Lectionary Commentaries for June 21, 2026
Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

The Gospel reading for the fourth Sunday after Pentecost presents a selection from one of Jesus’s extended teachings in the Gospel of Matthew, usually called the missionary discourse. He speaks of the hardships his disciples will face, the divisions his message will bring, and the radical nature of loyalty to him. This passage invites reflection on what it means to follow Jesus with full commitment.

Jesus begins with a statement about identity and suffering: “A disciple is not above the teacher, nor a servant above the master” (10:24). Just as Jesus has faced opposition, his disciples will also. If the people of Jesus’s day could see his work and associate it with the work of the devil, we should not be surprised if similar things happen to us as followers today. Just prior to this verse, Jesus has made clear that allegiance to him will sometimes cause rifts even in families. Again, this is something that Jesus himself had experienced (Mark 3:21), with some of his family questioning his sanity during his ministry.

In verses 26–31, Jesus repeatedly tells his disciples not to be afraid. Though they will face threats, they should not fear those who can harm the body but cannot touch the soul. Instead, they are to trust in God’s care, knowing that even the hairs on their heads are counted. Ultimately, Jesus reminds his hearers of their traditional understanding that God knows all that can be known. He is keeping account, such that even the secret things will one day be made clearly known. 

To further illustrate, Jesus points to a sparrow. The sparrow was one of the smallest and most common birds in that region. These common birds were frequently caught for food or to sell as food (see also Deuteronomy 22:6–7; Amos 3:5; Lamentations 3:52). Yet, even something so common, so cheap, and so small does not fall out of the care and notice of Creator. And if this is the case, then we can extract from that a belief that all truth will be plain before God. 

This is both an affirmation and a warning to us as followers. On the one hand, any time we may face maligning or are the victims of injustice, we can trust that all will one day be uncovered, and God’s justice will make things right. On the other hand, it is also a warning to us. Do we deny him behind closed doors? Do we deny him with our actions? These things, too, will come to light. And to those who deny Jesus, whether by word or deed, this may one day mean that Jesus denies us before God the Father.

Perhaps the most difficult part of this passage is Jesus’s declaration that he has not come to bring peace, but a sword (10:34). He speaks of divisions, even within families, as people respond to his call. In the first century, these tensions were often palpable. Jewish Christians often faced backlash from the wider Jewish community, something we see in the book of Acts and elsewhere. Non-Jewish Christians also faced these tensions, as the wider Roman society was polytheistic, honoring the many gods of the Roman pantheon. The honoring of the gods was a civic and moral duty, and Christian refusal to participate was deeply offensive, resulting even in the charge of being atheists. 

Reading this as an Indigenous man, I cannot help but also think of Indigenous communities throughout much of the world, but especially here on Turtle Island (North America). The church has perpetuated much harm among my people, the First Nations of Canada. Christian theology demonized our culture. Christian teachings like the Doctrine of Discovery bolstered colonial conquest and dehumanization. Christian churches helped to run Indian Residential and Boarding schools, which sought to kill the Indian in the child. It should not be hard for people to understand why there is sometimes such outright hatred toward the Christian church within Indigenous communities. 

And yet, the reality is that many Indigenous people are followers of the Jesus Way. And for us, the painful division is sometimes twofold: We are sometimes at odds with our Indigenous communities because of our devotion to Jesus, while simultaneously being at odds with the church because we are proud of who we are as Indigenous people and seek to follow God the way he has made us—something that is often deeply resisted within the wider church that desires more cultural hegemony.

Jesus concludes this passage with a profound challenge: “Whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me” (10:38). This statement, made before his crucifixion, foreshadows the cost of discipleship. To take up the cross is to embrace a way of life marked by sacrifice, service, and faithfulness. Jesus’s words affirm that discipleship is not about personal gain but about embodying God’s love and justice in the world. 

This is a tough pill to swallow, especially in the modern day when comfort, convenience, and safety are so highly prized. And the final verse offers a paradox: “Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it” (10:39). This teaching calls believers to release their grip on self-preservation and embrace the deeper life found in Christ. We will find abundance in life if we take up the life of Christ. True life is found not in accumulation or personal achievement but in living in right relationship with Creator, with community, and with creation. Jesus’s words invite his followers into this reality—where life is defined not by status or security but by faithfulness to God’s call.

The book of Jeremiah revisits his calling—not to celebrate it, but to wrestle with it. Jeremiah 20:7–13 offers one of the most honest and troubling reflections on prophetic ministry in all of Scripture. In this passage, the task and call of a prophet again come into stark outline. The book of Jeremiah contains a set of laments sometimes called the “confessions” of Jeremiah (11:18–12:6; 15:10–21; 17:14–18; 18:18–23; 20:7–13; 20:14–18). The historical context and literary message of Jeremiah informed the believing community of the sixth century BCE, and they inform a 21st-century audience as well.

Historical context

The original audience of Jeremiah lived between nostalgia and fear—looking back to a “golden age” under David and Solomon, while facing the rising threat of Babylon. Feelings both of nostalgia for a glorious past and of anxiety, confronted by the realities of an oncoming Babylonian colonization, encircled the audience of the book of Jeremiah in the past and even today. The dreaming past remembered a time of unity and prosperity in David and Solomon. 

However, the ugly “now” of the sixth century BCE was more shaped by the two communities of Israel and Judah. The northern kingdom of Israel is absorbed into the Assyrian Empire. Jeremiah’s ministry as a prophet with priestly credentials begins during the reign of King Josiah. The community thought this would be the return to the glory years of David and Solomon. 

When empires began to lose power, their colonized clients maneuvered for a better deal either with the old empire or with the emerging ones. The Assyrian Empire conquered the northern kingdom. The southern kingdom survived but was caught in nostalgia and anxiety about a new political world.

Genre

The sheer amount of first-person prophetic narratives that Augustine called confessions and laments of Jeremiah separate it from other biblical prophetic books. The narratives of his ministry, such as his call (Jeremiah 1) and conflicts (Jeremiah 27–29), are more extensive than in Isaiah. The book also includes the genre of personal lament, like those found in Psalms and Lamentations. These laments express personal trials and devotion to God. 

Close reading

A close reading of Jeremiah 20:7–13 indicates a five-part structure. Jeremiah 20:7a begins with an accusation that God does three things: entices, overpowers and prevails.  The verb translated “entice” in the New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition can mean “to lead astray” (Ezekiel 14:9) or even “to seduce” (see Exodus 22:16). The language resembles personal lament (Psalm 44:14–15). 

The next section of the first-person description, verses 7b–9, testifies to the inner struggle of the prophet. The prophet accuses God of making him a laughingstock (a similar passage occurs in Lamentations 3:14). The prophet trades in honor, which is discredited when one becomes a laughingstock, a person or thing that is ridiculed by others. A laughingstock is the same as the butt of a joke. An insult in English is “You are a joke!”  

A prophet trades in respectability. In the honor/shame culture of the Bible, the true prophet has honor. False prophets are covered with shame. The historian Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham coined the term “politics of respectability” to describe the ways privileged members of a marginalized group promote themselves as supporting the social norms of the dominant groups. The ancient prophet could benefit from respectability politics, but for Jeremiah. 

Respectability values certain behaviors and communication strategies. Jeremiah speaks but it comes out as a cry, or lament. The speech becomes a loud cry, violence and destruction. The writer sets up an “if…, then…” sentence. If speaking becomes shouting, making him a joke, he tries a different strategy: silence (Jeremiah 20:9). Silence leads to another symptom that occurs in individual lament, a fever (Psalm 102:4; see also Job 30:30).

The next section quotes the social opposition (verse 10). The loud volume of prophetic speech contrasts with the prophet hearing the whispering. The word for “whispering” has the connotation of subversive speech, an accusation against the prophet by enemies (verse 10a). Descriptions of friends/enemies in verse 10b express terror and locate the prophet as central to the terror. The “terror everywhere” occurs elsewhere in Jeremiah (6:25; 46:5; 49:29). The response of the mob is calling for the denunciation of the prophet. 

The group “all my close friends” makes clear that not all the opponents are at socially distant. Respectability politics also comes home to close friends. They look for the failure of the prophet. The writer returns to the language of “entice.” The enticement of the prophet allows enemies—even friends—to have the social advantage that earlier in the passage is allotted to God. 

Statement of trust in God (verses 11–12): The prophet affirms the Lord as a “terrifying warrior.” The friends and enemies will not receive the honor they aspire to, but shame that is never extinguished, eternal dishonor.

Instruction to praise (verse 13): The unit ends with a psalm-like conclusion. The call to sing and praise occurs often in biblical psalms, as does God saving the needy from the hands of evildoers. 

Key theological themes/Pastoral implications for preachers

There are three themes with preaching and pastoral implications. First, God has a profound power over the prophet. The free will of the prophet is not an option in the book of Jeremiah. The passage begins with an accusation of persuasion. However, the lament by using the term “entice” is a more subtle persuasion, as well as the term “overwhelm” or “overpower” as a militant persuasion creates a view of God as beyond the normal niceties we like to think about when it comes to call and human commitment. 

Second, the relationship with God sets all other relationships on edge in the political context of the passage. The loyalty to God organizes everything else. Disobedience in silence creates a fire in the bones. The prophet cannot be constrained by politics of respectability.

Finally, does Jeremiah become typical for every believer, ancient and contemporary? The book of Jeremiah proclaims the message that God is big enough to use our enemies, even our imperial colonizing enemies, to do God’s will. 

In the third segment of our lectionary’s focus on the Abrahamic covenant—beginning with God’s promise to make Abraham a great nation (Genesis 12), and continuing with God’s promise that Sarah would bear a son (Genesis 18)—we finally arrive at the long-awaited birth of Sarah’s child in Genesis 21.

Readers may recall that in Genesis 11:30, the narrator reports that Sarah was childless, making God’s promise of descendants to Abraham (Genesis 15) difficult to imagine. That implausibility deepens in Genesis 18, where Abraham and Sarah are described as advanced in age, and Sarah—already identified as barren—is said to be past childbearing age (verse 11).

In a patriarchal world where a son not only was prized but also brought economic stability to a woman, barrenness was almost universally regarded as a burden of shame. In the ancient world, which lacked an understanding of the reproductive process, women were often blamed for reproductive failure. Yet as a wealthy woman, Sarah had options.

Several chapters earlier, Sarah gave her slave woman Hagar to Abraham as a secondary wife to bear a son for him (Genesis 16:4). Ishmael’s birth would also have brought Sarah esteem, since ancient Near Eastern surrogacy laws granted her the right to raise the child as her own. With the birth of Isaac, however, Ishmael’s status changed—from Sarah’s legal son and Abraham’s firstborn heir to the son of a slave woman. That transition was not complete until Isaac was weaned. Weaning marked survival beyond the precarious stage of infancy and signaled readiness to become a productive member of Abraham’s household.¹ Abraham celebrated this milestone with a feast in Isaac’s honor (Genesis 21:8).

The narrator then reports that Sarah saw “the son of Hagar” playing (or “laughing,” verse 9).² This act of seeing signals that what follows is filtered through Sarah’s perspective, and she sets in motion the rejection and expulsion of Ishmael and his mother. The Hebrew term metsacheq, translated “playing with,” literally means “making [him] laugh” and can also carry the sense of mocking or jesting. It is rooted in tsachaq (“to laugh”), a deliberate play on Isaac’s name (Yitzchaq). Elsewhere, I have translated metsacheq as “Isaacing” to suggest that the narrator invites readers to see what Sarah saw—Ishmael behaving in a way that imitated her son Isaac.³

Perhaps Sarah feared that affection between the two boys would threaten God’s covenant promise to her son, a promise that included economic security. She makes this fear explicit when she demands that Abraham cast out Hagar and Ishmael so that Ishmael will not share in Isaac’s inheritance (verse 10). By removing Isaac’s competition, Sarah reinforces the idea that motherhood begets financial stability.

God appears to read Abraham’s mind in response to Sarah’s action. After the narrator reports that Sarah’s demand regarding Ishmael was “distressing” to Abraham (verse 11), God reassures him that he need “not be distressed” about the boy and his mother (verse 12). Both Hebrew terms share the root ra‘a’ (“evil”), so that “the matter was very distressing” is literally “the thing was very evil in Abraham’s eyes.” What Sarah sees as expedient, Abraham experiences as morally troubling.

Nevertheless, God instructs Abraham to do as Sarah says, clarifying that it is through Isaac and his offspring that God’s promise in Genesis 12 will be fulfilled (verse 12). God appears to support Sarah’s exclusion of Ishmael by referring to him not by name but as na‘ar (“the boy”) or “the son of the slave woman” (verses 12–13). Yet God does not abandon Ishmael entirely. God acknowledges that the son of the slave woman is also Abraham’s seed and promises to make a nation of him as well (verse 13; see also 17:20).

The next morning Abraham rises early, gives Hagar bread and a skin of water, places them and the boy on her shoulder, and sends them into the wilderness (verse 14). The Hebrew verb translated “cast out” means “to drive out” or “forcibly remove,” underscoring the violence of the act. The text twice refers to Ishmael as a yeled (“child”), suggesting infancy or early childhood (verses 14–15), even though God earlier called him a na‘ar, a term closer to adolescence.

As expected, their provisions soon run out. Fearing death in the wilderness, Hagar places her son at a distance, unable to watch him die, and weeps loudly (verse 16). The text then states that God hears the boy’s crying—again calling Ishmael a na‘ar—and an angel of God calls to Hagar, telling her not to fear. God has heard the boy’s cries and promises again to make a great nation of him (verses 17–18).

The distinction between yeled and na‘ar may seem minor, but as Rabbi Jesse Olitzky observes, a na‘ar is “someone who is forced to grow up—someone who was vulnerable before, but empowered at this moment.”⁴ Rabbi Olitzky was writing about our nation’s children who experience gun violence in schools. But the yeladim—children forced to grow up too soon—become na‘arim when they seize the moment to protest in response. Perhaps by referring to him by na’ar, God was anticipating that Ishmael would go from a yeled to a na‘ar who became an expert archer in the wilderness of Paran (verse 21).

In Genesis 21, God’s promise moves forward with covenantal promises while refusing to ignore the cries of those pushed to the margins. The God who hears Ishmael’s voice still listens for the voices of those forced to grow up too soon—and calls us to stand with them.

Notes

1. Naomi Steinberg, The World of the Child in the Hebrew Bible (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2013), 38–39.
2. Notably, the Hebrew manuscript omits the phrase “with her son Isaac.”
3. Vanessa Lovelace, A Womanist Reading of Hebrew Bible Narratives as the Politics of Belonging from an Outsider Within (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books/Fortress Academic, 2024), 16.
4. Rabbi Jesse Olitzky, “Our Children Are No Longer Children,” November 20, 2019, https://rabbiolitzky.wordpress.com/tag/naar/.

In Psalm 69, a servant of God (verse 17) suffers for no fault of his own, but rather for his devotion to God (verse 9).¹

He is an innocent sufferer, even a righteous sufferer, and the servant claims that he suffers “for God” (verse 7). For these reasons, Psalm 69 is a profound meditation on suffering, comparable to the great Isaianic passages about the “servant of YHVH,” especially Isaiah 52:13–53:12, and that devastating book called Job. Suffering, in our psalm, is not the consequence of sin but of piety, and it is suffering that benefits God.

The reality of suffering

Psalm 69 readily admits the reality of suffering and that suffering is an undesirable experience for the righteous. The psalm does not glorify suffering as an opportunity either for education or for demonstrating the virtue of patience, even if suffering can be those things. The psalmist simply decries his suffering and petitions God for a swift deliverance:

I am in distress—make haste to answer me. (Psalm 69:17b, New Revised Standard Version)

In short, the psalmist does not glorify suffering but complains effusively, honestly, to God. Complaint, then, is presented as a righteous and faithful expression of hope in God.

The cause of the suffering in the psalm also deserves note. The psalmist, from among the wide palette of painful experiences, lifts up the suffering caused by the human tongue. The psalm mentions enemies (verses 4, 18), who do not approach with bow and arrow but with words—a very human approach and, arguably, humanity’s most potent weapon. Thus, the psalmist complains of insults, gossip, and the mocking song and describes them in the powerful, if typical, language of chaotic waters:

I sink in deep mire,
Where there is no foothold;
I have come into deep waters,
And the flood sweeps over me. (Psalm 69:2)

The suffering caused by human words is palpable to the body, as the rush of words suffocates the psalmist. That is why the prayer for deliverance found in the psalm is no less urgent than the prayers of psalms in which a military threat is in view. Suffering caused by human words—typically of family and neighbors (verse 8)—is every bit as real as that caused by the arrow and the fang. Words, even when they are false, can kill.

Innocent suffering

Also important is the observation that the psalm admits of innocent suffering. More than that, it describes the suffering of a pious, even righteous person. The psalmist suffers, not for some uncharacteristic peccadillo—for “looking upon a virgin” or ignoring the complaint of a slave against him” (Job 31)—but because of his “zeal for [God’s] house” and for earnest fasts (Psalm 69:9, 10). Was the enthusiastic piety of the psalmist an affront to the easy religiosity of his contemporaries? Whatever the perceived offense, from the perspective of the psalmist, he suffers because of righteousness. His is innocent suffering.

It is important, in this light, to note that suffering is not, within the world of the Bible, necessarily a sign of sin. This lesson, of course, is at the heart of the book of Job. Job’s three friends—no doubt learned and respected men, not unlike Job himself—interpret Job’s suffering as the fitting consequence of sin and, out of genuine concern (which admittedly turns acerbic), advise Job to agree with God’s judgment (that is, the plain meaning of the suffering) and repent. Repentance, they propose, will cause God to turn away from his righteous anger and restore Job to blessedness.

Our psalmist entertains no such possibility. Far from repentant, he stands certain in his righteousness before God (verse 5) and looks not to repentance as the path toward restoration, but to lament and complaint. The psalmist does not obfuscate the reality of his suffering, which includes verbal bullying and social ostracism (verse 8)—experiences not uncommon among youths and adults, then and now. Rather, he openly laments and complains that God, to whom he has directed his prayers, has been too slow in responding:

Do not hide your face from your servant …

Draw near to me, redeem me … (verses 17a, 18a)

The psalm, then, presents lament and complaint as fitting responses of the righteous to suffering, especially when the suffering is innocent. Does the Bible claim that punishment follows sin? No doubt. But it also admits that the innocent suffer. And the prescribed response, in such cases, is lament (the full acknowledgment that suffering is evil) and complaint to God, who appears too distant and all too silent in the midst of suffering. Lament and complaint are prayer based on the hope that the Holy One can be moved.

Vicarious suffering

The Bible refuses to believe that human suffering is without meaning. And the commitment to an understanding of suffering as meaningful becomes an acute theological problem, especially with innocent suffering. This is the case in our psalm, as it is in Isaiah 53. And the psalmist makes perhaps an outrageous claim for his innocent suffering: He suffers “for God” (verse 7).

It is for your sake that I have borne reproach,
That shame has covered my face …

The insults of those who insult you have fallen on me. (verses 7, 9b)

Psalm 69:9b identifies those who disparage the psalmist as the very persons who disparage God. The unstated claim is the identification of the psalmist with God.

The psalmist makes perhaps a grander claim in verse 7. The force of the Hebrew phrase translated “for your sake” is unclear, but is possibly an interpretation that includes a dimension of benefit. The phrase might indicate that the psalmist’s suffering benefits God; that is, the psalmist may be saying that he suffers in the place of God, for God: The insults directed to God fall instead on the psalmist so that God is spared the affront.

The suffering of which the psalm admits, then, is more than innocent suffering. It is more than even righteous suffering. It is vicarious suffering that is not only effect—caused by the psalmist’s piety—but also cause, whose effect is a benefit, in some mysterious way, to God. In short, the psalmist, in his suffering, honors God—glorifies God.

Salvation from suffering

Given the special character of the psalmist’s suffering, it is no surprise that the petition for salvation takes on elevated meaning. The psalmist argues that his deliverance from suffering signifies an affirmation of all who hope in and seek God (verse 6). Why? Because the psalmist, in his suffering and salvation, stands before God and his fellow human beings as an icon of all the servants of God. The suffering servant has become the representative of all God’s servants.

Is it any wonder, then, that New Testament authors saw Christ in the light of this psalm?

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website for June 25, 2017.

As a preacher, considering the other options you could choose from in the lectionary, this passage from Romans may not initially appeal to you. The 11 verses focus on sin and on how our baptism in Christ means that we have died with Christ, so we are dead to sin. The language can feel a bit repetitive at times, and understanding Paul’s rhetorical background, we know he is probably trying to address his interlocutors.¹ Listening in on someone else’s conversation is not always the most inspiring for us personally.

But how many times in your ministry do you preach about sin generally? I am guessing not very often. What if you took the next four weeks to do a sermon series on theological understandings of sin, based on the lectionary passages from Romans?

In this commentary and the following three, we will look at sin in relationship to other ideas. This commentary on Romans 6:1b–11 will look at sin’s relationship to baptism; the commentary covering the rest of chapter 6 will examine sin in relationship to slavery and death; the commentary on Romans 7:15–25a will cover sin and self-deception; and a commentary on Romans 8:1–11 will address sin and the flesh.

Preaching on sin may not be a popular series for your congregation, but done well, it can educate your congregants on this theological theme that is central to the Christian faith, as well as provide a deeper understanding of the hope and grace given to us in Christ.

Paul has been writing to the church in Rome, consisting of both Jews and gentiles, in order to clarify some of the conflicts and disputes within the young congregation. The first few chapters lay out his theological argument that God’s plan to save humanity began first with the Jews, followed by a gracious expansion to include gentiles as well. Because gentiles in the early church worried that they needed to become Jewish to fully realize this salvation, Paul explains that the law was meant for the Jews, and through it God has worked salvation, whereas gentiles have been offered another way: not through circumcision or following the laws of Torah, but through faith in Christ.²

The passage for this Sunday is a continuation of this argument on the implications of the gospel for the gentiles. While Paul says the gentiles do not need to observe the law, neither does Paul want to encourage gentiles to wantonly avoid obeying the law. Even though there is grace, we should not continue to sin now that we know we can live new lives, sanctified through Christ, living righteously.

The mark of this new life begins with baptism.

Why does Paul connect baptism with sin, or to be more specific, how does baptism represent our death to sin?

Two moments help us see more clearly the connection between baptism and the forgiveness of sins: Jesus’s baptism and Pentecost. Jews had already associated water purification rituals with cleansing from impurities, such as menstruation or touching a corpse. The prophet Elisha advises Naaman to wash in the River Jordan in order to be healed and purified from his leprosy (2 Kings 5:10).

With John the Baptist, we hear that baptism is associated with the confession of sins and the coming of the Holy Spirit (see Mark 1:4–5, 8).³ John came “proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins” (Mark 1:4).

Later, in Acts at Pentecost, when the crowd is convicted by Peter’s sermon and asks him what to do, he advises them, “Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven” (Acts 2:38).

Going into the water began as a real way to wash one’s body and to observe the law in terms of purity rites. With John the Baptist and the early followers of Jesus, immersion into water as baptism or the sprinkling of water evoked more specifically the forgiveness of sins beyond ritual purity. While there have been debates throughout Christian history about baptism by sprinkling versus full immersion, or baptizing infants versus believers, at heart is the image of water that a person feels physically, which represents their forgiveness from sin and their new identity in Christ.

When we baptize infants, it is hard to imagine them having any “sin” to speak of, let alone sins needing to be forgiven and cleansed through baptism. Why, then, do we baptize infants?

Long ago, people feared their babies would die before receiving their baptisms, and they believed that without baptism, their children would die apart from God.

That is no longer the reason we baptize infants! Today, we proclaim the providence of God as holding these precious, vulnerable babies long before they can choose God for themselves. This may be a good time to remember your own denomination’s views on infant baptism and to share them with your congregation.

But if baptism is ultimately about death to sin, how might we communicate that more at the time of baptism?

And what do we mean by sin affecting such young persons, who may not have the capacity to choose God, but who also seem not to have the capacity to “sin” as we might imagine sinning?

This is where we get to dive deeper into our theologies of sin—what we mean by “sin” and how we talk about it.

You may want to consult your congregation about their own understandings of sin: What do they think of when they hear the word? What images are conjured for them? The next three commentaries on the Romans texts from the lectionary will unpack some possible suggestions.

Notes

1. Romans 6:1–23 footnote, The Jewish Annotated New Testament, 2nd Edition (Oxford University Press, 2017), 297.
2. Jimmy Hoke, “The Letter of Paul to the Romans: Reading Guide,” The Westminster Study Bible, NRSVue (Westminster John Knox, 2024).
3. Mark 1:4 commentary footnote, The Jewish Annotated New Testament, 69, 71.