In his lesson,
Jesus said,“Look at the scribes who like to walk around in nice robes, who like saying hello in the square, who like the first chair in the synagogue, who like the best place at dinner, who eat away at widows’ houses, who pray long prayers at the drop of a hat. They’ll be critiqued more.” —
A lot of translations start Jesus’s statement with, “Watch out for…” which sorta means the same thing, but immediately implies we should be wary of these people. Jesus’s word blépete/“look” implies no such thing. He just wants his listeners to observe these people. Not condemn them. Not yet.
You see, lots of people act this way. Lots of us Christians act this way. Not because we’re fake Christians, or are pretending to be devout when we’re not. Not because we’re not deserving of certain honors: When you’re an invited guest of honor, what’s wrong with being placed in a good seat? And what’s wrong with being greeted in public? Or wearing good clothes? Or praying, when necessary, a long prayer?
These things, in and of themselves, aren’t the problem. What Jesus was getting at was the motive for doing them. Are they legitimately done in the service of God? Or do we do ’em so people notice we’re in the service of God? And, because they notice, people give us special treatment? Many of us really, really like the special treatment. A little too much.
There are good scribes.
When Jesus critiques Pharisees, scribes, and Jews, most Christians throughout history have unthinkingly lumped all of them together: All Pharisees were that way, or all scribes were that way, or (worst of all) all Jews were that way. Lots of anti-Semitism throughout history has been justified by people who wrongly said, “Well, in John it’s said ‘the Jews’ were this way or that, and I say they still are.” Lots of more recent translations, like the Good News Bible or the International Standard Version or New Living Translation, use “Jewish leaders” instead of “Jews” in order to affix the bad behavior to the Jewish leadership instead of the people—and in so doing make the same mistake of painting all the leaders, including Nicodemus, Joseph, and Gamaliel, with the same brush.
Mark just had a story about a righteous scribe: The fellow who approved of Jesus’s answer to which command comes first. That guy, Jesus said, wasn’t far from the Kingdom, and he can’t have been the only scribe who legitimately sought God. After all, seeking God is the entire point of becoming a bible scholar. Yeah, there were scribes who got into the job only for the perqs, and scribes who got into it for the right reasons but were enticed away by the perqs. But not all of them.
That’s why it’s wrong to interpret this passage as, “Watch out for the scribes, who…” do all the self-centered things Jesus listed. That’s reducing all scribes to a stereotype. And many anti-intellectual Christians, who deep down are jealous of anyone who seems to knows more than they do, will use this passage to start bashing just about any educated Christian they come across.
Watch out for those bible professors who wear the fancy academic robes. Who insist on being called “Doctor” even though they’re not real doctors. Who are always asked to be guest speakers, or guests of honor at fundraising dinners, and won’t come otherwise. Who try to get old ladies to give all their money to their schools instead of
my churchtheir churches. Damn them.
That’s a very common interpretation… and it’s entirely based on envy and bitterness.
And there are selfish scribes.
Let’s step away from the 21st century for a bit and go back to the first, where Jesus described what he saw, and what he wanted his followers to likewise see.
Nice robes. These weren’t academic robes. They weren’t special outfits which only scholars wore. They were simply stolaís/“nice robes”: The first-century equivalent of a really expensive suit, or your “Sunday best.” These particular scholars dressed to impress. But to impress whom? Only those people who are attracted to wealth and success: People who covet it, or people who have it and want to be justified for clinging to it.
And when a minister is dressing like a wealthy person, you gotta wonder where their priorities lie. Is it with the needy and the sick, who might mess our fine clothes up if they hug us, or as we serve them? Or is it with the people who can keep us in well-dressed comfort? Are we preaching the Kingdom of God, or the kingdom of wealth?
Saying hello in the square. Many bibles translate this “being greeted in the square,” as if others are greeting the scribes, and giving them attention. Preachers like to describe this as the noble scribe, entering the square, receiving hails and honor from the crowds around, because they’re so holy and wise.
The word aspasmús/“greetings” is a noun, not a verb. It doesn’t indicate who is giving or getting the greetings. If you think the scribes are receiving all the greeting, you’re reading that into it. But more likely it’s the scribe saying hello to everyone, asking how they’re doing, and working the crowd like a politician. Or preacher.
What’s concerning about this? Why they work the crowd. Preachers supposedly do this to connect with their people. Politicians too; but they also do this so the people know and like them. It generates good will. And good will can be used for good deeds. But it can also be used to get people to excuse evil deeds, or to get people to think you’re kinder, more generous, more thoughtful, more outgoing, or more holy, than you are.
So pay attention to such people.
The first chair. The first-century synagogue was a school, not a Jewish church service. The teachers would stand up to pray or read the bible, but when it came time to teach, they sat down and asked questions, and the students stood round and answered them. The first chair in the synagogue was where the first teacher sat: This was the teacher who started the discussion. Visiting teachers would often go first (a custom Paul constantly used to his advantage), but otherwise it’d be the oldest teacher, or the wisest.
So you can see why scribes would love to get the first chair: It said all sorts of nice things about them. And they got to direct the discussion—and could talk about whatever they liked. Because it was a school, everything was up for discussion: They could talk about God. Or they could talk current events, agriculture, art, history, math, law, economics, pop culture, you name it. Rabbis would connect all these things to God in one way or another, but the discussion could be very profound, or very stupid, depending on which teacher set the tone.
A scribe, being a bible expert, could talk bible. And no doubt they wanted to talk bible. But again, consider their motives: Was it to show off the extent of their bible knowledge and trivia? Or was it to share the revelation of God contained in the bible? Was it to draw people closer to God, or to show off? And if you were gonna get a chance to talk either way, why would you need to occupy that first chair?
The best place at dinner. Literally the best couch, since people in the Roman Empire at that time ate lying down. The best place at a dinner would actually be the host’s couch, because that was where all the best dishes (and freshest dishes) were set: The host could reach all the good stuff. But, Middle Eastern hospitality being what it was, the host would share couches with any of their special guests, so they’d have just as good a chance at the best dishes.
Of course, anyone would like the best place at a dinner. Otherwise you only get food after it’s been passed down to you, cold, and after everyone else’s hands have been in it. (Yeah, that’s right: They ate with their hands. Which they washed before they began eating, but they still licked their fingers, you know.) I wouldn’t blame anyone for wanting a good seat. The concern are the people who expect, or even demand, the best seats, because of their status, or honor, or age, or kinship, or whatever. Demanding or grabbing the best seat violated the customs of Middle Eastern hospitality, and Jesus once reminded his students it was wisest to never assume those places, but let yourself be invited to the better spots.
Eating away at widows’ houses. In Jesus’s day, both men and women worked, both inside and outside the home. When a woman’s husband died, or abandoned her, it meant things went from a two-income household to a one-income household: It meant life was harder. Especially for a woman, considering the sexism of the day. This is why widows were expected to be given charity, and God objected strongly to anyone who’d take advantage of widows.
Being a minister is very, very attractive to a lot of people. It implies you’re good, and have a good standing with God, and are wise and mature and have all the other traits advanced Christians should have. No, this isn’t always true: Some ministers were put in charge of things way too soon. And with scribes, anybody can learn a bunch of bible (just like I did, back in high school), but knowledge is hardly the same as maturity (just as I wasn’t, back in high school).
It is a regular scandal among Christians when male ministers take advantage of the single women, divorceés, and widows in their congregation. And no, it’s not a new thing at all. It’s always happened. Priests did it in Samuel’s day; scribes did it in Jesus’s day; pastors do it in ours. They disguise their behavior as totally innocent ministry: They’re just visiting these ladies because the women seek instruction, or guidance, or wisdom. Not because the scribes will get a free meal out of it. Or, to be blunt, sex. And when the women keep their mouths shut, for fear of what their secret trysts might do to the minister’s reputation, no one will ever be the wiser.
It’s exploitation. And Christian ministers, single or married, still do it. Jesus described such scribes as oi kat-esthíontes tas oikías ton khirón, which literally means “[those] who eat away at widow’s houses,” as I translated it. That’s the symptom of such people: They’re always at those women’s houses, “having dinner.” Having dinner so often, they must be eating them out of house and home! But really, it’s a euphemism for people who spend way too much time with these women—and are hiding their less-than-honorable intentions. If they were really above board, they’d simply tell everyone, “We’re dating,” or “We’re getting married” (and then actually get married, instead of being engaged for 10 years). But “We’re just having dinner”—an awful lot!—is a sign of a secret relationship which can only end badly.
Long prayers. I already discussed what Jesus had to say about this.
Critiqued more.
Wherever Jesus talks about judgment, Christians regularly assume he’s speaking about the End. Not necessarily. As was plainly demonstrated in the Old Testament, often the consequences of our evil actions come to bite us in the present day, or the near future. Scribes, and any ministers who behave as these scribes do, stand just as good a chance of getting in trouble today as at the End. And really, it’d be better for them if this stuff gets sorted out now, instead of at the End.
These folks will get kríma/“critique,” which many bibles translate “judgment,” from all sorts of directions. They’ll get it from fellow ministers, who don’t want to be lumped together with these evildoers. They’ll get it from the people they’re ministering to, who don’t want such people over them. They’ll get it from their bosses, who don’t want such people hobbling their ministry. They’ll get it from co-religionists far away—either nitpickers who are jealous of their ministry and are looking for any excuse to bash it, or hypocrites who want to divert attention away from their sins, or those who devoutly follow God and are outraged by anyone in ministry doing such things.
And of course we’ll all hear it from the skeptics and pagans.
Look at these people, Jesus warns his followers: Look to their motives, and stay away from the bad examples.