Perhaps the
first readers of this psalm were as puzzled as Jesus’ first-century hearers
when it came to identifying the one whom David addresses as ‘my lord’. We suspect
that most reasoned, along with a number of modern-day biblical scholars, that
there as no better candidate than Solomon, who ascended to the throne during
David’s lifetime. In this case, the psalm would have been interpreted as a reflection
on Solomon’s enthronement and, by extension, on the covenant issued in 2 Samuel.
7. It is likely that when the psalmist asserts David and Solomon’s induction
into the order of Melchizedek, this is with some reflection on their cultic initiatives.
The LXX’s decision to render the Hebrew (‘al-debarātî melkî-ṣedeq, ‘for
the sake of Melchizedek’ or ‘on account of Melchizedek’) of Psalm 110.4 (= Ps.
109.4 LXX) as ‘according to the order of Melchizedek (kata tēn taxin
Melchisedek)’ is evidence that as we draw closer to the first-century world
of Jesus, interpretive tradition was concerned to reinforce the purple thread
stretched between the ryal priest Melchizedek and David/Solomon. Whatever
connection David was thought to have had with Melchizedek in the original
writing of the psalm (when the text must have been composed as part of an attempt
to buttress the religio-political position of the Davidic line by connecting it
with the legacy of the Jerusalem-based priest-king par excellence), its reception
in the Hellenistic period betrays intensifying expectation for a coming priestly
son of David.
At the same
time, the key role which Psalm 110 ascribes to Jerusalem could not have been
easily missed. Because (for the psalmist) the Davidic king could not take his
throne until Yahweh had first properly taken his throne at the temple in
Jerusalem (Ps. 110.1-2 (Ps. 109.1-2 LXX)), even the most convincingly secured throne
would be inconsequential from centralized worship in Zion. According to the vision
of Psalm 110, the political (re)unification of the tribes, the same tribes’
cultic anchoring in Zion and the permanent installation of the Davidic rule in
Zion as priest-king were together the non-negotiable elements of the complete
eschatological package. Of course the priestly of God’s people from Zion
(the very conditions which uniquely obtained under David and Solomon) was a
necessary condition for the full realization of not only Psalm 110, but also
Psalm 89 and 2 Samuel 7. All this is to say that, at least according to these
texts, the term of the Davidic covenant could not have finally been realized apart
from the Melchizedekian fusion of the royal and priestly roles within the
appointed centralized cultus. The issue of space was equally if not more
important than the issue of genealogy. From the Second-Temple perspective, once
Israel’s worship had been frustrated by the sundering of the kingdom, once too
the logical movement from centralization (2 Samuel 6) to worship (2 Samul 7)
had been reversed from worship (1 Kings 8) to decentralization (1 Kings 12), subsequent
kings were again obliged to delegate the priestly vocation which would have
under more ideal circumstances fallen to them.
If Psalm
110 is any indication (and I think it is), then as far as Second-Temple readers
of Scripture were concerned, David and Solomon were seen as uniquely bearing
the mantle first carried by the Zion-based priest-king Melchizedek. This of
course would have had significant eschatological implications. Because the
regathering of 12 tribes would have implied the renewal of the Melchizedekian
(Davidic/Solomonic) jurisdiction, as envisaged by Psalm 119, Israel’s
restoration would have probably also implied a displacement of priesthoods, whereby
the familiar present temple hierarchy with its line of succession would be
forced to give way to a new priesthood, after the order of Melchizedek.
This helps
explain why the supports of the (second-century BCE) much-disputed Hasmonean
dynasty relied so heavily on this text in its flattering descriptions of the
high priest Simon and his successors, a dynasty which likewise combined the
priestly and royal offices á la Melchizedek. Their dependence on Psalm
110 comes to the fore not least through their propensity to identify members of
the dynasty as ‘priests of the Most High’. The divine epithet ‘Most High’ is
rare in the Jewish scriptures, occurring most frequently in the narrative relating
to Melchizedek (Gen. 14.18-20), where it occurs three times. From there it is
picked up in Daniel (in reference to the Son of Man), and then by Jubilees
and Sirach (often in reference to the Hasmoneans). In Genesis, Jubilees
and Sirach the phrase ‘Most High’ is consistently used in reference to an
officiating priest; as for Daniel, this may nor may not be granted, though I
will maintain exactly as much below. At any rate by identifying themselves as ‘priests
of the Most High’, the Hasmonean rulers sought to reinforce the claim that they
had achieved Israel’s focal hope—a reunited kingdom centered on a
Jerusalem-based temple operating under the auspices of a Melchizedekian
king-priest. By asserting themselves in this way, the Hasmoneans may have met
with stiff resistance (not least from the early Qumran community), but we have
no evidence that the theological assumptions undergirding this assertion, the
merging of the royal and priestly offices, were themselves challenged.
Yet between
the royal and the priestly concerns, the priestly remains paramount. This seems
to hold true at least as early as the fourth-century (BCE) Chroniclers, where,
as Ken Pomykala observes, ‘neither the text nor the context of Chronicles
supports a messianic or royalist interpretation. Instead, in the hands of the
Chronicler the Davidic dynasty tradition subserved a particular vision of the
Jerusalem cultic community in the late Persian period’. The same
eclipsing of royal by priestly concerns continues down into the Hasmonean
period. This is patently evidenced, for example in Ben Sira’s panegyric
dedicated to Simon in his capacity as high priest (Sirach 50). As Eyal
Regev summarizes, it is not so much the case that Hasmoneans usurped religious
authoring as a way of shoring up political power; rather they ‘regarded themselves
primarily as religious leaders . . . not political or military figures who had
invaded the cultic realm, but priests and religious leaders that had been
pushed by the hand of God to rule the Jewish people and protect the Temple’. In
the Hasmonean period, the priestly and royal roles merged freely in the person
of Israel’s chief executive. But these rulers were priests first and royal
figures second: this was the logic of the Judaism of Jesus’ day. (Nicholas
Perrin, Jesus the Priest [Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic, 2018], 161-63)
