Why review a
book that’s nearly 50 years old? (NB SBL in 1989 took over the copyright from this 1973 Abingdon Press book.) Answer: there’s not enough found online which
is acknowledging this landmark book, the first monograph treatment of a vital
text of early Christian writings: Psalm 110. In 50 years, it has not been
surpassed. It is the go-to book on Psalm 110 for scholars. There is little I
could say in negative criticism of it, and I will focus on things that I think
readers of this blog will find of interest.
Here is the psalm in the ESV translation:
1 The Lord says to my Lord:
“Sit at my
right hand,
until I make your enemies your footstool.”
2 The Lord sends forth from Zion
your mighty
scepter.
Rule in the
midst of your enemies!
3 Your people will offer themselves freely
on the day
of your power,
in holy
garments;
from the womb of the morning,
the dew of
your youth will be yours.
4 The Lord has sworn
and will not
change his mind,
“You are a priest forever
after the
order of Melchizedek.”
5 The Lord is at your right hand;
he will
shatter kings on the day of his wrath.
6 He will execute judgment among the nations,
filling them
with corpses;
he will shatter chiefs
over the
wide earth.
7 He will drink from the brook by the way;
therefore he
will lift up his head.
By and large, only verses 1 and 4 are subjects of early Christian interpretation, especially verse 1. A key
takeaway from Hay's book is that when early Christian writings (in the New Testament and more
writings) use Psalm 110, it’s not to convey just a single meaning. For them, even
just verse 1 was a platform for a diverse array of messages and meanings (Hay,
page 17). As literary foundations go for some familiar Christian beliefs, this
one has few peers. Christians are so familiar with the concept of Jesus seated
at the right hand of God in heaven (not to mention him being a priest after the
order of Melchizedek), that it can slip our minds that this psalm is the only
significant pre-Christian Jewish literary basis for these beliefs (54). Hardly
anything else in the Hebrew Scriptures gave early Christians the words to
express this idea of Jesus seated as Lord in heaven. It can also slip our minds
that prior to Justin Martyr, verses 1 and 4 are the only verses of the psalm
that we can definitely spot in early Christian writings (17). Given how
important the psalm was to early Christian writers, their inattention to the
other verses of this psalm is one of the puzzles that Hay’s book considers. He
also considers the problem of why a somewhat neglected psalm became of prime
interest to early Christians, and that is where I will find some shortcomings
in his conclusions.
But first,
we must set aside Christian ideas for a moment to peer further back in time.
Chapter 1 covers Jewish tradition. Hay
notes that any serious exegete even in pre-Christian times must have had
problems to wrestle with: who particularly was Psalm 110 about? Seated at God’s
right hand in what way? What is the divine begetting of verse 3 about? Why did
they care about Melchizedek? Who wanted a non-Aaron priesthood (the implication
of appealing to Melchizedek)? What about the fierce language of warring?
However, there is precious little pre-Christian interpretation of it available
to us to see (20-21), so it’s surprising that Christians made so much of it.
Hay surveys what little pre-Christian material there is. Chief among what we
have is how ancient Jewish translators interpreted this Hebrew psalm in their
Old Greek translation. Hay’s survey also visits stronger and weaker claims for
earlier non-Christian Jewish allusions to the psalm, from the Testament of Job,
and Daniel 7:9-14, to IIQ Melchizedek from the Qumran caves (22-27). There is a
helpful comparison of ideas in Hebrews and IIQ Melchizedek on page 152 n.99.
Hay does not support the conclusion that Psalm 110 is in view in IIQ
Melchizedek.
Anyway, when
was this pre-Christian Psalm originally written? Just how ancient is it? The
majority opinion is that it is very ancient. It’s older than the 6th
century BCE exile of the Jews to Babylon. It’s as old as the era of the kings,
known as the Davidic kings (19). This makes it the better part of 3,000 years
old. And traditions in it could have older roots still. It’s not just that it
seems to place its hero in a line of ‘priest-kings’ harking back to the
pre-Moses, pre-Israel, figure of Melchizedek. (And the only other place he’s
mentioned in the Hebrew Scriptures is in the Genesis 14 story.) Parts of the
psalm that taste of something older seem anachronistic for the Davidic kings’
era, in that it has a one-man ‘priest-king,’ quite unlike the ancient narrative
that David’s Israel had separated the role of king and high priest between two
different people - the king and his priest - so is there a snippet here of an
older tradition?[1]
The psalm then is like a fusion of motifs from different eras (20). So this is
not just a Davidic king, but also a type of the more ancient priest-king.
What’s more, this mysterious priest-king is in some sense seated at the right
hand of Israel’s God. Nowhere else in the Hebrew Bible does anyone get to sit
at God’s right hand. This factor marks this psalm out as an outlier for sure. It’s
a curious choice for early Christians to seize upon. We will see reasons for
that.
Hay
concludes that the psalm was probably originally written to legitimise a
particular pre-exile human Davidic king, but who this might be is unknown. Meanwhile, pre-Christian
Jewish interpretation springing from the book of Genesis subsequently branched out into speculation about a supernatural
son of man, about Enoch and about a heavenly Melchizedek (33). The potential for overlapping thought is apparent, given that Melchizedek appears in Hebrew canon only in Genesis and Psalm 110.
Christian-era
rabbinic interpretations are also
surveyed by Hay (27-33). Although many in the Christian era assume it is
obvious that it is a messianic psalm, this interpretation does not appear to
have much of a trajectory in rabbinic thought prior to the second half of the
third century CE, the best evidence for it being targumic, which is rather late
compared to the earlier hint of messianism found in Jesus’ reading of it (see
the synoptic gospels). So that brings us nicely to Christian readings next.
Chapter 2 covers early Christian
interpretation of Psalm 110. The shape of the mass of evidence comes into view.
Before Justin Martyr, there are plenty of Christian allusions to it, but
not much actual quoting 110:1, either in full or part. That is, only in
the synoptic gospels and Act 2:34-35, Hebrews 1:13, and (beyond the New
Testament) in 1 Clement 36:5 and Barnabas 12:10, is any quoting found. The rest
of the evidence base is allusions using just snatches of 110:1 (see 34-35). The
synoptic gospels’ versions are close to the Old Greek text of Psalm 110:1 but
not identical to it.
110:1 seems
freely and loosely paraphrased at times (36), so much so that at times the
author, e.g. Paul, envisions Jesus have an active part in overcoming “all”
enemies such as death; whereas Hebrews envisions Jesus seemingly have a more
passive phase until things are put under his feet for him (36).
Christian
eschatology has a foundational word in 110:1: “until.” It gives Christian
authors grounds to explain that the final coming of God’s kingdom has yet to be,
and we live in the before, the until (36, 124). (It has been said elsewhere
that the whole of New Testament eschatology hangs off this word “until” in
110:1.) It provides an “until” which Christians could reflect on in their attitude
of waiting for Christ’s return.
Hay notes
that Psalm 110:4 features in only one part of Christian Scripture, in Hebrews.
I’ll come back to that.
Chapter 2
also has an interesting section on how elements of Psalm 110:1 filtered into
the Christian imagination not always necessarily directly from reading the
psalm but sometimes through secondary paths, such as songs or confessions or
liturgies. So much so that we can’t always assume that a Christian was actually
thinking of the psalm itself when they seem to be alluding to it. It was almost
certainly a text found in ancient sheets of paper (none of them exist today) that
we call “scripture testimony collections,” which Christian preachers and
teachers memorised or literally carried around with them. Although none of
these have survived, they would have included lots of snippets of Jewish
Scripture in note form for ease of use. That’s thought to be one reason why
similar clusters of Hebrew scriptures turn up in different writings.[2]
One effect
is that trains of thought, Greek Christian thought, alluding to Psalm 110 spin
off out of the context of the testimony collections or songs or liturgies in
ways quite detached from the internal context of the psalm itself (38-39). On
page 42 there is a very useful table of passages that hint at this development
(39-43).
Pages 45-47
have invaluable tables listing all the early Christian passages prior (probably)
to Justin Martyr which contain traces of 110:1, with revealing breakdowns. Of
particular value to Hay’s study, 1101:1 contains three elements, a, b and c:
a) The Lord said to my Lord,
b. b) "Sit at my right hand
c. c) until I make your enemies a footstool
for your feet.”
Hay
identifies which elements of 110:1 figure in all the relevant passages. So for
example, Mark 12:35-37 has the whole of it, that is, 110:1 a-c. Whereas Mark
14:62 has just part b, for example. Revealed by this exercise, we see that part
b was of far more frequent interest than a and c to New Testament writers: this
- “sit at my right hand.”
The
subjection of powers to Christ – part c - was also of great interest to
Christian authors. But only the gospels and Acts and Hebrews are interested in
‘a’ - ‘The Lord said to my Lord.’
The Pauline
epistles feature b four times and c once. What comes across is that 110:1 was
mainly valuable for Christians communicating with Christians, and only Acts
2:33-36 depicts an obvious appeal to outsiders based on the psalm. However, it
may have other apologetic purposes which we will come to later.
There is a
similar helpful table for quotes and allusions to Psalm 110:4 (46-47). But with
Justin Martyr in the 2nd century, there is a significant change. He
is the first Christian in the evidence trail to be interested in the whole
Psalm (47). Hay takes us on a whistle-stop tour of Christian writers from
Justin to Novatian (48-50). Their interest is as wide as that in Christian
Scripture. It encompasses Christ’s status as “Lord,” his relationship to God
the Father, identities of Christ’s enemies, hints of his pre-existent divinity
in 110:3, and more.
Chapter 3 goes into more detailed analysis of
what early Christian writers were actually doing with the psalm. But first, it
usefully starts by contextualising the psalm as literature in an ancient near
east background (52-53), where being at the right hand of God symbolises power,
and sometimes divinity (58).
This brings
us to the issue of Christian readings of the psalm as meaning that Jesus was
himself divine. I was particularly interested in Hay’s background comment, “The
evidence suggests that in the ancient Mediterranean world the literary or
graphic representation of someone seated at the right hand of god was fairly
common and that it signified divine honour and sometimes worldly authority and
power. In Greece and Egypt it seems to have implied participation in divinity,
although the ancients may have understood that the one at the right hand of a
god was at best a subordinate deity.” (He gives various examples, 52-53.)
This seems
to me something that should factor in discussion of the original range of
meanings of Psalm 110:1 and of New Testament (and later) Christian readings of
it. It makes plausible that Christians saw Jesus’ place at the Father’s right
hand as a symbol of Jesus’ divinity.
However, Hay
draws back from this and makes a series of ambiguous or seemingly conflicting
comments throughout the book. This goes especially for his loose use of the
word ‘divine.’
In terms of
the second lord of 110:1 being a human or divine (or both statuses) person, Hay
muddies the waters a little. At first he is clear: “like the MT, the OG
suggests he is a human monarch in Jerusalem,” a “divinely exalted personage”
(22). Emphatically, Hay says, “Neither the Hebrew original nor the OG would
readily beget the notion that the second “lord” is divine” (106). (I think the
operative word here is “readily.”) But ambiguously, Hay says that Jesus is
exalted to “divine position and honor” (90). He also says, “Both Heb 1 and 1 Cor
15, then, connect references to Ps. 110.1 with the title “the Son” and both
imply that the title connotes divine sonship” – that is, as “Son of God” (110,
similarly 117). But Hay doesn’t say what he takes “divine sonship” to mean,
while elsewhere he treats this divine status as something Jesus receives (145).
He also speaks of “Jesus’ divine dignity” in Mark (114), but does not say what
this means. My broader impression is that he thinks some New Testament authors
regarded Jesus as absolutely divine, but that they didn’t directly use 110:1 as
a proof of this, but they did happen to link 110:1 to other evidences where
they did take Jesus to be divine. In his conclusions Hay says: “early Christian
conceptions of Jesus’ heavenly glory at God’s right hand probably went beyond
the limits of what most Jewish exegesis could tolerate just because these
conceptions moved in the direction of affirming the full divinity of Christ.”
This development is made explicit from Justin Martyr onwards (161), but I get
the impression that Hay is saying the seeds of this are much earlier. He does
think it will have increased the acceptability of exalted Christology to pagan
ears pre-wired for “conceptions of divine persons seated to the right hand of
gods” (161-2).
I hope I am not
misunderstanding Hay. He possibly didn’t think it important to clarify what he
means by “divine” or whether he uses it consistently. I’ll say more on this
subject in my notes on chapter 4 below.
Crucially,
as nothing else in Hebrew Scripture posits anyone seated at the right hand of
God, Hay looks at other Jewish ideas with similar imagery, such as someone at
the right hand of an earthly king. However, elsewhere, he notes that, in the
Wisdom of Solomon, the Wisdom of God sits beside God, and the Logos comes from
the royal throne in heaven (56). This is clearly unearthly, and not
particularly human, but Hay thinks of Hebrew and Christian Scripture as
positing a merely human Jesus on a heavenly throne insofar as what they take
from Psalm 110. I’m a bit confused about what exactly he is saying on that
subject.
Hay makes
the point that the Christian proclamation of Jesus at the right hand of God
would have been meaningful for Jewish and pagan audiences (58). Turning to the
New Testament passages where we find much of the evidence base, Hay starts with
the theme of exaltation, and with Paul. In the undisputed letters of Paul,
Psalm 110:1 is mainly a text about the future
kingdom of Christ (59-62.) In the disputed Pauline letters, the usage is more
to do with the power and majesty of Christ now
(62-64).
Pages 64-80
discuss how the verse is used in the gospels and Acts to express the
vindication both of Jesus and the gospel message. This extends into themes of
the present glory of Christ in the New Testament and early Christian writings
(80-85). Particular attention is given to Hebrews which treats Psalm 110 more
expansively than anywhere else in Scripture (85-89).
On Hebrews,
I was particularly fascinated by Hay’s comments on “Psalm 110.1 as a crucial
foundation for the two-sanctuary reading adumbrated in verses like 4.14, 6.20,
7.26 and elaborated in chaps. 8-10” (87). The idea of parallel temple
sanctuaries in Jerusalem and in heaven is always worthy of more attention, as
it explains so much about various biblical narratives. Hay is notably
interested in how Hebrews combines the ideas of priesthood and of being seated
at the right hand of God in the story of Jesus.
Hay
emphasises one of his key interpretations, that it is “a serious mistake to
claim that early Christian references to Ps 110.1b regularly express
convictions about Christ reigning as a royal lord in the present era” (91).
That is, the tendency is more towards picturing Christ as honoured now, and
ruling in the future. But being seated at the right hand is part of the
narrative – the precondition - of the present-already arrival of the Holy
Spirit upon the church (92). So the picture is complex.
Hay asks
what is, to my mind, one of the more important questions, and one that has had
too little thought: why did early Christian writers turn Psalm 110:1 from a relatively
neglected text into a much-loved one? As Hay puts it, concerning Jesus
being seated at the right hand, “what qualities in this symbol can have so
endeared it to the church?” (91). I think Hay’s answers to this fundamental
question are a tad under-developed. He suggests that the verse served a purpose
of exalting Jesus without it being at the cost of the primacy of God the Father,
which makes sense but at the level of ideas, with little practical effect drawn
out (91)? It is, presumably, a purpose in worship settings. But this doesn’t
seem to me enough to explain it becoming one of the most alluded to scriptures
in earliest Christianity. Hay also considers that the motif of Christ at the
right hand also energised church preaching (92). He again pays attention to the
Christian idea that 110:1 exalts Jesus, as seen in Mark 16 and Ephesians (93,
98, 100).
I would go
further than Hay and suggest that the motif helps to strengthen the group, and to
engender loyalty to it, because Jesus’ enthronement is an assurance that the
community has a good future. And embracing the motif in acts of worship, in
rituals, could excite the community to feel,
as well as think, this hope, which is vital in community. They are now, so to
speak, a group with hope and a mission to fulfil. Group loyalty, a practical
value, attaches to the theme in its association with baptism. Hay notes the
connection of baptism with unity in Ephesians (97, 99). Hay, rightly I believe,
says that “The hortatory settings of Rev 3.21; Heb 12.2, and Col 3.1 show that
the SESSION promise was used largely to stimulate renunciation and devotion.”
(100) This entails, as I understand it, devotion to Christ, and therefore
loyalty to the group. There is a sense that this is also about the risen
Christ’s present care for his followers. The value of care for each other would
be an important value to stimulate in the group, although again Hay doesn’t
really draw this out. He basically notes that the risen Christ acts on behalf
of believers and intercedes for them from Hebrews and Romans (102). Thus Hay,
borrowing from Niebuhr: “To say “Jesus is at the right hand of God” was akin to
saying, “Now we’re safe no matter what happens.”” (108) This again fosters
values of care and loyalty in my view. Hay also notes that Mark 12:35-37
functions to prove Jesus superiority to the scribes (113), which to my mind
would serve to remind the church audience why they are loyal to the Jesus
movement rather than to scribal authorities. I hope I have shown how Hay could
have developed further his consideration of why early Christians attached such
importance to this verse. There will be more to say on this.
Chapter 4 is about how 110:1 was mined for
support in relation to the Christological titles Lord, Son of Man, Son of God,
and Son of David. Hay trawls through Christian writings in and beyond
Scripture. Naturally, attention is given to the Greek word kyrios in 110:1 in the Old Greek translation (‘Septuagint’) and in
Christian texts. Acts 2:26 is explicit in joining these dots: it “proves the
legitimacy of entitling Jesus kyrios”
in an exalted sense (105). That is, it has an apologetic value for the
practical purpose of preaching Christ’s lordship confidently. Hay is at pains to say, however, that 110:1
was not the starting point for Christological use of kyrios (105-6). Such usage was also pre-Pauline (106). Hay later
attributes it to Jesus as an authentic tradition.
So let’s
come to Jesus’ use in the synoptic gospels, which is of special importance. Of
interest to Hay is how 110:1 is positioned in relation to messianic ideas. It
seems that in Hay’s perception of Jesus’ use of the verse, the second kyrios (“lord”)
is not divine and is not the messiah
either, but is “lord” in some other sense which Jesus does not directly exegete.
Psalm 110:1 does not use the term messiah, but it was read into it by some in
Jesus’ day. I find Hay’s argument here (107) a bit confusing but messianism is
a central matter in Christian discussion of the psalm so I will try my best. As
part of his argument, Hay seems to read Mark 12.35-37 as being about the
messianic title “Son of David,” not about the title “lord” although it appears
here. Hay reads it as Jesus de-centering “lord,” to the effect of weakening the
link between “my lord” and messianic ideas. That is to say, the person
addressed by David as “lord” was not in fact the “Son of David” and as such not
the messiah. That is how Jesus questions the link. This “lord” in 110:1 is perhaps the Messiah, but not necessarily. Confused? So, seemingly, Jesus neither affirms nor denies being
the Messiah himself here, but simply is unpicking a contemporary argument about
it. If Hay is right, then Jesus undermines the link between David’s “lord” and
a human Messiah (David’s son), but perhaps (?) this leaves open the idea of a
Messiah who is more than a human son – that only in some unique way can Jesus
be both Son of David and David’s lord. Hay says: “Barn 12.10 argues directly
from 110.1 that Jesus is the Son of God rather than the Son of David... In Mk
12.35-37 ... almost the same argument appears... Probably each of the synoptic
versions of the argument is meant to imply that the Christ is the Son of God,
but only Barnabas draws that conclusion openly.” (109) I wish Hay clarified
what he himself here meant by “Son of God.”
On “Son of
David,” Hay returns to Mk 12.35-37. Here he says that the arguments of this
text “do not distinctly answer the question about the applicability of the
title “Son of David” to the messiah” (110). Earlier, I thought Hay was being
stronger on this, and saying that Jesus was breaking this link. But Hay now
says: “Jesus taught that the psalm applied to the messiah” (111).
What I do
find interesting is Hay’s interpretation that the messiah of 110:1 is superior
to David because “the messiah’s rule will not be worldly or militaristic ... It
may be inferred, then, that Jesus attached messianic meaning to the latter
portions of the verse as well. The enthronement at God’s right hand must, for
him, have been a transcendental event.” (111, see also 113) And “Jesus probably
found in Ps 110.1b reference to a non-earthly enthronement of the messiah.”
(111 n.26)
But “the
particular answers, if any, which early Christians at this stage gave to the
question “How is he David’s son?” cannot well be decided” (112).
Apologies if I
am confused as to what Hay is arguing.
For more of
Hay’s analysis, see also the comparison of ideas in Hebrews and IIQ Melchizedek
on page 152 n.99.
Hay sees
Matthew as developing the passage in Mark to the point where “the mystery of
the messiah’s nature is the mystery of his origin... the possibility that the
Christ is the son of someone else ... the riddle implies that Jesus is David’s
son and also another’s” (116-17). Hay, I think, is implying “Son of God.”
Hay also
looks at how Barnabas and Hegesippus interpret Jesus’ debate.
Hay refers
to the Hebrew adoni as underlying kyrios in the Greek of 110:1, accepting
the Masoretic text without question (107 n.13). He does not open any discussion
of how some Christians have departed from the Masoretic tradition and treated the
Hebrew ADNY as meaning Adonai rather than adoni. Debate over the ‘correct’
vowelisation of the Hebrew text does not feature in the early Christian
writings under discussion, and therefore not in Hay.
Hay also
mentions Barnabas’ linking of 110:1 and the Son of Man title, in Barnabas 12:10
“”son of man” here means “merely a human being,” in flagrant
contrast to the phrase’s sense in the gospels.” (108)
So Hay seems
sure that the gospels treat Jesus as more than a human being insofar as their
usage of the title “Son of Man” is concerned. I was curious to see how Hay would handle the
titles “lord,” “Son of Man,” “Son of David,” and “Son of God,” but I came away
not quite knowing where the cards have fallen.
Chapter 5 is about how Psalm 110:1 is used –
but not overly - in early Christian writings to describe how powers in earth
and heaven are made subject to the rule of Christ, be that now or in the
future. Hay numbers fifteen examples, spread across the New Testament and other
writings in a useful table (123). In this spread of verses, powers subject to
Christ include men and demons, evil men and evil powers, all men, spiritual
powers including death and sin (125), all powers, including angels and
authorities (127), and foes of Christ including the judges at his fateful trial
(127-8). And church members (124). Time-wise, this subjection gets located variously
in the past and present, or the parousia or the last judgment. This does a
range of jobs for early Christian writers, describing Jesus’ enthronement in
heaven, his glory, predicting his future vindication, or that he was already
vindicated, that he is in heaven interceding, to argue that his sacrifice was
perfect and that believers will be resurrected and that they ought to be
faithful (123). Lots of meanings were wrapped together with Psalm 110:1.
The ways
that church communities might have responded to hearing these meanings shouldn’t
be over-simplified. It strikes me that a practical respect for authority and
for a well-ordered community follows on from these images, and that is perhaps
summed up in Hay saying that for church members, being subject would mean in
obedience and worship (124-5).
This makes
sense to me. If church community forms an alternative society, then it needs an
alternative government with its own governor – Christ – to be respected
ultimately by friend and foe.
Another
response of sorts might be to feel a sense of security, and this could come
from Paul linking 110:1 with the notion that “we are more than conquerors”
(Romans 8:35-39) in the face of enemies including death (126-9). Indeed, Hay
says that for the final part of 110:1 (“until I make your enemies a footstool
under your feet”) “the primary interest motivating its usage lay ... in
stressing the absoluteness of his exaltation and the utter security of those he
willed to save” (129). This to me – but not drawn out by Hay - indicates a
moral universe, and a community value of freedom from oppression, believing
oneself to be saved and secure, and not only feeling this but acting
accordingly in some kind of practical response that meant something in the
community.
Chapter 6 focuses on how Psalm 110 was used in
portraying Jesus acting as a priest in heaven and him interceding for believers.
This can be tracked at many points in Christian Scripture from the synoptic
gospels onwards. For example, In Romans 8:34, Jesus’ intercession suggests a
priestly role that gives believers access to God (132), and it seems to me that
a community value of care, of security, is embedded in this work of
intercession.
Now, Psalm
110:4 – with its reference to a priest in the mould of the non-Aaronic order of
Melchizedek - comes into view. The only New Testament text that explores this
is Hebrews, but Hay first highlights earlier Jewish interest in the figure of
Melchizedek as a priestly messiah figure, albeit not in reference to Psalm 110
itself (134-35). Texts briefly surveyed cover 1 Maccabees, the Testament of the
Twelve Prophets, Philo, and, in the Dead Sea Scrolls, 1QSa 2 and 11Q
Melchizedek which is a pre-Christian text of special interest, the Quran text seemingly
portraying Melchizedek as a divine figure who will come with salvation in the
end times (137). (Psalm 110 itself is curiously entirely absent from the Qumran
texts, absent in itself and absent in any indisputable allusion. 138 n. 41.) Hay
makes the important point that Hebrews makes light and scant use of the
available Jewish traditions about Melchizedek and this may be a deliberate
positioning, being mentioned to establish Jesus’ credentials, not to attach any
great significance to Melchizedek himself. Hebrews is notably lacking in exotic
speculation about this mysterious figure (153). If anything, it draws a line
under speculation about Melchizedek and uses him to make the narrative about
Jesus. (But of course is spikes our curiosity about the figure, perhaps
unintentionally!)
Hay also
surveys how this interest develops in rabbinic and Samaritan traditions
(138-42), which includes possible rabbinic positioning to counter Christian
claims (139).
So to
Christian interpretation, both outside Hebrews (139-143) and in Hebrews
(143-152). Hebrews seems to stand in opposition to other traditions about
Melchizedek, positing him as merely a long gone earthly human and not a
redeemer, rather than a heavenly redeemer as found elsewhere (143). From the
themes that Hay highlights, I am struck that Psalm 110 now serves a community
value of sanctity and purity. For, and this is the link, Jesus makes purification
for sins and then is seated at the
right hand of God in Hebrews 1:3 (143). And having stated these themes at the
start of the letter, a good deal of development takes place.
Hay misses further opportunities to draw out
that the attraction of the psalm is underpinned by community values of authority,
loyalty, purity and fairness when he comments – in light of a spread of verses
- that the benefits of Jesus’ work flow to those who obey him, receive sanctification
from him, and with an attitude of fairness because Jesus also suffered (145).
Perhaps I am writing as if Hay should have been writing another book! But I do
so to highlight that not enough attention is given to how such an erudite
letter translated into community life. The value of loyalty is surely also
implied in Jesus’ superiority to the Levitical priesthood (146-8). Certainly,
Hebrews contains a plea for loyalty to the community, and thereby to Jesus,
close to its finish, and Psalm 110 is part of the argument for this. Loyalty to
the group is related to respect for the authority of its figurehead, Christ.
This is implied in the biblical author’s belief that the psalm is personally
addressed to Jesus and declares him to be priest forever.
So, the
superiority of Jesus’ priestly work over that of the Levites is argued by the
author of Hebrews on the basis of Psalm 110:4 (146-9). Hay here makes an
important point. Hebrews assumes that the Mosaic law on which the Levites
depend is older than the psalm, and the psalm supersedes it when it announces a
non-Levite as a priest forever (149). This surely has an apologetic purpose for
the Christian community, dealing with the lineage of Jesus. The Christians
could not readily claim that he was both of the line of Judah and the line of
Levi. And as they made quite a big deal about Jesus being of the line of Judah,
any desire they had for Jesus to have a dual status as priest also needed an
explanation. If they wanted a priestly Jesus, they needed Psalm 110:4. This is
ideal as Psalm 110 seems to posit a ruler who was a Davidic king and a
non-Levite priest combined in one person. In a culture where genealogy and the
legitimacy of authority mattered, the community here had a handy apologetic.
This should not be understated, for although it may not seem important for contemporary
Western values, it was different for them. In this sense, Psalm 110 had an
appeal to early Christian thinkers, a practical purpose in argumentation, in
the same sense as Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho has a practical purpose.
Christian use was possibly an apologist’s response to a polemic against an unqualified Jesus (149), a
polemic that to the Christian writer was either a perceived threat or an
opportunity to platform their views on what qualified Jesus.
It is
obvious that to the author of Hebrews, Psalm 110 served an argumentative
function. In their hands, it joins together ideas of priesthood with Jesus
being seated in heaven, and it is the only scriptural proof it uses to argue
that Jesus is in heaven (151). Psalm 110, with its claims about defeating foes,
is also a basis for saying that Jesus’ sacrificial work is finished (unlike the
priests) and perfect (151). The psalm is doing a lot of heavy lifting, but
these were arguments that mattered for the overarching value of loyalty to the
community. As such, we might suppose that the idea of Jesus as priest is not
just a literary motif.
Hay’s conclusions
Hay has
surveyed how early Christian exegesis of Psalm 110 developed, and how each
quote or allusion ought to be studied in terms of both its function as well as
its literary context. There wasn’t a single trajectory of development so much
as bursts of energy, generating fresh inferences in multiple directions, evidenced
in the gospels, letters and non-canonical Christian writings (155-8). He
reaffirms an early date for the commencement of these developments, which he
puts in the pre-Pauline period (157). That is, sometime between the 30s and 50s
of the first century. He thinks there is a core of authentic Jesus tradition
here, but notes that early exegetes didn’t feel a need to use Jesus’ say-so to
justify their interpretations (159). He sees it developing through the oral and
textual mediation of church confessions, hymns and testimony collections, as
well as from directly reading Psalm 110 (157). This could explain the
narrowness of early interest in just a couple of verses rather than the whole
psalm (158).
In summing
up, Hay thinks the functions of early Christian interpretation fall into four
categories: 1) Jesus sitting at the right hand of God; 2) support for
Christological categories; 3) subjection of powers to Christ; and 4) Jesus’
heavenly priesthood. And all this chiefly to the end of emphasising Jesus’
status and glory (155). This categorisation speaks to me of how Hay has given
less attention than he could to the problem of just why this neglected psalm
became a treasured one, which is why my review here has suggested, for example,
how the psalm resonated with community values. He does note its place in model
Christian confessions of faith (155 n.1). It is worth saying that although the
psalm had been somewhat neglected, prior Jewish messianic interpretation can be
inferred, and may have stimulated its popularity among Christians (159). On my
“just why,” my attention is drawn to Hay saying “vital religious needs” are
“the primary reason for the psalm’s popularity among early Christians,” namely
the best “proof-text” for justifying priestly Christology and Christian eschatology
(159).
Hay
recognises there is an issue: “The crucial and most complex problem concerning
the psalm’s popularity is the question of why the SESSION image was so
appealing.” He returns to his prime solution: “the image affirmed supreme
exaltation without calling into question
the glory and sovereignty of God the Father. Jesus’ elevation was thereby
defined in terms of unique proximity to God, and Father and Son were carefully
distinguished. The phrase did not resolve the potential problems of ditheism or
subordinationism, but it permitted Christians to confess faith in the
absoluteness of Jesus before they had “solved” such issues” (159). Hay does not
clarify what he means by absoluteness here.
Hay could
have made something of the point that it is an “image,” a mental picture, which
is a very human thing, a mental object for the worshipper, as an anthropologist
might note. (Indeed, artists of much later centuries wrestled with how to paint
the seated Christ of heavenly realms and his relation to earthly followers.)
However, Hay anticipates the thought and pushes against its value, which
surprises me: “Some naive Christians may
have imagined or visualized (cf Acts 7.55-56!) the risen Christ as literally
(spatially) situated on a throne to the right of God the Father. Yet men
accustomed to the dictum that “no one has ever seen God” will probably not have
been guilty of crude anthropomorphism...” (160). However, “early Christians not
only spoke but often thought in terms of the psalm’s wording and imagery,” and
they could justify it from a conveniently concise bit of Scripture and thereby
hold some distance from pagan parallels (160-1).
Indeed the
conciseness of the verse, especially “at the right hand of its God” was in its
favour for incorporation into diverse Christian uses (161).
My
contention would remain that the most prevalent reason is not merely that it
handily supported Christian ideas but that these interpretations helped to
underpin values that promoted community cohesion for the church.
Hay reminds
us that the main point of mentioning subjection of powers in Christian
scripture – which is usually vague on who, what and how – is to show the status
of Christ, especially the glory of the risen Christ (156), even though he had
been condemned as a political criminal (161). But the “fundamental factor” was
the psalm’s use of picturing Christ as mediator between man and God (162). And
Hay’s final conclusion is that for early Christians, the psalm allowed them to
affirm Jewish Scripture and say that Jesus transcended Jewish expectations
(162).
The book
finishes with a helpful appendix reproducing snippets of Greek text where the
psalm is quoted or alluded to, as well as a page index for his citations of
ancient literature, and a page index for his references to modern authors. It would be nice to see a thorough list of manuscript witnesses to the text of the psalm, but such can be found in a recent study of 110:3: Peter J. Gentry, “Psalm 110:3 and Retrieval Theology” in SBJT 25.3 (2021), 149-168.
This book,
as I said at the start, is the unsurpassed go-to monograph on Psalm
110. Surely it is time for another.
[1]
Gerhard von Rad argues that the Psalm’s priest-king parallels Canaanite
religion. Gerhard von Road, Genesis: A Commentary (London: SCM, 1972),
179f. Michael-Nazir Ali regards Melchizedek as a Canaanite. Michael Nazir-Ali, The
Unique and Universal Christ: Jesus in a Plural World (Milton Keynes:
Paternoster, 2008), 88-89. Robert Cargill follows Helen Jefferson and Harold Rowley in the view that Psalm 110 was originally a Canaanite enthronement psalm, adapted by the Hebrew royal court.. Robert R. Cargill. Melchizedek, king of Sodom: How the Scribes Invented the Biblical Priest-King (New York: Oxford University Press, 2019), 80. Hay does not make these points.
[2] A.
M. Hunter, Paul and his Predecessors (London: SCM, 1961), 59-64, 143.
For a recent survey of thought on this, see Alessandro Falcetta, “The Testimony
Research of James Rendel Harris,” in Novum Testamentum, 2003 vol. 45,
280-299. This title refers to Harris’ books 1 and 2 of Testimonies, and his
private correspondence, which laid the foundations of modern understanding of
Christian collections of Old Testament passages which they took to be
testimonies to the truth of what they said about Jesus. Psalm 110:1 must have
featured in these testimony collections from early on.
