Expositor's Bible: The Gospel of St Luke — Reading Companion

The Four Gospels as One Light

Burton opens with a sustained architectural and optical metaphor: the four Gospels are 'successive quarterings of the one Light,' and their diversity beautifies an underlying unity. He explicitly rejects the idea that the number four is arbitrary, attributing it to 'the Mind which is above all minds.' This is not a neutral introduction but a theological claim about divine design in the canon's structure. The metaphor of the rainbow—'seven arches of colour weave one bow'—reinforces his insistence that variety does not compromise unity. Readers should note that Burton's own commentary will frequently employ such figurative language to explain biblical passages, as seen in the anointing scene where he compares the woman's tears to rain released by mountain ranges.

Luke's Distinctive Preface

Burton contrasts Luke's opening with the other Synoptics: Matthew begins with 'sharp abruptness,' Mark and John with the word 'beginning' (though he notes that between Mark's beginning and John's 'there is room for an eternity'). Luke alone 'stays to give to his Gospel a somewhat lengthy preface.' This observation is grounded in the text's own wording—Burton quotes the opening sentences—and it signals his interest in the evangelist's literary persona. The commentary thus positions itself as attentive to the specific rhetorical choices of each Gospel writer, not merely to harmonization. Burton's own style mirrors this attentiveness: he pauses over details like the woman's tears and the parable's structure, treating them as deliberate narrative devices.

Tears as Natural Theology

In the exposition of Luke 7, Burton rejects the notion that the woman's weeping is 'acted grief' or 'hysterical tempest.' Instead, he reads it as 'the perfectly natural accompaniment of profound emotion,' a storm of 'mingled but diverse elements.' His explanation draws on a meteorological simile: as winds blow from the sea and mountains cause rain, so the woman's past memories are 'blown up suddenly' and find relief in tears. Crucially, Burton insists that the tears are simultaneously penitent, grateful, and hopeful—'all suffused and brightened by the touch of mercy.' He grounds this interpretation in Jesus' own parable of the two debtors, arguing that the woman's love flows from a forgiveness already received. The passage exemplifies Burton's method: he uses figurative language to explicate the psychological and spiritual dynamics of the narrative, while staying close to the biblical text's own cues.

Burton's commentary rewards readers who attend to his own literary craft as much as to his exegesis. His metaphors—the rainbow, the mountain ranges, the dew-drops—are not decorative but argumentative, shaping how he understands the Gospel's meaning. The excerpts suggest a work that balances close reading with homiletical warmth, and that treats Luke's narrative as a carefully constructed theological account. Readers should expect a commentary that is as interested in how the story is told as in what it teaches.

There’s something tender about how Burton describes the sinful woman’s tears—not shame, but love finally able to flow. It stayed with me long after I closed the book. I felt that same quiet ache reading his Job, where grief isn’t answered but somehow held. Expositor's Bible: The Book of Job — A Reader’s Guide lingered the same way, like a hand on my shoulder.