Luke. Diane G. Chen
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Quirinius’s Census
The account of Jesus’ birth begins with Joseph and Mary traveling to Bethlehem as required by a census under the decree of Augustus (2:1–5). The reference to this census has presented a number of challenges. Although the Romans were known for keeping good historical records, scholars have yet to unearth any evidence of an empire-wide census ordered by Augustus within the time frame in question. In Matthew, Jesus was born before the death of Herod the Great in 4 BCE. The census in Luke, however, would have placed the birth of Jesus no earlier than 6 or 7 CE, within a small window of time during which Quirinius served as governor of Syria. Surely Jesus could not have been born both before 4 BCE and after 6 CE! Even if we assume Luke’s date to be erroneous, so that the census was actually conducted earlier under the kingship of Herod the Great and not the governorship of Quirinius, to what extent would Roman practices have influenced the administration of Judea, which at the time of Herod was still a client kingdom not yet annexed into the Roman Empire? Could Quirinius have had a wider realm of authority before his appointment in Syria, so that an earlier Herodian census could have been associated with his office? Could Herod have offended Augustus so that a Roman census was imposed on Herod’s territory to assert Roman dominance? Coming at it from a textual-grammatical point of view, could the adjective pro-te- in 2:2 be understood, not as “the first registration [that] was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria,” as in first among several censuses, but that “the registration [was] taken before Quirinius was governor of Syria” a few years earlier? The second translational option for pro-te-, “before Quirinius,” might resolve the awkward presence of that ten-year stretch between 4 BCE and 6 CE in which Jesus could not have been born, but the question still remains as to whether or not Quirinius administered that census that coincided with the birth of Jesus.
The problem goes beyond a matter of dating to the actual practice of census-taking. The Romans counted people based on principal residency rather than ancestral origin. Could a Herodian census be conducted differently from a Roman census? Did regional customs come into play? That Joseph has to be registered in person in Bethlehem rather than in Nazareth may imply that he owns property in his ancestral town, necessitating his going back there to be counted as head of the household. Even so, is Mary’s presence mandatory? Her accompaniment on the journey may mean that the betrothal period is over, and they are traveling as a married pair. And if not, then being with Joseph may still be preferable to enduring the gossips alone in Nazareth as her pregnancy becomes visible.
Questions abound, and each hypothesis comes with assumptions.52 Due to gaps in historical knowledge, it is doubtful that an airtight reconstruction of the timing of Jesus’ birth that perfectly reconciles the accounts in both Matthew and Luke is possible. The historical questions are interesting, but there must be a more constructive way to honor Luke’s aim at presenting a narrative that proclaims the truth about Jesus without writing him off as an incompetent historian!
Whereas historical questions at this point are difficult to resolve, considering Luke’s storytelling from a theological point of view casts a different light on the account. The census, a negative symbol and painful reminder of subjugation, is mentioned four times in the first five verses. When Augustus became emperor, he reinstituted the census system as part of an empire-wide administrative reform to formalize taxation and military service. While the Jews were exempt from serving in the Roman army, they were not excused from taxes. The decree in 2:1 might refer to an overarching imperial order, so that Roman officials could use Augustus’s edict to justify their regional or provincial censuses.
Although it cannot be ascertained if the census that affected Joseph and Mary was the one Quirinius conducted in 6 CE, that census was especially infamous as the census of shame and coerced loyalty. It marked the turning point at which Judea fell under the direct control of Rome without the buffer of a Jewish client kingdom. The Herodian monarchs were cruel, corrupt, and pro-Rome, but they were still not Romans. Paying taxes to Herod stung less than paying taxes to Caesar. But with the deposition of Herod Archelaus, Quirinius’s census signaled the definitive defeat of the Jews, putting an end to any lingering vestige of Jewish autonomy. This was a difficult pill to swallow.53
Precisely because Augustus and Quirinius represented Israel’s subjugation under Roman hegemony, their naming in Jesus’ birth narrative (2:1–2) is central to Luke’s daring literary strategy. Mary is pregnant as she embarks on this journey to Judea (2:5–6). The couple returns to Joseph’s city of origin, “the city of David called Bethlehem” (2:4). Luke’s interest in David and Joseph lies primarily in their blood ties (1:27). Bethlehem, about five miles south of Jerusalem, is “the city of David” insofar as it is where David was born and where Samuel anointed him as king (1 Sam 16:1–13; 17:12, 58).54 Through Joseph, Jesus can legitimately be considered a Davidic Messiah, a king born and anointed in the city of David (1:32; 2:11; cf. 3:23, 31). As perfect timing and location converge, even powerful Augustus becomes an unwitting instrument of the divine plan. The census that signifies oppression serves to locate the mother of Jesus in the right city at the right time, so that Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem fulfills the prophecy of Micah: “But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, . . . from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel” (Mic 5:2; cf. Matt 1:6).
After a journey of about three days, Mary and Joseph arrive in Bethlehem. At this point the typical scene in a modern-day Christmas pageant of one heartless innkeeper after another turning away a desperate Joseph with a wife in labor in the thick of night requires a major re-envisioning. A close reading of Luke reveals a scene that is less chaotic and a point that has more to do with status reversal than with inhospitality and rejection.
Mary goes into labor (2:6), but “there was no place for them in the inn (katalyma)” (2:7c NRSV). The translation of katalyma as “inn” is misleading, for the word has a wider range of meaning, from an inn to a guest room of a house. Since Bethlehem is not located on any main travel thoroughfare, that small town may not even have a commercial lodging place. Later in the narrative Jesus sends his disciples to a guest room (katalyma) to make preparations for the Passover meal (22:11). But a different word, pandocheion, is used to denote an inn with an innkeeper (pandocheus) with whom the Samaritan in Jesus’ parable leaves the injured man (10:34–35). It seems likely that Joseph and Mary have found shelter at the home of a relative, not that they have been going from inn to inn looking for vacancy.55
Modest peasant homes in the ancient world consisted of one large room for living and sleeping, with an adjacent area at a lower level under the same roof where animals were kept when brought in for the night. A cave could also be used to shelter animals. Perhaps, due to overcrowding, the host family has run out of guest quarters and the only place the relatives can offer Mary and Joseph is space with the animals (2:7c). The couple is not turned away—as implied in many Christmas plays—but is shown hospitality in spite of the humble circumstances. A manger (phatnē), or more crudely, a feeding trough, is improvised as a crib for the baby Jesus. Mary wraps her infant in long strips of bandages to keep his arms and legs from moving and to provide a sense of warmth and security (Wis 7:4). While a baby bound in swaddling cloth is a common sight, one sleeping in a manger is not. This unusual combination makes an effective sign for the shepherds to recognize the Messiah (2:7b, 12, 16).
The child is Mary’s firstborn son (2:7a). This particularity signifies birth order as well as responsibility and status. The law stipulates that the firstborn of human beings and animals are to be dedicated to God (2:23; cf. Exod 13:2, 12; 34:19–20). The firstborn son is also entitled to a double portion of his father’s inheritance (Deut 21:15–17). Similarly, Israel is identified as God’s firstborn on the basis of their election (Exod 4:22; Jer 31:9; Sir 36:17). Therefore, it is fitting for Mary’s firstborn, the Son of God and Davidic Messiah, to rule over and represent Israel, God’s firstborn, with all its privileges and obligations.
From one humble situation to another, the author moves the spotlight from the manger to the open fields where some shepherds