ethical use of dikaiosunē (“righteousness”) over against Paul’s more
“theoretical” use of the same term to denote a salvation (“justification”)
independent of “works.” As with the traditional antinomy between Paul and
James, there is not perhaps a simple contradiction, but there is certainly a clear
difference of perspective on what the forgiveness of sins involves, though the
parable of 20:1–15 will make it clear that Matthew has no room for a crudely
mechanical view of salvation earned in proportion to human effort.
A second problem relates to the breadth of the forgiveness required. Its object is
literally “people” without any further specification. So is there no limit to what
and whom we must forgive? Should disciples forgive war criminals, serial
murderers and abusers of children? What does “forgive” mean in such
circumstances? In 18:21–22 the issue is discussed specifically with reference to
a brother who sins “against me,” and in that case Jesus insists that there is no
limit. The parable which follows in 18:23–35, by contrasting the unimaginable
debt remitted by the king with the relatively paltry sum demanded by the debtor,
indicates that no offense we may suffer can even get close to the weight of sin
we have already been forgiven by God. Hard as it may be for human nature,
there is to be no limit to disciples’ willingness to forgive those who offend
against them. The phrase “against me” in that passage perhaps gives us a guide
to the intention of this passage as well. While the reference to the offenses of
“people” could hardly be more general, the clause of the prayer which these
verses are explaining uses the metaphor of debt specifically of those who are
indebted to us (v. 12). It is where there is personal offense that the concept of
“forgiveness” properly applies. Those who commit evil by which we ourselves
are not affected should be the object of our prayerful concern and (as far as
possible) sympathetic understanding, but it is properly speaking not for us to
“forgive” them: that is God’s prerogative. The concern of these verses, as of
18:21–35, is with the disciples’ response to those whose offense is against them.
It is our own enemies whom we are to love (5:44).
g. Secret Fasting (6:16–18)
The pattern established in vv. 2–4 and 5–6 is now resumed, with the third type of
secret religious observance. For the standard formulae again see above on vv. 2–
4. As with alms-giving and prayer, it is assumed that disciples will fast; the issue
is not whether to do it but how. In a culture where few now give serious attention
to fasting as a religious discipline (as opposed to token acts like giving up
chocolates in Lent) this assumption causes surprise. In the NT as a whole there is
little explicit instruction on fasting; it is simply mentioned occasionally (and
never in the epistles) as something Christians sometimes did. Jesus himself
fasted (involuntarily?) in the wilderness (4:2), but there is no other record of his
doing so subsequently, and indeed it was the lack of fasting by him and his
associates which was commented on in 9:14, though in his reply Jesus does
envisage his disciples fasting at a future date (9:15).⁸¹ In Acts we are told of
prayer and fasting on two occasions as an accompaniment to important decisions
(Acts 13:2–3; 14:23), but not of any regular pattern of fasting. When Paul speaks
of “fasting” as part of his apostolic sufferings (2 Cor 6:5; 11:27) the reference is
to involuntary shortage of food rather than to deliberate abstention. It is not until
Did. 8:1 (late first century?) that we find instruction on regular fasting for
Christians—twice a week, like the Pharisee in Luke 18:12. In view of the
paucity of evidence, it is hard to decide whether the fasting Jesus here assumes is
expected to be a regular practice (as in the Didache) or only on special occasions
as in Acts. He simply comments on the familiar Jewish practice with the
expectation that his disciples will continue it.
Fasting is often mentioned in the OT, usually in connection with prayer and/or
penitence. Normally it is a response to a special situation, whether by an
individual alone (2 Sam 12:16–23; 1 Kgs 21:27; Neh 1:4; Ps 35:13; Dan 9:3) or
by the nation as a whole (Judg 20:26; 2 Chr 20:3; Ezra 8:21–23; Neh 9:1; Jonah
3:5–9). The only regular fast laid down in the Pentateuch is that on the Day of
Atonement (Lev 16:29–31; 23:27–32), but during the exile additional fast-days
were established in memory of the destruction of Jerusalem (Zech 7:3–5; 8:19).
But it is not until NT times that we find evidence of regular fasting by the
Pharisees (9:14; twice a week according to Luke 18:12) and the disciples of John
the Baptist (9:14). What had been a special provision for times of penitence or
emergency had thus been turned into a matter of routine religious duty, despite
the protest of Isa 58:3–7 against assuming that fasting had an automatic efficacy
of its own. The asceticism of John the Baptist (and of the slightly later Bannus,
see above on 3:1) displays the sort of approach to religion in which routine
fasting might flourish, though it is interesting that the “monastic” community of
Qumran does not seem to have had a regular régime of fasting. The implication
of Did. 8:1 that (some) Jews observed Mondays and Thursdays as days for
fasting is confirmed by m. Taʿan. 2:9. For the importance and prevalence of
fasting in post-OT Jewish religion (and in outsiders’ impression of Judaism) see
J. Behm, TDNT 4.929–931.
The sort of fasting envisaged here is presumably that of choice rather than of
routine, since there would be little point in putting on a show to impress people
with one’s fasting if it was already known and expected. In 9:14–17 we shall
find the voluntary fasting of the Pharisees used as a stick with which to beat the
Jesus movement, which is thus alleged not to take its religious obligations
sufficiently seriously; the argument of course assumes that other people knew
the Pharisees were fasting. Just how the “hypocrites” made their fasting visible
(by making their faces “invisible”!) is not clear (see p. 231, n. 17), but there is a
delicious irony in the play on words between aphanizō (“hide”) and phainomai
(“everyone can see;” cf. also v. 18). Their “miserable” look was felt by some,
then as now, to be a suitable expression of religious devotion.⁸² By contrast, the
disciples’ washing and anointing are part of the everyday bodily care which were
sometimes forgone as part of the self-affliction involved in fasting (m. Taʿan.
1:6). Anointing, like the washing of the face, represents normal cosmetics⁸³
(Luke 7:46; cf Ruth 3:3; 2 Sam 14:2; 2 Chr 28:15; Dan 10:3), not an artificial
show of gaiety; everything is to be outwardly normal. Fasting, like alms-giving
and prayer, is to be between the disciple and God. No-one else should know.
(Perhaps that is why we know so little of early Christian practice in this regard!)
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