. . .[firstly]
co-regency among Israel’s high priests was not unheard of (in which case
Abiathar may be appropriately named as high priest instead of his father); and,
second, that Mary deliberately named Abiathar rather than Ahimelech on account
of the former’s dubious distinction as high priest. This merits some review.
Abiathar was the son of Ahimelech, who was the son of Ahitub, who in turn was
of the line of Phinehas, who in turn, once again, was the son of Eli. For the
reader of 1 Samuel, Abiathar’s descent from Eli cannot be detached from the
divine word of judgment issued against the priestly forebear, who, neglecting
to reprimand his sons in his own day (1 Samuel 1-2), had been informed that his
priestly lineage would one day be terminated. That termination is finally set
into motion when, in the course of Adonijah’s rebellion against the heir
apparent Solomon, Abiathar throws in his lot with the upstart pretender to the
throne. Responding to the coup, David orders that Solomon be crowned in a coronation
ceremony involving the ascendant ruler riding on a donkey. As a direct result
of what may be deemed the biblical canon’s ‘first triumphal entry’, the rebellion
collapses, leaving Solomon to replace the rebel priest Abiathar with Zadok—‘thus
fulfilling the word of the LORD that he had spoken concerning the house of Eli
in Shiloh’. (1 Kings 2.27) Failing to back the right horse (or donkey), the
disgraced Abithar would go down in the pages of Hebrew history as the only
priest to be deposed. (1 Kgs 2.27. In Jewish antiquity Abiathar’s fall from
grace was no obscure historical dream, at least judging by Josephus’s elaboration
of the same [Ant. 8.1.3 §10-12])
With this
backstory in mind we see the pieces falling into place. Dropping the name ‘Abiathar’
instead of the expected ‘Ahimelech’ at Mark 2.26, Mark’s Jesus sets up a veiled
analogy between the rebellious, ill-fated priest and his priestly opponents.
Jesus’ subtle comparison functions not only as a clue to his disputants’ doom,
but also as a map on which his subsequent actions in the narrative may be
plotted. Just as Abiathar’s fate is all but sealed through Solomon’s
donkey-style coronation, Mark seems to be saying, so it will be the case in its
own mysterious way for the Jerusalem-based priests of the Jerusalem temple as
they witness Jesus entering Jerusalem in Solomonic fashion. Of course when
Solomon mounts his donkey, it is with more than the intention of pre-empting
illegitimate authority (Adonijah) and illegitimate priestly (Abiathar) claims;
the political deck-clearing would only be the means towards the much more momentous
occasion of his consecrating a newly built temple, where he would serve as a
royal priest. On the same pattern, even if Jesus’ triumphal entry turns out to
be only the first instalment of a series of acts and words of judgement against
Israel’s leaders (11.11-12.37), these scenes are themselves stepping stones to
the culminating events: his enthronement through the cross and the building of
the temple through resurrection (14.1-16.8). Mark’s unexpected inclusion of ‘Abiathar’—seemingly
gratuitously and off the cuff—reflects his conviction that even as David’s
struggle had already been recapitulated in the experience of Jesus so too would
his aspirations for a new temple. Anticipating the triumphal entry (11.1-10),
the confrontation with Caiphas (14.53-65), the rending of the temple veil (15.38),
and the resurrection of the temple of the temple ‘not made by human hands’
(14.58; 15.29) (my translation), the grainfield incident is the first skirmish
of a protracted conflict; this conflict itself is patterned after a well-known
earlier struggle which began with David’s anointing and came to a close with the
consecration of the temple by the Son of David. (Nicholas Perrin, Jesus the
Priest [Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker, 2018], 198-99)