Attempts to understand Luke as an alternate version of Matthew have not proved fruitful, as the previous discussion demonstrates. Lukeās Gospel does not appear to be an effective handbook for Christian catechesis, nor should we expect it to be. Attempts to analyze Lukeās middle section in a short topical pericope framework very quickly begin to break down. Patterns that appear to be present at first suddenly disappear. It seems impossible realistically to assign specific topics to different passages, and even the lengths of such passages vary tremendously. If this was indeed Lukeās intention here, perhaps he really was a ācrank,ā as Streeter suggested! Yet rather than letting this evaluation lead us to the conclusion that he therefore did not have any plan in mind but instead merely pasted bits and pieces together from his sources with no ārhyme or reason,ā or that his plan was ultimately a poor one, perhaps this ought to set alarm bells ringing in our collective brains. Maybe this simply means that Luke was actually up to something quite different, and it would make far more sense for us to discover what this was rather than pointing fingers at Luke and calling him a ācrankā with āoverweening vanity.ā
Perhaps treating Lukeās Gospel not as a āmanualā but as a literary composition, a story, makes far more sense and seems far more consistent with Lukeās own statement of his intentions in his Prologue. If we were to do so, and were to seek to appreciate his Journey to Jerusalem as a literary device and not merely a dumping ground for material that Luke did not know what else to do with, some new possibilities of understanding may be opened to us. It therefore seems best to approach this portion of his Gospel not as a string of individual pericopes but as a specific, purposeful segment within a specific, literary composition.
If we approach Lukeās Gospel as a composed work of art, we may discover that its shape is similar to the shape of other works of art that are experienced through time. Unlike paintings or sculptures, which are static, a story changes as we read and experience it. It is, indeed, not unlike music in this respect, which we also experience through time. An understanding of the temporal shape of music may therefore also help our understanding of Lukeās Gospel. A piece of music, like any story, also has a beginning, a middle, and an end, and a well-written one brings us skillfully to its climax and conclusion and, in the process, may change us profoundly.
One of the most sophisticated forms of music, and one that has a carefully crafted beginning, middle, and end, is the classical sonata form, used extensively by composers such as Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven for the first movements of nearly all their symphonies and other works. A comparison between Lukeās Gospel and a piece of music written in Sonata Form may therefore provide a potential means for us to understand Luke the composer and his intentions and craftsmanship in constructing his work.
Sonata Form
Sonata form, like Lukeās Gospel, has three parts, and it is this structure that may be enlightening for an understanding of the shape and composition of Lukeās Gospel as a whole. This is not merely because these structures happen to be somewhat analogous in form, but rather because the structure of Luke and the structure of sonata form turn out to be similar in that they both provide similar solutions to a similar problem within their respective artistic media. Sonata form is an aesthetic solution to an aesthetic problem, and Luke is facing the identical aesthetic problem: how to hold the interest of his audience and how to bring them with him to the climactic point of his work while potentially affecting them deeply in the process. Lukeās is not a theological problem but an artistic one. He has a considerable amount of material he wants to present to his audience, much of it consisting of short parables and sayings. How is he to arrange this in such a way as to keep his audience interested and to keep his plotline moving? Again, this is an artistic problem, and his solution must therefore likewise be artistic. But he will also use that solution as a vehicle for expressing profound theological insights (just as the classical composers used sonata form as a vehicle for expressing profound emotional insights). To understand how and why, let us take a look at sonata form as an aesthetic structure to see how it solves the problem of holding interest and building to a satisfactory climax.
Even a short piece of music needs some sort of structure in order to carry its audience along. This prevents it from ending up at one of two extremes: If a piece of music remains the same, simply repeating the same phrases over and over with no variation, it quickly becomes boring and we lose interest. But if, at the other extreme, it varies too much, with no common elements whatsoever as it continues, there ceases to be any aspect of it for us to āhold on to,ā and we likewise lose interest. A balance must be struck between repetition and variation.
One of the most basic structures in music to maintain this balance is the āABAā form. The first part (A) presents a specific theme. Then the middle part (B) presents a contrasting theme, providing the interesting variation. But then the original theme is repeated (A again), rounding out the piece and reminding us of where we started. Not only do we have some repetition and some variation here, but in a skillful composition the very contrast of the B section can prepare us emotionally for the climactic and powerful return of the familiar A theme, now heard in a more potent context.
Sonata form is a sophisticated version of this ABA form: The first part, the Exposition section, presents a series of themes in sequence. The first part of this series (often referred to as the āFirst Theme Groupā) is in the āhomeā key of the piece; then the second part (the āSecond Theme Groupā) is in a contrasting key. Then the series usually ends with a ālittle tail,ā a āCodetta,ā still in the contrasting key, which brings the series to a close. In shorter works in sonata form, the entire Exposition is usually repeated, but this has no specific relevance for our analogy.
The second part, the Development section, utilizes the themes that were presented in the Exposition but alters them in various ways (by shortening or lengthening them, juxtaposing them against each other, or by other techniques) and, in addition, explores many different keys. The Development section therefore provides a great deal of variation, but still with some familiarity, since the themes being developed have mostly been heard by us in their original form in the Exposition. This middle Development section does much more than simply add variation and interest, however. By exploring and subtly altering the various themes individually and in relation to each other, we come to understand them better emotionally and they come to carry more and more significance for us. These variations, along with the many key changes, help to prepare us for the ultimate climactic realization of the themes in the final part of Sonata form, the Recapitulation. The last portion of the Development section (known as the Retransition) serves a specific purpose, preparing us for the return to the ...