Biblical Burns

The Art of the Insult According to Scripture

“Dog” is a term that crops up again and again in both the Old and New Testaments. Unfortunately for any cynophilists reading, dogs are not portrayed in a very favourable light. Literal dogs are largely seen as filthy scavengers, usually tasked with consuming the flesh of recently deceased unpleasant people^[eg].

This canine derision, however, is on multiple occasions freely extended to humans—occasionally as a poetic expression of self-abasement^[eg], but more often as a biting indignity^[eg].

Because there are so many excellent usage examples, it would seem meet to briefly discuss a few of my favourites.

Goliath, hubris personified, is unimpressed when he sees that his challenger is just some shepherd kid. On sighting Dave, he shouts out “Am I a dog that you come against me with sticks?” After some cursing, the Philistine invites Dave to do his worst: “Come here, and I’ll give your flesh to the birds of the sky…!”

Say what you like about Goliath—he was generous to the birdlife.

Jesus’ ministry was nearly entirely amongst his own people. In fact, most Jews expected their Messiah to conquer other nations, not allow them in to His Kingdom. So when a Syrophoenician woman asks Jesus to cast a demon out of her daughter, He answers in line with expectations: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”

The woman continues to beg him for help, but Jesus pushes back insultingly: “It isn’t right to take the children’s bread and throw it to their dogs.”

“Yes, Lord,” she says, “yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table!”

Jesus happily loses the argument: “Woman, your faith is great. Let it be done.”

Written by King Dave hundreds of years before Jesus was crucified, the 22nd Psalm is incredibly striking. Not only does Jesus quote it while on the cross—“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1; Matthew 27:46)—but the content of the despairing psalm itself bears an uncanny resemblance to the story of Jesus’ crucifixion:

• “Everyone who sees me mocks me; they sneer and shake their heads: ‘He relies on the Lord; let Him rescue him…’”
  Psalm 22:7–8 (see Matthew 27:41–43)
• “For dogs have surrounded me; a gang of evildoers has closed in on me; they pierced my hands and my feet.”
  Psalm 22:16
• “They divided my garments amongst themselves, and they cast lots for my clothing.”
  Psalm 22:18 (see Matthew 27:35)

In the stories about Jesus, the disciples are often portrayed as the “everyman”—the relatable characters—the guys who always need things explained to them. It’s quite common that the disciples make asses of themselves by just not getting it, despite all the things they have already seen.

Straight after Jesus has fed 4,000 people with seven loaves of bread and some fish (not to be confused with the time He fed 5,000 people with five loaves and some fish), He and His disciples get in a boat to escape the crowds. It’s at this point that Pharisees and Sadducees turn up and start to hassle Jesus. Jesus quickly shuts them down and sails away.

On the boat, the disciples realise they forgot to bring any bread to eat.

Right at that moment, Jesus, somewhat metaphorically, warns them “Watch out and beware of the yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees.”

This deeply concerns the disciples, and they start discussing the ramifications of their bread-forgetfulness. Jesus overhears.

“Don’t you understand yet?” He asks, bewildered. “Don’t you remember the five loaves for the 5,000 and how many baskets you collected? Or the seven loaves for the 4,000 and how many large baskets you collected?”

Jesus continues, “Why is it you don’t understand that when I told you, ‘Beware of the yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees,’ it wasn’t about bread?”

The author has the final word: “Then they understood that He did not tell them to beware of the yeast in bread, but of the teaching of the Pharisees and Sadducees.”

Jesus really didn’t get on with the religious leaders of His time.

In Matthew 9, Jesus pushes some boundaries when He invites a tax collector called Matthew (yep, the author) to be in His inner circle—one of the twelve disciples.

Tax collectors were bad news. At a time when Israel was under Roman control, the tax collectors worked for the Romans: they were traitors. Not only that, but they were notorious for demanding more tax than legally required, and lining their own pockets with the excess: they were cheats.

To make matters worse, Jesus goes to this Matthew’s house for a meal, and sits around eating and talking with Matthew and all his tax collector friends.

When some of the religious leaders—the Pharisees—see this, they decide to confront Jesus’ disciples.

The Pharisees took a great deal of pride in their lifestyle, observing all the sacrifices and religious requirements as laid out in the Hebrew scriptures (the Old Testament), which they knew back to front: their knowledge of scripture was unparallelled. In short, they were the epitome of holier-than-thou.

“Why does your Teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” the Pharisees interrogate, with supercilious sneers.

But Jesus overhears the challenge, and intervenes.

“Those who are well don’t need a doctor,” Jesus explains axiomatically, “but the sick do. Go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy and not sacrifice.’ For I didn’t come to call the righteous, but sinners.”

The quotation Jesus uses to attack the Pharisees’ pretension (in which God tells the Israelites what really matters to Him) is from the Book of Hosea—from the very scriptures the Pharisees pride themselves on understanding.

This is another recurring reproof in Jesus’ Spectacular Diatribe against the "scribes and Pharisees".

Numerous times in his speech, Jesus refers to these religious leaders as "blind"—not physically blind, mind*.

In 23:23–4, Jesus accuses the scribes and Pharisees of following the minutia of the Jewish religious law to a tee, but missing the big picture stuff—justice, mercy, and faithfulness. How could these people spiritually lead Israel?

“You blind guides!” Jesus illustrates. Then, switching to a soup metaphor, He adds “You strain out a gnat but swallow a camel.”

This is just one of many descriptors in Jesus’ Epic Tirade* for the “scribes and Pharisees”—the religious leaders of Jesus’ day.

Being called a snake is unpleasant at the best of times, even without considering the recurring symbolism throughout the Bible of Satan, the Great Deceiver, as a serpent…

Basically equivalent to “Get out of my sight, Satan”, this insult seems pretty tame, until you realise that Jesus isn’t actually addressing Satan here. He’s addressing Peter, His disciple and one of His closest friends. And He calls him Satan. What?

Peter had an up-and-down kind of time following Jesus. In Matthew 16, we see a somewhat bizarre series of events. Jesus has just asked His disciples who the people are saying He is. The answers vary from John the Baptist (back from the dead) to Jeremiah (back from the dead) to Elijah (back from the sort-of-dead^[1]).

“But you,” Jesus presses further, “who do you say that I am?”

In what many people regard as an epiphany, Peter pipes up:

“You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God!”

“Correct!” says Jesus (more or less). He then goes on to explain that Peter is going to be the rock on which He builds His church. I imagine Peter was pretty chuffed.

But then Jesus starts telling his disciples what’s about to happen to Him. All that suffering, betrayal, and execution stuff, you know. Naturally, this is not what the disciples want or expect to hear, so Rocky takes Jesus aside and starts telling Him off:

“Nay Jesus, that ain't gonna happen to You. You’re completely wrong.”

Jesus turns to Peter, looks at him, and absolutely shuts him down:

“Get behind Me, Satan! You are an offence to Me because you’re not thinking about God’s concerns, but man’s.”

So in one conversation, Peter goes from the Rock of the Church to the Adversary of God. I’m almost impressed.

(After Jesus’ death and resurrection, Peter does indeed become an important figure in the early church.)

At the time of Jesus, Israel was under the control of the Roman Empire. Many Jews expected that, when the Messiah came, He would be a Warrior King (like Dave) who would set them free from their Roman oppressors.

Romans were the enemy.

So when a Roman centurion approaches Jesus, and pleads with Him, saying “My servant is paralysed, in terrible agony,” Jesus’ disciples were probably hoping Jesus would flip him off and say something like “Serves you right, Roman swine!”

But instead, Jesus offers to swing by the centurion’s house and heal the dude!

The centurion objects.

“Lord, I am not worthy to have You come under my roof,” he concedes. “But only say the word, and my servant will be cured.”

As you can imagine, Jesus is rarely surprised in the stories recorded in the Bible. In fact, Jesus is “amazed” exactly twice. In Mark 5, He is amazed at the lack of belief in his hometown in Israel. Isn't this God’s People? But here, when this Roman—this enemy and oppressor—shows such an incredible faith, this is what happens:

“Hearing this, Jesus was amazed and said to those following Him, ‘I assure you: I have not found anyone in Israel with so great a faith!’”

(And when the centurion gets home, his servant is indeed in good health.)

The fact that Jesus turned and said this directly to His followers always gives me a wry smile. I can just imagine the twelve disciples squirming as their Teacher and Lord essentially tells them “Hey, you could learn a thing or two about faith from this Roman soldier.”

Jesus was in a bad mood on this day. Later this same day He was chasing people out of the temple with a whip, and turning over their tables for buying and selling in the temple complex (at least He had a good reason). First thing in the morning, though, Jesus is heading into town when He spots a fig tree in the distance. Starving hungry, He makes His way over to the tree…

Nada.

Turns out it’s not even fig season.

Jesus vents His frustration with a botanical curse, and the fig tree promptly withers.

This is one of Jesus' favourite insults. He often uses it to describe the religious leaders of the day. The word that we usually translate as “hypocrites” is the Greek word hypokritai, which, incidentally, is also the word that was used to refer to actors in the Greek theatre. Not only does this tell us something about what Jesus meant by the slur—these people were pretending to be something they weren't—but it also suggests that Jesus probably, at some stage, went to the theatre.*

While this abrasive term is scattered throughout the gospels, it's mainly concentrated in two clusters:
   In the sermon on the mount (Matthew 5–7), Jesus repeatedly warns people not to be like the hypocrites. Don't pray like the hypocrites, don't fast like the hypocrites, don't give to the poor like the hypocrites… The general gist is not to do good things for the sake of being applauded.

But later, in Matthew 23, Jesus really lets loose. The religious leaders, “the scribes and Pharisees”, have been asking Jesus all kinds of curly questions, trying (unsuccessfully) to trap Him in His words. Eventually, Jesus tires of this and—in front of the whole crowd—embarks on one of the most scathing tirades in the history of vituperation. Seriously, go read it. For the next couple of pages, Jesus begins most of his censures with “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!”

Some of the other ways that Jesus describes the religious leaders in His speech (and some of these may get their own post later on) include “blind fools”, “blind guides”, “whitewashed tombs”, “snakes”, “fit for hell”, and “brood of vipers”. Of course, it's soon after this incident that the recipients of all this praise start plotting to have Jesus arrested…