The saying assumes the accessible flat roofs characteristic of many Palestinian dwellings and portrays an escape requiring no return into the house. The man "on the housetop" (ὁ ἐπὶ τοῦ δώματος) is forbidden to go down (μὴ καταβάτω) for the purpose of taking possessions from within. Since roofs could commonly be reached by an exterior stairway or adjoining structures, one standing there could depart directly rather than descend into the interior and emerge again by the normal route. The contrast between δῶμα, "roof," and οἰκία, "house," is therefore concrete: the roof is the place from which flight begins, while the house contains the goods whose retrieval would create delay. The aorist imperative καταβάτω, governed by μή, gives the prohibition the force of a decisive refusal: he must not make the downward trip to collect what is his. The aorist infinitive ἆραι (from αἴρω), "to take up, carry away," specifies the intended purpose of such a descent. In the immediate context, where those in Judea are commanded to flee to the mountains upon the appearance of the abomination of desolation (24:15–16), domestic property is set in deliberate contrast to the urgency of escape. The image is not chiefly an allegory of detachment from material goods, though it certainly implies their comparative insignificance; it is a realistic warning that the crisis Jesus foretells will permit neither preparation nor the recovery of household effects.

The threatened sale of the servant, his household, and his possessions is not presented as a realistic way to discharge the debt in full; it heightens the servant’s utter insolvency and prepares for the king’s wholly unmerited cancellation of the debt in v. 27. The amount introduced in v. 24—ten thousand talents—is deliberately enormous. Even the liquidation of the debtor’s entire household and estate could not plausibly meet such an obligation. Thus the command expresses the full legal consequence of default while making clear that repayment, despite the servant’s subsequent promise, is beyond reach. Grammatically, the genitive absolute μὴ ἔχοντος αὐτοῦ ἀποδοῦναι, “since he did not have [the means] to repay,” supplies the reason for the king’s order. The aorist passive infinitive πραθῆναι (from πιπράσκω, “to sell”) depends on ἐκέλευσεν, “he commanded,” and the wife, children, and possessions are added as the scope of what was to be sold. The final infinitive, ἀποδοθῆναι, “for payment to be made,” is passive and functions with a purposive force: liquidation was ordered toward some recovery of the debt. The wording reflects ancient practices in which debt could entail enslavement or the forfeiture of property, but Jesus does not thereby establish a civil statute concerning family sale. Within the parable, the severity of the order displays the judicial claim of the κύριος and, by contrast, magnifies the extraordinary remission that follows.

The wording depicts seed that is initially received into soil but is subsequently rendered unfruitful by competing growth. Matthew does not say that the grain failed to germinate; rather, after the seed fell among thorns, “the thorns grew up” (ἀνέβησαν, aorist active indicative of ἀναβαίνω) and “choked them” (ἔπνιξαν αὐτά, aorist active indicative of πνίγω). The neuter plural pronoun αὐτά refers naturally to the seeds or, by implication, the plants arising from them. The image is therefore not of bare rock or an immediate failure of reception, but of a cultivated-looking plot in which thorn growth proves dominant. The parable’s interpretation confirms this sequence. In v. 22 the seed is “sown among thorns,” and the thorns are identified as “the anxiety of the age and the deceitfulness of wealth,” which “choke the word, and it becomes unfruitful.” Πνίγω denotes suffocation or strangulation: the word is not presented as absent from the hearer, but as deprived of the conditions in which it bears fruit. The agricultural picture presupposes that thorn roots or seeds already occupy the soil, though their visible growth emerges alongside or over the grain. Thus the emphasis falls upon rival claims that coexist with the word until they overwhelm its fruit-bearing outcome. In Matthew’s narrative logic, this is a distinct response from the rocky ground: the rocky hearer falls away under affliction, whereas the thorny hearer is characterized by the word’s being choked through the ascendancy of worldly cares and wealth’s deception.

The aorist ἀφήκαμεν (from ἀφίημι, “release, forgive”) presents the disciples’ forgiveness of their debtors as an act or settled practice already embraced when they pray: “as we also have forgiven.” It should not be flattened into a mere present-tense resolve, although English versions that read “as we forgive” rightly convey the continuing disposition implied. The aorist is constative, viewing the forgiving response as a whole, rather than asserting that every possible offense has been exhaustively dealt with once for all. The emphatic ἡμεῖς (“we ourselves”) and καί (“also”) establish a real correspondence between the petitioners’ conduct and their request before God. That correspondence does not make human forgiveness the meritorious ground upon which God pardons sin. The New Testament consistently locates the basis of forgiveness in God’s mercy and, climactically, in Christ’s atoning work, not in a reciprocal moral achievement. Yet Matthew does not permit the relation to be reduced to a harmless comparison. Jesus immediately explains that the Father’s forgiveness is withheld from those who refuse to forgive (6:14–15), and the parable of the unforgiving servant similarly portrays mercilessness as incompatible with having truly received mercy (18:21–35). Thus the petition concerns the Father’s covenantal and filial forgiveness sought by disciples whose own release of fellow debtors manifests the repentance and mercy appropriate to those who appeal to divine grace. Persistent refusal to forgive is not a minor defect compensated for by prayer; it contradicts the very plea for forgiveness that the disciple utters.

Matthew’s designation of the company as “the twelve disciples” indicates that Judas remained outwardly enrolled among the apostolic band at the time of the meal, even though his betrayal had already been arranged. The phrase does not mitigate Judas’s guilt or imply that Jesus was ignorant of his purpose; rather, it sharpens the tragedy that the betrayer arose from within the covenantal circle personally chosen and instructed by Jesus. Matthew has already called Judas “one of the twelve” when reporting his approach to the chief priests (26:14), and the ensuing scene immediately discloses that one of those reclining with Jesus will betray him (26:21). Thus the narrator deliberately retains the corporate designation at the very moment its internal rupture is about to be exposed. The expression μετὰ τῶν δώδεκα μαθητῶν (“with the twelve disciples”) is not merely a headcount but identifies the recognized apostolic body. Judas’s physical presence and formal office were real, though his inward allegiance was false. The imperfect ἀνέκειτο (anakeimai, imperfect middle indicative), “he was reclining,” sets the scene as Jesus lay at table with the whole company in the customary posture of a formal meal. The narrative therefore presents Judas as participating in the Passover setting and in the fellowship of the Twelve, while his secret design stands under Jesus’ sovereign knowledge and the judgment announced in the verses that follow (26:24–25).

Matthew depicts the forgiven servant's violence as an unfolding and sustained act rather than a mere momentary gesture. κρατήσας (from krateō), an aorist active participle, marks the initial decisive act of laying hold of the fellow slave; ἔπνιγεν (from pnigō), an imperfect active indicative, then places the choking in progress. The imperfect may carry an inceptive sense, “he began to choke him,” or a progressive sense, “he kept choking him.” In either case, the narrative lingers on the assault and renders the servant's demand brutally coercive rather than a restrained request for payment. The verbal contrast also distinguishes the fellow slave's continuing debt from the creditor's escalating conduct. ὤφειλεν, likewise imperfect, supplies the background circumstance: the man was owing one hundred denarii. That was a real and not insignificant personal debt, but it stands in deliberate disproportion to the first servant's cancellation of ten thousand talents (vv. 24–27). The choking is not presented as an ordinary judicial step toward debt collection; imprisonment is mentioned separately in v. 30. It is the parable's concentrated portrayal of a servant who has just received astonishing mercy yet immediately exercises merciless power against one who shares his status as a σύνδουλος, a fellow slave.

“Head of the corner” denotes the stone granted the chief and determinative place in God’s building, rather than merely any stone positioned at a corner. Matthew follows the wording of Psalm 118:22 in the Septuagint, κεφαλὴν γωνίας (kephalēn gōnias), literally “head of a corner.” The Hebrew underlying the psalm, רֹאשׁ פִּנָּה (roʾsh pinnâ), likewise combines “head” or “chief” with “corner.” The expression may evoke a principal foundation stone that joins and aligns two walls, though some have understood it as a crowning or capstone. Ancient architectural terminology does not permit the precise physical identification to be established with confidence. The context, however, makes the metaphorical force clear. The builders, whom the parable has identified with the responsible leaders of Israel (21:33–41), reject the stone; nevertheless, “this one” (οὗτος, houtos), emphatically placed after the relative clause, “became” (ἐγενήθη, egenēthē) the head of the corner. Jesus applies the psalm to his own rejection and to the divine reversal by which the rejected Son receives the preeminent place. Whether the image is conceived as foundation stone or capstone, its meaning is not that Christ occupies one useful place among others, but that he is the indispensable and honored stone upon which the whole structure depends. The following clause excludes any reading that makes this reversal merely a human vindication: “from the Lord this came” (παρὰ κυρίου ἐγένετο αὕτη, para kyriou egeneto hautē). The feminine demonstrative αὕτη most naturally refers to the preceding event or divine act—the stone’s becoming the chief corner-stone. Thus the citation announces God’s sovereign purpose in the rejection and exaltation of Christ, a purpose that is “marvelous” precisely because it overturns the verdict of the builders.

Matthew locates the women’s arrival after the Sabbath, in the early light of the first day of the week—Sunday morning—not on Saturday evening. The opening expression ὀψὲ δὲ σαββάτων (opse de sabbatōn) can, in some contexts, bear the sense “late on the Sabbath,” since ὀψέ may denote lateness. Here, however, its construction with the genitive σαββάτων naturally has the temporal force “after the Sabbath,” and the following clause specifies the resulting time: τῇ ἐπιφωσκούσῃ εἰς μίαν σαββάτων, “as it was dawning toward the first day of the week.” The present participle ἐπιφωσκούσῃ (epiphōskousē), dative feminine singular, modifies an understood “day” and depicts the onset of daylight. The plural σαββάτων (sabbatōn) in both phrases does not mean that several distinct Sabbaths had passed or that Matthew is counting festival Sabbaths. In Jewish-Greek idiom, the plural form of σάββατον (sabbaton) could denote either the Sabbath day or the seven-day week. Thus μίαν σαββάτων is literally “one [day] of the week,” an established expression for the first day after the Sabbath. The sequence is therefore deliberate: the Sabbath has concluded, and the first day is beginning in the morning light. Luke’s use of the cognate verb in Luke 23:54, where the Sabbath was “beginning,” has led some to argue that ἐπιφώσκω can refer to the illumination associated with sunset and hence that Matthew means Saturday evening. Yet Luke’s setting concerns the approach of the Sabbath under Jewish sunset reckoning, whereas Matthew explicitly directs the time “toward the first day of the week” and joins it to the women’s discovery of the empty tomb. The parallel resurrection narratives likewise place the visit at or very near daybreak on the first day. Matthew’s wording therefore introduces the resurrection morning while retaining the theological contrast between the completed Sabbath and the dawning new day.

Matthew’s citation of Jeremiah 31:15 deliberately evokes the larger restoration context of Jeremiah 31 rather than isolating the verse as a bare prediction of Herod’s massacre. The immediate referent in Jeremiah is Israel’s exile: Ramah, north of Jerusalem, was associated with the deportation of Judeans, and Rachel functions as the maternal representative of Israel, grieving the loss of her descendants. Yet the divine reply immediately following the quoted verse commands Rachel to cease weeping because there is "reward" for her work and her children will return from the enemy’s land (Jer 31:16–17). Matthew does not reproduce those verses because the present narrative requires the lament itself to be heard in its full historical gravity; the murdered children of Bethlehem are truly "not" (οὐκ εἰσίν), a present-tense expression of irreversible bereavement. Nevertheless, the citation’s setting in Jeremiah prevents it from being read as despair without remainder. Jeremiah 31 is a principal new-covenant and restoration passage, and Matthew has already framed Jesus’ preservation and return from Egypt as the recapitulation and fulfillment of Israel’s history (Matt 2:15). The slaughter at Bethlehem is therefore another manifestation of the exile-like opposition that surrounds the Messiah’s advent, while Jesus’ escape and subsequent return signal that the promised restoration is arriving in him. The present participle κλαίουσα ("weeping") vividly portrays Rachel’s continuing grief, and the imperfect ἤθελεν ("she was unwilling") emphasizes the settled refusal of merely human consolation in the face of death. Matthew neither minimizes that grief nor treats Jeremiah’s later consolation as immediately canceling it; rather, the wider Jeremianic context locates the lament within God’s announced purpose to restore his covenant people through the messianic king.

“Jesus Barabbas” is very probably the original reading of Matthew 27:17. The wording places two men named Jesus before the crowd: “Jesus Barabbas” and “Jesus who is called Christ.” In Greek, Ἰησοῦν τὸν Βαραββᾶν consists of two accusatives in apposition, with the article distinguishing Barabbas as the particular man so named. The repeated Ἰησοῦν is therefore not a stylistic accident but forms the deliberate terms of Pilate’s alternative. Matthew thereby heightens the judicial and theological irony: the crowd is asked to choose between Jesus Barabbas, a violent prisoner (27:16), and Jesus, publicly identified as the Messiah. A substantial part of the manuscript tradition omits Ἰησοῦν before Βαραββᾶν, yielding simply “Barabbas.” Yet the fuller reading is supported by early textual evidence and is strongly commended by internal considerations. Scribes, especially Christian scribes, had an understandable motive to remove the sacred name from a notorious criminal, whereas there is little comparable reason for a copyist to introduce it twice into the narrative. Origen’s knowledge that some copies called Barabbas “Jesus” while others did not also indicates that the variant was ancient; his discomfort with the reading illustrates precisely the sort of reverential impulse that could have prompted its omission. The likely original text thus presents an intentionally stark contrast. Barabbas’s name, probably Aramaic bar-’abbā’, “son of the father,” deepens but does not control the point: the narrative identifies the true Christ, Jesus, as the one rejected while the guilty prisoner is released in his place.

“All the nations” denotes the comprehensive, international scope of hostility toward Jesus’ disciples, not the assertion that every individual within every ethnic people will hate them. The phrase ὑπὸ πάντων τῶν ἐθνῶν (hypo pantōn tōn ethnōn) employs πάντων, the genitive plural of πᾶς (pas, “all”), with τῶν ἐθνῶν (ethnōn, “nations” or “Gentiles”). In this setting it contrasts with neither Israel nor a particular set of Gentile powers; it portrays opposition extending beyond local Jewish persecution to the nations generally. The passive participle μισούμενοι (misoumenoi, present passive participle of miseō) describes an abiding condition of being hated, while ὑπὸ marks the nations as the agents of that hostility. The saying must be read alongside the preceding warning that disciples will be handed over to councils and governors and kings (24:9; cf. 10:17–18). Matthew therefore presents persecution as arising from both Jewish and Gentile settings. Yet the Gospel also anticipates that the message of the kingdom will be proclaimed “in the whole world as a testimony to all the nations” (24:14), and it concludes with the risen Christ’s commission to make disciples of “all the nations” (28:19). The same nations that form the field of mission cannot be construed as uniformly or finally unreceptive, since disciples are to be made from them. Accordingly, the expression functions as a solemn generalization: wherever the witness of Christ reaches the world’s peoples, it will encounter public and institutional enmity because of his name. The cause is specified by διὰ τὸ ὄνομά μου (dia to onoma mou), “because of my name.” Opposition is not attributed merely to the disciples’ conduct or to political agitation, but to their identification with the crucified and risen Messiah and the authority represented by his name. The universal language thus magnifies the breadth of the conflict surrounding Christ’s mission while leaving room, as Matthew’s narrative and commission require, for a people gathered from every nation.

The question concerns the religious and moral legitimacy of paying the imperial tribute, not whether Roman law authorized it. The impersonal verb ἔξεστιν (exestin), followed by the aorist infinitive δοῦναι (dounai, “to give”), ordinarily asks whether an action is permitted or lawful. In this setting its standard is not Roman statute—Rome plainly demanded the κῆνσος (kēnsos), the imperial census or tribute tax—but the obligation of a people who confessed the God of Israel as their supreme King. The question therefore presses the issue whether payment to Caesar compromises covenantal fidelity. Matthew’s immediate context makes the wording a calculated trap. The Pharisees and Herodians have come together in order to ensnare Jesus in his speech (22:15–16), and their request for his judgment, τί σοι δοκεῖ (“what seems right to you?”), seeks an authoritative ruling from him. An affirmative answer could be represented as acquiescence in pagan domination and thus offend those who regarded the tax as a symbol of Israel’s humiliation. A negative answer could be reported as resistance to Caesar. The dative Καίσαρι (“to Caesar”) places the issue sharply before Jesus: whether an imperial ruler may receive what appears to belong to God’s covenant people. Jesus’ subsequent demand for the coin and his distinction between what belongs to Caesar and what belongs to God (22:19–21) answers the question at the level intended, acknowledging a real but limited civil claim while preserving God’s ultimate and comprehensive claim.

“These words” (τοὺς λόγους τούτους) refers to the Sermon on the Mount as a whole, not merely to the parable of the two builders or the immediately preceding warnings. The aorist ἐτέλεσεν (from τελέω, “to complete, finish”) formally closes the extended discourse that began at 5:1–2, while the following narrative resumes with Jesus’ descent from the mountain (8:1). The demonstrative τούτους points back to the body of teaching just delivered, and its scope is confirmed by 7:24, where “these words of mine” gathers the sermon’s ethical demands, warnings, and promises into a unified summons to hear and do Jesus’ teaching. The wording also belongs to Matthew’s larger literary pattern. Comparable notices occur after major blocks of Jesus’ instruction in 11:1; 13:53; 19:1; and 26:1. These formulas identify substantial discourse collections and distinguish them from the surrounding narrative. The fivefold arrangement has often been understood as a deliberate echo of the five books of Moses; although Matthew does not explicitly state such an intention, the repeated closing formula plainly gives Jesus’ instruction a prominent, ordered place in the Gospel. Here it emphasizes that the crowds’ astonishment arises from the completed sermon in its entirety, especially from the authority with which Jesus has expounded the righteousness of the kingdom.

Jesus’ second prayer acknowledges the cup as necessary according to the Father’s redemptive will, not as though God were constrained by a power outside himself. The demonstrative τοῦτο (touto, “this”) refers to the cup of suffering introduced in v. 39, while the infinitive παρελθεῖν (parelthein, aorist active infinitive of παρέρχομαι, “pass away/pass by”) expresses its removal. The condition, εἰ οὐ δύναται τοῦτο παρελθεῖν (ei ou dynatai touto parelthein), is framed with the present indicative δύναται and treats the non-removal of the cup as the reality now facing Jesus. It is not a metaphysical statement that the Father lacks omnipotence; it is the recognition that, given the Father’s settled saving purpose, the cup cannot be removed. The clause ἐὰν μὴ αὐτὸ πίω (ean mē auto piō, “unless I drink it”) makes Jesus’ drinking the cup the necessary means by which that purpose is accomplished. In Matthew’s passion narrative, this cup is interpreted by Jesus’ declaration that his blood is poured out “for many for forgiveness of sins” (26:28); it therefore includes the judicial suffering associated elsewhere in Scripture with the cup of divine wrath, while not being exhausted by that imagery. The prayer moves from the first petition’s “if it is possible” (v. 39) to a submission shaped by the recognized necessity of the cross. The aorist imperative γενηθήτω (genēthētō, “let it be done/come to pass”) echoes the petition of 6:10, “Your will be done,” and presents the Son’s human will as wholly obedient to the Father’s will. The verse thus affirms neither resignation to blind fate nor a conflict between divine purposes, but the voluntary obedience of the incarnate Son in accomplishing the redemption determined by the Father.

Matthew’s construction places the crowd’s following within the scene of Jesus’ departure from Jericho, but it does not require the conclusion that the crowd first assembled at that precise moment. The present middle participle ἐκπορευομένων (ekporeuomenōn), genitive plural masculine, forms a genitive absolute with αὐτῶν: “while they were going out.” It supplies the ongoing circumstantial action against which the main verb, ἠκολούθησεν (ēkolouthēsen, aorist active indicative, third singular), presents the crowd’s following as a complete narrative event. The aorist may be rendered simply “followed”; it does not by itself carry an ingressive sense, “began to follow.” The singular verb agrees with the singular collective noun ὄχλος (ochlos), qualified by πολύς (polys), “a large crowd.” The dative αὐτῷ is the regular complement of ἀκολουθέω (akoloutheō), denoting the person followed. Thus the clause means that a substantial body of people accompanied Jesus as he left Jericho, whether they had gathered in the city or had already been traveling with him. English versions that say “a great crowd followed him” appropriately preserve the narrative aorist without implying that every member of the crowd had only then attached itself to the procession. In Matthew, “following” can bear discipleship connotations, especially where persons heed Jesus’ call. Here, however, its immediate sense is physical accompaniment. The crowd’s conduct in the next verse, where it sternly attempts to silence the blind men, cautions against reading this statement as a commendation of mature faith. The multitude recognizes Jesus as one worth accompanying, yet its response to the blind petitioners displays the incomplete understanding that frequently characterizes the crowds in the Gospel.

The king’s declaration does not make personal merit the condition of receiving his invitation; it announces that those previously summoned have shown themselves unfit for the privilege offered. The perfect passive participle κεκλημένοι (from kaleō, “call, invite”) identifies them as persons who had already received the king’s summons, while ἦσαν ἄξιοι (“were worthy”) assesses their actual response to that summons. Their unworthiness is not an abstract lack of moral perfection, but the culpable repudiation of the king’s gracious invitation displayed in their indifference, mistreatment of his servants, and murder of them (vv. 5–6). The imperfect ἦσαν may carry the sense that they were found or proved to be unworthy in the course of the events narrated. In Matthew, being “worthy” (axios) commonly concerns a response appropriate to God’s messengers and kingdom rather than a meritorious status earned before God. Thus those who receive Christ’s representatives appropriately are called worthy (10:11–13), whereas rejection of them brings judgment (10:14–15). The parable therefore exposes the grave guilt of those—preeminently the covenant people’s resistant leadership in the immediate historical horizon—who possessed the prior summons through God’s covenantal dealings and prophetic witness yet rejected the Son and his servants. It does not indict every individual Israelite indiscriminately, since Matthew elsewhere records Jewish disciples and anticipates the gathering of the elect. The contrast in v. 8 also preserves the king’s initiative. “The wedding feast is ready” (ὁ μὲν γάμος ἕτοιμός ἐστιν) indicates that the feast has been prepared independently of the guests’ response; their refusal cannot frustrate the king’s purpose. Yet grace does not render rejection inconsequential. Those called worthy are not those who establish a claim upon the feast, but those whose reception of the invitation corresponds to the honor of the king and his son. The later requirement of a wedding garment (vv. 11–13) further shows that the subsequent broad invitation is likewise not a license for autonomous or defiant participation.

Matthew deliberately attributes the intention to Herod himself. The nominative masculine participle θέλων (thelōn, “wanting” or “desiring”) is grammatically controlled by the subject carried forward from the preceding narrative, Herod. Its complement, ἀποκτεῖναι (apokteinai), an aorist active infinitive, states the contemplated act: Herod desired “to kill him.” Yet that intention was restrained by fear of the crowd (ἐφοβήθη, ephobēthē), because the people continued to regard John as a prophet. The imperfect εἶχον (eichon, “they were holding/regarding”) depicts an established public estimate of John rather than a momentary popular enthusiasm. This does not contradict Mark’s emphasis that Herodias held a murderous grudge against John, while Herod both feared John and protected him for a time. The Evangelists illuminate distinct aspects of the same courtly situation: Herodias’ hostility helped produce the crisis, whereas Matthew stresses that Herod himself was morally responsible and had a real will to remove John. Herod’s later grief at the request for John’s head (Matt 14:9) need not mean that he was innocent of such a desire; it more naturally reflects distress over the political, religious, and personal consequences of carrying it out, especially after his public oath. Matthew’s contrast is therefore between Herod’s wish to silence the prophet and his fear of the populace, not between a reluctant ruler and an exclusively culpable Herodias.

The participle λέγοντες (“saying”) identifies the characteristic verbal expression of the anxiety prohibited here, rather than banning every prudent discussion of material needs. The command μὴ οὖν μεριμνήσητε is an aorist subjunctive used in a prohibition: in light of the Father’s care established in vv. 25–30, disciples are not to yield themselves to anxious preoccupation. The present active participle λέγοντες is attendant in sense, describing such anxiety as it voices itself in repetitive, unsettled questions: “What shall we eat? What shall we drink? What shall we put on?” The three questions use first-person aorist subjunctives (φάγωμεν, πίωμεν, περιβαλώμεθα), the ordinary form for deliberative questions concerning a prospective course of action: “What are we to eat?” and the like. Their force is determined by the governing verb μεριμνάω (merimnaō), not by the mere fact that food, drink, and clothing are mentioned. Jesus does not deny that these necessities require ordinary human labor, provision, and conversation; indeed, the following verse assumes that the Father knows such needs. He condemns the questioning that arises from divided, distrustful concern, as though preservation depended finally upon securing these things apart from the Father’s providence. The middle form περιβαλώμεθα (from περιβάλλω, periballō) appropriately means “what shall we put on ourselves,” completing the triad of basic bodily necessities already named in v. 25.

The dative ὑμῖν (“to you”) identifies the Sadducees as the contemporary recipients of God’s scriptural speech, not as the persons physically present when the words of Exodus 3 were first uttered. Jesus thus treats the divine declaration to Moses as God’s address to the present generation through the written Torah. His question, οὐκ ἀνέγνωτε (“have you not read?”), makes the point sharper: their failure is not lack of access to the text but failure to recognize what God says in and through it. The expression τὸ ῥηθὲν ὑμῖν ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ (“what was spoken to you by God”) joins the aorist passive participle ῥηθέν, from λέγω, with God as the agent introduced by ὑπό. The following genitive participle λέγοντος (“saying”) introduces the quotation and presents God as the speaker of the Scriptural words. The aorist refers naturally to the historical utterance recorded in Exodus, while the address “to you” reflects its abiding canonical force. Jesus does not reduce Scripture to a record of ancient religious experience; the words spoken in the Mosaic narrative remain the words of God to those who read them. This premise undergirds the argument that follows: the wording of Exodus 3 is determinative for the doctrine of resurrection precisely because it is divine speech, not merely Moses’ testimony about divine speech.

The construction assumes fasting as a recognizable and legitimate practice among Jesus’ disciples without, in this sentence, prescribing its frequency or establishing a particular fast. Ὅταν (hotan, “whenever”) followed by νηστεύητε (nēsteuēte, present active subjunctive, second plural) introduces an indefinite temporal clause: “whenever” or “when you are fasting.” The present subjunctive naturally envisages recurring occasions rather than one isolated act. Jesus therefore addresses the manner and motive of fasting, not the calendar or conditions under which it must occur. The wording belongs to the threefold sequence of almsgiving (6:2), prayer (6:5), and fasting (6:16). In each case Jesus speaks as though the practice will occur, while exposing the hypocrisy of performing it for human notice. This neither makes fasting a means of earning divine favor nor reduces it to an obsolete practice; the promised reward throughout the paragraph belongs to conduct directed toward the Father who sees in secret. Matthew elsewhere confirms that fasting has a place in the messianic age, though its character is determined by relation to the Bridegroom (9:14–15). Thus Matthew 6:16 presupposes voluntary, Godward fasting among Christ’s followers, but supplies no warrant for treating any humanly fixed regimen as the measure of piety.