Unity and Diversity in the New Testament

J A M E S D . G. DUNN

Unity and Diversity

in the N e w Testament
An Inquiry into the Character
of Earliest Christianity

THIRD

EDITION

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To
CHARLIE MOULE

Christian, scholar, friend

CONTENTS

Preface

xi

Foreword to Third Edition

xv

Foreword to Second Edition

xxxi

Abbreviations
I

liii

Introduction

Is 'orthodoxy' a meaningful concept within the New

Testament period?
i
Part One
U N I T Y IN D I V E R S I T Y

II

Kerygma or Kerygmata?

2
3
4
5
6
7
III

Introduction
The kerygma
The kerygma
The kerygma
The kerygma
Conclusions

of Jesus
in Acts
of Paul
of John

n
13
17
22
27
30

Primitive Confessional Formulae

8
9
10
11
12
13

Introduction
Jesus is the Son of Man
Jesus is Messiah
Jesus is Son of God
Jesus is Lord
The life-settings of the earliest confessional
formulae
14 Conclusions

34
36
42
47
53
58
60

viii
IV

Contents
T h e Role of Tradition

15
16
17
18
19
V

Introduction
Jewish exegesis at the time of Jesus
Earliest Christian exegesis of the Old Testament
Pesher quotation
Principles of interpretation
Conclusions

112
113
115
119
124
128
131

Patterns of Worship

3 3
34
35
3 6
37
VQI

87
88
94
99
102
109

Concepts of Ministry

26 Introduction
27 Jesus and his disciples
28 Ministry in the earliest community
29 Ministry in the Pauline churches
30 Towards Ignatius
31 The Johannine alternative
32 Conclusions
VII

64
66
70
75
82

T h e Use of the Old Testament

20
21
22
23
24
25
VI

Introduction
'The tradition of the elders'
Traditions of the earliest communities
Traditions about Jesus
Conclusions

Introduction
Diversity of attitude and form
Early Christian hymns
'Pan-liturgism' ?
Conclusions

135
136
143
153
161

Sacraments

38
39
40
41
42

Introduction
Baptism
The Lord's Supper
The sacraments in the Fourth Gospel
Conclusions

164
166
176
184
187

Contents
IX

Spirit and Experience

43
44
45
46
47
48
X

ix

Introduction
Enthusiastic Christianity
The religious experience of Jesus
The religious experience of Paul
Divergent paths
Conclusions

189
191
199
205
211
215

Christ and Christology

49
50
51
52

Introduction
The continuity between the historical Jesus and
the kerygmatic Christ
'One Jesus, many Christs?'
Conclusions

218
220
232
244

Part Two
D I V E R S I T Y IN U N I T Y ?

XI

Jewish Christianity

53
54

Introduction
How 'orthodox' was earliest Palestinian
Christianity?
5 5 Jewish Christianity within the New Testament:
(1) Adherence to the law
56 (2) Exaltation of James and denigration of Paul
57 (3) Adoptionist christology
58 Conclusions
XII

253
255
265
272
278
282

Hellenistic Christianity

59
60
61
62
63
64
65

Introduction
'The first confessional schism in church history'
Gnostic tendencies within first-century
Christianity
The 'gnosticizing proclivity' of Q?
Paul - 'the greatest of all the Gnostics'?
Was John 'guilty' of 'naive docetism'?
Conclusions

288
289
297
307
312
322
333

x
XTH

Contents
Apocalyptic Christianity

66 What is'apocalyptic'?
67 'Apocalyptic - the mother of all Christian
theology'?
68 Apocalyptic literature in the New Testament
69 Conclusions
XTV

337
345
355
365

Early Catholicism

70
71

72
73
74

is 'early Catholicism'?
Early Catholicism in the New Testament:
(1) The fading of the parousia hope, 'the imminent
expectation'
(2) Increasing institutionalization
(3) Crystallization of the faith into set forms
Conclusions

What

372

377
384
392
396

Conclusions
XV

The Authority of the N e w Testament

75
76

Summary
Has the canon a continuing function?

403
408

Appendix

434

Bibliography

460

Indexes

489

PREFACE

In 1969 I was privileged to be a member of a study group in Edinburgh

which spent some time discussing the questions raised by Walter
Bauer's Rechtglubigkeit und Ketzerei im ltesten Christentum
( i964, ET Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity, 1 9 7 1 ) . In
the summer of 1970 I participated in another study group at Tyndale
House, Cambridge, which took as its theme 'Diversity and Develop
ment in N T Theology'. The interest these seminars aroused in me
resulted in a series of ten lectures on the subject of 'Unity and Diversity
in the N T ' as the final section of an undergraduate Part I course on
NT Theology at the University of Nottingham in 1 9 7 1 - 7 2 . After
three years, syllabus changes made it feasible to transfer the already
too tightly packed series to Part II (third year undergraduate). It is
these lectures which are now written up with the necessary detail and
documentation.
The book has several purposes. First, it seeks to explore the issues
raised by Bauer with reference to the N T . Can we properly speak of
'orthodoxy and heresy in earliest Christianity'? What is 'the unity of
the NT'? How broad is the diversity within the NT? The issues are
clarified and sharpened in the Introduction. There have been many
contributions on this theme, of course, but they have been all either
too brief and too popular, or too narrow and too specialized. What
has become increasingly necessary is a single study which brings
together the different aspects of the investigation in sufficient detail
within the covers of one book. This I have attempted to do in the
following pages. It is my hope that as a result, the issue of the NT's
unity and diversity will come into clearer focus, and its implications
and ramifications will become a subject for further investigation and
debate. I have taken the liberty to include a few remarks at the close
of several chapters relating the conclusions to the present day, and
have outlined some of the corollaries for our understanding of 'the
Authority of the N T ' in the final section (76).
Second, it seeks to bridge the gaps which too often exist between
literary critical study of the N T documents, historical sociological
2

Xll

Preface

inquiry into the beginnings of Christianity, and theological investi

gation of the beliefs and practices of the first-century Christians. Only
when all these different disciplines are integrated can we have any
real hope of getting inside the situations which gave rise to the N T
writings; only so can we even begin to grasp the reality of first-century
Christianity. No one study of course can do anything like justice to
the complexity of historical reality. But the theme chosen, Unity and
Diversity in the N T , does provide both a tool of analysis and a focus
for synthesis which enables us both to penetrate to some depth and
to hold the different issues and insights together. To emphasize the
interlocking character of the various discussions I have indulged in
fairly extensive cross-referencing between chapters.
Third, as a by-product of the first two purposes, the book should
also serve as a kind of advanced introduction to the N T and to
first-century Christianity. Introductions to the N T we haye aplenty.
But when the student has completed his appointed stint on formcriticism, the who wrote what, when, why and where questions,
exegetical method, etc., he often has little choice but to narrow his
sights and to plunge into particular areas and specialist monographs
and commentaries. What is needed is a volume which provides an
overview of areas and issues that go beyond the usual run of introduc
tory questions, which introduces the advanced student to particular
problems without requiring him at once to entangle himself in a maze
of detailed discussion, and which stimulates him to feel after the
reality of Christian origins for himself at a deeper level. It is my hope
that this present volume will fill such a need and provide such a
stimulus. It is dedicated to Professor C. F. D. Moule with deepest
respect and warmest affection - his Birth of the New Testament
(1962) was something of a pioneer in this area.
The material which follows was written up with a view primarily
to third year undergraduates who have already completed two years
in N T studies. No doubt it could serve also as a text or starting point
in some programmes for a Master's degree. In addition it will I hope
not be without relevance to the higher ranks of scholarship, while at
the same time the detail it handles and issues it raises should not be
beyond the competence of 'the informed layman'. Each chapter can
stand by itself to provide the jumping-off point for an independent
study, even though all are linked by the overarching theme.
I toyed with the idea of presenting the material in a much more
popular format, like Ernst Kasemann's Jesus Means Freedom (ET
1969). But without documentation and argumentation, controversial
statements can be too readily ignored and dismissed. On reflection I
felt it better to stick to a format which provided sufficient detail to

Preface

xiii

indicate the grounds for my conclusions and such support as they

commend from fellow scholars. At the same time, since the area
covered is so large I could not hope to meet every objection or discuss
each alternative interpretation, either in the text or in the notes. I
have therefore attempted a not altogether satisfactory compromise cutting notes to a minimum, but offering sufficient variety in the
bibliographies to enable students to come to terms with the alterna
tives for themselves and to reach their own conclusions.
Since the book has undergraduates primarily in mind I have con
fined the bibliographies largely to English language items or those in
translation. The only exceptions I have allowed are classic studies
and recent contributions of some note. For the same reason I have
avoided the use of Greek in both text and notes. Although advanced
study of the N T cannot progress very far without a working know
ledge of the original language, the student without Greek is by no
means incapable of coming to grips with the historical and theological
issues examined in the following pages.
A book like this owes many debts to the comments and advice of
others. Here I wish to express my gratitude to the members of the
original study groups in Edinburgh and Cambridge, and to my stu
dents of several years whose questions and discussion have helped
sharpen up issues and eliminate several weaknesses. Most of all my
sincere thanks to those who gave up valuable time to comment on an
earlier draft of the book in whole or in part - to Dr G. I. Davies and
the Rev. S. G. Hall, my colleagues here at Nottingham, to Professor
Moule of Cambridge, who also kindly allowed me to read his Origin
of Christology (1977) at proof stage, and particularly to Robert
Morgan of Oxford and Dr Graham Stanton, Professor-elect of King's
College, London. Above all my wife's encouragement and consider
ation enabled me to maintain a too tight schedule when wiser men
would probably have settled for a slower pace. Last but not least my
thanks are due to my youngest daughter, Fiona, for not cutting up
more than six pages of the typescript last Christmas - 'for snowflakes,
Daddy'!
J A M E S D. G. D U N N

(1976)

FOREWORD T O THIRD EDITION

A glance in the rear-view mirror

My interest in th theme of unity and diversity in the N T dates from

my earliest days of studying the N T . I always found the character of
the material shared by the first three Gospels fascinating. Unity and
diversity describes that character well. For there is clearly a unity in
the presentation: the same Jesus is being presented in very similar
terms, often with more or less the same words. But the three presentations are nevertheless different - different in internal structure and
in the detail of their content. I soon realized that there is nothing to
be gained by denying this character, whether by ignoring the diversity,
or by seeking to squeeze it into a more tightly defined unity. On the
contrary, to ignore or deny the character of the scriptural text is to
refuse to accept it as it is, and may well miss something important
which that very character enshrines: namely, that the gospel of Jesus
is multiform as it addresses different situations; and that to insist on
a single 'authentic' testimony to Jesus is to work against the gospel's
very capacity to speak differently to different people, and so to muzzle
its voice.
A second early influence was confrontation with the character of
the beginnings of Christianity, as I began to develop a university
course under that title. For such a study is soon faced with the features
that led F. C. Baur famously to envisage the history of early Christianity as a massive and long-running conflict between Petrine Christianity and Pauline Christianity. The key feature, well attested in
1

1. One of the more rewarding (and repeated) experiences of my teaching career has
been to sit in seminar with B. H. Throckmorton's Gospel Parallels, Nelson i 9 5 7 , i 9 9 2 ,
with the task of (a) listing the differences as accurately as possible, and (b) suggesting
explanations for them. The sound of mental blinds going up and windows opening was
almost audible.
2. F. C. Baur, Paul: The Apostle of Jesus Christ, 1 8 4 5 2 vols, Williams 8c Norgate
1 8 7 3 , 1 8 7 5 . M . D. Goulder, Paul and the Competing Mission in Corinth, Hendrickson
2001, attempts to keep Baur's principal thesis alive for another century.
2

Foreword

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Paul's letters, was the tension that obviously prevailed between Jewish
Christians and Paul's mission to the Gentiles. Here again there was
plenty of evidence of unity and diversity: unity in that they preached
the gospel of Jesus Christ, diversity in the terms on which Christ was
preached; unity in regard to the heritage both Jewish and Gentile
believers shared not least in the OT, diversity in the way they under
stood that heritage to impinge on their discipleship.
Both of these initial factors have continued to feed into my ongoing
work. The character of the Jesus tradition, unity in diversity, stability
in variation, has been the principal stimulus behind my most recent
study, on Jesus Remembered, where I have attempted to explain
more fully how the unity and diversity which is the witness of the
Synoptic Gospels came about. And the Jewish/Gentile issue or tension
has been a constant stimulus in my work on Paul, as I have attempted
to accord it the significance it deserves in our grasp of Paul'stheology,
and in my attempt to explain more clearly how and why it was that
Christianity emerged from the matrix of Second Temple Judaism.
Unity and Diversity in the New Testament, however, was my
principal attempt to clarify the much wider phenomenon of unity and
diversity in the N T and to think through some of its implications. As
such it seems still to have a good few miles to run before it need or
should be consigned to the scrapyard. So I have responded readily to
the suggestion of S C M Press that I should prepare a third edition,
by at least updating the bibliographies and contributing a further
Foreword.
3

3. Christianity in the Making: Vol. 1 . Jesus Remembered, Eerdmans 2003; see also n.
44 below.
4. The Theology of Paul the Apostle, Eerdmans/T. & T. Clark 1998; The New Perspec
tive on Paul, Mohr Siebeck 2005; also 'Paul: Apostate or Apostle of Israel?', ZNW, 89,
1998 pp. 2 5 6 - 7 1 ; 'Who Did Paul Think He Was? A Study of Jewish Christian Identity',
NTS, 4 5 , 1 9 9 9 , pp. 1 7 4 - 9 3 ; 'The Jew Paul and his Meaning for Israel', in U. Schnelle and
T. Sding, eds., Paulinische Christologie: Exegetische Beitrge, H. Hubner F S , Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht 2000, pp. 3 2 - 4 6 , reprinted in T. Linafeit, ed., A Shadow of Glory:
Reading the New Testament after the Holocaust, Routledge 2002, pp. 2 0 1 - 1 5 .
5. The Partings of the Ways between Christianity and Judaism and their Significance
for the Character of Christianity, S C M Press 1 9 9 1 ; also 'Two Covenants or One? The
Interdependence of Jewish and Christian Identity', in Geschichte - Tradition - Reflexion:
Festschrift fr Martin Hengel. III. Frhes Christentum, ed. H. Lichtenberger, J . C. B. Mhr
1996, pp. 9 7 - 1 2 2 = 'Zwei Bnde oder Einer? Die wechselseitige Abhngigkeit der judischen
und christlichen Identitt', in P. Fiedler and G. Dautzenberg, hrsg., Studien zu einer neutestamentlichen Hermeneutik nach Auschwitz, Stuttgarter biblische Aufsatzbande 2 7 , Kath.
Bibelwerk 1999, pp. 1 1 5 - 5 4 .
6. S C M Press 1 9 7 7 .

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Why a third edition?

The second edition (1990), written under various constraints, allowed
me some updating and only a limited amount of restructuring. And
other commitments do not permit me to give the body of the book a
more thorough reworking for this third edition. For the most part I
do not think that matters much. For in the chapters of Part I in
particular I was consciously attempting to work directly from the text
as much as possible. That is to say, I did not see the project as
primarily a review of secondary literature - that would quickly have
become more obviously dated, as is the fate of such reviews. My
concern was rather to let the text speak for itself - to lay out the
character of the N T material in its rich diversity. The procedure was
simply an extension of my procedure in dealing with the Synoptic
Gospels - to document the differences between the three Gospels as
objectively as possible, and then to reflect on their significance. And
since the text remains constant, its character of unity and diversity
also remains constant, so that most of the documentation can speak
as readily to one generation as to another. Of course, were I writing
Unity and Diversity in the New Testament today, the language would
be different and the references to secondary literature would have
reflected the current state of the debate on these subjects at the begin
ning of the twenty-first century. But most of the N T textual data and
examples would probably have been the same. These were the texts
which examination had brought to my attention as posing in them
selves most clearly the issue of unity and diversity. And they still do
so. So a major re-write would have been a lot of extra labour with
not so much to show for it.
In fact, for many of the chapters of Part I the classic literature on
these topics was the product of the middle decades of the twentieth
century, and the debates that followed flourished for only a decade
or two more - the apostolic preaching (C. H. Dodd), the primitive
confessional formulae (O. Cullmann, W. Kramer), the role of tra
dition (A. M . Hunter), the use of the OT (E. E. Ellis, B. Lindars),
ministry (E. Schweizer, U. Brockhaus), worship (G. Delling, K.
Wengst), and sacraments (G. R: Beasley-Murray, J . Jeremias). Like
wise the questions posed by the burgeoning Pentecostal and charis
matic movements about the importance of experience in the N T
have remained in play without much further clarification. Subsequent
studies have refined or reinforced most of the issues already clear,
and this will be reflected in the updated bibliographies attached; but
7

7. Thus I rationalize my inability to do a more thorough re-write!

Foreword

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the issues examined by these classic studies still pose the questions of
unity and diversity as sharply as necessary and often more sharply
than their successors. For example, my own work on the oral charac
ter of the Jesus tradition only makes the question of how tradition
functioned in the earliest churches more complex, but the issue of
unity and diversity is the same. The sociological approach has con
tinued apace since the second edition, and continues to shed much
light on the historical realities to which the N T bears witness, with
I Corinthians providing a major focus, but the issue of what held
together such social diversity under the name 'Christian' is still pri
marily theological (or ideological, if you like). And Richard Hays has
shown that the issue of N T use of the OT must include the presence
and influence of echo and allusion, but that simply reinforces the key
question of the extent to which the OT functioned authoritatively
and why. For the most part, however, I see little need to elaborate
further on the comments made on the chapters of Part I in the Fore
word to the second edition and remain more or less content with the
way the chapters of Part I pose the issue of unity and diversity in the
NT.
Even the final chapter on 'Christ and Christology', where the issue
of how soon Jesus began to be worshipped and thought of as G/god
has been brought afresh to the surface in recent years, can still stand
as it is - rather more rawly than I would express myself today, but
still effective in posing the issue of the different ways/concepts/titles
by which the single reality of Jesus was grasped and verbalized. My
focus on this 'single reality of Jesus' as the unifying core that binds
together the diversity of the N T no doubt continues to be regarded
by some as far too minimal. And my attempt in the Foreword to
the second edition to refer such critics to the considerations already
marshalled in the first edition seems to have had little impact. Here
I can only repeat that while much more than Christ holds the N T
together, it is the Christ-dimension in each case that provides the
distinctively Christian glue. The conviction that Jesus of Nazareth,
crucified and risen from the dead, is and continues to be determinative
8

10

11

12

13

8. See n. 3 above.
9. Second edition, pp. xvi-xvii = pp. xxxii-xxxiii below.
10. See particularly E . Adams and D. G. Horrell, eds., Christianity at Corinth: The
Quest for the Pauline Church, Westminster 2004.
1 1 . R. B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, Yale 1989; see also particu
larly F. Watson, Paul and the Hermeneutics of Faith, T. &C T. Clark Internatinal 2004.
1 2 . Particularly L. W. Hurtado, Lord Jesus Christ: Devotion to Jesus in Earliest Christ
ianity, Eerdmans 2003.
1 3 . Second edition, p. xxi = p. xxxviii, referring to pp. 4 0 3 - 5 and 4 2 5 ^

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xix

for our (humankind's) approach to God, acceptance by God, and com

munal living for God, is what makes everything in the N T (and
Christianity) Christian, is what binds the religious and social and
literary diversity of the N T into one.
The missing chapter

In the Foreword to the second edition I confessed to some regret that

I had not thought to include a chapter on ethics in the first edition.
To include one now would probably disrupt the format too much.
But I can at least indicate some of the material and themes I would
have wanted to include.
The unifying motif would, of course, be the love command: the
Gospels show Jesus as summing up human response to God in terms
of the Shema (Mark 1 2 . 2 8 - 3 1 pars.) and disciple responsibility for
others in terms of loving one's neighbour as one's self (Lev. 19.18);
Jesus' summary is echoed by James (2.8) as well as by Paul (Rom.
13.9; Gal. 5.14). The model of such love which Jesus himself enacted
was evidently a unifying factor of major significance in the churches
of the N T . But even there we should note such diversity as the
absence of all such talk from Acts and the way in which the Johannine
writings seem to focus (or narrow down?) love of neighbour to love
of brother.
The role of the (Jewish) law, the Torah, in determining conduct is
a major cause of diversity within the N T . Among the questions that
continue to divide scholarship is whether, or more plausibly, the
extent to which Jesus himself observed the law. He presumably main
tained the basic practice of ritual purity; otherwise he could never
14

15

1 4 . Recent bibliography includes M . Bockmuehl, Jewish Law in Gentile Churches:

Halakhah and the Beginning of Christian Public Ethics, T. & T. Clark 2000; R. B. Hays,
The Moral Vision of the New Testament: A Contemporary Introduction to New Testament
Ethics, HarperSanFrancisco 1996; R. N . Longenecker, ed., Patterns of Discipleship in the
New Testament, Eerdmans 1996; E. Lohse, Theological Ethics of the New Testament,
Fortress 1 9 9 1 ; W. A. Meeks, The Origins of Christian Morality: The First Two Centuries,
Yale University Press 1 9 9 3 ; W. Marxsen, New Testament Foundations for Christian Ethics,
Fortress 1993; W . Schrge, The Ethics of the New Testament, T. 6c T. Clark 1988; J . Starr
and T. Engberg-Pedersen, eds., Early Christian Paraenesis in Context, B Z N W 1 2 5 , de
Gruyter 2004.
1 5 . The subject did not receive concentrated attention in Unity and Diversity but recurs
repeatedly - see pp. 1 6 , 2 1 , 30, 7 3 , 1 2 8 , 208, 269, 284, 286, 3 0 2 , 3 1 9 , 3 3 i f . , 3 3 6 , 340,
404. See also V. P. Furnish, The Love Command in the New Testament, Abingdon 1 9 7 2 ;
J . Piper, 'Love your Enemies': Jesus' Love Command in the Synoptic Gospels and the
Early Church Paraenesis, S N T S M S 3 8 , Cambridge University Press 1 9 7 9 ; T. Sding, Das
Liebesgebot bis Paulus. Die Mahnung zur Agape im Rahmen der paulinischen Ethik,
Aschendorff 1 9 9 1 .

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16

have entered the Temple. And according to Matt. 5 . 2 1 - 4 8 , his expo

sitions of crucial laws determining conduct drove them home at a
much deeper level. At the same time, however, he seems to have been
more than ready to cut through secondary considerations and to
determine his own conduct by the primacy of the love command.
The diversity through which this basic insight comes to expression is
exemplified by the different ways Matthew and Mark can portray
Jesus' commentary on the law (contrast Mark 7.19b with Matt. 5 . 1 7 20) and by the fact that Paul had to go beyond Jesus' clear teaching
on divorce (I Cor. 7 . 1 0 - 1 6 ) and felt free to disregard Jesus' command
regarding financial support (I Cor. 9.14L).
The issue of Paul and the law is, of course, much large than this.
Can it be resolved by distinguishing the ceremonial law from the
ethical law, as the Reformation theologians generally taught? Even if
the answer is No, as most today would agree, it remains the case that
Paul's ethical teaching is consistently based on the Torah - as witness
his antipathy to sexual licence (porneia) and idolatry. But again it is
important to note that Paul's most explicit citing of Torah ethics is
summed up in the love command (Rom. 1 3 . 8 - 1 0 ) ; the only law Paul
wanted to determine his life was 'the law of Christ' (Gal. 6.2). Quite
how this tied in with his promulgation of a kind of 'charismatic ethics'
(Gal. 5 . 1 6 - 2 5 ) is not as clear as it might be. But here too the fact
that he understood 'walking according to the Spirit' as a 'fulfilling of
the just requirement of the law' (Rom. 8.4) needs to be integrated
more fully than is usually the case into the unity and diversity of his
ethics.
Paul's discussion of 'the weak' and 'the strong' in matters of dis
puted practice and conduct (Rom. 1 4 . 1 - 1 5 . 6 ; I Cor. 8 - 1 0 ) provides
much food for reflection on diversity of belief-and-practice which can/
should still be held within the one church. The fact that a common
relationship to the same Lord could come to expression in divergent
conduct is a telling illustration of unity and diversity (Rom. 1 4 . 5 - 7 ) .
And just as telling is the absolute priority of each person's submission
to his/her own Lord as the only and yet sufficient bond of unity (Rom.
14.4, 1 0 - 1 2 ) . The 'strong' are counselled to restrict their liberty for
the sake of the 'weak', not because the latter felt aggrieved at the
17

18

19

20

1 6 . See my 'Jesus and Purity: An Ongoing Debate', NTS, 48, 2002, pp. 4 4 9 - 6 7 .
1 7 . Jesus Remembered, pp. 5 6 3 - 8 3 .
1 8 . See e.g. B. Rosner, ed., Understanding Paul's Ethics: Twentieth Century
Approaches, Eerdmans 1 9 9 5 ; J . D. G. Dunn, ed., Paul and the Mosaic Law, W U N T 89,
Mohr Siebeck 1 9 9 6 , Eerdmans 2 0 0 1 .
1 9 . See further my New Perspective on Paul, ch. 1 .
20. Theology of Paul 24, particularly 24.3, 7.

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conduct of the 'strong', but lest the 'weak' be encouraged to act

against their conscience (I Cor. 8.10); Paul's definition of sinful con
duct in Rom. 14.23 is to the same effect. Notable once again, is that
the concern is for one 'for whom Christ died' (I Cor. 8 . 1 1 ; Rom.
1 4 . 1 5 ) , and the model is the way Jesus refused to give priority to
'pleasing himself (Rom. 1 5 . 1 - 3 ) . So far as Christian involvement in
wider society is concerned, Paul's advice, in effect 'Don't ask, don't
tell' (I Cor. 1 0 . 2 5 - 2 9 ) , is a further illustration of how diverse imita
tion of Christ ( 1 1 . 1 ) can be.
Recent discussion of the political implications of the early Christian
message highlights a further twist to the skein of issues. Was the
affirmation of Jesus' Lordship intended as an overtly political state
ment: Christ commanding a higher loyalty than Caesar? That was
certainly an implication to be drawn, as Acts 17.7 suggests. But the
fact that persecution by Roman officials was sporadic throughout
the first century suggests that the implication was neither pressed
nor drawn on many occasions (contrast Acts 1 8 . 1 3 - 1 6 ; 26.30-32;
28-3of.). And Paul's counsel in Rom. 1 2 . 9 - 1 3 . 7 - be a good citizen,
do not react to provocations, pay your taxes - speaks of someone
who knew well that members of little house-churches in the capital
city were well advised to keep their heads down and avoid attracting
attention. Even so, the bonding factor for these small congregations
was the primacy of their loyalty to Jesus as Lord.
The household codes that became a feature of the second generation
letters of the N T (particularly Col. 3 . 1 8 - 4 . 1 ; Eph. 5.22-6.9; I Pet.
2 . 1 8 - 3 . 7 ) pose yet another dimension of the issue: whether we see in
them evidence of a growing conformity to the social ethos of the time,
and the softening of a more radical ethic of the discipleship to which
Jesus himself called (Mark 3 . 3 1 - 3 5 ; Luke 14.26). Certainly the
affirmation of traditional and respected mores of the time (wives'
subjection to husbands, slaves obedient to masters) is striking and
somewhat disturbing to modern ears. But it was evidently more
important that the early Christians be seen to be not subversive of
stable society and society norms than that they set themselves up as
an openly and defiantly counter-culture. The key point, and again
highly significant for a study of the unifying factor in the diversity of
early Christian ethics, is the regular insertion into these standard
codes of the little phrase 'in the Lord' or its equivalent (as in Col. 3.18,
21

22

2 1 . Particularly R. A. Horsley and N . A. Silberman, The Message and the Kingdom:

How Jesus and Paul Ignited a Revolution and Transformed the Ancient World, 1 9 9 7 ,
Fortress 2002; see also N . T. Wright, What Saint Paul Really Said, Eerdmans 1 9 9 7 .
2 2 . Theology of Paul, 24.2.

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20, 2 2 - 2 4 ; 4- )- The living relationship with the Lord Christ as the

primary determinant of conduct and other relationships (2.6) was the
seed that grew and grew until it broke the previous mould. Such a
minimal core of unity within the diversity was nevertheless a society
shaping force of enormous power.
23

Partll
What I wrote regarding Part II in the Foreword to the second edition
is still more true 1 6 years later. The four chapters (XI-XIV) have
become more dated than I am fully comfortable with. Not too dated,
I hope, since they continue to document the diversity of first-century
Christianity, or different currents flowing within the broader stream
that was early Christianity. And the illustrations of how that stream
with its different currents flowed into the second century, into diverse
and divergent expressions of the originating fountainhead, retain
validity and pose the same question forcibly: at what point did/does
diversity become too diverse? At what point did/does divergence
escape the gravitational pull of the unifying core? But so much more
needs to be said.
On the theme of Jewish Christianity I need only rehearse the sort
of issues that have arisen more sharply in the last two decades: the
widespread rejection of the more traditional Christian characteriz
ation of '(Second Temple) Judaism' as in effect a failed religion (legal
istic and sterile); the question of how 'Jewish' were Jesus and Paul;
the issue of continuity and discontinuity between Second Temple
Judaism and embryonic Christianity; whether the antithesis between
gospel and law should continue to be paradigmatic in analyses of
Pauline theology; in what sense Paul regarded Christianity as 'Israel';
and so on. The attempts to pull Jesus still more firmly back into
24

2 3 . See further my 'The Household Rules in the New Testament', in S. C. Barton, ed.,
The Family in Theological Perspective, T. & T. Clark 1 9 9 6 , pp. 4 3 - 6 3 ; also Theology of
Paul, pp. 6 6 6 - 7 .
24. Recent bibliography is enormous. An almost random selection includes J . M . G.
Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora from Alexander to Trajan (323 B C E - I I J CE),
T. & T. Clark 1996; W. Horbury, Jews and Christians in Contact and Controversy, T. & T.
Clark 1998; J . M . Lieu, Christian Identity in the Jewish and Graeco-Roman World, Oxford
University Press, 2004; M . Lowe, ed., The New Testament and Jewish-Christian
Dialogue,
D. Flusser F S , Immanuel, 2 4 / 2 5 , 1 9 9 0 ; C. Setzet, Jewish Responses to Early Christians: His
tory and Polemics, 30-150
CE, Fortress 1994; H. Shanks, ed., Christianity and Rabbinic
Judaism: A Parallel History of Their Origins and Early Development, Biblical Archaeology
Society 1 9 9 2 ; L. Swidler, et al., Bursting the Bonds? A Jewish-Christian Dialogue on Jesus
and Paul, Orbis 1990; C. M . Williamson, A Guest in the House of Israel: Post-Holocaust
Church Theology, Westminster 1 9 9 3 ; S. G. Wilson, Related Strangers: Jews and Christians
70-1 jo CE, Fortress 1 9 9 5 . For my own engagement in such questions see nn. 4 - 5 above.

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26

Judaism and the dispute over 'the new perspective on Paul' high
light the sensitivities which such issues trigger. The question whether
Jesus or Paul was the more significant 'founder' of Christianity
remains deeply problematical. The effect of all this is not to render
redundant the question posed in chapter XI, but to pose it all the
more sharply: was the original form of Christianity (in Jerusalem)
more true to the inspiration and teaching of Jesus, and the Jewish
Christianity of second to fourth centuries a truer continuation of that
original form than what became mainstream Christianity? Similarly
the growing awareness that 'the parting of the ways' between Christ
ianity and Judaism took a lot longer to happen than is generally
supposed, despite the best efforts of such as Ignatius and Chrysostom,
is a salutary reminder that Christianity was Jewish Christianity for
far longer than the first generation or two. And if the resolution
from the perspective of mainstream Christianity is still in terms of
development, how much development can there be before the histori
cal Jesus (one with the Christ of faith) cases to be the determinative
bond?
Most thought-provoking of all is the emergence of 'messianic Jews'
and 'Jews for Jesus' as a substantive factor complicating Jewish Christian relations today. For the disappearance of (heretical) Jewish
Christianity in the fourth(?) century opened up a gulf between (rab
binic) Judaism and (mainstream) Christianity, a gulf that Jewish Christian dialogue has striven to bridge. But now the gap is being
filled again, and to the dismay, it would seem, of both sides of the
dialogue - messianic Jews evidently threatening the integrity of each
side of the dialogue precisely because they blur the clear distinction
and separation of the two - much as did the 'Jewish Christianity' of
the first four centuries. So the question of what is Jewish Christianity
and of the extent to which Christianity can only properly understand
itself as Jewish Christianity has been revitalized and calls for fresh
attention.
The issues focused on under the theme of 'Hellenistic Christianity'
(chapter XII) have become even more fraught. In the Foreword to the
27

25. Illustrated by G. Vermes, The Authentic Gospel of Jesus, Penguin 2004, and H.
Maccoby, Jesus the Pharisee, S C M Press 2003; see also the earlier critique of D. A. Hagner,
The Jewish Reclamation of Jesus, Zondervan 1 9 8 4 .
26. See particularly my New Perspective on Paul.
27. See now D. Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity, University
of Pennsylvania 2004; also the too much neglected earlier works of J . Parkes, The Conflict
of the Church and the Synagogue: A Study in the Origins of Antisemitism, Jewish Publi
cation Society of America 1 9 3 4 , and M . Simon, Versus Israel: A Study of the Relations
between Christians and Jews in the Roman Empire (AD 135-425),
1 9 6 4 , E T Oxford
University Press, Littman Library 1 9 8 6 .

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second edition I already indicated that posing the issue in terms of

Gnosticism had been too much determined by the particular theses
regarding pre-Christian Gnosticism, which dominated the religionsgeschichtliche discussion of earliest Christianity in the middle decades
of the twentieth century. Perhaps, I ventured, the issue would better
be posed in terms of 'syncretistic Christianity'. That suggestion has
been reinforced by the shift that has taken place in the current phase
of religionsgeschichtliche analysis of Christianity's origins. For
whereas the earlier focus was on the Pauline literature, on whether
Paul was countering Gnostics, in Corinth or elsewhere, and on
whether Paul adopted a modified Gnosticism to outflank such oppon
ents, now the focus is very much on the Gospels and the character of
the tradition they contain. And whereas those who want to continue
to speak of a 'pre-Christian Gnosticism' as an explanatory factor for
much N T data seem to be a declining minority, the issue of a more
mixed influence on and reception of the teaching of Jesus itself,
resulting in very diverse and divergent 'Christianities', has become a
major topic of controversy at the beginning of the twenty-first cen
tury. Even if Gnosticism is still better regarded as a second-century
phenomenon, influenced by Christianity as much as competing with
it, the question whether from the beginning the traditions that
became foundational for Christianity had to be purged of a more
syncretistic character is now firmly on the table.
28

29

30

31

The trend was already signalled in 62., 'The "gnosticizing pro

clivity" of Q?'. Further analysis of Q has raised the possibility that
Jesus was first remembered by many as a teacher of wisdom, at
some odds, possibly even conflict, with others who viewed Jesus'
mission through the lens of his crucifixion and its sequel (resurrec
tion); that Q represents such a community (or communities), which
persisted in Galilee for at least several decades; that the Gospel of
Thomas, and other gospels traditionally regarded as apocryphal or
heretical, contain as part of their original tradition material that the
mainstream 'winners' chose to ignore or downplay or expunge and
28. Foreword to second edition, pp. xxvii-xxviii = pp. xlivf. below.
29. Note particularly J . D. Crossan, The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean
Jewish Peasant, HarperSanFrancisco 1 9 9 1 ; R. W. Funk and R. W. Hoover, The Five
Gospels: The Search for the Authentic Words of Jesus, Macmillan 1 9 9 3 .
30. Particularly B. L . Mack, The Christian Myth: Origins, Logic and Legacy, Con
tinuum 2 0 0 1 ; R. Cameron and M . P. Miller, eds., Rediscovering Christian Origins, Society
of Biblical Literature 2004.
3 1 . S. Petrement, A Separate God: The Christian Origins of Gnosticism, HarperSan
Francisco 1990; A. H. B. Logan, Gnostic Truth and Christian Heresy: A Study in the
History of Gnosticism, Hendrickson 1 9 9 6 ; C . B. Smith, No Longer Jews: The Search for
Gnostic Origins, Hendrickson 2004.

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32

forget. This, of course, poses the issue of unity and diversity in a

much sharper way: is the unifying figure of Jesus something like a
wax nose that everyone shaped to his or her own pleasure? Or to put
the issue more responsibly: Was the mission of Jesus more diverse
than the canonical Gospels lead us to believe, more syncretistic than
simply 'Jewish messianic', more open to different appropriation than
Acts and Paul would suggest? Is the unifying tradition of Jesus in fact
more accurately to be seen as a selection of Jesus' teaching, a selection
made from a particular perspective as an attempt (a successful
attempt!) to monopolize the authority that accrued to the name and
teaching of Jesus? The issues are still those posed in chapter XII,
and the older debate still illustrates them well. But they need to
be transposed into the terms of the current debate, otherwise their
relevance will become steadily less clear for the current generation of
scholars and students.
The original chapter XIII ('Apocalyptic Christianity') also reflected
the debates of the post-Bultmann generation of scholarship - as illus
trated by the quotation from Ernst Ksemann which heads 67
('"Apocalyptic - the mother of all Christian theology"?'). And the
reservations and qualifications expressed in the Foreword to the
second edition on the chapter still stand. The fact remains that there
are still apocalyptic material and an apocalyptic perspective in a sub
stantive proportion of the N T writings and it also remains important
that both the material and the perspective be included in any assess
ment of 'the character of earliest Christianity'. Without recognition
and appreciation of that dimension of the 'diversity in the N T ' we
will fail fully to appreciate the character of the NT's unity in its
capacity to hold such diversity within its orbit. However, the issues
have moved on, and two in particular have to be borne in mind
in any fresh assessment of the apocalyptic perspective of the first
Christians.
One is the issue that Ksemann had posed, but now given added
force by drawing the history of the Q material and the Gospel of
Thomas into the debate. That is, the issue whether Jesus himself was
33

3 2 . The issues have been posed particularly by B. L. Mack, A Myth of Innocence: Mark
and Christian Origins, Fortress 1 9 8 8 ; The Lost Gospel: The Book of Q and Christian
Origins, HarperCollins 1 9 9 3 ; R. W. Funk, Honest to Jesus, HarperSanFrancisco 1996.
J . S. Kloppenborg's The Formation ofQ, Fortress 1 9 8 7 , has provided a crucial jumping-off
point for most of the theories. C . M . Tuckett provides a cool draught of common sense on
most of the issues: Nag Hammadi and the Gospel Tradition, T. & T. Clark 1986; Q and
the History of Early Christianity: Studies on Q, T. & T. Clark 1 9 9 6 . For my own critique
see Jesus Remembered, particularly pp. 1 4 7 - 6 0 .
3 3. As the index for the first edition indicates, Ksemann was my principal stimulant
and Gesprchspartner for the whole book.

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influenced by apocalyptic eschatology to a determinative degree. If

the answer is in the negative, as Crossan and Mack would have
it, and an apocalyptic perspective became determinative only in the
post-Easter period, then the gap between Jesus and the first Christians
again becomes a significant gulf that would seem to stretch diversity
to breaking point. Alternatively, if Albert Schweitzer's depiction of
Jesus in terms of 'consistent eschatology' transposed metaphorical
imagery into literal description, as Tom Wright strongly argues, then
question marks at once have to be set against the early Christian
expectation of Jesus' parousia 'on the clouds of heaven', and the
status of the other apocalyptic material in the N T becomes more
problematic. In such a case, can N T diversity make room for a literal
interpretation of any apocalyptic language?
The other is the antithesis sharpened by J . L. Martyn in his insist
ence that Paul's apocalyptic perspective implies the disruption of all
continuities between OT and N T and the rejection of any alternative
heilsgeschichtliche perspective. Here again the question posed is
whether both an apocalyptic perspective and any strong affirmation
of continuity between Israel and Christianity (OT and N T ) can be
held together within the diversity of the N T . The issue is a theological
one: whether the claims of Christianity regarding Christ (incarnation
and resurrection in particular) imply such a disruption of all develop
mental hypotheses as to render them nugatory in significance, the sort
of distortion of 'the truth of the gospel' that Martyn attributes to
Paul's opponents in Galatia. At this point the overlap with the issues
posed in chapter XI becomes pronounced: when does diversity
become irreconcilable difference?
The title for chapter XIV, 'Early Catholicism', was already dated
when I wrote the Foreword to the second edition, and the misgivings
and qualifications made there are still valid. The important point,
however, is that there has to be such a chapter, whatever heading it
goes under, if the book is to be properly balanced. For Part Two sets
out to trace currents (or 'trajectories') that ran from the first into the
second century (and beyond). And chapters XI-XIII focus attention
on such currents that were seen (for whatever reasons) to diverge in
greater or lesser degree from the mainstream. Chapter XIV could not
do other than focus on the mainstream itself. To understand how
'earliest Christianity' became 'the early Church' and what might have
34

35

36

34. See above, nn. 29, 30, 3 2 ; so also M . J . Borg, Jesus in Contemporary Scholarship,
Trinity Press International 1 9 9 4 .
3 5 . N . T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, SPCK 1996.
36. J . L. Martyn, Galatians, A B 3 3 A , Doubleday 1 9 9 7 ; Theological Issues in the Letters
of Paul, T. 8c T. Clark 1 9 9 7 .

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been lost (and gained) in the process is of crucial importance for any
Christian self-understanding. And just as chapters XI-XIII point up
important elements of continuity between the earliest expressions of
Christianity and subsequent expressions deemed divergent or hereti
cal by the great Church, so it is important that chapter XIV raise the
question whether the great Church itself has been sufficiently faithful
to its fons et origo. That diversity became too diverse and escaped
the gravitational pull of the centre which is Christ I would not dispute
for a moment. But the question remains whether the unity that
prevailed was narrower than the spirit of Jesus and of Paul would
have welcomed, whether the institutionalization and credalization of
Christianity squeezed to the margins something vital to Christianity's
identity and well-being. I am insufficiently informed regarding the
complexities of early Church history to press any particular answer
to such a question. But I do believe the question has to be asked
and the character of Christianity's and the NT's unity-in-diversity
constantly to be reassessed.
Conclusions and concluding reflections

In the case of the final, concluding chapter, I had occasion five years
ago to rework the content of 76 - 'Has the canon a continuing
function?' - and it has proved possible to incorporate the further
reflections added at that time to this edition. I should perhaps stress
once again that I limited my concluding thoughts to the canon as it
emerged and was consolidated in the early centuries. I did not deal
with other issues, such as, Why a canon in the first place?, and Why
just these writings in the canon and not others? It seemed important
to me then, and still does today, to appreciate more fully what having
a canon, in this case the N T , means for our (Christian) acknowledge
ment and enactment of the unity and diversity that is Christianity
itself. Establishing the canon of the N T did not end the debate as to
what Christianity is and is not. On the contrary it focused the debate
in the unity and diversity which is the N T . That debate is more than
sufficient to help maintain the intellectual (and institutional) vitality
of Christianity; to broaden it further would distract and detract from
the business of being faithful to both the unity and the diversity which
is both the N T and Christianity.
It may be appropriate, however, in conclusion, to highlight two
aspects of the further reflections of the revised chapter XV. One,
37

37. J . D. G. Dunn, 'Has the Canon a Continuing Function?', in L. M . McDonald and

J . A. Sanders, eds., The Canon Debate, Hendrickson 2002, pp. 5 5 8 - 7 9 .

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already hinted at, is the ecumenical implications of the recognition of

the N T ' s unity and diversity. It has struck me with increasing force
over the past decade or two that Paul's image of the Church as the
body of Christ reinforces many of the lessons to be drawn from the
NT's unity and diversity. For, as was well appreciated by the political
philosophers of Paul's time, to whom Paul was no doubt in at least
some degree indebted for the image of the community as a body, the
body is a unique kind of unity: a unity that consists and is possible
only because the members of the body are all different and have
different functions; that is, a unity that is not a unity of sameness,
not a unity threatened by difference, but a unity that can only function
as such by reason of such differences; a unity that involves recognition
of and a living out of mutual interdependence by each on the other;
a unity that can only thrive by integrated and co-ordinated diversity.
That has implications for an individual congregation, as I Corinthians
1 2 makes plain, for the functioning together of several churches in
any one place, as Romans 1 2 implies, and for the Church universal,
as Ephesians 1 and 4 suggest. The unifying bond of confessing 'Jesus
as Lord' (or equivalent) should be sufficient to hold together the
diversity of elaborated confessions, sufficient for the diversity to work
together for the common commitment of serving that Lord. To require
assent to more elaborate confessions or to particular halakhic/traditional practices is to side with Pharisees who criticized Jesus for
eating with sinners (Mark 2.i6f.), or to side with the Peter whom
Paul condemned for 'not walking straight towards the truth of the
gospel' (Gal. 2 . 1 4 ) . We dishonour the unique centrality of Christ
when we demand a larger unity and refuse to acknowledge the diver
sity through which the commitment to Christ can be expressed.
38

39

40

41

The other line of reflection worth pursuing is the hermeneutical

implications of the same unity and diversity theme. In 1 9 7 7 1 did not
endeavour to develop the obvious point that the one text gives rise to
diverse interpretations, beyond the brief discussion of 'a canon within
the canon' (76.1). That would have added a further dimension to
the study that might have detracted from its principal focus, which
42

38. Further details in my Theology of Paul, pp. 5 4 8 - 5 2 .

39. See my Jesus' Call to Discipleship, Cambridge University Press 1 9 9 2 .
40. See my 'Should Paul Once Again Oppose Peter to his Face?', Heythrop Journal, 34,
1 9 9 3 , PP- 5 8 - 6 5 .
4 1 . See also my essay, 'Unity and Diversity in the Church: A New Testament Perspec
tive', Gregorianum, 7 1 , 1990, pp. 6 2 9 - 5 6 , in which I summed up the reflections arising
from the second edition of Unity and Diversity in the NT, and which is therefore reproduced
as the appendix to this book.
4 2 . I had already undertaken some further reflection in the revision of 76 printed in
this edition.

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was to draw attention to the diversity which is not simply a matter

of diverse readings of individual texts. But the finding of a genuinely
bonding and integrating unity within and through the diversity is
closely analogous to the hermeneutical assertion of a unifying Sache
(substance or subject matter) within and through the diversity of the
Sprache (the wording used to convey that substance or subject mat
ter). As soon as the actual reading or hearing of a text is seen to be
integral to the meaning which in the event is read or heard from that
text it becomes impossible to speak of an unequivocal or narrow
single meaning for that text. And yet it does not follow that the
meaning of the text becomes uncontrollably diverse; for the text itself
remains the same, the unifying element within the diversity of the
interpretations.
This point became clearer to me in my study of the Jesus tradition
as oral tradition. For a lesson I learned from discussion of oral culture
is that one cannot speak of an original version of a story, but only of
multiform versions; and yet, typically, the substance of the story
remains the same. So with the Jesus tradition as we see it in the
Synoptics: we can speak of a single originating impulse (the teaching
and actions of Jesus), but not of an original version. For Jesus may
have given the same teaching (in substance) on several occasions and
in different words or with different illustrations. And his actions
(and words) no doubt made (slightly) different impacts on different
disciples. So, their remembering of what he had taught and done was
inevitably diverse, and from the beginning there was no single, origi
nal version from which all other versions were derived. The assump
tion that there must be a single original version of each teaching and
each event, to recover which therefore becomes the goal of historical
Jesus research, is simply misleading, not to say false. The unifying
factor remains Jesus, Jesus himself, but the impact he made was
diverse, a diversity still evident in the variations of the Synoptic
tradition.
An important corollary to that insight is that differences and diver
gences in the Synoptic tradition do not mean that one or other is in
error. That might apply if there was a single original version in each
case. That original version could then be said alone to be authentic. And
inauthenticity would be evaluated by measuring the degree of diver43

44

4 3 . M y most recent reflections are summed up in 'What Makes a Good Exposition?',

The Expository Times Lecture, June 2002, ExpT, 1 1 4 , 2 0 0 2 - 0 3 , P P 4 7 5 7 44. I develop the point in 'Altering the Default Setting: Re-envisaging the Early Trans
mission of the Jesus Tradition', New Testament Studies, 49, 2003, pp. 1 3 9 - 7 5 (here
PP- 5 3 ~ 4 7 3 ) ; d A New Perspective on Jesus: What the Quest for the Historical
Jesus Missed, Baker Academic/SPCK 2005, pp. 5 0 - 1 , 9 6 - 8 , 1 2 3 .
< I

2 -

a n

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gence from the original. But if diversity is integral to, even constitutes,
the unity of the impact made by Jesus, then diversity is an important
aspect of the authenticity of the tradition. And Matthew's conserva
tive hearing/reading (interpretation) of Jesus on the Torah is as valid,
as authentic, as Mark's more radical hearing/reading (interpretation)
on the same subject. And the fact that the gospel was heard and its
corollaries drawn out in both more conservative and more radical
terms (as Galatians z implies), and yet was the 'gospel', should not
surprise us.
The more general hermeneutical point was already clearly implicit
in my conclusions to chapter II (7). For the kerygma within the
diversity of the kerygmata is equivalent to the Sache within the inad
equacy of the Sprache. Just as the unifying element of Jesus himself
is not finally reducible to some precise formula, so the gospel is not
reducible to some final formulation of universal application, and so
too theology (words that attempt to speak about God) is not reducible
to any finally and solely authoritative formula. The Word within the
words ever escapes our comprehension; it grasps us, but we can never
finally grasp it. It grasps us, and only then do we begin to apprehend
it; but we never comprehend it. To think that we can or must make
it graspable is to lapse into the ages-old mistake of idolatry. As God
is un-image-able (unimaginable), so that which is most truly of God
is always beyond our reach. We must never make the icon into an
idol; we must never mistake the symbol for the reality; we must never
confuse the words with the Word. To think that we somehow can
finally pin down or determine the unity and therefore strictly control
or legislate the diversity is the modern sin against the Holy Spirit.
J A M E S D . G. D U N N

University of Durham
July 2005

FOREWORD T O SECOND EDITION

The trouble with an introductory text book is that it soon becomes

dated - particularly if it attempts to provide an overview and synthesis
of recent scholarship, including bibliographies. One of the major
objectives of U&D was to provide such a text book. Not as yet one
more example of busy lecturers pushing their first year 'Introduction
to the N T ' lecture courses before a wider public; there are more than
enough of these! But as a second level introduction, designed for the
third year student, or for those who want a specialist Masters course
which takes them through the N T material at a deeper level, or for
such as may desire a broad yet challenging refresher course some
years after completing their degree or earlier study of the N T . But it
is now twelve years since U&D was first published, and, such has
been the rapid movement in N T scholarship over that period, it
certainly has become dated.
Fortunately the imminent need of a fresh (5th) reprint has coincided
with the near completion of a German translation, commissioned by
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Gottingen. The coincidence spurred my
faint enthusiasm to review the possibility of a revision. And S C M
Press encouraged me to revise at least to the extent of writing a
new, updating Foreword and new, updated bibliographies. But could
revision be contained within these limitations? Certainly I was in no
doubt that major revision was impossible, at least for the English
edition, not least because it would take far more time than I could
afford. But would it not be necessary to ask for some selective and
minimal revisions of the text itself, always within the limitation of
keeping the same English pagination? Otherwise dated text might
repeatedly jar with updated bibliography.
One intriguing way of resolving my dilemma quickly suggested
itself - to ask the N T Postgraduate Seminar at Durham for its help.
The response was warm and encouraging. And so for the past fifteen
meetings of the seminar we have gone through U&D chapter by
1

1. Trans. Use von Loewenclau, but lost in the aftermath of die Wende.

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chapter in critical (and I mean critical!) review. It has been a fasci

nating and (for the most part) exhilarating experience. Most of the
time I have felt as though I was in the dock, being forced by sharp
and persistent questioning to justify and defend myself, now on
points of detail, now on terms and categories used, now on issues
where the debate has moved on, now on oversimplifications, now on
gaps in bibliography. At most points, somewhat to my surprise, I
found that I wanted to defend myself, and often could do so, since
in framing the original text I recalled having taken several similar
considerations into account. At many others the brevity of treatment
meant that the text was insufficiently nuanced or qualified; but to
meet these points would have required a more substantial expansion
of the text than was practical. And at not a few others I could only
concede that the text was now inadequate and should be amended if
at all possible.
So far as the extent of revision was concerned, therefore, the con
clusion to which the meetings of the seminar repeatedly pointed was
that if major revision was ruled out, then at least some minimal
revision of the text was more or less essential, together with the
updating Foreword and updated bibliographies. I could not but agree,
and in what follows I attempt to implement that conclusion and to
explain its rationale.
As I familiarized myself with the text once again, both prior to,
during and after each seminar, one of the main impressions was, How
quickly the agenda has changed. In my inaugural lecture at Durham,
only seven years after publication, I was to note three major trends
in N T studies. All of them in the force of their impact postdate
U&D. They still constitute the main agenda changes and so can serve
as a summary of the shift of perspective and interest since U&D was
first published.
At the time I completed the original manuscript the new wave of
sociological studies, heralded particularly by the work of G. Theissen,
2

2. Testing the Foundations. Current Trends in New Testament Study. University of

Durham 1 9 8 4 .
3. On the other hand, J . A. T. Robinson's attempt at Redating the New Testament, S C M
Press 1 9 7 6 , prior to A D 70 has not carried much conviction within the guild of N T scholars;
though see E. E. Ellis, 'Dating the New Testament', NTS 2 6 , 1 9 7 9 - 8 0 , pp. 4 8 7 - 5 0 2 .
4. G. Theissen, The First Followers of Jesus. A Sociological Analysis of the Earliest
Christianity, S C M Press 1 9 7 8 = Soziologie der Jesusbewegung, Kaiser 1 9 7 7 ; Studien zur
Soziologie des Urchristentums, W U N T 1 9 , Tubingen 1 9 7 9 = reprint of series of articles
going back to 1 9 7 3 . J . Z . Smith, 'The Social Description of Early Christianity'. Religious
Studies Review 1 , 1 9 7 5 , pp. 1 9 - 2 5 and A. J . Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity,
Louisiana State University 1 9 7 7 , alerted English readers to the importance of Theissen's
work.

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was just getting under way. Even then I was already convinced of its
importance and rather overoptimistically had indicated my hope in the
Preface that U&D itself would incorporate a sociological dimension,
although I must confess the manuscript was in penultimate draft
before this particular light had fully dawned. But since then the wave of
sociological interest has gained in strength and were I to contemplate a
complete revision of U&D I would have to rework most of the material
more thoroughly than is possible in this second edition. The impact on
Part II in particular would have been considerable, indicating the social
complexity of the several trends and developments outlined there. As a
second best I have indicated at several points in the following para
graphs where a fuller, including sociological perspective, would have
influenced the formulation of the chapters in question.
U&D was published in the same year, and by the same publisher, as
E. P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism. Sanders' work has marked
a decisive shift or stage in the reappraisal of relationships between the
earliest Christians and the Judaism of which they were part, a reap
praisal stemming from a combination of factors, including revulsion
at the Holocaust, a growing awareness of the long history of Christian
anti-Semitism, the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls, J . Neusner's work
on rabbinic traditions, and renewed interest in the so-called intertestamental literature or Jewish pseudepigrapha. This reappraisal has
resulted in a fresh reassertion of the Jewishness of Jesus and occasioned
what some now call 'the third quest of the historical Jesus'. It has also
5

5. See e.g. H. C . Kee, Christian Origins in Sociological Perspective, S C M Press 1980;

B. J . Malina, The New Testament World. Insights from Cultural Anthropology, S C M Press
1 9 8 1 ; W. A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians. The Social World of the Apostle Paul.
Yale University 1 9 8 3 ; J . H. Elliott, ed., Social-Scientific Criticism of the New Testament
and its Social World, Semeia 3 5 , 1 9 8 6 . Further bibliography in D. J . Harrington, 'Second
Testament Exegesis and the Social Sciences. A Bibliography', Biblical Theology Bulletin
1 8 , 1 9 8 8 , pp. 7 7 - 8 5 .
6. London: S C M Press 1 9 7 7 .
7. J . Neusner, The Rabbinic Traditions about the Pharisees before 70, Brill 1 9 7 1 ; From
Politics to Piety. The Emergence of Pharisaic Judaism. Prentice-Hall 1 9 7 3 ; Judaism. The
Evidence of the Mishnah, University of Chicago Press 1 9 8 1 ; Judaism in the Beginning of
Christianity, Fortress/SPCK 1 9 8 4 .
8. G. W. E. Nickekburg, Jewish Literature between the Bible and the Mishnah. Fortress/
S C M Press 1 9 8 1 ; J . H. Charlesworth, ed., The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, 2 vols.,
Darton, Longman & Todd 1 9 8 3 , 1 9 8 5 ; H. F. D. Sparks, ed., The Apocryphal Old Testament,
Clarendon 1984; M . E. Stone, ed., Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period. Van
Gorcum/Fortress 1984; R. A. Kraft and G. W. E . Nickelsburg, ed., Early Judaism and its
Modern Interpreters, Scholars 1986; E. Schurer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age
of Jesus Christ, revised and ed., G. Vermes, et al., T. & T. Clark, Vol. 3 , 1 9 8 6 , 1 9 8 7 .
9. Particularly T. Wright in S. Neill and T. Wright, The Interpretation of the New
Testament 1861-1986,
2nd edition, Oxford University 1 9 8 8 , pp. 3 8 1 ff. Wright refers to
B. F. Meyer, The Aims of Jesus, S C M Press 1 9 7 9 ; A. E. Harvey, Jesus and the Constraints

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sparked off a vigorous debate on Paul and the law, in which I have been
privileged to participate. On rereading several passages of U&D I
realized how 'pre-Sanders' were some of my brief characterizations
of Jesus and the law in particular. These I could not leave unchanged
in any, even minor revision.
A third new wave of research relating to the N T has been on what
I may describe simply as 'the literary criticism' front. Although I
recognize its importance in the hermeneutical quest for meaning in
the N T texts, I have felt much less compulsion to take it into account
in preparing this revision than in the first two cases. This is principally
because a major driving force in the literary criticism movement has
been the desire to free the N T texts from the restrictive and often
question-begging concerns of historical inquiry. Whereas my concern
in U&D is thoroughly historical, as its subtitle clearly indicates - An
Inquiry into the Character of Earliest Christianity. At the historical
level, of course, questions of genre and literary form are of major
importance. But in fact, and somewhat surprisingly, they have not
impinged to any great extent on U&D, with the principal exception
of the chapter on 'Apocalyptic Christianity'. And although diversity
of genre is an important feature of N T diversity, my concern in U&D
has been more to explore the commonality of themes and beliefs and
practices and trends running through and across documents, rather
than particular documents as such. Consequently, given the limited
10

11

of History, Duckworth 1 9 8 2 ; M . J . Borg, Conflict, Holiness and Politics in the Teachings

of Jesus, Mellen 1984; and E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, S C M Press 1 9 8 5 . Others who
could be mentioned as pursuing a third quest, from different perspectives, include B.
Chilton, A Galilean Rabbi and his Bible. Jesus' Own Interpretation of Isaiah, SPCK 1984;
F. G. Downing, Jesus and the Threat of Freedom, S C M Press 1987; R. A. Horsley, Jesus
and the Spiral of Violence. Popular Jewish Resistance in Roman Palestine, Harper & Row
1987; R. Leivestad, Jesus in His Own Perspective, Augsburg 1 9 8 7 ; G. Theissen, The
Shadow of the Galilean, S C M Press 1 9 8 7 ; S. Freyne, Galilee, Jesus and the Gospel, Gill
& Macmillan 1988; I. M . Zeitlin, Jesus and the Judaism of his Time, Polity 1988; J . H.
Charlesworth, Jesus within Judaism. New Light from Exciting Archaeological Discoveries,
SPCK 1 9 8 9 .
10. J . D. G. Dunn, Jesus, Paul and the Law: Essays on Mark and Galatians, London:
S P C K , 1990, with bibliography.
1 1 . See e.g. D. Rhoads and D. Michie, Mark as Story. An Introduction to the Narrative
of a Gospel, Fortress 1982; R. A. Culpepper, Anatomy of the Fourth Gospel. A Study in
Literary Design, Fortress 1 9 8 3 ; E. V. McKnight, The Bible and the Reader. An Introduction
to Literary Criticism, Fortress 1 9 8 5 ; R. C. Tannehill, The Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts.
A Literary Interpretation. Vol. 1: The Gospel according to Luke, Fortress 1986; D. Jasper,
The New Testament and the Literary Imagination, Macmillan 1987; N . R. Petersen, Liter
ary Criticism for New Testament Critics, Fortress 1 9 7 8 . For what we may call historical
literary criticism see particularly D. E. Aune, The New Testament in its Literary Environ
ment, Westminster 1 9 8 7 . For a positive critique see R. Morgan & J . Barton, Biblical
Interpretation, Oxford University Press 1 9 8 8 , ch. 7.

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revision of the second edition, I must leave it to others to develop this

further dimension of unity and diversity.
If then the agenda has changed so much, and if this second edition
can incorporate only a limited revision, is it worth while proceeding?
This was a question which I and the seminar considered seriously.
The conclusion was firm and clear: a second edition was desirable
and should proceed. The main reasons were as follows.
First, on a purely pragmatic note, the German edition was nearly
complete. It would be a great pity if it consisted simply of a translation
of the dated 1977 English version. And even if the English edition
would find revision of the text difficult, there were no such constraints
in the case of the German edition, since the translator's manuscript
had not yet been typeset. At the same time it would be undesirable
for the German edition to be at significant variance from the second
English edition. The most obvious solution was a minimally revised
text which would update where necessary and possible, without alter
ing the English pagination. As I reviewed each chapter, following the
discussion of the seminar, I was relieved to find that I could accom
plish all essential and most desirable revision even while operating
within these constraints.
Second, despite a degree of datedness, there is a great deal of
continuing value even in the original version of U&D. The issues and
themes examined within Part I and the trends examined within Part II
are still of importance in any inquiry into the character of earliest
Christianity. It would be a grave disservice to both current and past
N T scholarship to suggest that the three new waves of interest dis
cussed briefly above constitute the whole agenda for modern N T
study. There is much of perennial interest and of enduring significance
in the material gathered and ordered in the following chapters, which
remains unaffected by developments over the past twelve years. There
is solidly packed and packaged data which I hope still provides one
of the most useful brief introductions and starting points for dis
cussion and further study of the topics and trends. The presentation
should still challenge and provoke readers to see the N T and earliest
Christianity in a fresh and hopefully illuminating light, and, if the
Durham seminars are anything to go by, provide fresh stimulus and
insight for those working in diverse parts of the N T . And if a minimal
revision can increase that value, by eliminating more dated features
and by updating the bibliography, then its useful life might well be
extended for a further generation of students of the N T .
Third, above all there is the importance of its theme - Unity in
Diversity. The primary objective was not to provide a second level
introduction to the N T , but to explore the historical reality of first-

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century Christianity and the Christianity of the N T documents, to

explore the historical and theological tension between their unity and
their diversity. As I lived with these issues for eight years prior to
publication in discussion, teaching, reflection and writing, I became
more and more convinced of the positive function of diversity within
Christian unity. The point has become increasingly important for me
in the subsequent twelve years, as I have come to see more and
more clearly that Christian unity is impossible without diversity, that
without sufficient diversity Christian unity will be (heretically) narrow,
squeezing out what is also the life of the Spirit and what also expresses
the grace of God in Christ, that without diversity of type and function
Christian unity will be as ludicrously lopsided and grotesque as the
body which consists only of an eye or of an ear (I Cor. 1 2 . 1 7 - 2 0 ) .
One of the most heartening consequences of U&D has been a
number of invitations to participate in ecumenical consultations and
conferences, precisely with the charge to bring out and reflect further
on what the unity and diversity of the N T may say to ecumenical
concerns today. 1 have been more than happy to do so, since I believe
that the conclusions of chapter X V are of first importance for anyone
who takes seriously the historical character of Christianity and the
definition of it which the N T provides. If an updated second edition
can help to bring home to more students of the N T and Christians
generally the reality and importance of unity in diversity (equal
emphasis on both words), then I most certainly wish to proceed
with it.
Fourth, a new edition gives me opportunity to clarify the intention,
the scope and the limitations of U&D. For example, it should have
been sufficiently clear that I set out on the quest of unity in Part I by
asking what historically has served to unify Christianity, or been
regarded as part of its distinctive core or essence. To that extent
the agenda was provided by the subsequent history of Christianity.
12

13

14

1 2 . One of the most surprising reviews of U&D criticized me for not taking the diversity
of the N T seriously enough and for making it of peripheral importance (T. Radcliffe, New
Blackfriars, July 1 9 7 8 , pp. 3 3 4 - 6 ) ! The point being made eludes me.
1 3 . The principal point about unity being consistent with and consisting in diversity
has been taken in ecumenical discussion; see e.g. M . Kinnamon, Truth and Community,
World Council of Churches/Eerdmans 1 9 8 8 , pp. 1 - 7 .
1 4 . Only one of my papers has so far been published - 'Die Instrumente kirchlicher
Gemeinschaft in der frhen Kirche', Una Sancta 4 4 . 1 , 1 9 8 9 , pp. 2 - 1 3 . One aspect of what
I have attempted to say is summed up in my protest against overuse of the metaphor
of 'convergence', since 'convergence' means, by definition, narrowing: the traffic of two
motorways which 'converge' is then restricted within the limits of one motorway. A better
metaphor would be that of 'confluence': two rivers merging become one river, but a broader
and/or deeper river than either of the two tributaries. See further below n. 1 5 .

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Similarly in Part II the strands and trends examined became most

clearly developed in their distinctiveness in the post-NT period - in
effect the main alternatives for would-be Christians in the second
century. The inquiry therefore was not a random exploration of the
N T or first-century Christianity, and certainly in no sense an attempt
to treat the N T and beginning period of Christianity in isolation from
Christianity thereafter. The result was, not altogether surprisingly,
a more integrated and coherent survey than might otherwise have
emerged. Which made it more difficult to consider adding fresh chap
ters (I had long wondered about one on ethics), or shifting the focus
and imagery away from 'unity and diversity' to, say, J . C. Beker's
helpful 'coherence and contigency' schema, which serves to make a
similar point.
On the other hand, perhaps I should have brought out more clearly
that I am deliberately moving on two levels in U&D. One is the
historical reality of the churches spoken of in the N T . The other is
the N T itself. The latter is, of course, contained within the former,
but they are not the same. The fact that the diversity of the N T
documents is narrower than the diversity of the earliest churches
should not be allowed to cloak the fact of the diversity of the N T
itself. But neither should we ignore the fact that the narrower diversity
of the N T documents functioned as a check on and limitation to the
larger diversity.
Again, the character of the following chapters as introductory or
summary treatments needs to be recalled. In every case the topics
chosen provide sufficient subject matter for several monographs. Fre
quently in the course of the Durham seminar we had to accept that,
of course, more could be said and needs to be said on this point or
that, but only at the cost of considerable expansion of the text. The
data and the treatment provided is only a starter for discussion, a
tool in the hands of the wise discussion leader. The subdivisions of the
text are designed to facilitate corporate use. The degree of repetition
is an attempt to ensure that each chapter is as compact and selfcontained as possible. While the cross-referencing should make poss
ible expanded discussion of particular points where desired. The
bibliographies do not consist simply of items which document points
made, but also items which dispute them or which carry the discussion
forward in other directions. My hope, need I say, is that a discussion
15

16

1 5 . The issue has now been addressed by W. Schrge, 'Zur Frage nach der Einheit und
Mitte neutestamentlicher Ethik', Die Mitte des Neuen Testaments. Einheit und Vielfalt
neutestamentlicher Theologie, E. Schweizer Festschrift, hrsg. U. Luz and H. Weder, Vandenhoeck 1 9 8 3 , pp. 2 3 8 - 5 3 .
16. J . C. Beker, Paul the Apostle, Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980.

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which uses U&D as a starter, and whose members both study the
N T texts cited and the suggested bibliography for themselves, will
achieve a fuller and more fully rounded picture than was possible to
achieve in U&D itself.
As part of my objective, to provide stimulus for discussion, I have
been deliberately provocative in posing the questions to be asked and
the corollaries to be drawn. At not a few points during the course of
the revision I wondered whether I should temper some of the bolder
or more challenging statements, and in some instances I have con
cluded that the question posed did push too hard. But for the most
part the objective of stimulating and challenging 'safer' conclusions
is one I have continued to pursue. If the cost of opening up windows
for some minds is the occasional overstatement I am content. And if
the end result is a clearer grasp of the historical reality of earliest
Christianity and of the character of the N T , I am more than content.
Other clarifications will be incorporated in revisions to the text or
the notes, or in the new introductions to each chapter below.
Fifth, a revised edition gives me opportunity to defend myself
against those who have criticized the first edition in inappropriate
ways. Several reviewers of U&D charged me with narrowing the
unity and emphasizing the diversity far too much. 1 wonder if they
read pp. 403-5 and 4 2 5 ^ with sufficient closeness, and have con
sidered the full importance of the christological centrality of the
uniting core. I confess I also find myself wondering whether such
readers have fully considered with sufficient seriousness the plain
fact of the diversity which was, is and always will be Christianity,
uncomfortable as that fact may be for those who lust for the security
of having others believe and act just as they believe and act.
17

18

1 7 . So also Robinson (n. 2 2 below) p. 25 n. 62; but see also his own affirmation of the
need to recognize the diversity within earliest Christian unity (p. 29); and contrast R. A.
Markus, 'The Problem of Self-Definition: From Sect to Church'. Jewish and Christian
Self-Definition. Vol. One: The Shaping of Christianity in the Second and Third Centuries,
ed. E. P. Sanders, S C M Press 1 9 8 0 , p. 8.
1 8 . See also ch. X V , n. 9 (p. 4 1 1 below). K. Berger in his review of the first edition
{ThR 5 3 , 1 9 8 8 , p. 366) chides me for proposing 'a pale, humanistic ecumenism, whose
greatest virtue is tolerance, for which one should wish something more of the - positively
understood - intolerance of the O T and Jewish belief in G o d . . . ' . In defence I would
simply say: (a) tolerance in itself is not the virtue, but tolerance in the face of intolerance;
(b) Jesus himself is the model of such tolerance (e.g. Mark 9 . 3 8 - 4 0 ; Matt. 1 1 . 1 9 ) - another
aspect of the centre determining the circumference; (c) it is such acceptance (i.e. dynamic
tolerance) within the framework of the common faith (see again ch. X V n. 9) which is still
needed in modern ecumenism. Nevertheless, I recognize that there is an uncomfortable
tension to be maintained here, between whole-hearted commitment and openness/tolerance,
and should like to reflect further on it as being one of the greatest challenges confronting
Christian (as indeed any) claim to truth.

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Another surprisingly frequent attack from the conservative side was

the accusation that I found the N T to be full of contradictions. Not
so! The word 'contradiction' never passed my lips (or typewriter).
And deliberately so. For that was not the point; and the accusation
betrays a failure to grasp that point. The point, as expressed clearly
enough already in chapter II, is that any and every statement of the
gospel in the N T is historically conditioned and context specific. The
word of God speaks to the human condition in its diverse specificity.
That is why it is diverse and different in its varied expressions. Recog
nition of this fact in the N T should be something liberating and
exciting, since it undergirds the affirmation that God continues to
speak to the diverse and specific situations of today. Failure to recog
nize the difference and diversity of the gospel in the diverse situations
of past and present simply succeeds in imprisoning the gospel in less
than meaningful forms and formulae.
The charge of anti-Catholic bias from one or two Roman Catholic
reviewers I will return to below in the new introduction to chapter
XIV.
Finally, perhaps it also needs to be said, not least for the sake of
future reviewers, that the main question to be asked with regard to
U&D is not whether the opinions and characterizations offered in
the following pages are correct or command consensus in every par
ticular. That would be hardly likely, especially when so many exegetical decisions have had to be made without sufficient detail and
justification. The main question is whether the broad picture is right
and overall a fair reflection of the N T and of the character of earliest
Christianity. Whether I am right or wrong on several, or even many
details, what is important is the fact that the unifying and distinctive
core of Christianity in the beginning centred irreducibly on Jesus
Christ, the fact of diversity as something inescapable in every attempt
to bring that unifying core to concrete expression, and, not least, the
fact that the unity of the Christianity of the N T consisted in and
through that diversity.
In the light of all the above considerations, revision of U&D for
the new edition has been limited to the following: (i) completely
revised bibliographies for each chapter; (ii) expanded and additional
notes to add occasional clarifications or qualifications to the text,
and to take account of the most relevant of more recent literature,
19

20

21

19.
20.
21.
among

See e.g. those cited in my The Living Word, S C M Press 1 9 8 7 , p. 1 7 5 n. 6.

See further The Living Word (n. 19).
In fairness I should perhaps also note that in general Roman Catholic reviews were
the most positive and welcoming.

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including further studies of my own which provide more substantial

underpinning at various points; (iii) usually small corrections to the
text itself, to remove minor infelicities and occasionally inadvertant
sexist language, and to reflect change of perspective or opinion; the
most substantial of these come at pp. i46f. and in chapter XIII, the
chapter with which I became dissatisfied most quickly; the difficulty
of keeping such revisions within the established structure and pagi
nation of the paragraphs was considerable, but I hope I have achieved
the aim without introducing too much awkwardnesses; (iv) fresh
introductions to each chapter to give opportunity for further clarifi
cation as necessary and to indicate where a fuller, particularly socio
logical perspective would have given opportunity for a much more
thorough revision had that been possible. These new introductions
follow immediately.
In reference to chapter I, since it functions simply as an 'Introduc
tion', I need hardly add to what I have already said above. The
discussion of Bauer's thesis has continued in the interim, and H.
Koester has posed the issue in still more extreme terms. But chapter
I focused the study in its own terms (unity and diversity); and given
the range and character and historical conditionedness of the N T
documents, the question of unity and diversity is one which cannot
be avoided by serious students. It may bear repeating, that the chap
ters which follow are in no sense intended as an exhaustive survey of
the N T or of first-century Christianity. The chapters of Part I are
simply a sequence of 'bore holes' through the variegated mass and
strata of the traditions which make up the N T ; while Part II attempts
to trace in sketchy overview the major Christian continuities and
discontinuities between the first century and the early patristic period.
In view of some responses in reviews and other comment, it is
perhaps necessary to remind readers that chapter II, 'Kerygma or
Kerygmata?', has a limited objective. This was indicated already at
pp. 6-7, 1 3 and 34. It is a superficial survey of the N T material and deliberately so. Its purpose was simply to show that the issue of
unity and diversity is there, clearly visible, even on a quick read. It is
not something forced unnaturally on the text by sceptical scholars.
22

23

24

22. See particularly D. J . Harrington, 'The Reception of Walter Bauer's Orthodoxy and
Heresy in Earliest Christianity During the Last Decade', HTR 7 3 , 1 9 8 0 , pp. 2 8 9 - 9 8 ; T. A.
Robinson, The Bauer Thesis Examined. The Geography of Heresy in the Earliest Christian
Church, Edwin Mellen 1 9 8 8 .
2 3 . H. Koester, Introduction to the New Testament. Vol. 2. History and Literature of
Early Christianity, Fortress 1 9 8 2 .
24. Perhaps I could refer to the similar comment and pleas which I make in The
Evidence for Jesus, S C M Press 1 9 8 5 , ch. 1 .

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Consequently, for example, there is no need at this point to justify

the use of Synoptic traditions as evidence of Jesus' teaching, since our
concern in chapter II is simply with the fact that it is presented as
Jesus' teaching. So when in 3 I speak of 'the kerygma of Jesus' I
mean simply the preaching of Jesus as reported by the Synoptics.
Chapter III, 'Primitive Confessional Formulae', turns by natural
progression to confessional formulate. Not because the response of
faith to the kerygma is primarily cerebral or finally reducible to con
cepts; we turn to other responses in the subsequent chapters. But
simply because verbal confession has been a fundamental and promi
nent feature of Christianity as it grew and developed. A historical
perspective is bound to ask whether it was so in the beginning and
how this basic instinct of faith (to 'confess with the lips') came to
expression. The chapter limits the discussion to confessional formu
lae, since, once again, Christianity has always found it necessary to
express its faith in brief definitional formulae. This, however, is not
to say that verbal confessions of faith cannot take much fuller and
larger forms. Recent literary study of the biblical texts, for example,
has properly emphasized the role of narrative theology; the tradition
of making confession by telling a story is one well established in
the OT. Consequently the Gospels themselves can quite properly be
regarded as confessional statements. And if the passion narratives
were retold in part or whole during early Christian worship they
would certainly function as confessional within the terms of 13.
Here again the limited scope of the discussion is not intended as any
kind of claim that only this material is eligible for discussion under
this head. On the contrary, the hope in attempting such a concise
summary presentation was to provoke precisely such broader ranging
reactions and reflections.
Chapter IV, 'The Role of Tradition', is one example of where a fuller
sociological perspective would have helped clarify the greater com
plexity of the historical situation, particularly as regards Jesus' attitude
to the law and the halakah. The rather more simplified terms of the
discussion are, in point of fact, closer to the terms used within the N T
text itself; but even so, they may not reflect the social reality of the
period in sufficient detail. Thus in the case of Jesus' reaction to tradition,
a more nuanced treatment would have noted that Jesus' own interpret
ation of the Torah, from one aspect, was quite within the range of
debate on Halakah current among the Pharisees themselves, and, from
another, was itself a kind of tradition. I hope it is sufficiently clear from
15 and 1 7 - 1 8 that Christianity was not against 'tradition' per se;
1 6 is about Jewish tradition; and the main ongoing thesis is that such
tradition was not a unifying point within earliest Christianity.

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Chapter V, 'The Use of the Old Testament', needs more refinement

with regard to Jesus and the law and on methods of exegesis. The
terms in which the former was posed in the first edition were simply
the received tradition of the time, but that tradition has itself been
amended (a nice example of how tradition develops); and I would
wish to join my voice with those pressing for a fuller setting of Jesus
within the Judaism of his day. As to the latter, discussion of terms
could have been greatly expanded, and the definitions modified or
reshaped. However, the objective of the chapter was not to achieve
precision of definition, but rather to document that there was a range
and diversity of exegetical usage, both in first-century Judaism and
in earliest Christianity, and to explore the ramifications of that fact.
The chapter continues to serve that objective well, with only minor
revision required.
The topic of chapter VI, 'Concepts of Ministry', is one where
sociological analysis has proved particularly fruitful. And more inter
action with such discussions would have been valuable, particularly
in bringing the issue of authority and legitimation to sharper focus,
and in tightening up categories like 'charismatic' and 'institutional'.
Suffice it to say here that on balance I still prefer to use 'charismatic'
in the sense given us by Paul, and not so much or so directly in
the reminted definition so central for Weber; principally because the
Weberian category can so easily be used without regard to the more
specifically Pauline usage and thus miss the intrinsically theological
character of the term ('charisma' as the expression of 'grace'), thereby
losing something fundamental for the discussion of the Pauline
'model' in particular. So too I continue to prefer 'institutionalization'
rather than a term like 'routinization' (Weber), not because I think the
Pauline vision of community lacked structure, including institutional
structure, but because the force of the word 'institutionalization' is
fairly self-evident in describing developments from the more spon
taneous worship and organization of the early Pauline churches.
25

26

27

25. See chs. 1 - 3 (above n. 10), and most of those cited in n. 9.

26. See J . H. Schutz, Paul and the Anatomy of Apostolic Authority, S N T S M S 26,
Cambridge University 19755 B. Holmberg, Paul and Power. The Structure of Authority in
the Primitive Church as Reflected in the Pauline Epistles, C W K Gleerup 1 9 7 8 ; R. Banks,
Paul's Idea of Community, Paternoster 1980; Meeks (n. 5 above) particularly ch. 4; M . Y .
MacDonald, The Pauline Churches. A socio-historical study of institutionalization in the
Pauline and Deutero-Pauline Writings, S N T S M S 60, Cambridge University 1 9 8 8 .
27. Cf. the discussion of Holmberg, Paul and Power, and M . Y . MacDonald, Pauline
Churches, who both wish to distinguish degrees of institutionalization - 'cumulative insti
tutionalization' (Holmberg), 'community-building institutionalization' - Paul, 'community
stabilizing institutionalization - Colossians and Ephesians, and 'community-protecting
institutionalization' - Pastorals (MacDonald).

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In writing chapter VI, I was conscious that the focus on 'ministry'

was very limiting and did not allow sufficient discussion of other
categories like community and organization. The choice, as through
out the book, was determined by the fact that ministry was such a
fundamental factor in developing Christian self-definition over the
early centuries, a decisive factor in determining the 'shape' of the
catholic tradition, and remains central in ecumenical discussions
today. Here again it would have been possible to raise the same or
further issues by posing the questions differently. But it is equally
obvious that the well recognized and long established category of
'ministry' catches hold of one of the most important strands in the
whole sweep, past and continuing, of Christian history. As an
example of one major 'bore-hole' into earliest Christianity it continues
to serve a useful purpose within the overall theme of the book which
could hardly have been neglected. I have taken the opportunity of a
largely blank final page to add a paragraph on the question of priest
hood and the ministry of women.
In chapter VII, 'Patterns of Worship', the main need was twofold.
First to modify the section on Jesus to reflect a clearer appreciation
of contemporary Jewish spirituality. And second to modify the treat
ment of 'Christ-hymns' (35.3), particularly Phil. 2 . 6 - 1 1 : in the
interim, the mirage-like character of the pre-Christian Gnostic re
deemer myth has been still more widely recognized, and my own
work on the beginnings of christology was sufficient to convince me
that Adam christology was much the most obvious factor in the
formulation of the Philippian hymn.
It seemed and still seems to me obvious that chapter VIII, 'Sacra
ments', had to take as its starting point and focus the historic signifi
cance of the two (almost) universal Christian sacraments, even while
recognizing that the definition of 'sacrament' is among the points at
issue. Of course I leave myself open to the criticism that the discussion
has been too much dictated by later perspectives. Should I not, as in
chapter III, have refused to limit the exploration to the categories
which dominated later thought in this area - by asking simply how
28

29

28. See ch. VI n. 27. It is the discussion of community as focused in ministry which
explains why the emphasis on Johannine 'individualism' can still stand; not as a denial of
what we can call Johannine community (or communities), but as a way of characterizing
the spirituality inculcated in these communities (see also pp. 39if.).
29. The historical importance of ministry as a category in catholic tradition and ecu
menical discussion is clearly shown by the prominence it receives in such documents as
Lumen Gentium, the Vatican II statement on the Church, 1 9 6 5 ; the Anglican-Roman
Catholic International Commission's Agreed Statement on Ministry and Ordination, 1 9 7 3 ;
and Baptism, Eucharist and Ministry, World Council of Churches 1 9 8 2 .

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Christian faith and spirituality came to ritual expression in the begin

ning? Alternatively, if later categories are allowed to set the agenda,
why limit the discussion solely to baptism and Lord's Supper? How
ever, I remain unrepentant here. It is clear, even from a fairly cursory
study of the N T , that baptism and the Lord's Supper (including
here last supper traditions) have a significance across a range of N T
material which is not paralleled in other cases, such as foot-washing,
or the kiss of peace, or even the laying on of hands. It is probable, in
fact, that the reason why just these two ritual acts became 'sacra
ments' is that they were able to embody a richer christological signifi
cance than any of the others.
Since I may be criticized for using 'sacramentalist' as a somewhat
pejorative term I should simply point out that I use the word in
the dictionary sense - 'one who attaches great importance to the
sacraments' - with the implication that there is a danger of attaching
too much importance to them, that is, to the extent that they come
to be regarded as exclusive means of grace. I still believe that the
ministries of Jesus, Paul and John constitute vigorous protests against
just such narrowing and limiting of the grace of God.
In chapter IX, 'Spirit and Experience', a fuller preliminary defi
nition of 'enthusiasm' might have been desirable. Perhaps I was
assuming too much the 'identikit picture' of the 'enthusiast' which I
had drawn in Jesus and the Spirit (p. 157). But the final sentence of
the first paragraph of 43 should have been a sufficient starting point,
and the rest of 43 sufficient to fill out the first preliminary sketch.
Certainly those who understand 'enthusiasm' in the classic terms
provided by Ronald Knox would have little difficulty in recognizing
the characteristic features being indicated. I should add that I do not
wish 'enthusiasm' to be regarded solely in negative terms. It should
also be recognized as having a positive dimension. Or at least I would
prefer its meaning to be seen as more of a spectrum - from the
more desirable (liberation of repressed emotions and harnessing of
deep-rooted motivation) to the less desirable (unrestrained emotions
and self-promoting elitism). My preference for 'charismatic' reflects
both my own earlier work in this area and the continuing influence
of the positive and (for me) determinative Pauline usage. Phenomenologically, of course, 'charismatic' and 'enthusiastic' overlap as types
and I should perhaps have spelled out the way I was distinguishing
them more explicitly; but I hope the discussion on p. zoi will remain
sufficient for the purpose.
30

31

30. See Knox as in ch. IX n. 2, pp. 1 - 4 .

3 1 . Jesus and the Spirit, S C M Press/Westminster 1 9 7 5 .

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The focus of chapter X, 'Christ and Christology', is, of course,

determined both by the question left hanging at the end of chapter II
(p. 32) and by the repeated finding of the preceding chapters (that the
unity at each point surveyed was christologically centred). It functions
therefore as a conclusion to the discrete series of investigations which
have constituted Part I. As such its objective is limited. There are of
course other factors in the continuity between pre- and post-Easter,
and I have had to be content to document the fact of unity and
diversity rather than attempt to explore why earliest christology
developed as it did. One important aspect of the latter became the
principal concern of my next major study project. But the concern
here is simply to mark out the fact of unity and diversity within the
unifying core itself. Given that limited objective, only modest revision
has been necessary here too.
In comparison with the other three chapters of Part II, chapter XI,
'Jewish Christianity', came through the sieve of the seminar requiring
surprisingly little revision. I hope it is sufficiently clear from 5 3 that
the titles used in each of these four chapters are unsatisfactory in
one degree or other. They function simply as labels to denote areas
of inquiry, not definitions as such. Nor should they be regarded as
describing coherent or clearly distinct movements. They simply denote
major trends and facets within much more complex movements, and
one or more could certainly have been present in greater and less
degree in particular churches and areas. It should also be clear that,
as before, I took my lead from developments in the second century.
It is a matter of fact that in the second half of the second century,
there were, in very simplified terms, four main claimants to the title
'Christian'. My question is simply, How did this come about? What
does this tell us about the character of first-century Christianity?
To what extent can all four alternatives properly be described as
'Christian'? The seminar on this chapter evoked a fascinating dis
cussion on the issue, Why was Ebionism wrong? And why was 'devel
opment' right? My own tentative short answer would be that the
main body of earliest Jewish Christianity in the event allowed a diver
sity which both held to the christological centre and reflected Jesus'
own openness, whereas 'heretical' Jewish Christianity was con
demned precisely by its failure to recognize and respect that diversity.
32

33

3 2 . Christology in the Making, S C M Press/Westminster 1980.

3 3 . See particularly R. Murray, 'Jews, Hebrews and Christians: Some Needed Distinc
tions', Nov Test 24, 1 9 8 2 , pp. 1 9 4 - 2 0 8 . On the other hand, I should perhaps point out
that the conclusion to chapter XI (p. 286 below) in large measure anticipated the fourfold
categorization suggested by R. E. Brown, 'Not Jewish Christianity and Gentile Christianity
but Types of Jewish/Gentile Christianity', CBQ 4 5 , 1 9 8 3 , pp. 7 4 - 9 .
'

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In this chapter I am unable to address the vexed question of antiSemitism in the N T , where the debate since the first edition of U&D
has been particularly lively, but I will return to it in a later publi
cation.
As the introductions to chapters XI and XII make clear, the objec
tive of chapter XII, 'Hellenistic Christianity', is to explore the
interface between the movement stemming from Palestine and wider
Hellenistic religion. That interaction was fantastically complex and
to examine it adequately even within the aims of the present inquiry
would require a sequence of interrelated studies of infant Christ
ianity's relationships with the old Graeco-Roman religions, magic
and astrology, current religious philosophies, mystery cults, not to
mention the broader social structures. That is obviously an impossible
undertaking for this volume. The original chapter, of course, reflected
the interest in first-century Gnostic and proto-Gnostic influences
which has been a major feature of N T studies for most of the present
century. And though that interest is fading, the theses of Koester and
those afflicted with the 'Nag Hammadi fever' keep the issue suf
ficiently and challengingly alive for the thrust of the chapter to be
retained. More important, Gnosticism in its manifold forms was
quickly to become the major challenge to (catholic) Christianity in
the second century. So it continues to be appropriate to ask whether
and to what extent this challenge was foreshadowed in the N T period
- especially as both sides in the subsequent disputes made bold to
claim N T texts for themselves.
On the other hand, since the second-century Gnostic movements
were prime examples of religious syncretism, most of the questions
posed in chapter XII could just as well be reformulated in terms of
'syncretistic Christianity'. For Christianity to speak to the Hellenistic
world some degree of syncretism was inevitable; this is simply an
application of the conclusion drawn as far back as chapter II, that in
order to be heard, the gospel must be put in terms which can be
34

34. See particularly S. Sandmel, Anti-Semitism in the New Testament, Fortress 1 9 7 8 ;

A. T. Davies, ed., AntiSemitism and the Foundations of Christianity, Paulist 1 9 7 9 ;
J . Koenig, jews and Christians in Dialogue. New Testament Foundations, Westminster
1 9 7 9 ; F. Mussner, Tractate on the Jews. The Significance of Judaism for Christian Faith,
1 9 7 9 , E T Fortress/SPCK 1 9 8 4 ; J . G. Gager, The Origins of Anti-Semitism. Attitudes
Towards Judaism in Pagan and Christian Antiquity, Oxford University 1 9 8 3 ; N . A . Beck,
Mature Christianity. The Recognition and Repudiation of the Anti-Jewish Polemic of the
New Testament, Associated University Presses 1 9 8 5 ; P. Richardson, ed., Anti-Judaism in
Early Christianity. Vol. I. Paul and the Gospels, Wilfrid Laurier University 1986; S. G.
Wilson, ed., Anti-Judaism in Early Christianity. Vol. 2. Separation and Polemic. Wilfrid
Laurier University 1986; M . R. Wilson, Our Father Abraham. Jewish Roots of the Christian
Faith, Eerdmans 1 9 8 9 .

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appreciated by the particular audience addressed. But how far did

that adaptation to particular and changing contexts go? And how far
could it go before it ceased to be 'Christian', unacceptably diverse?
Despite its limitations, therefore, the attempt to trace one or two
of the strands of that first-century diversity, which demonstrate the
problem of unity in syncretistic diversity and which with some plausi
bility may be placed on (what with hindsight can be described as) a
gnosticizing trajectory, retains its value within the revised edition.
As already mentioned, chapter XIII, 'Apocalyptic Christianity',
was one chapter with which I became dissatisfied quite soon after
publication. The characterization of 'apocalyptic' to which I was heir
and on which I structured the chapter was quickly overtaken by the
new wave of interest in Jewish pseudepigrapha and by the ground
breaking and more detailed analyses particularly of J . J . Collins and
C. Rowland. I was well aware that the issue of whether a 'touch-up
and patch' revision was to be adequate would be decided here. In the
event the seminar agreed that the issue largely boiled down to one of
definition. The catch-all use of 'apocalyptic' should be abandoned,
and the confusion and overlap between 'apocalyptic' and 'eschatology' resolved by making it clear that the main focus of the chapter
was on 'apocalyptic eschatology' - that is, not merely concern with
(the events of) the end (eschatology), but that concern as characteristi
cally though not exclusively expressed in apocalyptic literature.
However, the characterizations of apocalypse and apocalyptic escha
tology (66.2 and 66.3) remain valid as characterizations, so all
that was required was a rewriting of p. 338 to clarify the question
of definition, and a consistent implementation of these definitions
throughout the rest of the chapter. Since the point was raised in
one or two reviews, it perhaps should be reiterated that 'apocalyptic
Christianity' did not exist as a separate entity within earliest Christ
ianity. It was a trend or facet or dimension, characteristic of all earliest
Christianity in greater or less degree. It is, and always was, precisely
my point that apocalyptic eschatology was too integral a part of
first-century and N T Christianity to be ignored or easily disparaged.
35

With chapter XIV, 'Early Catholicism', the principal problem was

the title itself. 'Early Catholicism' is becoming an outmoded term, the
product of Lutheran confessionalism, and it has a distinctly pejorative

3 5 . See the more careful statement in J. J . Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination, Cross
road 1 9 8 4 , p. 9. I thus accept the main point of Rowland's strictures on the first edition
(The Open Heaven, SPCK 1 9 8 2 , pp. 3 5 4 - 6 ) , though he does not give enough weight to
the fact that 'resurrection of the dead' is itself an apocalyptic category in the sense that it
first emerged in apocalyptic writing and is a feature of several major apocalypses.

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36

ring. This comment from a Lutheran member of the seminar chimed

in with the criticism of one or two Roman Catholic reviewers of the
first edition that in U&D I betrayed an 'anti-Catholic bias'. Certainly,
on reading through the chapter again, I could see how it could give
rise to the insinuation 'that Early Catholicism was a distortion of true
Christianity'. That, however, was not my intention. I hope I stressed
sufficiently that the several 'notes' of early Catholicism are present
already within the N T , which I do regard as providing the normative
definition of 'true' Christianity'. As I indicate in chapter XIV, I go
along with the older F. C. Baur thesis at least to the extent that
emerging Catholicism was a catholic synthesis of several strands and
tendencies (and factions) within earliest Christianity. The critical note
which emerges I do not deny, but it is not a criticism of Catholicism
(or Catholicism) as such. Rather my concern is to point up the danger
37

38

of a Catholicism which is not catholic enough. When 'Catholicism'

makes a monopolistic claim and thereby excludes other elements

which are also legitimate heirs of earliest Christianity, it becomes
sectarian (whatever its breadth) rather than truly catholic. By saying
this I do not mean to pass a negative judgment on catholic rejection
of Gnosticism or Ebionism. But I do want to ask whether a Cath
olicism which embraced anti-Semitism and condemned the Montanists and Messalians was sufficiently catholic. I am fully aware of the
danger of playing with words here. How can a catholic church not
include all Christians, since 'catholic' means 'universal'? The danger,
however, remains, that in the event 'catholic' becomes a party name
or factional claim which excludes others who have legitimate right to
the title 'Christian'. The problem of early Catholicism is precisely
39

40

3 6. 'A German Protestant construct, of more use in ecumenical anatomy than in new
Testament study' (Murray, 'Jews, Hebrews and Christians' p. 1 9 7 ) . See also F. Hahn,
'Das Problem des Fruhkatholizismus', Exegetische Beitrge zum kumenischen Gesprch,
Gttingen 1 9 8 6 , pp. 6 2 - 6 ; W. Trilling,' 'Bemerkungen zum Thema "Fruhkatholizismus".
Eine Skizze', in J . Rogge and G. Schule, hrsg., Frhkatholizismus im kumenischen
Gesprach, Berlin 1 9 8 3 , pp. 6 2 - 7 0 .
37. R. Kugelman, C . P., in Theological Studies, December 4, 1 9 7 8 , p. 780.
38. Ibid. On the other hand, as F. Hahn notes, Roman Catholic scholars have quite
naturally seized upon the term for its value as evidence of the Catholic beginnings of
Christianity in what might be called a riposte apologetic (F. Hahn, 'Fruhkatholizismus als
kumenisches Problem', Beitrge pp. 5 9 - 6 0 ) . For a positive and eirenic discussion see
H. Schurmann, 'Auf der Suche nach dem "Evangelisch-Katholischen". Zum Thema "Fruh
katholizismus" in J . Rogge and G. Schule, Frhkatholizismus im kumenischen Gesprch,
Berlin 1 9 8 3 , pp. 7 1 - 1 0 7 .
39. I hope this restatement of my point meets the criticism of Berger in his ThR 5 3 ,
1 9 8 8 , review (p. 366).
40. O. Cullmann reports that the written outline of a speech given by Pope John Paul II
during the 1 9 8 0 anniversary celebration of the Augsburg Confession contained the

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that of the majority seeking to draw boundaries which both include

and exclude round the whole body of Christian believers.
How then to avoid the pejorative ring of 'Early Catholicism'? There
is no easy answer. 'Early orthodoxy' might have served; but that
would simply mean jumping from the frying pan into the fire, since
'Orthodoxy' became the collective name for eastern Christianity, just
as 'Catholicism' became the collective name for western Christianity.
Moreover, 'early Catholicism' does 'plug in' to an important strand
of discussion running through most of the twentieth century. In the
end I decided to stay with the original term, with the single modifi
cation of using lower case for the initial letters (early catholic/catholicism, in place of Early Catholic/Catholicism), in the hope that
possible confusion between early Catholicism and Roman Catholicism
might thereby be reduced. But also with the hope that the ambiguity
embodied in the title might serve as a constant reminder of the histori
cal problem of retaining the full sweep of legitimate diversity within
the recognized forms of the church universal.
Finally, in chapter XV, 'The Authority of the New Testament', it
is important to recognize the deliberately limited nature of the dis
cussion. I had no intention of raising questions about the propriety
of a 'canon' or legitimacy of including some writings and not others.
That would have broadened the discussion far beyond the scope of
the chapter. In fact I accept the legitimacy of having a canon, a
definition or yardstick by which to measure Christianity (the consti
tutional documents of Christianity), and would be prepared to defend
the inclusion of almost if not indeed all of the present documents and
the exclusion of (almost all of) the rest. But in chapter X V it was
more important to take the discussion a step beyond that: given the
fact of the N T canon and what is in it, notice what that means. It
means unity and diversity. It means that the catholic church in its
wisdom recognized the normative authority of a range of writings
which actually document what true catholicity embraces - unity in
and through diversity.
But is the N T canon sufficiently catholic? In polemical terms, was
41

statement: 'The Spirit of God has allowed us to recognize anew that as long as the church
has not realized the fullness of its God-willed catholicity there are authentic elements of
Catholicism existing outside its visible community' (Unity through Diversity, Fortress 1 9 8 8 ,
p. 2 1 ) .
4 1 . Integral to the problem is the fact that 'Early Catholicism' is an English translation
of the German Fruhkatholizismus, and that in German Katholik and katholisch refer to
Roman Catholic. There is no real German equivalent to the English 'catholic' = universal.
In the German version of the creeds the equivalent phrase to 'holy catholic church' is
'heilige christliche Kirche' (holy Christian Church).

Foreword to Second Edition

it not the winning factions which chose just these documents to bolster
and authenticate their claims to be the true heirs of the apostles? Does
the canon truly represent the full diversity of first-century Christ
ianity? The answer is No! I have already made the point that in U&D
I move between two levels - the historical diversity of the earliest
churches, and the more limited diversity of the N T writings. Two
points should be emphasized. First, the extent of N T diversity needs
to be reiterated: if I am right, it has to be recognized that Paul and
John, to name only the most prominent, were engaged in exploring
the circumference round the new movement and in pushing it back.
But second, they both insisted that a line had to be drawn, a line, or
lines, between acceptable and unacceptable diversity. The claim I
would wish to defend, therefore, is that the canon reflects the breadth
of acceptable diversity which the leading figures Peter and Paul and
John recognized (and to a lesser extent, James). The canon therefore
continues the guidelines which were already being drawn in the first
century - guidelines drawn so as to include James as well as the early
Paul, the Apocalypse as well as Acts, John as well as the Synoptics.
But did not the Church select the canon? And does that not mean
that early Catholicism is the norm rather than the N T as such? No!
To say the Church chose the canon is a misleading half-truth. A closer
approximation would be to say that the Church recognized the canon.
T h a t is to say, early Catholicism recognized that there were certain
documents which had been exercising authority within a widening
circle of churches since they were delivered to their first readers. It
was the fact that the Gospels and Paul were being acknowledged and
were already functioning as 'canonical' more or less from the begin
ning which made it inevitable that they would be recognized as
canonical when the idea of a closed canon became important. In
most cases, the formal act of canonization (itself a too formal way of
describing what happened) did not bestow an authority on the N T
documents which they did not already possess. In a very real and
important sense the major N T documents chose themselves; the N T
42

43

44

canon chose itself! But that also means that early Catholicism was not

at liberty to pick and choose within these documents, though of course

42. 'The fundamental weakness of D.'s position is neglect of the implications that flow
from the historical fact that it was the Early Catholicism of the second century which
selected the N T writings and constituted that selection as the canon, the norm and measure
of genuine Christianity' (Kugelman p. 7 8 1 ) .
43. See also my 'Levels of Canonical Authority', Horizons in Biblical Authority 4 , 1 9 8 2 ,
pp. 1 3 - 6 0 , reprinted in The Living Word, S C M Press 1987, pp. 1 4 1 - 7 4 .
44. The statement is arguably true, however, for some of the documents which were
accepted only after lengthy debate.

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li

interpretative glosses could be and were added to some versions. They

were 'chosen', canonized as they were, in all their diversity, despite
the range of their diversity. I do not hesitate to claim that it was the
leading of the Spirit which enabled Catholicism to acknowledge as

canonical a range of documents, which so richly embody the diverse

vitality of that Jewish messianic renewal movement during the first
two or three generations of its existence, as an inspiration and
resource for similar renewal in the centuries ahead.
This too is a point which I have found needing to be made in the
ecumenical discussions in which I have participated: the canonical
authority of the N T needs to be reaffirmed. Despite the care with
which it was formulated, it has to be asked whether the Montreal
statement on 'Scripture, Tradition and Traditions', has not, after all,
had the unfortunate side-effect of de-canonizing the canon. If scrip
ture is simply an expression of Tradition (the Gospel) and cannot be
understood except within the tradition(s) of the church-(es), then
there is a real danger that the inspired genius which recognized just
these, but all these documents as canonical will be subverted and
rendered of too little effect. This is in no way to dispute the problems
of how these texts may or should be interpreted. It simply means that
to affirm scripture as the criterion of the truth of the gospel must also
mean that scripture be allowed to function in criticism of church
tradition. If that principle be lost in practice, the canon of scripture
has become a dead letter. Unless the NT functions in a critical role
within tradition but also over against the rest of tradition it has ceased
to be canonical! My final plea, then, in revising U&D is that the
Church once again should let the canon be the canon, as a force and
measuring rod for that unity in and through diversity which is the
only true unity.
It remains my pleasant task to express my thanks to reviewers
who welcomed and/or criticized the first edition of the book and to
individual readers who had the graciousness to write and let me know
when they found the theme of the book helpful. My warmest thanks,
however, go to the members of the Durham postgraduate N T seminar
for the magnificent help they gave me in preparing the revision, par
ticularly those who led off the seminar on individual chapters - Jane
Allison, John Chow, Ellen Christiansen, David Kupp, Bruce Longenecker, Nicholas Taylor, Ray Witbeck, and my colleague Stephen
Barton. Ellen Christiansen also gave me invaluable help in revising
45

46

4 5 . Republished in Apostolic Faith Today, ed. H. -G. Link, World Council of Churches
Geneva ^ 8 5 , pp. 7 9 - 8 3 .
46. Cf. the valuable agenda of questions posed by Schrmann, 'Suche', pp. 9 0 - 9 1 .

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the bibliographies. Finally, spare a thought, kind reader, for an author

who finds that the most quoted words he ever wrote are those which
conclude the original Preface to this book. One reviewer indeed won
dered whether 'the simple-minded Christian' might not wish 'that
Fiona Dunn had destroyed rather more than six pages of the type
script'! Such is fame!
University of Durham
July 1989

JAMES D. G. DUNN

Apostolic History and the Gospel: Biblical

and Historical Essays Presented to F. F.
Bruce, ed., W. W. Gasque and R. P.
Martin, Paternoster 1970
W. F. Arndt and F. W. Gingrich, A GreekEnglish Lexicon of the New Testament, ET
Chicago 1957
Bulletin of the John Rylands Library
The Background of the New Testament and
its Eschatology: Studies in Honour ofC. H.
Dodd, ed., W. D. Davies and D. Daube,
Cambridge University Press 1954
Biblische Zeitschrift
Catholic Biblical Quarterly
Current Issues in New Testament Interpret
ation, ed., W. Klassen and G. F. Snyder,
S C M Press 1962
Christ and Spirit in the New Testament:
Studies in Honour of C. F. D. Moule, ed.,
B. Lindars and S. S. Smalley, Cambridge
University Press 1973
editor
Evangelisch-Katholischer Kommentar zum
Neuen Testament
E. Ksemann, Essays on New Testament
Themes, ET S C M Press 1964
English translation
Evangelische Theologie
Expository Times
The Future of our Religious Past: Essays in
Honour of Rudolf Bultmann, ed., J . M .
Robinson, S C M Press 1 9 7 1

Abbreviations
Eusebius, Historia Ecclesiastica
E. Hennecke, New Testament Apocrypha,
ed., W. Schneemelcher, ET ed., R. McL.
Wilson, S C M Press, Vol. I. 1 9 7 3 , Vol. II
1974
Handbuch zum Neuen Testament
Harvard Theological Review
The Interpreter's Dictionary of the Bible,
Abingdon 1962, 4 vols.
IDB Supplementary Volume 1976
Journal of Biblical Literature
Jesus Christus in Historie und Theologie:
Neutestamentliche Festschrift fr H. Conzelmann, ed., G. Strecker, Tbingen 1975
Journal for the Study of Judaism
Journal for the Study of the New Testament
Journal for the Study of the Old Testament
Journal for Theology and Church
Journal of Theological Studies
Jesus und Paulus: Festschrift fr W. G. Km
mel, ed., E. E. Ellis and E. Grasser, Gtt
ingen 1975
Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar ber das
Neue Testament
Kerygma und Dogma
Septuagint
Lexikon fr Theologie und Kirche
Mlanges Bibliques en hommage au R. P.
Beda Rigaux, ed., A. Descamps and A. de
Halleux, Gembloux 1970
New English Bible
The New International Dictionary of New
Testament Theolgy, Paternoster 1 9 7 5 ^
Novum Testamentum
new series
Das Neue Testament Deutsch
New Testament Essays: Studies in Memory
of T. W. Manson, ed., A. J . B. Higgins,
Manchester University Press 1959
Neues Testament und Kirche: fr R. Schnack
enburg, ed., J . Gnilka, Freiburg 1974
E. Ksemann, New Testament Questions of
Today, ET S C M Press 1969

lv
New Testament Studies
parallel
Revue Biblique
Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart,
i957ff
Society of Biblical Literature
Society of Biblical Literature Monograph
Series
Scottish Journal of Theology
Studies in Luke Acts, ed., L. E. Keck and J . L.
Martyn, Abingdon 1966, and SPCK 1968
Supplement to Novum Testamentum
Society for New Testament Study Mono
graph Series
H. L. Strack and P. Billerbeck, Kommentar
zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und
Midrasch, ijzotf.
Theological Dictionary of the New Testa
ment, ET of Theologische Wrterbuch zum
Neuen Testament, ed., G. Kittel and G.
Friedrich, 19 3 3 ff.
Theologische Rundschau
Theologische Zeitschrift
Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen
Testament
Zeitschrift fr Kirchengeschichte
Zeitschrift fr Katholische Theologie
Zeitschrift fr die neutestamentliche Wissen
schaft
Zeitschrift fr Theologie und Kirche
3

Introduction

1 . is

'ORTHODOXY' A MEANINGFUL CONCEPT

WITHIN THE NEW TESTAMENT

PERIOD?

The relation between orthodoxy and heresy has always been impor
tant in the history of Christianity. Orthodoxy has traditionally been
thought of as conformity to 'the apostolic faith'. Up until the twen
tieth century the tendency has always been for each church, denomi
nation or sect to claim a monopoly of this faith, to deny it to others,
to ignore, denounce or persecute the others as heretics. A particular
line of interpretation (rarely recognized as such) proves the apostolicity of the faith held, and the rest are denied apostolicity - because, so
the polemic usually runs, they have added to, subtracted from or in
some way corrupted 'the faith'. The test or criterion of apostolicity
has been variously the apostolic writings, 'the gospel', secret apostolic
traditions, the developing tradition of the Church, the ecumenical
creeds; or, in more institutional terms, apostolic succession, the
Church in council, the Pope; or, in more individualistic terms, the
immediate inspiration of the Spirit, an 'inner light'.
There is an immediate problem with terms. 'Orthodoxy' implies
that a clear distinction can be drawn between truth and error. 'Ortho
doxy' implies that there is a pure, uncontaminated faith, a correct
teaching; all variations from it are then at once 'heretical' in greater
or less degree. In the simplest form of the antithesis, 'orthodoxy'
means God's absolute truth revealed to the Church, and 'heresy'
denotes any deviation from that single, clearly defined faith. Two
problems at once arise.
(a) First, a theological problem, the problem of interpretation,
summed up in the question, Whose orthodoxy? It is a simple fact that
there is no single orthodoxy in modern Christianity: the concept of
orthodoxy in Eastern Christianity is very different from that prevalent
among Western Christians; Roman Catholic orthodoxy is not the
same as Protestant orthodoxy, and Pentecostal orthodoxy is some
thing different again; the orthodoxy of the 'anglo-catholic' is not the

Introduction

[i

orthodoxy of the 'evangelical', and neither would satisfy the 'liberal'

and the 'radical'. Quite clearly each understands and interprets the
concept 'orthodoxy' in his own way. Even those who agree on one
criterion of orthodoxy find interpretation a problem. For example,
Protestants have generally agreed that the Bible must have the central
and fundamental role in determining faith and life {sola scriptura);
but the fragmentation of Protestantism and Protestant sects demon
strates that no agreed orthodoxy has emerged.
The problem of interpretation thus raises the basic question: 7s
there a final expression of Christian truth whose meaning is unequivo
cal? Can there be such a final expression? Is truth finally reducible to
a formula or a statement or a way of doing things which is eternal
and unchangeable? Or does the subjectiveness of our apprehension
and the relativeness of our situation mean that such finality can never
be achieved? Is it not significant that even for traditional Christianity
the final revelation of truth was made in a person, Jesus of Nazareth,
and not in a statement? - can a man ever be reduced to a statement?
The ramifications of this problem stretch far and wide through Christ
ianity and theology. We will have to keep it at the back of our minds
throughout the following chapters and return to it at the end.
{b) The second problem about the very idea of a Christian ortho
doxy is the one which provides the agenda for the present study a historical problem. Was there ever in fact such an orthodoxy} - a
single clearly defined faith which separated Christian from heretic?
The traditional answer from within Christianity has been that there
was. The classical view of orthodoxy is that there always has been a
single, pure faith reaching right back to the apostles, that the Church
has kept the teaching of Jesus and the apostles undefiled. In the fight
against heresy from the latter decades of the second century onwards
the typical picture presented by orthodoxy was that heresy was a
corrupt offshoot from the true faith; in all cases the pure teaching of
orthodoxy had been established first; only at a later stage did the
wolves and false teachers appear to disturb the flock and distort the
faith. Thus, for example, Eusebius quotes Hegesippus to the effect
that 'godless error' only began to penetrate into the Church in the
second century when all the apostles had passed on, before which
time the Church 'had remained a virgin, pure and uncorrupted' (HE,
1

i. In an unsympathetic review B. Meyer, The Early Christians pp. 1 9 4 - 5 , takes these

questions (somewhat tendentiously edited) as a definition or description of 'orthodoxy'. It
should be clear however that the questions are simply a way of setting up the issue - my
normal style, in fact. I fully accept, however, that a discussion of orthodoxy and heresy
would require fuller and more nuanced treatment than I provide here.

i]

Is 'orthodoxy' a meaningful concept?

III.32.7-8). Similarly Tertullian, one of the earliest and doughtiest

champions of this view of orthodoxy and heresy:
Were Christians found before Christ? Or heresy before true doc
trine? But in everything truth precedes its counterfeit. It would be
absurd to regard heresy as the prior doctrine since it is prophesied
that heresy should arise (prae. haer., 29).
And the same writer castigates and characterizes Marcion as 'a
deserter before he became a heretic' (adv.Marc, 1 . 1 ) .
This had been the generally accepted view of orthodoxy until the
twentieth century. But the important work of W. Bauer, Orthodoxy
and Heresy in Earliest Christianity, has demonstrated how slight a
foothold this view has in historical fact and it can no longer seriously
be maintained. Bauer has shown that second-century Christianity was
a very mixed bag. There was no 'pure' form of Christianity that
existed in the beginning which can properly be called 'orthodoxy'. In
fact there was no uniform concept of orthodoxy at all - only different
forms of Christianity competing for the loyality of believers. In many
places, particularly Egypt and eastern Syria, it is more likely that what
later churchmen called heterodox Christianity was the initial form of
Christianity, the dominant force in the early decades of Christianity's
establishment in these areas. The concept of orthodoxy only began
to emerge in the struggle between different viewpoints - the party
that won claimed the title 'orthodox' for itself! Our viewpoint today
is distorted because we hear the voice of only one of the parties Clement, Ignatius, Polycarp, Irenaeus, etc. - and only echoes and
quotations from the Ebionites, Marcion, the Montanists, etc.
Bauer confined his researches more or less to the second century.
What of first-century Christianity? Here the myth of the virgin Church
has been compounded with a belief in the initial period of Christianity
as a time of unique (apostolic) inspiration - with the sub-apostolic
period often represented as a sort of fall from primeval purity. This
idealized view of a 'canonical' age of earliest Christianity, in which
the apostles spoke with one authoritative voice on all matters of
importance, had already been rudely challenged a century before W.
Bauer by his near namesake F. C. Baur. Where Catholic orthodoxy
had secured its picture of primitive purity by (in effect) subordinating
Paul to Peter, and Protestant orthodoxy by making Paul the in
tegrating focus of earliest Christianity, Baur postulated a conflict
1

2. W. Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity, 1934, i<)(>4, E T Fortress

1 9 7 1 and S C M Press 1 9 7 2 .

Introduction

[i

between Petrine and Pauline Christianity, as evidenced particularly

by Galatians, and argued that the whole course of earliest Christianity
was shaped by the opposition between these two parties. Baur
attempted to force the stream of early Christian history into too
narrow a channel. But his recognition that there was more than one
current in that stream and that its course was far from calm and
untroubled was of lasting importance. Since then we have come to
realize that the stream of first-century Christianity was much broader
than Baur had imagined, that there were many currents and crosscur
rents running in it, and that its banks crumbled away at many points.
In particular, two major new disciplines of the twentieth century history of religions research (Religionsgeschichte), and the study of
the history of earliest Christian traditions (Traditionsgeschicbte) have confirmed that the antithesis of Jewish (Petrine) Christianity and
Hellenistic (Pauline) Christianity was too sharp; at many points we
have to recognize a Hellenistic Christianity prior to Paul and to
distinguish Palestinian Jewish Christianity from Hellenistic Jewish
Christianity - without, of course, allowing these to become rigid
categories in turn. To put it another way, Religionsgeschichte and
Traditionsgeschicbte have brought home to N T scholarship the his
torical relativity of first-century Christianity and the fragmentary
nature of our knowledge of it. No longer is it possible to conceive of
first-century Christianity as a clearly defined entity, easily extractable
from its historical context like a nut from its shell; the historical
reality was much more complex, and our view of it much less clear
than once we thought.
It obviously follows that the traditional concept of first-century
Christian orthodoxy cannot remain unaffected by these develop
ments. This has been seen most clearly by R. Bultmann and his pupils.
For example, Bultmann himself in the last part of his magisterial
Theology of the New Testament* draws attention to the considerable
diversity of theological interests and ideas in the earliest period,
and points out that 'a norm or an authoritative court of appeal for
doctrine' is lacking throughout this period.
3

In the beginning, faith is the term which distinguishes the Christian

Congregation from Jews and the heathen, not orthodoxy (right

3. See particularly the forcible presentation of W. Wrede, 'The Task and Methods of
"New Testament Theology"' (1897), E T in R. Morgan, The Nature of New Testament
Theology, S C M Press 1 9 7 3 , pp. 6 8 - 1 1 6 , especially pp. 9 5 - 1 0 3 .
4. R. Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, E T S C M Press, Vol. I, 1 9 5 2 ; Vol. II,
1955

i] " Is 'orthodoxy' a meaningful concept?

doctrine). The latter along with its correlate, heresy, arises out of
the differences which develop within the Christian congregations.

Bultmann's pupils have carried the discussion forward with some bold
claims. H. Braun maintains that 'the essentially Christian element, the
constant . . . in the New Testament' is the 'self-understanding of
faith'. E. Kasemann regards the Fourth Gospel not as the voice
of orthodoxy, but as an expression of a 'naive docetism' - a way of
presenting Jesus which developed into the heresy of Docetism proper.
Even bolder was his earlier treatment of III John: the author ('the
presbyter') is not the defender of orthodoxy attacking the heretic
Diotrephes; on the contrary, Diotrephes is the 'orthodox' leader of
the community addressed, while the presbyter is a 'Christian Gnostic'!
Diotrephes acts as a 'monarchial bishop' defending himself against a
false teacher. And H. Koester, in extending W. Bauer's method to an
investigation of first-century Christianity, writes:
6

We have to do here with a religious movement which is syncretistic

in appearance and conspicuously marked by diversification from
the very beginning. What its individuality is cannot be taken as
established a priori.
9

The question therefore becomes more and more insistent: Was there
ever a single orthodoxy within primitive Christianity, within the New
Testament} Even more basic, can we properly use the concepts 'ortho
doxy' and 'heresy'} Is it meaningful to speak of 'orthodoxy' within
the context of first-century Christianity? H. E. W. Turner attempted
to defend the concept in his 1954 Bampton Lectures, The Pattern of
Christian Truth: A Study in the Relations between Orthodoxy and
Heresy in the Early Church} He rejected the major thrust of Bauer's
0

5. Bultmann, Theology, II, p. 1 3 5 . See further below pp. 3 1 , 4 0 3 ^

6. 'The Meaning of New Testament Christology', God and Christ: Existence and Prov
ince, ed., R. W. Funk, JThC, 5, 1 9 6 8 , p. 1 1 8 . See further below p. 405.
7. The Testament of Jesus, 1 9 6 6 , E T S C M Press 1 9 6 8 , 1 . See further below 64.2.
8. 'Ketzer und Zeuge: zum johanneischen Verfasserproblem' (19 5 1 ) , Exegetische Versuche und Besinnungen, Gottingen, Vol. I, i960, pp. 1 6 8 - 8 7 . See further below p. 3 9 2 .
9. 'Gnomai Diaphoroi: the Origin and Nature of Diversification in the History of Early
Christianity', HTR, 58, 1 9 6 5 , reprinted in Trajectories through Early Christianity, ed.,
J . M . Robinson and H. Koester, Fortress 1 9 7 1 , p. 1 1 7 . Cf. H. D. Betz, 'Orthodoxy and
Heresy in Primitive Christianity', Interpretation, 1 9 , 1 9 6 5 : 'The Christian faith did not
exist in the beginning. In the beginning there existed merely the "heretical" Jew, Jesus of
Nazareth. Which of the different interpretations of Jesus are to be called authentically
Christian? And what are the criteria for making that decision? This seems to me the cardinal
problem of New Testament studies today' (p. 3 1 1 ) .
10. H. E. W. Turner, The Pattern of Christian Truth, Mowbray 1 9 5 4 .

Introduction

[i

thesis and argued in contrast that second century Christianity could

be seen in terms of an orthodoxy surrounded by a 'penumbra' or
fringe where the borderline between orthodoxy and heresy was still
blurred (pp.81-94). In the earliest period 'orthodoxy was a matter
rather of instinctive feeling than of fixed and definable doctrinal
norms' (pp.9f.). Before the written creed there was a lex orandi, 'a
relatively full and fixed experimental grasp of what was involved
religiously in being a Christian' (p.28 - my emphasis). But is this
satisfactory? Does it pay sufficient heed to the large scale diversity
(and disagreement) within earliest Christianity of which N T scholar
ship has become increasingly aware since F. C. Baur? At the opposite
extreme J . Chariot maintains that 'No theological position . . . is
common to all writers and levels of tradition in the New Testament'.
But is this any more satisfactory? Did the earliest Christians hold
nothing in common?
In attempting ta examine this whole issue afresh it would seem
wiser to avoid the use of the terms 'orthodoxy' and 'heresy' at least
as the basic categories of discussion: the concepts beg too many ques
tions, are too emotive, provide categories that are far too rigid, and
tend to close off avenues of investigation rather than to open them
up. What alternative terminology is there? One possibility is to use
the metaphor introduced into the discussion by J . M . Robinson. He
calls on N T scholarship to break out of its old, rather static categories
and for a reinvestigation of N T and other first- and second-century
material more in terms of 'trajectory' or direction of movement. The
deficiencies of the metaphor are obvious, and Robinson is aware of
them, but the language of trajectory does bring out the fact that
primitive Christianity was a living, moving process, developing all the
time in different ways and different directions in response to diverse
influences and challenges. The metaphor will prove to be of some
value in Part II of the present study, but less so in Part I where we
will be examining a series of cross-sections through the N T material.
The more useful terminology for our purposes is the language of our
title - 'unity' and 'diversity': it is both less colourful and less emotive
and will, I think, permit a greater flexibility in the discussion.
Our basic question thus becomes: Was there a unifying strand in
earliest Christianity which identifies it as Christianity} If so, how well
defined was it? Was it a broad or a narrow strand? Was it defined in
different ways? Was there a diversity of faith and practice? - diversity
11

12

n . J . Chariot, New Testament Disunity: its Significance for Christianity Today, Dutton
1 9 7 0 , p. I I I .
1 2 . Trajectories, p p . i4ff., 69.

i]

Is 'orthodoxy' a meaningful concept?

within the unity, diversity around the unifying centre? If so, how
broad was the range of diversity? Where did valid or acceptable
diversity fall over into unacceptable conduct or teaching? What agree
ment was there about such boundary marks on different issues, in
different environments? Throughout the discussion we will have to
remind ourselves that the problem of unity and diversity does not
refer solely to earliest Christianity proper, but becomes if anything
more pressing when we include within it the relation of earliest Christ
ianity to Jesus himself. Does a unity exist between Jesus and the
different post-Easter developments? Does Jesus' own concept and
practice of religion and his own self-understanding stretch the diver
sity of first-century Christianity even further? In short, what was the
unity, the unifying element, the uniting force in earliest Christianity?
And what breadth of diversity existed in Christianity from the first?
The study which follows is intended to be provocative rather than
definitive, to demonstrate the unity and diversity rather than to docu
ment them in any comprehensive way. We begin by asking what were
the characteristic emphases in the gospel as presented by the four
figures whose teachings or writings form the bulk of the N T - Jesus,
Luke, Paul and John. We will see that even when we take the N T
documents at face value the breadth of diversity is not inconsiderable,
though it is possible to speak of a unifying core for the post-Easter
kerygma at any rate (ch. II). Thereafter in Part I we will endeavour
to penetrate below the surface of the N T documents, sinking, as it
were, a series of exploratory shafts into the N T material at various
key points. Our task in each case will be to examine the diverse
strands and layers thereby uncovered in order to ascertain whether
the same unifying element or indeed any unifying element is present
throughout. We will examine first the area of primitive Christianity's
preaching and teaching, the various oral and/or written formulations
whereby its distinctive faith came to expression in words or wherein it
found inspiration and authority for that faith - primitive confessional
formulae (ch. Ill), various oral traditions, some inherited and some
created by the first Christians (ch. IV), and the OT itself (ch. V).
Secondly we will turn to the area of primitive Christianity's organiz
ation and worship, its concepts of ministry and community (ch. VI),
its patterns of worship (ch. VII), its ritual acts (ch. VIII). Part I will
conclude with a study of the two most obviously common and foun
dational elements in first generation Christianity, experience of Spirit
(ch. IX) and faith in Christ (ch. X). Even here there is no little diversity
- but unity too?
In Part II our objective changes. Where previously we sought the
unity within the diversity, now we seek to map out in a limited way

Introduction

[i

the range and scope of that diversity. Accordingly our procedure

changes too, and we attempt to identify and trace the major currents
within the stream of first and second generation Christianity, to see
how Christianity developed through the first century and how firstcentury Christians reacted to developments both within and around
Christianity. Without forgetting what was said above (p.4) our study
here is most conveniently pursued under the headings of Jewish
Christianity (ch. XI), Hellenistic Christianity (ch. XII), Apocalyptic
Christianity (ch. XIII) and Early Catholicism (ch. XIV). This investi
gation of unity and diversity in the N T inevitably raises many ques
tions about the status of the N T itself within Christianity, and in the
Conclusions we will look at some of the repercussions of our findings
on the idea of the N T canon and its authority for Christians today
(ch. XV).

Part One
U N I T Y IN

DIVERSITY?

II
Kerygma or Kerygmata?

2. I N T R O D U C T I O N

Preaching has a role of quite fundamental importance in the N T .

Jesus' public ministry is regularly characterized in terms of preaching.
Preaching is always the means to conversion in Acts. Preaching fea
tures prominently as Paul's mode of evangelism. John too links the
'word' with the 'Spirit' as the recreative power of God. And James
and I Peter likewise attribute spiritual regeneration to the word
preached. So proclamation of the gospel, or kerygma, to use the
technical term of modern debate, is a key area to examine.
The problem which confronts us can be posed simply: Can we
speak of 'the N T kerygma'? or ought we rather to speak of N T
kerygmata} Was there one single, normative expression of the gospel
in the earliest days of Christianity? Or were there many different
expressions of the gospel, with no one having a better claim to be the
gospel than any other, but all were the gospel?
The first problem is that of definition. 'Kerygma' can mean either
what is preached, or the act of preaching (cf. Rom. 1 6 . 2 5 , 1 Cor. 1.21
and 2.4 where it could have either sense). In the debate about the
kerygma in the N T , C. H. Dodd has focused attention on kerygma
as content, R. Bultmann on kerygma as preaching}
In his well known study, The Apostolic Preaching and its Develop
ments Dodd drew from an analysis of the speeches in Acts and the
Pauline epistles the following outline as the core of the primitive
kerygma:
1

1. Statistically euaggelion (gospel) and marturia (witness) are more important than
kerygma in the N T . But 'kerygma' has been the dominant term in the debate covering the
middle decades of the twentieth century, and it serves to pose the issues for us most clearly,
without restricting the subsequent discussion in any way.
2. C. H. Dodd, The Apostolic Preaching and its Developments, Hodder & Stoughton
1 9 3 6 , reprinted 1 9 6 3 .

Kerygma or Kerygtnata?

12

[z

The prophecies are fulfilled, and the new Age is inaugurated by

the coming of Christ.
He was born of the seed of David.
He died according to the Scriptures, to deliver us out of the
present evil age.
He was buried.
He rose on the third day according to the Scriptures.
He is exalted at the right hand of God, as Son of God and Lord
of quick and dead.
He will come again as Judge and Saviour of men (p.17).
This he considers to be 'a fairly clear and certain outline sketch of
the preaching of the apostles' (p.31). He recognizes that 'within the
N T there is an immense range of variety in the interpretation that is
given to the kerygma'; but is equally convinced that 'in all such
interpretation the essential elements of the original kerygma are
steadily kept in view . . . With all the diversity of the New Testament
writings, they form a unity in their proclamation of the one Gospel'
(p.74). Dodd's position is clear: despite diversity, there is still some
thing he can call Hhe kerygma', 'the one Gospel'.
The so-called kerygmatic theologians on the other hand have
focused attention primarily on the kerygma as preaching, on the act
of proclamation in the immediacy of the present rather than on the
record of what was proclaimed in the past. The kerygma, claims
Bultmann,
is neither an enlightening Weltanschauung (world view) flowing
out in general truths, nor a merely historical account, which, like a
reporter's story, reminds a public of important but by-gone facts.
Rather . . . it is, by nature, personal address which accosts each indi
vidual, throwing the person himself into question by rendering his
self-understanding problematic, and demanding a decision of him.
3

In so far as Bultmann's case depends on the use of the word kerygma

in the N T he is building on a firm foundation; for of the seven
occurrences of the word some are best understood as denoting the
act of preaching (particularly Matt. 12.41/Luke 1 1 . 3 2 ; I Cor. 1 5 . 1 4 )
and none requires reference to content. A point of some importance
therefore at once emerges: that kerygma in the NT probably includes
the idea of proclamation at a particular time and place. That is to
say, kerygma is always situational to some degree - to some degree
3. Bultmann, Theology I, p. 307.

3]

The kerygma of Jesus

13

conditioned by the circumstances which called the proclamation

forth. This in turn makes it very unlikely that the kerygma can simply
be abstracted from these different contexts as a fixed formula which
can be applied without change or modification in any and every
situation. Our question thus becomes, Can we find an absolute form
of the kerygma in the NT? or will it always be relative to some extent?
And if so, how relative? Is there underlying the different forms a
common element, however differently conceived and expressed? It is
worth noting that Bultmann, like Dodd, is quite happy to speak of
'the kerygma'. But can we properly so speak? - kerygma or kerygmata? one gospel or many gospels?
In tackling this question there is a constant danger of losing sight
of the wood because of the trees. It seems wiser therefore not to plunge
too quickly into the analysis of particular texts, but to concentrate on
building up a broader picture. Our method then in this chapter is to
make as it were an aerial survey of the most important proclamations
of the gospel in the N T , concentrating on picking out the character
istic features of each kerygma rather than attempting a fully balanced
treatment of the whole. The answers to our questions which this
method provides will inevitably be first approximations; but at least
by the end of the chapter we should see more clearly that the diversity
of the N T writings is a factor of considerable importance in our
evaluation offirst-centuryChristianity and that it has many facets
and ramifications. Then, having shown that there is a prima facie case
for our study, we can go on to examine it with much greater care and
in much greater detail.

3.

T H E K E R Y G M A OF J E S U S
4

All three Synoptic Gospels characterize Jesus' public ministry in

summary statements as 'preaching the gospel of God' (Mark 1.14),
'preaching the gospel of the kingdom' (Matt. 4.23; 9.35), 'preaching
the good news of the kingdom of God' (Luke 4.43; 8.1; 16.16). The
key word here obviously is 'kingdom of God'; for Mark too goes on
to define Jesus' proclamation of the gospel of God in terms of 'the
kingdom of God': 'The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is
at hand; repent, and believe in the gospel' (Mark 1 . 1 5 ) . In this one
sentence the main features of Jesus' kerygma are encapsulated.
4. The Fourth Gospel does not use the words kerusso, kerygma, euaggelizomai or
euaggelion. For this and other reasons (see below pp. zji., 8off.) we shall confine our
analysis of the kerygma of Jesus to the first three Gospels.

14

Kerygma or Kerygmata?

[3.1

3.1 'The kingdom of God is at hand' (Mark 1 . 1 5 ; Matt. 10.7; Luke

2 1 . 3 1 ) . 'The kingdom of God' here denotes the manifest rule of God
whose intervention will bring to an end the history of this world as
we know it and its judgment (Matt. 10.15/Luke 1 0 . 1 2 ; Matt. 2 4 . 3 7 44/Luke 1 7 . 2 6 - 3 6 ) . The kingdom is at hand - it will come within the
lifetime of Jesus' own generation (Mark 9.1; 1 3 . 2 8 - 3 0 ; Matt. 10.23).
This is why 'the poor' are blessed, because they belong to the coming
kingdom (Luke 6.20/Matt. 5.3), when God will soon set right all
men's injustices (Luke 1 6 . 1 9 - 3 1 ; 18.7f.; Matt. 23.33). This is the
gospel to 'the poor' (Matt. 11.5/Luke 7.22; Luke 4.18). It is for this
that Jesus' disciples have to pray - 'May your kingdom come' (Matt.
6.10/Luke 1 1 . 2 ) .
The imminence of the end-time rule of God sharpens the challenge
of Jesus' kerygma to the point of crisis. In the light of the coming
kingdom men must decide, and decide now. Hence among the par
ables, Jesus' most distinctive mode of preaching, wefinda number of
parables of crisis, where the note of warning sounds loud and clear in particular, the parable(s) of the absent householder, for whose
return the servants have to be prepared (Mark 1 3 . 3 4 - 3 6 ; Luke
1 2 . 3 6 - 3 8 ; Matt. 24.42, 45-51/Luke 12.42-46); the parable about
the thief coming unexpectedly (Matt. 24.43f./Luke 12.39^); and the
parable of the ten virgins (Matt. 2 5 . 1 - 1 2 ) . See also Mark 1 3 . 1 4 - 2 0
(and further below pp. 79, 349L).
The failure of these expectations to materialize, at least in the most
obvious way, has always been a problem for Christian theology (see
below 7.2; 50.3). But we must recognize this expectation of the
kingdom of God's imminence to be part of Jesus' kerygma, otherwise
we do scant justice to a key and characteristic emphasis of his public
proclamation (see more fully below 67.2). But even more distinctive
of his kerygma was his proclamation that the kingdom of God was
in some way already being realized through his ministry.
3.2 'The time is fulfilled.'' According to the Synpotics, Jesus also
proclaimed that the end-time rule of God was already manifesting
itself through his own words and actions. The long cherished hope
of the messianic age was already beginning to be fulfilled (Matt. 1 1 . 5 /
Luke 7.22; Matt. 11.11/Luke 7.28; Matt. 11.12/Luke 1 6 . 1 6 ; Matt.
i2.4if./Luke 1 1 . 3 if.).
Blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear.
Truly, I say to you, many prophets and righteous men longed to
see what you see, and did not see it, and to hear what you hear,
and did not hear it (Matt. I3.i6f./Luke io.23f.).

3.3]

The kerygma of Jesus

15

In specific terms, the kingdom was already in the midst of his hearers
(Luke i7.2of.); the binding of Satan was expected at the end of the
age, but Jesus claimed that Satan was already being routed (Mark
3.27; Luke 10.18); Jesus' power over evil spirits in exorcism was
proof positive that the kingdom of God had already come upon them
(Matt. 12.28/Luke 1 1 . 2 0 ) .
The same note of fulfilment comes through in several of Jesus' other
parables - the picture of the wedding feast (Mark 2.i8f.), the parables
of the new patches on old garments and the new wine in old wineskins
(Mark 2.2if.), the parables of the treasure hidden in the field and the
pearl of great value (Matt. 13.44-46), and the metaphor of the endtime harvest (Matt. 9.3 ji./Luke 10.2).
The tension in Jesus' proclamation of the kingdom between hope
already fulfilled and not yet imminence is also a problem for N T
theology. It is most simply resolved by recognizing a close tie-up
between the two in Jesus' own understanding of his mission. The
certainty that the end-time rule of God was already operative in and
through his ministry brought with it the conviction that its full mani
festation could not long be delayed (see further below 45.3, 50.5).
3.3 'Repent, and believe in the gospel.' In the Synoptics the response
which Jesus looked for in his hearers can be summed up in these two
words - repent, believe. The importance of repentance is marked in
several places (Matt. 11.21/Luke 1 0 . 1 3 ; Matt. 12.41/Luke 1 1 . 3 2 ;
Luke 1 3 . 3 , 5; 15.7, 10; 16.30). That the call here is for something
radical, a complete turn round of the basic direction of his hearers'
lives and attitudes, is clearly indicated in some of his parables, particu
larly the prodigal son (Luke 1 5 . 1 7 ) , and by some of his encounters
particularly with the rich young man (Mark 1 0 . 1 7 - 3 1 ) and Zacchaeus (Luke 19.8); perhaps above all in his demand that would be
followers convert and become like children (Matt. 18.3; Mark 1 0 . 1 5 /
Luke 1 8 . 1 7 ) .
The other side of this childlike dependence on God is faith. In the
Synoptics faith is usually spoken of in relation to miracles, where
Jesus encourages that openness to the power of God which will make
a healing possible (Mark 5.36; 9.23L; Matt. 9.28), or commends the
faith that reaches out for wholeness (Mark 5.34; 10.52; Matt. 8.10/
Luke 7.9; Matt. 15.28; Luke 7.50; 1 7 . 1 9 ; contrast Mark 6.5L,). We
must notice that in no recorded instance did Jesus call for faith in
himself. The faith which he looked for was faith in the end-time
power of God acting through him. Here we will find a further problem
when we come to compare Jesus' proclamation with the post-Easter
kerygma (see below 7.2, 50.4).

i6

Kerygma or Kerygmata?

[3.4

3.4 The offer which Jesus' message held out to repentance and faith
was of participation in the end-time reign of God and its blessings:
'Blessed are you poor, for you share in God's reign' (Luke 6.20/
Matt. 5.3). In particular, this included the blessings of forgiveness and
acceptance (Mark 2.5; Luke 7.36-50) - an offer which is presented in
several parables, for example, the parable of the giant debt and the
unmerciful debtor (Matt. 1 8 . 2 3 - 3 5 - 'the kingdom is like . . . ' ) , the
parable of the two debtors (Luke 7 . 4 1 ^ ) , the parable of the pharisee
and taxcollector (Luke 1 8 . 9 - 1 4 ) and the parable of the prodigal son
(Luke 1 5 . 1 1 - 3 2 ) .
In his own ministry Jesus embodied this forgiveness and acceptance
of the end-time kingdom, particularly in his table fellowship. These
gatherings, from which Jesus excluded no one, even open sinners,
expressed the heart of his message, for they were the foretaste of the
messianic feast of the new age (Luke 1 4 . 1 3 , 1 6 - 2 4 ) . Hence Mark
2.17 - 'I came not to invite the righteous (that is, to the wedding
feast) but sinners' (see also below p.162). So too his immediate band
of disciples included two or three taxcollectors and ex-prostitutes.
This was why he was so disparagingly called 'a friend of taxcollectors
and sinners' (Matt. 11.19/Luke 7.34; Luke 15.if.; 19.7).
3.5 Finally, we may simply note the ethical corollary of Jesus' mes
sage. In a context where the written, and increasingly the oral law
determined the whole of men's relationships, both with God and with
other men (see below 1 6 . 1 ) , Jesus' message was simple but revo
lutionary. He radicalized the claim of God: it reaches into the innermost
recesses of man's hidden motivation (Matt. 5 . 2 1 - 3 2 ) . Consequently,
to live only at the level of rules and regulations is to avoid the claim
of God (Mark 7 . 1 - 2 3 ) ; the repentance Jesus looked for takes that
claim seriously (Matt. 23.26). At the same time, he reduced the claim
of God to one word - 'love'. The first and greatest command is, 'love
God with your whole being and your neighbour as yourself (Mark
1 2 . 2 8 - 3 1 ) ; anything which hinders the expression of that love, even
the law itself, is to be set aside and ignored (Matt. 5.38-48).
3.6 To sum up. The characteristic features of Jesus' kerygma are
these: (1) the proclamation of the kingdom of God, both its immi
nence and its presence - Jesus saw himself as the instrument of this
end-time rule, but he did not put himself forward as the content of
his kerygma; (2) the call for repentance and faith in face of the
end-time power and claim of God - Jesus himself was not the object
of faith; (3) the offer of forgiveness and a share in the messianic feast
of the new age, with its ethical corollary of love.

4.2]

The kerygma in Acts

4.

THE KERYGMA

17

IN

ACTS

We have already outlined the summary of the kerygma which Dodd

drew largely from the sermons recorded in Acts. Here however we
are not concerned, as Dodd was, to uncover the proclamation of the
primitive churches. Our task is simpler: we will use the sermons in
Acts quite straightforwardly as Luke's portrayal of the kerygma of
the earliest believers and focus attention on their distinctive features.
We will have occasion to inquire into their historical value when we
dig more deeply later on. But here we ask simply, what is the kerygma
of the earliest Christians as portrayed by Luke in Acts?
4.1 Jesus proclaimed the kingdom. The sermons in Acts proclaim
Jesus. Jesus has become the content of the message; the proclaimer
has become the proclaimed. In particular, the principal focus falls on
the resurrection of Jesus; again and again it forms the central thrust
of the message, both to Jew and to Gentile (e.g. 2.24-32; 4.if., 33 a summary passage; io.4of.; 1 3 . 3 0 - 3 7 ; 1 7 . 1 8 , 3of.). As we shall see,
this coincides with the emphasis of the message inherited and passed
on by Paul (see below p.22f.), but it is in striking contrast with the
message of Hebrews, where the resurrection appears only at the last
minute in the concluding doxology (Heb. 13.20).
In contrast, in the Acts sermons hardly any concern is shown for
the historical Jesus: his ministry hardly features at all; the only refer
ences are in 2.22 and 1 0 . 3 6 - 3 9 . More striking still, the actual sermons
in Acts contain remarkably few echoes of Jesus' own message and
teaching (though cf. 8.12; 14.22; 19.8; 20.25, 35; 28.23, 3 ) - A key
question therefore at once arises: is there any unity, any continuity
between Jesus' proclamation of the kingdom and the Acts' procla
mation of the resurrection of Jesus?
1

4.2 An important corollary to the Acts sermons' concentration on

the resurrection is the absence of any theology of the death of Jesus.
His death is mentioned, but only as a bare fact (usually highlighting
Jewish responsibility). The historical fact is not interpreted (2.23, 36;
3 . 1 3 - 1 5 ; 4.10; 5.30; 7.52; 10.39; 1 3 . 2 7 ^ ) . It is never said, for
example, that 'Jesus died on our behalf or 'for our sins'; there are no
suggestions that Jesus' death was a sacrifice. The few brief allusions
to Jesus as the Servant (of Second Isaiah) pick up the theme of vindica
tion following suffering, not of vicarious suffering as such (3.13, 26;
4.27, 30; so also 8.30-35). Similarly the allusion to Deut. 2i.22f. in
Acts 5.30 and 10.39 ('hanging him on a tree' - cf. 13.29) seem to be

Kerygma or Kerygmata?

i8

[4.3

intended (by Luke) to highlight Jesus' shame and disgrace, and so to

serve the same humiliation-vindication motif; to draw the theology
of Gal. 3.13 from them is to read more into the text than sound
exegesis permits. And even 20.28 ('the church of the Lord - or of
God - which he obtained with his own blood - or with the blood of
his own'), not properly speaking part of an evangelistic proclamation,
remains more than a little puzzling and obscure. In short, an explicit
theology of the death of Jesus is markedly lacking in the kerygma of
the Acts sermons.
Here again we are confronted with a striking variation; for the
vicarious sufficiency of the cross is a prominent feature of Paul's
gospel (Rom. 3.25; I Cor. 1 5 . 3 ; II Cor. 5 . 1 4 - 2 1 ) , as it is in I Peter
and Hebrews, not to mention Mark 10.45. Whether this is a true
representation of the primitive kerygma or a reflection of Luke's own
theology is not entirely clear. The presence of 'for our sins' in the
kerygma handed down to Paul (I Cor. 15.3) and the fact that Luke
omits Mark 10.45,
l
prefers a significantly different version
of the saying (Luke 22.26), suggests the latter. One possible expla
nation is that Luke was somewhat influenced by the diaspora Judaism
of his time which also sought to play down the concept of atonement
by sacrifice. Be that as it may, so far as the kerygma of the Acts
sermons is concerned, we have to say that it lacks a theology of the
cross, it makes no attempt to attribute a definite atoning significance
to the death of Jesus. Here then is another important element of
diversity between the different kerygmata contained within the N T .
5

o r

a t

e a s t

4.3 Completely lacking in the sermons of Acts is the tension between

fulfilment and imminent consummation which was such a prominent
feature of Jesus' proclamation of the kingdom and which is equally
strong in Paul's message (below p.23). The parousia, or second
coming of Jesus, the nearest equivalent to the coming of the kingdom
in Jesus' message, is noticeable by its lack of prominence. The sense
of its imminence barely squeezes through Luke's formulation in Acts
3.2of., and the day of judgment hardly seems to offer more than a
distant threat - certainly not an immediate crisis such as Jesus envis
aged (10.42; 1 7 . 3 1 ; 24.25). Also lacking is a strong note of realized
eschatology, the conviction that the last days are here (despite Dodd

5. See E. Krankl, Jesus der Knecht Gottes, Regensburg 1 9 7 2 , pp. 1 0 2 - 2 9 .

6. It is probably significant in this connection that the one other passage in the Synoptic
Gospels where a clear theology of the death of Jesus is present is once again textually
confused in Luke (Luke 2 2 . 1 9 ^ ) .
7. E . Lohse, Mrtyrer und Gottesknecht, Gttingen 1 9 5 5 , p. 7 1 .

4.4]

The kerygma in Acts

19

- above p. 12); it is present in 2 . 1 5 - 2 1 and 3.24, but otherwise wholly

absent. Here the contrast is utterly astonishing. For we have seen
that Jesus proclaimed the presence of the end-time blessings and the
imminence of the kingdom as an important part of his message (above
3.1,2). Likewise Paul strongly believed that Jesus' resurrection and
the gift of the Spirit were the beginning (the first-fruits) of the end-time
harvest (I Cor. 15.20,23; Rom. 8.23); and for most of his ministry
Paul proclaimed the imminence of the parousia and the end (I Thess.
1 . 1 0 ; 4 . 1 3 - 1 8 ; I Cor. 7 . 2 9 - 3 1 ) . Particularly worthy of notice is his
preservation in I Cor. 16.22 of an Aramaic cry from the earliest
church - 'Maranatha, Our Lord, come!'. It is scarcely possible that
the earliest communities in Jerusalem and Palestine lacked this same
sense of eschatological fervour and urgency. Indeed, as we shall note
later, the community of goods of which Luke tells us in Acts 2 and
4 is best explained as an expression of this kind of eschatological
enthusiasm - property being sold without much thought for the needs
of a year hence, for the Christ would have returned before then
(see further below 51.1, 67.3). Consequently, the conclusion seems
inevitable that Luke has suppressed or ignored this element of the
early kerygma, presumably because the lapse of time and delay of the
parousia made it less appropriate (see further below 71.2).
4.4 Despite the sense that a long time gap had opened up between
the resurrection and parousia of Jesus, and despite the emphasis on
the resurrection of Jesus, there is hardly any role attributed to the
exalted Jesus in Acts - beyond the bestowal of the Spirit at Pentecost,
the beginning of this new epoch of salvation history (Acts 2.33), and
his role as judge at the end (10.42; 1 7 . 3 1 ) . Jesus was presumably
thought of as the authorization behind those who acted 'in the name
of Jesus' (2.38; 3.6; 4.10, 30; 8.16; 10.48; 1 6 . 1 8 ; 19.5 - and cf. 9.34),
and he appears in not a few visions (7.55^; 9.10; 18.9; 2 2 . 1 7 ^ ; 2 3 . 1 1 ;
26.16,19), but there is nothing of the rich sense of union between
believer and exalted Lord which is such a feature of the messages of
Paul and John. In particular, the relation between exalted Lord and
Holy Spirit which Paul and John handle so sensitively (Rom. 1 . 3 - 4 ;
8 . 9 - 1 1 ; I Cor. 1 2 . 3 - 1 3 ; 15.45; Jhn 1 4 . 1 5 ^ , 2 6 ; 1 6 . 7 - 1 5 ) is only
hinted at in Acts (i6.6f.). Even more striking, indeed astonishing, is
the total absence from Acts of the concept and experience of sonship
which was so central both for Jesus (see particularly Mark 14.36;
Luke 11.2/Matt. 6.9; Matt. n.25f./Luke 1 0 . 2 1 ; and below 45.2)
8

8. C. F. D. Moule, 'The Christology of Acts', SLA, speaks appropriately of Acts'

'absentee Christology' (pp. i79f.). See also below p. 2 3 4 .

20

Kerygma or Kerygmataf

[4.5

and for Paul, who preserves for us the Aramaic prayer of the early
churches and something of the intensity of their experience of sonship
(Rom. 8.1 sf.; Gal. 4.6).
4.5 Finally under the heading of the proclamation of Jesus in Acts,
we should notice the strong 'subordinationist' element within the
sermons of Acts. Only rarely is Jesus depicted as the subject of the
action described; everything he does, ministry, resurrection, exal
tation, etc., is attributed to God (e.g. 2.22, 32; 3.26; 5.30^; 10.38,40).
The sole reference to the parousia is framed in terms of God sending
the Christ (3.20); and in the two references to Jesus as judge it is
specifically stated that God appointed him to this office (10.42; 1 7 . 3 1
- where Jesus is not even mentioned by name). Moreover, on at least
two occasions we should speak more precisely of an 'adoptionist'
emphasis within the Acts kerygma - where the resurrection introduces
Jesus to a new status as Son, Messiah and Lord (2.36; 13.33). This
agrees very well with other probably early forms of kerygma (Rom.
i-3f.; Heb. 5.5) and so very likely reflects the emphasis of the earliest
communities (see further below 1 1 . 2 , 1 2 . 3 , 5 1 . 1 and p.262). But it
contrasts markedly with the cosmic view of Christ which we find
particularly in the later Paulines and in Revelation.
4.6 Like the proclamation of Jesus the kerygma of the Acts sermons
issues in a call for repentance and faith. Here the diversity is rather
interesting. For, on the one hand, the demand for repentance in Acts
(2.38; 3.19,26; 1 4 . 1 5 ; 17.30; 26.20) is closely parallel to that of Jesus,
but is in marked contrast to Paul and John. Paul in fact has little or
nothing to say about repentance as such (only Rom. 2.4; II Cor. 7.9L;
1 2 . 2 1 ) and John makes no use of the word whatsoever. But in the
call for faith the similarity and dissimilarity run in the opposite direc
tion. Luke's emphasis on faith (2.44; 4.32; 5.14; 10.43; 3- ->39A%i
1 4 . 1 ; etc.) is closely paralleled by both the Fourth Evangelist, who
uses the verb 'believe' 98 times, and the Pauline epistles, which use
verb and noun nearly 200 times. But the call is specifically for faith
in the Lord Jesus (Acts 9.42; 1 1 . 1 7 ; 1 4 . 2 3 ; 1 6 . 3 1 ) and this marks off
the kerygma in Acts clearly from the kerygma of Jesus himself (see
above p. 15). One other aspect of Luke's presentation of faith in the
earliest communities should perhaps also be mentioned, since it is so
distinctive of Acts and sets Acts apart from the rest of the N T writings.
I refer to the way in which Luke portrays faith in Christ as the effect
of miracle without apparently any misgivings on the point (5.14;
9.42; 1 3 . 1 2 ; i9.i7f.) whereas elsewhere in the N T this evangelistic,
propagandist value of miracle is rather disparaged (Mark 8.1 if.;
1

12

4.8]

The kerygma in Acts

21

Matt. i2.38f./Luke 1 1 . 1 6 , 29; John 2 . 2 3 - 2 5 ; 4.48; 20.29; H Cor.

13.31*.).
4.7 With the demand is coupled a promise - in Acts usually in terms
of forgiveness (2.38; 3.19; 5.31; 10.43; 3-38f.; 26.18), salvation
(2.21; 4.12; 1 1 . 1 4 ; 13.26; 1 6 . 3 1 ) or the gift of the Spirit (2.38L; 3.19;
5.32; cf. 8 . 1 5 - 1 7 ; 10.44-47; 1 9 . 1 - 6 ) . Here the overlap is rather
more extensive with the other kerygmata of the NT. Jesus' kerygma
held out the offer of forgiveness and acceptance (see above 3.4), and
Paul's idea of justification is not so very far removed from that of
forgiveness (see below pp.22f.), though the word 'forgiveness' itself
occurs only in Eph. 1.7 and Col. 1.14, and not at all in the Johannine
writings. The idea of salvation (noun or verb) is frequently attributed
to Jesus in the Synoptic Gospels (Mark 3.4; 5.34; 8.35; 10.52; etc.)
and is regularly used by Paul (Rom. 1.16; 5.9^; 8.24; 9.27; 1 0 . 1 , 9f.,
1 3 ; etc.), though it appears little in the Johannines (7 times). With
the promise of the Spirit the overlap is different. Jesus spoke very
little about the Spirit as such, at least according to our evidence; only
Mark 1 3 . 1 1 could be taken as a promise of the Spirit, and then not
as part of the kerygma but as a promise to disciples in time of trial.
But the Spirit is very clearly part of the basic kerygma for both Paul
and the Johannine circle (see e.g. Rom. 2.29; 8.2,9,15; I Cor. 6 . 1 1 ;
1 2 . 1 3 ; II Cor. 1.22; Gal. 3.2f.; John 3.5-8; 7.39; 20.22; I John 2.27;
3.24).
Where again Acts is rather remarkable is in the absence of any
ethical corollary to the kerygma it portrays. Luke does imply that
believers held together in mutual dependence: there are no isolated
Christians in Acts (here is part of the significance of the episodes in
Acts 8 and 1 8 . 2 4 - 1 9 . 7 ) . But there is little in Acts of a moral obligation
stemming from the acceptance of the proclamation. Most astonishing
is the fact that the word 'love' (noun and verb) occurs not at all in
Acts; whereas it was integral to the messages of Jesus (see above
p. 16), of the Pauline epistles (108 times) and of the Johannine Gospel
and epistles (95 times). Here the contrast is wholly striking.
I

4.8 To sum up, can we speak of a single kerygma in Acts? Can we

recognize within the different sermons reproduced by Acts a regular
outline which may be said to provide a solid core and which we can
9. Acts 1.5, 1 1 . 1 6 is easier to fit into Luke's reconstruction of Jesus' life as the stage in
salvation history prior to the age of the Church (see further below pp. 38of.), than into the
teaching of the historical Jesus as we are able to reconstruct it now. On the references in
John's Gospel see below pp. 8 if. and 2.30.

Kerygma or Kerygmataf

22

[5

call the basic or core kerygma of the earliest Church, at least in Luke's
presentation of it? The answer is, Yes. The most regular and basic
elements are these: (1) the proclamation of the resurrection of Jesus;
(2) the call for a response to this proclamation, for repentance and
faith in this Jesus; (3) the promise of forgiveness, salvation, Spirit to
those who so respond.

5.

THE KERYGMA

OF

PAUL

So far we have been able to draw on material which is specifically

presented as kerygma, as missionary proclamation. It is less easy to
uncover Paul's missionary preaching from his letters, since they are
directed to those already converted and only occasionally refer to the
preaching which brought about the conversions. But our task is not
so difficult as it might seem, since, on the one hand, we have various
kerygmatic and confessional formulae which Paul preserves and
which he must have used in bringing his readers to the point of
commitment. And, on the other, we can draw on the great distinctives
of his message as a whole and be fairly certain that they featured in
Paul's initial proclamation of the gospel in greater or less degree as
circumstances determined. In fact we have already alluded to much
of the Pauline kerygma by way of comparison with the kerygma in
Acts. Here we need make only a few brief summary remarks; we will
then draw in other material from the Pauline epistles of immediate
relevance to our theme.
5.1 Paul, like the sermons in Acts, proclaimed Jesus. We know from
the kerygmatic and confessional formulae passed on by Paul that
Jesus as risen was probably the most prominent feature of Paul's
gospel (Rom. i.3f.; 4.2.4L; 8.34; 10.9; I Cor. 1 5 . 3 - 1 1 ; I Thess. 1 . 1 0 ;
cf. II Tim. 2.8). As in Acts also the historical Jesus hardly features
at all in Paul's message. We learn only the barest details of Jesus'
life from the Pauline letters (birth, Davidic descent, Last Supper and
betrayal - Gal. 4.4; Rom. 1.3; I Cor. 1 1 . 2 3 - 2 5 ) , and Paul makes
hardly any (explicit) use of the tradition of Jesus' own preaching
(though see below 17.2,3). Here again the question of unity and
continuity between the kerygmata of Jesus and of Paul is thrust upon
us in a forceful manner. On the other hand the death of Christ receives
far more prominence than in Acts (Rom. 3.24^; 4.25; I Cor. 1.23;
2.2; 1 5 . 3 ; II Cor. 5 . 1 4 - 2 1 ; Gal. 3 . 1 ) , and I Thess 1 . 1 0 and II Thess.
2.5 are sufficient proof that the imminent parousia was an integral
part of Paul's missionary proclamation, during the first half of his

5.2]

The kerygma of Paul

23

missionary career at any rate (see below 7 1 . 1 ) . However, the most

distinctive and characteristic expressions of Paul's gospel are to be
found in his emphasis on Jesus as Lord (see below p.53), and on the
exalted Christ as representative of a new humanity ('the last Adam'
- see particularly I Cor. 1 5 . 2 0 - 2 3 , 45-49), so that conversion means
entering into union with Christ (e.g. Rom. 6.3; I Cor. 1 2 . 1 3 ; Gal.
2.i9f.; Col. 3.1,3), and so that believers are his body (Rom. 1 2 . 5 ;
I Cor. 12.27) and live, worship, conduct themselves 'in Christ', 'in
the Lord' (phrases which occur more than 160 times in Paul's writ
ings). For Paul the essence of Christianity is acceptance by God (justi
fication) in an intimate relationship, entered into and lived in by faith
on man's side, made possible and empowered by the gift of grace, the
gift of the Spirit (see particularly Rom. 3 . 2 1 - 5 . 2 1 ; Gal. 2.16-4.7).
This seems to be the core of Paul's kerygma, distinctive both in its
central emphases and in its developed expression.
As in the case of Jesus, so too implicit in Paul's kerygma is a tension
between 'already' fulfilment and 'not yet' consummation. The belief
in Jesus' resurrection as an event of the past and the experience of
the Spirit as already given creates an eschatological tension in be
lievers who are themselves still 'in the flesh', not yet raised from the
dead, not yet fully controlled by the Spirit ('spiritual bodies') - a
tension expressed most forcefully in the warfare between 'flesh' and
'Spirit' (Rom. 8.i2ff.; Gal. 5.16f.), in the tug-of-war between 'old
nature' and 'new' (Rom. 7.22-25; Eph. 4.22-24; Col. 3 . 5 - 1 0 ) .
The scope and range of Paul's writings thus enable us to gain a fair
idea of what the basic kerygma was for Paul. But they also reveal the
diversity of proclamation which Paul recognized as kerygma. Since in
this chapter we are attempting only a preliminary survey we will
confine ourselves to the most obvious points.
10

5.2 In Galatians Paul speaks of no less than three gospels. First, his
own - the gospel for the Gentiles, 'for the uncircumcision' (Gal. 2.7):
it brings liberty from the curse of the law and from subjection to the
law as a means to righteousness ( 2 . 1 6 - 5 . 1 2 ) . Paul characterizes his
gospel in this way because he wants to distinguish it clearly from the
other two gospels (cf. particularly 3 . 1 - 1 4 ) . Second is the gospel for
the Jews, 'for the circumcision' (2.7), represented by the 'pillar
apostles', Peter in particular, centred on Jerusalem. Paul recognizes
this Jewish version of the gospel as a legitimate form of Christian

10. See J . D. G. Dunn, Jesus and the Spirit, S C M Press 1 9 7 5 , 53; also 'Rom. 7 . 1 4 - 2 5
in the Theology of Paul', T Z , 3 1 , 1 9 7 5 , PP- 5 7 7 3 2

24

Kerygma or Kerygmata ?

[5.3

11

kerygma, appropriate to the Jews. Presumably it was not so very

different from Paul's gospel in content (2.2, 6-9), though Paul cer
tainly jibbed at its corollaries, since in his view it involved a greater
subjection to the law than he himself thought right ( 2 . 1 1 - 2 1 ) . How
ever, so long as the proponents of each of these two gospels recognized
the validity of the other and did not seek to impose their own gospel
on those who held to the other, Paul was content. But evidently the
churches in Palestine had a legalistic right wing which opposed the
law-free Gentile mission. Theirs is the 'other gospel' which Paul
attacks in fierce language in 1.6-9. It
finally clear whether
Paul denied Christian status to this third gospel (1.7 probably means:
it is not another gospel but a perversion of the gospel of Christ). But
he leaves us in no doubt as to what he thought of the so-called
'Judaizers" attempts to force their understanding of the gospel on
others: it is no good news, the way of bondage; those who preach it
are 'sham Christians', they have missed the full truth and ought to
castrate themselves (2.4f.; 5.12)!
Paul launches a similar sounding attack in 17 Cor. 10-13. Clearly
those attacked regarded themselves as Christians, indeed as 'servants
of Christ' and 'apostles of Christ' ( 1 1 . 1 3 , 2 3 ) . But in Paul's view they
preached a 'different gospel', 'another Jesus'; they were 'servants of
Satan', 'false apostles' (n.4,i3ff.) (see further below 56.1,2).
These two letters of Paul are sufficient indication in themselves that
there was more than one kerygma sponsored among and within the
earliest churches. Where the very concept of and claim to apostleship
was the subject of controversy, what meaning can we give to the
phrase 'the apostolic faith'}
l s

5.3 From other letters of Paul it becomes clear that so far as he was
concerned there was no standardized pattern, no extended outline of
Christian proclamation. The basic outline of Paul's kerygma in I Cor.
i5-3ff. is limited to a statement about Jesus' death and the assertion
of his resurrection. He insists that the Corinthians adhere to that. But
when it comes to diversity of belief about whether or not there is a
general resurrection to come ( 1 5 . 1 2 - a question central to the kind
of salvation offered in the kerygma), Paul does not denounce those
who hold the contrary view to his own as apostates and renegades;
1 1 . Along with some others, Meyer, Early Christians objects to talk of three gospels
here. For Paul there is only one gospel (pp. 1 8 5 - 6 ) . I would not quarrel with the point so
long as the depth of disagreement between Christians as to what that gospel meant in
practice is acknowledged (Gal. i.6f.; 2 . 1 1 - 1 4 ) . To speak of 'three gospels' is simply a way
of sharpening the point. Meyer's Paul at this point is the Paul of Acts (both ignore Gal.
2.11-14).

5.4]

The kerygma of Paul

2-5

he merely argues against it. He is quite scathing, but not denunciatory

( 1 5 . 1 2 - 5 7 ) . Similarly he accepts a diversity of belief about baptism
( 1 . 1 0 - 1 6 ; 15.29). He does not insist on the sole legitimacy of his own
view or of a particular view of baptism. Instead he plays down the
role of baptism; it is kerygma that matters not baptism ( 1 . 1 7 ) . And
though in 1 0 . 1 - 1 2 he is probably arguing against a magical view of
baptism, in 15.29 he shows no disapproval of the belief in vicarious
baptism, baptism for the dead; on the contrary he uses the practice
as an argument for the belief in resurrection (see also below 39.5).
I Corinthians reveals a Christian community full of strains and
tensions, of diverse beliefs and practices all in the name of Christ
(i.nf.; 3 . 1 - 4 ; 4 . 6 - 2 1 ; etc.), and we can recognize similar disagree
ments indicated in the Thessalonian epistles (I Thess. 5 . 1 9 - 2 2 ;
II Thess. 2.2; 3 . 1 4 ^ ) , in Romans (particularly 1 4 . 1 - 4 ; 1 6 . 1 7 ^ ) , in
Philippians ( 1 . 1 5 - 1 8 ; 3 . 2 , 1 2 - 1 9 ) and in Colossians (2.8,16-23).
These suggest that the picture of a wholly unified primitive Church
belongs more to the realm of dogmatic wishful thinking than to
historical reality. We cannot pursue that issue now, but will return to
it in Part II.
12

5.4 We should notice also the extent to which Paul varied his procla
mation of the gospel according to circumstances. I Cor. 9 . 1 9 - 2 3
clearly implies that Paul allowed circumstances and situations to
determine the statement of his kerygma to a considerable degree.
Thus we recognize a different emphasis as to the source of his gospel
in Gal. 1 . 1 , 1 1 - 1 7 and I Cor. 15-3ff. (see below 1 7 . 1 ) . And in one
remarkable passage Jesus hardly features at all, where his gospel
appears to take the form of a works (doing the law) righteousness
(Rom. 2 . 6 - 1 6 ) ; though here, as he himself says, he is talking about
those who have never heard the law, let alone the gospel. In some
circumstances he set his face firmly against the gospel proclaimed by
the Palestinian Christians: his own gospel is fiercely defended and
Peter is denounced for his compromise at Antioch (Gal. 2); or again
missionaries from Jerusalem (as it would appear) are outrightly con
demned as counterfeit apostles (II Cor. 1 0 - 1 3 ) (
below 56.1, 2),
and a gospel of law is strongly repudiated (Gal. 5.1 - 1 3 ; Col. 2 . 1 6 - 2 3 ) .
13

s e e

1 2 . Meyer pp. 1 9 6 - 9 seems not to recognize that the main emphasis here is to contrast
the relative restraint in Paul's attack in I Cor. 1 5 with the fierceness of his denunciations
in Galatians and II Cor. 1 0 - 1 3 (above 5.2).
1 3 . In view of our later discussion (55 and 56) it is worth noting at this point that
the closest parallels between Matthew and Paul come precisely in Romans 2; see C. H.
Dodd, 'Matthew and Paul' (1947), New Testament Studies, Manchester University Press
1 9 5 3 , pp. 63f.

Kerygma or Kerygmata ?

26

[5.5

In other circumstances he is happy for the gospel for the circumcision

to remain in effect in his own churches (I Cor. 8; cf. Rom. 14) and
happy that the gospel is proclaimed even by those who do so in
opposition to and out of spite for Paul (Phil. 1 . 1 5 - 1 8 ) .
Also worthy of note under this heading is the degree of development
evident in Paul's message over the years. The clearest example is its
eschatological orientation. In I and II Thessalonians the imminence
of the parousia is very real; and the imminent parousia formed an
important element in Paul's proclamation, if the situation which
developed in Thessalonica from his preaching is anything to go by
(see particularly I Thess. 1.9L; 4 . 1 3 - 1 8 ; II Thess. 2.5). The same
emphasis shines clearly through I Cor. 7 . 2 9 - 3 1 , 15.5if. But in Phil.
i.2off. Paul reckons seriously with the likelihood of his death before
the parousia, and in Colossians the focus has swung from future to
past. Where in Rom. 6.5, 8.11 Paul thinks of resurrection with Christ
as something still future, in Col. 2 . 1 2 , 3.1 resurrection with Christ is
something already past (see further below p.378). These are not
simply the different expressions of the same message in different
circumstances. The line of development is too clear and consistent
for that: from the expectation of a parousia which is proclaimed as
so imminent that the death of some believers prior to it comes as a
shock to his converts, to the clear recognition that some will die
before the parousia though he will probably be spared, to the calm
acceptance that many will die including probably himself before the
parousia; from the earlier statement of faith where the metaphor of
'resurrection with Christ' is forward looking, reserved for the immi
nent not yet, to the later reverse emphasis, where the metaphor of
'resurrection with Christ' looks back to that which has already been
accomplished - a clear shift in perspective (see below 7 1 . 1 ) .
14

5.5 We can summarize our findings here as follows. (1) Paul had a
very clear idea of what the gospel of Christ was. But his understanding
and expression of it did not take any final or fixed form. For, (2) he
recognized the validity of other proclamations and called them also
'gospel'. And (3) his own kerygma took diverse forms as circum
stances determined and it developed over the years altering in empha
sis and tone. (4) Most striking of all, in several situations he resolutely
opposed forms of gospel which other believers regarded as authentic
and called them 'no gospel'. Indeed it is somewhat doubtful whether
1 4 . Though note C . F. D. Moule, 'The Influence of Circumstances on the Use of
Eschatological Terms',/TS ns, 1 5 , 1964, pp. 1 - 1 5 ; reprinted in Essays in New Testament
Interpretation, Cambridge University Press 1982, pp. 1 8 4 - 9 9 .

6.2.]

The kerygma of John

27

Paul could ever have given wholehearted approval to the two N T

documents which most clearly express the Jewish Christian under
standing of kerygma - Matthew and James. Certainly Paul could
never have spoken of the law simply as 'the law that makes us free'
(James 1.25 NEB); it was a claim completely untrue to his own
experience, and one almost always inappropriate in the circumstances
of the Gentile mission. But then, James would no doubt have been
equally unhappy with Paul's kerygma (see further below 55).
A point of crucial importance begins to emerge here: that within
the NT itself we have not simply diverse kerygmata, but in fact
kerygmata which appear to be incompatible - that is, gospels which
are incompatible when compared directly with each other without
reference to their different life-settings.
15

6.

THE

K E R Y G M A OF

JOHN

The Fourth Gospel gives as its purpose: 'that you may believe that
Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing you may have
life in his name' (20.31). We may take this as the evangelist's own
concise summary of his gospel.
6.1 It aims to stimulate faith - that is, to bring the unbeliever to faith
or to encourage the believer in his faith (the verb could be taken either
way), or both. John heavily underscores the importance of believing.
The verb 'believe' occurs far more in the Fourth Gospel (98 times)
than in any other N T writer. This is the one thing required of hearers
(we recall that John never speaks of repentance) if they are to experi
ence 'life in Christ's name'. 'Believing' here means both accepting the
veracity of the claim that 'Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God' (belief
that-e.g. 6.6% 8.24; 1 1 . 2 7 ; 16.27; 20.31; I John 5 . 1 , 5), and commit
ment to this Jesus (belief into - the predominant and characteristic
Johannine usage - e.g. John 1 . 1 2 ; 3.16; 6.29; 1 1 . 2 5 ^ ; 17.20; I John
5.10). Distinctive also of Johannine usage is the extent to which the
verb 'know' (56 times) has become a near equivalent to 'believe'.
6.2 The content of faith is that 'Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God'.
We can tell what this meant for John by the way in which he presents
Jesus in his Gospel. Two aspects in particular mark out the distinc
tiveness of John's kerygma at this point. First, the extent to which the
historical Jesus and the exalted Jesus overlap in the Fourth Gospel 1 5 . For the sense in which I use 'Jewish Christian' here see below p. 2 5 4 .

Kerygma or Kerygmataf

28

[6.2

the extent to which the historical Jesus is seen in terms of the exalted
Christ. It is this which almost certainly accounts for the striking
differences between the Jesus of the Fourth Gospel and the Jesus of
the Synoptics. I am thinking here especially of the following features:
of the roll-call of christological titles which confronts us right away
in John 1 - Lamb of God, Messiah, Son of God, King of Israel, Son
of Man - whereas in the Synoptics such recognition as Jesus meets
with only comes to expression much later in his ministry; of the
famous 'I am' claims of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel (6.35; 8.12; 10.7,
1 1 ; 1 1 . 2 5 ; 4-6; 1 5 . 1 ) 5 which would hardly have been ignored so
completely by the Synoptics if they had belonged to the original
tradition of Jesus' sayings; and of Jesus' striking self-consciousness
particularly of pre-existence which confronts us regularly throughout
the Fourth Gospel (e.g 3 . 1 3 ; 6.38; 8.38; 58; 10.36; 1 7 . 5 , 24) and
which again must have left some equivalent mark in the Synoptic
tradition had such sayings been part of the historical Jesus' message.
Such differences cannot be reconciled on the strictly historical level.
The best explanation is that John is not attempting to give a historical
picture of the man Jesus, but what he sees to be a true picture of the
historical Jesus - the historical Jesus as John now sees him to be, the
historical Jesus with the glory that was to be his by virtue of his
death, resurrection and ascension already visible in his earthly life
(see particularly 1 . 1 4 ; 2 . 1 1 ; 1 1 . 4 ; 1 2 . 2 3 ; 1 3 . 3 1 ; 1 7 . 5 ) . Other kerygmata in the N T keep the historical Jesus and exalted Christ much
further apart: Acts and Paul seem hardly interested in the historical
Jesus; the Synoptics, though presenting Jesus in the light of Easter
faith, do not let the two pictures merge to anything like the same
extent. John's proclamation of Jesus is therefore quite distinctive - as
distinctive as Paul's 'last Adam' christology and Hebrews' High Priest
christology (see further below pp.24of., ^z6t).
Second, at the same time John marks a much increased emphasis
on the historical actuality of Jesus' earthly life, as compared with Paul
and Acts. This no doubt in large part is due to the growing influence
and challenge posed by emerging Gnosticism. The particular form
current at the time of John we know as Docetism. Since Gnostic
dualism regarded matter, flesh, the physical as evil, Docetism denied
that the divine redeemer could have wholly embraced the physical,
become incarnate in matter. The humanity of Jesus must have been
I

16

16. See e.g. F. Mussner, The Historical Jesus in the Gospel of St John, Herder 1 9 6 7 ;
O. Cullmann, The Johannine Circle, S C M Press 1 9 7 6 , pp. i^if.; D. M . Smith, 'The
Presentation of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel', Interpretation 3 1 , 1 9 7 7 , pp. 3 6 7 - 7 8 ; J . D. G.
Dunn, The Evidence for Jesus, S C M Press/Westminster 1 9 8 5 , ch. 2..

6.3]

The kerygma of John

29

only an appearance, a seeming (dokei - it seems). Hence the Johannine

writings stress the reality of Jesus' humanity; the fleshness of Jesus is
emphasized in a way which has no real comparison in the kerygmata
of Acts and Paul (John 1 . 1 4 ; 6 . 5 1 - 5 8 ; 19.34^; I John 4 . 1 - 3 ; 5.6-8).
Here is clear evidence that the changed circumstances and challenges
at the end of the first century AD played a large part in shaping the
kerygma addressed to them (see further below pp.327ff.).
6.3 Believing that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, leads to life.
Here is another important and characteristic theme in John: verb and
noun ('live', 'life') together occur 67 times in the Johannine Gospel
and letters. The words occur as regularly in the Pauline letters (96
times), though less frequently in Acts (20 times). John makes little or
no use of the concepts of forgiveness, justification and salvation, but
he does link the promise of life closely with the Spirit ( 4 . 1 0 - 1 4 ; 6.63;
7.38f.; 20.22), and his talk of mutual abiding (e.g. 6.56; 1 4 . 1 8 - 2 3 ;
1 5 . 4 - 7 ; I John 2.27^; 3.24; 4 . 1 2 - 1 6 ) has close parallels to Paul's idea
of union with Christ (see above p.23), although John's conception is
much more individualistic in its outworking (see below 3 1 . 1 ) . Per
haps then we ought simply to recognize all these as broadly equivalent
expressions of kerygmatic promise. Their diversity as between Acts,
Paul and John was presumably determined more by the personal
preferences of the proclaimer and the appropriateness of the language
to the situation addressed, than by differences of substance and
content in the promise itself.
Where the Johannine kerygma becomes distinctive is in the way it
presents the promise of life as a sharp 'either-or'. Hearers must choose
life or death, and if they choose life they pass at that moment from
death to life, leaving death and judgment behind (3.36; 5.24; n.25f.;
I John 3 . 1 4 ; 5.12). Such clear-cut antitheses are typical of John's
message - between light and darkness, sight and blindness, truth and
falsehood, Spirit and flesh, etc. ( 1 . 5 ; 3.6, 1 9 - 2 1 ; 6.63; 8.12, 44L;
9 . 3 9 - 4 1 ; etc.). There is no room here for compromise, for an inbetween position of indifferent shades. There is no idea of life as a
process, of an already which is only a beginning, of the not-yetness
of life in the Spirit which characterizes Paul's message. In the
Johannine circle the distinction between believer and unbeliever is
clear-cut (see e.g. I John 2.4, 23; 3.6, 9f., i4f.; 4.5^). This is clearly
an ethical dualism, the antithesis of decision - the Johannine writer(s)
want to pose the challenge of the gospel as sharply and as clearly as
possible. But it does leave us with a rather simplistic view of reality.
It divides humankind into two classes; whereas in Paul the division
passes through the heart of the believer as such (above p. 23). Clearly

Kerygma or Kerygmata?

[7

then, the eschatological tension characteristic of the kerygmata of

Jesus and Paul has slackened and become the all-or-nothing of John's
realized eschatology. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the vari
ous 'tests of life' which I John offers to its readers - indwelling Spirit,
love, right confession, obedience (e.g. 2.4; 3.24; 4.2f., 7). Evidently
the author assumed that those who love are those who make a right
confession. It is not at all evident what the author would make of the
person who displays a Christ-like love and who yet refuses to believe
in Christ. The sharp Johannine antithesis provides no answer to the
(Christian) 'problem' of the good pagan, the loving atheist. Paul, on
the other hand, with his recognition of the divided state of each
individual and his yearning over unbelieving Israel would at least
understand the problem and be able to volunteer some answer.
Whereas I John has nothing to say.

7.

CONCLUSIONS

We have not examined all the N T writings, only made a surface

survey of the kerygma of Jesus, the kerygma of the first Christians as
depicted in Acts, and the kerygmata presented by the two other most
important theologians in the N T - Paul and John. Do they share a
common kerygma? Can we speak of the kerygma? Leaving the mes
sage of Jesus aside for the moment we comparefirstthe three samples
of post-Easter kerygma.
7.1 Do the Acts sermons, Paul and John share a common kerygma?
If we think of the individuality of their proclamation, the distinc
tiveness of their emphases, the answer has to be No! But on closer
examination it becomes evident that there is a common element pre
sent in these different proclamations; they give expression in their
different ways to something we can call 'a common kerygma'. There
are three components to this core kerygma.
First, the proclamation of the risen, exalted Jesus - expressed by
the Acts sermons' emphasis on the resurrection of Jesus as such, by
Paul's emphasis on the present Lordship and representative signifi
cance of Jesus, and by John's presentation of the historical Jesus in
the full illumination of Easter faith.
Second, the call for faith, for acceptance of the proclamation and
commitment to the Jesus proclaimed. This is the most consistent
feature in all three cases, and to that extent it supports Bultmann's
claim that 'faith' is the term which most clearly distinguishes earliest
Christianity, rather than 'orthodoxy' (see above p.4).

y.z]

Conclusions

3i

Third, the promise held out to faith - whether it be put in terms of

Spirit, or of its various aspects (forgiveness, salvation, life) or of a
continuing relation thus established between exalted Christ and
believer (union with Christ, mutual indwelling). Not always so clearly
drawn out is the corollary that the relation of faith towards Christ
involves a community of faith, and the responsibility of love within
(and beyond?) that community.
This is the unity of the post-Easter kerygma. But beside it stands
the considerable diversity of the different kerygmata. It must clearly
be understood that the unified core kerygma outlined above is an
abstraction. No N T writer proclaims this kerygma as such. No N T
writer reduces the kerygma to this core. The basic kerygma in each
of the cases examined above is larger than this core. They share these
common elements, but in different proportions. And in the event of
proclamation no two kerygmata were exactly the same. Not only so,
but the diversity meant difference and disagreement - differences for
example over the significance of Jesus' earthly ministry and his death,
disagreement over the continuing relevance of the law, on the eschatological dimension of the gospel, and on its ethical outworking. These
differences and disagreements often ran deep, but the kerygmata
involved could nevertheless be put forward (and accepted) as valid
expressions of Christian kerygma in the appropriate circumstances.
Exponents of different kerygmata may not always agree on 'the ker
ygma'. Indeed they may strongly disagree on what the kerygma is in
a particular situation. But in different circumstances they can agree
to differ and respect these differences as acceptable and valid.
We must therefore beware when we talk of 'the N T kerygma'. For
if we mean the core kerygma, then we are talking about a kerygma
which no evangelist in the N T actually preached. And if we mean
one of the diverse kerygmata, then that is only one form of kerygma,
and not necessarily appropriate or acceptable to the different evan
gelists in the N T or their circumstances. To put it another way, if we
insist on the unity of the kerygma in the NT, we must insist also on
the diversity of kerygmata in the NT. One can sometimes say in a
particular situation, in response to a particular challenge: This is the
gospel; there is no other (cf. Gal. 1.6-9). B ? ^
N T is any guide,
one can never say: This particular formulation is the gospel for all
time and for every situation.
ut

7.2 If we can speak of the unity of the post-Easter kerygma it is much

more difficult to speak of a unity between the post-Easter kerygma and
the kerygma of Jesus. At the level of public proclamation the dif
ferences are stark: Jesus proclaimed the kingdom, thefirstChristians

32

Kerygma or Kerygmata?

[7.3

proclaimed Jesus; Jesus called for repentance and faith with respect
to the kingdom, the first Christians called for faith in Jesus; Jesus held
out the offer of God's forgiveness and acceptance, thefirstChristians
held out a similar offer but as mediated through Jesus. Quite clearly
Jesus stands at the centre of the post-Easter kerygma in a manner
which is not really paralleled in Jesus' own kerygma. So far, of course,
we have only made the comparison at the level of public procla
mation, in terms of the characteristic emphases of each kerygma. The
question is whether a degree of continuity between the two can be
traced at a deeper level, whether Jesus saw himself as integral to his
own kerygma, whether he saw a close tie-up between the kingdom
and himself, that is, between the kingdom he proclaimed and his
proclamation of it, or between the kingdom's coming and his own
destiny. In short, can we discern sufficient continuity between Jesus
the proclaimer and Jesus the proclaimed to enable us to affirm that
the kerygma of Jesus and the kerygma of the first Christians are
ultimately one and the same} This question will underlie much of our
discussion throughout the following chapters and we will have to
return to it in the light of that discussion at the end of Part I.
In the meantime we should recognize and underline the most obvi
ous difference between the pre-Easter proclamation and the postEaster proclamation - and that is Easter itself, belief in the
resurrection of Jesus. This needs to be said in view of the still strong
tendency to try to return to the pre-Easter kerygma, to sum up Christ
ianity in terms of the Sermon of the Mount or the parable of the
Prodigal Son. But there can be no going back to the proclamation of
Jesus as such. The kerygmata of Acts and Paul, and in a different way
of John, demonstrate that the first Christians were not concerned
simply to reproduce the message of Jesus. In the view of the earliest
churches a decisive development had taken place which itself became
the good news par excellence - that Jesus had been raised from the
dead and exalted to heaven. It is this new development which forms
the distinctive essence of the post-Easter proclamation, which gives it
its distinctively Christian character. As Paul explicity states, a ker
ygma without the proclamation of Jesus as risen or exalted would
not be Christian proclamation, it would cease to be valid as gospel
(I Cor. 1 5 . 1 4 - 1 9 ) . In short, the Christian Church is built round the
post-Easter kerygma, not the teaching of the historical Jesus, or at
least not that teaching as independent of the post-Easter kerygma.
7.3 To sum up. (1) There is a unifying strand which holds all the N T
kerygmata together and enables us to grasp the distinctive character of
the earliest Christian gospel. (2) In the concrete situation the actual

7.3]

Conclusions

33

gospel was much more closely defined and larger in content - a

definition and content largely determined by the situation addressed.
(3) In different situations the actual gospel was different, and could
be as different as the situations themselves. These differences were
often considerable, and incompatible when transposed to other situ
ations. (4) These differences were often integral to the gospels in their
different situations; it would not have been possible to abandon them
in the situation which called forth that particular form of procla
mation without altering its character as good news to that situation.
Two important corollaries follow whose application extends to the
present day. {a) Any attempt to find a single, once-for-all, unifying
kerygma is bound to fail. For the concrete situation always calls forth
a more closely defined and larger kerygma - a form of proclamation
which in the concrete situation cannot be boiled down to the unifying
core without losing its meaning and its relevance to the concrete
situation. And it is in this fuller proclamation that the differences and
disagreements lie. (b) Christians will simply have to accept the fact
of different expressions and interpretations of 'the kerygma' and live
with them - accepting the necessity and the validity of these different
expressions, and not being upset over them or grieving over them as
'sinful divisions' or 'heretical schisms'. At the same time the abstrac
tion (and it is an abstraction) of the core kerygma does give clear
enough indication of the distinctive character of Christianity - a clear
enough basis for common action, service and worship. To demand
more as the indispensable minimum is tantamount to asking Paul to
excommunicate James or Luke to excommunicate John!

Ill

Primitive Confessional Formulae

8.

INTRODUCTION

From the study of kerygma we turn to the study of confessional

formulae. As the first Christians proclaimed their new faith, so they
also confessed it. In seeking to push a little way below the surface
which we have so far only skated over, it is natural to look first for the
confession of faith which lay behind the proclamation and which the
proclamation produced in the convert. How did the first Christians
confess their faith? What form of words did they choose to distinguish
themselves from other and similar religious belief all around?
This area has been subjected to considerable research since the
beginning of the twentieth century. The studies in question have high
lighted several dangers of which the careful student should be aware
from the start.
(a) The danger of reading back the great ecumenical creeds into the
NT. The investigation of primitive creeds is probably the best example
of the way in which the pattern of orthodoxy has been read back into
the first-century Christian writings. Up until the early 1940s, with a
few honourable exceptions, the starting point for such investigations
was almost always the standard creeds of Eastern and Western Christ
ianity. Given the basic statements of Christian faith in the Apostles'
Creed, the Nicene Creed, etc., the task seemed clear: to find out
whether primitive or latent expressions of these credal formulae are
present in the N T itself. The governing but unwritten assumption
seemed in many cases to be the axiom that Christianity is the creeds,
they are the normative expression of confessing Christianity; there
fore, the N T writings must express that credal faith, if not in so many
words at least in a hidden or yet unclarified, formless manner. The
danger here is obvious - the danger of squeezing the N T material
into a later unified pattern so that the distinctive character of that
material (and its diversity?) is lost to us.
1

i. See e.g. E. Stauffer, New Testament Theology, 1 9 4 1 , E T S C M Press 1 9 5 5 , chs 6 2 - 5 .

8]

Introduction

35

(b) The second is the danger of looking for a single unified creed the danger of making a patchwork quilt of bits and pieces from here
and there in the N T and hailing it as a seamless robe. This was a
weakness of Dodd's reconstruction of the primitive kerygma. And A.
Seeberg fell into the same trap in his pioneering study in our present
area of concern. The temptation here is to pick out confessional
forms from diverse strands of the primitive tradition and to group
them together into a single formula, disregarding questions about
their original life-settings. In such a case 'the Church's primitive con
fession of faith' is nothing more than an uneven amalgam of disparate
elements bonded together by twentieth-century methodology.
(c) If the second danger is that of looking for a single unified
formula, the third danger is that of looking for a single uniform lifesetting for the earliest confessions. It is a striking fact that the great
majority of scholars researching into this field have assumed or con
cluded that one and only one life-setting produced and preserved the
earliest confessional formulae - and that one life-setting, baptism.
Here again the inevitable tendency is to squeeze the shape of the N T
material into a pre-determined mould - to let the high sacramental
theology of later centuries determine our understanding of earliest
Christianity.
(d) Fourth, we should also beware of the opposite tendency evident
in some tradition-history investigations - that of overfussily stratify
ing the material into different layers (Palestinian Jewish Christianity,
Hellenistic Jewish Christianity, pre-Pauline Gentile Christianity, etc.),
and then expecting to find a coherent chronological development in
the confessional formulae from layer to layer, stage to stage. We
should not forget that a significant section of the earliest Jerusalem
community spoke, worshipped and theologized in Greek from the
start ('the Hellenists' - Acts 6.1; see below 60). Nor can we readily
divide the N T writings into such clearly distinct pigeon-holes; in a
very real and important sense all the N T writings are Jewish Christian
documents. In fact I believe that we do have to recognize different
emphases within the N T material which can appropriately be labelled
'Jewish Christian', 'Hellenistic Jewish', 'Gentile'. But we must beware
always of imposing such categories on the evidence and seek always
to let the text dictate its own categories to us (see also below p.254).
As a starting point, all we need to assume here is that the earliest
believers formulated their new found faith in words expressing that
2

2. A. Seeberg, Der Katechismus der Urchristenheit, 1 9 0 3 , Mnchen 1 9 6 6 .

3. See further M . Hengel, 'Christology and New Testament Chronology', Between Jesus
and Paul, S C M Press/Fortress 1 9 8 3 , pp. 3 0 - 4 7 .

Primitive Confessional Formulae

36

[9

faith, and that some at least of these primitive confessions have been
preserved for us. If we are to recognize and properly to understand
these confessions we must put all the later creeds and categories to
one side and come to the N T writings with an open question: How
did the earliest believers express their new faith in a confessional
way} And in pursuing that question we must avoid imposing on our
material either the unities of ecumenical or sacramental Christianity
or the diversities of a pre-packed tradition-history approach. Only so
can we hope to let the material speak for itself.
As the main studies of primitive confessional formulae have shown,
the earliest forms focus on Jesus; that which is confessed is faith in
Jesus. This is what we would have expected anyway from our finding
in the last chapter, that the kerygmata of earliest Christianity were
basically a proclamation of Jesus and a calling to faith in Jesus. Our
study therefore divides up most straightforwardly into an examin
ation of the different ways in which Jesus was confessed. We will
concentrate on what appear to have been the principal formulae used.

9.

JESUS

IS T H E S O N OF M A N

Nearly a century ago W. Bousset suggested that the confession of

Jesus as the Son of Man was the first Christian confession and the
focal point of the earliest Christian community. A decade or so later
E. Lohmeyer maintained that the Christianity which originated in
Galilee (as distinct from Jerusalem Christianity) was expressed dis
tinctively in Son of Man christology. More recently research has
concentrated on Q and produced the thesis that Q embodies an early
expression of faith in Jesus as the heavenly Son of Man, distinct from
and not yet merged with the latter passion-centred presentation of
Jesus (as most clearly in Mark). May we then say that 'Jesus is the
Son of Man' was one of the earliest, perhaps the earliest form of
words which the first Christians used to confess their faith?
4

9.1 As is well known the title 'the Son of Man' belongs almost exclu
sively to the Gospels (Synoptics 69, John 1 3 , rest of the N T 1 ) , and
in all these cases it appears to all intents and purposes only on the
lips of Jesus. Jesus is never addressed as Son of Man in the narratives,
2

4. W . Bousset, Kyrios Christos, 1 9 1 4 , i 9 2 i , E T Abingdon 1 9 7 0 , p. 5 1 .

5. E. Lohmeyer, Galilda und Jerusalem, Gottingen 1 9 3 6 , pp. 6 8 - 7 9 .
6. H. E . Todt, The Son of Man in the Synoptic Tradition, 1 9 5 9 , E T S C M Press 1 9 6 5 ,
pp. 2 3 2 - 6 9 ; cf. P. Hoffmann, Studien zur Theologie der Logienquelle, Munster 1 9 7 2 ,
pp. 1 4 2 - 5 8 .

9-i]

Jesus is the Son of Man

37

or hailed or confessed as Son of Man by his disciples. Our question

would appear therefore to be quickly answered - in the negative: 'the
Son of Man' is a phrase used by Jesus, not a confession used by the
early churches. But it is not quite so simple. Throughout the twentieth
century leading N T scholars have examined the Son of Man sayings
and come to the conclusion that it is impossible to refer all of them
back to Jesus; some at least must have reached their present form in
the post-Easter situation. The chief reasons are as follows: (i) A whole
block of Son of Man material is absent from Q. That is to say, there
are no references in Q to the suffering (and resurrection) of the Son
of Man such as we find most clearly in Mark 8.31, 9.12, 3 1 , 1 0 . 3 3 ^ ,
45. It could plausibly be argued therefore that Q comes from a stage
prior to the merging of the Son of Man tradition with the passion
kerygma as in Mark, and that suffering Son of Man sayings as such
did not emerge until after the Q material reached its present form.
(2) Comparison of parallel Synoptic traditions suggests other in
stances where the phrase 'the Son of Man' is a later addition - Matt.
16.28 (cf. the earlier form in Mark 9.1/Luke 9.27); Matt. 24.30a
looks like an addition to Mark 13.26; and Matt. 26.2 could well be
an editorial expansion of Mark 1 4 . 1 ; other occasions where 'the Son
of Man' may be the product of editing are Mark 9.9, Luke 1 9 . 1 0 and
Matt. 1 3 . 3 7 , 4 1 . Moreover, almost all the Johannine Son of Man
references lack any close parallel in Synoptic usage, and some are so
obviously linked with specifically Johannine language and themes
that they must be counted as part of developed Johannine theology
(particularly 3 . 1 3 , 6.62 - ascending/descending theme; 3.14, 8.28,
12.34 - Jesus' being lifted up; 1 2 . 2 3 , 3 - 3 - Jesus' glorification). (3)
Nowhere in the Synoptic tradition do we find a Son of Man saying
as a constituent part of Jesus' proclamation of the kingdom. Granted
that the latter is the most distinctive feature of Jesus' message it is
quite possible to conclude that the two distinct strands of material
were in fact originally independent - the kingdom material stemming
from authentic Jesus' tradition, the Son of Man material stemming
from the earliest community. On the other hand, this last argument
cuts both ways: it is more likely that sayings of Jesus which emerged
from the prophetic inspiration of the earliest communities would
have entwined themselves round or been developments of the already
accepted Jesus-tradition; prophetic sayings which were a completely
new departure were less likely to be accepted as sayings of the risen
I

7. S. P. Vielhauer, 'Gottesreich und Menschensohn in der Verkndigung Jesu' ( 1 9 5 7 ) ,

Aufstze zum Neuen Testament, Mnchen 1965, pp. 5 5 - 9 1 .

Primitive Confessional Formulae

[9.2

Jesus. All in all however there is sufficient indication that the Son of
Man tradition underwent some development at least within the earli
est community. This strongly suggests that the earliest churches
thought of Jesus as the Son of Man in a creative way, that the convic
tion that Jesus was the Son of Man was an important part of their
faith.
9.2 Can we be more specific? How important was this belief for
them? To what extent is our present Son of Man sayings material the
work of the earliest community as such? That is, to what extent is
the Son of Man material an expression of the first Christians' faith
chosen by them to be such? Do the Son of Man sayings reflect a
confessional faith in Jesus as the Son of Man? The basic problem here
is that the evidence is amenable to several different interpretations
and it is not possible to achieve certain conclusions. The following
are the most important of the alternative interpretations.
(a) All the Son of Man sayings come from the early churches; none
of them goes back to Jesus at all. In which case the belief that Jesus
was the Son of Man was probably the earliest expression of the new
and distinctive post-Easter faith of Jesus' disciples. Moreover, it has
played a creative role in the development of Christian faith, in particu
lar in the development of the tradition of Jesus' sayings, unequalled
by any of the other formulations of faith. On the other hand it is
difficult on this view to explain why the first Christians took the step
of identifying Jesus with the Son of Man; and even more difficult to
understand why this new faith produced the present pattern of the
tradition, where all the Son of Man affirmations appear on the lips
of Jesus himself and none is preserved in another context. Why does
the belief that Jesus is the Son of Man not appear in any kerygmatic
statements? Why such a total absence of the title from any primitive
teaching or liturgical formulae? The fact is that there is no comparable
development in the cases of the other 'titles of majesty'. On the
contrary, comparison with the development of the titles examined
below tellsfirmlyagainst this hypothesis.
9

10

8. See my 'Prophetic "I" -Sayings and the Jesus-tradition: the Importance of Testing
Prophetic Utterances within Early Christianity', NTS 24, 1 9 7 7 - 7 8 , pp. 1 7 5 - 9 8 .
9. The opposing viewpoints are too well known to require documentation. See e.g. I. H.
Marshall, 'The Synoptic Son of Man Sayings in Recent Discussion', NTS 1 2 , 1 9 6 5 - 6 6 ,
pp. 3 2 7 - 5 1 ; R. Pesch and R. Schnackenburg, hrsg., Jesus und der Menschensohn: Fur
Anton Vogtie, Freiburg 1 9 7 5 ; C . C. Caragounis, The Son of Man, WUNT 3 8 , Tubingen
1986, pp. 1 9 - 3 3 .
10. For one possible schema see N . Perrin, Rediscovering the Teaching of Jesus, S C M
Press 1 9 6 7 , pp. 1 6 4 - 8 5 ; also A Modern Pilgrimage in New Testament Christology, Fortress
1 9 7 4 , chs II, III, V .

9-2.]

Jesus is the Son of Man

39

(b) Some of the Son of Man sayings go back to Jesus more or less
in the form preserved for us in the tradition. These are the sayings
where Jesus looks to the future coming of the Son of Man as someone
distinct from himself - in particular Mark 8.38, Luke i2.8f.; see
also Matt. 24.27/Luke 17.24; Matt. 24.37, 39/Luke 17.26, 30; Matt.
24.44/Luke 12.40; Matt. 10.23; Luke 1 1 . 3 0 ; 1 7 . 2 2 . The basic reason
why these sayings can be referred back to Jesus with some confidence
is the unlikelihood that the earliest community would have distin
guished the exalted Jesus from the Son of Man in this way. The
creative role of the earliest churches in this case started with the
identification of the Son of Man with the now exalted Jesus himself.
Not only was Jesus identified with the Son of Man in those sayings
where Jesus had looked forward to the Son of Man's coming, but new
sayings emerged in the Jesus-tradition - further sayings describing the
Son of Man's heavenly activity and coming in glory, and then sayings
involving Jesus' earthly activity and suffering.
The key question here is whether Jesus did in fact look for the
coming of someone greater than himself. And the difficulty under
which this hypothesis labours is that these Son of Man sayings men
tioned above are the only real evidence for it. Is it strong enough? Do
Luke i2.8f. and Mark 8.38 require us to recognize a distinction
between Jesus and the Son of Man? In fact such an interpretation
runs counter to the realized element of Jesus' proclamation in which
Jesus contrasted the eschatological fulfilment of his own ministry with
the preparatory nature of what went before, and in which the Baptist
filled the role of the forerunner (see particularly Matt. ii.n/Luke
7.28; Matt. 12.4if./Luke 1 1 . 3 if.). Moreover, once again we may ask
why and how it was that belief in Jesus as the heavenly Son of Man
should have led to the development of tradition where Jesus' earthly
activity was referred to with an apocalyptic title - why particularly
such inconsequential sayings as Matt. 8.20/Luke 9.58 should have
appeared as expressions of faith in Jesus the glorious one in heaven.
Nothing similar happened with the other titles of exaltation; indeed,
in contrast, Luke's use of 'Lord' in his Gospel is clearly editorial and
reflects his post-Easter standpoint unmistakably (see below p.54f.).
(c) A third view is that some at least of the Son of Man sayings go
back to a (non-titular) speech idiom of Jesus - that Jesus sometimes
used the Aramaic phrase bar nasa ('the son of man') in the sense of
Ps. 8.4b (cf. Heb. 2.6) = 'man' in general, that is, without distinctive
self-reference. This would be the original sense behind certain
>e

11

1 1 . See particularly M . Casey, Son of Man, SPCK 1 9 7 9 , ch. 9; 'The Jackals and the
Son of Man (Matt. 8.20/Luke 9.58)', JSNT 2 3 , 1 9 8 5 , pp. 3 - 2 2 .

40

Primitive Confessional Formulae

[9.2.

Synoptic sayings, particularly Mark 2 . 1 0 , 2.28 ('the Sabbath was

made for man . . . therefore the son of man = man is lord of the
Sabbath'), Matt. 8.20/Luke 9.58 and Matt. n.i8f./Luke 7.33^ Some
support for this view is given by the Gospel of Thomas which pre
serves only one Son of Man saying - Logion 86, a close parallel to
Matt. 8.20/Luke 9.58 (cited below p.308). Several of the Thomas
logia seem to stem from an independent and early Aramaic source.
This could therefore be taken as confirmation that the earliest stage
of the Son of Man tradition was a non-titular bar nasa usage.
The role of the earliest community in shaping Son of Man sayings
would then have been as follows. The search through the OT for
language to express faith in Jesus as exalted would have picked up
the heavenly son of man figure in Dan. 7 . 1 3 , and sayings which
identified the risen Jesus with thisfigurewould have emerged, either
on the basis of the original Ps. 8.4 type of saying or independently of
it. In the developing tradition these original sayings became titular
sayings ('the son of man' became 'the Son of Man'); this is the stage
we find crystallized in Q. Subsequently the whole tradition continued
to expand and merged with the developing (Pauline) kerygma of the
cross to form the so-called suffering Son of Man sayings in Mark.
The Fourth Gospel cemented this connection by linking Son of Man
language with the peculiarly Johannine themes of Jesus being lifted
up and glorified (see below p.8of.), and further expanded the tradition
to embrace the implication of pre-existence (John 3 . 1 3 ; 6.62).
However, the Gospel of Thomas's support here is of questionable
value, since the eschatology of Thomas is hardly typical either of
Jesus' proclamation or of the early kerygmata, so that it may well
reflect a posi-apocalyptic stage in the development of the Jesustradition (rather than a pre-apocalyptic stage) from which apocalyptic
Son of Man sayings have been eliminated (see below p.310). Of
greater weight is the consideration that those sayings which have
been identified as Ps. 8.4 type sayings hardly make sense except as
self-referenees. In particular, it is simply not true that 'man in general
has nowhere to lay his head'; as it stands that logion is only really
intelligible as a reference to Jesus' own mission as a wandering
preacher (Matt. 8.20/Luke 9.58). The point is even clearer in the case
of Matt. 11.18f./Luke 7.3 3L If original to Jesus these sayings reflect
12

>e

13

14

1 2 . See e.g. Koester, 'Gnomai Diaphorai', Trajectories, pp. 1 2 9 - 3 2 .

1 3 . Cf. further below p. 334t. Perrin argues that 'the evangelist Mark is the major figure
in the creative use of the Son of Man traditions in the New Testament period' (Modern
Pilgrimage, pp. 7 7 ~ 9 3 ) 1 4 . See also F. J . Moloney, The Johannine Son of Man, Rome 1 9 7 6 , i 9 7 8 , with full
bibliography.
2

9.2]

Jesus is the Son of Man

41

a manner of Jesus' speech in which he referred to himself in the third

person idiom, bar ' nasa.
(d) A fourth view is a variation of the third - that Jesus used bar
' nasa, but of himself, and in a deliberately ambiguous way = 'one'.
There is some dispute on the question whether there are any parallels
to this use of bar ' nasa in the Palestine of Jesus' day. Be that as it
may, the best evidence that Jesus used bar ' nasa as a self-reference
comes from the Synoptic tradition itself: it is the best explanation of
the texts mentioned above (beginning of (c)); the present divergent
forms of certain other texts are best explained if we recognize
a common original bar ' nasa form (particularly Mark 3.28/Matt.
i2.3if./Luke 12.io); it is the best explanation of why in parallel
versions one reads T and the other 'the Son of Man' since bar ' nasa
could be taken either way (particularly Matt. 5.11/Luke 6.22; Matt.
10.32/Luke 12.8; Matt. 16.13/Mark 8.27).
The problem which this thesis has to wrestle with is the question,
At what point did the overt influence of Dan. 7.13 begin to exert
itself on the Son of Man sayings? We noted how difficult it is to accept
that an original apocalyptic Son of Man imagery drawing on Dan.
7.13 expanded to embrace distinctively non-apocalyptic material like
Matt. 8.20/Luke 9.58. It is almost as difficult to accept that Jesus
used a bar ' nasa form which embraced both the Ps. 8.4 idiom and
the Dan. 7.13 imagery within itself. Nevertheless, an ambiguous bar
' nasa form which in at least some instances Jesus used with allusion
to Dan. J . I 3 seems to be the least objectionable of the four hypoth
eses. The problem is substantially eased if we see the influence of
Dan. 7.13 as more pervasive on Jesus' bar ' nasa language, and at the
same time, recognize that Dan. 7.13 is itself not a titular usage but
speaks only of a human figure who represents or symbolizes the
persecuted loyalists of the Maccabean days in their ultimate vindica
tion in the court of heaven. In such a case it becomes quite possible
e

15

16

17

18

1 5 . See on the one hand G. Vermes in M . Black, An Aramaic Approach to the Gospels
and Acts, Oxford University Press ^1967, pp. 3 1 0 - 3 0 ; also his Jesus the Jew, Collins 1 9 7 3 ,
pp. 1 6 3 - 8 , 1 8 8 - 9 1 ; Casey (above n. 1 1 ) ; on the other J . A. Fitzmyer, review of Black in
CBQ, 30, 1 9 6 8 , pp. 4 2 4 - 8 ; also 'Methodology in the Study of the Aramaic Substratum
of Jesus' Sayings in the New Testament', i n j . Dupont,/esws aux origtnes de la christologie,
Gembloux 1 9 7 5 , pp. 9 2 - 4 .
16. See Dunn, Jesus, pp. 4 9 - 5 2 .
1 7 . Was it the recognition of the breadth of the bar ns usage which suggested the use
of Ps. 1 1 0 . 1 , linked as it is not only with Ps. 8 (Mark 1 2 . 3 6 ; I Cor. 1 5 . 2 5 - 2 7 ; Eph. 1 . 2 0 22 - note particularly Ps. 8.6), but also with Dan. 7 . 1 3 (Mark 14.62)?
1 8 . So C. F. D. Moule, 'Neglected Features in the Problem of "the Son of Man"', NTK,
pp. 4 1 3 - 2 8 ; reprinted in Essays in New Testament Interpretation, Cambridge University
Press 1 9 8 2 , pp. 7 5 - 9 0 . See also M . D. Hooker, The Son of Man in Mark, SPCK 1 9 6 7 ;

Primitive Confessional Formulae

42

[9.3

that (some of) the suffering Son of Man sayings also go back to an
ambiguous bar ' nasa formulation of Jesus - despite their absence
from Q.
The most likely view of the earliest community's role in the develop
ment of the Son of Man tradition is therefore as follows. The first
Christians inherited a number of bar ' nasa sayings spoken by Jesus,
(almost?) all with reference to himself and some at least (most? all?)
alluding to or influenced in greater or less degree by the Dan. 7 vision,
and thus containing an implicit christology. In almost every case the
early communities removed the ambiguity either by taking bar ' nasa
as first person singular, or by elaborating it into the full blown title
'the Son of Man' with explicit or implicit reference to Dan. 7 . 1 3 .
e

19

9.3 Thus, in conclusion, we can say that the conviction that Jesus
was the Son of Man was part of the earliest Church's faith. But
decisive evidence that the first Christians used a Son of Man christol
ogy to confess the distinctiveness of their faith to others or to achieve
a clearer self-understanding of it for themselves is lacking. The fact
remains that, so far as our evidence takes us, the activity of the earliest
Church at this point was confined to elaborating the tradition of
Jesus' sayings. Faith in Jesus as the Son of Man had no real life outside
that tradition (Acts 7.56 is the only real exception). Son of Man
christology did not provide a growing point for the distinctive theol
ogy of the earliest churches. In so far as any confession characterized
earliest Palestinian communities it was that 'Jesus is Messiah'. And
though Jesus was recognized as the coming Son of Man this forward
looking faith found its expression much more clearly in the confession
of Jesus as Lord.

IO. J E S U S

IS

MESSIAH

This seems to have been a key expression of faith within the early
Jewish mission and the affirmation that Jesus was Messiah probably
formed the decisive step of faith for Jewish converts. This is certainly
W. G. Kummel, The Theology of the New Testament, 1 9 7 2 , E T S C M Press 1 9 7 4 , pp. 7 6 - 9 0 ;
B. Lindars, 'Re-Enter the Apocalyptic Son of Man', NTS, zz, 1 9 7 5 - 7 6 , pp. 5 2 - 7 2 ; J .
Bowker, 'The Son of Man', JTS, 28, 1 9 7 7 , pp. 1 9 - 4 8 ; S. Kim, 'The "Son of Man"' as the
Son of God, W U N T 30, Tbingen 1 9 8 3 ; Caragounis, Son of Man.
1 9 . See particularly B. Lindars, Jesus Son of Man, SPCK 1 9 8 3 , ch. 4. The thought of
suffering and rejection is probably present in other Son of Man sayings preserved in Q
(Matt. 8.20/Luke 9.58; Matt. io.32f./Luke i2.8f.; Luke 11.30/Matt. 12.40; Luke 2 2 . 2 8 30/Matt. 19.28). See also Matt. 10.38/Luke 1 4 . 2 7 ; Matt. 2 3 . 3 7 - 3 9 / L u k e 1 3 . 3 4 ^

IO.I]

Jesus is Messiah

43

the testimony of Acts 2.3if., 3 . 1 8 , 5.42, 8.5, 9.22, 1 7 . 3 , 1 8 . 5 ,

28, and there is no reason to doubt Luke's account at this point,
since these passages reflect the (early) titular usage rather than the
(later) proper name usage. Elsewhere in the writings of the N T (apart
from the Jesus-tradition preserved in the Synoptics) 'Christos' usually
serves as a proper name, a way of referring to Jesus rather than an
actual confession of faith in Jesus as the Christ (particularly Paul and
the Church or 'Catholic' Epistles; though note passages like Rom.
9.5 and 1 5 . 3 ) . However, somewhat surprisingly perhaps, the Fourth
Gospel preserves the primitive use of Christos. Though written late
in the first century John only rarely uses Christ as a proper name
(Jesus Christ); whereas he regularly speaks of 'the Christ' (e.g. 1.20;
3.28; 7.26, 4 1 ; 10.24) d
preserves the Hebrew (or Aramaic)
form 'Messias' ( 1 . 4 1 ; 4.25). His avowed aim, as we have seen, (p. 27),
is to demonstrate that 'Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God' (20.31).
And in 1 1 . 2 7 Martha becomes the model for full Christian confession
- 'I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God' (cf. the Baptist3.28).
a n

e v e n

1 0 . 1 The history of this confession within the first century is fairly

clearly marked. In essence it goes back to Jesus' own life-time. The
decisive evidence comes from the circumstances of his death. Without
diminishing the serious historical problems relating to the trial of
Jesus, it is nevertheless hardly less than certain that Jesus was put to
death as a messianic pretender - one who posed a nationalist threat
to the political authorities (Mark 15.26; Matt. 27.37; Luke 23.38;
John 1 9 . 1 9 - where 'king of the Jews' is simply the messianic pre
tender charge rephrased for the benefit of the Roman governor).
Traces of an enthusiasm towards Jesus as such a claimant to political
messiahship are visible in the episode underlying the feeding of the
5000 (Mark 6.30-45), especially when we compare it with the prob
ably independent account preserved in John 6 . 1 - 1 5 (cf. Mark 6.45
with John 6.15). The confession itself probably also goes back to the
context of Jesus' ministry (Mark 8.29); but if so, the confession of
Peter very probably envisaged a messiahship in the same nationalist
and political terms.
What is clear from all three episodes is that Jesus rejected such a
role. Indeed, never once in the earliest Synoptic tradition does Jesus
use the title Messiah of himself; never once does he unequivocally
welcome its application to himself. The reason presumably is that the
concept of messiahship inextricably bound up with the title Messiah,
at least in popular hope and imagination, was one which Jesus did
not himself embrace. For Jesus, then, the confession of himself as

44

Primitive Confessional Formulae

[10.2

Messiah meant a misunderstanding of his mission. Consequently he

discouraged such confession.
On the other hand, we cannot say that Jesus denied a messianic
role altogether. His entry into Jerusalem and attack on the abuse of
the temple may well have contained deliberate messianic overtones.
Mark 1 2 . 3 5 - 3 7 , if it originated with Jesus, would probably have
been understood as having some sort of self reference (see also below
p. 54). The main weight of the charge against Jesus at his trial probably
rested on the obscure saying about the destruction and eschatological
reconstruction of the temple, which must go back to Jesus in some
form (Mark 14.58/Matt. 26.61; Mark 15.29/Matt. 27.40; John 2 . 1 9 ;
cf. Mark 1 3 . 2 pars.; Acts 6.14; Gosp. Thos. 7 1 ) , and which would
have constituted some sort of claim to messiahship (II Sam. 7 . 1 2 - 1 4
as interpreted by Qumran; I Enoch 90.28f.; IV Ezra 9 . 3 8 - 1 0 . 2 7 ;
cf. Ezek. 4 0 - 4 8 ; Jub. 1 . 1 7 , 2 7 L ; T. Ben. 9.2; II Bar. 32.4; Sib. Or.
V.423f.). And Jesus' response to the specifically messianic charges of
Caiaphas and Pilate are best taken in the sense, 'If you want to put it
that way' (Mark 1 4 . 6 2 ; 1 5 . 2 ) , implying that it was hardly Jesus'
own choice of expression. According to our evidence then (Mark
8 . 2 9 - 3 3; i4.6if.), Jesus' primary concern at this point was to explain
his role in terms of suffering and eschatological consummation rather
than to dispute concepts of messiahship.
20

21

10.2 It is at this point that the earliest community seems to have

taken over. Where Jesus shows a marked ambivalence in his attitude
to the title Messiah, because of its political connotations, the earliest
Christian apologists found it necessary to fight for the retention of
the title, but suitably redefined in terms of the suffering Jesus had
anticipated and the death he had died. It is this redefinition of the
title Messiah in terms of Jesus' suffering and death which seems to
have dominated its earliest use as a confession. In the earliest days of
Christianity when the new sect was not yet distinct from Judaism, the
confession 'Jesus is the Messiah' was obviously a key point in the
debate with more traditional Jews - the point at issue being the death
of Jesus. How could a Jew believe that a crucified man was God's
Messiah? - 'Christ crucified . . . a stumbling block to Jews' (I Cor.
20. See O. Betz, What do we Know about Jesus?, 1965, E T S C M Press 1968, pp. 8 3 93
2 1 . The longer text of Mark 1 4 . 6 2 is probably original - 'You say that I am'. It
explains the divergent versions of Matthew and Luke; a scribal abbreviation to the briefer,
unequivocal 'I am' is more likely than the reverse alteration. So e.g., V. Taylor, The Gospel
according to St Mark, Macmillan 1 9 5 2 , p. 568; O. Cullmann, The Christology of the New
Testament, 1 9 5 7 , E T S C M Press 1 9 5 9 , pp. u 8 f .

10.3]

Jesus is Messiah

45

1.23). Hence it became of cardinal importance for these first Christ

ians to demonstrate that 'Christ crucified' was not a contradiction in
terms. Scriptures were searched and passages brought to light (no
doubt including Isa. 53) which could be taken to show that Messiah
must suffer (Acts 3.18; 17.2f.; 18.28; 26.23; I Cor. 1 5 . 3 ; cf. above
pp.i7f.). Luke 24.26, 46 may at least be taken as an indication that
this recognition of a suffering Messiah within scripture was an impor
tant element in the developing self-understanding of the earliest faith.
At the same time Acts 3.2of. certainly counts as evidence that the
earliest Palestinian churches spoke of Jesus as Messiah in connection
with his imminently expected parousia. But even so the weight of
evidence suggests that for the period prior to Paul this was not the
primary focus of its usage. Rather we see what appears to be a degree
of continuity between Jesus and the earliest Church, namely on the
basic association of messiahship with suffering. The problem for Jesus
in the pre-Easter situation was to link suffering and death with the
given concept of messiahship - a problem Jesus apparently never
solved, at least during his life. The problem for the earliest Church in
the post-Easter situation was to link messiahship with the given facts
of a man's suffering and death - a problem with which they had
greater success, though probably at the cost of largely restricting the
title to this specific function (of surmounting Jewish antipathy to the
proclamation of a crucified Messiah).
10.3 Paul's use of the Christ title reflects the same emphasis - Christ
crucified is the Messiah Paul proclaims (see particularly I Cor. 1.23;
2.2; Gal. 3 . 1 ) . But his use of it also implies that this was a battle
already long won for Paul. He makes no attempt to prove that Jesus
really is 'the Christ' despite his suffering and death. 'Christ' is no
longer a title whosefitnessin its application to Jesus has to be demon
strated. The belief in Jesus as the Christ has become sofirmlyestab
lished in his mind and message that he simply takes it for granted,
and 'Christ' functions simply as a way of speaking of Jesus, as a
proper name for Jesus (so even in I Cor. 15.3).
The evidence of the Pauline letters therefore is that the confession,
'Jesus is the Christ' had little relevance to or life within a Gentile or
predominantly Hellenistic environment - as we might have expected.
This conclusion is supported by two other observations. First, the
way in which the Christ title has to be supplemented and defined in
terms of 'Son of God' in Hellenistic Jewish Christian writings (see
below pp.49f.). That is to say, even within Hellenistic Jewish Christian
ity the confession seems to have faded in significance. Second, the alter
native messianic confession, 'Jesus is the Son of David', also seems

Primitive Confessional Formulae

[10.4

to have had little currency outside Palestine and to have been largely
'subordinated' to the Son of God language. Matthew alone makes
very much of it (Matt. 1 . 1 ; 9.27; 1 2 . 2 3 ; 5 - - ' ; 20.30^; 2 1 . 9 , 1 5 contrast 21.9 with Mark n.9f.), and echoes of its early significance
are preserved in Acts 1 3 . 2 3 , II Tim. 2.8 and Rev. 5.5, 22.16. But
elsewhere, even among Hellenistic Jews, the very few allusions to
such a confessional faith seem to imply a certain degree of embar
rassment with the claim (Mark 1 2 . 3 5 - 3 7 ; John 7.42 - on the lips of
the fickle, wavering crowd; Rom. i.3f. - 'according to the flesh'
regularly sounds a negative, even pejorative note in Paul; cf. Acts
2 . 2 9 - 3 1 ; and note Barnabas 1 2 . 1 0 ) . The reason presumably was
that the title was already too clearly defined in nationalist, political
terms, and even less capable than 'Messiah' of being remoulded within
the wider context of Hellenism (cf. Acts 17.7 and the spiritualization
of the concept of Jesus' kingship in John 1 8 . 3 3 - 3 8 and Heb. 7.if.).
Of greater importance for us at this point of our study is the fact
that also preserved in Paul we see the beginnings of a fuller con
fessional formula - Christ died (for us), but was raised or rose again
(see particularly Rom. 4.24L; 8.34; 14.9; I Cor. 1 5 . 3 - 5 ; H Cor. 5 . 1 5 ;
13.4; I Thess. 4 . 1 4 ) . But whether this was a confessional formula as
such, or merely a standard dual emphasis in proclamation, is not
clear. And even if it was a confessional formula we are still a very
long way indeed from the second article of the Apostles' Creed.
22

23

24

10.4 If the confession 'Jesus is the Christ' lost its significance outside
the borders of Palestine, it certainly seems to have retained its impor
tance within more distinctively Jewish circles. This is suggested by the
preservation of the titular usage in Matthew's special material and
redaction of Mark (Matt. 1 . 1 7 ; 2.4; 1 1 . 2 ; 16.20; 2 3 . 1 0 ; 24.5). But
the point is most vividly demonstrated by the tension set up within
Jewish Christianity by the fall of Jerusalem and the reconstitution of
the Sanhedrin at Jamnia, when Judaism began to turn in upon itself,
and Christianity and Judaism began to pull apart. Where previously
Christians could remain Jews and continue to worship regularly in
the synagogue, from about the middle of the 80s onwards Jewish
Christians were faced with the stark choice either of conforming to
2 2 . C . Burger, Jesus als Davidssohn: eine traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung,
Gttingen 1 9 7 0 , p.41.
2 3 . J . D. G. Dunn, 'Jesus - Flesh and Spirit: an Exposition of Rom. 1 . 3 - 4 ' , / T S Ai
1973, PP- 40-68.
24. See more fully W . Kramer, Christ, Lord, Son of God, 1 9 6 3 , E T S C M Press 1 9 6 6 ,
2-8; K. Wengst, Christologische Formeln und Lieder des Urchristentums, Gtersloh
1 9 7 2 , pp. 2 7 - 4 8 , 5 5 - 1 0 4 .
n s

1 1 . i]

Jesus is Son of God

47

the new, more narrowly defined Judaism or of being excommunicated

from the synagogue. This is one of the situations which seems to lie
behind the Johannine writings. In these circumstances 'Jesus is the
Christ' appears to have become the test formula. For the Christians
it became the test of true faith (I John 2.22; 5.1). For the synagogue
it became the test of heresy (John 9.22). In short, we may say that
where the confrontation between Judaism and Christianity remained
a factor of importance in the development of confessional Christ
ianity, the confesin 'Jesus is the Christ' retained its significance and
importance (cf. Justin, Dial. 35.7; 39.6; 43.8; 48.4; 108.2; 142); but
almost nowhere else.
25

11.

JESUS

IS S O N O F G O D

1 1 . 1 It is becoming increasingly probable that the Son of God lan

guage of early Christianity has its roots within Jesus' own ministry.
(1) Whereas it earlier appeared that 'Son of God' had no messianic
significance within the Judaism of Jesus' time, the evidence from the
Dead Sea Scrolls now begins to point in the other direction. Not only
are II Sam. 7.14 and Ps. 2 linked together and interpreted messianically, but a recently translated fragment from Cave 4 specifically
applies the title 'Son of God' to a human being in an apocalyptic
setting UQps Dan A). It is quite possible therefore that any mes
sianic speculation which attached to Jesus during his ministry also
caught up the title Son of God (hence the plausibility of the question
in Mark 14.61 par.; see above p.44 n.21). (2) There are some indi
cations that Jewish Hasidim who were recognized to possess charis
matic powers were also called sons of God, or holy men (of God).
If this was so, then it is quite possible that some of the possessed
26

27

28

25. See particularly J . L. Martyn, History and Theology in the Fourth Gospel, Harper
1968, Abingdon i 9 7 9 ; and further J . D. G. Dunn, 'Let John be John', Das Evangelium
und die Evangelien, hrsg. P. Stuhlmacher, W U N T 28, Tbingen 1 9 8 3 , pp. 3 0 9 - 3 9 ; cf.
W. C. van Unnik, 'The Purpose of St John's Gospel', Studia Evangelica, I, Berlin 1 9 5 9 ,
pp. 3 8 2 - 4 1 1 .
26. Conveniently set out in Vermes, Jesus, p. 1 9 8 . Cf. E . Lovestam, Son and Saviour: a
Study of Acts 13.32-3J,
Lund 1 9 6 1 ; E. Schweizer, 'The Concept of the Davidic "Son of
God" in Acts and its Old Testament Background', SLA, pp. 1 8 6 - 9 3 .
27. J . A. Fitzmyer, 'The Contribution of Qumran Aramaic to the Study of the New
Testament', NTS, 20, 1 9 7 3 - 7 4 , pp. 3 8 2 - 4 0 7 , here pp. 39iff.; reprinted in A Wandering
Aramean. Collected Aramaic Essays, Scholars 1 9 7 9 , ch. 4, here pp. io2ff.
28. Vermes, Jesus, pp. 2o6f.; M . Hengel, The Son of God, 1 9 7 5 , E T S C M Press 1 9 7 6 ,
pp. 42f.; cf. K. Berger, 'Die kniglichen Messiastraditionen des Neuen Testament', NTS,
20, 1 9 7 3 - 7 4 , pp. 1 - 4 4 .
2

Primitive Confessional Formulae

[ 11.2

individuals, to whom Jesus ministered, hailed him as 'Son of God' or

'Holy Man of God' - as some of the narratives of his exorcisms
suggest (Mark 1.24; 3 . 1 1 ; 5.7; cf. John 6.69). (3) Probably the firmest
root is Jesus' own distinctive habit of addressing God as abba (Father)
in all his prayers (see particularly Mark 14.36; Matt. n.25f./Luke
1 0 . 2 1 ) . Evidently Jesus thought of himself as God's son in a distinctive
sense, and he seems to have conveyed something of this sense to his
disciples (Matt. 6.9/Luke 1 1 . 2 ; Luke 22.29). We should, however,
beware of reading too much back into Jesus' self-consciousness at
this point.
29

1 1 . 2 The earliest churches do not seem to have made much use of the
title 'Son of God' as a confession. Heb. 1.5 suggests that they took
over (from the Qumran community?) the association of Ps. 2.7 and
II Sam. 7.14 in reference to the exalted Jesus. It should be noted that
this earliest use of Ps. 2.7 was clearly adoptionisf in sense: Jesus was
begotten by God as his Son through his resurrection and exaltation
(so explicitly Acts 1 3 . 3 3 ; note also Rom. 1.3f. and Heb. 5.5). Even
if he already had been God's son during his life, his status as son
had been greatly enhanced by his resurrection (Rom. i.3f). Here the
fundamental importance of the resurrection of Jesus as the starting
point for and principal catalyst in christological reflection is under
lined (see also below pp.233 d 2.62). That the primary reference of
the title at this stage was to Jesus' exaltation to kingly power and to
the imminent consummation of his parousia is clearly suggested by
these references (cf. Mark 1 3 . 3 2 ; i4.6if.; Luke 1.32f.; I Cor. 1 5 . 2 4 28; I Thess. i.9f.).
Also probably early was the forging of the link between Jesus as
God's son and the Servant language of Second Isaiah (with the concept
of Jesus' messiahship presumably providing the common denomi
nator). This may lie behind (or be the result of) the link between Ps.
2.7 and Isa. 42.1 in the words of the heavenly voice addressed to Jesus
at Jordan (Mark 1 . 1 1 ) , and may possibly also explain the ambiguity of
the language in Acts 3 . 1 3 , 26, 4.27, 3 0 . In view of the discussion
l

30

a n

31

29. See further Dunn, Jesus, 4-6; Christology in the Making, S C M Press i 9 8 9 , 4;
and below 45.2, 50.4.
30. Though note the caution with regard to the use of the word 'adoptionist' in my
Christology, p. 62.
3 1 . That 'suffering Servant' language was used of Jesus by the first Christians is probable
(see e.g. R. N . Longenecker, The Christology of Early Jewish Christianity, S C M Press
1970, p. 1 0 4 - 9 ,
d references there), but initially in the service of a humiliationvindication theme (see above pp. i7f.). There is no evidence of any early Christian con
fession of the form, 'Jesus is the Servant of God'.
a n

11.3]

Jesus is Son of God

49

above ( 1 1 . 1 ) it is worth noting that in the last of these Acts references

Jesus is described as 'your holy child/servant Jesus'.
1 1 . 3 If the confession of Jesus as Son of God plays little role in the
witness of the earliest Christians it certainly came to full flower within
the widening mission of Hellenistic Jewish Christianity. According to
Luke, Paul'sfirstproclamation in the synagogues of Damascus could
be summed up in the confession, 'He is the Son of God' (Acts 9.20).
In Rom. i.3f. Paul clearly uses an older and more widely acceptable
formula as guarantee of his good faith to commend himself to the
Roman Christians; in this affirmation it is the sonship of Jesus which
is most prominent. I Thessalonians i.9f. may very well be a summary
of such Hellenistic Jewish Christian preaching to the Gentiles. 'You turned to God from idols, to serve a living and true God, and
to wait for his Son from heaven . . . ' - an association of Jesus' sonship
with his parousia unique in the Pauline literature. Elsewhere, although
Paul makes relatively little use of the title, it does appear most fre
quently in those letters where he is most closely in dialogue with
Christianity's Jewish tradition (Romans 7, Galatians 4). In Hebrews
the central concept is, of course, the High-priesthood of Christ.
But that belongs more to the writer's own distinctive christology,
not so much to his common faith. The basic confession common
to his readers and himself is more likely to be 'Jesus is the Son of
God' (4.14; see also 6.6; 7.3; 10.29). Most striking of all is the
way in which the Father-Son language so sparingly used in Mark,
Q and Luke, positively blossoms in Matthew and particularly John
('Father' = God in the words of Jesus - Mark 3, Q 4, Luke 4, Matthew
3 1 , John 100). Notice also how the begetting of Jesus' sonship,
originally associated with Jesus' resurrection-ascension is now traced
back in some cases to his experience at Jordan (Mark 1 . 1 1 ; Q? - cf.
Matt. 4.3, 6/Luke 4.3, 9), in others to his birth (Luke 1.32, 35), and
in others to eternity (John 1 . 1 4 , 18; cf. Rom. 8.3; Gal. 4.4; Col. 1 . 1 5 ;
Heb. 1.2L - see also below 51.2).
32

33

One of the most interesting developments is the clear way in which

the Son of God confession is brought in to supplement and define the
confession of Jesus' messiahship. John as we saw preserves the primi
tive way of speaking of Jesus as 'the Christ'. But in the Fourth Gospel
the phrase usually appears on the lips of the crowd - that is, as a
question, a confession of doubt, not a confession of faith (cf. his use
3 2 . See E . Best, The First and Second Epistles to the Thessalonians, A. & C. Black
1 9 7 2 , pp. 85ff. and those cited there.
3 3 . See J . Jeremias, The Prayers of Jesus, 1966, E T S C M Press 1 9 6 7 , pp. 2 9 - 3 5 .

Primitive Confessional Formulae

50

[11.3

of the title 'prophet' - particularly 6.14; 7.40). Evidently 'Messiah/

Christ' did not provide a wholly adequate confession of John's faith.
The primary confession for the Johannine circle is rather 'Jesus is the
Son of God' (John 1.34, 49; 10.36; I John 4 . 1 5 ; 5.5). The Johannine
writers certainly retain the confession of Jesus' messiahship (see above
10.4), but evidently they also felt the need to redefine it and trans
form it into the confession 'Jesus is the Son of God'. Hence John
1 1 . 2 7 , 2 0 . 3 1 , where we have to translate, 'You are the Christ, that
is, the Son of God', ' . . . believe that Jesus is the Christ, that is, the
Son of God' - not '.. . Christ and Son of God' - (so I John 2.22f.;
5.1, 5 - 1 2 ) .
With Matthew it is much the same. He retains the confession that
Jesus is the Messiah, David's son - still important no doubt for his
(Palestinian) Jewish readers (see above p.46). But with a view to his
wider readership he too takes up the Son of God language. The
importance of the Son of God confession for Matthew is clear from
14.33 episode of Jesus walking on the water. His source, Mark,
ends by noting the disciples' astonishment and hardness of heart
(Mark 6.5if.). Matthew has transformed this into the outright and
clear-cut confession: 'Truly you are the Son of God' (cf. also Matt.
27.40, 43's redaction of Mark 15.30). And in the account of Peter's
confession at Caesarea Philippi he does precisely what John does: he
explains the confession 'You are the Christ' (Mark 8.29) by adding,
'that is, the Son of the living God' (Matt. 16.16) - quite clearly an
interpretative addition. Like John in John 1 1 . 2 7 d 2 0 . 3 1 , Matthew
says in effect, 'This is the way you have to understand the confession
"Jesus is the Christ'" (see also 2 . 1 5 ; 4.3, 6; 1 1 . 2 7 ; 28.19; and cf.
8.29's redaction of Mark 5.7 and 26.63's redaction of Mark 14.61 ).
An interesting conclusion suggests itself from Matthew's use of both
the Son of David and the Son of God formulae: viz. that this Gospel
was intended as something of a bridge document between a more
narrowly defined Jewish Christianity (and Judaism) on the one hand,
and a Jewish Christianity much more informed by Hellenistic cate
gories on the other (see further below p.429). When we add the
evidence of John and Hebrews, the three together being probably
the clearest expression of Hellenistic Jewish Christianity in the N T ,
the further conclusion seems to be firmly established, that 'Jesus
is the Son of God' was the most meaningful confession in Hellenistic
Jewish Christian circles.
t

a n

34

34. See also J . D. Kingsbury, Matthew: Structure, Christology, Kingdom, Fortress 1 9 7 5 ,

and SPCK 1 9 7 6 chs IIIII.

11.4]

Jesus is Son of God

5i

Why was this? Probably because the title 'Son of God' was more
meaningful to a Gentile audience than Messiah could ever be. Moreover, it could serve as a good bridge between Jewish and Gentile
thought: both societies were familiar with the idea that a good or
great man might be called a son of God, and in both societies 'son of
God' could have connotations of divinity. Perhaps there was also a
tendency to avoid kyrios (Lord) in some Jewish Christian circles
because it threatened Jewish monotheism (kyrios is never used in the
Johannine letters). Son of God would be an obvious and attractive
alternative. And by filling it with distinctively Christian content it
could become as exalted a confession as 'Jesus is Lord' (see below
12.4). This is certainly what has happened in the usage of the
Johannine corpus (John 1 . 1 4 , 18; 3.16, 1 8 ; 10.36; I John 4.9). At the
same time it had special overtones for the Christian which kyrios
could not have, and offered a link with Jesus' own self-understanding
which kyrios could not provide.
1 1 . 4 The confession of Jesus as Son of God was also of considerable
significance within Gentile Christianity. This is particularly clear from
its use in Mark, where the title 'Son of God' plays a central role (note
especially Mark 1 . 1 , 1 1 ; 3 . 1 1 ; 5.7; 9.7; 12.6; 1 3 . 3 2 ; 1 4 . 6 1 ; 15.39). We
should not overemphasize the distinction between Hellenistic Jewish
Christianity and Gentile Christianity at this point however. Bearing
in mind our earlier comments (above p.35), it would probably be
more accurate to describe Mark (like Matthew) as something of a
bridge document - in Mark's case between Gentile Christians and
Christians from the Jewish diaspora. The tradition that it was written
by the Jew Mark, and the impression that it was written in a Gentile
situation would support this suggestion. The point for us to note is
that in the words 'Jesus is the Son of God' we have 3! confession
which had the ability to cross over cultural and national boundaries
and still remain meaningful - an attribute which marks off the Son
of God confession from those examined above.
However, this same attribute can easily become a weakness and a
danger to the faith confessed. For the word or phrase which slips
easily from one language to another never in fact remains the same,
despite appearances; for in that new culture it tends to draw its
meaning from the language context of that culture rather than from
its previous context. And so a quite different range of meaning can be
imparted to a word or phrase even though it itself remains unchanged.
Something like this probably happened to the Son of God confession
within the churches of the Gentile mission; for there are some

Primitive Confessional Formulae

5*

[11.4

indications that 'Jesus is the Son of God' became a vehicle within

Hellenistic Christianity for rather disparate and divergent christologies. Reading between the lines in Mark, Son of God language
seems to have been used to present Jesus simply as a great miracle
worker, what has been called (misleadingly) a 'divine man' conception
(see particularly Mark 3 . 1 1 ; 5.7; 9.7). More clearly behind John
stands a docetic understanding of Christ (see below pp. 75f.). Both
Mark and the Johannine circle resolutely oppose such christologies.
Mark does so by his presentation of Jesus as the Son of God who is
also the suffering Son of Man. The Johannines do so by presenting
us with another confessional formula: 'Jesus Christ came in the flesh'
(I John 4.2; II John 7; cf. John 1 . 1 4 ; I John 5.6) - clearly a polemical
slogan against docetic ideas of Christ, and against any misunderstand
ing of his Son of God confession. As we have already noted (p.28)
John allows his faith in Jesus as exalted Son of God to colour his
presentation of the earthly Jesus to a remarkable degree - far too
much, some would say. At times he draws perilously close to pushing
his faith in Jesus over the brink into outright myth (see further below
pp.325f.). It was I John's explicit confession that Jesus Christ came
in the flesh which makes itfinallyclear that the Johannine circle never
falls over the edge. Both John and I John firmly maintain the reality
of Jesus' earthly life, and so maintain the unity and continuity between
the earthly, fleshly Jesus and the exalted Son of God (see below
pp.326-32).
Looking beyond the documents of first-century Christianity we
should simply remind ourselves that the confession of Jesus as Son of
God became the key description of Jesus in the classic creeds, the
chief language vehicle to confess both Jesus' divinity and his difference
from God the Father - 'the Son of God, begotten from the Father,
only-begotten . . . begotten not made . . .'. To what extent this Nicene
confession can claim to be according to the scriptures examined
above, or to be a proper extension of the earliest confession of Jesus
as Son of God is an important question and worth pondering. If
nothing more, it reminds us that the recognition of the unity and
diversity of the N T writings has ramifications which extend far
beyond the N T itself (see further below chs X and XV).
35

36

3 5 . For my use of 'Hellenistic Christianity' see below p. 2 5 4 .

36. Paul's relative disinterest in this title ('Son of God' 3 times, 'the Son' 1 2 times) may
in part reflect a similar misuse of the title in the Gentile mission (see below pp. 7$i.); but
the overwhelming dominance of the kyrios confession in Paul (see below p. 53) may be
explanation enough.

i2.i]

Jesus is Lord

53

12. J E S U S

IS

LORD

1 2 . i This is undoubtedly the principal confession of faith for Paul

and for his churches. The Pauline epistles use the title Lord (kyrios)
of Jesus nearly 230 times. That Jesus is Lord, is a central affirmation
of the Pauline kerygma (II Cor. 4.5; Col. 2.6). 'Jesus is Lord' is the
basic confession at conversion-initiation (Rom. 10.9). 'Jesus is Lord'
is the distinguishing mark of inspiration by the Spirit of God (I Cor.
12.3). 'Jesus is Lord' is the climactic expression of the universe's
worship in Phil. 2 . 1 1 . Kyrios is also greatly used with reference to
Jesus by the authors of Luke-Acts and of the Church Epistles, less
frequently elsewhere, and surprisingly not at all in the Johannine
epistles. Not least in importance is the early Aramaic invocation pre
served by Paul in I Cor. 16.22, 'Maranatha', 'Our Lord, come!',
where mara(n) is the equivalent of kyrios.
The history of this confession of Jesus as Lord in earliest Christ
ianity largely revolves round the question, How significant is the
application of this title to Jesus? What role or status does this con
fession attribute to Jesus or recognize as belonging to Jesus? The
answers of earliest Christianity vary and we cannot always be sure if
we are hearing them correctly. The problem is that 'lord' can denote
a whole range of dignity - from a respectful form of address as to a
teacher or judge to a full title for God. Where do the early Christian
references to the lordship of Jesus come within this spectrum? The
answer seems to be that over the first few decades of Christianity
the confession of Jesus as 'Lord' moved in overt significance from the
lower end of this 'spectrum of dignity' towards the upper end steadily
gathering to itself increasing overtones of deity.
37

37. It has been argued that the Aramaic mara had a much more restricted range than
the Greek kyrios - that while it was regularly used by Aramaic speaking Jews in addressing
human authorities it was hardly used at all in reference to God and never in the absolute
form 'the Lord' (S. Schulz, 'Maranatha und Kyrios Jesus', ZNW, 5 3 , 1 9 6 2 , pp. 1 2 5 - 4 4 ;
followed by P. Vielhauer, 'Ein Weg zur neutestament-lichen Christologie?', EvTh, 2 5 , 1 9 6 5 ,
pp. 2 8 - 4 5 ; H. Boers, 'Where Christology is Real', Interpretation, 26, 1 9 7 2 , pp. 3 1 5 ^ ) .
However the Qumran scrolls give a fuller and rather different picture of first-century
Aramaic use of mara, and we now have to hand not a few instances where mar, including
both the absolute and the emphatic form, is used of Yahweh (see particularly
iQGen.Ap. 2 0 . 1 2 - 1 6 ; 4QEn l.iii.14 (Enoch 9.4); 4QEn l.iv.5 (Enoch 10.9); n Q t g Job
2 4 . 6 - 7 ; 26.8) (see Vermes, Jesus, pp. 1 1 1 - 1 4 ; M . Black, 'The Christological Use of the
Old Testament in the New Testament', NTS, 1 8 , 1 9 7 1 - 7 2 , p. 1 0 ; Fitzmyer (as n. 27
above), p. 3 87ff., also 'The Semitic Background of the New Testament Kynos-Title', A
Wandering Aramean, Scholars 1 9 7 9 , pp. 1 1 5 - 4 2 . For the Enoch fragments see J . T. Milik,
The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumran Cave 4, Oxford University Press
1976).
b

Primitive Confessional Formulae

54

[12.2

12.2 According to Matthew and Luke Jesus was regularly addressed

as 'Lord' during his ministry - in Matthew chiefly within the context
of miracle stories (Matt. 8.2, 6, 8, 25; 9.28; 14.28, 30; etc.), in Luke
chiefly in teaching contexts (Luke 9.59, 61; 10.40; 1 1 . 1 ; 1 2 . 4 1 ; etc.).
We need not doubt that the Aramaic man underlies the Greek kyrie
(vocative) in at least some of these instances. Mar was used of the
first-century BC holy man Abba Hilkiah, presumably in recognition
of the charismatic powers attributed to him. Moreover, 'lord' was
largely synonymous with 'teacher' at the time of Jesus, and Jesus was
certainly recognized to have the authority of a rabbi or teacher (Mark
9.5, 1 7 , 38; 1 0 . 1 7 , 3 5 , 5 1 ; etc.). This equivalence of 'teacher' and
'lord' is probably reflected in John 1 3 . 1 3 ^ and may well lie behind
the use of kyrios in Mark 1 1 . 3 (cf. Mark 1 4 . 1 4 ) . We can say therefore
that the confession of Jesus as Lord was rooted within the ministry
of Jesus to the extent that he was widely acknowledged to exercise
the authority of a (charismatic) teacher and healer (cf. Mark 1.22,
27; 6.2; 1 1 . 2 8 ) . Whether 'Lord' already had a higher significance for
Jesus himself during his ministry depends on how we evaluate Mark
12.3 5-37. Even if it contains an authentic word of the historical Jesus
(as is quite possible) it need only mean that he understood Messiah
to be a figure superior to David in significance and specially favoured
by Yahweh. It does not necessarily imply that he thought of Messiah
as a divine figure (Psalm n o after all probably referred originally to
the king; see also p.56 n.45 below).
38

12.3 As a confession 'Jesus is Lord' stems primarily from the postresurrection faith of the first Christians. It was evidently the belief
that Jesus had been raised from the dead which gave 'lord' the decisive
nudge along the 'spectrum of dignity' towards a connotation of div
inity. According to both Acts 2.36 and the hymn cited by Paul in
Phil. 2 . 9 - 1 1 , kyrios was the title given to Jesus at his resurrection/
exaltation and by virtue of it. A striking confirmation of the resurrec
tion's significance at this point is Luke's own use of the title. In his
Gospel, when he is narrating some episode, he quite naturally refers
to Jesus as 'the Lord'. But never do the characters in these episodes
speak in this way. Thefirsttime Jesus is called 'the Lord' by one of his
contemporaries is immediately after his resurrection (Luke 24.34).
Similarly in the Fourth Gospel. Despite the high christology of John's
presentation of the incarnate Logos (including the roll-call of titles in
John 1 and Jesus' consciousness of pre-existence) kyrios is not used
39

38. Vermes, Jesus, pp. n 8 f .

39. Moule, 'Christology of Acts', SLA, pp. i6of.

12.4]

Jesus is Lord

55

by Jesus' contemporaries until John 20.28, and the Evangelist himself,

unlike even Luke, shows a marked reserve in his own use of the title
for Jesus prior to the resurrection. In other words, what we have
preserved here, as explicitly elsewhere, is the conviction that Jesus
became Lord as a consequence of his resurrection and exaltation.
It is not wholly clear what status was affirmed of Jesus as risen
Lord at this earliest stage. If I Cor. 16.22, James 5.7^, Rev. 22.20,
and I and II Thessalonians (the earliest Pauline epistles, where kyrios
is used frequently) are any guide, the dignity and authority of Jesus'
Lordship was that of soon returning judge. Here 'Lord' had begun to
absorb the significance of the Danielic 'son of Man', quite possibly
through the combination of Ps. 1 1 0 . 1 and Dan. 7.13 in early Christian
apologetic. We cannot say how far 'Lord' had thereby moved along
the 'spectrum of dignity' or whether overtones of divinity were yet
present to those who thus confessed Jesus (cf. after all Matt. 19.28/
Luke 22.29L). On the other hand, the sense of 'Lord' used of Jesus
by his contemporaries had already been left far behind (though it
could be argued that the resurrection of Jesus was regarded in part
as the divine seal of approval on the authority he exercised as teacher
and miracle worker; see further below 50.3). What we can say with
more confidence is that the mara confession was probably not the
most important confession of the earliest churches. In particular it
does not seem to have provided a medium of evangelism in the Jewish
mission, as did the Messiah confession and the Son of God confession
(with Hellenistic Jews) - though Mark 1 2 . 3 5 - 3 7 and Barn. 1 2 . 1 of.
may well imply that it featured within Christian Jewish apologetic
from quite an early period. I Corinthians 16.22, Rev. 22.20 and
Didache 10.6 suggest however that the mara confession of the first
Christians belonged primarily to their own worship where it has left
its most enduring mark. Only within Hellenistic Christianity did the
confession 'Jesus is Lord' come fully into its own.
40

41

42

43

12.4 In Hellenistic circles the mara confession would naturally be

translated by the Greek kyrios. Indeed, according to Acts 1 1 . 2 0 , it
was the kyrios language which was chosen by those whofirstpreached
40. V. Taylor, The Names of Jesus, Macmillan 1 9 5 3 , p. 4 3 .
4 1 . Cf. B. Lindars, New Testament Apologetic, S C M Press 1 9 6 1 , pp. 4 5 - 9 ; Perrin,
Teaching, pp. i75ff.
42. A. E. J . Rawlinson, The New Testament Doctrine of the Christ, Longmans 1926;
' "Teacher, come!" is an impossible rendering (of I Cor. 16.22); the phrase means, and can
only mean, "Come, Lord!" ' (p. 235).
43. It hardly features in the pre-Pauline kerygmatic formulae noted above (pp. 22L Kramer, Christ, 8g, 12e).

56

Primitive Confessional Formulae

[12.4

the gospel to pagans. With this transition the confession 'Jesus is

Lord' gathered to it still greater significance. For one thing kyrios was
well established as a title for the cult deity in several of the mystery
religions (particularly Isis and Serapis), and was in process of becom
ing the key title in Emperor worship ('Caesar is Lord'). But even more
important, in the Greek versions of the OT used by Paul and his
churches, kyrios was the translation of the divine name, Yahweh. In
other words, it was only at this point of transition from mara to
kyrios that the confession 'Jesus is Lord' clearly became an assertion
of the exalted Jesus' divinity. And this was quite consciously done.
Indeed, it is quite astonishing how Paul uses OT texts speaking of
Yahweh with clear reference to Jesus (e.g. Rom. 1 0 . 1 3 ; 1 COT. 2.16).
Most striking of all is the application of one of the sternest monotheis
tic passages of the OT (Isa. 45.23) to the exalted Jesus in Phil. 2.iof.
- a hymn already in circulation before Paul took it up (see below
pp.i46f.). Here quite clearly 'Jesus is Lord' has become a confession
not just of divinely given authority, but of divinity itself.
Should we then say that Jesus was confessed as God from earliest
days in Hellenistic Christianity? That would be to claim too much.
(1) The emergence of a confession of Jesus in terms of divinity was
largely facilitated by the extensive use of Ps. 1 1 0 . 1 from very early
on (most clearly in Mark 12.36; Acts 2.34^; I Cor. 1 5 . 2 5 ; Heb. 1 . 1 3 ) .
The Lord says to my lord:
'Sit at my right hand,
till I make your enemies your footstool'

44

Its importance here lies in the double use of kyrios. The one is clearly
Yahweh, but who is the other? Clearly not Yahweh, but an exalted
being whom the psalmist calls kyrios. (2) Paul calls Jesus kyrios, but
he seems to have marked reservations about actually calling Jesus
'God' (Rom. 9.5 is the only real candidate within the main Pauline
corpus, and even there the text is unclear). Similarly he refrains from
praying to Jesus. More typical of his attitude is that he prays to God
through Christ (Rom. 1.8; 7.25; II Cor. 1.20; Col. 3 . 1 7 ) . (3) 'Jesus
45

46

44. See particularly D. M . Hay, Glory at the Right Hand: Psalm no in Early Christ
ianity, SBL Monograph 1 8 , Abingdon 1 9 7 3 ; W. R. G. Loader, 'Christ at the right hand Ps. 1 1 0 . 1 in the New Testament', NTS, 24, 1 9 7 7 - 7 8 , pp. 1 9 9 - 2 1 7 .
45. The Hebrew of Ps. 1 1 0 . 1 uses two different words - Yahweh and Adonai. How the
verse would have been read in Aramaic is the subject of dispute (Mara mari?)
46. II Cor. 1 2 . 8 uses the word meaning 'beseech' (or even 'exhort'); it is not the typical
language of prayer (e.g. Rom. 1 . 1 0 ; Eph. i.i6f.). I Cor. 16.22 is more of an invocation
than a prayer.

12.5]

Jesus is Lord

57

is Lord' is only part of a fuller confession for Paul. For at the same
time that he affirms 'Jesus is Lord' he also affirms 'God is one' (I Cor.
8.5L; Eph. 4.5-6). Here Christianity shows itself as a developed form
of Judaism, with its monotheistic confession as one of the most impor
tant parts of its Jewish inheritance; for in Judaism the most fundamen
tal confession is 'God is one', 'There is only one God' (Deut. 6.4).
Hence also Rom. 3.30, Gal. 3.20,1 Tim. 2.5 (cf. James 2.19). Within
Palestine and the Jewish mission such an affirmation would have been
unnecessary - Jew and Christian shared a belief in God's oneness. But
in the Gentile mission this Jewish presupposition within Christianity
would have emerged to prominence, in face of the wider belief in
'gods many'. The point for us to note is that Paul can hail Jesus as
Lord not in order to identify him with God, but rather, if anything,
to distinguish him from the one God (cf. particularly I Cor. 1 5 . 2 4 - 2 8 ;
see also below PP.243L). So too Jesus' Lordship could be expressed in
cosmic dimensions without posing too many problems to mono
theism, since Wisdom speculation provided a ready and appropriate
terminology (particularly I Cor. 8.6; Col. 1 . 1 5 - 2 0 ; Heb. 1.3L; see
below pp.23 ji.).
12.5 The confession of Jesus as Lord is thus at first only an addition
to the confession of the one God. Here we see the beginnings of a
two-clause confession: God is one, Jesus is Lord. So long as the early
Church was happy to live with the ambiguity of the kyrios confession
there were no problems. But from the first there was an inbuilt tension
between the two clauses, and one which came increasingly to the
surface: how to affirm the oneness of God without detracting from
the Lordship of Jesus; how to affirm the Lordship of Jesus without
detracting from the oneness of God. The N T writers did not attempt
to investigate it very far. Was Paul content to rest with the solution
outlined in I Cor. 1 5 . 2 4 - 2 8 ? Eph. 1.20-23 d Col. 1 . 1 5 - 2 0 would
have put that solution under some strain. The author of Hebrews
seems to have been content to juxtapose strong adoptionist language
with a psalm hailing the exalted Christ as 'God' (Heb. 1.9 - see further
below pp.240, 28of.). Only the Fourth Evangelist makes anything
like a sustained attempt to grapple with the issue in his Father-Son
christology. His Gospel comes to a striking climax in Thomas's accla
mation of the risen Jesus, 'my Lord and my God' (John 20.28). Here
certainly kyrios has moved in its overt significance right along the
spectrum of dignity to its upper end - though the words of Thomas
may perhaps be better described as the extravagance of worship rather
than the careful formulation of a confession (see also John 1 . 1 , 1 8 ;
I John 5.20; cf. Titus 2 . 1 3 ) .
a n

Primitive Confessional Formulae

58

[13

In the following centuries of course the tension between the Lord

ship of Jesus and the oneness of God became the central problem of
theology. And to this day it remains the chief stumbling block in
Christian-Jewish, Christian-Muslim dialogue. To an important
degree also it is the basic problem which underlies much of modern
Christian theology: how to speak of God and of Jesus today?

13.

THE

L I F E - S E T T I N G S OF

CONFESSIONAL

THE

EARLIEST

FORMULAE

In the material surveyed above several quite clear confessional situ

ations are apparent - situations which called for the earliest Christians
to put into a concise and explicit form what was the central element
in their new faith, what now marked off their faith as distinctive.
1 3 . 1 The most obvious life-setting is proclamation: 'Jesus is the
Christ' - Acts 5.42, 9.22, 1 7 . 3 , 1 8 . 5 , 28, I Cor. 1.23; 'Jesus is the
Son of God' - Acts 9.20, Rom. i.3f.; 'Jesus is Lord' - Acts 2.36,
10.36, 1 1 . 2 0 , Rom. 10.9, II Cor. 4.5, Col. 2.6. It is wholly to be
expected that the distinctive character of the Christian gospel should
find expression in confessional-type formulations - especially when
that proclamation is presented in summary form.
As we noted at the beginning of this chapter, most scholars have
regarded baptism as the predominant and almost exclusive life-setting
for these confessions (p.3 5). And of course one naturally expects that
confessional statements would play a prominent part in the process
of becoming a Christian, particularly at the point of commitment.
The fact is, however, that there is nofirmassociation between baptism
and the confessional formulae in the NT. The clearest example is the
Western text of Acts 8.37, where the Ethiopian eunuch confesses, 'I
believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God' before being baptized. But
the Western text is not original; consequently Acts 8.37 has to be
recognized as a baptismal formula of a later generation (see also
below pp. i57ff.). In the N T itself the nearest thing to a baptismal
confession as such is Rom. 10.9: conversion and public confession
are linked together - and that naturally suggests a baptismal scene.
Otherwise there are no intrinsic grounds for linking any of the con
fessional formulae within the NT to a specifically baptismal context.
47

47. See particularly H. von Campenhausen, 'Das Bekenntnis im Urchristentum', ZNW,

63, 1972,, pp- 2 2 6 - 3 4 ; also below 36.2.

13-2.]

The life-settings

59

1 3 . 2 Worship. It is somewhat surprising that a number of the most

explicitly confessional formulae are found in a worship context John 20.28, I Cor. 1 2 . 3 , Phil. 2 . 1 1 , I John 4 . 1 - 3 (see also I Cor.
16.22). It would be easy to speak of the liturgical origin of these
confessions, but misleading to do so. For 'liturgy' implies something
thought out beforehand, structured, established; whereas these wor
ship contexts are noticeable for their spontaneity. In particular, two
of the confessions (I Cor. 1 2 . 3 ; I John 4 . 1 - 3 ) are thought of as spoken
under the immediate inspiration of the Spirit, perhaps as ecstatic
utterances (though 'ecstasy' also tends to be a misleading word). In
both cases the situation envisaged is the assembly at worship, when
the inspired utterance could be tested by the rest of the congregation.
Nor need we assume, because of Didache 10.6, that I Cor. 16.22
('Our Lord, come!') belonged originally or even at all to a eucharistic
context at the time of Paul. There is nothing whatsoever in the letter
itself (or in Rev. 22.20) to suggest such a specific context. In particu
lar, that Paul would have expected the reading of his letter to lead at
once into the Lord's Supper (the conclusion to his letter serving as
the introduction to the Supper!) hardly accords with our knowledge
either of Paul's churches or of his relationship to them. It would
presuppose a degree of regularity in order and form in the Corinthian
worship which is hardly borne out by I Corinthians itself (I Cor.
n.24f. - the bread and wine as part of a complete meal). And would
Paul expect his letter simply to be read out (like a scripture reading
at a modern eucharist!) without any time for reflection and/or dis
cussion (cf. 14.29)? In short, what was true of baptism (above 1 3 . 1 )
applies as much here (see also below p.233 n.21).
48

49

It would appear then that confessional-type exclamations and cries

quite often punctuated the worship of the earliest churches. Enrap
tured believers (or congregations?) spoke out that rallying cry which
at one and the same time summed up their faith, expressed their
worship and identified them with the congregation. Here the con
fessional formula played an important role in developing the selfconsciousness and self-understanding of the Church; and no doubt
served also on not a few occasions as a form of evangelism (cf. I Cor.
14.23-25).

48. Cf. C . F. D. Moule, 'A Reconsideration of the Context of Maranatha', NTS, 6,

1 9 5 9 - 6 0 , pp. 3 0 7 - 1 0 ; reprinted in Essays in New Testament Interpretation, Cambridge
University Press 1 9 8 2 , pp. 2 2 2 - 6 ; Wengst, Formeln, pp. 5 2 - 4 .
49. So H. Lietzmann, Mass and Lord's Supper, 1 9 2 6 , E T Leiden 1 9 5 4 , p. 1 8 6 .

Primitive Confessional Formulae

6o

[13.3

13.3 Confrontation. In confrontation with other faiths a confessional

formula obviously has an important role in marking out the distinc
tiveness of the faith confessed by Christians. It is not surprising then
that much of the material belongs to apologetic or polemical contexts:
Acts 9 . 2 2 , 1 7 . 3 , 1 8 . 2 8 - a more apologetic situation; John 9.22,12.42
- a situation where the confrontation with Judaism has become very
sharp; I Cor. 8.5f. - which presupposes confrontation with the poly
theistic religions of Greek paganism; I John 2 . 1 8 - 2 3 , 4' ~3> H John
911 where the confession of Jesus is the distinguishing criterion
of true faith in a debate occasioned by syncretistic forces within the
Johannine community (cf. I Cor. 12.3); I Tim. 6.12L, Heb. 3 . 1 , 4.14,
10.23 ~ where the confession of Jesus is the distinctive mark of the
Christian in a time of persecution, the firm pillar to which he clings
when faith is threatened by the flood of temptation and tribulation.
1_

14.

CONCLUSIONS

1 4 . 1 The chief function of a confession is to lay bare the distinc

tiveness of the faith expressed. What is the distinctiveness of the
confessional formulae examined above? It is, I suggest, the conviction
that the historical figure, Jesus the Jew, is now an exalted being - that
this Jesus is and continues to be the agent of God, supreme over all
other claimants to the titles, Lord and Son of God. There are several
points here worthy of notice.
(a) First, it is Jesus who is confessed - not his ideas, faith or teaching
in itself. It is not the faith of Jesus which here comes to expression,
but faith in Jesus. The N T knows no confession which is a confession
merely of the significance of the historical Jesus. What Jesus did or
said never provides the central or sole element in confessional faith.
(b) Second, it is the present status of Jesus which is confessed - not
what he was, but what he is. This is most obvious in the case of the
kyrios confession, since it is a title of exalted majesty, only applied to
Jesus in a more than ordinary way after his resurrection. But it is true
also of Son of Man, Son of God and even Messiah. Son of Man began
to approach a confessional role only when the bar nas language of
Jesus' was crystallized into a statement, explicit or implicit, of the
exalted Jesus present apocalyptic significance. Similarly, the early
belief that 'Son of God' and 'Christ' was a status into which Jesus
entered, or at least fully entered, only at Easter, is reflected in Rom.
i.3f., Acts 1 3 . 3 3 d Acts 2.36, 3.20. Only with the confession,
'Jesus Christ came in the flesh' does the confession confine itself to a
historical retrospect - and even there it is the present, glorious Jesus
,e

a n

14.2.]

Conclusions

61

Christ of whom the confession is made. But with the three basic
confessions it is always the present tense which is used: 'Jesus is .. .'.
(c) Third, V. Neufeld has reminded us that in each case Jesus is
the subject of the confession; it is the historical person who is so
confessed. In other words, each confession itself maintains the vital
link between the historical person and the one who is the present
author of life, justification, power. Jesus, the Jesus who was, is, now
is and continues to be Christ, Son of God, Lord. Here emerges an
important conclusion in our quest for a unifying element within
earliest Christianity: viz., the distinctive feature which comes to ex
pression in all the confessions we have examined, the bedrock of the
Christian faith confessed in the N T writings, is the unity between the
earthly Jesus and the exalted one who is somehow involved in or
part of our encounter with God in the here and now. More specific
conclusions arising from this chapter on the question of the continuity
between Jesus own message and self-understanding and the faith of
the first Christians must await a later stage in our discussion (below
50).
50

14.2 The confessions lay bare the distinctiveness of the faith confessed
in different particular situations. We have uncovered no single, final
confession appropriate to all circumstances and all times. Any attempt
to find a single primitive confession will almost certainly fail. Our
investigation has revealed at least three confessions, all of which
deserve the epithet 'basic and primitive'. Three different confessions
- different because the Christians who used them were different, and
they used them in different circumstances. In over-simplified terms,
and leaving aside the Son of Man tradition which was an important
expression of the eschatological faith of the earliest community, we
may say that 'Jesus is the Messiah' appears to have been the chief
confession of Palestinian Jewish Christians, 'Jesus is the Son of God'
of Hellenistic Jewish Christians, 'Jesus is Lord' of Gentile Christians.
Or in rather more precise terms, 'Jesus is the Messiah' was the most
important confession in Jewish Palestine, 'Jesus is the Son of God' in
a Hellenistic-Jewish situation, 'Jesus is Lord' among Gentiles.
Why was it that they were each important in their own spheres?
Presumably because each was the most relevant and meaningful
expression of Christian faith in that situation. They were the most
important, because they were the most relevant and meaningful. But
this also means that the situation in which faith was confessed had a
determinative say in the shaping of the confession. The situation
50. V. Neufeld, The Earliest Christian Confessions, Leiden 1 9 6 3 , p. 1 1 .

62

Primitive Confessional Formulae

[14.3

called forth the confession. It helped provide the language content of

the confession and contributed something to its meaning. Thus we
find that language which was important and meaningful in one con
text became meaningless and redundant in another (Son of Man), or
a confessional formula broadened in significance as it moved from
one language to another (Jesus is Lord). The development of the
'Christ confession' is perhaps the best example of all. Initially
spurned, or at least not welcomed by Jesus, because of its conno
tations in the Palestine of Jesus' day, it became the key confession of
a Palestinian Christianity seeking to mark out its distinctive faith
within the context of Judaism, first apologetically, then polemically.
But as Christianity moved more and more outside Judaism the con
fession 'Jesus is the Messiah' became less and less relevant. 'Christ'
became little more than a proper name, and the confession had to be
explained, supplemented, and so in effect superseded, by the con
fession 'Jesus is the Son of God'. But then in a confrontation with
docetic views 'Jesus is the Son of God' ceased to be an adequate
expression of Christian faith (many gnostics could make that con
fession too), so it in turn had to be supplemented by the confession
'Jesus Christ came in the flesh'. And so it goes on. The fact is, quite
simply, that confessions framed in one context do not remain the
same when that context changes. New situations call forth new con
fessions. A Christianity that ceases to develop new confessional
language ceases to confess its faith to the contemporary world.
14.3 Notice,finally,the simplicity of the confessions we have exam
ined - Jesus is the Christ, Jesus is the Son of God, Jesus is Lord. It is
important that faith can he reduced to such simple assertions or
claims. To be able to sum up the distinctiveness of one's faith in a
single phrase; to be able to express one's worship in a single word;
to be able to unite round a single banner; to be able to cling to simply
stated conviction in the face of persecution and testing - that is
important. N T confessions do not lose themselves in philosophical
abstractions or theological profundities. They are not hedged around
with qualifications. They are confessions which the so-called 'simple
believer' can use as well as the Christian of more sophisticated faith.
They are like advertising slogans, brief epigrammatic formulae which
sum up the large claim being made. Such slogans are necessary, for
without them a faith can never be the faith of the masses. But they
are epigrams, with all the oversimplifications and lack of closer defi
nition of epigrams, with all the strengths and dangers of epigrams (a
slogan presumably is strong when it is a vital expression of a funda
mental principle; a slogan is dangerous when it becomes merely the

14.3]

Conclusions

63

instrument of a mindless fundamentalism or a divisive factionalism cf. Matt. 7-22f.; I Cor. 1 . 1 2 ) .

It is important also to realize that the unity of faith in a particular
situation depends to a large extent on the simplicity of the confession.
Any slogan is an oversimplification. But fuller definition quickly
becomes divisive - unnecessarily divisive. The faith of the earliest
churches is reducible to these standard formulae, appropriate to dif
ferent situations; but the interpretation of these formulae is never
rigidly defined - nor do they permit of a standardized credal expan
sion or require a uniform pattern of conduct.
Here again then a pattern of unity and diversity begins to emerge:
unity in the different basic confessions in that the earliest believers
thereby confessed the exaltation of the man Jesus and a continuity
between Jesus of Nazareth and the one who enabled them to come
to God; diversity in the different basic confessions themselves, in the
different life-settings that called them forth, in the way faith was
confessed in different situations, and in the way confessions were
interpreted, supplemented and changed.

IV

The Role of Tradition

15.

INTRODUCTION

Few would dispute the importance of 'the gospel' or of 'the creeds'

in a study relating to the unity of Christianity. But many would be
disposed to deny that tradition is a possible focus of unity. For 'tra
dition' by definition means that teaching and practice of the Church
inherited from the past, which is formally distinct from the words of
scripture. And many Protestants in particular would react strongly
against any suggestion that tradition might rival scripture in determin
ing Christian teaching and practice, perhaps recalling with some
antipathy that the Council of Trent (1546) opposed the Protestant
idea of the sole sufficiency of scripture by ordering that tradition was
to be received by the Church together with scripture as of equal
authority. But, of course, the fact is that every church and every
denomination, Protestant or otherwise, has been shaped to a consider
able extent by tradition - the tradition of a particular way of inter
preting scripture, the tradition of a particular (limited) range of
emphases drawn from the Bible, the tradition of a particular manner
of worshipping, the tradition of a particular mode of church govern
ment. It is the acceptance of these particular traditions within a
denomination which is the practical bond of unity for that denomi
nation. So too the difficulty which one tradition finds in fully recogniz
ing another has been a major stumbling block for the ecumenical
movement. Those who fail or refuse to recognize the role of tradition
in shaping their own teaching and practice are in far greater danger
of being enslaved by that tradition than those who make no secret
of their indebtedness to tradition. Clearly then a study of unifying
and diversifying factors within the period of Christianity's beginnings
1

1. Cf. the restatement of Vatican II: 'Both sacred tradition and sacred scripture are to
be accepted and venerated with the same sense of devotion and reverence. Sacred tradition
and sacred scripture form one sacred deposit of the word of God, which is committed to
the Church' (Dei Verbum, 1 1 . 9 - 1 0 ) .
z. Cf. F. F. Bruce, Tradition Old and New, Paternoster 1970, pp. 1 3 - 1 8 .

15]

Introduction

65

must inquire after the role of tradition in shaping the teaching and
practice of Christianity during that period.
The question here posed is peculiarly intriguing, particularly when
tradition is defined by distinguishing it from scripture (as above). For,
of course, in the first century there was no New Testament as such.
The only 'scripture' for the first Christians was the Old Testament
(more or less - see below p.87. All that we now know as the New
Testament was in the process of formation. In fact it took the form
of traditions, traditions relating to Jesus, traditions relating to Peter
and Paul, and so on. This is something we have come to recognize
more clearly through the discipline of Traditionsgeschichte (the
study of the history of the earliest Christian traditions) - viz. that the
various NT documents are themselves traditions, developing tra
ditions caught at various moments in time in the course of their
development. However much they are the work of creative inspi
ration, the N T writings also embody teaching and practice fixed in
writing at particular points in their development. This of course is
why Traditionsgeschichte is so important: by trying to reconstruct
the particular historical conditions of situation and context for each
tradition the hope is that the tradition will be seen again as a living
force in the history of first-century Christianity. It is precisely this
'living force' of tradition in general that we want to uncover in the
present chapter.
Our task then is to inquire into the role of tradition in earliest
Christianity. How did the earliest Christians regard what was handed
over to them by those longer in the faith? How, for example, did Paul
respond to what he heard from Ananias, Peter, etc. about Jesus and
the gospel? In particular, was the tradition received by thefirstChrist
ians the basis of their unity, the practical bond of their community
life? In one sense we are already well into this inquiry; for what we
have done in chs II and III is to examine the diversity and development
of particular traditions - viz. kerygmatic and confessional traditions.
And in a later chapter we will take up the question of liturgical and
catechetical traditions (below 36). In the present chapter it is the
role of tradition as such which holds our attention: what part did
tradition play in earliest Christianity? how much of a force for unity
was it?

The Role of Tradition

66

[16

16. ' T H E TRADITION OF THE E L D E R S '

Since Jesus was a Jew and Christianity began as a Jewish sect we must
first look atfirst-centuryJewish tradition. How did Jesus and the first
Christians respond to the religious traditions which must have played
a part in their own upbringing as Jews?
16. i The role of tradition within Judaism. It is not unimportant for
us to note that this was a subject of dispute within the Judaism of
Jesus' time. Basically it was a dispute between Pharisees and Sadducees.
For Pharisees the Torah was both written (the Pentateuch) and un
written (oral tradition). Whereas the Sadducees regarded only the
written Torah as authoritative. Since the Pharisees have generally
received a 'bad press' on this count we ought to realize why it was
that they ranked oral tradition so highly. The Pharisees recognized
that no written law could cover all the exigencies of life; unless it was
to become an archaic relic the written Torah had to be interpreted
and supplemented to meet the changing conditions of society. For
the Pharisees the Torah was something greater and holier and more
immediately relevant to life than the written word by itself. What this
meant in practice was the growth of precepts and ordinances able to
meet the demands of situations not covered by the written law. For
the Pharisees these were authoritative; but not in their own right only if they could be regarded as interpretations of the written law,
as a rendering explicit what had all the time been implicit in the
written Torah. But if the tradition was a justifiable interpretation of
the written Torah then it was part of Torah and authoritative as such.
Whereas in the eyes of the Sadducees, because it was not part of the
written Torah, it could not be authoritative.
The interpretation took two forms - Halakah and Haggadah.
Halakah was a specific declaration of God's will in a particular case,
a rule of right conduct to guide the inquirer in the way he should go.
As one generation gave way to another the rulings of earlier teachers
were preserved and passed on, so that over the generations a consider3

3. 'The Pharisees had passed on to the people certain regulations handed down by
former generations and not recorded in the Laws of Moses, for which reason they are
rejected by the Sadducean group, who hold that only those regulations should be considered
valid which were written down, and that those which had been handed down by former
generations need not be observed' (Josephus, Ant., XIII.x.6 (297)).
4. 'Whatever an acute disciple shall hereafter teach in the presence of his Rabbi has
already been said to Moses on Sinai' (j. Peah 11.5$ cited by R. T. Herford, The Pharisees,
1 9 2 4 , Beacon 1 9 6 2 , p. 85).

16.z]

'The tradition of the elders'

67

able case law developed covering the whole of practical life, matters
civil and criminal as well as religious. This lengthening chain of trans
mitted teaching, a series of halakoth linked together, is what Mark
and Matthew call 'the tradition of the elders'. It was first codified and
written down in the Mishnah (second century AD); the Mishnah in
turn became the subject of study which resulted in the Talmud. But
the process was already well under way before AD 70.
Haggadah is the term used for interpretation of scripture which is
designed for edification and not for regulating conduct. It was much
freer than Halakah, the result of allowing imagination free range over
the contents of scripture with the aim of developing religious or moral
lessons conducive to piety and devotion. Some Haggadah has been
preserved in the Talmud, but most of it was preserved separately in
the various Midrashim. In this chapter we are concerned primarily
with Halakah. In chapter V we will have occasion to look at some of
the methods employed by the teachers of Jesus' time to derive their
interpretations and lessons from the written law (21).
5

16.2 Jesus' attitude to tradition. It is quite clear that Jesus rejected

much of the prevailing Halakah. Whatever his attitude to the written
law (see below p. 106), there can be no doubt that he reacted strongly
against several well established rulings of the oral law. It would not
be true to say that he rejected all tradition, for he regularly attended
the synagogue on the sabbath (Mark 1 . 2 1 ; Luke 4.16; 1 3 . 1 0 ; and cf.
Matt. 23.3). But the fact remains that the only references to tradition
as such in the Gospels show Jesus as radically opposed to it (Mark
7.1-13/Matt. 1 5 . 1 - 9 ) . In this passage Jesus sets 'the tradition of the
elders' in direct antithesis to 'the commandment of God' and 'the
word of God'. The Pharisees might see the Halakah as part of God's
Torah and delight in it - obedience to it was obedience to God. But
evidently Jesus found such tradition irksome and alien to a spirit
motivated by love of God and love of neighbour, a sequence of
detailed rulings which stifled rather than stimulated a free loving
obedience.
Jesus' radical questioning of the oral tradition comes to clearest
expression over three issues - the sabbath, ritual purity and the corban
vow. In their interpretation of the sabbath commandment the rabbis
were to distinguish 39 different kinds of work which were forbidden
on the sabbath (including ' . . . making two loops . . . sewing two

5. See particularly J . Neusner in Foreword p. xxxiii n. 7 above, also chs 1 - 3 in my

Jesus, Paul and the Law, SPCK 1990.

The Role of Tradition

68

[16.3

stitches . . . writing two letters . . .'). In Jesus' view this attitude made
people slaves of the sabbath. Such sabbath tradition prevented them
from fulfilling the commandment to love. The sabbath Halakah did
not explain the will of God but in fact ran counter to God's will
(Mark 2.23-3.5). Similarly with the Pharisaic regulations about the
ritual washing of hands before meals (Mark 7 . 1 - 8 ) . 'The tradition of
men' encouraged the worshipper to remain at the level of the merely
outward, the superficial, and so encouraged hypocrisy. Even fiercer
was his attack on the corban casuistry that made it possible for a son
to avoid all obligations to his parents byfictitiouslydedicating to the
temple all the support he owed them, even though he acted out of
spite or anger (Mark 7 . 9 - 1 3 ) . Tradition which started as a way of
interpreting the law had become in practice more important than
the law.
Had Jesus appeared at an earlier stage, before the tradition had
become so extensive, before the tendency to control and restrain
acceptable conduct had become so pronounced, his attitude to tra
dition as a whole might have been more positive. But in the circum
stances of his ministry the effect of such rulings caused him to reject
completely many of the traditions which governed the religion of his
Pharisaic contemporaries and to oppose resolutely the attitude which
made the conduct of religion and of personal relationships dependent
on the observance of such tradition.
7

16.3 If Jesus' attitude to tradition was radical, the attitude of the

earliest Jerusalem Christians seems to have been much more conserva
tive. The concern shown by the Jerusalem believers over Peter's eating
with uncircumcised Cornelius (Acts n.2f.) clearly implies that the
ritual purity of the meal table remained important for the Jerusalem
Christians. The essential historicity of Acts on this point at least is
confirmed by the fact that the same concern is evident among the
Jerusalem Christians who occasioned the confrontation between Peter
and Paul in Antioch (Gal. 2.12; see further below 56.1). Acts 2i.2of.
further characterizes many of the Jerusalem believers as 'zealous for
the law', that is, in particular, for the continued observance of circum
cision and 'the customs'. And similarly the clear implication of Acts
6.14 is that prior to Stephen the Jerusalem Christians were faithful
6. Mishnah, Shabbath 7.2. See further my 'Mark 2 . 1 - 3 . 6 : a Bridge between Jesus and
Paul on the Question of the Law', N T S , 30, 1984, pp. 3 9 5 - 4 1 5 , reprinted in Law (above
n. 5) ch. 1 , which, inter alia notes how well developed the sabbath Halakah was by the
time of Jesus.
7. See further my 'Jesus and Ritual Purity: a study of the tradition history of Mark 7 . 1 5 ' ,
A Cause de VEvangile, Cerf 1985, pp. 2 5 1 - 7 6 ; reprinted in Law (above n. 5) ch. 2.

16.4]

'The tradition of the elders'

69

both to the temple and to 'the customs which Moses delivered to us'
(cf. n.4 above). It was presumably this loyalty to and observance of
the Torah, both written and oral, which transformed the Pharisees'
opposition to Jesus into a much more tolerant acquiescence towards
the activities of his followers (Acts 5.33-39) and which attracted
many Pharisees into the new sect while still remaining Pharisees (Acts
1 5 . 5 ; 21.20; see further below 54).
16.4 Markedly different is the attitude of another Pharisee (or exPharisee) - Paul. Paul had once been wholly devoted to the traditions
of his fathers (Gal. 1.14), but his conversion and subsequent mission
to the Gentiles forced him to the conclusion that the traditions of
Judaism were shackles which imprisoned faith; they did not bring
faith to expression, rather they hindered and destroyed its liberty.
Hence the only traditional obligation he accepted from the Jerusalem
apostles was a practical concern for the poor (Gal. 2.10). Hence
too the strong words of Gal. 4 . 8 - 1 1 and the warnings against 'the
traditions of men' in Col. 2:
Why let people dictate to you: 'Do not handle this, do not taste
that, do not touch the other' . . . That is to follow merely human
injunctions and teaching. True, it has an air of wisdom, with its
forced piety, its self-mortification, and its severity to the body; but
it is of no use at all in combating sensuality (Col. 2 . 2 1 - 2 3 , NEB).
Here Paul is rejecting outright the views of a syncretistic Christianity
influenced by Pharisaic Judaism - the view in particular that Gentile
Christians must observe an elaborate oral tradition (Halakah) (see
further below p. 3 04). He was more tolerant when it was a Jewish
Christian who felt that he had to remain faithful to the traditions of
his fathers, for example in matters of diet and holy days (I Cor. 8;
Rom. 14). To be sure, he thought such a believer was 'weak in his
faith' and rejoiced in his own liberty (Rom. 1 4 . 1 , 1 4 ; I Cor. io.25f.);
but he did not insist that faith in Christ required a Jew to abandon
all his traditions any more than it required a Gentile to embrace them.
So far as he was concerned, such traditions were of no value in
themselves (cf. I Cor. 8.8; Gal. 6.15); and he himself was quite willing
to go along with his old traditions when in the company of orthodox
Jews without thereby renewing his commitment to them (I Cor. 9 . 1 9 22; Acts 2 1 . 2 3 - 2 6 ; cf. Rom. 1 4 . 1 9 - 1 5 . 2 ; I Cor. 8.9-13). What he
did object to was any attempt to force one individual's tradition (or
one individual's freedom from tradition) on another.
In short, Paul's attitude to Jewish tradition was plain: faith in Christ

The Role of Tradition

[16.5

could not and must not be made to depend on the observance of

certain traditions. If inherited tradition hindered the liberty of Christ
and the worship of God they should be abandoned. A strong faith
might observe or ignore halakic rules equally, without peril. A weak
faith mightfindthat remaining within or falling in with the traditional
ways of Judaism was some sort of support, but it confessed its weak
ness thereby.
16.5 Thus we see within first generation Christianity a striking diver
sity of attitude towards Jewish tradition - from continued and fierce
loyalty to it at one end of the spectrum to complete rejection of it at
the other. In particular, it is quite clear that Jewish tradition did not
prove a force for unity in the earliest Christian churches-, the Hellenists
soon began to react against it in the earliest Jerusalem church itself
(see further below 60), and in the churches which included Gentiles
as well as Jews it was more a matter of dispute than the basis of
community. Paul certainly did not commend Jewish tradition as some
thing worthy of every Christian's loyalty. Moreover, on this point
there is a greater degree of d/scontinuity than continuity between
Jesus and thefirstChristians.

17. T R A D I T I O N S

OF T H E EARLIEST

COMMUNITIES

What then about the more specifically Christian traditions which

circulated among the earliest believers? Did they serve as the basis of
unity among thefirstChristian communities? In this section we focus
attention on the Pauline corpus, since these letters contain the fullest
evidence of early community tradition (outside the Gospels), and since
Paul himself consciously grapples with the question of tradition's role
in the life of a Christian community. Did Paul see tradition as a
unifying strand within the diversity of earliest Christianity? The tra
ditions in question divide conveniently into three categories - kerygmatic tradition, church tradition, and ethical tradition - though
naturally there is no hard and fast division between any of them.
1 7 . 1 Kerygmatic tradition. We have already noted the various kerygmatic and confessional formulae which Paul inherited and used in his
own preaching (above p.22). In I Cor. 1 5 . 1 - 3 he explicitly states
that he passed on to the Corinthians what he himself had received
(parelabon). How does this square with his insistence in Gal. i.nf.,

17.2]

Traditions of the earliest communities

7i

that the gospel which was preached by me is not man's gospel. For
I did not receive {parelabon) it from man, nor was I taught it, but
it came through a revelation of Jesus Christ (cf. also 1 . 1 , i6f.)?
On the one hand, he clearly expresses his gospel in the language of
tradition handed over to him by his predecessors in the faith, while
on the other he insists that his gospel came directly from God and
not as inherited tradition. How can we explain this tension in Paul's
thought?
The best explanation is that Paul regarded the kerygmatic tradition
as confirming his own convictions about Jesus which stemmed immedi
ately from his conversion and commissioning on the Damascus road,
and also as providing an invaluable way of expressing what was his
gospel anyway, because it was a widely accepted formulation and not
just his own idiosyncratic mode of expression. To put the point more
clearly, what was at issue between Paul and those against whom he
writes in Galatians, was not the traditional formulation of the gospel,
but Paul's interpretation of it. Paul was convinced that the risen Jesus
had appointed him apostle to the Gentiles and that the gospel for the
Gentiles was free from Jewish law, written and oral. It was this
interpretation of his apostleship and of the kerygmatic tradition which
incited the opposition of many of the Jewish Christians. Kerygmatic
tradition for Paul then was interpreted tradition - interpreted in the
light of his own encounter with the risen Jesus. The same point
emerges from his own description of his preaching. The gospel which
he preached was effective not because his words were correct tra
dition, but rather because his words were given him by the Spirit (cf.
particularly I Cor. 2.4^; I Thess. 1.5; 2.13). In other words, even
when his preaching used the language of the traditional kerygma, it
was pneumatic tradition, tradition re-expressed, re-formulated in the
inspiration and power of the Spirit. We may conclude, therefore, that
kerygmatic tradition was a unifying bond among the earliest Christian
communities, but that it was subject to diverse interpretations. Many
Jewish Christians interpreted it in the light of 'the tradition of the
elders', whereas Paul interpreted it in the light of the 'revelation of
Jesus Christ' given to him outside Damascus.
8

1 7 . 2 Church tradition. Paul uses the language of tradition in one

passage where he is talking about the Lord's Supper:
8. See particularly L. Goppelt, 'Tradition nach Paulus', KuD, 4, 1 9 5 8 , pp. 2 1 3 - 3 3 ;
K. Wengst, 'Der Apostel und Die Tradition', ZTK, 69, 1 9 7 2 , pp. 1 4 5 - 6 2 . See further on
the complementary functions of prophet and teacher in the Pauline communities in Dunn,
Jesus, pp. i86f., 282ft.

The Role of Tradition

72

[17.3

For I received (parelabon) from the Lord what I also handed on to

you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took
bread . . . (I Cor. 1 1 . 2 3 - 2 5 ) .
Here is a tradition of Jesus' words which Paul clearly believes should
govern the common meals of the Corinthians. At the same time he
has no compunction about adding what appears to be his own
interpretation to the received formula ('For as often as you eat this
bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he
comes' - n . 2 6 ) . Moreover he specifically designates the source of
the Last Supper tradition as 'the Lord'. This seems to mean not so
much that the earthly Jesus was the original source of the tradition,
but rather that Paul understood the present, exalted Jesus to be the
immediate source of the historical formula - that is to say, that it was
authoritative not because it was a tradition but because it was received
and accepted on the direct authority of the exalted one (cf. and note
the present tense in I Cor. 7.10). Here again evidently we are back
with the idea of 'pneumatic tradition', tradition which is authoritative
because of its immediate inspiration and its direct relevance.
Paul also appeals on several occasions in I Corinthians to the prac
tices of other churches in the Gentile mission (I Cor. 4.17; 7 . 1 7 ;
1 1 . 1 6 ; 14.33). Here evidently a form of church tradition was growing
up which could be appealed to as some sort of unifying bond. But if
I Cor. 7, 1 1 and 1 4 are any guide these were simply practices which
served to commend the new Christian groups to the societies in which
they lived. And Paul as the creator of that tradition certainly did not
regard it as having an independent authority. Rather it served only in
a confirmatory role - to confirm that the instruction and guidance he
gave in one church was the same as in others.
9

10

17.3 Ethical tradition. Paul uses the language of tradition most often
when talking about his converts' conduct and moral responsibilities
(I Cor. 7.10; 9.14; 1 1 . 2 ; Phil. 4.9; Col. 2.6; I Thess. 4 . 1 ; II Thess.
2 . 1 5 ; 3.6). One of the most striking features of this ethical tradition
is that it seems to draw its force very largely (perhaps even entirely)
from the life of Jesus, that is, from the Jesus-tradition, both his words
11

9. See further below 40. Cf. the way in which he adds his own resurrection appearance
to the list of witnesses handed down in I Cor. 1 5 . 3 - 7 .
10. Cf. O. Cullmann, 'The Tradition' ( 1 9 5 3 ) , The Early Church, E T S C M Press 1 9 5 6 ,
pp. 6 6 - 9 ; F. F. Bruce, Paul and Jesus, Baker 1 9 7 4 , p. 4 3 .
1 1 . I am not including here the household regulations of Colossians and Ephesians or
the lists of vices and virtues which are not called tradition, nor are they distinctively
Christian (probably ultimately Stoic in origin).

17.3]

Traditions of the earliest communities

73

(I Cor. 7.10-Matt. 5.32.; I Cor. 9.14-Luke 10.7) and his conduct

(Rom. 6.17; I Cor. 1 1 . 1 ; II Cor. 1 0 . 1 ; Phil. 2.5; Col. 2.6; Eph. 4.20).
Even where the immediate appeal is to follow Paul's own example
(I Cor. 4.i6f.; 11.if.; Phil. 3.17; 4.8f.; II Thess. 3.6-9) the appeal
only has force because Paul regarded that conduct as modelled on
Christ's (I Cor. 1 1 . 1 ; cf. I Thess. 1.6).
It would appear then that Paul is able at these points to draw on
quite an extensive tradition about Jesus, and to assume that his con
verts were also familiar with it - a conclusion which is probably
confirmed by the amount of Jesus' teaching which Paul seems (con
sciously) to echo, particularly in the sections of his letters devoted to
ethical teaching (e.g. Rom. 1 2 . 1 4 ; 13-9; 1 6 . 1 9 ; I Cor. 9.4; 1 3 . 2 ; Gal.
5.14; Phil. 4.6; I Thess. 5.2, 1 3 , 15). This suggests in turn that the
traditions which Paul passed on when he first established a new
church (I Cor. 1 1 . 2 ; II Thess. 2 . 1 5 ; 3.6) included a fair amount of
tradition about Jesus, though whether in fragmentary form or already
gathered in various topical collections we cannot say.
This common heritage of Jesus-tradition obviously served as a uni
fying factor of some significance among the earliest communities. Paul
is even able to speak of it as the Haw of Christ' (Gal. 6.2; cf. I Cor.
9.21). But this should not be misinterpreted as though Paul regarded
this tradition as a regulation of binding force on all his converts.
Paul's ethic was much too charismatic for that, much too conscious
of the Spirit's immediate direction (Rom. 8.4, 14; Gal. 5.16, 18, 25),
much too liberated from a rule book mentality (Rom. 6.14; 7.6; 8.2;
II Cor. 3.3, 6, 1 7 ; Gal. 5.16), much too dependent on the Spirit's gift
of discernment in matters of doubt or dispute (Rom. 1 2 . 2 ; Phil. i.9f.;
Col. i.9f.; Eph. 5.10). This is evidenced clearly by the way in which
he himself disregards one of the explicit words of Jesus preserved in
the Jesus-tradition (I Thess. 2.6, 9; II Thess. 3.7-9; cf. I Cor. 9.14).
It would appear then that he regards the ethical tradition drawn from
the traditions about Jesus not as a series of laws which have to be
12

13

14

15

1 2 . On Rom. 6 . 1 7 see below (pp. 1 5 7 ^ ) . On Phil. 2.5 see C. F. D. Moule, 'Further

Reflections on Philippians 2 . 5 - 1 1 ' , AHGFFB, pp. 264ft.
1 3 . See also D. L. Dungan, The Sayings of Jesus in the Churches of Paul, Blackwell
1 9 7 1 ; J. W. Fraser, Jesus and Paul, Marcham 1 9 7 4 , ch. 6; Bruce, Paul, ch. 5; J . D. G.
Dunn, 'Paul's Knowledge of the Jesus Tradition: the Evidence of Romans', Christus
bezeugen. Festschrift fr W. Trilling, Leipzig 1989, pp. 1 9 3 - 2 0 7 , with further bibliography.
14. Cf. C. H. Dodd, 'Ennomos Christou', More New Testament Studies, Manchester
University Press 1968, pp. 1 3 4 - 4 8 ; R. N . Longenecker, Paul Apostle of Liberty, Harper
1964, pp. 1 8 7 - 9 0 ; J . Barclay, Obeying the Truth. A Study of Paul's Ethics in Galatians,
T. & T. Clark 1988, pp. 1 2 5 - 4 2 . Otherwise V. P. Furnish, Theology and Ethics in Paul,
Abingdon 1968, pp. 5 9 - 6 5 .
1 5 . See Dunn, Jesus, 40.5.

74

The Role of Tradition

[17.4

obeyed whatever the circumstances, but more as a set of principles

which have to be applied in the light of the circumstances. In other
words, what we have once again is pneumatic tradition, that is to
say, tradition which is not something independent of the Spirit or of
independent authority, but tradition which has to be interpreted
under the guidance of the Spirit and followed only in so far as it is
recognized to be a direction of the Spirit.
17.4 Tradition in the Pastorals. Quite another attitude to tradition is
a dominant feature of the last members of the Pauline corpus. Evi
dently by the time the letters to Timothy and Titus were written (late
first century?) a coherent body of tradition had become established
to serve as a clearly defined touchstone of orthodoxy. This is variously
described as 'the teaching' (I Tim. 4.16; 6.1; II Tim. 3.10; Titus 2.7,
10) or more specifically 'sound teaching' (I Tim. 1 . 1 0 ; II Tim. 4.3;
Titus 1.9; 2.1), 'the good teaching' (I Tim. 4.6), or 'the teaching which
accords with godliness' (I Tim. 6.3), 'the faith' ( 1 1 times), 'sound
words' (I Tim. 6.3; II Tim. 1 . 1 3 ) , or 'that which has been entrusted'
(I Tim. 6.20; II Tim. 1 . 1 2 , 14). The content of the tradition is not
very clear, but if the 'faithful sayings' are any guide, it includes all
three categories distinguished above - kerygmatic tradition (I Tim.
1 . 1 5 ; II Tim. 2 . 1 1 ; Titus 3.5-8), church tradition (I Tim. 3 . 1 ; cf.
Titus 1.9), and ethical tradition (I Tim. 4.8f.; II Tim. 2 . 1 1 - 1 3 ) - and
presumably included traditions about Jesus(?). The attitude towards
tradition is wholly conservative: it is to be kept (I Tim. 6.14; II Tim.
4.7), clung to (Titus 1.9), guarded (I Tim 6.20; II Tim 1 . 1 2 , 1 4 ) ,
protected (I Tim. 6.1) and passed on faithfully from one generation
to another (II Tim. 2.2). Very typical is the passage II Tim. 1 . 1 2 - 1 4 :
. . . I am sure that he is able to guard until that day what has been
entrusted to me. Follow the pattern of the sound words which you
have heard from m e , . . . guard the truth that has been entrusted to
you by the Holy Spirit who dwells within us.
Notice particularly that even Paul himself is depicted more as the
keeper of tradition than as its author, and that the Spirit is thought
of not as the interpreter or re-creator of tradition but simply as
the power to preserve the heritage of the past. With the Pastorals
then we have come almost full circle, for here we seem closer to the
16

16. See also K. Wegenast, Das Verstndnis der Tradition bei Paulus und in den Deuteropaulinen, Neukirchen 1962, pp. 1 3 9 - 4 3 .

I8.I]

Traditions about Jesus

75

Pharisees' attitude towards the oral law than to the attitudes of Jesus
and Paul towards the tradition of their time.

l8.

t r a d i t i o n s

a b o u t

j e s u s

We have seen that kerygmatic traditions and traditions about Jesus

served as some sort of unifying strand linking the different early
Christian churches together. We have seen something of the diversity
of role and authority attributed to these traditions, as between Paul
himself and his more conservative disciple in the Pastorals. As to the
content of these traditions, we have sufficiently demonstrated the
diversity of forms taken by the kerygmatic and confessional traditions
in chapters II and III. But now more needs to be said about the content
and shape of the traditions about Jesus. To what extent was there an
agreed body of traditions about Jesus which were passed from one
Christian to another and provided a sort of common court of appeal?
Was there perhaps even afixedtradition carefully preserved from the
first and of regulative force for teaching and resolving disputes, as the
Pastorals seem to suggest?
1 8 . 1 So far as we can tell, the traditions about Jesus were brought
together in different ways. The passion narrative seems to have been
the only substantial block to be shaped early on into a connected
account. Here is reflected the earliest community's concern to under
stand* and portray Jesus the crucified one as Messiah (see above
10.2). The existence of a source (Q) of the Synoptic Gospels contain
ing only sayings of Jesus has been disputed. But the already strong
indications from within the Synoptics themselves have been greatly
strengthened by the discovery of the Gospel of Thomas, which is
precisely such a document. The point of significance is that Q certainly
lacks a passion narrative. That is to say, here we have evidence of an
early Christian interest in the sayings of Jesus as such, and not in
what he did or in his death and resurrection (see further below 62).
The suggestion of an extensive overlap between the Q traditions and
the ethical tradition to which Paul refers (above 17.3) obviously
commends itself.
More recently there has been a growing body of opinion that behind
both Mark and John there was some sort of ''miracle source' - that is
to say, a cycle of miracle stories used by some early Christian
preachers to portray Jesus as a great miracle-worker, as one authenti
cated before God and men by his mighty works. Paul seems to be
reacting against such a presentation of Jesus in his second letter to

The Role of Tradition

76

[18.2

the Corinthians - assuming a correlation between the false apostles'

proclamation of 'another Jesus' (II Cor. 1 1 . 4 ) , and their over evalu
ation of miracles, visions and striking speech (10.10; 1 1 . 1 6 - 2 0 ; 1 2 . 1 ,
1 2 - see below pp.194^); hence his emphasis that the power of God
only comes to its full expression in weakness (II Cor. 4 . 7 - 1 2 ; 12.9;
1 3 . 3 ^ ) , adding a deeper dimension to his earlier stress on 'Christ
crucified' (I Cor. 1.23; 2.2). And Mark seems to make a similar
response to a similar portrayal of Jesus as miracle-worker par excel
lence; hence his emphasis on the Son of Man as one who suffers and
dies (Mark 8.29-33; 9.31; etc.), which serves as a corrective to any
presentation of Jesus in terms only of the miracle stories used by
Mark in the first half of his Gospel (particularly 4.35-5.43; 6 . 3 1 56). The clearest evidence that something like a miracle source was
actually in circulation comes from the Fourth Gospel, where there is
evidence both of a 'Signs Source' (particularly John 2 . 1 1 ; 4.54) and
also of the Fourth Evangelist's correcting its emphasis even while
incorporating its material (4.48). Here then is evidence of another
use of the Jesus traditions within earliest Christianity, again without
any direct link with the death and resurrection of Jesus - a concen
tration by some early believers on Jesus as a miracle-worker.
One of the most surprising features of the earliest N T writings is
the lack of overt interest displayed by Paul in the traditions about
Jesus. As we have seen, he seems to be familiar with and alludes to a
fair amount of material (above pp.72f.), but he refers explicitly to
only one episode from Jesus' ministry (I Cor. 1 1 . 2 3 - 2 5 - betrayal
and last supper) and quotes explicitly only two other sayings which
have come to him in the tradition (I Cor. 7.10; 9.14). What we should
conclude from this is not at all clear, but taken with the evidence
cited above, it does give some hint of the diversity of use and non-use
of the traditions about Jesus among the first Christians.
17

18

18.2 What actually happened to particular traditions when they were

passed on and put to use? Is there any evidence that the Jesus-tradition
was fixed from the earliest date and passed on without significant
1 7 . See e.g. D. Georgi, The Opponents of Paul in Second Corinthians, 1964, ET Fortress
1986 (on Mark, pp. 1 7 0 - 3 ) ; L. E. Keck, 'Mark 3 . 7 - 1 2 and Mark's Christology', JBL, 84,
1965, pp. 3 4 1 - 5 8 ; Koester, 'One Jesus and Four Primitive Gospels', HTR, 6 1 , 1968, and
reprinted in Trajectories, pp. 1 8 7 - 9 1 ; P. J . Achtemeier, 'The Origin and Function of the
Pre-Marcan Miracle Catena',/BL, 9 1 , 1 9 7 2 , pp. 1 9 8 - 2 2 1 ; R. P. Martin, Mark: Evangelist
and Theologian, Paternoster 1 9 7 2 , ch. VI; E. Trocme,/ess and his Contemporaries, 1 9 7 2 ,
E T S C M Press 1 9 7 3 , ch. 7. See also below pp. 1991., and cf. p. 40 n. 1 3 .
18. See J . M . Robinson, 'Kerygma and History in the New Testament' (1965), Trajec
tories, pp. 4 6 - 6 6 and ch. 7; and see further below p. 3 3 0 and ch. XII n. 106.

18.2]

Traditions about Jesus

77

change from one community to another? Like so many of the questions

we have to ask in the course of our study this one requires a much fuller
treatment than we can afford here. We will therefore concentrate most
of our attention on that stage of Traditionsgeschichte which is easiest
to analyse - from Q and Mark to Matthew and Luke.
First narrative traditions, (i) Some narratives seem to have been
transmitted with little change beyond that of editorial convenience
and style (e.g. Mark 1 . 1 6 - 2 8 ; 2 . 1 - 1 2 ; 5 . 2 1 - 4 3 ; 8.1-9). ( ) With
others we see a certain development or diversity of tradition which is
of no great moment: for example, Jesus' experience at Jordan ('You
are my son . . .' - Mark 1 . 1 1 ; 'This is my son . . .' - Matt. 3 . 1 7 ; but
also the expansion of Matt. 3.14^); the healing of the centurion's
servant (did he come to meet Jesus personally - Matt. 8.5L? or did
he send friends - Luke 7.6f.?); the healing of Bartimaeus, or was it
two blind men, on entering Jericho, or was it on leaving Jericho (Mark
1 0 . 4 6 - 5 2 pars.)? (3) Greater freedom in handling the Jesus-tradition
is indicated by the fact that there is a certain chronological inconsist
ency between the respective settings of some of the narratives: Mark
has the cursing of the fig tree before the 'cleansing of the temple',
Matthew the day after (Mark 1 1 . 1 2 - 2 5 ; Matt. 2 1 . 1 2 - 2 2 ) ; John sets
the cleansing of the temple at the beginning of Jesus' ministry, the
Synoptists at the end (John 2 . 1 3 - 2 2 ) ; and the difficulty of reconciling
the chronology of John's as against the Synoptists' account of the last
supper and the crucifixion is well known. (4) Many scholars think
that Mark's double account of a feeding miracle (Mark 6.30-44;
8.1-9) d Luke's portrayal of two missions sent out by Jesus (Luke
9 . 1 - 6 ; 1 0 . 1 - 1 2 ) resulted from two divergent traditions of the same
episodes coming to Mark and Luke from separate sources (cf. the
two versions with their Synoptic parallels). (5) A more theologically
calculated development of tradition is seen in a number of cases where
the Evangelist has quite clearly amended or corrected his source. For
example, where Mark says, Jesus 'could not perform any miracle
except that he laid his hands upon a few sick people and healed them'
(Mark 6.5), Matthew has altered this to, 'He did not perform many
miracles there' (Matt. 13.58). Mark's conclusion to the walking on
the water episode reads thus: 'They were utterly astounded, for they
did not understand about the loaves, but their hearts were hardened'
(Mark 6.5if.); but, as we noted above (p.50), Matthew has trans
formed this into, 'Those in the boat worshipped him, saying, "Truly
you are the Son of God"' (Matt. 14.33). (6) In
different
19

a n

c a s e

t n e

1 9 . See also my The Evidence for Jesus, S C M Press 1 9 8 5 , ch. 1; also The Living Word,
S C M Press 1 9 8 7 .

The Role of Tradition

78

[18.3

versions of an episode have diverged so far from each other that it is

well-nigh impossible to discern its earliest form. I refer to the two
accounts of Judas's death (Matt. 2 7 . 3 - 1 0 ; Acts i.i8f.). On the variant
accounts of the 'twelve' see below (p. 1 1 8 n.7). In none of these cases
do I wish to deny that there was an 'actual event' underlying the
divergent traditions - rather the reverse. The point to be noted here,
however, is the fact that different accounts of the 'actual event' seem
in many cases to have diverged from each other in the course of
transmission, whether by natural causes or by theological design, and
that in some cases the degree of divergence is too significant to be
ignored.
18.3 From narrative traditions about Jesus we turn to the traditions
of Jesus' sayings. Here we see a range of diversity in transmission
similar to that outlined above (18.2). (1) Many of Jesus' sayings are
preserved with a striking degree of verbal agreement between different
Evangelists (e.g. Mark Z.19L; Matt. 8.9f.; i2.4if.; 2 4 . 4 3 - 5 1 ) . We
may note in passing how many of the logia preserved in the Gospel
of Thomas have close parallels in the Synoptic tradition (see below
p.308 n.40). (2) Some sayings are preserved in different contexts. For
example, the saying about finding and losing one's life is set in two
or three different contexts (Matt. 10.39; Matt. 16.25/Mark 8.3 5/Luke
9.24; Luke 1 7 . 3 3 ; Jhn 12.25); Luke reproduces the saying about the
lamp twice (Luke 8.16; 1 1 . 3 3 ) ; the 'by your fruits' saying has been
either squeezed into one by Luke 6.43-45 or separated into two
by Matthew ( 7 . 1 6 - 1 8 ; 1 2 . 3 3 - 3 5 ) ; perhaps more significant variant
doublets are the warnings of Mark 8.38, Matt. 10.32f., Luke 9.26,
12.8L (see also below p.233). (3) We should note also sayings with a
good claim to be authentic Jesus' logia which have been preserved
outside the Gospels, and which therefore provide evidence of particu
lar traditions which have by-passed or been omitted by the Evangel
ists. Good examples here are Acts 20.3 5; the codex D version of Luke
6.5 (to a man working on the sabbath) - 'Man, if you know what
you are doing you are blessed; but if you know not, you are cursed
and a transgressor of the law'; and the Gospel of Thomas Logion 82
- 'He who is near me is near the fire, and he who is far from me
is far from the kingdom'. (4) Some sayings have been interpreted
differently in the course of transmission. Thus an Aramaic original
translated differently into Greek seems to be the source of the signifi20

20. See J . Jeremias, Unknown Sayings of Jesus, ^196^, E T SPCK i 9 6 4 , pp. 6 1 - 7 3 ; O.

Hofius, 'Unbekannte Jesusworte', Das Evangelium und die Evangelien, W U N T 28, Tub
ingen 1 9 8 3 , pp. 3 5 5 - 8 2 .

18.3]

Traditions about Jesus

79

cantly divergent versions: Mark 3.281". ('sons of men'), but Matt.

12.32/Luke 1 2 . 1 0 ('the Son of Man') (see above p.41 n.16); Mark
4 . 1 2 ('in order that'), but Matt. 1 3 . 1 3 ('because'). So too there is
much to be said for the view of C. H. Dodd and J . Jeremias that
various parables have been given a different sense in the course of
transmission than that intended by Jesus. Particularly noteworthy
here is the transformation of the 'parables of crisis' into parables
about the second coming (Mark 1 3 . 3 4 - 3 6 and various pars.; Matt.
24.43f./Luke 12.39L; Matt. 2 5 . 1 - 1 3 ) . Compare too the different
ways in which the proclamation of the Baptist is presented - the
preacher of fiery judgment of Q (Matt. 3.7-10/Luke 3.7-9) is only a
preacher of repentance in Mark (1.4-8 - no fire, no judgment), is
only a witness to Jesus in John ( 1 . 1 9 - 3 4 ; 3-2.7-30 - no fire, no
judgment, no call to repentance). Perhaps most striking here is the
tradition history of Jesus' saying about the destruction and eschatological restoration of the temple. It is preserved only as a false testi
mony in Mark 14.58ZMatt.26.61, but John attributes it to Jesus
himself (John 2.19; see above p.44). How thefirstJerusalem believers
understood it is not quite clear (as a false testimony? or as a promise
that the temple would be the focus of eschatological renewal for
Israel? - see below pp.3 53f.). Be that as it may, the implication of
Acts 6.14 is clearly that Stephen understood it as a word of judgment
on the temple (see below pp.106, 293L.). (5) We must note also how
some sayings of Jesus have been deliberately altered in the course of
transmission - altered in such a way as to give a clearly different sense
from the original. For example, the opening interchange between the
rich young man and Jesus: Mark io.i7f. - 'Good teacher, what must
I do to inherit eternal life?' 'Why do you call me good} No one is
good except God'; but Matt. 19.16L - 'What good deed must I do to
have eternal life?' 'Why do you ask me about what is good} Only
one is good'. Note also the way in which Jesus' clear cut verdict
against divorce preserved in Mark 1 0 . 1 1 has been softened by the
addition of the unchastity clause in Matt. 19.9, and by a more lenient
ruling in the case of mixed marriages in I Cor. 7.15 (see further below
p.267). Or again consider how Luke has neatly avoided the need to
portray resurrection appearances in Galilee by omitting Mark 14.28
and by transforming the promise of Galilee appearances in Mark
i6.6f. into a reminiscence of words spoken by Jesus while still in
21

2 2

2 1 . Cf. T. W. Manson, The Teaching of Jesus, Cambridge University Press 1 9 3 1 ,

pp. 7 5 - 8 0 .
22. C. H. Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom, 1 9 3 5 , Nisbet 1 9 5 5 , ch. V; J . Jeremias,
The Parables of Jesus, i^6z, E T S C M Press 1 9 6 3 , pp. 4 8 - 6 3 ; see also C. E. Carlston,
The Parables of the Triple Tradition, Fortress 1 9 7 5 ; and see further below p. 349.
6

8o

The Role of Tradition

[18.4

Galilee (Luke 24.6f.; see further below PP.386L). (6) Finally there are
clear indications in several, though not very many cases that a particu
lar saying has originated in the early churches and been added to
the Jesus-tradition during the course of its transmission. Thus, for
example, Matt. 18.20 is almost certainly a promise spoken in the
name of the exalted Jesus by an early Christian prophet and accepted
by the churches as a saying of Jesus. Similarly, though not quite so
certain, Luke 1 1 . 4 9 - 5 1 . Matt. 1 1 . 2 8 - 3 0 is probably a prophetic
interpretation of the Q saying 1 1 . 2 5 - 2 7 , in which the exalted Jesus
who spoke on earth as Wisdom's messenger is now understood to
speak as Wisdom itself (see further below PP.279L,, 3o8f.). And one
of the best examples of interpretative addition, consequent upon the
changed perspective brought about by the mission to the Gentiles, is
Mark 1 3 . 1 0 (peculiar to Mark, disturbing the flow of thought, and
use of 'the gospel' - particularly Markan). Indeed Mark 1 3 as a
whole affords some of the most fruitful material for tradition history
investigations (see below p. 353, n.27).
We must conclude therefore that the earliest churches had no con
ception of the Jesus-tradition as something fixed, a body of tradition
whose content and outline was firmly established from the first. The
fact that so many traditions of Jesus' words and deeds were preserved
indicates that they were treasured by the earliest communities, and
must therefore have played an authoritative role in shaping their
teaching and practice (see above p.38, n.8). But the traditions them
selves were not thought of as already cast in a final or finally authori
tative form, and their authority was subject to the adaptation and
interpretation called forth by the prophetic Spirit in changing circum
stances (cf. Matt. 13.52).
23

18.4 The clearest demonstration of this last point is the tradition

about Jesus as it reappears towards the end of the first century in the
Fourth Gospel. Even a superficial comparison of John with the
Synoptics reveals that Jesus is portrayed in a very different way,
that the traditions about Jesus, we have to say, have undergone a
striking development. By this I do not mean that the Johannine presen
tation of Jesus has lost touch with historical reality - for there are
sufficient indications at points where John parallels the Synoptics that
he is drawing on good tradition (e.g. John 1 . 1 9 - 3 4 ; 2 . 1 3 - 2 2 ; 6 . 1 -

23. The thesis argued by B. Gerhardsson, Memory and Manuscript, Lund 1 9 6 1 ; cf.
earlier, H. Riesenfeld, The Gospel Tradition and its Beginnings, Mowbray 1 9 5 7 . On the
possibility that Matthew intended his Gospel as a more fixed form of Jesus' teaching, see
below pp. 393f.

18.4]

Traditions about Jesus

81

24

1 5 ) . Consequently we may presume with some confidence that even

where parallels are lacking there is a solid traditional foundation
anchoring the Johannine superstructure in history (cf. e.g. Luke 13.34
and Mark 1 4 . 1 3 L which support John by suggesting that Jesus had
fuller contact with Jerusalem than the Synoptics otherwise indicate).
The point which must be noted here however is the extent to which
that traditional material about Jesus has been elaborated by John. I
have already drawn attention to various features of John's christology
which illustrate the point (see above pp.28, 40, 47, 50). Two other
features of the Johannine presentation, more directly relevant to the
present chapter, demonstrate the degree to which John has moulded
the Jesus-tradition to meet the requirements of his own situation.
First, he sets all his material within and as part of a dramatic structure,
so that the whole Gospel moves forward towards the climax of 'the
hour', the hour when Jesus will be 'glorified', 'lifted up', 'ascend'
whence he descended, and so that the movement towards that
climax is characterized by the increasing 'judgment' or 'separation'
{krisis) brought about by Jesus' very presence (see particularly 3 . 1 7 19; 5.22-24; 7.43; 9.16; 1 0 . 1 9 ; 1 2 . 3 1 ; 16.II).
In order to fit and
explain this unfolding drama John has tailored both deeds and words
of Jesus in such a way that their distinctively Johannine colouring can
scarcely be denied (see e.g., the extended sections, 4 . 1 - 4 2 ; 9; 1 1 ) .
Secondly, we should note the distinctive character of Jesus' dis
courses in the Fourth Gospel. A comparison of the various discourses
reveals a striking regularity of pattern, where the thought seems to
progress in a series of concentric circles, usually beginning with a
statement by Jesus which is misunderstood by his hearers and which
then provides the starting point for a fuller re-statement by Jesus, and
so on. Since the pattern is maintained whatever the audience - for
25

26

27

24. R. E. Brown, 'The Problem of Historicity in John', CBQ, 24, 1962, reprinted in
New Testament Essays, Chapman 1965, ch. IX; C. H. Dodd, Historical Tradition in the
Fourth Gospel, Cambridge University Press 1963; L. Morris, Studies in the Fourth Gospel,
Eerdmans 1969, ch. 2; Dunn, Evidence, ch. 2.
2

25. 'hour' - 2.4; 7.6, 8, 30; 8.20; 1 2 . 2 3 , 7 5 3 - j r6- 5> 3 ; 1 7 . 1 .

'glorify' - 2 . 1 1 ; 7.39; 1 1 . 4 ; 1 2 . 1 6 , 2 3 , 28; i3-3if.; 1 7 . 1 , 4f.
'lift up' - 3.14; 8.28; 1 2 . 3 2 , 34.
'ascend' - 3 . 1 3 ; 6.62; 2 0 . 1 7 .
26. C . H. Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel, Cambridge University Press
1 9 5 3 , pp. 3 4 4 - 8 9 ; see also J . Blank, Krisis: Untersuchungen zur johanneischen Christologie
und Eschatologie, Freiburg 1 9 6 4 .
27. Cf. R. Schnackenburg, The Gospel according to St John, Vol. I, 1965, E T Herder
1968: 'The technique of the "parabolic discourses" also displays the method of concentric
thinking which progresses in new circles: a meditative way of thought which uses few
arguments but goes deeper and deeper into its subject to gain better and higher understand
ing of it' (p. 1 1 7 ) .

The Role of Tradition

82

[19.1

example, intellectual Jew (3), Samaritan prostitute (4), Galilean crowd

(6), the hostile Jewish authorities (8), the disciples (14) - and since it
also lacks any real parallel in the Synoptics, it is hard to escape
the conclusion that that pattern is a literary product, John's way of
presenting his own deepened understanding of the original Jesustradition. In short, the best explanation of the Johannine discourses
is that they are a series of extended meditations or sermons on original
sayings of Jesus, or on original features of his ministry.
Here then quite clearly there is no conception of the traditions
about Jesus as an established entity only to be guarded and passed
on, as being already in a fixed and final form. On the contrary,
the Jesus-tradition is apparently preserved in and by the Johannine
community only in an interpreted and developed form; or rather it is
part of the community's ongoing life, living and maturing as they live
and mature, responding with them to the challenges of each new
situation - more like the pneumatic tradition of Paul than the 'sound
teaching' of the Pastorals.

19.

CONCLUSIONS

1 9 . 1 Tradition formed a unifying strand of some importance within

the diversity of earliest Christianity. Not the traditions distinctive of
Judaism, since Paul and his Gentile converts rejected or ignored most
of them, whereas the church in Jerusalem thought them to be of
continuing importance and remained largely loyal to them. But the
kerygmatic tradition and the traditions about Jesus - that is to say,
those kerygmatic and confessional formulae and various (collections
of) narratives and sayings of Jesus which were common currency
among the different churches. Here a new strand of unity emerges
which is of no little significance. For we are already familiar with the
proclamation and confession of the death and resurrection of Jesus
as a bond of unity. But now we see also bound up with it a common
acceptance of traditions about Jesus, that is traditions of Jesus' earthly
ministry and teaching.
19.2 Within this unifying strand there are several marked features of
diversity. Enough has already been said about the diversity of use and
form of kerygmatic and confessional traditions (chs II and III). We
have now seen that the use made of the Jesus-tradition is similarly
diverse. Q seems concerned to preserve the actual words of Jesus in
a way and to an extent not true of Paul. Mark uses the narratives of
Jesus' ministry in a way which clearly sets him over against those

19.3]

Conclusions

83

who might wish to portray Jesus primarily as a miracle-worker. There

are fundamental differences regarding the role of tradition between
Paul and the Pastorals. So too the shape and content of the Jesustradition is very different. The stage of transmission between Q and
Mark on the one hand and Matthew and Luke on the other reveals
something of the liberty as well as the respect with which the tradition
was handled. And the Fourth Gospel shows how extensive that liberty
was felt to be, demonstrating a freedom in interpreting and developing
the tradition from the earlier generation which seems to be poles
apart from the conservatism of the Pastorals - even though the
authors probably belonged to the same generation of Christianity.
Certainly there is no evidence prior to the Pastorals of tradition being
seen as somethingfixed,to which the teacher was wholly subservient,
his role being confined to preserving and passing it on. On the con
trary, the evidence of Paul and of all the Evangelists, but particularly
the Fourth, is that each community and each new generation accepted
a responsibility laid upon it (implicitly or explicitly by the Spirit)
to interpret the received tradition afresh and in relation to its own
situation and needs.
19.3 A little more should be said about this particularly Pauline and
Johannine (though also Synoptic) concept and use of tradition as
interpreted or pneumatic tradition and its repercussions on the auth
ority attributed to tradition. For Paul and John the kerygmatic and
Jesus traditions are authoritative, but not in themselves, not inde
pendently authoritative. They are authoritative only when taken in
dynamic conjunction with the present inspiration of the Spirit. Tra
dition which has ceased to be relevant is either abandoned (Jewish
tradition) or interpreted and adapted (kerygmatic and Jesus tra
ditions). This could be done because for both Paul and John the focus
of revelation is not simply the past (earthly Jesus) but the present as
well (the Spirit of Jesus). Consequently authority revolves round not
one, but two foci - tradition and Spirit - and the authoritative
expression of preaching or teaching in any particular case takes the
form of interpreted tradition.
John gives what appears to serve (partly at least) as his apologia
for this in two of the Paraclete passages in John 1 4 - 1 6 . For in 14.26
28

28. Cf. the role of tradition in Eastern Orthodoxy: 'Loyalty to tradition means not only
concord with the past but in a certain sense freedom from the past. Tradition is not only a
protecting, conservative principle, it is primarily the principle of growth and regeneration
. . . Tradition is the constant abiding of the Spirit, and not only the memory of words.
Tradition is a charismatic, not an historical principle' (G. V. Florovsky, 'Sobornost: The
Catholicity of the Church', The Church of God, ed., E. Mascall, SPCK 1 9 3 4 , pp. 64f.).

The Role of Tradition

84

[19.4

and 1 6 . 1 2 - 1 5 the Paraclete has the double function of recalling the

original message of Jesus and of revealing new truth, and thus of reproclaiming the truth of Jesus. In other words, John himself regards
his own extensive elaboration of the Jesus-tradition as nevertheless
still controlled by the original tradition. There is a similar balance
clearly intended in I John between the present and continuing role of
the Spirit as teacher (2.27; 5.7^) and the teaching which was given
'from the beginning' (2.7, 24; 3 . 1 1 ) . We will have to return to this
subject later and look at it from the other side (below pp. 207L, 2i3f.),
but for the moment we can say by way of summary that tradition from
the past was authoritative for Paul and John when it was interpreted
tradition, interpreted by the present Spirit for the present situation.
19.4 Throughout the chapters of Part I we are gathering material on
the relation of the message of Jesus to the gospel(s) of the earliest
churches. From the present chapter two points of relevance emerge.
First, the fact that the early churches regarded the traditions about
Jesus as at all authoritative indicates that the message of the earthly
Jesus had a continuing importance for them. But since it was authori
tative for them only as interpreted tradition, its authority lay not in
its historical point of origin so much as in the fact that it was spoken
by the one who was now present Lord of the community and that it
could be regarded as expressing his present will. In other words, even
in the matter of inherited tradition the key unifying factor was the
continuity between the earthly Jesus (the historical source of the Jesustradition) and the exalted Lord (the present source of the interpreted
tradition). This conclusion strengthens the conclusions reached in
chapters II and III.
Second, this continuing importance of the Jesus-tradition should
not be taken to signify a substantial overlap between the kerygma of
Jesus and the kerygmata of the first Christians. The fact is that while
the language of tradition is used by Paul for both the Jesus-tradition
and the kerygmatic tradition, the Jesus-tradition is cited by Paul only
in matters ethical and with reference to the Lord's Supper, whereas
the kerygmatic tradition as such uses only the tradition of Jesus' death
and resurrection. This confirms that Paul had no thought of the
kerygma as simply re-expressing the message or teaching of Jesus.
The kerygma proclaimed the crucified and risen one, not the past
teaching of the earthly Jesus. The question about the relation of Jesus'
19

29. To that extent C. H. Dodd's distinction between kerygma and didache (teaching)
is soundly based. See also J . I. H. McDonald, Kerygma and Didache, S N T S M S 37,
Cambridge University Press 1 9 8 0 .

19.5]

Conclusions

85

proclamation to the proclamation of the first Christians has been

partly answered, but remains largely unresolved.
19.5 For those who value tradition or the tradition of first-century
Christianity in particular, some important corollaries follow from the
above investigations which are of contemporary relevance. First, we
should not be alarmed by the marked differences of opinion regarding
tradition which are current in modern Christianity, for we have seen
how marked was the degree of diversity of attitude towards and use
of tradition within earliest Christianity. In particular, those who find
more congenial the conservative attitude of the early Jerusalem church
to early Jewish tradition and of the Pastorals to early Christian tra
dition should bear in mind that Paul and John, not to mention Jesus
himself, were much more liberal towards the tradition of the past;
and those who are more liberal themselves should bear in mind that
the Pastorals are also part of the N T . Both conservative and liberal
would do well to follow Paul's advice to 'weak' and 'strong' (in
questions of tradition) in Rom. 1 4 . 1 - 1 5 . 6 and I Cor. 8 - 1 0 : not to
attach undue importance to matters of tradition and fully to respect
the opinions and practices of those who differ, with neither the con
servative 'condemning' the liberal for his exercise of liberty, nor the
liberal 'despising' the conservative for his scruples (particularly Rom.
14.3; see further below pp. 4i4f.). There is no such thing as uninter
preted tradition, even in and from the beginning. The real question
then is how the diversity of interpretation should be handled.
Second, if it is interpreted tradition which becomes the authoritative
expression in any given situation, what about the whole series of
interpreted traditions which fill the pages of church history through
out the centuries? Do they retain a continuing authority since the
work of interpretation has already been done, or was that interpret
ation authoritative only for its own day because it was relevant only to
its own day? Or do they become part of the tradition which has to be
interpreted afresh? If so, does interpretation in the present have to take
into account the whole of the preceding interpreted tradition, or does
some element within it serve as a norm for the rest? Or again, does
the interpretative process bypass, or even disregard previous interpret
ations and work only with the original tradition? If so, what is the
'original tradition'? Does it include John and the Pastorals, or even
Clement, Ignatius, etc. ? Or is it the tradition which lies behind Paul
and the Gospels, Synoptic as well as John? These are questions of
30

30. See further Dunn, Romans, pp. 8o2ff.; R. Jewett, Christian Tolerance. Paul's
Message to the Modern Church Westminster 1982.

The Role of Tradition

86

[19.5

importance for twenty-first-century Christianity's concept and prac

tice of authority. But they raise wider questions, particularly about
the N T and its canonicity which we cannot go into here and must
reserve for our final chapter.
For the moment we may simply repeat by way of summary, that
much the same pattern of unity and diversity emerges from our study
of early Christian tradition as we found in chapters II and III - unity
in the traditions of Jesus' death and resurrection and in the traditions
about Jesus, and diversity on the need to reinterpret the tradition
afresh and in the range of interpretation which actually confronts us.
31

3 1 . See further Dunn, Living Word, ch. 6.

The Use of the Old Testament

20.

INTRODUCTION

One of the most important unifying factors in Christianity has been

mutual recognition of certain writings as foundational and normative,
or, in a word, as scripture. Moreover, those who have most vigorously
contested the role of tradition have done so in defence of the primary
and unequalled authority of the Bible. Was the same true of the
earliest churches' Bible? The only Bible they knew and recognized
were the Jewish scriptures, that is the Law and the Prophets, together
with other Writings whose authority and whose number were not yet
fully agreed, but which coincided more or less with what Christians
call 'the Old Testament'. We will use this last term (OT) for con
venience. But we must recognize that in the first century AD it is both
too precise a delimitation and an anachronism, since Old Testament
presupposes that there is already a New Testament, which of course
did not yet exist as such.
We need spend little time demonstrating that the O T is an impor
tant unifying element in earliest Christianity and in the earliest Christ
ian literature. This is obviously true in the more specifically Jewish
Christian writings: notice the frequent use of the phrase 'in order that
it might be fulfilled' in Matthew and John and the important role
played by scriptural quotation in the early speeches in Acts, in Rom.
9 - 1 1 and in Hebrews. But it is also true throughout the NT. A glance
at a Nestle Greek text shows on almost every page words in different
type, denoting a direct scriptural reference (the Johannine epistles are
a striking exception) - and that does not include the less clear-cut
allusions. In this sense all Christianity in the N T is Jewish Christ
ianity; that is to say, the influence of the OT pervades the whole,
determines the meaning of its categories and concepts.
C. H. Dodd made much the same point in his significant book,
According to the Scriptures, by subtitling it, The Substructure of New
Testament Theology:

The Use of the Old Testament

88

[21

This whole body of material - the passages of OT scripture with

their application to the gospel facts - is common to all the main
portions of the N T , and in particular it provided the starting point
for the theological constructions of Paul, the author to the
Hebrews, and the Fourth Evangelist. It is the substructure of all
Christian theology and contains already its chief regulative ideas.
1

This is a bold claim. If it is true then we have indeed a unifying element

of primary significance, perhaps as important a unifying factor as
faith in Jesus itself - not just 'gospel facts' but 'OT scripture', not
just Jesus but OT. So far we have seen that in kerygma, in confession
and in tradition, Jesus alone gives unity and coherence to the diversity
of formulations. Do we now have to add another block to the founda
tion of Christianity - the OT? Is the real basis of early Christian unity
Jesus and the OT?
The relation between N T and OT, and vice-versa, is one which
has fascinated scholars for centuries, and the mass of literature which
appeared in the third quarter of the twentieth century indicates that
the debate was particularly lively over these years. Fortunately the
concerns of the present study enable us both to narrow the question
down and to sharpen it as well. For the key question is not so much
whether the Jewish scriptures were authoritative, as how their auth
ority was understood in practice. The same is true of the modern
debate about biblical authority: what is the Bible's authority when
the meaning of a text cannot be fully determined but has to be left
ambiguous? what is the Bible's authority when on the same topic one
author says one thing and another something else? We have already
seen a fair amount of that kind of diversity in the last three chapters,
and the diversity of denominations within Christianity is living testi
mony to the diversity of interpretation possible in biblical exegesis.
The key question for us then is not whether the OT was regarded as
authoritative, but what was its authority in practice? How were the
Jewish scriptures actually handled in the first years of Christianity?
How did the first Christians actually use the OT?

21. JEWISH

E X E G E S I S AT T H E T I M E OF J E S U S

It is generally accepted that contemporary Jewish exegesis is the

proper background to early Christianity's use of the OT. It is here
1. C. H. Dodd, According to the Scriptures, Nisbet 1 9 5 2 , p. 1 2 7 , my italics. See also
D. Juel, Messianic Exegesis, Fortress 1 9 8 8 .

ZI.I]

Jewish exegesis at the time of Jesus

89

that we must start. For the purposes of this discussion five broad
categories of Jewish exegesis can be distinguished - targum, midrash,
pesher, typological and allegorical. There is considerable controversy
over the last three. It should be stressed at once therefore, that these
are by no means hard and fast categories, simply useful ways of
characterizing the range of Jewish exegesis and interpretation and
that it is often very difficult to draw a dividing line or to classify a
particular mode of exegesis with confidence. But the justification for
making the five-fold distinction will I hope become apparent as we
proceed.
2 1 . 1 Targum means basically translation (into Aramaic). Between the
return from Exile and the second century A D , Hebrew was gradually
superseded by Aramaic as the spoken language of the Jews. Hebrew
survived for a long time particularly as the learned and sacred tongue,
and so was used in written works of this period. But by the first
century AD Aramaic was probably the only language which many
(most?) Palestinian Jews actually spoke. This meant that in the
synagogue the readings from the Law and the Prophets had to be
translated so that people could understand. For a long time oral
translations were sufficient, but eventually written translations were
made. A number of different Targumim (Targums) survive.
Notice that the targum is not a literal translation. It is often more
like a paraphrase or explanatory translation. It often involves ex
panding the text, and not infrequently alters the text. This is not
surprising, since the LXX does it as well, particularly in the translation
of I Kings. But the Targumim are not so restrained as the LXX; the
translation on several occasions embodies an interpretation distinctly
at odds with the original - an interpretative translation. The most
striking example is the Targum of Isa. 5 3 , where the translation has
been deliberately framed to rule out a Christian interpretation. That
is to say, it is a tendentious translation:
2

Who hath believed these our tidings? and to whom hath the power
of the mighty arm of the Lord been so revealed? And the righteous
shall grow up before him even as budding shoots; and as a tree
that sendeth forth its roots by streams of water, so shall the holy
2. See e.g., J . Barr, 'Which Language did Jesus Speak? - Some Remarks of a Semitist',
BJRL, 5 3 , 1 9 7 0 , pp. 9 - 2 9 ; J. A. Emerton, 'The Problem of Vernacular Hebrew in the First
Century A D and the Language of Jesus', JTS ns, 24, 1 9 7 3 , pp. 1 - 2 3 .
3. See R. le Daut, Introduction la littrature targumique, Prem, part., Rome 1966;
J. W. Bowker, The Targums and Rabbinic Literature, Cambridge University Press 1969;
M . McNamara, Targum and Testament, Irish University Press and Eerdmans 1 9 7 2 .

The Use of the Old Testament [ 2 1 . 2

generation increase in the land that was in need of him: his appear
ance shall not be that of a common man, nor the fear of him that
of an ordinary man; but his countenance shall be a holy counten
ance, so that all who see him shall regard him earnestly. Then shall
the glory of all the kingdoms be despised and come to an end; they
shall be infirm and sick even as a man of sorrows and as one
destined for sickness, and as when the presence of the Shekinah
was withdrawn from us, they (or we) shall be despised and of no
account. Then he shall pray on behalf of our transgressions and our
iniquities shall be pardoned for his sake, though we were accounted
smitten, stricken from before the Lord, and afflicted. But he shall
build the sanctuary that was polluted because of our transgressions
and given up because of our iniquities; and by his teaching shall
his peace be multiplied upon us, and by our devotion to his words
our transgressions shall be forgiven us. All we like sheep had been
scattered; we had wandered off each on his own way; but it was
the Lord's good pleasure to forgive the transgressions of us all for
his sake.
4

2 1 . 2 Midrash means exposition of a passage or text, an exposition

whose aim is to bring out the relevance of the sacred text to the
present. It was concerned not so much with the literal or plain mean
ing, as with the inner or hidden meanings of the text over and above
the obvious meaning. The typical midrash consisted in drawing out
such hidden meanings contained in a particular text.
Midrash starts from a (sacred) text or often a single word; but the
text is not simply explained - its meaning is extended and its
implications drawn out with the help of every possible association
of ideas.
5

By the time of Jesus rules of interpretation had already been agreed

- the seven middoth (rules) of Hillel. (1) Inference drawn from the
less important to the more important, and vice-versa. (2) Inference
by analogy, where two passages were drawn together by means of a
common word or words. (3) Constructing a family, a group of pass4. J . F. Stenning, The Targum of Isaiah, Oxford University Press 1949, pp. 1 7 8 , 1 8 0 .
See also W. Zimmerli and J . Jeremias, The Servant of God, E T revised S C M Press 1 9 6 5 ,
pp. 6 7 - 7 7 . F other more detailed examples see D. Patte, Early Jewish Hermeneutic in
Palestine, SBL Dissertation 2 2 , 1 9 7 5 , ch. IV.
5. B. Gerhardsson, The Testing of God's Son (Matt. 4 . 1 - r i and par.), Coniectanea
Biblica, Lund 1966, p. 14; see further R. Bloch, 'Midrash', Approaches to Ancient Judaism:
Theory and Practice, ed. W. S. Green, Brown Judaic Studies 1 , Scholars 1 9 7 8 , pp. 2 9 - 5 0 .
r

21.3]

Jewish exegesis at the time of Jesus

91

ages related by context, where a feature peculiar to one member is

taken to apply to all. (4) The same as (3), but where the family
consists of only two passages. (5) The general and particular, the
particular and general; that is, the detailed determination of a general
application from a particular occurrence, and vice-versa. (6) Expo
sition by means of a similar passage elsewhere. (7) An inference
deduced from the context. The rules were later extended to thirtytwo. The two basic kinds of midrash, Halakah and Haggadah, we
have already touched on above (p.67).
6

21.3 Pesher can be described as a narrower form of midrash, though

many scholars would refuse to recognize it as a separate category.
Pesher means simply 'interpretation'. It gains its characteristic sense
from Daniel, in the Aramaic portion of which (2.4-7.28) it occurs 30
times, and where it is used for Daniel's interpretation of the dreams
of Nebuchadnezzar and Belshazzar and for Daniel's interpretation of
the writing on the wall at Belshazzar's feast. It tends to be much more
precise an interpretation than midrash. In much over-simplified terms
midrash expands the relevance of a text, whereas pesher explains
the meaning of a text with a one-to-one correspondence. Thus, for
example, each element in the dream, each word on the wall has a
precise meaning - a precise meaning in terms of the present.
7

Mene, mene, tekel and parsim. This is the interpretation (pesher)

of the matter: Mene, God has numbered the days of your kingdom
and brought it to an end; tekel, you have been weighed in the
balance and found wanting; peres, your kingdom is divided and
given to the Medes and Persians (Dan. 5.25-28).
Pesher has become an important word in this area of study in recent
years because of its use in the Qumran commentaries. The Dead sea
community regarded itself as the new covenant faithful living in the
final days before the eschaton. They believed therefore that certain
prophecies of the OT referred to themselves and to themselves exclu
sively - prophecies which had remained unilluminated mysteries until
6. See H. L. Strack, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash, 1 9 3 1 , Harper 1 9 6 5 ,
pp. 9 3 - 8 .
7. According to E. E . Ellis, 'the distinctiveness of the Qumran pesher is not in its
structure nor in its specific subject matter but in its technique and, specifically, its eschatological perspective', ('Midrash, Targum and New Testament Quotations', Neotestamentica
et Semitica: Studies in Honour of M. Black, ed., E. E. Ellis and M . Wilcox, T. &C T. Clark
1969, p. 62). For Patte the distinctiveness of the Qumran pesher is that it treats the
scriptural text like a dream or vision, a riddle to be 'unriddled' (Hermeneutic, pp. 2 9 9 308).

92

The Use of the Old Testament

[21.4
8

the Teacher of Righteousness provided the necessary interpretation.

Several of their commentaries have been preserved in fragments for example, commentaries on Isaiah, Hosea and Nahum. The most
completely preserved is the Commentary on Habakkuk. The method
of exposition is to quote the text and then append the interpretation.
Thus:
For behold, I rouse the Chaldeans, that cruel and hasty nation
(1.6a). The explanation (pesher) of this concerns the Kittim (that
is, the Romans)...
Note how bold the interpretation is - 'Chaldeans' means 'Kittim
(Romans)'.
O traitors, why do you look on and keep silence when the wicked
swallows up the man more righteous than he? (1.13b). The expla
nation of this concerns the House of Absalom and the members of
their council who were silent at the time of chastisement of the
Teacher of Righteousness . . .
But the righteous will live by faith (2.4b). The explanation of this
concerns all those who observe the Law in the House of Judah.
God will deliver them from the House of Judgment because of their
affliction and their faith in the Teacher of Righteousness.
Thirteen principles of interpretation have been adduced from the
Qumran pesher technique. These are most conveniently to be found
in K. Stendahl's book, The School of St Matthew.
9

21.4 Typology is a form of interpretation much abused by Christians

in the past, particularly in post-Reformation Protestantism, and still
in some modern sects, whereby, for example, details of the patriarchal
histories or the furniture of the wilderness tabernacle are seen as types
of Christ and of Christian salvation. Partly for this reason many
scholars would dispute whether typology is an appropriate category
to use in such a discussion as this. But, rightly defined, typological
exegesis can be recognized within both pre-Christian Judaism and
the NT.
8. F. F. Bruce, Biblical Exegesis in the Qumran Tests, Tyndale Press i960, pp. 7 - 1 1 .
See further M . P. Horgan, Pesharism, Qumran Interpretations of Biblical Books, C B Q M S
8, Catholic Biblical Association of America 1 9 7 9 ; W. H. Brownlee, The Midrash Pesher of
Habakkuk, S B L M S 24, Scholars 1 9 7 9 .
9. K. Stendahl, The School of St Matthew, Lund 1 9 5 4 , i 9 6 8 , pp. i9if.
2

21.5]

Jewish exegesis at the time of Jesus

93

Typology sees a correspondence between people and events of the

past and of the future (or present). The correspondence with the past
is not found within the written text but within the historical event.
That _is to say, typology is to be distinguished both from predictive
prophecy, where the text functions only as a prediction of the future,
and from allegory, where the correspondence is to be found in a
hidden meaning of the text and not in the history it relates. For its
part typology does not ignore the historical meaning of a text, but
rather takes that as its starting point. Typological exegesis then is
based on the conviction that certain events in the past history of
Israel, as recorded in earlier scriptures, thereby revealed God's ways
and purposes with men and did so in a typical manner. In particular,
certain high moments of revelation in the history of salvation, especi
ally events of the beginning, whether of the world (creation and
paradise) or of Israel (exodus, wilderness), and events from the high
period of Israel's national life (kingdom of David), manifest a pattern
of God's acts and so prefigure the future time when God's purpose
will be revealed in its fullness in the age to come. In this sense typology
can appropriately be defined as eschatological analogy'.
There are some clear examples of typology within the OT itself.
Paradise is probably understood as the type of eschatological bliss
(Isa. 1 1 . 6 - 8 ; Amos 9.13). The exodus and the wilderness become the
type of eschatological deliverance (e.g. Isa. 4 3 . 1 6 - 2 1 ; 52.nf.; Hos.
2 . 1 4 - 2 0 ) . David is the type of the coming deliverer (Isa. 1 1 . 1 ; Jer.
23.5; Ezek. 34.23; 37.24). Later on Moses is seen as the type of
the eschatological prophet (on the basis of Deut. 1 8 . 1 5 ) , d in the
apocalyptic writings of the intertestamental period paradise vies with
Jerusalem as the type of God's consummated purpose in the new age
imminent.
l

a n

10

21.5 Allegory. The most prominent allegorizer within pre-Christian

Judaism was Philo of Alexandria. The distinctive mark of the allegori
cal method is that it regards the text as a sort of code or cipher; the
interpretation is simply the decoding of the text in question - in other
words a more extreme form of midrash, not unlike the pesher. For
the allegorist there are (at least) two levels of meaning in a text - the
literal, superficial level of meaning, and the underlying meaning. The
literal meaning is not to be wholly despised or disregarded; but it is
comparatively unimportant beside the deeper meaning - as shadow
to substance. Those who remain with the literal meaning alone are
10. Texts cited in D. S. Russell, The Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic,
Press 1964, pp. 2831.

SCM

The Use of the Old Testament

94

[zz

'uncritical' (Quod Deus Imm., 2 1 ; Quis Her., 9 1 ) . Thus in various

places Philo says things like: 'the literal story is symbolical of a hidden
meaning which demands explanation' (De Praem., 61); 'when we
interpret words by the meanings that lie beneath the surface, all that
is mythical is removed out of our way, and the real sense becomes as
clear as daylight' (De Agric, 97 - allegorizing was the earliest form
of demythologizing); 'let us not, then, be misled by the actual words,
but look at the allegorical meaning that lies beneath them' (De Cong.
Quaer., 1 7 2 ) .
As R. Williamson points out, the value of allegorical exegesis for
Philo was four-fold. (1) It enabled him to avoid taking literally the
anthropomorphic descriptions of God; (2) it enabled him to avoid
the trivial, unintelligible, nonsensical or incredible meanings of some
OT passages when interpreted literally; (3) it provided a means of
dealing with the historical difficulties of the OT - for example, where
did Cain find his wife? (4) it enabled him to read out of the OT
conclusions which harmonized with the Hellenistic philosophies, and
so to vindicate the OT to his fellow philosophers.
11

12

2 2 . E A R L I E S T C H R I S T I A N E X E G E S I S OF T H E O T

All five types of Jewish exegesis occur within the N T .

22.1 Targum. N T writers usually use the LXX, but quite often they
or their sources have made their own translation direct from the
Hebrew. There is no need to quote examples. The question of targumic translation, or pesher quotation, requires fuller treatment and
we shall return to it below (23).
22.2 Midrash. We have several good examples in the N T of more
extended midrashim. John 6 . 3 1 - 5 8 is a midrash on Ps. 78.24 - 'he
gave them bread from heaven to eat' (6.31). In it the Johannine Jesus
explains that the 'he' of the text is not Moses, but the Father. The
'bread from heaven' is he who came down from heaven, that is Jesus,
that is hisfleshgiven for the life of the world. And those who eat there
fore are not the fathers in the desert eating manna and dying, but those
who hear Jesus: if they eat hisfleshand drink his blood, that is if they
believe in him and receive his Spirit, they will never die.
13

1 1 . Examples in S. G. Sowers, The Hermeneutics of Philo and Hebrews, Zurich 1 9 6 5 ,

pp. 2 9 - 3 4 .
1 2 . R. Williamson, Philo and the Epistle to the Hebrews, Leiden 1 9 7 0 , pp. 5 2 3 - 8 .
1 3 . See P. Borgen, Bread from Heaven, SNT, X , 1 9 6 5 .

22.3]

Earliest Christian exegesis of the OT

95

Romans 4.3-25 is a midrash on Gen. 15.6 - 'Abraham believed

(episteusen) God, and it was counted (elogisthe) to him for righteous
ness'. Note how Paul quotes it at the beginning (v.3) and again as the
conclusion (Q.E.D. - v.22). Verses 4-8 are his exposition of elogisthe
- where he shows that it can be understood in the sense of attributing
a favour, rather than of paying a reward (using the second rule of
Hillel to link Gen. 15.6 with Ps. 32.if.). Verses 9 - 2 2 are his expo
sition of episteusen - where he presents three arguments to prove that
Abraham's pistis (faith) has to be understood as faith in the Pauline
sense, not faithfulness in the rabbinic sense (vv.9-12, 1 3 - 1 7 3 , (17b21)). Similarly Gal. 3 . 8 - 1 4 (or even 8-29) can be regarded as a
midrashic interpretation of Gen. 1 2 . 3 , 1 8 . 1 8 .
II Corinthians 3 . 7 - 1 8 can be classified as either a midrash or an
allegory. Paul expounds Ex. 34.29-3 5 - expoundingfirstthe meaning
of the shining of Moses' face (vv.7-11), then the meaning of 'the veiV
which Moses used to cover his face (vv.12-15), then the meaning of
the Lord to whom Moses spoke unveiled (vv.16-18). Notice that in
his interpretation Paul goes beyond, perhaps even contradicts the
sense of Exodus: Exodus says nothing about the glory fading away;
and Moses used the veil to hide the brightness from the people, not
its fading.
Similarly it has been shown that some of the speeches in Acts
(particularly Acts 2 and 13) take the form of Christian midrashim,
and even Matt. 4 . 1 - 1 1 can be regarded as a midrash on Deut. 6-8,
as B. Gerhardsson has demonstrated (see above n.5).
14

15

16

22.3 Pesher. The nearest equivalents to the pesher of the Qumrah

type are Rom. 10.6-9 d Heb. 1 0 . 5 - 1 0 . Romans 10.6-9
interpretation of Deut. 3 0 . 1 2 - 1 4 , where each verse is quoted in a
very free translation with its explanation added in pesher fashion.
a n

l s

17

12

The righteousness that comes by faith says, 'Do not say to your
self, "Who can go up to heaven?"' (this means to bring Christ
down), 'or, "Who can go down the abyss?"' (this means to bring
13

14. See further my Romans, Word Biblical Commentary 3 8 , Word 1988, p. 1 9 6 - 8 .

1 5 . See J . D. G. Dunn, 'II Cor. 3 . 1 7 : "The Lord is the Spirit"', JTS ns, 2 1 , 1 9 7 0 ,
pp. 3 0 9 - 1 8 .
16. See particularly J . W. Bowker, 'Speeches in Acts: A Study of Proem and Yellammedenu form', NTS, 1 4 , 1 9 6 7 - 6 8 , pp. 9 6 - 1 1 1 .
1 7 . Paul's pesher is quite probably modelled on a current Jewish paraphrase still pre
served in the recently discovered Neofiti Targum (see M . McNamara, The New Testament
and the Palestinian Targum to the Pentateuch, Rome 1 9 6 6 , pp. 7 3 - 7 ) ; Dunn, Romans,
pp. 6 0 3 - 6 .

The Use of the Old Testament

[22.4

14

Christ up from the dead). But what does it say? T h e word is near
you, on your lips and in your heart'. This means the word of faith
which we proclaim. For if 'on your lips' is the confession 'Jesus is
Lord', and 'in your heart' the faith that God raised him from the
dead, then you will be saved.
Hebrews 1 0 . 5 - 1 0 is an interpretation of Ps. 40.6-8, though here the
whole passage is quoted first in the LXX version, which is itself an
interpretative paraphrase of the Hebrew text. Following the quotation
the key features of it are taken up and explained in pesher fashion:
Sacrifice and offering thou didst not desire,
but thou hast prepared a body for me.
Whole offerings and sin-offerings thou didst not delight in.
Then I said, 'Here am I: as it is written of me in the scroll,
I have come, O God, to do thy will'.
First he says, 'Sacrifice and offerings, whole-offerings and sinofferings, thou didst not desire nor delight in' - although the law
prescribes them; and then he says, 'I have come to do thy will'. He
thus annuls the former to establish the latter. By that 'will' we
have been consecrated, through the 'offering' of the 'body' of Jesus
Christ once and for all.
Other examples of pesher exegesis are Rom. 9.7L, I Cor. 1 5 . 5 4 - 5 6 ,
II Cor. 6.2, Eph. 4 . 8 - 1 1 , Heb. 2.6-9, 3 - 7 9 - And see further below,
2-3.
-I

22.4 Typological exegesis in the sense defined above (21.4) can also
be found in the N T , though how extensively is a matter of dispute.
Paul seems to use the very word [tupos - type) with this sense implied
in two passages. In Rom. 5.14 he calls Adam 'a type of him who was
to come'. Notice that the typological correspondence is limited: Adam
is a type of Christ only to the extent that he shows how in God's
purpose the single act of one man can decisively affect the divinehuman relationship of the race that he begets. Beyond that the corre
spondence between Adam and Christ is better described as a converse
type (Rom. 5 . 1 5 - 1 9 ) . In I Cor. 10.6 he speaks of the events which
followed the exodus as tupoi. God's dealings with the tribes of Israel
in the wilderness are 'typical' (v. 1 1 ) : as the blessings of redemption
(from Egypt) and of miraculous sustenance in the desert did not
prevent them falling under the judgment of God for their subsequent

22.5]

Earliest Christian exegesis of the OT

97

idolatry and sin, so baptism into and communion with Christ will
not prevent judgment falling on the Corinthian believers.
The writer to the Hebrews uses the language of type in a highly
distinctive way much influenced by Hellenistic philosophy. The in
struction given to Moses in Ex. 25.40 - 'See that you make everything
according to the pattern (tupos) shown you on the mountain' enables him to tie together Hebrew eschatology of two ages (present
age and age to come, or old age and new age) with Platonic cosmology
of two worlds (the heavenly world of reality and the earthly world of
copy and shadow). The tabernacle in the wilderness and its attendant
ritual was but a 'shadow' (10.1) or 'antitype' (9.24) of the heavenly
sanctuary. But Christ has now entered the real sanctuary and made
it open to believers. He is the real priest and sacrifice, and no mere
copy or shadow. That is to say, as the old age was the age of shadow
and antitype, so the new age is the age of reality and type. Christ has
banished the shadows once for all and brought the heavenly realities
into earthly experience. What believers now experience is the real
thing - real cleansing, real access into the presence of God. In short,
the OT priesthood, sacrifice, sanctuary and covenant are typical of
Christ's ministry and its blessings, in that the heavenly reality of
which they were only an imperfect copy has become the reality
of Christian experience here and now.
The only other occurrence of the word 'antitype' in the N T is
I Peter 3 . 2 1 , where Noah's deliverance is taken as the type of baptism
(the antitype). The typological correspondence is strained since deliver
ance from a flood is not altogether typical of God's way of saving men.
The only real link is the water involved in both the flood and in Christ
ian baptism. And I Peter rather forces through the correspondence
by speaking of Noah's salvation 'through water'. Here we are not so
very far from the more bizarre typological exegesis of later centuries.
Other examples of N T exegesis which imply some form of typology
would include Jesus' representation as the paschal lamb (John 19.36;
I Cor. 5.7), as indeed the whole sacrificial imagery of the N T in its
application to Jesus. The danger is that the wider we extend the range
of typological correspondence between OT and N T the more we
trivialize the idea of type and the closer typological exegesis comes to
the less edifying kind of allegorizing.
22.5 Allegory. Some scholars would deny outright that there is any
allegorical exegesis in the N T . The more balanced judgment is that
18

1 8 . Cf. e.g., A . T. Hanson, Studies in Paul's Technique and Theology, SPCK 1 9 7 4 ,

pp. 1 5 9 - 6 6 .

The Use of the Old Testament

[22.5

there is some, but not much - though it should be said that what
there is for the most part differs markedly from the allegorizing of
Philo. The only really clear examples are I Cor. 1 0 . 1 - 4 , Gal. 4 . 2 2 3 1 and probably II Cor. 3 . 7 - 1 8 . The exegesis of I Cor. 1 0 . 1 - 4 is
based on the recognition of a typological correspondence between the
situations of the Israelites in the wilderness and the Christians in
Corinth (see above pp.96f.). But it has clear-cut allegorical features:
the passage through the Red Sea is taken as an allegory of baptism
into Christ ('baptized in the cloud and in the sea into Moses' =
allegorically, baptized in the Spirit into Christ - cf. 1 2 . 1 3 ) ; manna
and water from the rock are allegories of the Christian's supernatural
sustenance (pneumatikos in vv.3-4 is almost equivalent to 'allegori
cal' - cf. Rev. 1 1 . 8 ) ; the rock itself is an allegory for Christ (the
allegory is decoded explicitly for the first time by means of the expla
nation, 'The rock was/ = Christ').
Even clearer is Gal. 4 . 2 2 - 3 1 , where Paul explicitly claims to be
indulging in allegorical exegesis (v.24). Here the decoding is slightly
complex, but the difficulties do not affect the sense too greatly:
Hagar = the covenant of the law from Mount Sinai, the present
Jerusalem, bearing children in slavery to the law; Sarah = the covenant
of promise, the Jerusalem above which is free; Ishmael = the children
by law, those who are born 'according to the flesh'; Isaac = the
children by promise, those born 'according to the Spirit'.
I have already dealt with II Cor. 3 . 7 - 1 8 under the heading of
Midrash to which it more closely belongs (22.2). The clearest alle
gorical features are to be found in v. 1 4 , where Paul describes the veil
over Moses' face as still covering the minds of the Jews today when
they read the law - 'the same veil'! and v. 1 7 , where Paul gives the
decoding key to the verse from Ex. 34 just quoted - ' "The Lord" (of
whom this passage speaks) = the Spirit'. I Cor. 9 . 8 - 1 0 could also merit
the title 'allegory' since Paul seems to take the Mosaic injunction, 'You
shall not muzzle an ox when it is treading out the grain' (Deut. 25.4),
19

20

19. There is no reference to or thought of Christ as pre-existent here. Verse 4c is not

intended as a historical statement but as the interpretative key to understanding the allegory:
'the rock represented/stands for Christ'. Similarly in Gal. 4.24 - 'Sinai is (= represents/
stands for) Hagar'; and II Cor. 3 . 1 7 - ' "The Lord is (= represents/stands for) the Spirit'.
The use of a past tense in I Cor. 10.4c, as opposed to the present tenses of the two parallel
passages, does not disturb the parallel: 'Sinai' and 'the Lord' are present (as well as past)
realities to Paul, whereas 'the rock' belonged solely to the historical past. See further Dunn,
Christology, pp. 1 8 3 - 4 .
20. Cf. R. N . Longenecker, Biblical Exegesis in the Apostolic Period, Eerdmans 1 9 7 5 ,
pp. \xjii. A close parallel to the allegorical method of Gal. 4 . 2 2 - 3 1 in contemporary
Judaism is C D 6 . 3 - 1 1 (I owe this reference to my colleague Dr G. I. Davies).

2.3.1]

Pesher quotation

99

as a command to communities to provide support for their apostle or

other missionaries. Paul's dismissal of the literal sense of the original
regulation makes I Cor. 9.9L. the nearest thing we. have to Philonic
allegorizing in the N T (cf. Ep. Aristeas 144).

23. PESHER

QUOTATION

So far the diversity in earliest Christian use of the OT simply reflects

the similar diversity within Jewish exegesis of that time - and, we
may infer, reflects a closely similar respect for the authority of the
Jewish scriptures. But there is another type or aspect of exegesis in
Qumran and the N T which helps to focus and clarify the issues for
us, and which therefore deserves separate treatment.
In the case of midrash, pesher (and allegory) the OT text is usually
quoted and then the interpretation added. But in this other type of
exegesis the actual quotation of the text embodies its interpretation
within the quotation itself - what is perhaps therefore best described
as a targumic translation or (as I prefer) a pesher quotation. The
incorporation of the interpretation within the text itself sometimes
leaves the text verbally unaltered, but usually it involves modifying
the actual text form.
21

23.1 Quotations where the text is given a different sense from the
original, with little or no alteration of the text form - for example:
Micah 5.2: 'You Bethlehem Ephrathah who are least among clans
of Judah . . .';
Matt. 2.6: 'O Bethlehem, who are by no means least among the
rulers of Judah'.
Hab. 2.4: 'the righteous shall live by his faith/faithfulness';
LXX: 'He that is righteous shall live by my faith', that is, God's
faithfulness;
Rom. 1 . 1 7 : 'those justified by faith will live'.

2 1 . There is some dispute as to whether the same is true of the Qumran text of Habakkuk, or whether the Qumran text is simply derived from divergent versions of the Hebrew.
See e.g., Stendahl, Matthew, pp. 1 8 5 - 9 0 ; J . A. Fitzmyer, 'The Use of explicit Old Testament
quotations in Qumran literature and in the New Testament', NTS, 7, 1 9 6 0 - 6 1 , reprinted
in Essays on the Semitic Background of the New Testament, Chapman 1 9 7 1 , ch. 1 ;
Longenecker, Biblical Exegesis, pp. 39L; Horgan, Pesharism, p. 2 4 5 ; Brownlee, Midrash
Pesher pp. 3 1 - 4 .

The Use of the Old Testament

IOO

[23.2

Ps. 19.4: the testimony of creation;

Rom. 1 0 . 1 8 : the same words referred to the gospel.
Probably the most striking example here is Gal. 3 . 1 6 , which refers to
Gen. 1 2 . 7 (LXX) - the covenant made with Abraham and his seed,
that is his descendants. Paul seizes on the fact that LXX uses sperma,
a collective singular, and interprets it of Christ. To take sperma (seed)
as singular of course makes nonsense of the original promise; but in
Paul's debate with the Judaizers this type of rabbinic exegesis enables
him to make his point in a way which would carry some force with
those he was addressing. For other examples see Acts 1.20, 4 . 1 1 ,
Rom. 1 2 . 1 9 . We should also recall how not just obviously messianic
scriptures are referred to Jesus (beloved Son of the Psalms, Servant
of Isaiah, Stone passages), but also passages originally addressed to
Yahweh (see above p.56).
23.2 Quotations where the sense of the text is significantly modified
by means of altering the text form - for example, II Cor. 3.16 (see
above n.15) and Eph. 4.8 (Ps. 68.18).
Ps. 68.18
Thou didst ascend the high
mount, leading captors in thy
train and receiving gifts among
men.

Eph. 4.8
When he ascended on high he
led a host of captives, and
gave gifts to men.

In the Hebrew and LXX the king receives gifts of homage from his
captives. In Paul the exalted Jesus gives gifts of the Spirit to his
disciples. There is however also a targum on Ps. 68 which refers the
verse to Moses and which paraphrases 'you received gifts' by 'you
have learned the words of the Torah, and gave them as gifts to the
sons of men'. Whether Paul knew this version or not, his own
targumic translation is as bold.
The clearest example of pesher quotation is probably Matt. 2 7 . 9 10 (Zech. 1 1 . 1 3 , with clauses rearranged to make comparison easier).
22

Zechariah
I took the 30 shekels of silver the splendid price at which J
was priced/paid off by them -

Matthew
They took the 30 pieces of
silver, the price of him on
whom a price had been set by
some of the sons of Israel,

22. McNamara, Palestinian Targum, pp. 7 8 - 8 1 .

23-3]

Pesher quotation

and cast them in the house of

Yahweh unto the potter, as
Yahweh had commanded me.

IOI

and they gave them for the

potter's field, as the Lord
directed me.

Throughout Zechariah the actor is the prophet, T ; the 30 shekels are

his wages; he casts them down in the house of the Lord. In Matthew
the T becomes 'they' (priests) and 'him' (Jesus) - though for some
reason Matthew retains the 'me' at the end, bringing the quotation
to an oddly jarring conclusion. The 30 pieces of silver become the
blood money paid to Judas. The prophet's casting down in the house
of the Lord becomes the priests' buying the potter's field.
Note also that Matthew refers the passage to Jeremiah, though he
quotes from Zechariah. This is probably because he wanted to include
in his quotation a reference to Jeremiah. Two famous incidents in
Jeremiah's life were his encounter with the potter and his prophetic
act in buying afield(Jer. 1 8 - 1 9 , 32). So the Matthean text is properly
to be regarded as a combination of texts - primarily of Zechariah,
but with implicit reference to Jeremiah.
Other examples of combination of texts are Matt. 2 1 . 5 , 1 3 , Rom.
9.33, 1 1 . 8 , II Cor. 6 . 1 6 - 1 8 , Gal. 3.8, Heb. 1 0 . 3 7 ^ , 1 3 . 5 23

23.3 On a number of occasions the pesher quotation involves the

development of a text which has no real parallel. A clear example of
this is Matt. 2.23. There is in fact no prophecy which says, 'He shall
be called a Nazarene'. The text is probably formed by combining a
reference to Judg. 1 3 . 5 with a reference to Isa. 1 1 . 1 . Samson is taken
as a type of Jesus - so, 'he shall be a Nazirite' is referred to Jesus; Isa.
1 1 . 1 speaks of the branch (nezer) of Jesse. Matthew's pesher nazoraios (Nazarene) is established by a play on nazir(aion) (Nazirite)
and nezer (branch). Other examples of quotations which have no
parallel in the OT and must be formed by a combination of references
and allusions are Luke 1 1 . 4 9 , John 7.38, I Cor. 2.9, James 4.5 (cf.
Eph. 5.14).
24

2 3 . For other examples of modification of a text for the sake of interpretation see
Lindars, Apologetic, p. 284; and for later examples of gnosticized pesher quotation of
sayings of Jesus see the Gospel of Thomas (below 62).
24. E. Schweizer, 'Er Wird Nazaraer heissen', Neotestamentica, Zurich 1 9 6 3 , pp. 5 1 - 5 .

I02

The Use of the Old Testament

[24

24. P R I N C I P L E S O F I N T E R P R E T A T I O N

It has become increasingly clear that when we talk of the OT within

earliest Christianity we are not talking of something in itself. When
we talk of the NT's use of the OT we are not talking of a straight
forwardness of correspondence and fulfilment which gave the OT a
wholly objective authority. The last two sections have shown beyond
dispute that N T quotations from the OT are interpretations of the
OT. The OT was quoted only because it could be interpreted in
favour of the point being made, in relation to the situation addressed;
and quite often this interpretation could only be achieved by mod
ifying the textual form. In short, the first Christians valued the OT
not as an independent authority so much as an interpreted authority.
What then are the principles which governed their interpretation?
Was it completely arbitrary? or was their freedom of interpretation
restricted within certain bounds?
24.1 The first thing to be said is that the choice of OT text as a rule
was not arbitrary. The N T writers did not simply seize on any text,
or create texts ex nihilo. There is a givenness in the passages they
quote. They are for the most part passages which had already been
accepted as messianic (like Ps. 1 1 0 . 1 ) , or which in the light of Jesus'
actual life have a prima facie claim to be messianic (like Ps. 22 and
Isa. 53). This is true even of the allegories of Gal. 4 . 2 2 - 3 1 and II Cor.
3 . 7 - 1 8 . Even before the Christian interpreter had gone into detailed
interpretation it was plausible to take Ishmael and Isaac as pictures
of two types of relation to Abraham, plausible even to take the glow
on Moses' face as a picture of the glory of the Mosaic covenant.
Likewise in the case of texts like Matt. 2.23 and John 7.38; they were
not conjured out of the mind, but even now we can have a fairly good
idea of what texts the author had in mind - the different passages
which were the starting-point for his thinking and which merged
together in his mind to form the new text. In short, there is a certain
giveness in the choice of the text interpreted.
24.2 Second, the interpretation was achieved again and again by
reading the OT passage or incident quoted in the light of the event
of Christ, by viewing it from the standpoint of the new situation
brought about by Jesus and of the redemption effected by Jesus. The
technique is best illustrated in Gal. 3.8, 4 . 2 2 - 3 1 , II Cor. 3 . 7 - 1 8 and
Matt. 2.23.

24.3]

Principles of interpretation

Gal. 3.8: The scripture, foreseeing that God would justify the
Gentiles by faith, preached the gospel beforehand to Abraham,
saying, 'In you shall all the nations be blessed'.
Abraham did not in fact hear the gospel itself. The promise, 'In you
shall all nations be blessed' can be called 'gospel' only when inter
preted in the light of Christ; only because it was fulfilled in Jesus in
some sense can it be called 'the gospel'; it draws its significance as
gospel for Paul from Jesus and his redemptive acts. So with Isaac and
Ishmael in Gal. 4. The meaning Paul sees in their births is drawn from
his own key categories - kata pneuma and kata sarka (according to
the Spirit, according to the flesh). Isaac and Ishmael were significant
at this point because they could be interpreted allegorically in terms
of the current debate. Likewise the veil of Moses referred to in II Cor.
3. It had none of the significance which Paul sees in it for the old
dispensation. Its significance lies wholly in the new dispensation - the
veil of Moses understood and interpreted as the veil over the hearts
of the Jews now (3.14 - it is the same veil). In other words, the
significance Paul attaches to the veil was drawn not so much from
the text as from his own theology. Similarly in the case of Matt. 2.23.
The text, 'He shall be called a Nazarene' would not have emerged had
Jesus not come from Nazareth. Neither Nazirite nor nezer (branch)
in themselves or together suggested 'Nazarene'. The interpretation
emerged as much, if not much more from the gospel tradition as from
the OT. In short, we can see here something of the extent to which
interpretation of the OT was determined by the present and not the
past.
24.3 We can now say simply what the principle of interpretation was,
how pesher quotation was achieved. The pesher emerged from the
bringing together of given text and given gospel tradition. The process
is probably best illustrated in the case of Matt. 27.yi. First, there was
the givenness of the text in Zechariah. Zechariah 1 1 is unquestionably
messianic: it speaks of theflockand the shepherd. Theflockis presum
ably Israel. The shepherd is the prophet himself who at God's com
mand becomes the shepherd. He speaks throughout in thefirstperson.
This is clearly messianic and was accepted as such. So,first,there was
the messianic passage. Second, there was the tradition of the Jesus
event and the Christian belief that Jesus is Messiah. This involved
belief that messianic scriptures were fulfilled in Jesus. So there was
a natural impulse to bring together the messianic passage and the
Jesus-tradition.
In this case the immediate relevance of the Zechariah prophecy to

The Use of the Old Testament

[2.4.4

the Jesus-tradition is clear. In Zech. 1 1 the shepherd in some sense

fails and is rejected by the flock, and there is talk of 30 shekels as his
wage/price. In the Jesus-tradition the Messiah is rejected by Israel and
betrayed for 30 pieces of silver. Clearly then there was an obvious
and immediate 'fit' between OT prophecy and the Jesus-tradition.
Moreover, in Zechariah the shepherd throws the money down in the
temple and the Hebrew adds 'unto the potter' (Syriac - treasury); and
this can be explicated by reference to Jeremiah, famous both for his
association with a potter and for buying a field as a prophetic act. In
the Jesus-tradition, Judas throws the 30 pieces of silver down in the
temple and it is used for buying a potter's field.
Clearly the points of contact between Zechariah/Jeremiah and the
Jesus-tradition relating to Judas are sufficiently close to justify the
conclusion that these events were the fulfilment of the Zechariah/
Jeremiah prophecy. If this is agreed, then it is merely a matter of
jockeying with the exact details of the one until they fit more or less
with the exact details of the other. In the event this involves applying
some actions to different actors; ignoring certain details on either side
(Judas does not actually appear in the pesher - to introduce him would
complicate the pesher too much); incorporating certain elements from
Jeremiah into Zechariah to make a corporate whole; leaving some
details uncorrelated ('as the Lord directed me'').
This whole issue - of pesher quotation - requires of course a much
fuller examination. But Matt. 27.9L is probably the clearest example
of an OT text which as quoted owes much more to the theological
intention of the N T writer than to any possible alternative version
available to him. Had we more space the procedure could be illus
trated by various other examples showing how often the OT text and
the original Jesus-tradition came together to form a new text, an
interpreted text, or to give the original text a meaning which its
original wording could hardly bear.
25

24.4 The importance of the interpreter's situation for his interpret

ation is further illustrated by the fact that in some cases the same O T
text is interpreted differently by different NT writers. For example,
(1) Genesis 15.6. As we have seen, Paul cites Gen. 15.6 as proof that
Abraham was justified by faith alone and not by works (Rom. 4-3ff.;
25. See e.g., R. S. McConnell, Law and Prophecy in Matthew's Gospel: the Authority
and Use of the Old Testament in the Gospel of St Matthew, Basel 1969, particularly
pp. 1 3 5 - 8 ; E. D. Freed, Old Testament Quotations in the Gospel of John, SNT, XI, 1965;
E. E. Ellis, Paul's Use of the Old Testament, Eerdmans 1 9 5 7 - nearly 20 O T citations seem
to be 'a deliberate adaptation to the N T context' (p. 144); S. Kistemaker, The Psalm
Citations in the Epistle to the Hebrews, Amsterdam 19 6 1 .

24.4]

Principles of interpretation

105

Gal. 3.6). But James cites the same passage to prove almost precisely
the opposite! - that Abraham was justified by works and not by faith
alone (James 2.23; see further below p.27if.). (2) Psalm 2.7 - in Paul's
sermon in Pisidian Antioch it is referred to Jesus' resurrection (Acts
1 3 . 3 3 ; so probably Heb. 1.5; 5.5); but in the Synoptics it is referred
to Jesus' experience of the Spirit's descent upon him at Jordan (Mark
1 . 1 1 pars.; see also below p.236). (3) Isaiah 6.${. - 'Hear and hear,
but do not understand; see and see, but do not perceive...' - the
classic explanation for the unbelief of the Jews. As B. Lindars notes:
In John 12.39L it appears as the reason why the response to the
mission of Jesus, especially to his signs, was so small; in Acts 2 8 . 2 5 28 it suggests the change of St Paul's policy, turning from the Jews
to the Gentiles; while in Mark 4.1 if. and pars, it is advanced as
the reason for our Lord's method of teaching by parables. All these
are of course concerned with response. But none of them is quite
the same, and from the point of view of apologetic the Markan
example has strayed into an entirely different field.
26

(4) Isaiah 8 . 1 4 - 1 8 . Isaiah 8.i4f. is one of the famous Stone passages,

where Yahweh is depicted as a stone of offence and a rock of stum
bling. Romans 9.33 and I Peter 2.8 refer this passage to Jesus: Jesus
is equated with Yahweh, the stone. Isaiah 8.i7f. speaks of Isaiah's
trust in Yahweh and of the children Yahweh has given him. Hebrews
2.13 refers this passage to Jesus: Isaiah's trust in Yahweh is seen as
Jesus' trust in Yahweh. In other words, within five verses Jesus is
identified both with Yahweh and with Isaiah in his trust in Yahweh.
(5) Daniel 7.13 - Perrin argues that the N T preserves traces of three
exegetical traditions using Dan. 7 . 1 3 , in the course of which applica
tion of Dan. 7.13 is gradually shifted from ascension to parousia.
This is certainly plausible (though I am not wholly convinced of it).
(6) More clear-cut is the shift in application of Zech. 1 2 . 1 0 from
parousia (Matt. 24.30; Rev. 1.7) to passion apologetic (John 19.37).
(7) Compare too Ps. 1 1 0 . 1 which is usually used of Jesus' session at
God's right hand (e.g. Mark 14.62; Acts 2 . 3 3 - 3 5 ; Col. 3 . 1 ; Heb. 8.1),
but also in support of particular christological titles (particularly
Mark 1 2 . 3 5 - 3 7 ; Acts 2 . 3 3 - 3 6 ; 7.56), to affirm the subjection of the
powers to Christ (particularly I Cor. 15.25) and in regard to Jesus'
heavenly intercession (Rom. 8.34; cf. Heb. 7.25).
27

28

26. Lindars, Apologetic, p. 1 8 .

27. Perrin, Teaching, pp. 1 7 3 - 8 4 .
28. Hay, Glory, pp. 1 5 5 - 8 8 ; Dunn, Christology, pp. 1 0 8 - 1 1 0 . For further examples
cf. Lindars, Apologetic, summary on pp. 2 5 1 - 9 .

The Use of the Old Testament

io6

[2.4.5

24.5 The clearest examples of the way in which the revelation of the
OT was reinterpreted by the revelation of Jesus are those cases where
the OT is actually set aside and abandoned - cases where the new
revelation was so at odds with the old that no amount of interpret
ation could reconcile the two and the old had to give way and stand
abrogated.
We see this happening with Jesus, where Jesus clearly sets his own
revelation and insight into God's will over against the Torah - not
just the oral Torah (see above 16.2) but even the written Torah
itself. Thus in Matt. 5-2if., 27L he sets himself up as the determinative
interpreter of the law, proposing a very radical interpretation of the
sixth and seventh commandments. And in other passages gathered
together in the Sermon on the Mount he does not merely reinterpret
the law, he radically qualifies it; in Matt. 5.33-37 he in effect sets
aside the regulations about swearing (Lev. 1 9 . 1 2 ; Num. 30.2; Deut.
23.21), and in 5.38-42 he abolishes the ius talionis (Ex. 21.24; Lev.
24.20; Deut. 1 9 . 2 1 ) . In Mark 10.2-9/Matt. 1 9 . 3 - 8 he devalues the
Mosaic permission for divorce (Deut. 24.1). Perhaps most striking of
all, his teaching on the causes of impurity as recalled in Mark 7 in
effect cuts at the root of the whole ritual law (as Mark perceives 7.19b). Of course, the openness of his table fellowship to the 'sinner'
had the same effect - hence thefiercenessof the Pharisaic opposition
to Jesus.
An instructive example of radical reinterpretation is Stephen's
attack on the temple (Acts 7 - particularly vv.41-50). It appears to
have been inspired by the tradition of Jesus' saying about the destruc
tion and reconstitution of the temple (Acts 6.14), a saying apparently
ignored or interpreted otherwise by the Jerusalem believers (see above
p.79). He seems to have read the history of Israel's worship in the
light of that saying, producing what is in fact a highly tendentious
interpretation of that history. Using Isa. 66.if., one of the few OT
passages which seem to denounce the temple root and branch, he
argues in effect that the building of the temple in the first place, a
permanent, stationary sanctuary, was the mark of Israel's apostasy
from God - and that despite II Sam. 7 . 1 3 , etc. (see more fully below
pp.292f.). In other words, viewing the OT in the light of Jesus' words
Stephen used one part of scripture to justify the abandonment of the
clear teaching of many other scriptures.
Paul of course provides some of the clearest examples of a firstcentury Christianity which rejected and abandoned much of its Jewish
heritage, much in the OT which the Jews (and Jewish Christians)
29

29. See my 'Jesus and Ritual Purity' (above ch. IV n. 7).

24-6]

Principles of interpretation

107

regarded as still of binding force and relevance. In particular, the

central role of the law in Judaism: 'Christ', he says, 'is the end of the
law as a means to righteousness'; the Mosaic prescription of Lev. 18.5
('covenantal nomism' - Sanders) is no longer valid - Deut. 3 0 . 1 2 - 1 4
is more to the point. And he proceeds to interpret what was also
intended as an encouragement to law-keeping (Deut. 3 0 . 1 1 , 14), in
terms of righteousness/salvation through faith (Rom. 10.4-9)! In
other words, the law was only temporary, a kind of 'baby-sitter' until
the coming of faith (Gal. 3 . 1 9 - 2 5 ) . But now that faith has come, now
that Christ has come, the law has been abrogated and set aside (II Cor.
3 . 1 3 L , NEB; Eph. 2.15).
In all these cases Jesus and his followers evidently found themselves
so at odds with the plain sense of certain key scriptural passages and
themes that they had to set them aside, had to regard their period of
relevance as past. The experience of Christ, the freedom brought by
Christ called for such a radical reinterpretation of the OT that some
of its revelatory functions had to be consigned to an era dead and
gone.
24.6 One other issue deserves brief consideration. We have seen the
extent to which the revelation of the past was subordinated to the
revelation of the present in earliest Christianity. Was the opposite
tendency also present? Were elements actually introduced into the
current traditions in order to provide a correspondence with and
fulfilment of OT expectations or themes? In particular, did the desire
to establish 'proof from prophecy' result in the actual creation of
details in the Jesus-tradition, as various scholars from D. F. Strauss
onwards have suggested?
The difficulty in testing this hypothesis is that many of the details
in question are too brief and appear only in the context of fulfilment
(for example, the tradition of the crucifixion - Mark 15.36 (= Ps.
69.21?); Luke 23.46 (= Ps.31.5?); John 19.33 (=
34- ?) Consequently one cannot determine whether such details were already
present in tradition (or eye-witness memory) independently of the
proof from prophecy motif. However, in cases where some sort of
check can be made the evidence suggests that the tendency to create
Jesus-tradition out of messianic expectation was limited. The subject
again requires a much more extensive treatment; here we can give
only one or two brief examples.
One clear example of detail created out of prophecy is Matthew's
account of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem riding on both the ass and the
30

30. See e.g., Bousset, Kyrios Christos, pp. 1 0 9 - 1 5 .

e t c

The Use of the Old Testament

io8

[24.6

colt of Zech. 9.9 (Matt. 2 1 . 2 - 7 ; contrast Mark 1 1 . 2 - 7 ) . But this is a

trivial case. More important, but more contentious examples would
be the location of Jesus' birth in Bethlehem and the virgin birth
itself. There are several indications that Jesus could have been born
elsewhere (Nazareth being the most obvious alternative) - for
example, the substantial question mark against the historicity of a
Roman census that affected Galilee and took place before the death
of Herod the Great (Luke 2.iff.), and the suggestion in Mark 1 2 . 3 5 37 that Jesus or the first Christians queried the belief that Messiah
had to be of Davidic descent (cf. Barn. 1 2 . 1 of.). However disturbing
he mayfindit, the Christian historian nevertheless cannot ignore the
possibility that the whole Bethlehem birth narrative stems ultimately
from the conviction that Jesus the Messiah ought to be shown fulfil
ling Micah 5.2. Indeed many Christian scholars find themselves
unable to deny or ignore the possibility (even more disturbing to
traditional Christian faith) that the account of the virginal conception
of Jesus originated in the apologetic desire to show Jesus as the
fulfilment of as many OT prophecies as possible (in this case Isa.
7-I4).

3 1

On the other hand, two other important examples from one of the
most disputed areas (the passion narrative) point in the other direc
tion. Our study of Matt. 27.9^ above (pp.i03f.) clearly indicates
a process whereby OT prophecy and Jesus-tradition were brought
together and married, the form of the Jesus-tradition imposing itself
on the citation of the OT. Of course a more precise fulfilment could
have been achieved by altering or creating details in the tradition of
Judas. But this happened at most with the specification of the blood
price as thirty pieces of silver (Zech. 1 1 . 1 2 ) . Otherwise the details of
the OT prophecy did not lead to a reformulation of the Jesus-tradition
- rather the reverse. In this case at least the proof from prophecy
motif did not mean the subordination of Jesus-tradition to OT.
The other example is the Gethsemane narrative (Mark 1 4 . 3 2 - 4 2
pars.). M. Dibelius claimed that this tradition was largely determined
by the desire to present Jesus as the ideal martyr whose sufferings

3 1 . See e.g., the discussion in Lindars, Apologetic, ch. V; R. E. Brown, The Virginal
Conception and Bodily Resurrection of Jesus, Chapman 1 9 7 3 , ch. I; also The Birth of the
Messiah, Chapman 1 9 7 7 , pp. 5 1 7 - 3 3 ; J . A. Fitzmyer, 'The Virginal Conception of Jesus
in the New Testament', Theological Studies, 34, 1 9 7 3 , pp. 5 4 1 - 7 5 ; J . D. G. Dunn (with
J . P. Mackey), New Testament Theology in Dialogue, SPCK 1 9 8 7 , pp. 6 5 - 7 1 . On the
possibility that 'on the third day' of I Cor. 15.4 was shaped by or even derived from current
Jewish exposition of Hos. 6.2, see H. K. McArthur, 'On the Third Day', NTS, 1 8 , 1 9 7 1 -

25]

Conclusions

109
32

correspond to those spoken of by the psalmist. But vv.33,35 are

hardly martyr-like, and v. 34 contains only an echo of Pss. 42.5, 1 1 ,
43.5. More important, the actual prayer itself (v.3 6) is not framed in
words from the Psalms. Here again the more probable explanation is
that we have authentic Jesus-tradition which permitted a correlation
with OT language but which at no point of significance was deter
mined by it.
In short, the evidence suggests that where Jesus-tradition was
already circulating and accepted it served as a check and limitation
on any tendency to supplement it with details or items from messianic
prophecies of the O T. But wherefirmJesus-tradition was meagre or
lacking there may have been more scope for those early Christian
apologists who thought it important to present Jesus as the one who
fulfilled OT expectation completely, at every point of his life, from
birth to resurrection (see also above p.3 8 n.8).

25.

CONCLUSIONS

It is obvious that the Jewish scriptures were important for Jewish

Christianity; it was important for the first Christians to establish the
continuity between the OT and their new faith, to identify Jesus with
the messianic figure(s) prophesied. Had Jesus not fulfilled any of the
OT hopes, then presumably one of two things would have happened:
either he would have won no lasting following, or his disciples would
have abandoned the OT more or less in toto from the first. But Jesus
fulfilled too many prophecies, or at least too many OT passages can
be referred to him with little difficulty. Consequently the OT was too
valuable a means of evaluating Jesus and of presenting him to fellow
Jews for it to be ignored.
Thus there developed within earliest Christianity the interpretative
process whereby the OT text and the Christian convictions about
Jesus were brought together. Neither wholly dominated the other,
imposing its meaning completely on the other, swamping the other.
But neither did they mesh completely. There was considerable corre
lation; and some passages could be taken straight over with a mini
mum of readjustment. But usually the Jewish scriptures had to be
adapted to some degree in the light of the Jesus-tradition, in the light
of their estimate and faith in Jesus, in the light of the new situation
3 2 . M . Dibelius, 'Gethsemane', Botschaft und Geschichte, I, Tubingen 1 9 5 3 , pp. 2 5 8 7 1 . But see also D. J . Moo, The Old Testament in the Gospel Passion Narratives, Almond
1 9 8 3 , pp. 2 4 5 - 6 .

The Use of the Old Testament

no

[25

he had brought about. The adaptation was sometimes only in the

meaning given to the text. But often it involved some modification of
the text itself as well, sometimes a considerable modification and
conflation of different texts. And sometimes it meant abandoning
various precepts integral to the religion of the OT, the Jesus-tradition
having wholly superseded them.
We can conclude therefore that the Jewish scriptures remained
authoritative, particularly for Jewish Christians, but not in them
selves, only as interpreted. For many others of the first Christians we
have to put it more sharply: the Jewish scriptures remained authoritat
ive only to the extent that they could be adequately re-interpreted by
and in relation to the new revelation of Jesus. The event of Jesus, the
Jesus-tradition, the belief in Jesus exalted, the new experience of
the Spirit - these were the determinative elements in the process of
interpretation. In this the earliest Christians could claim to be true
followers of their Master. For the same respect for Jewish scripture
combined with a sovereign freedom towards it in the light of his own
experience of God and of God's Spirit is reflected in the earliest
Christians' respect for the OT combined with a radical liberty in
interpreting it in the light of the Christ event.
In short, in terms of our study of unity and diversity, we have to
conclude that the OT provided a bond of unity within first-century
Christianity - but not the OT as such, not the OT in itself, rather the
OT interpreted. It was the OT as interpreted in the light of the
revelation of Jesus which helped to unify the different Christian
churches in the first century - just as it was their differences of
interpretation which again underlay the diversity within first-century
Christianity. Jesus again stands at the centre - the traditions about
him and the Christians' present relation to him through the Spirit.
The OT therefore does not rival Jesus as the foundation of Christian
unity, for the first Christians read it only from the perspective of the
Jesus revelation. Thus it served as an indispensable prolegomenon
and supplement to the Jesus- and kerygmatic-tradition, crucial to
their own emerging self-identity, a vitally important apologetic tool
in the Jewish mission particularly. But where the old revelation did
not fit with the new there was little question for the mainstream of
first-century Christianity but that the old had to be adapted to the
new or else abandoned.
33

3 3 . Cf. B. Lindars, 'The Place of the Old Testament in the Formation of New Testament
Theology', NTS, 2 3 , 1 9 7 6 - 7 7 : 'The place of the Old Testament in the formation of New
Testament theology is that of a servant, ready to run to the aid of the gospel whenever it
is required, bolstering up arguments, and filling out meaning through evocative allusions,
but never acting as the master or leading the way, nor even guiding the process of thought

25]

Conclusions

III

Here, naturally, a contemporary question arises by way of cor

ollary. It can be posed simply: If the first Christians so handled their
scriptures, how ought Christians today to treat the scriptures of
today? Jesus' and the first Christians' acceptance of the OT's divine
inspiration is often taken as paradigmatic for Christians' acceptance
of the divine inspiration of the whole Bible. Ought we not to add
that Jesus' and the first Christians' liberty in interpreting the OT is
paradigmatic for Christians' interpretation of the N T today? These
are questions to which we must return in the concluding chapter.

behind the scenes. God's new word, the "yes", the "now", of the gospel is Jesus, who
demotes the scriptures from master to servant, as much as he changes the basis of religion
from law to grace' (p. 66).

VI

Concepts of Ministry

26.

INTRODUCTION

As has often been pointed out, the emergence and consolidation of

orthodoxy in the second century largely depended on two factors: the
development of the idea of a 'rule of faith' (particularly Tertullian)
and the emergence of monarchical episcopacy. To what extent were
these second-century developments rooted in the first century? The
last four chapters have in effect been attempting to answer that ques
tion in relation to 'the rule of faith'. There we have seen something
of the extent both of the unity and diversity of first-century Christian
faith as it came to expression in kerygma and confession and in
relation to tradition and scripture. And we have concluded that the
focus of unity was much less carefully defined and the diversity much
more extensive than we might have expected.
Now we must turn to the second factor decisive for second-century
orthodoxy - monarchical episcopacy. We know that certainly by the
time of Cyprian the bishop was the real focus of unity and the bulwark
against heresy. But even as early as Ignatius we find this exhortation:
You should all follow the bishop as Jesus Christ did the Father . . .
Nobody must do anything that has to do with the Church without
the bishop's approval. . . Where the bishop is present, there let the
congregation gather, just as where Christ is, there is the catholic
Church. Without the bishop's supervision, no baptisms or love
feasts are permitted. On the other hand, whatever he approves
pleases God as well . . . It is a fine thing to acknowledge God and
the bishop . . . (Smyrn., 8 . 1 - 2 ) .
This is the second century, the early second century, and not yet
typical by any means of the second century as a whole. But Ignatius's
exaltation of the bishop is the thin edge of a very large wedge indeed.
What about the first century? What concepts of ministry emerge
there? What was the focus of authority within the common life of the

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113

earliest churches? Was there already in the first century, perhaps even
from the start, a standard pattern of ministry, which served to bind the
earliest Christian congregations into a unity? Such questions have been
debated vigorously for the past 100 years or so, particularly in the 50
years spanning the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning
of the twentieth. One way of tackling them would be to review the
different positions taken up in the debate over the whole period; but
probably the simplest way to answer these questions is to examine
the different writings and periods embraced by the N T documents to
discover what form or forms of ministry are reflected there.
1

27. J E S U S A N D HIS D I S C I P L E S

There were a variety of groupings within the Judaism of Jesus' time.

The Sadducees were in effect the dominant political party, the aristo
cratic and conservative 'establishment'. Much more a sectarian organ
ization, but still basically a religious-political party, were the Zealots
who appeared later - fervently nationalist and prepared to achieve
their aims by violence. Somewhere in the middle of this religiouspolitical spectrum came the Pharisees; but they were much more
concerned with the task of interpreting the Torah than with politics.
They were certainly a distinct party (Pharisees = 'the separated
ones'?), but not greatly organized as such and characterized more by
a series of teacher-pupil relationships. The Essenes on the other hand,
coming somewhere between the Pharisees and the Zealots in the
spectrum of sectarian Judaism, were much more organized internally
and formed a very tightly structured community at Qumran.
Where do Jesus and his disciples fit within this context? Probably
the nearest parallel to the relationship between Jesus and his disciples
was that of the rabbi and his pupils. This is borne out by the fact that
Jesus was widely known as a teacher, one who had disciples (Mark
9.5, 1 7 , 38; 1 0 . 1 7 , 35? 5 ? etc.). But can we go on to speak of the
community of Jesus} Can we see the later Church already mirrored
1

1. See O. Linton, Das Problem der Urkirche in der neuren Forschung, Uppsala 1 9 3 2 .
2. For the debates and disagreements lying behind 27, 28, 29, 30.1 and 3 1 . 1 below, see
the notes in Dunn, Jesus, particularly 13.4, 3 2 . 3 , ch. IX and 57.3 and 58.3 respectively.
3. 'Community' is a far from ideal word for this discussion, but it is difficult to find a
better; 'congregation' or 'sect' suffer from even greater weaknesses. The question being
asked here is whether the discipleship to which Jesus called involved not merely relations
of mutual acceptance, forgiveness and service, but a more structured organization with
clear boundaries and demarcation of function (such as we find in the post-Easter churches).
The best single treatment of the theme is G. Lohfink, Jesus and Community, Fortress/SPCK
1 9 8 5 . See also my Jesus and Discipleship, Cambridge University Press 1990.

Concepts of Ministry

ii4

[27

in the disciples gathered round Jesus? Did Jesus regard his disciples
as a community? The evidence most clearly in favour of an affirmative
answer is as follows. (1) The use of ekklesia (assembly of God's
people, later 'church' - Matt. 1 6 . 1 8 ; 1 8 . 1 7 ) . (2) He chose twelve
disciples, and almost certainly regarded the twelve as in some sense
representative of Israel (twelve tribes - note particularly Matt. 19.28/
Luke 22.29^). (3) He spoke of his disciples as God's flock (Luke
1 2 . 3 2 ; cf. Matt. 10.6; 15.24; Mark 14.27 par; and the shepherd
metaphors), a metaphor for Israel which appears a number of times
in Jewish literature (Isa. 4 0 . 1 1 ; Ezek. 3 4 . 1 1 - 2 4 ; Micah 4.6-8; 5.4;
Ps. Sol. 17.45). (4) Jesus thought of his disciples as a family (Mark
3.34^); the disciples were those who had converted and become as
little children, members of God's family as well as sharers in his
kingdom (Matt. 18.3). (5) At the last supper Jesus explicitly described
their fellowship in terms of the (new) covenant (Mark 14.24 par.;
I Cor. 1 1 . 2 5 ) ; a t is to say, he saw his disciples as 'founder members'
of the new covenant, as the new Israel (see further below p . 1 8 1 ) . (6)
We should note also the degree of organization among the followers
of Jesus implied by Luke 8.3 and John 12.6. So there are grounds for
speaking of the community of Jesus, or community round Jesus.
However, other considerations point in a different direction.
[a) Discipleship of Jesus did not entail joining anything that could
be properly called a community. There was no clear dividing line
between those who actually left home to follow Jesus and the much
wider circle of disciples which must have included many who stayed
at home: membership of Jesus' family was dependent on doing the
will of God, not on following Jesus (Mark 3.35). Similarly, the Lord's
prayer was not the badge of a closed ecclesiastical community but the
prayer of all who truly desired the coming of God's kingdom. Again,
Jesus practised no rituals which would mark out his disciples from
their contemporaries. He abandoned John's baptism, presumably
because he did not want any cultic or ritual act which might become
a hurdle or barrier to be surmounted. Certainly his table-fellowship
was in no sense a ritual or ceremony from which non-disciples were
excluded (see further below 39.3, 40.1). It was the openness of the
circle round Jesus which distinguished the following of Jesus so
sharply from the community at Qumran. Jesus 'founds no new
Church; for there is no salvation even by entering a religious society,
however radically transformed'.
tn

4. J . Jeremias, New Testament Theology: Vol. I - The Proclamation of Jesus, 1 9 7 1 , E T

S C M Press 1 9 7 1 , pp. 1 7 4 - 8 .
5. E. Schweizer, Church Order in the New Testament, 1 9 5 9 , E T S C M Press 1 9 6 1 , 2.c.

28]

Ministry in the earliest community

(b) The role of the disciples as the new Israel appears to have been
reserved for the future, a role not yet entered upon. It would be a
feature of the imminent end time, part of the new covenant, the
new age which Jesus believed would be initiated by his death and
vindication (cf. below pp.226f.). Thus most clearly with the twelve
(Matt. 19.28/Luke 22.29L); their role as twelve while Jesus was still
present was only symbolical of the future eschatological people of
God. There is no evidence that they were regarded or acted as func
tionaries, far less a hierarchy, constituting a community gathered
round Jesus in Palestine (note Matt. 23.8; Mark 10.43L). In particu
lar, there is no hint whatsoever of them playing 'priest' to the other
disciples' 'laity'. What power and authority they did exercise was not
within a community of discipleship for its upbuilding, but was given
to enable them to share in Jesus' mission (Mark 3.14L; 6.7 pars.;
Luke io.i7ff.). If one word must be chosen to describe the circles
round Jesus it would be 'movement' rather than 'community'.
(c) It is important to realize that this movement centred and
depended wholly and solely on Jesus himself. Discipleship meant
'following' Jesus. He alone was prophet and teacher. The only real
authority, the only real ministry was his. And if he encouraged his
disciples on some occasions at least to exorcise demons and to preach
the good news of the kingdom, this was no more than Jesus pursuing
his mission by proxy. There was no community as such functioning
alongside or around Jesus, but only larger or smaller groups of dis
ciples either observing his mission or hindering his mission or partici
pating in some small way in his mission.
It would seem wiser therefore to refrain from speaking of the com
munity of Jesus or the community round Jesus. Any concept or pattern
of ministry must be derived from Jesus alone, since it cannot be
derived from the disciples or the twelve round Jesus. And if we choose
to speak of the disciples of Jesus as the 'church' then we should
recognize the character of church thereby denoted - namely, a group
or groups of disciples gathered round Jesus with each individually
and together directly dependent on Jesus alone for all ministry and
teaching.

28. M I N I S T R Y IN T H E E A R L I E S T

COMMUNITY

Two pictures of ministry within the earliest Palestinian church are

possible. Both can be derived from a reading of Acts: the one appears
more straightforward but is probably more contrived; the other is less
obvious but is probably more historical.

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[28.1

28.1 On the former view the twelve apostles constituted the leader
ship of the Jerusalem community from the first and oversaw its mis
sion - Matthias having been divinely elected (by lot) to restore the
apostolic twelve after Judas's defection (e.g. 1 . 1 5 - 2 6 ; 2.42^; 4 . 3 3 37; 6.2, 6; 8.1, 1 4 ; 15.22). At an early stage their office was sup
plemented by the appointment of seven others to a secondary office
to take over some of the administrative chores from the apostles ( 6 . 1 6) - just as Moses had appointed seventy to share his administrative
burden (Num. 1 1 . 1 6 - 2 5) and Jesus had appointed seventy to assist
him in his mission (Luke 10.iff.). 'Elders' arefirstmentioned in 1 1 . 3 0 ,
but thereafter appear on several occasions, exercising authority
together with the apostles (particularly 1 5 . 2 , 4, 6, 22f.). On this
reading, then, at an early date the classic three-fold order of ministry
was quickly established: bishop (successor to apostle), priest (= elder)
and deacon (the seven). Moreover, so it is sometimes implied or
argued, this was the pattern of ministry which became the norm for
other churches and congregations as they sprang up in different places
round the eastern Mediterranean.
But there are several difficulties with this view. Here are the most
important, (a) According to the primitive tradition(s) of I Cor. 1 5 . 3 7 'the apostles' are not to be identified with 'the twelve'. Paul himself
(I Cor. 9.1; 15.8f.), James (Gal. 1.19?), Barnabas (Gal. 2.9), Andronicus and Junia (Rom. 16.7), and probably Apollos and Silvanus
(I Cor. 4.9; I Thess. 2.6f.) were also reckoned apostles. Consequently,
'the apostles' must have been a much wider group than 'the twelve'.
Moreover, for Paul apostleship consisted primarily in mission (I Cor.
9.if.; i5.iof.; Gal. i.isf.; 2.9). This accords well with the primitive
sense of apostle as 'missionary' preserved in Matt. 10.2, Mark 6.30
(only in the context of mission are the disciples called 'apostles') and
Acts 14.4, 1 4 . It does not accord so well with the picture of 'the
apostles' as resident leaders of the Jerusalem church implied particu
larly in Acts 8.1 - 'the apostles' are the only ones not to go out from
Jerusalem!
(b) The suggestion that the seven appointed in Acts 6 were subordi
nates of the twelve and that they are the forerunners of the deacon is
based only narrowly in the text. Their election was much more a
recognition of a charismatic authority already in evidence than an
institution to an office: their fullness of Spirit was neither lacking
before the laying on of hands nor bestowed by it (6.3, 5, 8, 1 0 ) .
Besides, according to the more natural sense of the Greek, it was the
crowd of disciples and not 'the apostles' who laid their hands on the
seven (6.6). And their authority was certainly not confined, if directed
at all, to 'serving tables'. As the sequel indicates, their charismatic

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117

authority was much more important and found its expression most
fully in evangelism and mission (6.8ff.; 8.4ft,) (see further below
p.291).
(c) Elders certainly played an important role in the Jerusalem
church (cf. James 5.14), and Luke suggests that the Jerusalem pattern
was reproduced elsewhere by Paul (14.23; 20.17). But this is not
borne out by Paul himself: 'elders' are nowhere mentioned in the
Pauline writings prior to the Pastorals, which are most probably
post-Pauline. Perhaps most striking of all, even according to Luke's
own account, the leadership of the church at Antioch lay in the hands
of prophets and teachers (Acts 1 3 . 1 - 3 ) - a hint of a very different
kind of community structure and ministry in the churches of the
Hellenistic mission, which we will find fully borne out by Paul's own
account of things below (29).
As will be confirmed later (72.2), the probability is therefore that
Luke has attempted to portray earliest Christianity as much more
unified and uniform in organization than was in fact the case.
28.2 On the other view of Acts, ministry and authority within the
earliest Jerusalem community were much more spontaneous and char
ismatic in nature, and leadership took several diverse forms before a
form of administration following the pattern of Jewish synagogue
government became established.
Ministry was evidently undertaken at the immediate behest of the
Spirit or of a vision - and that was regarded as authority enough.
This was certainly the case with the church at Antioch and with Paul
(13.2, 4; 16.6L, 9f.; 18.9; 2 2 . 1 7 ^ ) . So too with the Hellenists and
with Ananias of Damascus (6.8, 1 0 ; 7.55; 8.26, 29, 39; 9.10). So too
with Peter and John and 'the brothers' in Judea (4.8; 1 0 . 1 0 - 1 6 , 1 9 ;
1 1 . 1 8 ; cf. 15.28). Thus Philip ministered to the Ethiopian eunuch,
Ananias to Paul and Peter to Cornelius, without prior consultation
with fellow missionaries or local church or the church at Jerusalem;
and Stephen and Philip who were, according to Luke, to 'wait at table'
at the appointment of the community, exercised rather a ministry of
evangelism at the urging of the Spirit (6.8-10; 8). Ministry was cer
tainly not confined to a few, and even priests who were converted
(6.7) seem to have held no special position or performed any particu
lar ministry within the church.
Leadership probably focused initially in the twelve, in their role as
representatives of eschatological Israel (Matt. 19.28/Luke 22.29L,;
Acts 1.6, 20-26; 6.2). But for some reason or other their place at
6

6. It is unlikely that the earliest Jerusalem church was influenced by the Qumran

n8

Concepts of Ministry

[28.2

the centre of things diminished, and, apart from two or three obvious
exceptions, they began to disappear wholly from view - presumably
at least because their role was thought of more in relation to the
resurrection and return of the Christ (I Cor. 1 5 . 5 ; Matt. 19.28/Luke
22.29L) and was less suited to the continuing community of the
interval. Be that as it may, so far as we can tell, Peter (and probably
the brothers James and John) quickly emerged as the most prominent,
and so we may assume, leading figures (Acts 1 . 1 3 ; 3 - 4 ; 12.if.; and
note their prominence in the Gospel tradition). The episode of the
Hebrews and the Hellenists in 6 . 1 - 6 reveals another side of things:
the seven chosen were probably all Hellenists, and so quite likely they
were the leading lights among the Hellenists - already marked out by
their spiritual maturity and authority (6.3) (see also below p.291).
The relation of the leadership of the group round Peter to that of the
seven is not at all clear - Peter does not figure at all in the central
episode, 6.7-8.4.
It was only after about ten years of the Jerusalem church's life, that
is after Herod Agrippa's death in AD 44, that afirmandfinalpattern
of leadership took shape and authority became rather more insti
tutionalized. The key figure here was James the brother of Jesus.
When did he first emerge among the Jerusalem leadership? We have
no clear answer. But certainly by the time Paul went to Jerusalem for
his second visit (AD 46 at the earliest) he was already the most promi
nent of the three 'pillar apostles' (Gal. 2.9). The other James had been
killed some time earlier by Agrippa (Acts 12.2), and Peter and John
were steadily fading from the Jerusalem leadership scene - Peter
because presumably he was under threat from Agrippa and anyway
was more concerned with 'the mission to the circumcision' (Acts
1 2 . 3 - 1 7 ; Gal. 2.8), John we do not know why (he appears for the
last time in Acts in 8.14; see also below p.430). At all events James
soon attained a position of complete dominance which lasted till
his death in AD 62 (Acts i5.i3ff.; 2 1 . 1 8 ; Gal. 2.12), and it was
probably he who adopted the pattern of synagogue government for
the Jerusalem church by gathering round him a body of elders ( 1 1 . 3 0 ;
1 5 . 2 , 4, 6, 22f.; 16.4; 2 1 . 1 8 ) . Within this more rigid community
structure we may suppose that there was (progressively) less room
for the earlier charismatic authority that depended solely on Spirit
and vision, though on important issues the whole congregation was
7

community to any significant extent, if at all. The differences in organization and order
greatly outweigh the parallels.
7. The memory of who 'the twelve' actually were has already become confused by the
time it was written down in the traditions used by the Synoptics (Mark 3 . 1 6 - 1 9 / M a t t .
10.2-4/Luke 6 . 1 4 - 1 6 ) .

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119

apparently still consulted (Gal. 2 . 2 - 5 ; Acts 15.22) and prophets were

still associated with Jerusalem (Acts 1 5 . 3 2 ; 2 1 . 1 0 ) .

29. M I N I S T R Y IN T H E P A U L I N E

CHURCHES

29.1 The body of Christ as charismatic community. Paul's concept of

ministry is determined by his understanding of the church as the body
of Christ. This understanding comes to clearest expression in Rom.
1 2 , I Cor. 1 2 and Eph. 4. To appreciate the force of Paul's imagery
at this point we must note the following important aspects.
(a) In Rom. 1 2 and I Cor. 1 2 Paul is describing the local church.
Paul does not yet speak of 'the (worldwide/universal) Church' in his
earlier letters, rather of 'the churches' (Rom. 1 6 . 1 6 ; I Cor. 7.17; 1 6 . 1 ,
1 9 ; etc.). So too 'the body' in Rom. 1 2 and I Cor. 1 2 is not the
universal Church, but the church in Rome and the church in Corinth.
It is particularly clear from the way he develops the metaphor of the
body in I Cor. 1 2 that the body referred to was the Corinthian body
of believers (v. 27 - 'you are Christ's body' in Corinth).
(b) The body of Christ was for Paul a charismatic community. The
'functions' of the body are precisely the charismata of the Spirit (Rom.
12.4). The members of the body are precisely individual believers as
charismatics, that is, as functioning members of the body, manifesting
particular spiritual gifts, speaking some word or engaged in some
activity which expresses the Spirit of the community and serves its
common life (Rom. 1 2 . 4 - 8 ; I Cor. 1 2 . 4 - 7 , 14-2.6).
(c) It follows that each member of the Christian community has
some function within the community; 'to each' is given some charisma
or other (I Cor. 7.7; 12.7, 1 1 ) . All, strictly speaking, are charismatics.
No member lacks some manifestation of grace (= charisma). Each is
a member of the body only in so far as the Spirit knits him into the
corporate unity by the manifestation of grace through him. At no
time did Paul conceive of two kinds of Christian - those who have
the Spirit and those who do not, those who minister to others and
those who are ministered to, those who manifest charismata and those
who do not. To be Christian in Paul's view was to be charismatic. One
cannot be a member of the body without being a vehicle of the Spirit's
ministry to the body.
(d) The members of the body have different functions, different
ministries (Rom. 12.4; I Cor. i2.4ff.) - otherwise the body would not
be a body (I Cor. 1 2 . 1 7 , 9 ) - It is f
member to recognize when
and what charisma it is that the Spirit would bring to expression,
through him or her. And he must co-operate with the Spirit in bringing
I

re a c n

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[29.2

that charisma to expression, otherwise the functioning of the whole

body will be impaired. Because it is the Spirit's gift and not his own
he can take no credit for himself. Consequently he has no cause to
feel ashamed or inferior if his charisma seems to him less important;
and he has even less cause to feel proud or superior if his charisma
seems to him more important. All the body's functions are important,
indeed indispensable to the health of the whole (I Cor. 1 2 . 1 4 - 2 6 ;
Rom. 12.3). The body metaphor is and remains the classic illustration
of unity in diversity, that is, a unity which does not emerge out of a
regimented conformity, but a unity which results from the harmony
of many different parts working together, and which depends on the
diversity functioning as such.
In short, ministry in the Pauline churches belonged to all, and each
depended for his life within the body of Christ not just on some
special ministry of a few, but on the diverse ministries of all his fellow
members.
29.2 Acts of ministry and regular ministries. Charisma in Paul prop
erly means a particular expression of charts (grace), some particular
act of service, some particular activity, some particular manifestation
of the Spirit. It is an event not an aptitude, a transcendent gift given
in and for a particular instance, not a human talent or ability always
'on tap'. The unity of the body of Christ thus consists in the interplay
of these diverse charismata. Christian community exists only in the
living interplay of charismatic ministry, in the concrete manifestations
of grace, in the actual being and doing for others in word and deed.
But as well as individual charismatic acts and utterances Paul recog
nized that some members of the body have more regular ministries
and that in addition there was the unique role of the apostle.
(a) The apostle had a unique ministry within the Pauline church:
he had been personally commissioned by the risen Christ in a resurrec
tion appearance (I Cor. 9.1; 15.7; Gal. 1.15L,); he was a successful
missionary and church founder (I Cor. 3.5^, 1 0 ; 9.2; i5-9ff.; II Cor.
1 0 . 1 3 - 1 6 ) ; his was a distinctively eschatological role (Rom. 1 1 . 1 3 1 5 ; I Cor. 4.9). As the founder of a particular church, that is as one
whose divinely given authority in ministry had been demonstrated and
validated by his success in founding that church, he had a continuing
responsibility to counsel its members and give guidance in its affairs
(hence Paul's letters to Thessalonica, Galatia, Corinth, etc.). This was
why the apostle is ranked first among the ministries within the local
church (I Cor. 12.28) andfirstindeed in a more general list of minis8

8. See Dunn, Jesus, ch. VIII (summary 43), and below pp. 2o6f.

29.2.]

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121

tries (Eph. 4 . 1 1 ) . In particular it was his responsibility to pass on the

gospel given him by the risen Lord in his commissioning, as confirmed
by his fellow apostles (Gal. i.nf., 1 5 L ; 2.2, 6 - 1 0 ) , and the various
traditions shared by all the churches (see above 17). It should be
stressed however that he was not an apostle of the universal Church,
one whose authority would be recognized by all churches. His auth
ority was confined to his sphere of mission (Gal. 2.7-9; II Cor. 1 0 . 1 3 16), to the churches he had founded (I Cor. 12.28 - 'God has set in
the (local) church . . .'; see above p. 1 1 9 ) . Paul certainly contested
vigorously claims by other apostles to exercise authority within his
churches (II Cor. 1 0 - 1 3 ) and made no attempt to throw his own
weight around within the Jerusalem church (Acts 2 1 ; cf. 1 5 . 1 2 L ) .
Furthermore we should also note that because of the uniqueness of
the apostle's role and authority no category of church 'office' is
adequate to describe his function: he was not appointed by the
Church, and Paul certainly did not conceive of any succeeding to his
apostleship (I Cor. 15.8 - 'last of all'; 4.9 - the last act in the world
arena before the end).
(b) Less fundamental (in the strict sense) but of first importance
among the regular ministries within the Pauline churches were the
prophets and teachers (I Cor. 12.28). In oversimplified terms, the role
of the prophet was to transmit new revelations to the Church, that of
the teacher to transmit old revelations to the Church. There is no
suggestion in the Pauline letters that these were church 'offices', only
entered upon by appointment, and certainly prophecy was not con
fined to prophets nor teaching to teachers (I Cor. 1 2 . 1 0 ; 1 4 . 1 , 5, 26,
39). It follows from Paul's concept of charismatic ministry that the
prophets were recognized as prophets because they prophesied regu
larly. That is to say, they did not prophesy because they were
prophets, rather they were prophets because they prophesied, because
that is the way the Spirit regularly manifested himself through them
within the Church. Similarly with the teacher, though by the nature
of his ministry we may well infer that much of his ministry had a
more formal character (giving instruction in the traditions of the
churches - Gal. 6.6).
(c) There was also a wide variety of other regular but less well
defined ministries within the Pauline churches. They included preach
ing, a wide range of services, administration and/or some kinds of
9

9. Gal. 2 . 1 - 1 0 was hardly a case of Paul 'throwing his weight around'; rather of his
refusing to yield submission in matters concerning his own 'sphere of influence' to those in
Jerusalem who insisted in effect on Jerusalem having universal oversight or at least on the
Jerusalem pattern of membership being the norm for all. On the subsequent Antioch
incident (Gal. 2 . n f f . ) see below 56.1.

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[29.2

leadership, and acting as a church delegate or serving in the Gentile

mission as a co-worker with Paul (see particularly Rom. 1 2 . 7 - 8 ; 1 6 . 1 ,
3, 9, 2 1 ; I Cor. 12.28; 1 6 . 1 5 - 1 8 ; II Cor. 8.23; Phil. 1 . 1 ; 2.25; 4.3;
Col. 1.7; 4.7; I Thess. 5.i2f.). These diverse forms of ministry were
by no means clearly distinguishable from one another - for example,
the ministry of exhortation overlaps with that of prophecy (Rom.
12.6-8) and the ministry of 'helping' (I Cor. 12.28) with the 'sharing,
caring and giving' of Rom. 1 2 . 8 . The explanation of this diversity is
obvious: any form of service etc. which any individual member of the
charismatic community found himself regularly prompted to by the
Spirit and which benefited the Church was (or at least should have
been) recognized as a regular ministry by the Church (I Thess. 5.12f.;
I Cor. 1 6 . 1 6 , 1 8 ) . Consequently these ministries should not be
thought of as established or official ministries, and they were certainly
not ecclesiastical appointments or church offices. Indeed we are told
specifically in the case of Stephanas and his household that 'they took
upon themselves their ministry to the saints' (I Cor. 1 6 . 1 5 ) . The only
ones which took a form which may have provided the beginnings of
a pattern for the future were the 'overseers (bishops) and deacons' of
Philippi (Phil. 1 . 1 ) . There it would appear that some of the less well
defined areas of administration and service mentioned above had
begun to be grouped together or to cohere into more clearly outlined
forms of ministry, so that those who regularly engaged in them could
be known by the same name (overseer or deacon). But whether these
Phil. 1 . 1 ministries were indeed the direct forerunners of the secondcentury offices of bishop and deacon must remain doubtful; if only
because neither Ignatius nor Polycarp know of any bishop's office in
connection with Philippi. The 'evangelists' and 'pastors' of Eph. 4 . 1 1
may also denote more clearly defined ministries, though in Ephesians
the (universal) Church is possibly viewed from a later (post-Pauline?)
perspective (see below pp.384f.). Yet even here the words seem to
denote functions rather than offices and are not yet established titles.
(d) We should notefinallythe ministry of the congregation in Paul's
vision of charismatic community. It is clear from his concept of the
body of Christ that each member and all members of the body
together have a responsibility for the welfare of the whole. So we
are not surprised when Paul exhorts all the members of different
communities to teach, admonish, judge, comfort (Rom. 1 5 . 1 4 ; I Cor.
5.4f.; II Cor. 2.7; Col. 3 . 1 6 ; I Thess. 5.14). Indeed, it is noticeable
that Paul's instructions and exhortations are generally addressed to
the community as a whole. Nowhere in his letters, with the probable
exception of Phil. 1 . 1 , does he address a single group of people as
though responsibility lay primarily or solely with them for the organ-

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123

ization, worship and general welfare of the rest. This is clearest in

I Corinthians where, despite a sequence of situations and problems
which might seem to cry out for a well structured leadership, no
such individual or group is called upon. The implication is plain:
if leadership was required in any situation Paul assumed that the
charismatic Spirit would provide it with a word of wisdom or guid
ance through some individual (cf. I Cor. 6.5; 12.28). The community
as a whole certainly had the responsibility of testing all words and
acts claiming the inspiration and authority of the Spirit (I Cor. 2 . 1 2 ,
1 5 ; I Thess. 5.2of.), even those of Paul himself (cf. I Cor. 7.25, 40;
14.37). It was part of their responsibility to give assent, to say the
'Amen' to the inspired utterances (I Cor. 1 4 . 1 6 ) , to recognize the
authority of the Spirit in these ministries undertaken at his compulsion
(I Cor. 1 6 . 1 8 ; I Thess. 5.i2f.).
29.3 To sum up, the Pauline concept of church and ministry differs
from the discipleship of Jesus' earthly ministry in that it was a concept
of charismatic community, characterized by mutual interdependence
where each though knowing the Spirit directly must depend on fellow
members for teaching and all sorts of other ministries. So too the
Pauline concept of church and ministry differs from the pattern which
evolved at Jerusalem in that it was essentially a concept of charismatic
community and nothing else, 'of free fellowship, developing through
the living interplay of spiritual gifts and ministries, without benefit of
official authority or responsible "elders"'. In particular, this means
that the Pauline church cannot be described as sacerdotal with only
some having ministry and particular ministries confined to a few. For
Paul the Spirit had surmounted the old Jewish distinction between
priest and people and left it behind - all have ministry and any
member may be called upon to exercise any ministry. Some would
have a more regular ministry which the congregation should recognize
and encourage. But the idea of mono-ministry or ministerial autocracy
- that is, of all the most important gifts concentrated on one man
(even an apostle) or in a select group - is one which Paul dismissed
with some ridicule (I Cor. 1 2 . 1 4 - 2 7 ) .
10

1 0 . H. von Campenhausen, Ecclesiastical Authority and Spiritual Power in the Church

of the First Three Centuries, 1 9 5 3 , E T A . &c C . Black 1969; pp. jot.

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124

30. T O W A R D S

[30

IGNATIUS

30.1 The Pastorals. If we glance back a few pages and compare

Paul's vision of charismatic ministry with the exhortations of Ignatius
to the Smyrneans (p. 1 1 2 above), we might be tempted to conclude
that the two concepts of ministry are poles apart, even irreconcilable.
And yet when we turn to the latest members of the Pauline corpus
(the Pastoral epistles) we see an understanding of church structure
which seems much closer to Ignatius than to Paull This degree of
development in ecclesiastical organization is one of the chief indi
cators that the Pastorals as they now stand are post-Pauline, reflecting
the situation in the Pauline churches probably in the last quarter of
the first century, but possibly even later.
Here are the chief features. (1) Elders appear for the first and
only time in the Pauline corpus (I Tim. 5.if., 1 7 , 1 9 ; Titus 1.5). (2)
'Overseers' (bishops - 1 Tim. 3 . 1 - 7 ; Titus 1.7ft.) and 'deacons' (I Tim.
3 . 8 - 1 3 ) appear now as descriptions of established offices (I Tim. 3 . 1
- 'office of overseer'). The presentation of I Tim. 3 suggests that
deacons were subordinate officials, though we cannot tell from this
chapter what their respective functions were. (3) The role of Timothy
and Titus within this hierarchy is not very clear either, though they
certainly rank above the elders, overseers and deacons. What is sig
nificant is that the letters are addressed to them and they seem to
exercise a responsibility and degree of authority in regulating the
community's affairs which Paul himself never exercised directly or
through his immediate co-workers (see further below p.385). (4) Most
strikingly, the Pauline concept of charisma has been narrowed and
regulated: it is a single gift given once-for-all in the course of ordina
tion; Timothy now possesses it within himself and it equips him for
his different responsibilities. In short, from being an event which
carries its authority in itself, charisma has become the power and
authority of office (I Tim. 4.14; II Tim. 1.6).
Perhaps the best explanation of this form of ministry and church
organization is that the Pastorals represent the fruit of a growing
rapprochement between the more formal structures which Jewish
Christianity took over from the synagogue and the more dynamic
charismatic structure of the Pauline churches after Paul's death. The
central evidence for this hypothesis is that in the Pastorals we find
both elders on the one hand and overseers and deacons on the other.
Elders, we noted as a feature of the Jewish Christian congregations
(above pp.ii7f. - also James 5.14^); overseers and deacons (the
names at least) featured in what is probably one of the last letters

30.2]

Towards Ignatius

125

written by Paul as a development in church organization evidenced

only in Philippi. The suggestion is, therefore, that after Paul's death
the name (and form?) of those regular ministries at Philippi were
copied by other Pauline churches, or at least became more wide
spread among the Pauline churches, while at the same time the func
tions of overseer and deacon began to be more clearly defined and
regulated (cf. Didache 1 5 . 1 - 2 ) . At this stage in the process the attempt
began to be made to merge the two patterns, to assimilate the organiz
ation of the Jewish Christian churches to that of the Pauline churches
(or vice-versa). The Pastorals (and I Clement) seem to have been
written at a stage when this process of assimilation or integration was
well advanced, but not yet complete. In particular, the roles of over
seer and elder were probably being assimilated to each other, but it
is not clear from the Pastorals whether the two words were yet quite
synonymous, or whether, alternatively, 'overseer' had already become
the title of a particular leadership function within the eldership (why
are elders not mentioned in I Tim. 3?); cf. Acts 20.17, 8 ; I Clem.
42.4; 44.4^; 47.6; 5 7 . 1 .
11

30.2 If this hypothesis truly mirrors the actual historical develop

ments, then we may be able to detect earlier and different stages in
this rapprochement between the Jewish Christian churches and those
of the Pauline mission in some of the other N T documents. I am
thinking here of I Peter and Matthew. The evidence is much slighter
and more allusive, so we must proceed with due caution and cannot
hope to achieve anything like a full picture. But what evidence there
is seems to support the hypothesis outlined above.
I Peter seems to come from a Pauline milieu, or at least to be heavily
influenced by Pauline theology (for example, the use of distinctively
Pauline language and thought in 2.5, 3.16, 4.iof., 1 3 , 5.10, 1 4 ) .
Notice particularly that the Pauline concept of charisma is still intact:
he speaks of each having received some charisma and of 'the grace of
God that manifests itself in various ways' (4.10); and he summarizes
the charismata in terms of speaking and serving, a summary that
is nevertheless wide enough to embrace the diversity of the Pauline
lists in Rom. 1 2 and I Cor. 1 2 , while maintaining the Pauline emphasis
on charismata of the word and on charisma as service. Note also that
12

1 1 . If either or both 'overseers and deacons' at Philippi were responsible for raising and
transmitting the Philippians' financial gift to Paul (Phil. 4 . 1 0 - 1 8 ) , then Paul's commen
dation of their generosity (II Cor. 8 . 1 - 7 ; Phil- 4 . 1 4 - 1 8 ) may have been taken as implying
a commendation of their organization.
1 2 . The presentation of the early church in Acts requires a fuller treatment which we
will reserve for eh. X I V (72.2).

Concepts of Ministry

126

[30.3

the title of priest is given not to any individual Christian (never so in

the NT), but to the Church as a whole, and their ministry as a whole
can be described in terms of priestly service (2.5, 9), just as with Paul
(Rom. 1 5 . 2 7 ; II Cor. 9 . 1 2 ; Phil. 2.17(F), 25, 30). So too the title of
'pastor and overseer' is referred to Jesus alone (I Peter 2.25). At the
same time the only prophets mentioned are spoken of in the past
tense ( 1 . 1 0 - 1 2 - probably referring to or at least including early
Christian prophets). Moreover, I Peter seems to envisage a clearly
defined circle of elders with relatively well defined responsibilities
( 5 . 1 - 5 ) . On this evidence we have to regard I Peter as reflecting that
stage when the Pauline churches, or those most influenced by Paul,
had already begun to adopt and adapt the model of Jewish Christian
church order, without yet losing the flexibility and freedom of the
Pauline charismatic community.
u

30.3 Matthew seems to reflect an even earlier stage in the rapproche

ment, but from the side of Jewish Christianity. Thus, for example, on
the one hand there is a strong emphasis on the continuing validity of
the law (particularly 5 . 1 7 - 2 0 - see below 55.1); only in Matthew
do we find preserved the logia restricting Jesus' concept of mission to
the Jews (10.6, 23); and it is Peter who is singled out in the words
about the church's firm foundation and 'the keys of the kingdom of
heaven' (i6.i8f.). On the other hand there were evidently Christian
scribes (= teachers) in the Matthean church (cf. 7.29 - 'their scribes')
whose role it was not merely to pass on the law and the traditions
about Jesus, but to interpret them afresh (13.52 - see above ch. IV);
the Matthean church was much more open and committed to mission
than the earliest Jerusalem church was (28.19^); and it is not James
who is singled out, but Peter, who in first-century tradition is as
closely identified with mission as Paul (particularly Gal. 2.8f.).
The most interesting passages for our study are 7 . 1 5 - 2 3 , 1 8 . 1 - 2 0
and 2 3 . 8 - 1 2 . In 7 . 1 5 - 2 3 it is evident that the Matthean church had
suffered somewhat from the ministry of wandering prophets - that
is, they had experienced a type of charismatic ministry which, in
14

15

1 3 . Cf. H. Goldstein, Paulinische Gemeinde im Ersten Petrusbrief, Stuttgarter Bibelstudien 80, 1 9 7 5 , particularly ch. I.
1 4 . Contrast Jewish Christianity (below pp. 258f., 272); and cf. below pp. 43of.
1 5 . Cf. the overbold suggestion of E. Trocme that Mark's Gospel was written partly to
attack the power of James and the twelve in the Jerusalem church and to defend a movement
which had broken away from the mother church of Jerusalem and had launched out into
a large scale missionary venture {The Formation of the Gospel according to Mark, 1 9 6 3 ,
E T SPCK 1 9 7 5 , pp. 1 3 0 - 3 7 and ch. 3). More extreme and fanciful is W . Kelber, The Oral
and the Written Gospel, Fortress 1 9 8 3 , pp. 9 1 - 1 0 5 .

30.3]

Towards Ignatius

127

Matthew's view at least, was wedded to antinomianism (7.22f.; cf.

2 4 . 1 1 , 24). In this passage Matthew does not reject such ministry (cf.
10.7f., 4 1 ; 17.20), but wishes rather to integrate it with a fuller loyalty
to the law. In 'the community rule' of 1 8 . 1 - 2 0 it is noteworthy that
there are no special leaders distinguished from the ordinary church
member, not even elders or overseers, to whom special exhortations
are addressed. It speaks only of 'these little ones' - obviously the
membership as a whole, since to enter the kingdom of heaven each
must become such a one ( 1 8 . 1 - 6 , 10). The 'rule' goes on to lay re
sponsibility on every one of them to find the lost sheep, to win back
the erring brother, to bind and loose ( 1 8 . 1 2 - 2 0 ) . That is to say, it
was not simply Peter or some single individual or group of office
bearers who had the authority to 'bind and loose', to teach and to
discipline, but every member of the church was so authorized by
Jesus ( 1 8 . 1 8 - 2 0 ) . In Matthew Peter is picked out not so much as a
hierarchical figure but more as the representative disciple - as again
in 1 4 . 2 8 - 3 1 , where he typifies 'little faith' discipleship (cf. 6.30; 8.26;
16.8; 1 7 . 2 0 ) - just as the twelve are also probably understood as
representative of the church as a whole (19.28; cf. I Cor. 6.zL).
Finally, in 2 3 . 8 - 1 0 there is the quite explicit warning to the Matthean
church against conferring any rank or title or special status on any
individual member - God alone is 'father', and Jesus alone is 'teacher'
and 'master'. The greatness to which they are all encouraged is not
that of executive power and authority but that of humble service
(20.25-27; 2 3 . 1 l f . ) .
16

17

The Matthean community is perhaps best described as a brother

hood (5.22-24, 47; 7 . 3 - 5 ; 1 8 . 1 5 , 35 3 - 8 ) grouped round the
elder brother Jesus (12.49^; 18.20; 25.40; 28.10), striving to develop
a form of outgoing life and all-member ministry amid Jewish hostility
(with the most prominent ministries those of Peter, prophets and
teachers), and conscious of the opposite dangers both of a hierarchical
structure which inhibits the manifold ministry of the brothers and
of a charismatic prophetism which divorces miracles and revelation
too sharply from a proper loyalty to the law - in other words, trying
2 I

18

16. i8.i2f., 1 8 could be read as addressed to a special group singled out as leaders; but
in the context of the whole passage (addressed to 'the disciples') the 'you' would most
probably be taken as referring to every member throughout (otherwise R. Schnackenburg,
The Church in the New Testament, E T Herder 1 9 6 5 , pp. 74f.).
1 7 . Cf. Matt. 2 8 . 1 0 where Matthew does not follow Mark 1 6 . 7 in distinguishing Peter
from the rest of the disciples. In recent literature cf. P. Hoffmann, 'Der Petrus-Primat
im Matthausevangelium', NTK, pp. 9 4 - 1 1 4 ; J . P. Martin, 'The Church in Matthew',
Interpretation, 29, 1 9 7 5 , PP- 54^ Earlier references in R. E. Brown, K. P. Donfried and
J . Reumann, Peter in the New Testament, Chapman 1 9 7 4 , p. 1 4 n. 29.
1 8 . 'Elder' in Matthew is used only of the Jewish authorities hostile to Jesus.

Concepts of Ministry

128

[31

to develop a form of Pauline 'churchmanship' within and more appro

priate to a Jewish context.
19

31. THE J OHANNINE

ALTERNATIVE

If the Pastorals evince a development within first-century Christianity

towards the greater institutionalization of Ignatius and the great
Church of the second century onwards, we must also recognize a
counter-tendency within the first century which seems to run in the
opposite direction. The clearest witness to this resistance to insti
tutionalization is the Fourth Gospel and the Johannine epistles; but
we can also detect signs of it in Hebrews and Revelation.
3 1 . 1 The individualism of the Fourth Gospel is one of the most
striking features of this remarkable document. Like Paul the author
sees worship in charismatic terms (see below pp. i42f.), but unlike
Paul there is no concept of charismatic community. Certainly there is
a sense of community both in the Gospel and in thefirstepistle (John
1 0 . 1 - 1 6 ; 1 5 . 1 - 6 ; 1 7 . 6 - 2 6 ; I John 1.7; 2.19; 3 . 1 3 - 1 7 ) , but not of a
community charismatically interdependent. And of course the 'hori
zontal' responsibility is laid on each to love the brethren; in both
writings, as in Paul, this is the real mark of the Christian believer
(John 13.34L; I John 3 . 1 0 - 1 8 , 2 3 ^ ; 4.20L). But for John the 'vertical'
relationship with God the Spirit is essentially an individual affair.
Thus, in particular, there is mutual belonging to Christ, but not a
mutual interdependence in that belonging: each sheep hears the
shepherd's voice for himself (John 10.3 f., 16); each branch is rooted
directly in the vine (15.4-7). The talk of munching Jesus' flesh, drink
ing his blood, or of drinking the water from his side, is addressed
more to a sequence of individuals than to a community which is itself
the body of Christ (6.53-58; 7.37^). And the climax of the 'Gospel
of Signs' ( 1 - 1 2 ) is the resuscitation of a single individual, symbolizing
a one-to-one salvation ( 1 1 ) rather than the general resurrection of the
dead. Jesus does pray for the unity of believers, which again speaks
of community, but even here the unity John has in mind is comparable
to the unity of the Father and the Son and is both rooted in and
dependent on the individual believer's union with Jesus ( 1 7 . 2 0 - 2 3 ) .
20

1 9 . See further E. Schweizer, Matthdus und seine Gemeinde, Stuttgarter Bibelstudien

7 1 , 1 9 7 4 , particularly ch. X; E T in G. Stanton* ed., The Interpretation of Matthew, SPCK/
Fortress 1 9 8 3 , pp. 1 2 9 - 5 5 .
20. R. E . Brown, 'The Kerygma of the Gospel According to John', Interpretation, 2 1 ,
1 9 6 7 , reprinted in New Testament Issues, ed., R. Batey, S C M Press 1 9 7 0 , p. 2 1 3 .

31.2,]

The )oharmine

alternative

129

Perhaps most striking of all, the small group left round Jesus after
the tremendous sifting (krisis) of faith and loyalty (a dominant motif
- see above p. 81) do not form some hierarchy or particular office
which sets them apart from other disciples: they are never called 'the
apostles' (cf. 1 3 . 1 6 ) and presumably include some of the women who
feature so prominently in this Gospel (4; 1 1 ; 20); there is no thought
of them having special ministries within the community of disciples;
they are simply 'the disciples' and are most likely intended to represent
all (including future) disciples in their common responsibility of
mutual love and mission ( 1 4 - 1 6 ; 20.22). The same is probably true
of 'the beloved disciple' in particular. That is to say, whatever the
historical reality underlying his presentation (cf.21.20-24), John
probably intends him to symbolize the individual believer in the
immediacy and closeness of his relationship to Jesus ( 1 3 . 2 3 - 2 5 ; 20.28). Similarly in I John 2.27, the anointing of the Spirit obviates the
necessity of teachers; the Spirit indwelling each believer is teacher
enough. In short, throughout these writings there is no real concept
of ministry, let alone of office. Everything is seen in terms of the
individual's immediate relationship to God through the Spirit and the
word.
21

22

3 1 . 2 Of all the N T letters outside the Pauline corpus, Hebrews, next

to I Peter, has the closest affinities to Paul. But whereas I Peter is
something of a half-way house between Paul and the Pastorals,
Hebrews is more of a half-way house between Paul and John. To be
sure there are 'leaders' active in the Hebrews' church (13.7, 1 7 , 24),
but they are defined more in terms of pastoral function than of office
( 1 3 . 1 7 ) . The same is even more clearly true of the ministry of teaching
in 5 . 1 1 - 6 . 8 , where the only qualification mentioned is spiritual
maturity evidenced by skill in discriminating good from bad - a skill
gained by experience and practice (5.14); compare the qualification
for recognition as a prophet or teacher in Paul (above p . 1 2 1 ) . No
other ministries are referred to individual members. Instead, responsi
bility for service and exhortation is laid on the whole membership
(6.10; 10.25; 1 2 . 1 5 ) . Here too are distinct parallels with the charis
matic community of Paul (see above pp. i22f.).
The most striking feature of Hebrews at this point however is the
way in which ministry focuses in Christ in a complete and final

2 1 . Only in the appendix added to the Gospel subsequent to its composition is there
any thought of a particular pastoral ministry exercised within the community ( 2 1 . 1 5 - 1 7 ) .
22. Note again, the discussion is in terms of ministry, not of community as such. On
'the elder' of II John and III John see below p. 3 9 2 .

Concepts of Ministry [ 3 1 . 3

130

manner. He alone is called 'apostle' (3.1). He completes the fragmen

tary revelation given through the prophets of old (i.if.). Above all,
he is priest, high priest, priest according to the order of Melchizedek
(2.17; 3 . 1 ; 4 . 1 4 ^ ; 5 . 1 ; etc.). His priesthood is so complete and exalted,
his priestly ministry so perfect andfinal,that there is no role or room
left for any priestly intermediary within the Christian community. A
distinct priesthood belonged only to the past, to the era of shadow.
But Christ has brought the reality thus foreshadowed to every believer
( 7 - 1 0 ) . As the priest he has offered the once-for-all andfinalsacrifice
and opened up the Holy of Holies to every believer, so that each
can experience for himself the reality of what the high priest alone
experienced in shadow for his people (4.16; 6.i9f.; 1 0 . 1 9 - 2 2 ) . In
short, those ministries which typified the old covenant have been
wholly fulfilled by Christ and therefore abolished for the people of
the new covenant. Here then is a close parallel with the Johannine
concept of Church and ministry, where ministry is focused in an all
but exclusive way in Jesus and each believer can 'draw near' the
presence of God for himself without depending on other believers or
any human intermediary.
23

31.3 The concept of ministry hinted at in Revelation seems also to

belong somewhere between Paul and John. Here too is a striking
absence of any idea of hierarchy and office. All believers are kings
and priests (1.6; 5.10; 20.6), all are God's servants (7.3). Apostles are
mentioned, but as belonging to the founding era of the Church
(21.14). Elders appear in the heavenly throne room, but if they rep
resent human counterparts at all (rather than the OT council of
Yahweh) it would be the whole Church and not just particular office
bearers within it - twelve perhaps representing the Israel of God of
the old era, twelve the present Church (4.4, 1 0 ; 5.8; 1 1 . 1 6 ; 19.4; cf.
3.21). So too the 'angels' of the churches in 1.20, 2 - 3 should not be
taken to represent bishops (overseers) or particular leaders; since the
words addressed to each angel clearly apply to each church as a
whole, the angels are best taken as heavenly counterparts of the
various churches. In short, there is no mention in Revelation of
bishops, deacons, teachers or pastors, and 'priests' and 'elders' are
designations for the whole Church.
The only distinctive ministries mentioned by Revelation are those
of prophet (2.20; 10.7; 1 1 . 1 0 , 1 8 ; 16.6; 18.20, 24; 22.6, 9) and
witness or martyr (2.13; 1 1 . 3 ; 17.6; cf. 1 . 2 , 9; 6.9; 1 1 . 7 ; 1 2 . 1 1 ,
1 7 ; 1 9 . 1 0 ; 20.4). These words seem sometimes to denote particular
23. Schweizer, Church Order: ' . . . Hebrews combats the institutional Church' (ioc).

32.1]

Conclusions

131

individuals within the church (2.13, 20; 22.9), but in 1 1 . 3 , 1 0 it is

probably the church as a whole which is symbolized as two witnesses
or prophets. It is not clear whether the twin terms 'saints and
prophets/martyrs' ( 1 1 . 1 8 ; 16.6; 17.6; 18.24) refer equally to the entire
community, or distinguish prophets/martyrs from the rest of the saints
(as presumably in 18.20). But certainly there is no suggestion of a
prophetic hierarchy, and in so far as all believers are called upon to
bear testimony to Jesus so all experience the Spirit of prophecy ( 1 2 . 1 1 ,
1 7 ; 1 9 . 1 0 ; cf. 6 . 9 - 1 1 ; 20.4). Here we have something of a parallel
with the Pauline concept of ministry: in principle every saint is a
witness and prophet, though some are called upon to exercise that
ministry in a fuller way than others. The writer of Revelation is
sometimes singled out as claiming a unique authority ( 1 . 3 5 2 1 . 5 ; 22.6,
i8f.), but this is simply the authority of prophetic inspiration which
any prophet believes to belong to his prophecy, and 22.i8f. is little
more than a literary convention to ensure faithful transmission of the
author's original (cf. e.g. Ep. Aristeas 3iof.); John the seer does not
distinguish himself from those to whom he writes either as witness or
as prophet (1.2, 9; 1 9 . 1 0 ) . In short, so far as Revelation is concerned,
the Church is pre-eminently a church that lives through and out of
prophecy.
14

32.

CONCLUSIONS

32.1 In our study of first-century Christianity we have discovered no

greater diversity than that apparent in the various concepts of ministry
and community reviewed above. In the stage of pre-Easter discipleship
we could not easily use the word 'community' to describe the circles
round Jesus, and ministry was centred exclusively in Jesus himself. In
the second stage, the first generation of Christianity itself, we were
confronted with two diverging patterns: on the one hand, the early
and somewhat chaotic charismatic freedom of the Jerusalem church
settled down into a more conservative pattern of church order
borrowed from the synagogue; on the other, Paul vigorously advo
cated a much freer vision of charismatic community, where unity and
maturity grew out of the living interplay of gifts and ministries with
out dependence on any office or hierarchy. In the third stage, the
second generation of Christianity, the patterns became both inter
mingled and more divergent: on the one hand we see a certain growing
24. See further A. Satake, Die Gemeindeordnung in der Johannesapokalypse, Neukirchen 1 9 6 6 .

Concepts of Ministry

132.

[32.2

together of the forms of Jewish Christianity and those of the Pauline

churches after his death which in the Pastorals at any rate is beginning
to harden into the more rigid structures of future Catholicism; on the
other we see what is best understood as a reaction against such
institutionalizing trends, where in different ways John, Hebrews and
Revelation protest against the emergence of a church structured round
office and intermediaries and insist on the immediacy of the individual
believer's relation to God through Christ and on the corporate nature
of priesthood and prophecy - John in particular seeming to hanker
after the pattern of discipleship which characterized the first stage, to
preserve what we would call now a kind of conventicle or campmeeting or convention Christianity.
25

3 2.2 This means that out of the 'spaghetti-junction' of first-century

Christianity only one road led towards the orthodox church order of
Ignatius; others led in at least one other very different direction. To
be sure we have examined only one aspect of N T ecclesiology, but
we have surely seen enough to recognize the justice of E. Kasemann's
famous claim; 'the New Testament canon does not, as such, constitute
the foundation of the unity of the Church. On the contrary, as
such . . . , it provides the basis for the multiplicity of the confessions'.
This conclusion has not been sufficiently reckoned with in the twen
tieth-century ecumenical movement, and its possible corollaries for
modern denominational diversity need to be thought through with
much greater care and thoroughness. We will have to return to this
issue in the concluding chapter (particularly 76.2).
26

32.3 Does any focus of unity hold these divergent patterns of ministry
and community together, or are they simply scattered fragments lack
ing essential coherence? Only one focus of unity can be detected with
any consistency - that is, once again, Jesus and faith in him. In the
pre-Easter movement Jesus alone was minister, prophet, teacher. In
17

2 5 . A nickname in the UK for one of the most complex motorway interchanges.

26. E . Kasemann, 'The New Testament Canon and the Unity of the Church' (19 5 1 ) ,
ENTT,

p. 1 0 3 .

27. Had we widened our study to include an examination of the various concepts of
church (as well as of ministry) we would be able to point to another important unifying
strand - continuity with Israel: the conviction that those who believed in Christ, Gentile as
well as Jew, constituted a renewed or even a new Israel. This was particularly important
within the earliest community, in Matthew, Paul and Hebrews, and is prominent also in
different ways in Luke, the Fourth Gospel, I Peter and Revelation. But, of course, for
Gentile Christians (and so for the unity of Christianity) this continuity with Israel was
possible only through Jesus and faith in him - as the fundamental argument of Gal. 3 and
Rom. 4 makes very clear.

3 2.4]

Conclusions

133

the initial period following Easter, authority and direction came from
visions of Jesus, from those who acted 'in his name', from the Spirit
given by the exalted Jesus; and even James's elevation to leadership
was due partly at least to the fact that he was Jesus' brother. In the
Pauline vision the charismatic community was nothing if it was not
also the body of Christ, living by his Spirit, manifesting the character
of his self-giving love. Even when we begin to move into the second
generation of Christianity the focus remains the same: it is Christ
alone who is described as 'shepherd and overseer of our souls' in
I Peter 2.25; it is Christ alone who may be called teacher and master
in Matt. 2 3 . 8 - 1 0 ; it is Christ alone who is priest and highpriest in
Hebrews; and for the seer of Revelation the Church is presented as
the bride of Christ (2i.2f., 9). Even in the Pastorals it is specifically
stressed that the man Christ Jesus is the one mediator between God
and man (I Tim. 2.5), while in John the centrality of Jesus the incar
nate and exalted Logos and the immediate dependence of every dis
ciple on him is one of the most dominant features. Here again then,
and in a striking way, the one unifying strand that unites the divergent
patterns is Jesus, the man of Nazareth now exalted, still providing
the essential focus of authority and still serving as the pattern of
ministry.
32.4 Two other features deserve brief comment, since, despite an
obvious potential relevance to present day issues, they have usually
been ignored. One is the uniform fact that within the N T there is no
place for a continuing distinction between priest and people, between
'clergy' and 'laity'. The sense of eschatological fulfilment consistent
within thefirsttwo generations of Christianity means that any thought
of an order of priesthood within the body of believers, setting some
believers apart from others, has been left wholly behind as belonging
to the age before Christ. Christ alone is designated 'priest' (Heb.; cf.
Rom. 8.34). Several N T writers speak of believers as a whole having
priestly ministry (I Peter 2.5, 9; Rev. 1.6) and Paul describes ministry
in service of the gospel or of other believers as priestly service (Rom.
1 5 . 1 6 ; Phil. 2.25). But there is now no sacred space into which only
some can enter (John 4.20-24), and the sacrifice to be offered by
believers is the sacrifice of themselves in the bodily relationships of
the everyday world (Rom. 1 2 . 1 ) . The cult has been secularized. There
is no place for an order of priesthood distinct in character or kind
from the priesthood of all believers. This consistent feature of Christ
ianity's canonical documents does not seem to have been given enough
weight in all the contemporary discussions, whether of 'the ministry'
or of 'the ministry of the whole people of God'.

Concepts of Ministry

134

[32.4

Equally striking within the context of the times would have been
the prominent role played in the beginnings of Christianity by the
ministry of women disciples. Their role in the Gospels is marked Matt. 2 8 . 1 - 1 0 , Mark 1 5 . 4 0 ^ and Luke 8 . 1 - 3 , d still more in John
(2.3-5; 4 - 5 3 > 39 n . 2 4 - 2 7 ; 2 0 . 1 - 1 8 ) . In the Pauline epistles the
discussion has focused far too much on the one hand on I Cor. 1 1 . 2 1 6 and 1 4 . 3 4 ^ (not to mention I Tim. 2.1 if.), and on the other on
Gal. 3.28. And much too little attention has been paid to the clear
evidence of women exercising prominent ministry and bearing auth
ority of leadership in the Pauline churches. To cite only Rom. 1 6 ,
notice Phoebe ( 1 6 . 1 ) , the first to be designated 'deacon' within the
NT, and also a 'patron' of the church in Cenchreae. Then Prisca
(16.3), one of Paul's co-workers and evidently more prominent than
her husband Aquila in leadership and ministry. Then Junia (16.7 not Junias), probably wife of Andronicus, and a leading apostle before
Paul. And not least Mary, Tryphaena, Tryphosa and Persis (16.6,
1 2 ) , all described as 'hard-workers' - a description which elsewhere
is usually taken as an indication of leadership (I Cor. 1 6 . 1 6 ; I Thess.
5.12). As these are the only ones so described in the list of greetings
in Rom. 1 6 , we should presumably conclude that women were par
ticularly prominent in the leadership of the earliest churches in Rome.
a n

VII

Patterns of Worship

33.

INTRODUCTION

Worship is one of the great unifying forces in Christianity. For in

worship there is room for an extravagance of language, for a freedom
of literary form which is absent in kerygmatic and confessional state
ments. The liturgies of the various denominations, particularly their
hymns, are a treasury of worship drawn from many diverse traditions
past and present and transcending denominational and national boun
daries. Even hymns intended to express particular doctrinal stand
points (like Wesley's 'Love divine, all loves excelling') or hymns by
Unitarians have become vehicles of a Christian worship which often
makes differences and divisions seem of little consequence. Indeed a
slogan which gained some currency in ecumenical discussions of the
twentieth century - born no doubt of the frustrations of cross-denomi
national dialogue - was 'Worship unites, doctrine divides'. It should
also be noted that Eastern Christians have always tended to place a far
higher (relative) importance on worship than their Western brothers:
for the Orthodox 'orthodoxy' is not so much about doctrine and much
more about worship. To be an Orthodox Christian is to belong to
that community which praises and glorifies God in the right spirit.
Here then is another important area deserving investigation in our
inquiry into the unity and diversity offirst-centuryChristianity. What
patterns of worship characterized the churches of the N T period?
Was there a single pattern, or were there as many diverse patterns of
worship as there were of ministry (ch. VI)? How much of a force for
unity was worship, how diverse were its forms? We will look first,
and fairly briefly, at a cross-section of the N T , concentrating particu
larly on Jesus, the earliest Church, Paul and John. Then we will focus
more specifically on the hymnody of the N T churches, where N T
scholarship has proved particularly fruitful in the past 80 years.
Finally we will ask whether there were extended liturgical and catech
etical forms already in use in thefirstcentury AD and already provid
ing a much broader unifying strand than we have so far uncovered.

Patterns of Worship [34.1

136

34.

DIVERSITY

OF ATTITUDE

AND

FORM

34.1 Jesus. It is not altogether clear what Jesus' attitude was to the
worship of his own day. This is one of the many subjects in research
into Christian origins on which scholars are divided. Certainly we
must regard his eschatological perspective as basic to the whole ques
tion: Jesus experienced the power of the end-time kingdom as already
in operation and expected the consummation of the kingdom immi
nently (see above 3.1, 2). Consequently his whole understanding
and worship of God was at some remove from the typical attitude of
his contemporaries. For most of them God was the high and holy
one, to be addressed with the utmost reverence, and the immanence
of God was expressed in terms of the name of God, or the Wisdom
of God, etc. But for Jesus God was the God who is near in his own
person. He was Father, not in terms of original creation or adoption,
but in the intimate individual and family sense expressed in the
address abba (dear father, 'dad') (see below 45.2). This attitude
recognized a continuity with the past - Jesus saw this revelation given
as the climax to what went before (cf. Matt. 5.17; Matt. n.25f./
Luke 1 0 . 2 1 ) ; but it also implied a discontinuity with the past - some
thing new had entered which could not be contained and retained
within the old framework (Mark 2.2if.). We see this working itself
out most clearly in Jesus' attitude to temple and synagogue, in his
attitude to the law, and in his practice of prayer.
(a) Jesus' attitude to the temple and synagogue. We do not know
how often Jesus visited the temple (note particularly Matt. 23.37-39/
Luke 13.34L, as well as the several visits in John's Gospel). On the
one occasion that we certainly know of, we know also what he did the so-called 'cleansing of the temple'. But what was the significance
of his action? If we take Mark 1 1 . 1 7 with its citation of Isa. 56.7 as
authentic, then we must conclude that Jesus looked on the temple as
the focal point of God's eschatological renewal - an interpretation
which is supported by the attitude of thefirstChristians to the temple
(see below pp.138, 256^). But it could also be argued that the expul
sion of the sellers of sacrificial animals etc. implied a rejection of the
traditional sacrificial cult, since his action would in effect make its
continuation impossible; compare his critique of the ritual purity laws
(see below). Here we have to recall again the saying of Jesus preserved
in Mark 1 3 . 2 , 14.58 (see above p.44), which seems to indicate
that for Jesus the temple (and its sacrificial cult) belonged to the old
age already passing away - in the coming kingdom a new (heavenly)
temple would be provided (cf. the interpretation of John 2.21 and

34 ]

Diversity of attitude and form

137

Acts 6.14 - see below pp.i^f.). So we are left in some doubt about
Jesus' attitude to the temple (cf. also Matt. 5.23^ with 9.13, 12.7;
and Mark 1.44, Luke 1 7 . 1 4 with Luke 10.3if.); also John 5.14,
7.14, 28; 8.20; 10.23; * the ambiguity of his preserved teaching is
reflected in the diverse paths followed by Hebrews and Hellenists in
the earliest Jerusalem community (see below 34.2). As for his atti
tude towards the synagogue, we are told that he attended it and may
assume that he did this regularly, though according to our evidence
his primary purpose in so doing was to teach his own message (Mark
1 . 2 1 - 2 7 , 39; 3 - ; 6.2; Matt. 9.35; Luke 4 . 1 5 - 2 1 ; 1 3 . 1 0 ) , not merely
to read the Torah and join in the prayers.
[b) We have already examined Jesus' attitude to the law oral and
written (see above 16.2, 24.5). We need only recall here his rejection
of the Sabbath Halakah, the corban casuistry and the regulations on
ritual washing. His attitude to fasting also caused comment (Mark
2.18; Matt. 11.19/Luke 7.34), though he may have expected his dis
ciples to practise it in the interval before the coming of the kingdom
(Mark 2.20; Matt. 6 . 1 6 - 1 8 ) . Even more striking is the sovereign
manner in which he handled the written law, determining in what
manner and to what extent its regulations were to be obeyed. In
particular, we noted how 'his teaching on the causes of impurity as
recalled in Mark 7 in effect cuts at the root of the whole ritual law'
(above p. 106). Here again then there is continuity (he restates at a
deeper level the commandments against murder and adultery), but
here too there is striking discontinuity.
(c) Jesus' practice of prayer. J . Jeremias believes that Jesus observed
the Jewish times of prayer, 'the morning prayer at sunrise, the after
noon prayer at the time when the afternoon sacrifice was offered in
the temple, the evening prayer at night before going to sleep'. But
prayer for Jesus was something much more spontaneous and fresh as again becomes most evident in the word with which he regularly
addressed God, abba, an expression of confident trust and obedience,
whereas the manner in which his contemporaries addressed God, so
far as we can tell, was much more formal (see further below 45.2).
To be sure the prayer which he taught his disciples (Matt. 6 . 9 - 1 3 /
Luke 1 1 . 2 - 4 ) has echoes of ancient Jewish prayers in two or three of
its petitions, but remains distinct precisely in its sense of intimacy
and in its sustained note of eschatological urgency.
a n a

1. So F. Hahn, The Worship of the Early Church, 1970, E T Fortress 1 9 7 3 , pp. 2 3 - 3 0 .

On the last supper and its relation to the passover see below p. 1 7 7 .
2. Jeremias, Prayers, p. 7 5 .
3. The parallels between the first two petitions of the Lord's prayer and what is probably
the earliest form of the Kaddish are striking (see Jeremias, Prayers, p. 98).

Patterns of Worship

i 8
3

[34.2

34.2 The earliest community. There was sufficient ambiguity in Jesus'

teaching about worship for divergent interpretations and practices to
emerge almost from the first.
[a) So far as we can tell the earliest Christians in Palestine main
tained the traditions of Jewish worship virtually unchanged. They
attended the temple daily (Acts 2.46; 3 . 1 ; 5 . 1 2 , 2 1 , 42), probably
expecting it to be the place of Jesus' return (Mai. 3 . 1 - see below
pp.3 5 3f.). That this continuing prominence of the temple is not simply
a consequence of Lukan theology (cf. below pp.386f.) is confirmed
by Matt. 5.23^ whose preservation also suggests that the sacrificial
cult continued to be observed by the first Christians. It would appear
then that the idea of Jesus as the end of the temple had not yet become
established. They seem also to have observed the traditional hours of
prayer (Acts 3 . 1 ; 5.21; io.9(?)) at temple and/or synagogue (cf. Acts
6.9; John 9 - see above p.46). And they continued to observe the
law and the 'tradition of the elders' (including the sabbath) with
faithfulness - as such passages as Matt. 23.3, 23, 24.20, Acts 21.20,
Gal. 2.3ft., 1 2 , 4.10 (cf. Rom. 14.2, 5; Col. 2.16, 2of.) clearly indicate
(see above 16.3). It was apparently not until the Cornelius episode
that the continued importance of ritual purity was even called in
question by the Palestinian Christians (Acts 1 0 . 1 4 ; 1 1 . 3 ) (see also
below pp.25 6f.).
(b) However, at the same time new forms of worship seem to have
been developing, and that from thefirst.These centred on gatherings
in private houses (Acts 2.46; 5.42). We hear of different elements
entering into these meetings - worship and prayer ( 1 . 1 4 ; 2.42; 4 . 2 3 3 1 ; 1 2 . 1 2 ) , teaching - that is, presumably, both the scriptures (OT)
and the Jesus-tradition, both passing them on and interpreting them
(2.42; 5.42), and common meals (2.42, 46). There is nothing to indi
cate that these fell into a regular pattern or formed a unified service
of worship. It is more likely that there were at least two different kinds
of gathering, one (more formal?) for prayer and teaching, following
somewhat the pattern of the synagogue service, and the other for
fellowship meals, which may also have included other elements, such
as singing, introduced as appropriate in more spontaneous manner
(cf. the note of exuberance in 2..46I.). The new patterns of worship
which began to emerge in these meetings were not wholly different
from what had gone before: we do not know whether they recited
the Shema (Deut. 6.4-9; 1 1 . 1 3 - 2 1 ) which every individual Israelite
was obliged to repeat twice daily; but they must have read from the
4

4. The variation in the wording of Deut. 6.5 in Mark 1 2 . 3 0 , 33 pars, suggests to

Jeremias that 'the Greek Shema was not a regularly recited liturgical text for any of the

34- ]

Diversity of attitude and form

139

scriptures (though we lack direct evidence of this); and no doubt they

continued to use some of the typical forms of thanksgiving and bless
ing and the 'Amen' (cf. I Cor. 14.16). But there were also distinctively
Christian elements: the Lord's prayer, the use of abba in prayers, the
recollection of the words and mighty acts of Jesus (all of which must
have been transmitted through the earliest communities), not least
the centrality of Jesus in his presence (Matt. 18.20) and expected
soon return (I Cor. 16.22), and those elements in the common meal
which recalled the table-fellowship of Jesus' ministry, the last supper
in particular, and which were to develop into what we now know as
the Lord's Supper (see below 40).
(c) For some time this dual pattern of worship, temple and housemeeting, continued side by side, with no tension felt between them.
But with the Hellenists and Stephen we come to a parting of the ways:
the continuing role of the temple for followers of Jesus was put
sharply in question, and old worship (temple) and new were set in
clear-cut antithesis. The key evidence here is Acts 6-7, whose histori
cal status is somewhat in question, but which probably represents
fairly accurately, on this point at least, the views of the Hellenists
which led to the first persecution of Christians. The charge against
Stephen was that he spoke against the temple cult (6.i3f.), and the
clear implication of 6.14 is that he had taken up Jesus' word about
the destruction of the temple (Mark 1 3 . 2 ; 14.58) and interpreted it
as a rejection of the temple as the locus of the divine presence (see
above pp. 79, 137). Even more explicit is the latter part of the speech
preserved in Acts 7, which climaxes in an outright attack on the
temple in which Stephen calls Isa. 66.if. as testimony (see above
p.106) and describes the temple as 'made with hands' (Acts 7.4850) - the very epithet which in Jewish polemic against paganism
characterized idolatry (references on p.293). If this is a fair represen
tation of Stephen's and/or the Hellenists' views, and the sequel
strongly suggests that it is (8.1-4; 1 1 . 1 9 - 2 1 ) , then we must conclude
that from a very early date the main focus of the Hellenists' worship
was the house meeting, where the distinctively Christian elements
were the chief force in shaping a new pattern of worship. Moreover,
we should not ignore the fact that Stephen's attitude was a rejection
not only of the Jewish attitude to the temple but also of the worship
5

three Synoptic evangelists' (Prayers, p. 80); but cf. the variation in the wording of the
Lord's prayer (Matt. 6.9-13/Luke 1 1 . 2 - 4 ) .
5. T w o or three gathered even informally were sufficient to provide a focus for worship
(Matt. 18.20), whereas according to later specification Jewish worship required the presence
of ten men (Meg. 4.3; b.San. 7a).
6. In this paragraph I am largely summarizing the fuller discussion below on pp. 292-4.

140

Patterns of Worship

[34.3

of the Aramaic/Hebrew speaking Christians so far as it continued to

centre on the temple. It is not clear whether it was at this time or
later that the Palestinian Christian attitude to the law was also called
in question: it was evidently zeal for the law and the traditions which
made Paul a persecutor of the Hellenist Christians (Gal. i.i f.; Phil.
3-5f.; and note Acts 6.13); but the speech of Acts 7 never really
extends to an attack on the law (cf. 6.14). Be that as it may, it is clear
that from an early date there was a diversity of attitude to and practice
of worship and a fairly sharp divergence of opinion which must have
imposed severe strains on the unity of the first Christian community
(see further below 60).
3

34.3 Paul. Of the two early patterns of worship Paul was apparently
more influenced by the free house churches of the Hellenists, though
to what extent is not clear. Certainly house churches were an impor
tant locus of community life in Paul's mission (Rom. 16.5; I Cor.
1 6 . 1 9 ; Col. 4 . 1 5 ; Philemon 2), as well of course as the larger (weekly?)
gatherings of the whole community (I Cor. 1 1 ; 1 4 ; cf. 16.2). But his
concept of worship is more than a rationalizing of inherited forms
and stems primarily from his concept of the local church as the body
of Christ. We recall that the body of Christ is for Paul the charismatic
community, that is, the community functioning charismatically. The
body of Christ comes to expression, lives and moves, through the
mutual interplay of gifts and ministries, the diversity of manifestations
being integrated into a unity of purpose and character by the control
ling Spirit of Christ (see above 29). But this means that the body
of Christ comes to visible expression pre-eminently in and through
worship: it is most clearly in worship that the diversity of functions (=
charismata) demonstrate their mutual interdependence and unifying
force (hence the discussion of charismata in I Cor. 1 2 - 1 4 centres on
the assembly at worship).
How did this work in practice? The clearest answer is given in I Cor.
1 4 . 2 6 - 3 3 3 : 'When you meet for worship, each of you contributes a
hymn, a word of teaching, a revelation, an utterance in tongues, an
interpretation . . . ' . Here, beyond dispute, Paul conceives of worship
as a very spontaneous affair, without regular structure or form, and
wholly dependent on the inspiration of the Spirit. The only regulations
he gives are: that there should not be an unbroken sequence of glossolalic utterances - an utterance in the vernacular, an interpretation,
must follow each utterance in tongues, otherwise tongues should be
wholly excluded; that each prophetic utterance should be evaluated
by the prophets and/or the whole community (cf. I Cor. 2 . 1 2 - 1 5 ;
I Thess. 5.19-22); and that no more than two or three glossolalic

34-4]

Diversity of attitude and form

141

and two or three prophetic utterances should be allowed in any meet

ing. The period of worship then would consist in a sequence of contri
butions in which those with regular ministries would participate
(prophets and teachers), but where any member might experience the
urging of the Spirit to manifest a particular charisma (including a
prophecy or teaching). The regular ministries were not expected to
dominate the meeting or necessarily to provide leadership. Leadership
would be provided by the Spirit, possibly through a regular ministry
of leadership, but possibly also through an occasional gift of guidance
or word of wisdom (I Cor. 6.5; 12.28). As we noted above (pp.i22f.),
in I Corinthians anyway Paul does not seem to envisage any estab
lished leadership as such.
Whether women participated in this charismatic worship is not
clear. I Cor. 14.330-36, if original, appears to exclude any contri
bution from women, but a less rigorous interpretation is possible (for
example, it forbids only their interrupting the process of evaluating
prophetic utterances (14.29-333) by asking unnecessary questions),
and should probably be accepted in view of I Cor. 1 1 . 5 which clearly
envisages women prophesying. Compare Acts 2.17L, 21.9, Col. 4.15
and Rom. 1 6 . 1 - 1 2 (see above p. 134).
Finally we might note that there is no hint in I Cor. 1 1 or 14 as to
how the meeting for worship was related to the common meal. The
discussion of each does not seem to embrace the other or to leave
much room for the other, and we best assume that Paul envisages
two separate gatherings for the different purposes (cf. particularly
Pliny, Epp., X.96.7).
7

34.4 When we move beyond the first generation of Christianity we

discover a divergency of patterns in worship similar to that in concepts
of ministry. Once again the Pastorals and John seem to mark out the
divergent pathways most clearly. We will follow the same procedure
as in chapter VI though more briefly.
(a) In the Pastorals the leadership of worship seems to be much
more restricted, as we might expect. In particular, exhortation and
teaching are no longer thought of as charismata which anyone might
be called upon to exercise, but seem to belong to the responsibility
and authority of office (I Tim. 2 . 1 2 ; 3.2; 4 . 1 3 ; Titus 1.9). Prophecy
is spoken of, but only as an authoritative voice from the past (I Tim.
1 . 1 8 ; 4 . 1 , 14) - was prophecy too spontaneous, too creative a gift to
8

7. However, one of my doctoral students, John Chow, argues that the leaders could
not provide the answer because they were the problem!
8. On I Peter see below (36) and on Revelation see below (35.2).

Patterns of Worship

142

[34.4

be permitted room within the church bent on maintaining good order

and preserving the inherited tradition (see further below pp.399f.)?
Of other elements in the patterns of worship outlined above only
prayer seems to be a general congregational activity (I Tim. 2.8). Here
evidently is a much more regulated and ordered style of worship than
that implied in I Cor. 1 1 - 1 4 .
(b) Matthew again seems to represent some sort of earlier rapproche
ment between the original pattern of Palestinian Christian worship
(Matt. 5.23^) and the freer charismatic worship of the Pauline
churches (7.22; 10.7f.; 17.20). In particular, we must note that in
1 8 . 1 5 - 2 0 responsibility for exercising discipline lies with the church
as a whole (cf. I Cor. 5.4^; 6.4f.). Similarly the authority of 'binding
and loosing', whether it is a teaching function that is envisaged (see
below p.394) or the declaration of sins forgiven (cf. John 20.23),
belongs not to Peter alone (Matt. 16.19) but once again to the whole
congregation (18.18). Where any two believers exercise their faith or
celebrate their faith, God acknowledges it and Jesus is present
(i8.i9f.). Here is a believer and community centred understanding of
worship, not a worship regulated by officebearer and tradition.
(c) Moving in the opposite direction from the Pastorals John
seems to be reacting against a growing formalism and institutional
ization in worship (as well as in ministry). Here the key passage is
John 4.23^ - 'God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship
in Spirit and truth' - where John is able to achieve his purpose by
setting Christian worship over against the traditions of Jewish and
Samaritan worship - that is, by setting worship in Spirit and truth
over against the sort of concerns in worship typified by the Jerusalem/
Gerizim conflict. John is saying in effect that Jesus has left far behind
that sort of issue and attitude, just as he has superseded the temple
(2.19), the Jewish feasts and sacrifices (1.29; 6.4, 2 5 - 5 8 ; 7.37-39;
19.36), the law ( 1 . 1 7 ; 4.10, 1 4 ; 6.30-35) and the Jewish rituals
(2.6;3.25~36) - worship of God no longer depends on sacred place
or sacred tradition or sacred ceremony. The worship that God seeks
is a worship not frozen to a sacred building or by loyalty to a par
ticular tradition or rite, but a worship which is living, the ever new
response to God who is spirit as prompted and enabled by the Spirit
of God in the light of the truth of Jesus. John 4.23^ therefore is
probably intended by John as an implied rebuke to all who want
9

9. In the Samaritan Pentateuch Moses' command to set up an altar on entering Canaan

refers to Mount Gerizim (Deut. zy.^i.). The Massoretic text's reading of 'Mount Ebal' may
in fact be an anti-Samaritan correction of the original preserved by the Samaritans. The
Samaritan temple on Mount Gerizim was destroyed by John Hyrcanus in 1 2 8 B C .

35-i]

Early Christian hymns

143

to continue worshipping God in terms of institution, tradition and

ritual. That worship in Spirit and truth meant for John and the
Johannine churches a sort of individualistic pietism is probably
implied by the passages mentioned in 3 1 . 1 above and by I John 3.24,
4.13.
(d) Hebrews seems to reflect a not dissimilar sort of reaction against
the ritualistic worship of the old covenant. That was all only a mere
shadow of the reality which Jesus has made possible for his followers
- the immediate and direct entry into the heavenly tabernacle, the very
presence of God (10.1). Here too worship is conceived in somewhat
pietistic terms: where all priesthood and ministry focuses on Jesus
(see above 31.2) each member of the community is dependent only
on him for the reality of renewal in worship (4.16; 6.19L; 1 0 . 1 9 - 2 2 ;
13-15)
34.5 Here again then we see a considerable degree of diversity:
in particular, diversity about the patterns of worship inherited from
the past, whether they should be maintained or whether the Spirit
should be trusted continually to create new forms more appropriate
to the people of God in their different and changing situations, with
all that that involves in terms of breaking with past traditions; and
diversity as to whether worship is primarily the affair of the individual
soul before God or rather something which can only come to full
expression for the individual when he is functioning as part of a
structured worshipping community. A further factor making for
diversity will become more apparent when we look more closely at
one particular expression of earliest Christian worship - its hymnody.

35.

EARLY

CHRISTIAN

HYMNS

Some hymns or hymn-like forms have been obvious more or less

from the first - the psalms of Luke 1 - 2 and the great ascriptions of
praise in Revelation. Others have been recognized only within the
twentieth century - hymns in praise of Christ, particularly within
the Pauline literature.
35.1 Luke 1-2. The Christian Church has long been familiar with
the four psalms of Luke 1 - 2 as part of its own worship.
(a) The Magnificat, the song of Mary - Luke 1.46-55. This was
probably modelled on Hannah's song in I Sam. 2 . 1 - 1 0 . It is noticeable
that there are no specifically Christian ideas in it; it is typically Hebraic
in character and content. But equally clearly and from the earliest

144

Patterns of Worship [ 3 5 . 1

days of the new faith, Christians have been able to take it over fully
as an expression of their own praise.
(b) The Benedictus, the song of Zechariah - Luke 1.68-79. The
canticle is full of OT allusions, particularly to the Psalms, Genesis,
Isaiah and Malachi. The first part (vv.68-75) in particular is very
Jewish in character, although in the second part (vv. 76-79) more
distinctively Christian ideas enter. Many scholars believe that it was
originally a messianic psalm - note particularly vv.68f., 76 and 78:
. . . he has turned to his people, saved them and set them free and
has raised up a deliverer of victorious power from the house of his
servant David;
. . . you, my child, shall be called Prophet of the Highest
for in the tender compassion of our God the morning sun from
heaven will rise/has risen upon us . . . (NEB).
One of the figures or titles in Jewish messianic expectation was
'prophet' (Deut. i8.i8f.; Isa. 61.iff.; Mai. 4.5; Test. Levi 8 . 1 5 ;
Test.Ben. 9-2(?); iQS 9 . 1 1 ; 4QTest. 5-8); and the Greek word used
in v. 78 for sunrise (anatole) may well be an allusion to the LXX of
Jer. 23.5, Zech. 3.8, 6.12, where it translates the messianic metaphor
'Branch'. If the song of Zechariah was originally a messianic psalm
(referring to the Baptist as Messiah?), then the Christians who first
took it over were easily able to make it their own by interpreting the
Baptist's role as 'forerunner of the Lord' as forerunner of Jesus.
(c) Gloria in excelsis - Luke 2.14. This had become a well estab
lished feature in Christian morning worship according to the fourthcentury Apostolic Constitutions. It contains nothing specifically
Christian in itself, that is, outside of its context.
(d) Nunc dimittis - Luke 2.29-32. A psalm of praise for the coming
of the Messiah, it expresses the calm ecstasy of faith at the realization
of a life-long yearning and hope. It must have served over and over
again to express the wonder of deliverance experienced by the earliest
Christians, and their consequent abandonment to God's will.
These are all hymns which sprang directly from the soil of pious
Judaism; a distinctively Hellenistic influence is wholly absent. In two
of the four there is not even anything distinctively Christian. And
even the remaining two are more messianic than Christian - that is,
they rejoice that the Messiah has already come, but the Messiah
remains unidentified. Whatever their ultimate origin and derivation,
Luke has almost certainly drawn them from the living worship of the

35-2.]

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earliest congregations (rather than from memories reaching back to

events 80 years earlier). In other words, they are the psalms of the
early Palestinian communities, which reached their present form in
a period when there were not yet any 'Christians', only Jews who
believed that the Messiah had come.
10

3 5.2 In Revelation there are many psalms or doxologies, or perhaps

more accurately shouts of praise: acclamations of God - 4 . 8 , 1 1 ; 7 . 1 2 ;
n . i 7 f . ; 1 5 . 3 ^ ; (16.7; 1 9 . 1 - 3 , 5); acclamations of the Lamb - 5.9^;
1 2 ; acclamations of God and of the Lamb/Christ - 5 . 1 3 ; 7.10; 1 1 . 1 5 ;
( 1 2 . 1 0 - 1 2 ) ; 19.6-8. These are also Jewish in flavour (note par
ticularly the use of 'Hallelujah' and 'Amen'), but less traditional in
form and content than the psalms of Luke 1 - 2 . The influence here
seems to come more from the synagogues of the diaspora, where
the holy and righteous God of Judaism was praised as Creator and
Sustainer of the world and Judge of all - the themes which occur
most frequently in the worship of the Johannine apocalypse. The
overlap between Christianity and Judaism is again marked, and con
sequently we should probably see in them typical expressions of
the praise of Hellenistic Jewish Christians. The acclamation of the
Lamb seems to be more peculiarly the author's formulation, but is
modelled on the acclamations of God and may well have been part
of the language and worship of the community to which the seer
belonged.
Notice the excitement and sheer exuberance of the praise. It is
depicted as the praise of heaven, but very probably is modelled on or
represents the worship and language with which the seer himself was
familiar. If so it is difficult to imagine the worshippers speaking these
words solemnly while sitting formally in rows as part of a set liturgy!
There is an enthusiasm and vitality here - indicated also by the
absence of any longer psalms like the Magnificat - the shorter form,
their frequency and variation implying greater spontaneity. One can
readily imagine gatherings for worship in early Hellenistic Jewish
Christian communities where after a prophecy or psalm or prayer an
exuberant worshipper cried out, 'Victory to our God who sits on the
throne, and to the Lamb!' (7.10); or where an individual began a
familiar doxology and all joined in, 'Amen! Praise and glory and
wisdom, thanksgiving and honour, power and might, be to our God
for ever and ever! Amen!' (7.12).

10. Cf. D. R. Jones, 'The Background and Character of the Lukan Psalms', JTS ns, 1 9 ,
1968, pp. 1 9 - 5

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[35.3

35.3 Discovery of various Christ-hymns embedded within the N T

material has set many hares running in N T scholarship of which we
can take only the briefest cognizance here. We will look first at the
three longest hymns.
(a) Phil. 2.6-11. Since E. Lohmeyer's study of the passage in 1 9 2 8
there has been increasing recognition that this is an early Christian
hymn which Paul has deliberately quoted. The balance and rhythm
of the clauses certainly support this view, although the actual struc
ture of the hymn is still in dispute. The strongest clue is probably the
parallelism which becomes evident when the verses are set down in
couplets, since it is the style of Hebrew poetry to repeat the thought
of one (half-) line in alternative language in the next. An almost
perfect parallelism comes to light if three phrases are regarded as
explanatory glosses: v.8 - 'the death of the cross'; v. 10 - 'in heaven,
on earth and beneath the earth'; v. 1 1 - 'to the glory of God the
Father'. Perhaps the most satisfactory way of setting it out is to follow
the pattern suggested by R. P. Martin:
11

12

Who being in the form of God

did not count equality with God something to be grasped.
But emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave.
Becoming in the likeness of men.
And being found in form as man.
He humbled himself
becoming obedient to death . . .
Wherefore God has exalted him to the heights
and bestowed on him the name which is over every name.
That at the name of Jesus every knee should bow . . .
and every tongue should confess that 'Jesus Christ is Lord'.
More important for us are the disputes about the background and
theology of the hymn. Some would see that background as strongly
Hellenistic: the hymn seems to operate with a Greek world view of
two simultaneous spheres rather than a Jewish eschatology of two
successive ages; and not a few have argued that behind the hymn
1 1 . E. Lohmeyer, Kyrios Jesus: eine Untersuchung zu Phil, Z.J-II,
Heidelberg 1 9 2 8 ,
i96i.
1 2 . R. P. Martin, Carmen Christt: Philippians 2 . J - 1 1 , Cambridge University Press
1967, p. 38. More recent discussion is reviewed in the revised editions, Eerdmans 1 9 8 3
and IVP 1997. The following two paragraphs have been substantially altered from the first
edition of U&D in the light of my further analysis of the Philippian hymn in Christology,
2

35-3]

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147

lies the Heavenly Man of an already pre-Christian Gnostic redeemer

myth - a thesis, which was greatly overworked in the middle decades
of the twentieth century, but which is now widely seen as a 20th
century construction on a most questionable historical foundation. In
this case it is much more justified to recognize a strong Jewish influ
ence: the Hebraic poetic form even suggested to Lohmeyer that an
Aramaic poem lay originally behind the Greek; there is probably some
influence from Jewish reflection on the suffering and vindication of
the righteous. But much the strongest single influence on the whole is
the speculation within many Jewish circles about the sin of Adam, its
consequences and God's remedy. The Christian version of this is of
Jesus' obedience which more than counteracts Adam's disobedience
(cf. particularly Rom. 5 . 1 2 - 2 1 ) . Here the contrast is clear: Adam
being in the divine image grasped at equality with God; though man
he exalted himself and was disobedient; therefore he was condemned
to an existence under the power of sin and death. In contrast, Christ
being in the form of God did not grasp at equality with God; he took
the form of a slave, accepted the condition of (fallen) humanity, and
humbled himself in obedience to death; therefore God exalted him
and gave him a title and honour due to God.
One other issue is whether we have here a three-stage christology.
Does the hyman speak no longer simply of the earthly and exalted
Christ, but now also of an earlier stage of mythic pre-history or
pre-existence? We should probably not make too much of this how
ever. The primary motif is the humility-exaltation contrast, and the
first two lines do not evince any speculative interest in divine being
and essence in the pre-history stage. The language is drawn from the
Adam narrative and is used primarily to stress Christ's humility, how
great was his self-humbling. This deepening of the idea of Christ's
earthly humility is matched by a corresponding heightening of the
idea of exaltation - God super-exalted (literally) him and gave him
the divine title kyrios (see also below p. 239).
(b) Col. 1.15-20.
The recognition of the hymnic form of these
verses goes back to E. Norden, in 1 9 1 3 . The hymn as it now stands
clearly divides into two main stanzas - the first dealing with Christ
and creation, the second with Christ and the Church.
13

1 4

1 3 . See particularly E. Kasemann, 'A Critical Analysis of Phil. 2 . 5 - 1 1 ' (1950), God
and Christ, JThC, 5, 1 9 6 8 , pp. 4 5 - 8 8 ; Wengst, Formeln, pp. 1 4 9 - 5 5 . But see also
D. Georgi, 'Der vorpaulinische Hymnus Phil. 2 . 6 - 1 1 ' , Zeit und Geschicte: Dankesgabe an
R. Bultmann, ed. E. Dinkier, Tbingen 1964, pp. 2 6 3 - 9 3 ; O. Hofius, Der Christushymnus
Philipper z.6-11,
Tbingen 1976; Dunn, Christology, pp. 1 1 4 - 2 1 .
14. E. Norden, Agnostos Theos, 1 9 1 3 , reprinted Stuttgart 1956, pp. 2 5 0 - 4 .

148

Patterns of Worship

[35.3

A Who is the image of the unseen God, the firstborn of all

creation,
For in him were created all things in heaven and on earth
seen and unseen,
Whether thrones or dominions or powers or rulers,
All things were created through him and to him,
And he is before everything and all things in him cohere,
And he himself is the head of the body (the Church).
B Who is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead,
That he might become in all things himself pre-eminent,
For in him willed all the fullness to dwell,
And through him to reconcile all things to him,
Making peace (through the blood of his cross) through him,
Whether those on earth or those in heaven.
The parallelism between the stanzas is indicated by the italics and
is obviously deliberate. The brackets indicate probable Pauline
additions.
The origin of the hymn is again the chief bone of contention, in
particular the degree and type of Hellenistic influence. E. Kasemann
has noted that if only eight of the 1 1 2 words in vv. 1 5 - 2 0 are removed,
then every specifically Christian motif is eradicated. He goes on to
argue that underlying the hymn is the Gnostic redeemer myth - the
myth of the archetypal man who is also Redeemer. Now it is true
that in the hymn we have concepts which could be said to have come
from a Hellenistic Judaism in which some elements of later full blown
Gnosticism are already present - 'image of the unseen God', 'firstborn
of all creation', 'things seen', 'thrones', 'dominions', 'cohere' (these
last four all more or less unique in Paul), 'fullness'. But the theory
shatters on one phrase - 'firstborn from the dead'. This is manifestly
integral to the hymn; and it is too specifically Christian to be attrib
uted to a pre-Christian source. Much more plausible is the view that
the Colossian hymn emerged from a Christian community composed
mainly of diaspora Jews (or indeed Gentiles influenced by Jewish
ideas) who had been accustomed to theologize in terms of Hellenisticinfluenced Wisdom speculation. Here is quite sufficient explanation
of the two most distinctive elements in the hymn - the clear affirma15

1 5 . E. Kasemann, 'A Primitive Christian Baptismal Liturgy' (1949), ENTT, pp. 1 5 4 9. For the earlier history of the investigation of Col. 1 . 1 5 - 2 0 see H. J . Gabathuler, Jesus
Christus: Haupt der Kirche - Haupt der Welt, Zurich 1 9 6 5 . For further bibliography
see P. T. O'Brien, Colossians, Philemon, Word Biblical Commentary 44, Word 1 9 8 2 ,

35.3]

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149

tion that Jesus is to be identified with the pre-existent agent of cre

ation, and the cosmic role attributed to the exalted Jesus. For them
and for Paul Christ had taken over andfilledout all the concepts and
categories previously applied to Wisdom (see also below pp.237f.) and, as the letter goes on to argue, had taken them over so completely
as to prevent them being applied to others: Christ is not one (gnostic
or Jewish) mediator among many, but the Mediator (note particularly
2.9, 1 7 ) . On this point we should not fail to observe how breathtakingly bold is the language of the hymn - 'all things in him cohere
. . . reconcile all things through him and to him' - the language of
theological speculation caught up in adoration and praise (see further
below p. 2 1 0 ) .
{c) John 1 . 1 - 1 6 seems also to incorporate what is probably an
earlier Logos hymn, or better, poem; note particularly the brief rhyth
mical clauses and limpid style. The poem probably consisted of vv.
> 3~5> (9) 1 0 - 1 2 b , 1 4 , 16, with vv.6-8 or 9 and v.15 obvious prose
insertions serving as some sort of polemic against a Baptist sect, and
vv.2, 10b, 1 2 C - 1 3 , i7f. as explanatory expansions. Once again the
origin of the poem is greatly disputed. Bultmann, for example, argued
that the Fourth Evangelist drew it from a Gnostic source - that it was
originally a hymn in praise of the Gnostic redeemer. But the lan
guage and thought of the poem seem to belong to an earlier stage in
the melting pot of ideas and concepts, a stage in which the most
prominent elements were the Stoic concept of Logos and (once again)
Hellenistic Jewish speculation about Wisdom. Distinctively Gnostic
words and themes are absent. Rather we should say that both Gnosti
cism and the Logos poet drew and developed ideas from the same
pot.
It is also questionable whether we should see here a pre-Christian
poem at all. Some or most of the specifically Christian lines can be
excised from the last two stanzas (vv. 1 0 - 1 6 ) without much disrup
tion. But is it plausible to remove the line: 'And the Logos became
flesh'? Thefirsttwo lines of v. 14 (stanza 4) are the lynch-pin of the
16

17

18

19

20

16. See further Dunn, Christology, pp. 1 6 5 - 6 , 1 8 7 - 9 4 .

1 7 . The question of reconstructing the original form of the poem is too complex to go
into here. A basic outline of Stanza I vv. 1 , 3, Stanza II, vv. 4 - 5 , (9), Stanza III, vv. 1 0 12b, Stanza IV, vv. 1 4 , 1 6 , (with several insertions), seems to be most plausible.
1 8 . R. Bultmann, The Gospel of John, 1964, E T Blackwell 1 9 7 1 , pp. 2-5ff., 6iff.
19. See particularly the commentary of R. E. Brown, The Gospel according to John,
Vol. 1 , Anchor Bible 29, Chapman 1966; Dunn, Christology, pp. 2 3 9 - 4 5 .
20. E. Kasemann, 'The Structure and Purpose of the Prologue to John's Gospel' (1957),
NTQT, ch. VI, ends the hymn with v. 1 2 . J . T. Sanders, The New Testament Christological
Hymns, Cambridge University Press 1 9 7 1 , pp. 2 0 - 2 4 , d s it with the rejection of v. 1 1 ,
which seems most improbable.
e n

Patterns of Worship [35.3

150

whole poem. Moreover they are fully integrated into the whole poem
in style and in the clear allusion to Wisdom (Ecclus. 24.8). The
removal of the fourth stanza (vv. 14, 16) mutilates the poem. Once
again therefore we have to see in the Logos poem evidence of
a Christian community thoroughly familiar with the syncretistic
religious thought of the time and using that language to praise Jesus.
Notice that here there is even greater attention focused on the
pre-existence stage of the christology. The poem ends with the incar
nate Jesus; it does not extend to his death and resurrection/exaltation.
This is both Johannine and non-Johannine. To speak of the incarnate
Jesus as full of grace and truth and of his 'fullness' reminds us of
John's readiness to see the earthly Jesus in terms of his exaltation
(above 6.2). But the strong movement of John's Gospel towards the
salvation climax of death, resurrection, ascension and Spirit is lacking
(see above p.81 and below pp.328f.). Probably therefore the poem
first emerged in the Johannine community at an earlier stage in its
development.
(d) Three shorter hymns in praise of Christ have plausibly been
identified within the N T writings; these we need only look at briefly.
First, Heb. 1 . 3 :
Who being the reflection of his glory
And the stamp of his nature,
Upholding all things by the word of his power;
When he had made purification for sins,
He sat down at the right hand of the majesty on high.
The opening 'who', the participles, and the rather ceremonious style,
are all indications of hymnic form. The use of words like 'reflection'
and 'stamp', and the third line, all remind us of Col. 1 . 1 5 - 2 0 and
indicate the influence of Hellenistic Jewish thought about Wisdom
(cf. particularly Wisd. y.z6i.).
(e) I Tim. 3.16:
21

He was manifested in the flesh,

Vindicated in the Spirit,
Seen by angels,
Preached among the nations,
Believed on in the world,
Taken up in glory.
2 1 . See further Dunn, Christology, pp. 1 6 6 , 2 0 6 - 9 .

35-33

Early Christian hymns

The lines are obviously built on a series of contrasts - flesh/Spirit,

angels/nations, world/glory. A chronological progression is not in
tended here, though the hymn certainly includes a contrast between
Jesus' earthly state in humility (in the flesh), and his exaltation. What
we have here basically is a simple and neat expression of the humilityvindication theme so prominent elsewhere (including Phil. 2 . 6 - 1 1 ) .
{f) I Peter 3.i8f., 22 is very similar in form.
(Who suffered once for sins
that he might bring us to God)
Put to death in the flesh,
made alive in the Spirit,
(Wherein also he preached to the spirits in prison)
Having journeyed/gone into heaven
he sits at God's right hand,
With angels, authorities and powers subject to him.
The hymn is incomplete: probably it is only partly quoted, and per
haps adapted. Notice again the flesh/Spirit, death/resurrection con
trast, and the emphasis on Jesus' exaltation over the powers. The
theology and ideas determining the language of these last two hymns
is different from those which we examined earlier, of a more Pauline
type, if I may put it thus, and certainly Hellenistic in background.
(g) Other passages suggested as Christ-hymns are Eph. 2 . 1 4 - 1 6 ,
Col. 2 . 1 3 - 1 5 and I Peter 1.20, 2.2iff. - though I am not yet per
suaded that these are any more than 'purple passages' of the letter
writers themselves. R. Deichgraber also classifies several passages as
God-hymns - Rom. 1 1 . 3 3 - 3 6 , II Cor. 1.3L., Eph. 1 . 3 - 1 4 , Col. 1 . 1 2 1 4 , 1 Peter 1 . 3 - 5 ; see also for example the doxologies of I Tim. 1 . 1 7 ,
6.i5f. In none of these cases however are there sufficient grounds
for isolating an earlier form which the writer has incorporated. Purple
passages in a Pauline or Petrine letter do not necessarily indicate a
borrowing.
There is one other hymn-fragment which should be mentioned Eph. 5.14. It is generally agreed to be a hymn, since the introductory
formula is much less likely to be explained as a reference to scripture
- 'Wherefore it says:
2 2

23

22. A recent study of these two passages is C. Burger, Schpfung und Vershnung:
Studien zum liturgischen Gut im Kolosser-und Epheserbrief, Neukirchen 1 9 7 5 .
23. R. Deichgraber, Gotteshymnus und Christushymnus in der frhen Christenheit,
Gttingen 1967, ch. II.

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[35.4

Awake, sleeper,
Rise from the dead;
And Christ will shine upon you' (NEB).
It is obviously very different from the Christ-hymns - it is not in
praise of Christ. Rather it is a call to the Christian summoning him
to action. The hymn books which emerged in Britain in the first half
of the twentieth century are familiar with this type of hymn: it would
take its place within the section headed 'Gospel Call'.
(h) We should also recall that the Pauline churches in particular
knew yet another form of hymnody - 'spiritual songs' (I Cor. 1 4 . 1 5 ;
Eph. 5.19; Col. 3.16) - probably spontaneous hymns sung by an
individual or the assembly as a whole in glossolalia - a kind of
praise which has re-emerged as a feature of the modern charismatic
movement.
To sum up, there are many common elements in thefirstsix hymns
discussed in this section. Three of the first four in particular all come
from a fairly similar background and reflect similar influences and
thought. Common to them is the language of pre-existence and
humiliation; only the Logos poem does not go on to include the
thought of resurrection/exaltation and consequent cosmic signifi
cance. The hymns of Colossians, John and Hebrews emphasize the
pre-existent one's role in creation; the Johannine prologue speaks of
incarnation in clear terms. The Philippian hymn is determined by the
Adam parallel. The other two hymns (I Timothy, I Peter) also belong
in a Hellenistic milieu, but show no indebtedness to the LogosWisdom circles of thought. They too emphasize exaltation, but the
contrast is more the simple one with earthness/fleshness than with
humiliation as such.
3 5.4 Our study of the hymns which have been preserved for us from
the N T period has revealed further facets of the diversity of firstcentury Christianity - in particular, the diversity which arises when
worship reflects the moods and background of each particular group
of worshippers or which reflects their concern to use the language
and thought forms of their contemporaries and environment, to wor
ship in ways that speak most meaningfully to their time. (1) The
Lukan psalms reflect an early Palestinian Jewish Christianity - the
praise of simple Jewish Christian piety. The fact that they were pre
served for Luke to transcribe indicates that the Palestinian Christians
continued to use them, that they were able to express their worship
(fully) through psalms which are so markedly lacking in distinctively
Christian (that is, distinct from Jewish) theology. (2) The Philippian

36]

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153

hymn reflects a different but also characteristically Jewish (apocalyp

tic, Wisdom, rabbinic) theological reflection on how Adam's sin is to
be undone. (3) The Revelation hymns reflect a form of Hellenistic
Jewish Christianity - more inspirational and prophetic, more influ
enced by enthusiastic and apocalyptic religion. (4) The hymns of
Colossians, John and Hebrews reflect a very different form of Hell
enistic Jewish Christianity - more sophisticated, more influenced by
philosophical and religious speculation about the cosmos, linking
Hellenistic Jewish speculation about the relation between God and
the world with Jesus. (4) The hymns of I Timothy and I Peter reflect
yet another side of Hellenistic Christianity - emphasizing the contrast
between Jesus' fleshly state and his exaltation.
Notice how different these various hymns are. The simple Jewish
piety is quite a far cry from the theological sophistication and pro
fundity of the Johannine and Colossian hymns, characterized as they
are by their philosophical language and awareness of contemporary
religious thought. Different again is the apocalyptic exuberance of
the hymns in Revelation. Different also the enthusiastic glossolalic
hymnody of the Pauline churches.
The more sophisticated hymns are found in quite a range of litera
ture - Paul, John, Hebrews, plus the Pastorals and I Peter if we include
the last two. This suggests that they were typical of a form of worship
fairly widespread through the Hellenistic Jewish congregations - a
more thoughtful, intellectual type of Christianity. At the same time
'spiritual songs' were also familiar to the Pauline communities which
appear to have cherished intellect and wisdom most highly (I Cor.,
Col.). The other two categories are confined to Luke and Revelation
respectively - and these are the only sort of hymns these writings
contain. They reflect therefore a rather more distinctive worship, and
presumably rather distinctive worshipping communities: on the one
hand a Jewish Christianity which at several points remained more
Jewish than Christian, on the other an apocalyptic Christianity where
prophecies and enthusiastic utterances of praise typified the worship.
We shall have to examine these diverse types of Christianity more
closely in Part II.

36.

'PAN-LITURGISM'?

Where in all this diversity can we find unity? One answer which came
to increasing prominence in the mid-1900s is that there were in
fact quite extensive unifying elements linking together the lives
and worship of the different Christian communities. This is the thesis

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154

[36.1

that at an early date liturgical and catechetical forms began to be

developed for the worship and teaching of various churches and
soon spread widely among the rest. If this is true then we have an
important answer to our question: common liturgy and catechism
served as a stabilizing unity within the restless diversity of first-century
Christian community and worship. But how valid is the thesis? We
have already seen that various kerygmatic, church and ethical tra
ditions circulated among the early churches, especially traditions
about Jesus ( 1 7 - 1 8 above). Do we now have to go further and
conclude that not merely particular traditions or groups of traditions,
but structured and coherent catechetical and liturgical forms circu
lated as well? The thesis has gained sufficient support for us to give
it some attention.
36.1 I Peter has provided an important focal point in these investi
gations. In 1940 P. Carrington noted that there was a significant
amount of material common to Colossians, Ephesians, I Peter and
James - namely, the exhortations to put off evil, to submit themselves
(to God and elders), to watch and pray and to resist the devil. He
concluded that each of these writers was drawing from a common
pattern of teaching, a baptismal catechism, not yet written, but in
widespread oral use - 'a series of formulae which tended to be empha
sized in dealing with candidates for baptism in the various apostolic
traditions, and derived from an original mode of procedure which
spread widely through the New Testament church and developed
along divergent lines'.
E. G. Selwyn, taking his cue from Carrington, cast his net wider, in
particular drawing material from Romans and I Thessalonians. He dis
covered a baptismal catechism withfivedifferent sections. (1) The entry
into the new life at baptism: its basis - the Word, truth, gospel; and
its nature - rebirth, new creation, new manhood. (2) The new life: its
negative implications and renunciations ('Put off). (3) The new life: its
faith and worship. (4) The new life: its social virtues and duties. (5)
Teaching called out by crisis: watchfulness and prayer ('Keep awake');
and steadfastness ('stand firm . ..'). He dates this pattern to AD 5 0 55, and thinks it circulated in a number of written versions for use by
teachers in different districts and groups of communities.
Others have gone a good deal further. In particular, H. Preisker
and F. L. Cross have argued that I Peter incorporates not just a
24

25

24. P. Carrington, The Primitive Christian Catechism, Cambridge University Press

1 9 4 0 , p. 90.
2 5 . E. G. Selwyn, The First Epistle of St Peter, Macmillan 1 9 4 7 , pp. 3 6 3 - 4 6 6 .

36.1]

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baptismal catechism or a baptismal sermon (another popular view)

but is in fact an elaborate liturgy more or less as it stands.
The development of form criticism and its apparent success in the
case of I Peter sparked off others to ransack the N T for liturgical
forms. Ephesians was an obvious candidate because of its catechet
ical-type parallels with I Peter. The most ambitious thesis here has
been J. C. Kirby's. He argues that 'when the epistolary sections of
Ephesians are removed, we are left with a document complete in itself
which could be used in an act of worship' - an act of worship which
'may have had a close connection with baptism, though not neces
sarily with the administration of the sacrament itself. More likely it
was 'a Christianized form of the renewal of the covenant; the Ephesian
leader decided to use this pentecostal ceremony as the basis of his
letter'. At the same time A. T. Hanson was discovering 'elements of
a baptismal liturgy' in Titus 2 - 3 , based primarily on parallels between
Titus on the one hand and I Peter and Ephesians on the other.
On a smaller canvas, several of the hymns examined above have
been specifically identified as baptismal. P. Vielhauer regards the
Benedictus as a baptismal hymn. Lohmeyer thought the Philippian
hymn belonged to a eucharistic context; but others are more inclined
to the view that the Philippian hymn is a solemn reminder to Christ
ians of the significance of their baptism. Ksemann takes Col. 1 . 1 2 20 as 'a primitive Christian baptismal liturgy', while G. Bornkamm
links Heb. 1.3 with the celebration of the Lord's Supper. Others
have argued, for example, that I Thess. 1.9L is a baptismal hymn,
that Col. 2 . 9 - 1 5 contains another, that I John is a 'recall to bap
tism', and that Rev. 1.5 uses established baptismal terminology.
26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

26. H. Preisker, revision of H. Windisch, Die katholischen Briefe, H N T , i 9 5 i ,

pp. 1 5 6 - 6 2 ; F. L. Cross, / Peter - A Paschal Liturgy, Mowbray 1 9 5 4 . See also M . E.
Boismard, 'Une liturgie baptismale dans la Prima Petri', RB, 6 3 , 1 9 5 6 , pp. 1 8 2 - 2 0 8 ;
A. R. C. Leaney, 'I Peter and the Passover: an Interpretation', NTS, 1 0 , 1 9 6 3 - 6 4 , pp. 2 3 8 - 5 1 .
27. J . C. Kirby, Ephesians: Baptism and Pentecost, SPCK, 1968, pp. 1 5 0 , 1 7 0 .
28. A . T. Hanson, Studies in the Pastoral Epistles, SPCK, 1968, ch. 7.
29. P. Vielhauer, 'Das Benedictus des Zacharias (Luke 1 . 6 8 - 7 9 ) ' , ZTK, 49, 1 9 5 2 ,

PP- 2 5 5 - 7 *
30. Martin, Carmen Christi, pp. 8if., 2 9 2 - 4 ; see particularly J . Jervell, Imago Dei,
Gttingen i960, pp. 2 0 6 - 9 .
3 1 . Kasemann, ENTT, pp. 1 4 9 - 6 8 .
3 2 . G. Bornkamm, 'Das Bekenntnis im Hebraerbrief, Studien zu Antike und Urchristen
tum: Gesammelte Aufstze, II, Mnchen 1 9 6 3 , pp. i96f.
3 3 . G. Friedrich, 'Ein Tauflied hellenistischer Judenchristen I Thess. i.9f.', TZ, 2 1 ,
1 9 6 5 , pp. 5 0 2 - 1 6 .
34. G. Schule, Frhchristliche Hymnen, Berlin 1 9 6 5 , p. 4 3 .
3 5 . W. Nauck, Die Tradition und der Charakter des ersten Johannesbriefes, Tubingen
1 9 5 7 , p. 96.
36. P. von der Osten-Sacken, 'Christologie, Taufe, Homologie: ein Beitrag zu Apc.

Patterns of Worship

i 6
5

[36.2

The Gospels of course have by no means escaped the net, although

their role in early Christian worship is reckoned differently. Thus, in
particular, Carrington has interpreted Mark as a lectionary laid out
in accordance with a liturgical year. G. D. Kilpatrick regards
Matthew as 'a liturgical book' designed for (selected) public reading
and exposition. M. D. Goulder greatly elaborates a similar position
- regarding all three Synoptics as lectionary books, Mark for half a
year, Matthew for a full year following the festal cycle, Luke for a
year but following the sabbath cycle. And A. Guilding has suggested
that one of the Fourth Evangelist's aims was to preserve a tradition
of Jesus' discourses and synagogue sermons in a form suitable for
liturgical use in the churches.
37

38

39

40

36.2 Assessment. I must confess that I find many of these theses

unconvincing - at two points in particular. First, I am not sure how
valid it is to argue from similarities in teaching to established catechet
ical forms. Certainly there is a significant amount of common teaching
material - particularly the calls to put off, to be subject, to watch, to
stand or resist. But we know how quickly different individuals with
a common enthusiasm and loyalty can develop a common language,
with its own jargon or technical terms in words and phrases. With a
fair degree of mobility between different Christian communities a
common language of exhortation and style of exhorting the assembled
believers could quickly spread. That different authors use the same
or similar words and ideas to describe the great change of conversion
in its basis, nature and outworkings is also striking, but hardly surpris
ing. The fact is that these authors were to a large extent drawing from
a fund of metaphors and symbols common to the various religions of
the day, as parallels with the Hellenistic mysteries and the Dead Sea
scrolls have made clear. And once ideas of re-birth, new creation,

Joh. i.5f.\ ZNW, 58, 1 9 6 7 , pp. 2.55-66. On attempts to read an order of service out of
the Revelation of John see K. P. Jrns, Das hymnische Evangelium: Untersuchungen zu
Aufbau, Funktion und Herkunft der hymnischen Stcke in der Johannesoffenbarung,
Gtersloh 1 9 7 1 , pp. 1 8 0 - 8 4 .
37. P. Carrington, The Primitive Christian Calendar, Cambridge University Press 1 9 5 2 .
But see W. D. Davies, 'Reflections on Archbishop Carrington's The Primitive Christian
Calendar', BNTE, pp. 1 2 4 - 5 2 .
38. G. D. Kilpatrick, The Origins of the Gospel according to St Matthew, Oxford
University Press 1 9 4 6 , ch. V.
39. M . D. Goulder, Midrash and Lection in Matthew, SPCK 1974; The Evangelists
Calendar. A Lectionary Explanation of the Development of Scripture, SPCK 1 9 7 8 .
40. A . Guilding, The Fourth Gospel and Jewish Worship, Oxford University Press i960,
pp. 54, 5 7 . But see also L. Morris, The New Testament and the Jewish Lectionaries,
Tyndale Press 1 9 6 4 .

36.2]

'Pan-liturgism'?

157

light and darkness, discarding the old life and its evil, accepting the
gospel message, and taking up the new life and its practices, had
become current among Christians, they would naturally lend them
selves to the type of exhortations so frequent in the N T epistles. So
before we make too much, for example, of the repetition of a word
like apothesthai (put off), we should ask what other word would have
done so well to express a metaphor so natural and common in such
talk. Consequently I am not altogether convinced by attempts to erect
these similarities of language and style into one or two established
and widely acknowledged catechetical forms.
Second, my unease grows when these catechetical forms become
explicitly baptismal catechisms.
(a) The fact is that we just do not know how developed was the
ceremony of baptism at the time of the N T documents. To draw lines
from later writers like Hippolytus (third century) as does Cross, or
Theodore of Mopsuestia (fourth to fifth century) proves nothing for
a letter like I Peter. The fact is that there is no express reference to a
catechumenate before about the year zoo.
(b) Within the N T itself I would have thought the evidence is
very much against these theses. Acts knows nothing of a course of
instruction given to enquirers before baptism - a fact which grows in
significance the more we think Luke reads back later practices into
his history of the early Church (though see below pp.389f.). Acts 8.37
is sometimes cited as an example of pre-baptismal instruction; but it
is a late 'Western text' addition and does not derive from the first
century, and so hardly supports the theory which sees evidence of
developed and established forms of ethical instruction in Colossians
and I Peter. Moreover, there is nothing formal about what is set forth
as a spontaneous question and answer; rather it is much closer to
Acts 2.37-39 than to catechetical instruction. Indeed Acts 2.37-39
suggests that anything which might be called pre-baptismal instruc
tion in the earliest churches was nothing more than the concluding
application and exhortation of the sermon (cf. John the Baptist's
preaching - Luke 3 . 7 - 1 4 ) . The more one looks for parallels to the
instruction given to proselytes prior to baptism in Judaism, the more
striking is the complete absence of any mention of such instruction
in any of the baptisms recorded in Acts (see also p.58.).
(c) Rom. 6.17 is often cited as the most likely indication of an
41

42

4 1 . B. Reicke, The Disobedient Spirits and Christian Baptism, Copenhagen 1 9 4 6 ,

pp. 1 9 1 - 5 .
4 2 . Cf. D. Daube, 'A Baptismal Catechism', The New Testament and Rabbinic Judaism,
London 1 9 5 6 , pp. 1 0 6 - 4 0 .

Patterns of Worship

i 8
5

[36.3

established catechesis^ But tupos didaches ('pattern of teaching') is

more probably to be identified with the gospel. The distinction fre
quently made (by Dodd and others) between kerygma and didache
(teaching) is essentially an artificial one and non-Pauline: converting
obedience in Paul is regularly obedience to the gospel (e.g. Rom. 1.5;
16.26). And tupos elsewhere in the Pauline literature always refers to
a person or to particular individuals' conduct (Rom. 5.14; I Cor.
10.6; Phil. 3 . 1 7 ; I Thess. 1.7; II Thess. 3.9; I Tim. 4 . 1 2 ; Titus 2.7).
All of which suggests that in Rom. 6 . 1 7 we have a thought very
similar to that of Col. 2.6, the probability being that 'the pattern
of teaching' is another reference to the Jesus-tradition (see above
particularly 17.3).
(d) In so far as the distinction between kerygma and didache is valid,
Matt. 2 8 . 1 9 ^ suggests that any systematic teaching followed baptism,
and that the summons to baptism was simply the conclusion of the
preaching. Likewise the list of Heb. 6.if. probably refers to the con
tent of the preaching which resulted in the readers' conversion: all six
elements (except laying on of hands) appear in the evangelistic preach
ing of Acts; and Paul certainly 'laid the foundation' (I Cor. 3 . 5 - 1 1 )
by means of his preaching. The Corinthians received (parelabete) and
Paul delivered (paredoka) the 'common deposit of instruction' by
means of his evangelistic preaching (eueggelisamen) ( 1 5 . 1 - 3 ) .
(e) The evidence of the Gospels themselves is that elements of the
Jesus-tradition were retained and passed on in recognized forms and
that these forms were grouped together to a certain extent in topical
collections, but also that the forms were freely combined and recombined in diverse ways to serve a wide variety of teaching situations
(cf. e.g. Matthew's and Luke's use of the Mark and Q material which
they share). It would be unjustified therefore to assume that such
Jesus-tradition as the young converts early received (above 17.3)
was passed on in any established or even necessarily regular pattern.
43

44

36.3 As for the suggestion that elaborate baptismal liturgies were

already in existence in the N T period, the evidence here is even more
flimsy.
(a) There is really no evidence whatsoever for the view that in
the first two generations of Christianity baptisms were organized
ceremonies at which the gathered congregations sang established
hymns. The information we have in the N T suggests that for the first
4 3 . Cf. W . Robinson, 'Historical Survey of the Church's Treatment of N e w Converts
with reference to Pre- and Post-baptismal Instruction', J T S , 4 2 , 1 9 4 1 , pp. 1 4 2 - 5 .
44. See also my Living Word, ch. 2.

36.3]

'Pan-liturgism'?

159

50 years or so at least initiation ritual was still simple and spon

taneous, still flexible and not yet hardened into a rigid pattern consisting basically of the baptisand's confession, an immersion with
the baptismal formula ('in the name of Jesus'), and (in many places
and on many occasions) a laying on of hands. Beyond that we leave
firm ground and enter the realm of speculation. The fact that different
baptismal rites developed in Eastern and Western Christianity does
not mean that one was original and the other not, but indicates rather
the fluidity and formlessness of initiation procedures in the beginning
- out of which the different forms developed.
{b) The clearest evidence within the N T in fact is that of Acts,
which goes quite against the liturgical hypothesis - again a fact of
greater significance for those who think that Luke was reading later
church practice (of the 80s or 90s) back into the primitive period.
Note particularly Acts 8.36, 38 - the request for baptism answered
immediately and without demur; 1 6 . 1 4 L - Lydia's heart was opened
to receive Paul's word and she was baptized (apparently forthwith);
16.33 - baptized in the middle of the night!; 18.8 - many were
believing and being baptized. J. Munck evaluates the evidence fairly
when he writes: 'In Acts, as in the rest of the New Testament, there
seems to have been no hesitation about baptizing. In a way that is
remarkably casual compared with the modern formal ceremony, one
baptizes and goes on one's way.'
(c) Against this firm evidence of Acts all that has been so far offered
are possible inferences and allusions - inferences and allusions which
are usually caught in a circular argument, since they depend on the
assumption that baptism was a formal liturgical occasion. One might
be forgiven for concluding from the tenor of such arguments that, for
example, baptism was the only occasion when the early churches gave
thanks for forgiveness of sins, or that the love of Christ was a theme
exclusive to baptismal language. W. C. van Unnik has given a valid
warning here - against 'a certain "pan-liturgism" which sees every
where in the Pauline epistles the background of the liturgy whenever
a simple parallel in wording between them and the much later liturgies
is found'.
(d) As for I Peter in particular, it is more likely that it is simply a
letter addressed to young converts - a letter in which the writer often
looks back to the beginnings of their Christian experience. The perfect
45

46

4 5 . J . Munck, Paul and the Salvation of Mankind, 1 9 5 4 , E T S C M Press 1 9 5 9 , p. 1 8

n. 1 .
46. W. C . van Unnik, 'Dominus Vobiscum: the background of a liturgical formula',
NTETWM,
p. 2 7 2 .

Patterns of Worship

i6o

[36.3

tenses of i.2zf. seem to look back to an event which took place some
time ago. 1 . 5 - 7 likewise suggests a present and continuing experience
of God's keeping power following from a commitment made earlier.
And his description of them as children (1.14) and new born babes
(2.2) implies no more than a fairly recent conversion, if as much.
Other features which are usually taken to indicate a sermon (the seven
'nows' are made much of, and 1.8 can readily conjure up a picture
of the preacher addressing radiant converts) can adequately be under
stood as part of such a letter.
(e) Our earlier findings also have bearing here. It is noticeable that
the most fertile ground for the pioneers of 'pan-liturgism' have been
the Pauline letters and those which belong within the Pauline circle
(including I Peter). But, as we have seen, in the Pauline churches
spontaneity and flexibility was a dominant feature of their common
life; worship was an ad hoc combination of more established forms
(psalms, hymns, readings, etc.) and more spontaneous utterances
(spiritual songs, prophecies, etc.) (see above 34.3). It is within this
context that the sort of teaching and exhortation which Carrington
and Selwyn, etc., have focused on must be evaluated; and against that
background it is very difficult to give any credence to the thesis that
the churches of the Pauline mission observed any well known liturgy,
let alone an established baptismal liturgical ceremony.
36.4 As to the lectionary hypotheses regarding the Gospels, they
are probably the least convincing of all.
(a) There is no evidence that the Jewish lectionary cycles presup
posed especially by Guilding and Goulder were already in existence
in the first century A D . Particular readings from the scriptures were
probably associated with the feasts at that time, but there is no evi
dence that there was an established festal lectionary.
(b) The theses usually presuppose that the early Christian churches
wanted to continue celebrating the Jewish year. The evidence relating
to the Pauline churches is to the contrary: Paul was distinctly unsym
pathetic to the view that his converts should observe the Jewish feasts
(Rom. i4.5ff.; Gal. 4.iof.; Col. 2.i6f.); but cf. Acts 20.16. There
would be justification for assuming that it was otherwise in the more
conservative Jewish Christian communities. But where is the evidence
47

47. See further C . F. D. Moule, 'The Nature and Purpose of I Peter', NTS, 3, 1 9 5 6 57, pp. 1 - 1 1 , reprinted in Essays in New Testament Interpretation, Cambridge University
Press 1 9 8 2 , pp. 1 3 3 - 4 5 ; T. C. G. Thornton, 'I Peter, A Paschal Liturgy?'/TS ns, 1 2 , 1 9 6 1 ,
pp. 1 4 - 2 6 . The baptismal liturgy thesis attracts no support from recent commentators L. Goppelt, Der erste Petrusbrief, K E K , Gttingen 1 9 7 8 , pp. 3 8 - 4 0 ; N . Brox, Der erste
Petrusbrief, E K K , Benziger/Neukirchener 1 9 7 9 , pp. 1 9 - 2 3 ; J . R. Michaels, I Peter, Word
Biblical Commentary 49, Word 1988, pp. xxxviii-xxxix.

372-]

Conclusions

that Mark or Matthew is at all interested in the Jewish feasts? John's

interest in the feasts he mentions (Passover, Tabernacles, Dedication)
is to demonstrate that Jesus is the fulfilment of them (see above
p. 142); any attempt to demonstrate lectionary links beyond that
makes exceeding hard work of the text.
(c) Again the lectionary hypotheses necessarily imply a concern for
a degree of regularity and order in the distinctively Christian worship
of the first-century churches of which we have found no real evidence.
The testimony of the Pauline letters certainly gives them no support
- Matthew and John if anything even less. And Justin Martyr's
description of second-century worship is both pertinent and revealing:
'the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read
as long as time permits' (Apol., I.67 - my emphasis). In other words,
even in the middle of the second century there was as yet no prescribed
length for the readings - and consequently no place for a lectionary.

37.

CONCLUSIONS

37.1 Of the diversity of earliest Christian worship there can be little

doubt. We have seen clear evidence of the range of this diversity diversity over the continuing relevance of Jewish traditions of worship
and the extent to which form and order should be left to the creative
inspiration of the Spirit in each assembly; diversity as to whether
worship is primarily an individual or communal affair (above 34.5);
the diversity of hymns whose style reflects different modes and moods
of worship and whose language and concerns reflect the different
apologetic environments of the worshippers (35.4).
Where in all this diversity can we find unity? Not in established
catechetical and liturgical forms. There were certainly a number of
hymns in fairly widespread currency, at least among the churches
influenced by Paul. Traditions of Jesus provided a unifying bond at
least in so far as they were repeated, interpreted and discussed within
the worship. And similar styles and metaphors are clearly detectable,
again particularly within the literature of the Hellenistic Jewish and
Gentile churches. But precisely in these churches the liberty of worship
in the Spirit meant that these more regular forms only complemented
much more spontaneous contributions from the worshippers, and
were themselves used in very individual and diverse combinations in
the spontaneity of inspiration and praise.
37.2 One clearly unifying element does seem to appear - and that is
Christ. In the earliest community both Hebrews and Hellenists could

Patterns of Worship

[37.2

justify their patterns of worship by appealing to the words and actions

of Jesus. The features of earliest Christian worship which were pre
served into the Greek speaking churches are precisely those most
clearly derived from the earthly Jesus - particularly the abba prayer
(Rom. 8.15f.; Gal. 4.6) and the Lord's prayer (Matt. 6.9-13/Luke
1 1 . 2 - 4 ) ~ centred on the exalted Jesus (Maranatha - 1 Cor. 16.22).
In Paul it is precisely the worshipping assembly that Paul thinks of as
the body of Christ, precisely the charismatic community of which he
says, 'so it is with Christ' (I Cor. 1 2 . 1 2 ) . The only hymn in the
Pastorals is a Christ-hymn (I Tim. 3.16) and three of the five 'faithful
sayings' are about Christ (I Tim. 1 . 1 5 ; II Tim. 2 . 1 1 - 1 3 ; Titus 3.5-8),
focusing attention equally on his earthly and now heavenly mission. In
Matthew worship is enabled and community constituted precisely by
the presence of (the exalted) Jesus in the midst - thus Matt. 18.20, a
saying retained within the context of the (earthly) Jesus-tradition and mission likewise (Matt. 2 8 . 1 8 - 2 0 ) . In John the worship which
the Father looks for is precisely worship in the Spirit of/from Jesus
(the 'other Paraclete') and according to the truth revealed in Jesus
(John 4.23f.). Finally in Hebrews it is precisely the man Jesus, the
same flesh and blood as us, who has gone ahead as pioneer to open
the way into the Holy of Holies, the very presence of God, for those
who come after him (Heb. 2 . 5 - 1 5 ; 1 0 . 1 9 - 2 2 ) ; it is precisely this Jesus
who as high priest in the heavenly temple brings aid to the tempted
worshipper (2.17L; 4 . 1 4 - 1 6 ) .
o r

The same is true of the early Christian hymns examined above.

There are of course God eulogies in Revelation and doxologies to
God in Paul. This is what we would expect in Gentile communities,
just as we find confessional formulae which confess not only the
Lordship of Christ but also the unity of God (above pp. 56L). Other
wise the distinctive and unifying theme of all the hymns is the signifi
cance they attach to Jesus - and this includes Eph. 5.14, and the
Lukan psalms where Mary and John the Baptist are the main subjects,
for Mary and John draw their significance precisely from their relation
to Jesus, as mother and forerunner. The Lukan psalms concentrate in
the deliverance brought by the Messiah. But in the rest the most
common element is the exalted Jesus. It was the awareness of his
present status and of his exalted presence which evidently was the
chief inspiration for almost all of these hymns. In particular it was
this belief in his present exaltation which led the Christian worshipper
to praise him in the language of pre-existent Wisdom. Just as promi
nent and regular, though expressed in different ways, is the identity
of the present exalted Lord with the human Jesus - the Lamb that was
slain, the Man (Obedient Adam) become Lord of all (eschatological

37-31

Conclusions

163

Adam), the first born from the dead, the incarnate Word the source
of grace, the man of flesh vindicated in the Spirit, put to death but
made alive.
37.3 In short, when we examine the worship of the first-century
Christian churches we discover the same sort of pattern of unity and
diversity as came to light in the other areas of our investigation - a
unity centring on faith in the man Jesus now exalted, but round that
unity a diversity which displays almost endless variety wherever we
have looked.

VIII

Sacraments

38.

INTRODUCTION

The notes therefore of the true Kirk of God we believe, confess and
avow to be, first, the true preaching of the Word of God in which
God has revealed Himself unto us, as the writings of the prophets
and apostles do declare. Secondly, the right administration of the
Sacraments of Christ Jesus, which must be annexed unto the Word
and promise of God, to seal and form the same in our hearts.
Last, ecclesiastical discipline uprightly ministered, as God's Word
prescribed, whereby vice is repressed and virtue nourished . . . (The
Scots Confession, 1560, Article 18).
No one would deny that of these 'the Word of God' and 'the Sacra
ments of Christ Jesus' are of central importance as foci of unity in
Christianity past and present - though the question of what is 'the
true preaching' of the one and 'the right administration' of the other
has made more for division than unity, and the proper interrelation
of the two has never finally been resolved. The centuries prior to the
Reformation were marked by a growing tendency to focus grace,
authority and unity more and more exclusively through the sacra
ments, with a consequent diminution of the role given to the word
preached. At the Reformation these roles were sharply reversed and
the word was exalted above the sacraments. Thus the Heidelberg
Catechism - 'faith is produced in our hearts by the preaching of the
Holy Gospel, and confirmed by the use of the Sacraments' (Question
65). And Calvin, more trenchantly - 'Nothing is more absurd than
to extol the sacraments above the Word, whose appendages and
seals they are'. This changed emphasis was reflected in ecclesiastical
architecture, with the pulpit given central position in the typical
1

1. These references are drawn from G. D. Henderson, Church and Ministry, Hodder &
Stoughton 1 9 5 1 , p. 38.

3 8]

Introduction

165

Reformation church. Since then the debate has proceeded in less

strident tones, but with differences that still run deep. The liturgical
movement has gained increasing influence, most clearly marked by
the way in which the communion table has been brought much more
into the centre of the worship with the pulpit reduced in prominence.
At the same time a still lasting impact has been made by the theology
of the word which gained its chief stimulus from Karl Barth: 'The
presupposition which makes proclamation to be proclamation, and
therewith the Church to be the Church, is the Word of God'. Many
would maintain that a much happier balance between word and
sacrament has been achieved in recent years, but this seems sometimes
to have been gained at the cost of blurring some of the theological
issues more clearly seen in earlier centuries: in particular, What are
'the means of grace' (properly speaking) - how does God minister
grace to humankind} What are the roles of the symbol and of ration
ality in this process? What sort of communication or integration of
the divine and human does it involve?
Here again then we find some prompting from the disagreements
of later centuries to investigate how things stood in the first century.
We have already looked with some care at the importance of preach
ing and the role of the word kerygmatic and written during that
period (chs II-V above). Now we must inquire into the role of the
sacraments within the unity and diversity of the earliest churches.
Baptism and the Lord's Supper were certainly unifying factors of
some significance:
2

Spare no effort to make fast with bonds of peace the unity which
the Spirit gives. There is one body and one Spirit. . . one Lord, one
faith, one baptism . . . (Eph. 4.3f.);
Because there is one loaf, we, many as we are, are one body; for it
is one loaf of which we all partake (I Cor. 1 0 . 1 7 ) .
But what did these claims mean in practice? round this unity what
diversity? What meaning attached to the ritual acts at each stage of
Christian expansion, in each centre of Christian community? What
prompted the earliest Christians to single out just these two? To
what extent and in what form do they derive from Jesus? What
influences shaped their development? What role did they play in
the divine-human encounter? Can we speak properly of them as
3

2. Church Dogmatics, I/i, E T T.8c T. Clark 1 9 3 6 , p. 98.

3. I confine my discussion in this chapter to the two 'ecumenical sacraments'.

Sacraments

i66

[39.1

'sacraments' from the beginning? We will proceed by attempting to

trace briefly the development in form and significance of baptism and
Lord's Supper in turn; though since the Fourth Evangelist's attitude
to both is rather distinctive (and much disputed) we will treat John's
Gospel separately.

39.

BAPTISM

39.1 Origins of baptism. There have been various suggestions as to the

origins of Christian baptism - Jewish ceremonial washings, Qumran
purification rites, proselyte baptism, the baptism of John. Of these the
last named, the ritual act which gave John the Baptist his nickname, is
almost certainly to be regarded as the immediate antecedent of Christ
ian baptism. A direct link is established through Jesus' own baptism
by John; and the Fourth Gospel confirms what we might have guessed
anyway, that some of Jesus' earliest disciples had formerly been dis
ciples of the Baptist (John 1 . 3 5 - 4 2 ) . John's baptism itself is probably
best understood as an adaptation of the Jewish ritual washings, with
some influence from Qumran in particular.
If then Christian baptism derives from the baptism of John we must
attempt to grasp the meaning which the rite had for John himself. So
far as we can tell, John's baptism had a two-fold significance for his
hearers. (a) First, it was a baptism of repentance - an act by means
of which the baptisand expressed his repentance. This is how Mark
and Luke describe it (Mark 1.4; Luke 3.3; Acts 13.24; 19.4); Mark
and Matthew tell how all were baptized in Jordan, confessing their
sins (Mark 1.5; Matt. 3.6); and Matthew reports the Baptist as pro
claiming, 'I baptize you in water for or into repentance' (Matt. 3 . 1 1 ) ,
which is best understood to mean that the actual acting out of the
resolve to be baptized helped to crystallize repentance and to bring it
to full expression. We should add that Mark and Luke use the fuller
phrase, 'a baptism of repentance for (or into) the forgiveness of sins'
(Mark 1.4; Luke 3.3). But this should not be taken to imply that
either John or the Evangelists thought of his baptism as achieving or
mediating forgiveness. Even if John thought that forgiveness could be
enjoyed there and then rather than awaiting the ministry of the
Coming One, which is disputed - Matthew's editing at 3.2, 1 1 and
4

4. See e.g., the discussion in G. R. Beasley-Murray, Baptism in the New Testament,

Macmillan 1 9 6 3 , pp. 1 5 - 1 8 , 3 9 - 4 3 ; Paternoster 1 9 7 2 .
5. Much of what follows in 39.1, 2 is an attempt to summarize discussion contained
in J . D. G. Dunn, Baptism in the Holy Spirit, S C M Press, 1 9 7 0 , chs II and III.

39*2.]

Baptism

167

26.18 indicates that he for one thought that forgiveness came only
through Jesus' ministry - the Greek is best taken to mean that the
forgiveness was the result of the repentance not of the baptism as
such (cf. Luke 24.47; Acts 3.19; 5.31; 10.43; n . 1 8 ; 26.18). That is
to say, John's baptism was seen as the means of expressing the repent
ance which brought forgiveness of sins.
(b) Secondly, John's baptism was preparatory for the decisive minis
try of the Coming One: John baptized in water, but he would baptize
in Spirit and fire (Matt. 3.11/Luke 3.16). This latter would be a
ministry of judgment- of fire (Matt. 3.10-12/Luke 3.9, i6f.), of wind
and fire, or better, of fiery spirit (cf. Isa. 4.4). But also a ministry of
mercy and salvation, for John holds it out as a promise more than as
a threat to those who undergo his baptism: 'I baptize you . . . but he
will baptize you . . . ' - John's baptism was a preparation for the
baptism in Spirit and fire. The implication then is that the baptism in
Spirit and fire would be purgative, an act or process of refining, which
would destroy the impenitent but purify the penitent. In other words,
'baptism in Spirit and fire' is John's metaphor for the messianic woes,
the period of great tribulation, suffering and destruction which was
expected to precede the establishment of the messianic kingdom (see
e.g. Zech. 1 4 . 1 2 - 1 5 ; Dan. 7 . 1 9 - 2 2 ; 1 2 . 1 ; I Enoch ioo.iff.; Sib. Or.
III.632-51; i Q H 3 . 2 9 - 3 6 ) / 'Baptize' was a metaphor which was
particularly expressive here, especially when drawn from a rite of
baptism in a river, since the river and the flood are familiar in the OT
as metaphors for being overwhelmed by calamity (cf. particularly Ps.
69.2, 1 5 ; Isa. 43.2; and note particularly Isa. 30.27L). Clearly then
John used this metaphor for the ministry of the Coming One because
he saw his own baptism as both symbolizing its effect and preparing
for it.
6

39.2 Jesus' baptism by John. Granted the significance which attached

to John's baptism, we inevitably must ask whether John's baptism
became something else when Jesus was the baptisand. (a) Was it still
a baptism of repentance? It is quite clear that the tradition of Jesus
undergoing a baptism of repentance was a source of some embarassment to many early Christians (cf. Matt. 3 . 1 4 ^ ; Jerome, contra Pelag.,
III.2). But why did Jesus choose to accept baptism at the hands of
John? - in order to become a disciple of John? - with a view to the
coming of the kingdom? - as dedication to the ministry he believed

6. See J . D. G. Dunn, 'Spirit and Fire Baptism', Nov Test 1 4 , 1 9 7 2 , pp. 8 1 - 9 2 .

7. See further Strack-Billerbeck, I.950; IV. 9 7 7 - 8 6 ; and n. 8 below.

Sacraments

i68

[39.3

himself called to? The answer is not clear; but at least we can say that
Jesus' baptism by John must have been an expression of Jesus' resolve
one way or another, and to that extent at least it was not so very
different from John's baptism of repentance (see above p. 166).
(b) Was it still a preparatory baptism? The difficulty here is that
according to our records the Spirit came upon Jesus straightaway,
and not in the way that John's metaphor of Spirit and fire baptism
anticipated. On the other hand, we have to recognize that the descent
of the Spirit was not thought of as a constituent part of John's baptism
of Jesus. The language of the Gospels indicates that the baptism was
already completed when the Spirit descended. Moreover it is also
clear in all four Gospels that the chief element in the whole episode
is the descent of the Spirit (Matt. 3.16; Mark. 1 . 1 0 ; Luke 3.21L; John
1.32-34). It looks therefore as though the Evangelists want us to
recognize that the Spirit was given to Jesus in response to his baptism,
that is, presumably, in response to his dedication expressed in bap
tism. And to that extent we can say that even in the case of Jesus,
John's baptism was still essentially preparatory. Not only so, but since
Jesus clearly thought of the power of the Spirit operating through him
in proclamation and healing as the power of the end-time (see above
pp. i4f. and below 45.3), we can also say that even in the case of
Jesus, John's baptism was preparatory to-the eschatological ministry
of the Spirit. The relationship between the two was chronologically
closer but not essentially different from that envisaged by John.
39.3 Baptism in Jesus' ministry. Did Jesus baptize? John 3.22, 26,
4.1 look very much like a tradition to that effect. If true then the
tradition also implies that he was simply carrying on John's baptism
(John 3.22f., 26). But Jesus' own administration of baptism is denied
by John 4.2, and we lack confirmatory evidence elsewhere. At most
therefore we have to say that Jesus and/or his disciples may have
baptized converts at the beginning, but if so they soon gave it up.
Why? Why did they abandon the practice of baptizing so quickly, or
indeed not baptize at all? The answer appears again to be two-fold.
(a) Because Jesus probably saw his own ministry as a fulfilment of
John's expectation. He himself was already experiencing the end-time
Spirit (see below 45.3, 50.5), and his whole ministry was building
up to thefieryjudgment prophesied by John in his metaphor of Spirit
and fire baptism (Luke 12.49L; cf. Mark 9.49; 10.38; 14.36; Gosp.
Thos. 1 0 , 82). (b) Because he was unwilling to erect a ritual barrier
8

8. See more fully J . D. G. Dunn, 'Baptized in Spirit: the Birth of a Metaphor', ExpT,
8 9 , 1 9 7 7 - 7 8 , pp. 1 3 4 - 8 , 1 7 3 - 5

39-4]

Baptism

169

which had to be surmounted before people could join his company

or be his disciples. Jesus could accept no ritual exclusion from the
kingdom. Those outside were outside by choice (cf. above pp. ii4f.).
39.4 Baptism in earliest Christianity. There have been some attempts
to argue that baptism (in water) was not practised in the first Christian
communities but was introduced later by the Hellenists: Spiritbaptism alone had been regarded as sufficient (Acts 1.5; 1 1 . 1 6 ) ; there
is no mention of baptism in relation to the outpouring of the Spirit
at Pentecost; early baptismal references (particularly 2.38, 41) were
introduced later; and the narratives in Acts 8 . 1 2 - 1 7 , 1 0 . 4 4 - 4 8 , 1 9 . 1 7 indicate the difficulty in integrating the two kinds of baptism in the
early mission. On the other hand, baptism was already well estab
lished prior to Paul's conversion - he simply takes it for granted in
Rom. 6.4, I Cor. 1 . 1 0 - 1 7 , ; d we know of no unbaptized
Christian in earliest Christianity - though in some instances John's
baptism was deemed sufficient (those at Pentecost and Apollos 18.24-28). Had Christian baptism originated with the Hellenists then
we would have expected it to feature more in controversies between
Jewish Christianity and Hellenistic Christianity, the latter setting bap
tism over against circumcision as the necessary rite, whereas in these
controversies it is faith and Spirit which are set against circumcision,
not baptism (Gal. 3 . 1 - 5 ; 5 . 1 - 6 ; and see below pp.i73f.). So Acts is
most probably right - baptism was an integral part of Christianity
from the first. And almost certainly the baptism they adopted was the
baptism of John, the rite which some of them had themselves under
gone and earlier used, the rite which Jesus himself had undergone and
perhaps for a brief period administered. The inspiration for taking it
up is attributed to the risen Jesus (Matt. 28.19; cf. Luke 24.47).
The significance of these first Christian baptisms seems to have
been fourfold, (a) Baptism was an expression of repentance and faith:
notice the close interrelation between repentance/faith and baptism
in 2.38, 4 1 , 8.i2f., 1 6 . 1 4 ^ , 33f., 18.8, 19.zi. It is not surprising that
I Peter 3 . 2 1 , the nearest thing that we have to a definition of baptism
in the N T , defines Christian baptism as 'an appeal or pledge to God
for or from a clear conscience'. Probably from thefirstbaptism served
as the 'Rubicon' step of commitment for would-be Christians from
9

etc

a n

10

9. See J . Weiss, Earliest Christianity, 1 9 1 4 , E T 1 9 3 7 , Harper 1 9 5 9 , pp. 5of.; F. J .

Foakes Jackson and K. Lake, The Beginnings of Christianity: Part I: The Acts of the
Apostles, Macmillan, Vol. I, 1920, pp. 3 3 2 - 4 4 .
10. The Rubicon was a small stream that separated Cisalpine Gaul from Italy during
the Roman Republic. The decision of Julius Caesar to 'cross the Rubicon' with his army
in 49 B C amounted to a declaration of war against the Roman Senate. Hence the Rubicon

Sacraments

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[39.4

which there was no going back and without which they remained un
committed, (b) Baptism appears also to have retained its preparatory,
forward looking aspect, its eschatological orientation. This is largely
hidden in Acts, where Luke has chosen to ignore or conceal most of
the eschatological fervency of the earliest Christian communities (see
below 71.2). But there is certainly a hint of it in Acts 3 . 1 9 - 2 1 , and
more than a hint of it in Heb. 6.if., not to mention I Thess. i.9f.
These two elements of significance are what we would expect,
and confirm that Christian baptism was derived directly from John's
baptism. But there are also two new and distinctive elements which
seem to have belonged to Christian baptism from the first, (c) Christ
ian baptism was administered 'in the name of Jesus' (Acts 2.38; 8.16;
10.48; 19.5). The use of the phrase means either that the baptizer
saw himself acting as a representative of the exalted Jesus (cf. particu
larly 3.6, 16; 4.10 with 9.34), or that the baptisand saw his baptism
as his act of commitment to discipleship of Jesus (cf. I Cor. 1 . 1 2 - 1 6
and below pp.i72f.). Quite probably both were implied. Incidentally
the evidence just cited strongly-suggests that the triadic formulation
of Matt. 28.19 is l
expansion of the simpler and earlier formula
'in the name of Jesus', (d) Baptism served as a rite of entry or initiation
into the local Christian community. On the one hand, part of the
'Rubicon' significance of baptism was that it expressed the baptisand's
commitment to the congregation of Jesus' disciples, with all that this
meant in terms of breaking with the previous way of life, social
ostracism and possible persecution. On the other hand, baptism,
together with laying on of hands when practised, no doubt expressed
also the community's acceptance of the convert. This last aspect is
most apparent in Acts 10.47^, where public initiation into and accept
ance by the Church must have been the principal reason for Cor
nelius's baptism.
These last two aspects of earliest Christian baptism ((c) and (d))
may explain why the first Christians baptized when Jesus did not:
they needed a tangible way of expressing faith towards one who was
no longer visibly present (cf. e.g. Luke 7.37^, 48-50); and they felt
themselves to be more of a community than was the case with the
disciples of the earthly Jesus (see above 27). The decision of course
involved the risk of Christianity erecting the sort of cultic and ritual
barrier against the 'outsider' that Jesus had rejected, a risk that has
seriously threatened Christian theology and practice of the sacraments
on not a few occasions since then.
a

a t e

has become a metaphor for the boundary by crossing which one makes a decisive, noturning-back commitment to an enterprise.

39-5]

Baptism

One other question which requires clarification is the relation of

baptism to the gift of the Spirit at this period. Many have argued that
baptism from the first was regarded as the means of receiving
the Spirit, of bestowing the Spirit. But it is certainly not true that
early Christian baptism was understood as baptism in the Spirit: the
antithesis between the rite of water-baptism and the metaphor of
Spirit-baptism, which the Baptist first coined, was carried over into
Christianity (Acts 1.5; 1 1 . 1 6 ) ; and nowhere in Acts can it be said that
the Spirit was given in, with or through baptism (Acts 2.4, 38; 8 . 1 2 1 7 ; 10.44-48; 18.25; 9-5^')i unless 'baptism' is given a much more
extended sense than any of these passages warrants. What is clear is
that, for Luke at least, the gift of the Spirit was the most important,
the decisive element in conversion-initiation, the gift of the Spirit
was the mark of God's acceptance: 2.17 - the Spirit is the decisive
initiation to 'the last days' (cf. 1 1 . 1 7 ) ; 8 . 1 2 - 1 7 - baptism insufficient
without the Spirit; 10.44-48 - the Spirit decisive, baptism serves
as human acknowledgment of the divine acceptance; 1 8 . 2 5 - 2 8 Apollos has the Spirit, so John's baptism suffices; 1 9 . 1 - 7 - the Spirit
is lacking, so the whole process must be gone through. In other words,
baptism did not serve as the expression or channel of God's action that was the Spirit's role (see further below pp.389f.). Consequently
we cannot say, either from Luke's or the earliest churches' perspective,
that the direction of baptism changed when John's baptism was taken
over by thefirstChristians. Christian baptism remained primarily the
expression of human action (repentance/faith) towards God, whereas
it was the Spirit that was recognized as the expression of God's action
towards humankind.
Notice finally the diversity of form and pattern in conversioninitiation in Acts - baptism prior to Spirit, Spirit prior to baptism,
Spirit without baptism, baptism followed by laying on of hands.
We may conclude with some confidence that the primary concern,
whether of the first Christians or of Luke, was not to establish a
particular ritual procedure, far less to determine the action of God in
accordance with a cultic action (see further below p.390). On the
contrary, the evidence of Acts serves to underline the freedom of God
to meet faith when and as he pleases, and what we see in Acts is
the early churches adapting themselves and their embryonic ritual in
accordance with God's manifest action through the Spirit (see also
below 44.1).
1

39.5 Baptism in Hellenistic Christianity apart from Paul. Here we

must simply note that if the church at Corinth was in any way typical
of Hellenistic Christianity, then Hellenistic Christianity embraced

Sacraments

172.

[39.6

some views of baptism very different from those so far outlined. It is

clear from I Cor. 1 . 1 0 - 1 7 that baptism had been a catalyst of division
in Corinth. At the very least parties were being formed on the basis
of who baptized whom ( 1 . 1 2 - 1 5 ) . Quite probably many Corinthians
thought that baptism created a mystical bond between baptizer and
baptisand - in which case quasi-magical properties were probably
being attributed to baptism. This is borne out by I Cor. 1 0 . 1 - 1 2
where the implication of Paul's exhortation is that the Corinthians
viewed baptism (and the Lord's Supper) as a sort of talisman which
ensured salvation. I Cor. 15.29 probably refers to a practice of vicari
ous baptism whereby the baptism of one was thought to secure the
salvation of another already dead. Here then is indication of influ
ences shaping the theology of baptism and developing views of bap
tism which are far removed from anything we have already examined.
And yet Paul addresses those who held such views as members of the
Christian community in Corinth - these views were held also by
Christians. In other words, as soon as we move outside that sphere
of Christianity most influenced by the Baptist's inheritance the diver
sity of Christian thinking about baptism broadens appreciably.
39.6 Baptism in Pauline theology. The last paragraph naturally
raises the key question: Did Paul also hold a quasi-magical view of
baptism? Were his views also influenced by the mystery religions?
How broad must the diversity of baptismal theology be to incorporate
Paul? Many would hold that Paul was so influenced: (a) his view of
baptism as a dying with Christ shows the influence of the cults of the
dying and rising god; (b) Paul's phrase 'baptized into Christ' describes
what baptism accomplished, since baptism 'into Christ' is a shorter
form of baptism 'in the name of Christ' which certainly describes the
act of baptism; (c) the washing metaphors, particularly those in Eph.
5.26 and Titus 3.5 specifically attribute a spiritual cleansing and
renewal to the ritual act.
I find myself unconvinced by these arguments, (a) Paul certainly
links baptism with the death of Jesus in Rom. 6.4 and Col. 2 . 1 2 . But
in Rom. 6.4 it is important to note that Paul links baptism only with
the idea of death, not with resurrection, which is still future (6.5; cf.
8.11). Paul clearly thinks of baptismal immersion as symbolizing
burial with Christ; but the thought of emergence from the water as
symbolizing resurrection with Christ is not present in Rom. 6. Simi
larly in Col. 2 . 1 2 the structure of the clauses seems to imply that
11

1 1 . Cf. particularly W. Heitmller, Taufe und Abendmahl im Urchristentum, Tbingen

1 9 1 1 , pp. i 8 - z 6 . For what follows see also my Romans, pp. 305ff.

39-6]

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173

baptism is linked primarily with burial, which it symbolizes so well,

and not immediately with resurrection. This suggests that Paul does
not think of baptism as accomplishing a dying and rising in union
with Christ (an initiation into a mystery cult), but rather as symboliz
ing death and burial. This suggests in turn that the more important
influence on Paul's thought stemmed from Jesus' own attitude to his
death (Mark 10.38; Luke 12.50 - see above p. 168). If Jesus spoke
of his coming death as a baptism, then it would help explain why
Paul spoke of baptism as a means to sharing in that death. In which
case baptism, symbolizing burial for Paul, really expressed the baptisand's desire to identify himself with Jesus (the one who had success
fully endured the messianic woes) in his death. Instead of the fiery
baptism that John foretold and Jesus experienced in reality, the
initiate experienced only the baptism which John himself had used,
only the symbol which in the same sort of way embodied the faith of
the baptisand towards what was symbolized.
(b) 'Baptized into Christ' should not be taken as an abbreviation
of the fuller formula, 'baptized into the name of Christ'. The latter is a
straightforward reference to the baptismal act. The Greek accounting
formula, 'into the name of, meant 'to the account of, and strengthens
the suggestion that baptism was recognized as a deed of transfer, an
act whereby the baptisand handed himself over to be the property or
disciple of the one named; hence Paul's line of argument in I Cor.
1 . 1 2 L - 'I am (a disciple) of Paul' implies, I was 'baptized in the
name of Paul'. The former phrase, 'baptized into Christ', is better
understood as a metaphor, rather than as a description of the ritual
act. Thus I Cor. 1 2 . 1 3 seems to hark back to the second half of the
Baptist's antithesis between the rite of water baptism and the meta
phor of Spirit (-and-fire) baptism, and Rom. 6.3f. seems to hark back
to Jesus' own metaphorical use of the verb 'baptized' in relation to
his death (Mark 10.38; Luke 12.50). And in Gal. 3.27 we have the
complementary metaphors of baptism and putting on clothes, in
I Cor. 1 2 . 1 3 f baptism and rain, in Rom. 6 of baptism, burial and
crucifixion. That the idea of dying with Christ is in no way anchored
in or dependent on baptism is confirmed by the use of the motif
elsewhere in Paul where it is quite independent of any thought of
baptism (e.g. II Cor. 4.10; Gal. 2.19L; 6.14; Phil. 3.10). The metaphor
of baptism is particularly appropriate for conversion because it sym
bolizes burial so well, and because baptism itself as the rite of
initiation and expression of commitment holds an important place in
12

1 2 . The structure of thought here is disputed. For fuller exegesis see Dunn, Baptism,
pp. i54ff.

174

Sacraments

[39.6

the total event of conversion-initiation; but to say more runs beyond

the testimony of Paul.
(c) I doubt whether the metaphors of cleansing can particularly
strengthen the case for seeing the influence of Hellenistic mystery
religions on Pauline baptismal thought. Ephesians 5.25-27 is domi
nated by the portrayal of the Church as Christ's bride; part of this is
the metaphor of the bridal bath, which in this case represents the
cleansing and renewal effected by the word of preaching (cf. Acts
15.9; I Cor. 6 . 1 1 ; Titus 2.14; Heb. 9.14; 10.22). Even in Titus 3.5
the 'faithful saying' seems to envisage 'a washing . . . of the Holy
Spirit', that is, a washing which the Spirit effects and whereby he
regenerates and renews the inner nature and mind of the convert (cf.
Rom. 1 2 . 2 ; II Cor. 4.16; Col. 3.10). It is quite possible, however, that
the author of the Pastorals read the faithful saying in a more strongly
sacramental sense (see below p.385).
(d) Furthermore, we should observe that Paul did not give to bap
tism the role which circumcision played in the Judaism of his time.
Had Paul understood baptism in the way it was understood in Corinth
(above 39.5), or in much sacramental theology today, he would not
have been able to discuss circumcision in the way he does, particularly
in Galatians, where in effect he argues against the sacramentalism of
the Judaizers. To be sure he argues against a ritualism without reality,
but not in favour of a ritualism with reality, rather directly in favour
of the reality itself. It was this reality of the experience of the Spirit
in their lives to which he recalled his readers (Rom. 5.5; II Cor. i.2if.;
Eph. i.i3f.). It was the common experience of the one Spirit which
bound them in unity (I Cor. 1 2 . 1 3 ; II Cor. 1 3 . 1 4 ; Eph. 4.3; Phil. 2 . 1 ) .
It was circumcision of the heart, not baptism, which had replaced the
ritual act of the old Israel (Rom. 2.28f.; II Cor. 3.6; Phil. 3.3; Col. 2 . 1 1
- 'made without hands'). For Paul baptism was relatively unimportant
(I Cor. 1 . 1 7 ) . When he countered those who had misunderstood it
and treated it as a quasi-magical act, he did not even pause to correct
their theology of baptism. He preferred rather to push it into the
background. To do otherwise would presumably have given it the
sort of importance that the Corinthians attached to it, and for Paul
it evidently was not so important.
To sum up. (1) Paul agreed with his predecessors in the Christian
faith: baptism is baptism 'in the name of Jesus', that is, it is baptism
into discipleship of Jesus, the means of expressing commitment to
Jesus as Lord (cf. Rom. 10.9). (2) Paul deepens the symbolical signifi
cance of baptism: it now provides a metaphor for union with Christ,
baptism into Christ, the rite itself symbolizing burial, a self identifica
tion of the baptisand with Christ in his death. Here he uses language

39-7]

Baptism

i75

which could be given an ex opere operato connotation - many did so

take it (and still do). But there is no real indication that Paul himself
ever changed the basic direction of baptism and its role in the divinehuman encounter: baptism was still the expression of human faith,
and the manifestation of God's grace was clear enough at the time of
baptism - or at any other time - in the gift and gifts of the Spirit. (3)
Paul did however change the direction of baptism in another sense.
With Paul the act of baptism clearly looks backward to the death of
Christ, and it seems to have lost its forward look to the eschaton
almost entirely.
13

39.7 A few brief comments are perhaps called for on the subject of
infant baptism. It is one of the standing ironies of the diversity of
Christian theology and practice that the chief means of accomplishing
regeneration for so many centuries has had so little foothold in the
NT, and has not clearly been encompassed even within the wideranging diversity of first-century Christian practice. For it has to be
recognized that infant baptism can find no real support in the theology
of baptism which any NT writer can be shown to espouse. And the
more we recognize that a primary function of baptism throughout
the first decades of Christianity was to serve as a means of expressing
the initiate's faith and commitment, the less justified in terms of
Christian beginnings would the practice of infant baptism appear to
be. The strongest support from within the N T period would probably
come from the Corinthians (above 39.5), but that is not a precedent
many would want to argue from.
A more circuitous justification can be attempted with greater
promise through the concept of family solidarity - that the child of a
believing parent by virtue of that fact stands within the circle of (the
parent's) faith (I Cor. 7.14). And no one would want to deny that
Jesus blessed infants during his ministry (Mark 1 0 . 1 3 - 1 6 ) . The real
question is whether Christian baptism is the appropriate expression
of this status within the family of faith, or whether baptism is the
means whereby the children of today are brought to Jesus and blessed
by him. The household baptisms of Acts 1 6 . 1 5 , 33 8.S and I Cor.
1 . 1 6 might provide sufficient (NT) precedent; but the case is hardly
proved, since it is far from certain that the households included small
children: Acts 1 6 . 1 5 - was Lydia married? 16.34 - all rejoiced in the
middle of the night; 18.8 - all believed; I Cor. 1 6 . 1 5 ~ ^ served.
The supporting argument from circumcision's being administered to
J

1 3 . The 'Do you not k n o w . . . ?' of Rom. 6.3 may very well be simply the polite
teacher's manner of passing on new knowledge (see Dunn, Baptism, p. 1 4 4 n. 17).

Sacraments

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[40.1

Israelite (male) infants as part of the covenant people of Yahweh

depends on how one assesses the relation between the old Israel and
the new: as we have seen, the new covenant equivalent of old covenant
circumcision is the circumcision of the heart, the gift of the Spirit, not
baptism; and membership of the new covenant is through faith in
Christ Jesus, not by natural descent (see particularly Gal. 3). The
weakness of the family solidarity argument then is that it explains the
child's status within the circle of faith, without necessarily justifying
the further step that he/she ought therefore to be baptized - for
certainly that status is not dependent on baptism, nor is the blessing
of Christ. Consequently if baptism is to retain its regular significance
within the N T , as the expression of the baptisand's faith, it should
probably be reserved for that time when it can serve to express the
child's own commitment, a practice which can be followed without
detracting in any way from the status of the child of a believing parent
within the circle of faith. In short, for all the diversity of faith and
practice infirst-centuryChristianity it remains doubtful whether it
stretches so far as to include infant baptism.

40.

T H E LORD'S

SUPPER

40.1 The origin of the Lord's Supper is less disputed and is certainly
to be found within Jesus' ministry - in particular in two features of
his ministry: (a) Jesus' fellowship meals, and (b) the last supper with
his disciples.
(a) During his ministry Jesus was often a guest at meals (Mark
1 . 2 9 - 3 1 ; 1 4 . 3 ; Luke 7.36; 1 1 . 3 7 ; 4 - 5 J
2 . . 1 - 1 1 ) , and at least on
some occasions did his own entertaining (Mark 2 . 1 5 ; Luke 15.if.).
Indeed his habits here became a by-word - 'a glutton and a drunkard,
a friend of taxcollectors and sinners!' (Matt. 1 1 . 1 9 ) - which obviously
implies that he frequently took his meals in company, and question
able company at that. Other indications that his table companions
constituted quite a large circle include Luke 8 . 1 - 3 , 4 ' 3 3 s Mark
6 . 3 2 - 4 4 and 8.14; cf. John 4.8, 3 1 ; 2 1 . 1 2 .
It is important to realize how significant this was for Jesus and his
contemporaries. For the oriental, table-fellowship was a guarantee of
peace, trust, brotherhood; it meant in a very real sense a sharing of
one's life. Thus, table-fellowship with tax collector and sinner was
I

14. In this section I am particularly indebted to E. Schweizer, The Lord's Supper

according to the New Testament, 1 9 5 6 , E T Fortress Facet Book 1967, and W. Marxsen,
The Lord's Supper as a Christological Problem, 1 9 6 3 , E T Fortress Facet Book 1970.

40.i]

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Supper

177

Jesus' way of proclaiming God's salvation and assurance of forgive

ness, even for those debarred from the cult. This was why his religious
contemporaries were scandalized by the freedom of Jesus' associations
(Mark 2.16; Luke 15.2) - the pious could have table-fellowship only
with the righteous. But Jesus' table-fellowship was marked by open
ness, not by exclusiveness. That is to say, Jesus' fellowship meals were
invitations to grace, not cultic rituals for an inner group which marked
them off from their fellows (see also above p. 1 1 4 ) .
We must note also the eschatological significance of Jesus' fellow
ship meals. That is, we must set Jesus' practice of table-fellowship
within the context of his proclamation. Here it becomes clear that so
far as Jesus was concerned, to share in table-fellowship with him was
to anticipate the messianic banquet (Mark 2.19; 1 0 . 3 5 - 4 0 ; Matt.
22.1-10/Luke 1 4 . 1 6 - 2 4 ; Matt. 25.10; Luke 22.30; cf. Isa. 25.6;
6 5 . 1 3 ; I Enoch 62.14; II Bar. 29.8; i Q S 2 . 1 1 - 2 2 ) (see also above
p.16).
(b) The last supper which Jesus enjoyed with his disciples was the
final expression of that communal fellowship which had been such
an integral part of his whole mission. In particular, it brought into
sharper focus the character of his mission as one of service (Luke
22.24-27; cf. John 1 3 . 1 - 2 0 ) ; it foreshadowed his death with starker
clarity (note especially the motif of the 'cup' running through Mark
10.38, Luke 22.20, Mark 14.36); and in it the eschatological note
reached its highest pitch, with the supper itself a last anticipation of
the feast of consummation (Mark 14.25; Luke 22.16, 18 - probably
a vow to fast in view of the imminence of the kingdom).
Was the last supper a passover meal? Here opinions are divided.
An affirmative answer is suggested by the fact that the meal was eaten
in Jerusalem (not Bethany), and at night, that wine was drunk, and
by the words of interpretation (Mark 1 4 . 1 7 ^ etc.). On the other
hand, the execution of Jesus was unlikely to take place on Passover
day, and the oldest traditions do not speak of the meal as a passover.
Perhaps the simplest explanation is that Jesus viewed the supper as a
special passover meal, or that he deliberately heightened the signifi
cance of what was otherwise an ordinary meal.
a

15

16

17

1 5 . See further my 'Jesus, Table-Fellowship and Qumran', Jesus and the Dead Sea
Scrolls, ed. J . H. Charlesworth, Doubleday 1 9 9 2 , pp. 2 5 4 - 7 2 .
1 6 . See particularly J . Jeremias, The Eucharistie Words of Jesus, ^1960, E T S C M Press
1966, ch. I.
1 7 . Cf. the helpful discussions in Schweizer, Lord's Supper, pp. 2 9 - 3 2 ; B. Klappert,
'Lord's Supper', NIDNTT,
II, pp. 527ff.; I. H. Marshall, Last Supper and Lord's Supper,
Paternoster 1980, pp. 5 7 - 7 5 .

Sacraments

i 8
7

[40.2

40.2 The Lord's Supper in earliest Christianity. Can we properly

speak of a Lord's Supper in earliest Christianity? We are told that the
first Christians participated in daily fellowship meals (Acts 2.42, 46).
These were probably seen as the continuation of Jesus' fellowship
meals, for they were often conscious of his presence in their midst,
particularly at the beginning (Luke 24.3of., 35; John 2 1 . 1 2 - 1 4 ; Acts
1.4; cf. Rev. 3.20), and the meals were almost certainly an expression
of their eschatological enthusiasm (cf. Acts 2.46), and so, like Jesus'
table-fellowship, a foretaste of the eschatological banquet.
What relation did these meals have to the last supper? The answer
is not clear. Most probably however they were ordinary meals: only
bread is mentioned (Acts 2.42, 46) and wine was not usually drunk
at ordinary meals; the same phrase in 2 0 . 1 1 and 27.3 5L can surely
denote only an ordinary meal; and no words of institution or
interpretation are mentioned, or even hinted at. In a situation domi
nated by expectation of the imminent consummation there would be
little incentive to establish forms or to create a ritual of remembrance.
At the same time the fact remains that the words of interpretation
over the bread and wine, which go back to Jesus in some form or
other (see above 17.2 and below 40.4), were preserved by and
transmitted through the earliest community. In the absence of any
firmer data probably the best explanation is that the Lord's Supper
was initially an annual celebration - the Christian equivalent of the
Passover: the first Christians were Jews after all; and the Ebionites,
whose beliefs closely parallel those of the primitive Jerusalem com
munity at other points (see below 54), celebrated it in this way, as
an annual festival. We should not assume however that there was a
clear distinction in the minds of thefirstChristians between the regu
lar fellowship meals and that (or those) in which they specifically
recalled the words of the last supper.
18

19

40.3 The Lord's Supper in Paul. Paul speaks of the Lord's Supper
only in I Cor. 1 0 . 1 4 - 2 2 , 1 1 . 1 7 - 3 4 , but these few paragraphs are
enough to show us where the communion celebrated in the Pauline
churches was continuous with earlier tradition and where it had
developed. The continuity with earlier tradition is most evident at
three points. (1) Paul cites old tradition as the basis for his understand
ing of the Supper (I Cor. 1 1 . 2 3 - 2 5 ) - a tradition which stems ulti
mately from the last supper of Jesus and his disciples. This is tradition
which must have been handed on to Paul from earlier believers, even
1 8 . See Dunn, Jesus, 29 and below 67.3.
19. Origen, in Matt. comm. ser., 79; Epiphanius, Pan., 3 0 . 1 6 . 1 .

40.3]

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Supper

179

though its authority for Paul lay in the fact that he received it 'from the
Lord' (see above p.72). (2) The continuing eschatological emphasis of
the Supper - I Cor. 1 1 . 2 6 : '. . . until he comes'. Though we should
also note that the emphasis is not so strong: indeed v.26 ('For...')
looks very much like an explanatory note added by Paul himself
rather than part of the tradition he received. (3) The Supper is still
seen as a fellowship meal: in I Cor. 1 0 . 1 8 - 2 2 he draws a double
comparison between the sacrificial meal in Israel's cult (Lev. 7.6, 15),
the Lord's Supper and the feast in a pagan temple - and the point of
comparison is that each is an expression of fellowship (koinonoi,
'partners' - 1 0 . 1 8 , 20); and in I Cor. 1 1 . 1 7 - 3 4 the Lord's Supper
is clearly thought of as taking place within the context of a meal.
At the same time certain developments are also evident.
(a) The relation between the fellowship meal and the words of
interpretation over the bread and the wine is now somewhat clearer,
since the partaking of the bread and the wine seems to be in process
of becoming something in itself and to come at the end of the meal.
This is somewhat speculative on the basis of a few clues, but the
probability is that the rich Corinthian Christians were going ahead
with their meal, while the poor (slaves, etc.) were usually able to
arrive only in time for the Lord's Supper itself ( 1 1 . 2 1 , 33). Hence the
rebukes of 1 1 . 2 7 , 9 '
discerning the body' probably means an
eating and drinking which does not express fellowship with the poor
and weak; 'guilty of the body and the blood of the Lord' is probably
a re-expression of 8.1 if. and means sinning against the weaker
brother.
(b) Although the eschatological note is present, the backward look
to Jesus' death is much stronger in 1 1 . 2 6 . Here a shift in emphasis
again becomes evident - from the fellowship meal as a whole as a
symbol of the messianic feast, to the Lord's Supper as such as a pro
clamation of Jesus' death.
(c) Has Paul also allowed himself to be influenced by syncretistic
thought so that the Lord's Supper has become something of a magical
rite? The case has been argued on the basis that pneumatikos in
10.4 should be understood to mean 'conveying Pneuma (Spirit)', that
io.i6f. reveals a much closer equation between bread and body of
Christ and between wine and blood of Christ than that of symbolism
alone, and that n.29f. is evidence of Paul's own superstition at this
20

n o t

21

20. Not that each is a sacrificial meal; see e.g. W. G. Kiimmel, An die Korinther, HNT,
1949, pp. 18if.; C. K. Barrett, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, A . & C. Black 1 9 6 8 ,
pp. 2,35ff. See also below n. 2 3 .
2 1 . Schweizer, Lord's Supper, pp. 5L

Sacraments

i8o

[40.4

22

point. Paul's language is certainly open to such an interpretation.

But it is clear from 1 0 . 1 - 1 3 that Paul is warning against precisely
such a sacramentalism on the part of the Corinthians - such a view
of the Lord's Supper is a corruption of the Lord's Supper. And since
1 0 . 1 - 4 is
allegory ('the rock' in the tradition is to be interpreted
allegorically as 'Christ', etc.) pneumatikos is better understood in the
sense 'allegorical' (see above p. 98). The passage io.i6f. could be
taken as implying the Hellenistic idea of union with the cult deity
(Christ) through eating his body. But v.20 shows that Paul is thinking
rather in terms of fellowship or partnership - a fellowship expressed
through participating in the same meal, at the same table. The empha
sis is not so much on what was eaten and drunk as on the sharing
(koinonia) of the same bread and cup (v. 16); believers were one
because they shared the same loaf(V.IJ) not because of some efficacy
in the bread itself (see above p. 179 and n.20). And in n.29f., since
the Corinthians made too much of the Lord's Supper rather than too
little ( 1 0 . 1 - 1 3 ) , Paul is probably thinking of the illness and death as
a result of sinning against the community (the body of Christ - cf.
5.5) rather than as an effect of the elements themselves.
a

23

40.4 Possible variations within earliest Christian usage. What we now

call the Lord's Supper, the Eucharist, Holy Communion, the mass,
may be the end result of a conflating or standardizing of a number of
divergent traditions.
(a) We know of different kinds of meals, each of which has influ
enced the development of the Lord's Supper. (1) The Jerusalem fellow
ship meal at which probably only bread was used and no wine (see
above 40.2). (2) An annual (?) passover(?)-type of meal, with the
bread and wine as part of the complete meal, the bread either at the
beginning (ordinary meal) or middle (Passover), and the wine at
the end (I Cor. 1 1 . 2 5 ~ 'after supper'). (3) A complete meal in which
the cup camefirstand the bread later - this may be implied by I Cor.
1 0 . 1 6 , the shorter Lukan text (with Luke 22.i9d-2o omitted), and
Didache 9.
24

22. See e.g. E. Kasemann, 'The Pauline Doctrine of the Lord's Supper' ( 1 9 4 7 - 4 8 ) ,
ENTT, pp. 1 0 8 - 3 5 ; J - Hering, The First Epistle of Saint Paul to the Corinthians, 1 9 4 8 ,
E T Epworth 1962, p. 1 2 0 .
23. See e.g. A . J . B. Higgins, The Lord's Supper in the New Testament, S C M Press
1 9 5 2 , pp. 72f.; Kummel, Theology, pp. 22if.
24. Though the longer text is probably original in Luke - see particularly H. Schurmann,
'Lk 22.19D-20 als ursprungliche Textuberlieferung' ( 1 9 5 1 ) , Traditionsgeschichtliche
Untersuchungen zu den synoptischen Evangelien, Dusseldorf 1968, pp. 1 5 9 - 9 2 ; Jeremias,
Eucharistie Words, pp. 1 3 9 - 5 9 .

40.4]

The Lord's

Supper

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(b) The textual traditions also suggest divergent forms and deve
loping practice. There are at least two different textual traditions of
the words of interpretation at the last supper.
A Mark
14.22-24f./Matt.
26.26-28
This is my body;
This is my blood of the
covenant which is poured out
for many.

B J Cor. n.24f./Luke
22.19/.
This is my body (which is
for you);
This cup is the (new)
covenant in my blood
(which is poured out for
you).

In the word over the bread the phrase 'which is for you' in tradition
B is probably later, hard to derive from Aramaic, absent from tra
dition A, and the sort of form that liturgical usage would develop.
The differences in the second word are more striking: in tradition
A the emphasis is on the blood, in tradition B on the covenant. In
this case it is probably tradition B which is earlier: 'my blood of the
covenant' is a grammatical form unnatural or at least very unusual
in either Hebrew or Aramaic; the drinking of blood was an abhorrent
idea to Jews (see particularly Lev. 1 7 . 1 0 - 1 4 ; ^ Acts 15.20, 29); and
the closer parallelism of the two words in tradition A is probably the
result of liturgical usage. Bearing in mind that the words over bread
and cup were originally two separate words spoken at different points
of the meal (see above p. 180), the probability is that the form of the
second word was assimilated to that of the first only when the bread
and the wine became a separate ritual at the end of the meal (cf. also
I Cor. 1 0 . 1 6 ) ; whereas, had tradition A been earlier it becomes very
difficult to explain how the originally parallel formulations came to
diverge. It appears then as though the earlier form of the second word
(over the cup rather than over the wine) put the emphasis on the
covenant - and this would certainly harmonize with the eschatological
note in the last supper (see above p. 177). The 'in my blood . . . ' could
be a later addition, but even so it may already be implied - the
covenant being established by sacrifice, Jesus seeing his own imminent
death as the sacrifice in question (cf. Ex. 24.8; Heb. 9.20; Luke 1 2 . 4 9 L
c

25

25. G. Bornkamm, 'Lord's Supper and Church in Paul' (1956), Early Christian Experi
ence, E T S C M Press 1 9 6 9 , pp. 134ft.; Schweizer, Lord's Supper, pp. 1 0 - 1 7 ; Marxsen,
Lord's Supper, pp. 5 - 8 ; F. Lang, 'Abendmahl und Bundesgedanke im Neuen Testament',
EvTh, 3 5 , 1 9 7 5 , pp. 52.7^; H. Merklein, 'Erwgungen zur berlieferungsgeschichte der
neutestamentlichen Abendmahlstraditionen', BZ, 2 1 , 1 9 7 7 , p. 9 4 - 8 ; Marshall, Last
Supper, pp. 4 3 - 5 1 ; otherwise Klappert, NIDNTT,
II, pp. 524ft.

182

Sacraments

[40.5

- see above n.8); the phrase 'poured out' certainly has strong sacrificial
overtones.
It would appear then that we have a twofold tradition in the second
word of interpretation. The one tradition interpreted the last supper
in terms of the new covenant; the earlier fellowship meals of Jesus
had been tokens of the messianic banquet of the coming kingdom;
now with the last of these meals the imagery of interpretation changes
to covenant, and the meal is seen to foreshadow also the means
by which the covenant would be established, the kingdom come namely, his death, as the fiery baptism, the messianic woes foretold
by the Baptist. But the emphasis is on the covenant itself; the cup is
the cup of promise of what lies beyond his death (Luke 22.18/Mark
14.25); the eschatological note predominates over the soteriological.
This is the form of the tradition which probably derived most directly
from Jesus himself, and its preservation probably reflects the continu
ing eschatological emphasis of the meal in the gatherings in which
the words were repeated. The other tradition focuses much more on
Jesus' death as such, and the soteriological note predominates; it
involves only a shift of emphasis rather than a change of content, but
probably reflects an early stage of the development of the Lord's
Supper as a separate entity with the perspective beginning to become
more of a backward look to redemption accomplished than a forward
look to the eschatological feast.
John 6.53-56 may reflect yet another tradition, where the first
word of interpretation was rendered, 'This is my flesh', rather than
'This is my body'. That such a variant tradition existed is certainly
supported by Ignatius {Phil., 4 . 1 ; Smyrn., 6.x), although it may only
have been developed late, as a counter to a docetic view of Christ.
40.5 The probable developments in the celebration of the Lord's
Supper may be summarized therefore as follows.
(a) The relation of the Lord's Supper to the complete meal: (1) in
earliest Christianity it was probably a constituent part of the whole
meal (Christian Passover, I Cor. 1 1 . 2 5 ~ bread word earlier in the
meal); (2) in the Pauline churches, or Corinth at least, it seems to
have formed a distinct element at the end of the meal; (3) the balanced
liturgical formulation of the words of interpretation in Mark and
Matthew seem to indicate a further stage when the Lord's Supper
was becoming or had already become a separate, distinct event.
(b) This probable overall development is reflected also in the devel
opment in the significance attached to the actions and words which
came to constitute the Lord's Supper proper. Originally the two
actions and words would have been understood separately and not

40.5]

The Lord's

Supper

183

in parallel. They came at different points within the context of the

complete meal, so that each of them individually would have been
understood as an expression of the whole meal, rather than them
together. That is to say, the fellowship reality of the new covenant
was expressed in the whole meal, and at separate points in the meal
that expression would come to particular focus,firstin the bread and
then in the cup.
Subsequent developments seem to have transformed this original
understanding in three ways. (1) The fellowship meal, where the
sacramental reality lay in the act of table-fellowship, was apparently
transformed into a ritual act which was more open to a magical
interpretation (I Cor. 10). The bread and the cup seem to have become
less a focus of the whole meal's significance, and more significant in
themselves, separate from the meal, with more significance attached
to the actual eating and drinking ('Do this in remembrance of me' I Cor. 1 1 . 2 4 , 5 ) - That is, the sacramental reality probably began to
focus more on the elements of bread and wine, on that which was
consumed, than on the meal as such. (2) In particular, the earlier
emphasis on the meal as a covenant meal expressed especially in the
common cup (tradition B) probably began to give way to a strengthen
ing emphasis on the element of wine as a symbol of Jesus' blood and
sacrifice (tradition A). If so, the predominant note of a covenant
fellowship enjoyed in the here and now would have begun to give
way to the representation of an initiating sacrifice. (3) Consequently,
also, the eschatological significance of the meal as an anticipation of
the messianic banquet presumably began to fade, and the elements of
bread and wine became more backward looking to the death of Jesus,
so that in Paul the Supper is essentially a re-telling of the decisive
redemptive event of the past and the eschatological dimension is
preserved only in that the Supper will serve as such a proclamation
of Jesus' death until the parousia. In short, thus we see even within
forty years of the last supper developments which do not yet cause
any N T writer to regard the Lord's Supper as a distinctive means of
grace as such, far less as the main or exclusive means of grace to
believers, but which do appear to show us the beginning of that
process whereby in later years the Lord's Supper came to be more
and more the principal focus for the divine-human encounter between
God and the believer through Christ.
2

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i84

41.

THE SACRAMENTS

IN

THE FOURTH

[41

GOSPEL

In recent years opinions about the role of the sacraments in John's

theology have been sharply divided. They can be classified in a rough
and ready way in three categories. (1) The ultrasacramental interpret
ation where a water reference is always accorded sacramental sig
nificance (including 2 . 1 - 1 1 ; 4 . 7 - 1 5 ; 5.2-9; 7.37-39; 9.7, 1 1 ; 1 3 . 1 16; 19.34), and where the Lord's Supper is seen to be mirrored in
2 . 1 - 1 1 and 1 5 . 1 - 1 1 . Sacramental allusions have even been detected
in the 'cleansing of the temple' episode ( 2 . 1 3 - 2 2 ) , in the account of
Jesus walking on the water ( 6 . 1 6 - 2 1 ) and in the Good Shepherd
discourse ( 1 0 . 1 - 1 8 ) . (2) The non-sacramental interpretation: the
rest of the Gospel is so obviouslytfwfr'-sacramentalthat the clearly
sacramental references in 3.5 ('water and'), 6 . 5 1 - 5 8 and 19.34 must
be regarded as the work of an ecclesiastical redactor. (3) A modified
sacramental interpretation, which sees only a few sacramental refer
ences - 3.5 and 6 . 5 1 - 5 8 certainly, 19.34 likely but not definite, with
several others such as 2 . 1 - 1 1 and 1 3 . 1 - 1 6 only graded as 'possible'.
The answer probably lies somewhere between the last two alterna
tives, (a) Notice first the complete absence of any account of Jesus'
baptism (John 1) and of the 'institution' of the Lord's Supper (John
13). This silence can be adequately explained only in one of two
ways. Either John wants to place no emphasis on the two sacraments,
but rather to draw attention away from them; or he wants to set them
in the context of Jesus' whole ministry. In view of 6 . 5 1 - 5 8 the latter
is certainly possible (John uses some far-reaching symbolism), but
otherwise it requires a tremendous amount to be read into the text.
Overall the former seems to have greater plausibility.
(b) Wherever we find 'water' mentioned in the Fourth Gospel it is
used in one of two ways. Either it symbolizes the blessings of the new
age, or the Holy Spirit in particular: 4.10, 1 4 - 'the gift of God' is
almost a technical term for the Holy Spirit in earliest Christianity
(Acts 2.38; 8.20; 10.45; 1 1 . 1 7 ; II Cor. 9.15; Eph. 3.7; 4.7; Heb. 6.4),
and welling or springing up' is probably intended to recall the action
of the Spirit in Judg. 14.6, 19; 1 5 . 1 4 ; I Sam. 10.10 where the same
26

27

28

29

26. E.g., O. Cullmann, Early Christian Worship, 1 9 5 0 , E T S C M Press 1 9 5 3 , ch. 2;

A. Corell, Consummatum Est, 1950, E T SPCK 1958, ch. 3.
27. E.g., R. Bultmann, John, pp. 1 3 8 n. 3 , 2 3 4 - 7 , 677f.; Kasemann, Testament, pp. 3 2 L
28. E.g., Beasley-Murray, Baptism, pp. 2 1 6 - 3 2 ; R. E. Brown, 'The Johannine Sacramentary', New Testament Essays, Chapman 1 9 6 5 , ch. IV; H. Klos, Die Sakramente im
Johannesevangelium, Stuttgarter Bibelstudien 46, 1 9 7 0 .
29. See J . D. G. Dunn, 'A Note on dorea', Exp T, 8 1 , 1 9 6 9 - 7 0 , pp. 3 4 9 - 5 1 .

41]

The sacraments in the Fourth

Gospel

185
t n e

word is used; 7.37-39 - explicit equation with the Spirit; 19.34 ~

primary reference is anti-docetic, hence the emphasis on the blood
(he really died; see below p. 3 29), while the water is probably intended
as a symbolical fulfilment of 7.3 8; in 9 and 13 water is not mentioned,
and in 9.7 anyway the pool is explicitly explained as symbolizing 'the
one who has been sent' (that is, Jesus). Alternatively, water represents
the old dispensation in contrast to what Jesus now offers: 1.26, 3 1 ,
3 3 - repeated emphasis that John's baptism is only in water heightens
the contrast with Jesus' Spirit-baptism; 2.6 - the water represents the
Jewish purification rites, in contrast to Jesus' wine of the new age;
3 . 2 5 - 3 6 - as John the Baptist is from below so is his baptism, in
contrast to Jesus who is from above and who has and gives the Spirit
not by measure; 5.2-9 - the point is that the water did not provide
healing, whereas Jesus did. The probability is therefore that John will
have intended the remaining water reference (3.5) to be understood
in one of these two ways, as symbol of Spirit or in contrast to Spirit
- and if it can be so interpreted, in a way that makes sense within its
context, then the grounds for regarding it as a secondary addition
will be removed. In fact both interpretations of 'water and' in 3.5
make plausible sense. Either the reference is to the cleansing, renewing
effect of the Spirit from above, echoing such prophetic passages as
Isa. 44.3-5 and Ezek. 36.25-27 (cf. IQS 4.20-22). Or the reference
is to water-baptism (either John's or Christian), or even to the break
ing of the waters at natural birth (as 3.4), in contrast to the birth
from the Spirit (the subject of the passage - 3.6-8): to enter the
kingdom of God one must be born of water and Spirit, that is, one
must experience not just physical birth but the renewal of the Spirit,
not just water baptism but baptism in the Spirit (cf. 1.33; 3.26-34).
We should perhaps just add that there is no justification for inter
preting the hendiadys 'born of water and Spirit' as equivalent to
'baptized in water and Spirit' (particularly in view of John's emphasis
on the Baptist's antithesis between baptism in water and baptism in
Spirit - 1.26, 3 1 , 33). More likely the hendiadys treats both water
baptism and Spirit baptism as integral parts of conversion-initiation
(born of water baptism and Spirit baptism), while giving the latter
the primary emphasis (just as Jesus could be called the 'hendiadys'
between the Logos become flesh and the life-giving Spirit - cf. 3.6
and 6.63; and see the next paragraph).
(c) John probably takes up the language of the Lord's Supper in
6 . 5 1 - 5 8, as the parallel with Ignatius seems to imply (see above
30

30. The 'flesh' reference in 6.63 makes it very difficult to accept the view that these
verses were a later addition.

Sacraments

i86

[41

p. 182). But if so, then we must note how he uses it and to what
purpose. First, he uses the language of 'eating', 'munching', 'drinking'
as metaphors for believing in Jesus: the need to believe in Jesus is the
central emphasis of the whole passage (vv. 29, 35, 36, 40, 47, 64, 69
- see also above 6.1). Second, he wants to insist that this Jesus is
not merely the exalted Christ but the one who also came down from
heaven (vv.33, 38, 4if., 5of., 58), that is, the truly incarnate and
crucified as well as now ascended Jesus. That is to say, the passage
incorporates a strongly anti-docetic polemic, which comes to its
bluntest expression in vv. 5 1 - 5 6 where 'flesh' is substituted for 'bread'
(v.51) and the cruder 'munch' for 'eat' (v.54): to munch Jesus' flesh
and drink his blood is to believe in Jesus as the truly incarnate one
(cf. again Ignatius, Smyrn., 6.2; and see also below pp. 327L). Third,
John also believes that it is only through the Spirit of the ascended
Jesus that this vivifying new relation with this Jesus is effected ( 3 . 3 8; 4.10, 1 4 ; 6.27; 20.22) - 'faith' is met by the gift of the Spirit
(7.39). Moreover, he seeks to avoid the impression that this relation
is achieved through or is dependent upon participation in the Lord's
Supper. Having used the eucharistic terminology of flesh (and blood)
in vv. 5 1 - 5 6 to underscore his rejection of docetism, he at once goes
on to warn that 'the flesh does no good whatever, it is the Spirit that
gives life' (6.63). In other words, if vv. 5 1 - 5 8 do use eucharistic
language, it is very hard to read vv.62f. as anything other than a
protest against sacramental literalism, that is, as a protest against the
view that the life of which John so often speaks is mediated through
the eating and drinking of sacramental elements.
31

It looks very much as though John is reacting against a kind of

sacramentalism current in his own day. Just as John felt it necessary
to protest against such institutionalizing trends as are already present
in the Pastorals and I Clement (see above 3 1 . 1 , 3 2 . 1 ) , so he evi
dently felt it necessary to protest against a growing tendency towards
sacramentalism such as we find a little later in Ignatius (particularly
Eph., 20.2). He does not adopt an anti-sacramentalist stance properly
speaking, nor does he turn his back on the sacraments, for he alludes
to them in 6 . 5 1 - 5 8 (most probably) and 3.5 (quite likely). But John's
Gospel must be read in part at least as a protest against a (presumably)
increasing sacramental literalism.
32

3 1 . See more fully J . D. G. Dunn, 'John 6 - A Eucharistic Discourse?', NTS, 1 7 , 1 9 7 0 7 1 , pp. 3 2 8 - 3 8 .

3 2. For discussion of the relevant passages in I John see Dunn, Baptism, ch. XVI.

4 2.. i ]

Conclusions

187

42.

CONCLUSIONS

42.1 We are now in a position to answer some of the questions posed

at the end of 38, and to appreciate something of the diversity of
theology and form which must be encompassed by any attempt to
discuss the role of the sacraments infirst-centuryChristianity.
(a) Perhaps most striking of all is the complete absence from Jesus'
own ministry of any sustained parallel to the later churches' sacra
mental practice: he himself administered no baptism (at least for the
bulk of his ministry) and his table-fellowship was the very opposite
of a restricted or 'closed communion'. If we wish to describe Jesus'
ministry as 'sacramental' in a broader sense, then we must note that
this broader sacramental significance had a wide range of expression,
both ritual (laying on of hands, washing disciples' feet, etc.) and
non-ritual (personal relationships).
(b) When did the two sacraments become part of Christianity?
Baptism more or less immediately, but the Lord's Supper proper not
for some years - the common and/or Passover meal of the earliest
Jerusalem community can be described at most as no more than an
embryonic sacrament, and the Lord's Supper as we would recognize
it is the end product of quite a long process.
(c) Initially the central emphasis was eschatological - baptism as
being a direct takeover of John's baptism, and the common meal as a
continuation of Jesus' practice and an expression of the new covenant
fellowship. But as Christianity moved out more and more into the
wider Hellenistic world the eschatological emphasis diminished and
was increasingly replaced by the backward look to Jesus' death baptism as an expression of burial with Christ, the Lord's Supper as
a proclamation of Jesus' death.
(d) Among some Christians at least (certainly in Corinth) the
developing sacraments came to be understood in semi-magical terms
- as effecting or securing salvation and union with the exalted Lord
- an emphasis which Paul strenuously contested.
(e) At the other end of the spectrum we have the Johannine protest
against sacramentalism or sacramental literalism towards the end of
the first century - a protest which in the event was unavailing when
the sacramentalist tendency in Ignatius became the dominant one.
33

33. To what extent the last supper was a continuation of Jesus' normal pattern of table
fellowship, and to what extent a departure from it is an important question, but one almost
impossible to answer. However, the two should not be separated as much as they usually
are; somewhat surprisingly, the eucharistic echoes in the bread of life discourse of John 6
are set in the context of an open meal.

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[42.2

42.2 When we look for a unifying focus within this diversity we find
it once again in Jesus, and precisely in the continuity between the
earthly Jesus and the exalted Christ which the sacraments embody
and express. From the first, baptism was performed 'in the name of
Jesus', with the baptizer representing the exalted Jesus and/or the
baptisand entering into discipleship of the exalted Lord. At the same
time Paul was able to stress, as something which no one would deny,
that baptism also spoke of the dying of Jesus and provided a metaphor
for union with Christ in his death. There is however no explicit
attempt to link Jesus' baptism by John with Christian baptism. Christ
ian baptism expresses a continuity not so much between pre-Easter
and post-Easter discipleship as between Jesus' death and the sub
sequent Christian communities.
The Lord's Supper on the other hand provides a continuity on both
levels. On the one hand the fellowship meals of the earliest Christian
communities (out of which the Lord's Supper as such grew) were
themselves probably the continuation of Jesus' own table-fellowship;
indeed, the continuity was perhaps even more marked, since they may
well have eaten these meals in the consciousness of Jesus' presence,
the Lord of the covenant (cf. Luke 24.35; Acts 1.4; I Cor. 1 0 . 2 1 ) , the
words of interpretation being understood as spoken by the earthly
and exalted one himself (through a prophet? - cf. Didache 10.7). On
the other hand, the tradition of the words of the last supper always
played a part in shaping the Lord's Supper as a sacrament, and in the
event had the most decisive effect, and these provide the continuity
precisely with Jesus' passion and death.
42.3 The importance of the sacraments within the N T , therefore, is
not that they provide some sort of exclusive focus or channel of grace
- such interpretations seem to be more resisted by Jesus and the N T
writers than welcomed. On the contrary, where the sacraments are
valued within the N T it is because they embody in a strikingly sym
bolical way the heart of the Christian belief in Jesus, the man who
gave his life for many and who is now exalted, and because they
enable faith in this Jesus to find appropriate expression.

IX

Spirit and Experience

43.

INTRODUCTION

Traditionally Christianity has found its unity in creed, ministry and

liturgy. But there has always been one strand or stream of Christianity
(often little more than a trickle) which has tended to play down
the centrality of written creed, of properly ordered ministry and of
structured worship - stressing rather the immediacy of experience.
For the proponents of experiential Christianity, in its more vigorous
expression more usually called 'Enthusiasm', what matters is direct
experience of God - some feeling or awareness of God, a conver
sion experience, some significant experiences of revelation, of inspi
ration or of commissioning, or some ultimate mystical experience of
union with God.
A few examples from the history of Christianity chosen more or less
at random will illustrate the importance of experiential Christianity in
previous centuries. The sect called the Messalians flourished between
the fourth and seventh centuries: according to John of Damascus,
when priests used to say to Messalians, 'We profess in faith that we
have the Holy Spirit, not by experience', they would reply, 'Come
and pray with us, and we promise you the experience of the Spirit.'
Symeon the New Theologian (tenth to eleventh centuries), the most
outstanding of the Byzantine medieval mystics, maintained that a
baptism without genuine conversion is a baptism only in water; it is
only the 'second baptism', baptism 'of the Spirit', or the 'baptism of
tears', which actually makes one a real Christian, an experience of
enlightenment which Symeon refused to reduce to mere intellectual
knowledge. St Vincent Ferrar (fourteenth tofifteenthcenturies) lists
among the perfections 'essential to those who serve God, . . . con
stantly to taste and to experience the divine sweetness'. The Recogidos, an influential group in the Spanish church in the first half of
the sixteenth century, practised a form of prayer called 'recollection'
1

1. S. Tugwell, Did you Receive the Spirit}, Darton, Longman & Todd 1 9 7 2 , pp. 52ff.

Spirit and Experience

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[43

through which they sought to experience within themselves the truth

of their faith, allowing God to come into the soul; their prayer could
and often did lead to ecstatic phenomena like trances, crying out
with joy and groanings. Martin Luther wrote in the preface to the
Magnificat: 'No one can understand God or God's word unless he
has it revealed immediately by the Holy Ghost; but nobody can receive
anything from the Holy Ghost unless he experiences it.' As is well
known George Fox set the 'inner light' above Scripture in matters of
authority, in one famous incident interrupting a preacher at Notting
ham by saying: 'It is not the Scripture, it is the Holy Spirit by which
holy men of old gave forth the Scripture, by which religions . . . are
to be tried'. Count Zinzendorf, founder of the Moravian settlement
at Herrnhut, understood the process of salvation 'as an immediate and
joyful apprehension of a loving Father'. The influence of Moravian
pietism is evident both in F. D. E. Schleiermacher's understanding of
religion as the 'feeling of absolute dependence', and more obviously
in John Wesley's experience of his heart being 'strangely warmed' and
in the importance he placed on assurance: 'The testimony of the Spirit
is an inward impression on the soul, whereby the Spirit of God directly
witnesses to my spirit that I am a child of God.' Finally, in the past
fifty years Pentecostalism has gained increasing recognition within
the world Church as the twentieth-century expression of experiential
Christianity, a vital and valid form of Christianity distinct from Cath
olicism and Protestantism - the present day embodiment of the con
viction 'that if we would answer the question "Where is the Church?",
we must ask "Where is the Holy Spirit recognizably present with
power?" '
2

To be sure, the Church catholic has usually sought to restrict and

divert this stream of Christianity, hemming it in behind high banks
or channelling it underground, fearful lest a flood of 'enthusiasm'
devastate its flocks and folds - and sometimes with good reason.
Luther, for all that he recognized the importance of religious experi
ence, complained vigorously against the spiritualist Anabaptist who
talks facilely about 'Geist, Geist, Geist', and then 'kicks away the very
bridge by which the Holy Spirit can come . . . namely, the outward
ordinances of God like the bodily sign of baptism and the preached
Word of God'. Bishop Butler's famous remark to John Wesley reflects
the rationalist's disparagement of religious experience: 'Sir, the pre5

2.
3.
4.
5.

R. A . Knox, Enthusiasm, Oxford University Press 1 9 5 0 , pp. 1 5 2 , n. 3, 4 1 0 .

J . Wesley, Forty-four Sermons, X. 'The Witness of the Spirit', Epworth 1944, p. 1 1 5 .
L. Newbigin, The Household of God, S C M Press 1 9 5 3 , pp.
G. Williams, The Radical Reformation, Weidenfeld & Nicolson 1 9 6 2 , p. 8 2 2 .

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tending to extraordinary revelations and gifts of the Holy Ghost is a

horrid thing, a very horrid thing.' More measured and more immedi
ately relevant to our study is the claim of Alan Richardson 'that the
Bible itself places little emphasis upon subjective experiences . . . It is
impossible to translate "religious experience" into N T Greek'.
Here then is as vigorous a cross-current of controversy as any we
have so far met. Is religious experience a focus of Christian unity or
a dangerous diversion from the central issues? How important was
religious experience in earliest Christianity - in shaping its character,
in forming its self-understanding? Behind the outward expressions of
kerygma and creed, of ministry and worship, was there some great
passion or common experience(s) which gave rise to diverse manifes
tations but which bonded the diversity together in a unity at the
centre? And if religious experience is an important component among
the basic building blocks of first-century Christianity, what experience
- any experiences, or just a certain kind? the enthusiasm of the Ana
baptists, or the 'cooler' experience of Luther? What is the tale of unity
and diversity in the matter of the religious experience of the first
Christians? We will pursue these questions by nothing first that earli
est Christianity was largely enthusiastic in nature (including Luke's
account of it), and then attempt to highlight the role of religious
experience, so far as it can be discerned, in Jesus, Paul, and more
briefly in the Pastorals and John.
6

44.

ENTHUSIASTIC

CHRISTIANITY

Enthusiastic Christianity, the third, or better, fourth main strand or

stream of Christianity (beside Orthodoxy, Catholicism and Prot
estantism) is sometimes assumed to be a tangential development of
Christianity in later centuries, more influenced by Gnosticism or Montanism than by orthodox Christianity, or even a peculiarly Protestant
aberration spawned by the Reformation and largely confined to the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In fact, however, the earliest
form of Christianity seems to have been nothing other than such an
enthusiastic sect.
9

6. Cited by Knox, Enthusiasm, p. 4 5 0 .

7. Article on 'Experience, Religious', in A Dictionary of Christian Theology, ed.,
A. Richardson, S C M Press 1969, p. 1 2 7 .
8. What follows is in large part a summary of Dunn, Jesus, where the discussion with
other viewpoints is fully documented.
9. So Knox, op. cit., pp. 4ff.

Spirit and Experience

192.

[44.1

44.1 It is not easy to penetrate back through our sources to the earliest
communities in Palestine - Acts as often obscures as illuminates. But
we can recognize several features characteristic of enthusiasm. If Acts
contains any history at all, then it is difficult to deny that experiences
of vision and ecstasy, or miracles and of immediate inspiration in
speaking were characteristic of the first Christian churches.
(a) Vision and ecstasy. The resurrection appearances have to be
classified as some form of visionary experience. Paul's understanding
of the resurrection body ('spiritual' not 'natural') certainly implies
that he understood Jesus' mode of risen life as different from physical
existence (I Cor. 1 5 . 4 2 - 5 0 ) ; consequently his 'seeing' the risen Jesus
(I Cor. 9.1) must have been of a different order from 'physical' seeing
- that is to say, it must have been some mode of visionary seeing (cf.
Gal. 1 . 1 6 - 'to reveal his Son in me'). Indeed this is just how Paul
himself describes it in one of the Acts accounts of his conversion (Acts
26.19 ~ 'heavenly vision; though see below n.18). The nature of the
earlier resurrection appearances described in the Gospels is less clear;
but they too are best understood as some kind of vision, in which, to
be sure, all who saw Jesus were convinced that Jesus was there to be
seen, risen and alive with new life.
The first great communal experience of the Spirit at Pentecost,
described by Luke in Acts 2, has to be recognized as an ecstatic
experience which at least included elements of audition (sound like
a strong wind), vision (tongues like fire) and automatic speech (glossolalia). That this was understood as an experience of the Spirit
(and presumably not just by Luke) tells us something both about the
importance of such experiences in the first years of the new sect and
about the character attributed to the Spirit by the first Christians
- the Spirit of enthusiasm. This is borne out by the significance of
the other ecstatic experiences specifically attributed to the Spirit, in
4 . 3 1 , 8.i7ff. (by implication), io.44ff. and 19.6. In each case Luke is
obviously describing groups caught up out of themselves, that is, in
ecstasy.
That visions were frequently experienced within thefirstChristian
communities is the clear testimony of Acts, and it is confirmed by
Paul's testimony in II Cor. 1 2 . 1 , 7. There is little artifice in Luke's
account at this point and little reason to question his claim that visions
were experienced by all the keyfiguresin the earliest development of
the new sect - Peter, Stephen, Philip, Ananias, Paul. Not only so, but
according to Luke at least, these visions played a significant part in
10

10. See more fully Dunn, Jesus, ch. V. Cf. W. L . Craig, Assessing the New Testament
Evidence for the Historicity of the Resurrection of Jesus, Edwin Mellen 1989.

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directing the course of the earliest mission (particularly 9.10; 1 0 . 3 6, 1 0 - 1 6 ; 16.9L; 18.9; 2.Z.17L). Two of them are explicitly described
as 'ecstatic' (10.10; 1 1 . 5 ; 22.17). Where important decisions are
determined by visions we have enthusiasm pure and simple.
(b) Miracles. It can scarcely be doubted that the course of earliest
Christianity was marked by many out of the ordinary happenings
and reports of many miracles. The record of Acts is here adequately
confirmed by the first hand testimony of Paul (Rom. 1 5 . 1 9 ; I Cor.
1 2 . 1 0 , 28f.; Gal. 3.5). These included healings of lameness, blindness
and paralysis (Acts 3 . 1 - 1 0 ; 8.7; 9.18, 33f.; etc.), and the account
of Peter restoring Tabitha from death (9.36-41; cf. 2 0 . 9 - 1 2 ) . Such
'mighty works' have appeared or at least have been reported wherever
enthusiasm has gripped a meeting or a community throughout the
history of religion. Particularly noteworthy are the claims to healings
through Peter's shadow (5.15^) and through handkerchiefs and
scarves touched by Paul (i9.nf.), and the 'miracles of judgment' in
5 . 1 - 1 1 (the death of Ananias and Sapphira) and 1 3 . 8 - 1 1 (the blind
ness of Elymas). Such are the claims of enthusiasm - where the spirit
has become so elevated and the imagination so fired that the experi
ence of supernatural power becomes readily anticipated and claims
to the manifestation of such power cause no surprise.
(c) Inspiration. Experiences of inspired speech were also frequent
in earliest Christianity. Paul certainly wanted all his Corinthian
readers to experience prophecy (I Cor. 14.5) and warned his Thessalonian converts against restricting the prophetic Spirit (I Thess.
5.i9f.). Indeed it would appear from Acts that the experience of
inspired utterance was so widespread among the first believers that
they could readily believe that Joel's prophecy had been wholly
fulfilled - all were prophets, young and old, parents and children,
masters and servants (Acts 2.i7f.). The Spirit was experienced as
giving words to say, words of praise, words of testimony (Acts 2.4;
4.8, 3 1 ; 5.32; 6.3, 5, 10; etc.). They felt themselves under divine
direction that was immediate and not to be gainsaid (5.3, 9; 8.29, 39;
9.31; 1 0 . 1 9 ; 1 3 . 2 , 4; etc.). They acted and spoke boldly, with auth
ority, believing that they did so 'in the name of Jesus', that is as the
direct representatives of the risen Christ and as his plenipotentiaries
(2.38; 3.6, 16; 4.10, 1 3 , 2 9 - 3 1 ; 5.28, 4of.; etc.). In the history of
Christianity such claims have been most characteristic of enthusiasm.
The intensity and frequency of these various experiences claimed
for this earliest form of Christianity indicate that we are here dealing
not with a few isolated instances of poetic vision or charismatic
potency or prophetic rapture, but with a community where such
experiences were characteristic, a community which largely depended

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[44.2

on such experiences for its spiritual sustenance and sense of direction.

Such a community has to be called an enthusiastic community.
44.2 There are clear indications in various N T writings of a very
strong (many would say too strong) enthusiastic tendency or stream
within first-century Christianity.
(a) Some of Paul's chief headaches were caused by enthusiastic
factions - particularly at Corinth. From I Cor. 1 . 1 8 - 4 . 2 1 it becomes
evident that some of the Corinthian Christians thought of themselves
as 'the spiritual ones' {pneumatikoi - see particularly 3 . 1 ) ; they had
achieved a higher plane of spirituality, they knew a higher wisdom,
they despised the low-level Christianity of Paul among others (see
particularly 4 . 8 - 1 0 ) . Here clearly is a kind of spiritual elitism typical
of the less attractive forms of enthusiasm. Similarly in I Cor. 8 we
hear of those (probably the same group) who thought they possessed
a superior knowledge which justified action that was selfish and
inconsiderate to those who did not share the same insights. In I Cor.
14 Paul addresses those (the pneumatikoi again) who seemed to think
that spirituality was to be measured by the volume of ecstatic speech
- the more unintelligible, the more inspired (14.6-25)! Their conduct
was too reminiscent of the frenzied worship of devotees of Dionysus
(12.2); they desired spirits (14.12) - that is, they put themselves out
for experiences of inspiration; their worship was characterized by
confusion and disorder (14.23, 3 3 , 40). Here again clearly are the
marks of unrestrained enthusiasm. In I Cor. 1 5 . 1 2 we meet the view
that 'there is no resurrection of the dead' - that is, no future resurrec
tion, no resurrection of the body. This was probably another facet of
the same elitist spirituality: there could be no resurrection to come,
because they already experienced fullness of resurrection life through
the Spirit (cf. 4.8; 1 5 . 4 5 ^ ) . Notice that this strand of enthusiasm was
part of the church at Corinth, not merely some external threat (see
further below 6 1 . 1 ) .
The situation addressed in II Cor. 1 0 - 1 3 had developed from that
reflected in I Corinthians. But there too we hear of men held in
high regard within the Corinthian church because they displayed
manifestly enthusiastic traits: their speech was impressive, that is,
probably, inspired and ecstatic ( 1 0 . 1 0 ; 1 1 . 6 ) ; they evidently boasted
of their visions and revelations ( 1 2 . 1 ) ; their 'signs and wonders and
mighty works' were regarded as proof positive of their apostleship.
Since they evaluated themselves in such terms, their gospel presum
ably reflected the same emphasis; that is, the 'other Jesus' whom Paul
accuses them of preaching (11.4) was probably Jesus presented as a
man mighty in such spiritual powers, a divine miracle worker who

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thereby showed himself superior to all other like figures in Hellenistic

religion, just as they themselves demonstrated their superiority over
Paul in matters of religious experience (cf. above pp.75f.).
The evidence of enthusiastic tendencies within the Pauline churches
is clearest in the Corinthian letters. But the situation of Corinth was
not untypical of other Pauline churches, as II Thess. 2.2 and Col. 2.18
clearly show. In the former we have another instance of a (probably)
prophetic word about the parousia being taken uncritically as divine
guidance for present conduct (cf. II Thess. 3 . 6 - 1 3 ) . And in the latter
it would appear that there were those within the Colossian assembly
who boasted of their visions experienced at initiation and regarded
them as evidence that they were worshipping angels or worshipping
with angels (see also below p.304).
(b) Mark too may well have constructed his Gospel to counter a
christology similar in type to that which Paul denounced in II Cor.
10-13,
apologetic or evangelism which presented Jesus primarily
as a pre-eminent miracle worker (cf. above pp.52, 75f.). If so, then
the implication is that within the situation or community addressed
by Mark there were strong influences towards enthusiasm similar to
those in Corinth.
(c) Other evidence of the less desirable forms of enthusiasm within
first-century Christianity may be found in Matt. 7 . 2 1 - 2 3 , where
Matthew evidently has in mind enthusiastic charismatics with a
dangerous tendency towards antinomianism, and Jude 1 9 , where Jude
seems to be attacking a group who like those in Corinth, regarded them
selves as pneumatikoi, a spiritual elite (see further below pp.305f.).
a

44.3 Luke himself has to be regarded as something of an enthusiast

(though not an elitist). As he looks back to the beginnings of Christ
ianity in Acts, it is the enthusiastic features which he picks out again
and again - just as among the Synoptic Gospels it is Luke alone who
mentions the one clearly ecstatic experience of Jesus (Luke 1 0 . 1 8 ; cf.
1 0 . 2 1 ; 22.43). Moreover, in highlighting the phenomena of enthu
siasm he does so in a surprisingly uncritical way.
{a) It is clear from his presentation of the Spirit (particularly in
Acts) that he shares something at least of the enthusiast's desire for
the dramatic in spiritual experience, for the divine to become opaque
and tangible. For Luke the Spirit is most clearly seen in extraordinary
and obviously supernatural phenomena, and in Acts is hardly present
anywhere else. The Spirit is the power that comes with a sound like
a mighty wind and in visible tongues like fire (2.3), the power that is
clearly manifested in glossolalia (2.4; 10.46; 19.6), the power that
affects its recipients in such a manner as to excite the wonder and

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envy of an accomplished magician (8.i8f.). That is to say, when the

power of the Spirit first takes hold of someone in Luke's narrative it
manifests itself typically and directly in ecstatic experience. This is
why he uses such dramatic language to describe the coming of the
Spirit - 'baptized into' ( 1 . 5 ; 1 1 . 1 6 ) , 'came upon' (1.8; 19.6), 'poured
out' (2.17L, 33; 10.45), 'fell upon' (8.16; 10.44; - 5 ) - This is why
the question can be asked in 19.2 - 'Did you receive the Spirit when
you believed?' - for the coming of the Spirit would be something
tangible, unmistakable. This is why in 2.33 'the promise of the Holy
Spirit' can be further described as 'this which you see and hear', where
the ecstatic behaviour and speech of the disciples is identified with
the outpoured Spirit! Luke's understanding of the Spirit is that of the
enthusiast.
(b) Ecstatic visions occur frequently in Acts - twelve at least, and
that is not counting resurrection appearances in Acts 1 or the Pente
cost experience of Acts 2 (see above p. 192). There are more visions
recorded in Acts than in the rest of the N T put together (Revelation
apart). Luke clearly delights in the fact that the early churches were
guided in their mission directly by visions, and particularly at decisive
moments (9.10; 1 0 . 3 - 6 , 1 0 - 1 6 ; 16.9L; 18.9; 2 2 . 1 7 L ; 2 6 . 1 9 ^ . He
shows no consciousness of the problem that an authority rooted in
vision can be grossly abused; he seems to share none of Paul's reser
vations on this point (cf. II Cor. 1 2 . 1 ; Col. 2.18). We know from
these two Pauline passages that the problem arose in acute form at
least twice during the time span covered by the Acts history. But Luke
registers no disquiet on the subject, and offers no cautionary tales of
visionary experiences being used to justify questionable practices or
attitudes. Such unquestioning acceptance of all visions as directly
from God, such uncritical treatment of authority vested in visionary
experiences clearly betrays the hand of the enthusiast.
(c) The same uncritical attitude towards claims among the first
Christians to direct experience of the supernatural is if anything even
more pronounced in Luke's treatment of miracles in Acts. He regu
larly calls them 'wonders and signs' (9 times). But this is a phrase
which is usually used elsewhere in the N T in a more negative sense 'signs and wonders' characterize the work of the false prophet, the
attitude of unfaith, the boasting of counterfeit apostles, the deceit of
anti-Christ (Mark 13.22/Matt. 24.24; John 4.48; II Cor. 1 2 . 1 2 ;
II Thess. 2.9) - that is, they are not something to be trusted or
commended, but acts to be wary of. Yet Luke boasts of the early
churches' 'wonders and signs' as acts which demonstrated God's hand
in the churches' mission. To be sure, there is a certain restraint in the
miracles he records, and he sharply contrasts the miraculous progress
I I

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of the 'word of God' with magic (Acts 8.18-24; 1 3 . 6 - 1 2 ; 1 9 . 1 3 - 2 0 ) .

But nevertheless, he clearly thinks of the early Christian mission's
miracles as more spectacular than those of any rivals - 'great signs
and wonders', 'extraordinary miracles' (8.13; 1 9 . 1 1 ) - and all the
more valuable and creditable for that.
Another significant pointer to Luke's own attitude is his portrayal
of the relationship between miracles and faith. Luke seems to think
more of the faith which miracles produce than of the faith which
makes a miracle possible in the first place ( 5 . 1 2 - 1 4 ; 9.42; 1 3 . 1 2 ;
1 9 . 1 3 - 1 8 ) . Whereas elsewhere in the N T the attitude is completely
the reverse: the publicity, propagandist value of miracles is disparaged
and a faith based on miracle is usually treated with reserve and
disapproval (Mark 8.nf.; Matt. i2.38f./Luke 1 1 . 1 6 , 29; John 2.23L;
4.48; 20.29 - see also below pp.3 3of.; II Cor. 1 3 . 3 L ) . In short, what
other N T writers see as at best ambiguous ('signs and wonders'),
Luke glories in. What Jesus and other N T writers saw as something
to be discouraged (faith based on miracles), Luke sees as something
that may be encouraged. He who glories uncritically in miracles for
their propaganda effect and values faith rooted in miracle may quite
properly be designated an enthusiast.
(d) Much the same attitude is reflected in Luke's emphasis on the
earliest communities' experience of inspired utterance. He sees this as
the great mark of the Spirit-filled individual and community (he makes
no similar effort to link the Spirit with the 'wonders and signs' he
records); see Acts 2.4, i7f. ('and they shall prophesy' has been added
to the Joel citation to emphasize the point); 4.8, 3 1 ; 5.32; 6.10; 7.55L;
10.44-46; 1 1 . 2 8 ; 1 3 . 2 , 9 - 1 1 ; 18.25; 9-^> 20.23; 21.4, 1 1 . Two
features of Luke's presentation deserve attention. First, he makes no
real effort to distinguish prophecy from ecstatic utterance: he runs
the two together in 19.6 (cf. 10.46) and seems to equate them in
Acts 2, where the glossolalia of 2.4 fulfils Joel's expectation of the
outpouring of the Spirit in prophecy ( 2 . 1 6 - 1 8 ) . This implies that
Luke is more interested in or impressed by the fact of inspiration
rather than by its character (intelligible or unintelligible utterance cf. the Corinthians above p. 194). Second, he shows no awareness of
the problem of false prophecy. The only 'false prophet' we meet is
outside the church, its declared enemy (13.6). That it could be a
problem within a Christian congregation is hardly envisaged. Even
when two inspired utterances/convictions contradict each other, he
attributes both to the Spirit without qualm or question (20.22; 21.4).
This unquestioning acceptance of all inspired utterance within the
community as inspired by the Holy Spirit is certainly the attitude of
the enthusiast.
I

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{e) One counterbalancing consideration should however not be

ignored. Luke shares many of the traits of enthusiasm, but he is no
elitist. He is an enthusiast - he sees Christianity as a higher form of
spirituality. But he is no elitist - he has no conception of a higher
spirituality within Christianity. To be sure, the account of Acts 8 . 1 2 1 7 offers itself as a proof text for a kind of Christian elitism - the
Samaritans as the type of baptized believers who yet lack the Spirit.
But an alternative exegesis is that Luke intends here to emphasize the
importance of the gift of the Spirit as that which makes anyone a
Christian (as clearly in 10.44-48; 1 1 . 1 5 - 1 8 ; 15.8f.; 19.2f.) - in the
last analysis the one thing needful. It is the gift of the Spirit which
tells whether there has been a genuine belief in God and commitment
to Christ rather than simply a belief that the preacher was saying
something important and a desire to please him (as Luke's language
in 8.i2f. implies: they believed Philip, not God or in Christ, Luke's
regular description of conversion). Luke's enthusiasm as reflected in
Acts 8 can therefore best be characterized thus: not Christians who
yet lack the Spirit, but lacking the Spirit not yet Christians.
We may conclude therefore that Luke is one of those believers for
whom spiritual experience must be visible, tangible, able to serve as
a proof to others: the Holy Spirit descends on Jesus 'in bodily form'
at Jordan (Luke 3.22); the three inner circle disciples really witnessed
Jesus' transfiguration, they did not dream it (Luke 9.32); the resurrec
tion appearances provided 'many convincing proofs' of Jesus' resur
rection (Acts 1.3; cf. Luke 24.39); the angel who released Peter from
prison was 'real' and not 'a vision' (Acts 12.9); the Spirit is actually
to be seen in the effects of his coming (Acts 2.33); the miracles of
Christianity are more impressive, carry more conviction than any
others; guidance in moments of indecision or stress can be expected
through vision or inspired utterance; ecstasy and inspiration within
the Church is always the work of the Spirit. There are other aspects
of Luke's presentation of earliest Christianity to which we must return
(see below 72.2). But enough has been said here to demonstrate
that what impressed Luke most about earliest Christianity were its
enthusiastic features. Yet his enthusiasm focuses on Christianity as a
whole; unlike the enthusiasts Paul had to encounter, he does not seek
to encourage a higher form of spirituality within Christianity - that
would be divisive and destructive to the unity of the Church, and
11

1 1 . It is hardly possible that Luke understood the Samaritans to have already received
the Spirit and only to lack the manifestations of the Spirit. Luke thinks of the Spirit precisely
as that power which manifests itself clearly and tangibly to the observer - no manifestations,
no Spirit (see above pp. 1 9 5 L and more fully Dunn, Baptism, ch. V.).

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199

Luke would certainly not wish to encourage that (see below 72.2).
It is enthusiastic Christianity as such that Luke portrays - and he
draws his materials and colours from the reality itself. In short, as
well as recognizing Luke as evangelist, historian and theologian, and
with the qualifications outlined above, we must also name him, 'Luke
the enthusiast' (see further below pp.389f.).

45.

T H E RELIGIOUS

EXPERIENCE

OF

JESUS

The stream of enthusiastic Christianity flowed from the very begin

nings of Christianity through the first generation churches and into
the second generation, finding its first and perhaps classic written
expression in the Acts of the Apostles. The question naturally arises
for us, Did Jesus himself stand within that stream? Does itfirstappear
in his own ministry?
It is of course exceedingly difficult to reach back to Jesus' own
religious experience. Many would say that it is impossible, given the
nature of our sources and their lack of interest in Jesus' own ex
perience as such. And the endeavours of nineteenth-century N T
scholarship to produce lives of Jesus and to uncover his 'messianic
self-consciousness' are a standing warning of the hazards threatening
any such attempt. Certainly it is true that we can no longer hope to
write a (modern) biography of Jesus, or to trace any developments
in his self-awareness, etc. But we have at least some historical
reminiscences of Jesus' ministry and we have the actual words of
Jesus preserved in at least a few instances. And a person's selfunderstanding is bound to come to expression in some degree or other
in what he or she says and does. So we can entertain some hope of
penetrating back to Jesus' understanding of his religious experience
at one or two points in his ministry.
We will look first at the evidence most similar to the outline of
enthusiastic Christianity sketched above, then examine more closely
the material which reflects Jesus' consciousness of sonship and of the
Spirit of God working through him.
45.1 Was Jesus an enthusiast? There are a number of points at which
Jesus' ministry shows clear parallels to the enthusiastic Christianity
described above.
(a) Jesus may well have had one or two ecstatic experiences. One
12

1 2 . According to Mark 3.20 those close to Jesus thought he was out of his mind
(literally 'ecstatic').

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Spirit and Experience

[45.1

likely example is Luke 1 0 . 1 8 - the vision of Satan falling like lightning

from heaven. The accounts of Jesus' anointing with the Spirit at
Jordan probably go back to Jesus himself in one form or another
(Mark 1 . 1 0 pars.); quite likely the experience involved both vision
(Spirit descending like a dove) and audition (the voice from heaven).
The temptation narratives possibly go back to some visionary experi
ences which Jesus had in the wilderness (Matt. 4 . 1 - n / L u k e 4 . 1 - 1 2 ) .
Beyond that we cannot go with any confidence. Was the 'transfigura
tion' originally a vision? - but if so, it was a vision experienced by
the inner circle disciples rather than by Jesus (Mark 9.2-8 pars.). The
appearance of an angel in Gethsemane (Luke 22.43L) is another
possible candidate; but here the text is uncertain. All told we have a
minimal element of enthusiasm - hardly to be compared with the
strong visionary and ecstatic element in Acts.
(b) Jesus was certainly a miracle worker, in the sense at least that
he brought about many extraordinary healings and exorcisms - a
feature of his ministry confirmed from Jewish sources. However we
understand or explain what happened (the hypnotic impact of his
personality, the illnesses as hysterical disorders, the healings as the
effect of divine power, etc.), it is clear enough that there was a charis
matic or enthusiastic dimension to his ministry. That is to say, there
was a power in his words and actions which was not something
conferred upon him by the authorities of his day, nor a technique
learned at some school, but an authority which he and others recog
nized and which he himself attributed to the Spirit working through
him (see below p.201 and 45.3).
At two points, however, Jesus' attitude to miracle sets him apart
from Luke. First, be seems to have rejected outright the idea that
miracles were valuable for their propaganda or sign effect (Mark
8.nf. pars.; cf. Matt. 4.5-7 par.; Luke 1 6 . 3 1 ) , even though he almost
certainly regarded his exorcistic power as the inevitable outworking
and expression of God's kingly rule (Matt. 12.28/Luke 1 1 . 2 0 ) .
Second, one of the most characteristic features of Jesus' healing minis
try was the emphasis he placed on the faith of the one requesting
healing (see particularly Mark 5.34, 36; 10.52; Matt. 8.10/Luke 7.9;
Matt. 9.28L; 15.28; Luke 7.50; 1 7 . 1 9 ) . With such faith all things
were possible (Mark 9.23L; 1 1 . 2 3 pars.); without it he could do next
to nothing (Mark 6.6). This sense of being able to exercise effective
13

1 3 . See J . Klausner, Jesus of Nazareth, Allen Sc Unwin 1 9 2 5 , pp. 1 8 - 4 7 ; H. van der

Loos, The Miracles of Jesus, SNT, Villi, 1 9 6 5 , pp. 1 5 6 - 7 5 ; J . D. G. Dunn and G. H.
Twelftree, 'Demon-Possession and Exorcism in the New Testament', Churchman 9 4 , 1 9 8 0 ,
pp. 2 1 0 - 2 5 .

45-i]

The religious experience of Jesus

20I

healing power marks out Jesus as a charismatic healer; but his sense
that this power was dependent on the faith of the recipient and his
unwillingness to value it for its publicity potential prevents us from
calling him either enthusiast or magician.
(c) Jesus almost certainly regarded himself as a prophet (see particu
larly Mark 6.4 pars.; Luke 1 3 . 3 3 ; d below 45.3), and various
instances of prophetic insight (see particularly Mark 2.8; 9.33-37;
1 0 . 2 1 ; 1 2 . 4 3 ^ ; 1 4 . 1 8 , 20; Luke 739ff.; 19.5) and prophetic foresight
(see particularly Mark 10.39; 1 3 . 2 ; 14.8, 25, 30) are attributed to
him. Moreover his teaching possessed an otherly authority which was
widely recognized and commented on (see particularly Mark 1.27;
6.2; 1 1 . 2 8 ; Matt. 8.9f./Luke 7-8f.), and which comes to clearest
expression in the ' . . . but / say' words of Matt. 5, and in the use of
'Amen' to give weight to his words (34 times in the Synoptic tra
dition). What was astonishing about this implicit claim to authority
was that he thereby set himself critically over against the accepted
authorities of Israel and Judaism past and present, even Moses himself
(see above 16.2 and p. 106). His well-spring of authority was not the
law, the fathers, the tradition or the rabbis, but his own certainty that
he knew the will of God. Here is a teaching which can properly be
called 'charismatic'. Here is a claimed authority which could well be
called 'elitist' since only he seemed to possess it. But it was the teaching
itself which provoked the surprise, not any overtly inspired delivery;
and there is no evidence that Jesus valued ecstatic speech or experi
enced glossolalia. So even here it would be more appropriate to call
Jesus a charismatic rather than an enthusiast.
In short, when we begin to come into touch with Jesus' own
religious experience we find several features which can justifiably be
called charismatic in that his ministry was characterized by a power
and authority which was neither learned in any school nor bestowed
by any human agency but which came to him and through him in
direct and spontaneous manner. But since that power and authority
was neither rooted in ecstasy, nor expressed in ecstatic speech, but
depended rather on the response of those to whom he ministered, they
cannot so readily be regarded as the manifestations of enthusiasm.
In fact however, a discussion about charismatic and/or enthusiastic
phenomena in the ministry of Jesus takes us only so far; they certainly
do not bring us to the heart of Jesus' religious experience. For that
we have to penetrate rather more deeply.
a n

14

1 4 . See E. Kasemann, 'The Problem of the Historical Jesus' (1954) ENTT,

Jeremias, Theology, I, pp. 3 5 L

pp. 3 7 - 4 2 ;

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Spirit and Experience

[45.2

45.2 Jesus' experience of God as Father. We can be fairly confident

that Jesus often resorted to prayer - not just the set prayers of syna
gogue worship or of Jewish piety - but times of prayer when he
unburdened himself to God in his own words (cf. above p. 1 3 7 ) . The
evidence here is not so strong as we might think, but strong enough
(Mark 1.3*5; 6.46; 14.36; Matt. n.25f./Luke 1 0 . 2 1 ; Luke 3 . 2 1 ; 5.16;
6.12; 9.18, 28f.; 1 1 . 1 ) . We can even hope to answer the question,
Why did he find it necessary to supplement the prayers of Jewish
worship with such times alone with God? The answer seems to be,
Because in those times of prayer he experienced God as Father in a
very personal, intimate sense.
The justification for this claim rests almost entirely on one word abba. Again the evidence is not so strong as we might wish, but again
probably strong enough: Mark 14.36 - 'Abba, Father, all things are
possible to you; take this cup from me; yet not what I want but what
you want'. In the other prayers of Jesus recorded in the Gospels, the
Aramaic abba presumably lies beneath the Greek pater (Matt. 6.9/
Luke 1 1 . 2 ; Matt. n.25f./Luke 1 0 . 2 1 ; Luke 23.34, 46; Matt. 26.42;
9 times in John). The conclusion that here we are in touch with Jesus'
own prayer mannerism is strengthened by the fact that it appears in
all five strata of the Gospel tradition (Mark, Q, Luke, Matthew,
John), and that abba is used in every prayer that is attributed to
Jesus except one (Mark 15.34) - but that exception only serves to
strengthen the case, as we shall see in a moment.
The fact that Jesus used abba in addressing God enables us to say
with some confidence that Jesus experienced God as Father in a very
personal and intimate way. Why so? Because, as J . Jeremias has
demonstrated with sufficient clarity, abba was the language of
family intimacy: it was a word with which children, including tiny
children, addressed their fathers - a word therefore of courtesy and
respect, but also of warm intimacy and trust. Moreover, so far as our
evidence goes, it was hardly used by Jesus' contemporaries in their
prayers if at all - presumably because it was too intimate, too lacking
in reverence and awe before the exalted and holy One. Jewish prayers
certainly spoke of God as Father, but in a much more formal mode
of address - God as Father of the nation - and without the directness
and simplicity of Jesus' prayers. How people pray when alone reflects
their understanding of their relation to God and their experience of
15

1 5 . Jeremias, Prayers, pp. 5 7 - 6 2 ; though see also the important qualifications of

G. Vermes, Jesus and the World of Judaism, S C M Press 1 9 8 3 , pp. 4if.; J . A. Fitzmyer,
A b b a and Jesus' Relation to God', A Cause de l'Evangile,]. Dupont Festschrift, Cerf 1 9 8 5 ,
pp. 1 5 - 3 8 ; J . Barr, A b b a isn't "Daddy" \JTS 3 9 , 1988, pp. 2 8 - 4 7 .

45-3]

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203

God. What Jesus experienced of God in his moments of solitude and

prayer comes to its most characteristic expression in the word abba.
It is not unjustified therefore to conclude from that one word that
Jesus experienced God as Father with an immediacy and an intimacy
which could find expression only in that cry, 'Abba'. And this is if
anything confirmed by the one prayer of Jesus which does not begin
with 'Abba' - Mark 15.34 - for that is Jesus' cry of dereliction on
the cross; in the awful experience of abandonment by God he could
not cry 'Abba'.
There still remain questions to be answered. But the conclusion
seems firm enough. And given the conclusion it is hard to resist the
corollary that through this word abba we have touched one of the
tap roots of Jesus' authority and power - that through this sense of
sonship to God, of God as his Father, Jesus drew the convictions
which in very large part governed his life and determined his mission.
45.3 Jesus' experience of Spirit. It belongs to the accepted bedrock of
Jesus-tradition that Jesus had no little success as an exorcist (cf. above
p.200). What is more to the point here is that also in the Jesustradition we have two or three sayings of Jesus where Jesus himself
speaks about his exorcistic ministry, and where he indicates what he
sees as the reason for its success. These sayings have been preserved
in two separate but overlapping blocks of material in Mark and Q Mark 3.22-29 (a group of three sayings) and Matt. 1 2 . 2 4 - 2 8 , 30/
Luke 1 1 . 1 5 - 2 3 (four sayings). Q's version of afifthsaying (a variation
of Mark 3.28L) very likely belonged to a different context in Q (Luke
12.10/Matt. 12.32). At all events, it can scarcely be doubted that this
material derives ultimately from controversy over Jesus' ministry of
exorcism, and few would deny that it contains at least a core of
authentic Jesus-tradition.
The key sayings indicate beyond dispute that for Jesus the reason
for his success was the Spirit or power of God: Matt. 12.28/Luke
1 1 . 2 0 - 'Since it is by the Spirit (Matthew)/finger (Luke) of God that
I cast out demons, then has come upon you the kingdom of God'; the
implication is the same in Mark 3.27, 28f. and their Q parallels. In
the saying quoted the emphasis (in the Greek at least) falls on two
phrases - 'Spirit of God' and 'the kingdom of God': it was through
the Spirit or power of God that Jesus achieved his success, even
though the Spirit was popularly thought to have been withdrawn
16

16. See further my 'Matthew 12.28/Luke 1 1 . 2 0 - A Word of Jesus?', Eschatology and

the New Testament, G. R. Beasley-Murray Festschrift, ed. W. H. Gloer, Hendrickson 1988,
pp. 2 9 - 4 9 .

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[45.3

from Israel (cf. Ps. 74.9; Zech. 1 3 . 2 - 6 ; I Mace. 9.27), and even
though the rabbinic exorcists do not mention the Spirit of God in
connection with exorcisms; and his success through this divine power
was a sign that the kingdom of God was already present, that is the
eschatological kingdom, that exercise of divine rule which would
mark out the end-time. How could he make such bold and audacious
claims? - not simply because he was a successful exorcist, for others
among his contemporaries had at least some success in casting out
demons (Matt. 12.27/Luke 1 1 . 1 9 ) . How then? The answer probably
lies in his own experience when he ministered to demoniacs. In such
ministry he was conscious of spiritual power operating through him,
of that power which God seemed to have withdrawn from Israel for
many generations, of such power as he could ascribe only to the
end-time rule of God - it was by that power that he cast out demons,
and that power was the visible manifestation of God's eschatological
reign. In short, these sayings imply a clear sense on the part of Jesus
of the eschatological distinctiveness of his power, they indicate how
deeply rooted in his own experience were the claims he made regard
ing his ministry, and they suggest something of his perception of his
own role within that ministry.
Another group of important sayings in the Jesus-tradition are those
which echo Isa. 61.if. - Luke 4.i8f.(?), Luke 6.2of./Matt. 5.3-6 and
Matt. 11.5/Luke 7.22. These make it sufficiently clear (and it is not
greatly disputed) that Jesus' understanding of his mission as a 'procla
mation of good news to the poor' was drawn at least in large part
from the Isaiah prophecy. The relevance of Isa. 6 1 . 1 is that there it is
the anointing of the Spirit which provides the authority and source
for that proclamation. The implication is then, particularly in Matt.
11.5/Luke 7.22, that Jesus understood his whole ministry, both its
healings (not just its exorcisms) and its preaching, as the outworking
of the Spirit of God upon him. The power which he sensed and whose
effect he saw in exorcism and healing, the authority which he sensed
and whose effect he saw in his hearers, these sprang from Jesus' own
consciousness or conviction that the eschatological Spirit of God had
anointed him, was making him aware of the will of God, was working
through him.
Here again then it would appear that we have touched another tap
root of Jesus' authority and power - and that in appreciating some
thing of Jesus' sense of God as Father and his sense of the Spirit of
God upon him we have gone at least some way towards entering
empathetically into Jesus' own experience and understanding of his
mission. We need venture no further, even if it were possible.
Two points should be made by way of summary. First, even the

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The religious experience of Paul

205

brief study possible to us here should have been sufficient to demon

strate the importance of Jesus' own religious experience: his experi
ence of God as Father and of the Spirit's anointing was the immediate
source of those features of his ministry which made the greatest
impact on his contemporaries. Second, with Jesus' sense of sonship
and of Spirit we have been able to penetrate to a deeper level of
religious experience than that which characterizes enthusiasm. Where
enthusiasm typically experiences God in the visible and tangible mani
festations of ecstasy, vision, miracle and inspired utterance, Jesus'
experience of God was at a profounder level, in a much more immedi
ately personal relationship, in a more direct individual disclosure
'below the surface'.

46.

T H E RELIGIOUS

EXPERIENCE

OF

PAUL

We have now seen how strongly, the stream of enthusiasm ran

through earliest Christianity. We have also concluded that Jesus must
be regarded as something other than an enthusiast, for all that his
mission and message sprang directly from his own religious experi
ence and even though he can properly be called a charismatic. But
what of Paul, the most dominantfigureoffirstgeneration Christianity
- at least so far as our literary records go? How important was
religious experience in Paul's practice of and reflection on Christ
ianity? Was he also caught up in that strong stream of enthusiasm?
Or did he turn his face totally against a Christian faith and conduct
rooted in religious experience? Or does he stand somewhere in the
middle - like Jesus himself? Part of the answer will already be evident
from what was said above (pp. 1 9 2 - 5 ) ; now we must sketch it in
more fully.
46.1 There can be little doubt that Paul's whole conception and
practice of Christianity sprang in a direct way from his own religious
experience. This observation can be substantiated without too much
difficulty. It was the experience of seeing Jesus risen and exalted on
the road to Damascus which stopped him dead in his tracks and
turned his whole life into a new channel (I Cor. 9.1; 15.8; Gal. 1 . 1 3 16); for Paul this was not merely a flash of insight or intellectual
conviction, but a personal encounter, the beginning of a personal
relationship which became the dominating passion of his life (Phil.
3 . 7 - 1 0 ; cf. p. 23 above). To put it another way, it was his own
experience of grace which made 'grace' a central and distinctive fea
ture of his gospel - grace as not merely a way of understanding

Spirit and Experience

206

[46.2

God as generous and forgiving, but grace as the experience of that

unmerited and free acceptance embracing him, transforming him,
enriching him, commissioning him (e.g. Rom. 5.2, 1 7 ; 12.6; 1 Cor.
i.4f.; 1 5 . 1 0 ; II Cor. 9.14; 12.9; Gal. 2.9; Eph. 1.7L; 3.7^) Or again,
Christianity was evidently characterized for Paul by his own experi
ence of being enabled to offer a worship that was real, direct, from
the heart (Rom. 2.28f.; Gal. 4.6; Phil. 3.3), of a love and joy even in
the midst of suffering (Rom. 5 . 3 - 5 ; I Thess. i.5f.), of liberty from a
rule-book mentality of casuistry and fear (Rom. 8 . 2 , 1 5 ; II Cor. 3.17),
of immediacy of guidance in every day conduct (Rom. 7.6; II Cor.
3.3; Gal. 5.25). Such experience he could only attribute to the Spirit
of God, and therein recognize that the new covenant had come into
effect (the law written in the heart - II Cor. 3.3), the harvest of the
end-time had begun (Rom. 8.23). It is such experience of the Spirit
that he evidently regards as quintessentially Christian (Rom. 8.9, 14);
it is to the first such experience or beginning of such experiences (and
not baptism as such) that Paul refers his readers when he recalls them
to the start of their lives as Christians (e.g. Rom. 5.5; I Cor. 1 2 . 1 3 ;
II Cor. 1.2if.; Gal. 3 . 2 - 5 ; Eph. i.i3f.). In short, it is abundantly
evident that Paul's own religious experience was as fundamental to
his mission and message as was the religious experience of Jesus to
his mission and message. But was Paul also an enthusiast?
46.2 Paul, enthusiast or charismatic? Paul can certainly be described
as a charismatic. In point of fact we owe the word 'charisma' almost
wholly to him. It occurs hardly at all before Paul's time. In the N T ,
outside the Pauline corpus, it occurs only in I Peter 4.10 (a letter
which falls within the Pauline 'sphere of influence' anyway - see above
pp. 1 2 5 ^ ) . And after the N T its characteristic Pauline sense is almost
entirely lost. In other words, it was Paul who took up this unimport
ant word and gave it a specifically and distinctively Christian conno
tation - charisma as the expression, embodiment of charts (grace).
Charisma is, in Paul's definition, the experience of grace coming to
particular expression through an individual believer in some act or
word usually for the benefit of others (see also above pp. ii9f.).
Now the point is that within these experiences of grace Paul includes
experiences such as those which characterized earliest Christianity,
or at least Luke's account of it. And it is quite clear that he himself
enjoyed not a few such experiences in the course of his missionary
activity.
(a) Visions and revelations. In II Cor. 1 2 . 1 - 4 Paul is obviously
17

1 7 . Fuller details in Dunn, Jesus 38.1.

46.3]

The religious experience of Paul

207

speaking of his own experience - though one which took place all of
fourteen years earlier. Equally clearly it was an ecstatic experience,
with out-of-the-body and mystical features not untypical of such
experiences. II Corinthians 5.13 and 12.7 also imply that this was
not an isolated instance for Paul. Not so very far removed from
such claims to ecstatic revelation were those made by the faction
at Corinth to a higher wisdom and superior knowledge (see above
p. 194). What we must note here is that Paul claims to have experi
enced a wisdom deeper than that of his disputants (I Cor. 2 . 6 - 1 3 )
and to share their knowledge (I Cor. 8.1, 4; II Cor. 1 1 . 6 ) .
{b) Miracles. Paul was certainly of the opinion that he had worked
miracles in the course of his mission (Rom. 1 5 . 1 9 ; II Cor. 1 2 . 1 2 ) and
he takes it more or less for granted that his converts experienced
miraculous powers whether at or since their conversion (Gal. 3.5) or
specifically as charismata, within the community (I Cor. i2.9f., 2 8 30).
(c) Inspired speech too was a regular part of Paul's experience! He
vividly recalled the impact of his evangelistic preaching in Thessalonica and Corinth and attributed its success to the direct inspiration
and power of the Spirit (I Thess. 1.5; I Cor. 2.4f.; cf. Eph. 6.17). He
understood prophecy as inspired utterance and valued it in part at
least as a kind of supernatural mind-reading (I Cor. 14.24^). To those
who presumably wished to keep prophecy on a much tighter rein he
urged, 'Do not quench the Spirit; do not despise prophecy' (I Thess.
5.i9f.). And he valued glossolalia for its self-edification, even though
it left the mind unfruitful (I Cor. 14.4, 1 4 , i8f.).
So clearly there were some enthusiastic features about Paul's own
religious experience. But that is by no means the whole story.
18

46.3 Paul is also very much aware of the dangers of enthusiasm. As

the importance of religious experience is more evident in Paul than
in any other N T writer, so it is Paul who is most alert against a
Christianity which puts too much stress on religious experience. This
is most clearly to be seen in his attitude towards the enthusiasts
whose presence in his churches we noticed briefly above (pp. i94f.).
Although he shared several of their emphases (e.g. the liberty of the
Christian, the importance of prophecy) his primary concern in almost
every instance seems to have been to warn against the excesses of
enthusiasm, to confine the stream of enthusiasm strictly within its
banks.
1 8 . Paul did not however regard the resurrection appearance of Jesus to him at his
conversion as a vision; it was something unique and unrepeated (I Cor. 1 5 . 8 - 'last of all').

Spirit and Experience

208

[46.3

In particular he stresses the need for his churches to treat the claims
of religious experience critically, with discernment, and employs
several criteria by which the genuineness and value of charismata can
be tested.
{a) One test is provided by the kerygmatic and Jesus traditions
which he passed on to his converts when they formed themselves into
a new church - the traditions, that is, which served as a sort of
constitution for the Pauline churches (see above 1 7 . 1 - 3 ) . It is to
these traditions that he turns again and again in I Corinthians to
provide the basis for a ruling on matters of controversy involving the
Corinthian enthusiasts (so particularly I Cor. 9.14; 1 1 . 2 3 ; - 3 5 5 - 3 )
So too in II Thessalonians the excesses of apocalyptic enthusiasm (see
below pp. 3 5^f.) are countered by an appeal to the founding traditions
(II Thess. 2 . 1 5 - 3 . 6 ) . In Galatians it is the basic keynote of gospel
liberty which provides a check against possible enthusiastic licence
(Gal. 5 . 1 3 - 2 5 ) as it does against the greater threat of Judaizing
nomism (2.3-5; 5 ) - And Phil. 3.i6f., 4.9 seem to be another
recall to the fundamental character of the kerygmatic and Jesus tra
ditions against a kind of enthusiastic perfectionism alluded to in 3 . 1 2 19 (see below p. 303). This is not so straightforward a test as it might
at first appear, since tradition for Paul was not something frozen and
fixed but living, an original word which had to be interpreted afresh
as circumstances changed; Paul never lets tradition become simply
law (see above 19.3). Nevertheless, we can still say that for Paul,
only that experience was to be recognized as experience of the Spirit
which accorded with the founding traditions. The Spirit of Christ
must accord with 'the law of Christ' (I Cor. 9.21; Gal. 6.2).
{b) Another test is provided by love. I Corinthians 1 3 . 1 - 1 3 is
obviously directed against a kind of enthusiasm, where zeal for the
more spectacular charismata, particularly prophecy, glossolalia
and knowledge, had provoked jealousy, arrogance, irritability, and
kindred sins. Love had been the loser, and love provides the test
( 1 3 . 4 - 7 ) . No matter how outstanding the gifts exercised, if they pro
duced a loveless character, Paul counts them of no value whatsoever.
By the same criterion he turns his back on all elitism in I Cor. 2 - 3 ,
8; those who claim to be 'the spiritual ones' (see above p. 194) but
provoke only jealousy and strife and have no concern for others show
thereby their unspirituality ( 3 . 1 - 4 ; 8.1). For Paul 'the spiritual ones'
are all those who have received the Spirit and who walk by the Spirit,
not giving way to self-conceit, unkind criticism or envy (Gal. 5 . 2 5 6.3). The criterion of spirituality is not the degree of inspiration but
love.
(c) A third test is that of community benefit, denoted by the word
I2

1 - 1 2

46.4]

The religious experience of Paul

209

oikodome in Greek. Paul uses the verb and noun seven times in I Cor.
14 (vv.3-5, 1 2 , 1 7 , 26). This is the criterion which shows clearly
for Paul the superiority of prophecy over glossolalia. Similarly it is
noticeable that when he lists various charismata in I Cor. 1 2 . 8 - 1 0 it
is not the experience of revelation as such which he counts as the
charisma but the 'utterance of wisdom' and the 'utterance of know
ledge' (so 14.6). For Paul charismatic experience is characterized less
by ecstasy and profundity of insight (cf. II Cor. 1 2 . 2 - 4 ) d more
by the intelligible word spoken through one believer which brings
understanding and guidance to another (I Cor. 1 4 . 3 - 5 , ^ 9 ? 241")
If the would-be 'spiritual ones' in Corinth evaluate his directions by
this test they will surely recognize that he speaks from the Lord
(14.37). All charismata stand under this rubric - 'for the benefit of
others' - and are to be judged thereby (12.7). This is why acts of
service, however wmnspired they appear, may well have higher claim
to be recognized as charismata than the most manifestly inspired
utterance (Rom. 1 2 . 6 - 8 ) . By this criterion Stephanas should be recog
nized as a man to be followed (I Cor. 1 6 . 1 5 L ) . What does not benefit
others cannot be for the good of the Church.
We should not underestimate the importance Paul attaches to spir
itual discernment. Whenever he speaks explicitly about charismata
he speaks also about rightly evaluating what is good and what is of
benefit (see particularly Rom. 1 2 . 2 ; I Cor. 2 . 1 4 ^ ; 1 2 . 1 0 ; 14.29). He
who himself rejoiced so fully in the rich experiences of the Spirit
(above 46.1) and for whom the body of Christ was essentially a
charismatic community (above 29, 34.3), was also the one to insist
so emphatically on the need for checks and safeguards against the
dangers of enthusiasm. One of his earliest exhortations on the theme
remains as balanced a pronouncement as we could wish for: 'Do not
stifle inspiration, and do not despise prophetic utterances, but bring
them all to the test and then keep what is good in them and avoid
the bad of whatever kind' (I Thess. 5 . 1 9 - 2 2 , NEB).
a n

_ I

19

46.4 Christ-mysticism. The most profound safeguard which Paul

offers against enthusiasm is the touchstone of Christ - the character
of his ministry as attested in the gospel. The Spirit for Paul is essen
tially the Spirit of Christ (Rom. 8.9; Gal. 4.6; Phil. 1.19). The experi
ence of the Spirit which is quintessentially Christian for Paul is the
experience of the Spirit of the Son crying 'Abba! Father!' (Rom.
8.i5f.; Gal. 4.6) - that is, reproducing that most intimate experience
1 9 . See also J . D. G. Dunn, 'Discernment of Spirits - A Neglected Gift', Witness to the
Spirit, ed. W. Harrington, Irish Biblical Association/Koinonia 1 9 7 9 , pp. 7 9 - 9 6 .

2IO

Spirit and Experience

[46.4

and relation which characterized Jesus' own life on earth (above

45.2), and bringing the believer a share in it ('fellow heirs with
Christ' - Rom. 8.17; Gal. 4.7; see further below 50.4). Or again, the
experience of the Spirit is the experience of being moulded by a
life-giving power to take on more and more the character of Christ
(I Cor. 15.45-49; II Cor. 3.18; 4.16-5.5). The grace in which be
lievers rejoice and which manifests itself through them in grace's gifts
(charismata) is essentially that grace most fully manifested in Christ
- 'the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ' (Rom. 5 . 1 5 ; II Cor. 8.9; 1 3 . 1 4 ;
Gal. 2.21; Eph. i.6f.). The revelation which had transformed Paul's
life most fundamentally, as it had the whole of salvation history, is
the revelation of Christ (Rom. 1 6 . 2 5 ^ ; II Cor. 4.4-6; Gal. 1 . 1 2 , 16;
Eph. 3 . 2 - 1 2 ; Col. i.26f.). And so on. It is against this yardstick that
all claims to Spirit, grace, revelation, etc. must in the end be measured.
Religious experience for Paul is basically experience of union with
Christ ('in Christ' - see above p. 23).
Now the point is that experience of union with Christ is experience
of life being moulded by Christ, taking its characteristic features
from Christ, manifesting the same character as was manifested in the
ministry of Christ. That is to say, union with Christ for Paul is
characterized not by lofty peaks of spiritual excitement and ecstasy,
experiences of vision, revelation, extraordinary power or high inspi
ration, but more typically by self-giving love, by the cross - union
with Christ is nothing if it is not union with Christ in his death (Rom.
6.3-6; Gal. 2 . 1 9 ^ ; 6.14; Phil. 3.10; Col. 2.nf.). Nowhere more
emphatically than in the Corinthian correspondence does Paul empha
size that Jesus is the crucified (I Cor. 1.23; 2.2; II Cor. 13.4); the
wisdom of God, though it appeals neither to intellectual sophisti
cation nor to spiritual enthusiasm, is Christ crucified, the event of the
cross, and the gospel of the cross (I Cor. 1 . 1 7 - 2 5 , 30; 2.6-8).
Thus we come to understand that for Paul the distinctive character
istic of the religious experience of the disciple of Christ is experience
of sharing in Christ's sufferings as well as of sharing in his life (Rom.
8.17; II Cor. 1.5; 4.10; Phil. 3.iof.; Col. 1.24). Against the enthusiasts
of II Corinthians Paul insists that the experience of the Spirit is not
of power alone, nor of power that transcends and leaves weakness
behind, but of power in weakness (II Cor. 4.7; iz.yi.; 13.3L). To
put it another way, religious experience for Paul is characterized by
eschatological tension, by tension between the new life which he
shares as being 'in Christ' and the old life which is his 'in the flesh'
(II Cor. 10.3f.; Gal. 2.20; Eph. 4.20-24; Phil. 1 . 2 1 - 2 4 ; Col. 3.9L),
by warfare between Spirit and flesh (Rom. 7 . 1 4 - 2 3 ; Gal. 5-i6f.), by
the frustration of having to live out the life of the Spirit through the

47 i]

Divergent paths

211
20

'body of death' (Rom. 7.24^; 8.iof., 22f.; II Cor. 4 . 1 6 - 5 . 5 ) . No

religious experience however profound or spiritual or inspired or
glorious sets believers free from the limitations of their present exist
ence. On the contrary it is precisely that experience which most clearly
manifests the paradox of power in weakness, of life through death, of
greatness as serving, which is to be recognized as typically Christian.
In short, Paul is a charismatic who regards the experience of grace
(charts) as fundamental to Christian living and the experience of
charisma as fundamental to Christian community, but who sets his
face against enthusiasm by insisting that all charismata must be tested
and that only that charisma which manifests the grace (charts) of
Christ is to be welcomed.

47.

DIVERGENT

PATHS

47.1 Second generation Christianity is marked by a divergence of

paths so far as the importance of religious experience and attitudes
to enthusiasm are concerned. The majority seem to be striving for
something like the Pauline balance - though their treatment is for the
most part either too brief or (for us) too allusive to provide more
than a few pointers. Mark, as we have noted before (above p. 76),
following in Paul's train, achieves his balance by wedding the tra
ditions of Jesus' miracle working to his suffering Son of Man christology. I Peter, like Paul, seems to be insisting that 'the Spirit of glory
(and of power)' is most surely present (not in mighty works and
ecstatic speech but) when the believer is suffering for the name of
Christ, that is, 'sharing Christ's sufferings' (I Peter 4 . 1 3 ^ ) . Jude too
pursues a line similar to Paul's in Jude 1 9 L - warning against an
elitist spirituality, but calling for prayer 'in the Holy Spirit' (cf. I Cor.
1 4 . 1 5 - 1 7 ; Eph. 6.18). Hebrews in its turn harks back to the miracles
and gifts of the Spirit of the early mission as attesting God's approval
(Heb. 2.3f.), but hastens to remind those who presume too boldly on
their experience of the Spirit that they are still far short of 'the
promised land' and by their presumption may well fail to attain it
( 3 . 7 - 4 . 1 3 ; 6 4 - 8 ; 1 0 . 2 6 - 3 1 ; cf. e.g. Rom. 8.13; I Cor. 1 0 . 1 - 1 2 ) .
Finally, in Revelation, where the Spirit is most clearly experienced in
visions and ecstasy (Rev. 1 . 1 0 ; 4.2; 1 7 . 3 ; 2 1 . 1 0 ) , we find the same
insistence - that the Spirit is the Spirit of Jesus (3.1; 5.6), so that his
(inspired) words are the words of Jesus (2-3), and so that prophecy
must accord with 'the testimony of Jesus' (19.10; contrast 2.20).
20. See further Dunn, 'Rom. 7 . 1 4 - 2 5 ' , pp. 2 5 7 - 7 3 .

212

Spirit and Experience

[47.2

Matthew also strives for a balance but from a different angle and
in different terms. Coming from his confrontation with Pharisaic
Judaism (see below 55.2) he certainly encourages a miracle-expecting
faith (particularly Matt. 17.20), but he also insists that the desired
expression of righteousness is the law interpreted through love (con
trast Gal. 5.18, but cf. 5.22f.) rather than charismatic ministry (cf.
particularly Matt. 22.34-40 with 7 . 1 5 - 2 3 ; and cf. I Cor. 1 3 ) . In
contrast Luke in his account of Christian beginnings is much less
inhibited and less circumspect in his admiration for enthusiasm than
any of the above (see above 44.3).
Heading in a very different direction are the Pastorals, while the
Johannine writings attempt to plot still another path through the
middle ground. If we follow these last two a little way we will have
done enough to gain a sufficiently clear perspective on the unity and
diversity of the N T on the subject of religious experience,
47.2 The striking feature about the Pastorals at this point is that
although they bear the name of Paul they contain only a few echoes
of the powerful and characteristic expressions of Pauline thought
which we examined briefly above (46). Two of the clearest echoes
reverberate in II Tim. 2 . 1 1 and Titus 3.4/5-7; but these are 'faithful
sayings', that is, sayings which did not originate with the writer but
were passed on to him from the past. II Tim. 1.7 and 8 also echo the
thought of the earlier Paul, though they use language which is not
characteristic of the earlier Paul. Beyond these the echoes grow faint
indeed. Here in other words there is reflected little or nothing of that
vigorous religious experience which shone so clearly through so very
much that Paul wrote. Instead, as we have seen, all seems to be
subordinated to the primary task of preserving the traditions of the
past (17.4); and, whereas in Paul ministry grew to such a large extent
from the vitality of religious experience and from the spontaneous
interplay of charismata, in the Pastorals ministry has already become
much more institutionalized with charisma subordinated to office (see
above 30.1 and below 72.1).
Why this should be so is not entirely clear. Perhaps the enthusiast
faction became the dominant influence in some of the Pauline
churches after his death, and others within the Pauline tradition drew
the conclusion that the position Paul had attempted to maintain was
inherently unstable, not a viable long term solution to the threat of
enthusiasm. Perhaps the Pastorals, like I Clement, were written to
counter the threat to good order and established tradition from a
group of younger enthusiasts, who rather like Luke, hankered after
the clear cut supernatural powers of the early days. We cannot tell.

47-3]

Divergent paths

213

At all events, whatever the precise circumstances which occasioned

the writing of the Pastorals, this much seems clear: the Pastorals
are a classic example of the transformation which afflicts so many
movements of religious awakening in the second generation. That is
to say, whereas in the first generation the vitality of fresh experience
breaks through older forms and formulae to express itself in new
ways, in the second generation these new ways (or some of them)
become regarded as the pattern and norm, become in other words
a new dogma and set form to which religious experience must be
subordinated and to which the expression of religious experience
must conform.
In short, the author of the Pastorals can properly be regarded as
the first churchman to deal with enthusiasm by rejecting it totally and
shutting it out wholly from the life of the Church. But in so doing he
stood in grave danger of discounting the religious experience of his
own generation or at least of failing to give it a creative role in the
life of the Church. And that means he stood in danger of shutting out
the Spirit, or at least of shutting the Spirit up in the past.
21

47.3 In contrast to the Pastorals, the Johannine writings (Gospel and

letters) demonstrate that elsewhere in the closing decades of the first
century there was a very positive attitude towards religious experi
ence. The vitality of the religious experience of the Johannine com
munity is clearly reflected in words like 'life', 'loving', 'knowing',
'believing', 'seeing', all of which appear regularly in both the Gospel
and the letters, and by such passages as John 3.5-8, 4 . 1 0 - 1 4 ,
6.63, 7 . 3 7 - 3 9 , 1 4 . 1 7 , I John 2.20, 27, 3.24, 4.13 and 5 . 6 - 1 0 . The
Johannine theological evaluation of this religious experience is similar
to Paul's at two points, but also different from Paul's at two other
points.
Like Paul, the Johannine circle marks out the parameters of
religious experience {a) by defining the Spirit in terms of Christ, and
(b) by correlating the experience of revelation with the Jesus-tradition.
{a) In the 'farewell discourses' of John 1 4 - 1 6 the Spirit is charac
terized as the 'other Paraclete' or Counsellor (14.16), with Jesus
clearly understood as the first Paraclete (cf. I John 2.1); and the
clear implication of John 1 4 . 1 5 - 2 6 is that the coming of the Spirit
fulfils the promise of Jesus to come again and dwell in his disciples
(cf. 7-38f.; 15.26; 19.30; 20.22). In other words, the Johannine
2 1 . Although I use 'charisma' in Paul's more than Weber's sense, Weber's description
of the process by which a charismatic group develops its doctrine, cult and organization as
'the routinization of charisma' is pertinent here.

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Spirit and Experience

[47.3

community had no sense of being historically distant from Jesus or of

having to live out of the experience of earlier generations as mediated
now only through sacrament or office. On the contrary, each generation
is as close to Jesus as the first, and religious experience retains its vitality
and immediacy because the Spirit is the presence of Jesus.
{b) As we have already seen (above 19.3) the Johannine writings
achieve a balance between present inspiration by the Spirit and the
tradition of the past (kerygmatic and Jesus traditions) similar to that
in Paul - the new truth of revelation being set in correlation with
the original truth of Jesus, 'the anointing (which) teaches you about
everything' being set in correlation with 'that which you heard from
the beginning' (John 14.26; i6.i4f.; I John 2.24, 27). Clearly there is
a concern here lest tradition become petrified, stifling the creative
reinterpretation of a vital religious experience - the danger already
apparent in the Pastorals; at the same time there is equal concern lest
new revelation be thought wholly to supersede and make irrelevant
the revelation of the past - the danger inherent in enthusiasm.
On the other hand, (c) the Johannine evaluation of religious experi
ence is different from Paul's in that John sees little or no need to
emphasize the corporate dimension of worship: John's individualism
(see above 3 1 . 1 ) gives too little place to the mutual interdependence
of charismatic community, and so also too little place to the spiritual
discernment of religious experience which Paul counted an indispens
able part of the charismatic community (46.3; but note 1 John 4 . 1 3). (d) Different again from Paul is the almost total absence in the
Johannine writings of the eschatological tension so fundamental to
Paul (see above pp. 23, 21 of.). In the Johannine writings there is no
suggestion that flesh and death continue to threaten the believer and
might finally triumph. He is born of the Spirit and under the Spirit's
power (John 3.6; cf. 6.63); he is of God and no longer of the world
(John 15.18f.; I John 4.5^); he has passed from death of life (John
5.24). In other words the tension is resolved, the eschatology 'real
ized', the crisis of judgment a thing of the past for the believer (3.i8f.;
see above pp. 29f.). Consequently a kind of perfectionism emerges
(most clearly expressed in I John 3.6-9; 5.18) which is apparently
closer to the enthusiasm of Paul's opponents (particularly I Cor. 4.8)
than to the circumspection of Paul (e.g. Rom. 8.13; I Cor. 9.27; Phil.
3 . 1 2 - 1 4 ) . Yet John is no enthusiast: he is not a protagonist of tangible
spirituality. And he is no elitist either: his 'realized' eschatology
embraces all who are 'born of God' (I John 2.20 - 'you all know' probably directed against a form of early Gnosticism). His is more
the spirituality of pietism, whose clearest parallel in Christian his
tory is probably the nineteenth-century Holiness Movement - non-

48.2]

Conclusions

215

ecclesiastical (see above pp. i28f., 1 3 2 ) , emphasizing the spiritual

experience of the individual, and perfectionist in tendency.

48.

CONCLUSIONS

48.1 It should now be clear enough that religious experience was a

factor of fundamental importance in the beginnings of Christianity that many of the distinctive features of first-century Christianity grew
out of and were shaped by the religious experience of the leading
participants - Jesus' experience of sonship and of Spirit, the first
Christians' various enthusiastic experiences, Paul's experience of the
risen Jesus, of accepting grace, of charismatic Spirit, John's experience
of life-giving Paraclete. It should be clear too how important a factor
was the religious experience of the first Christians in drawing them
together into unity and community. It is probably no accident that
the word koinnia (participation, fellowship) first occurs immediately
after Luke's account of Pentecost (Acts 2.42); and certainly in Acts it
is the experience of the Spirit which brings the individual disciples
into real participation in the new community (Acts 2.38L; 8 . 1 4 - 1 7 ;
10.44-48; 1 1 . 1 5 - 1 7 ; 1 9 . 1 - 6 ) . The fundamental importance of the
shared experience of the Spirit in bringing about Christian community
is even clearer in Paul (see particularly I Cor. 1 2 . 1 3 ; U Cor. 1 3 . 1 4 ;
Phil. 2 . 1 ; Eph. 4.3). And in the Johannine writings we need recall
only that one of the tests of life within the brotherhood was the
experience of the Spirit (I John 3.24; 4 . 1 3 ) .
22

48.2 The diversity of religious experience and of attitudes to religious

experience within first-century Christianity has also become obvious
- from the enthusiasm of the earliest Palestinian communities and of
Luke's presentation of Christianity's early history, to the much more
austere and formalized attitude of the Pastorals. Somewhere in
between come Jesus and most of the other N T writings (and writers),
in particular Paul and John, for all of whom experience of the Spirit
is fundamental, but who all fight shy of enthusiasm. But here too
there is diversity: Paul can give significance to religious experience
only in the context of the Christian community, the body of Christ,
while John's is primarily the religious experience of individualist
pietism; Paul understands religious experience as a tension and war
fare between Spirit and flesh, life and death, while John thinks the
22. Meyer, Early Christians, pp. 1 7 4 - 8 1 , rightly emphasizes the 'experiential roots of
(Christian) identity'.

2l6

Spirit and Experience

[48.3

battle of faith is already won and the believer's experience is of Spirit

and of life. As for Jesus, he and Paul can both properly be called
charismatics so far as religious experience is concerned, and Jesus'
experience certainly knew something of the same eschatological ten
sion as Paul's: he announced the kingdom's presence, as evidenced by
his exorcisms in the power of the Spirit; but he proclaimed also the
imminent coming of the kingdom, since, presumably, if the eschatol
ogical Spirit was already active, the eschaton itself could not long be
delayed (above 3.1, 2). On the other hand, there are not the same
community dimensions in Jesus' experience which Paul counted so
important - there was an aloneness and uniqueness in Jesus' experi
ence, which we saw particularly in his understanding of his exorcisms
(only in his own exorcisms does he recognize the eschatological
Spirit's power and the kingdom's presence), and which we shall have
to investigate more fully in chapter X (50).
48.3 When we inquire within this diversity for the distinctive fea
tures of the religious experience which marked it out as Christian the
answer comes in varying forms, but all emphasizing that there must
be some correlation between present experience and past tradition,
between the exalted Christ experienced now through the Spirit and
the earthly Jesus of the kerygmatic and church traditions. It is pre
cisely the threat of enthusiasm that it cuts off the Jesus who is experi
enced now in glory from the Jesus of history, that it holds to a
'theology of glory or triumphalism' without reference to the historical
reality of Jesus of Nazareth. Paul and John counter the threat by
refusing to let the two fall apart: only that charisma is to be welcomed
which is consistent with the founding traditions, only that Spirit is to
be followed who is recognizably the Spirit of Christ, the other Para
clete is precisely he who proclaims the same truth as the incarnate
Logos (cf. I Peter 4 . 1 3 ^ ; Rev. 19.10). The Pastorals tend to meet the
danger by sacrificing present experience to past tradition - a policy
of safetyfirst.Luke on the other hand is uncritical of enthusiasm, but
he is no elitist, and he does write two volumes, the Gospel as well as
the Acts, so that the imbalance of the latter can be corrected to some
extent by the Jesus of the former; that is to say, even with Luke the
Gospel about Jesus provides something of a check to his portrayal
of the enthusiasm of the earliest Church. In short, the answer to
the important question, 'Does the New Testament kerygma count
the historical Jesus among the criteria of its own validity?' is
Yes!: the central N T theologians do count the character of Jesus' life
23

23. Koester, 'Gnomai Diaphoroi', Trajectories, p. 1 1 7 .

48.4]

Conclusions

217

and ministry (available to them in the traditions about Jesus) as one

of the chief criteria for evaluating their self-understanding, religious
experience and conduct as believers in Christ. Whether we can relate
the actual religious experience of Jesus more closely to the religious
experience of first-century Christianity is a question we take up in the
next chapter.
24

48.4 Our introductory paragraph (43) in effect posed the question,

Can Christianity preserve a creative role for religious experience in
its continuing life and worship without giving way to enthusiasm?
Three answers (at least) came through very loudly from the closing
decades of the first century. The verdict of the Pastorals, as indeed of
the dominant voice of orthodoxy through most of Christianity's his
tory has been in effect No! - the spontaneity of the Spirit must be
firmly subordinated to the authority of office and tradition - yet all
too often at the cost of forcing vital Christian experience to find
expression outside the main Christian traditions, that is forcing it into
enthusiasm because it lacks the checks which tradition would afford!
The Lukan presentation of earliest Christianity gives the opposite
answer: its portrayal of enthusiasm in the raw certainly excites, but
it leaves too many questions unanswered which need to be answered
if enthusiasm is not to get out of hand. The Johannine alternative
also answers in the affirmative - an alternative to which those who
seek to live creatively out of their religious experience without aban
doning their traditions have often been forced - that of personal
mysticism or individual pietism; yet it provides too narrow a basis
for full Christian community. Perhaps then we have to go back behind
the second generation and listen to the dominant voice which still
reaches us from the first generation - that of Paul. His balance in
religious experience between the already and not yet, between present
revelation and past tradition, between individual and community,
may have been too difficult for the first generation to hold, but it is
probably such an answer that our questions demand, such a balance
that each new generation must seek to hold for itself.
In short, once again we have seen something of the scope of firstcentury diversity and once again the central unifying factor is to be
found in the holding together of the exalted Christ (experienced
through the Spirit) and the earthly Jesus (through the Jesus-tradition).

pp.

24. Cf. Kasemann, 'Blind Alleys in the "Jesus of History" Controversy',

f.
47

NTQT,

Christ and Christology

49.

INTRODUCTION

Thus far we have investigated eight important areas of first-century

Christian faith and life; we have sketched out something of the diver
sity within each area; and we have inquired whether within that
diversity there is some focus or strand of unity. In each case the
unifying factor which has emerged, though not always with the same
clarity, has been Christ - in particular, the unity between the exalted
Christ and Jesus of Nazareth, the crucified who is also the risen one.
At the heart of the diverse kerygmata of the early Christians we found
the proclamation of the resurrection and exaltation of Jesus, of the
earthly Jesus as the contemporary Christ of faith. Common to the
various confessions of faith was the conviction that Jesus, that is Jesus
of Nazareth, is now Messiah, Son of God, Lord. In so far as tradition
had a role in shaping the faith of the early congregations, the basic
traditions concerned were the traditions about Jesus, his words, deeds
and passion, and the kerygmatic traditions interpreting his passion
and proclaiming his resurrection. The Jewish scriptures were funda
mental to the self-understanding of every first-century Christian
church, but the focus of revelatory significance lay in the whole 'event
of Christ'; in the last analysis, it was only as interpreted in relation
to and in the light of 'the revelation of Christ' that the OT provided
'the substructure of N T theology'. Less clear was the element provid
ing a unifying bond to the diverse concepts of ministry; but even here
too it was possible to trace out a common conviction that Jesus should
still be recognized as head of the community and that the character
of his own ministry should still provide the pattern for all ministry.
Likewise early Christian worship was characterized by and centred
on the recognition of what Jesus had done, that by his life, death and
resurrection a new relationship with God had become a reality and
that only by his continuing life was the Church's worship possible
and effective. More clear was the christological unity expressed in the
sacraments - unity between the Jesus who died, in which death they

49]

Introduction

219

somehow shared, and the Lord alive from the dead, in whose life they
somehow shared. Clear too was the christological unity expressed
in early Christian understanding of the Spirit and of their religious
experience, since it was precisely the character of Jesus as embodied
in the Jesus-tradition which they found reflected in their own experi
ence (the Spirit of Jesus) and which became in greater or less degree
the norm for evaluating their experience.
Christ is the focus of unity in first-century Christianity - the Christ
who was and now is, the Christ of the Jesus-tradition and the Christ
of faith, worship and experience, one and the same. The conclusion
is hardly surprising, since after all it is Christianity that we are
investigating. But that is not the end of the matter. For with this
conclusion we have not by any means resolved the problems of unity
and diversity in earliest Christianity; what we have done is simply to
uncover the central problem. The problem has two main facets. On
the one hand, traditional Christianity wants to say much more about
Christ than merely to affirm the unity and continuity between the
earthly Jesus and the exalted Christ: it wants to affirm his role as the
unique revelation of God, his being as divine, the second person of
the Trinity, the God-man. A striking expression of this is the simple
statement adopted initially by the World Council of Churches: for
the participating churches the minimal Christian confession meant
accepting 'our Lord Jesus Christ as God and Saviour'.
On the other hand, the advance in N T studies over the past two
centuries has made it increasingly difficult to affirm even the modest
conclusion reached above, let alone the more weighty claims of
Christ's deity. And it is precisely the unity and continuity between
the earthly Jesus and exalted Christ which has become so problemati
cal. (1) There seems to be more discontinuity between the procla
mation of Jesus and the faith of the early churches than continuity 'Jesus proclaimed the kingdom, the first Christians proclaimed Jesus'
(above pp. 3 if.). Among those N T scholars who have thought they
could reach back to the historical Jesus the dominant conclusion
seems to be that Jesus did not count himself as part of the good news
he preached. (2) There is such a diversity in the N T authors' talk of
Christ that it is by no means clear what the continuity is that is being
affirmed. In other words, we need to look more carefully at the
conclusion, 'Christ is the focus of unity', since it is not clear what can
be affirmed about the historical Jesus, it is not clear what the first
Christians were affirming about the Christ of faith, and it is not clear
whether traditional christology hasfirmroots in earliest Christianity.
These are the questions with which we must now grapple: How are
we to correlate the centrality of Christ in the faith and life of the

Christ and Christology

220

[50

earliest churches with what we know of Jesus' own message and

self-understanding? How are we to correlate with each other the
diverse assertions made by thefirstChristians about Christ? And how
are we to correlate the NT's different assertions about Christ with
the christological claims of traditional Christianity? In short, does
the christology of first-century Christianity provide a stable unifying
centre within the diverse expressions and forms of first-century Christ
ianity?
Before proceeding we should perhaps just repeat the warning given
at the beginning of chapter III - that in trying to reach back to the
beginnings of christological thought in the first century we must not
read back the later conclusions of the classic christological debates;
we must not assume that everywhere we will find a latent orthodoxy
waiting to be brought to light; otherwise we cannot handle the N T
material without prejudice. He who enters the period of Christian
beginnings with the classic formulations of Christian orthodoxy ring
ing in his ears is hardly in a position to catch the authentic tones of
first-century Christian thought (should they be different). We must
rather put ourselves as best we can in the position of first-century
Jews, with their strong tradition of monotheism, and try to hear with
their ears the claims of Jesus and of thefirstChristians.

50.

T H E CONTINUITY
JESUS

BETWEEN

T H E

A N D T H E KERYGMATIC

HISTORICAL
CHRIST

What role did Jesus have in his own message? Did Jesus proclaim a
christology? It is one thing to assert that the exalted Christ was
presented as one and the same as the earthly Jesus. It is another to
assert that the earthly Jesus himself saw his role as one and the same
as that attributed to the exalted Christ. Can we indeed speak of the
continuity between the historical Jesus and the kerygmatic Christ and
claim that the links bonding the two together are as strong on the
side of the historical Jesus as they are on the other?
50.1 The reality and seriousness of the problem is underlined by the
inadequacy of so many of the answers which have been given in
previous generations. For traditional christology the Christian gospel
was of God become man in order that man through the work of the
Godman, or better God-in-man, might be enabled to participate again
in the divine life. For traditional dogmaticians our problem was no
problem at all: as God, the God-in-man knew himself to be God and
knew what his work would accomplish. In so far as they attempted to

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base this judgment exegetically the Gospel of John provided sufficient

proof texts for the purpose. And when in the nineteenth century the
issue was posed in terms of Jesus' self-consciousness, the Fourth Gos
pel again provided the exegetical foundation. This was certainly true
of what is perhaps the classic restatement of the traditional position
in H. P. Liddon's 1866 Bampton Lectures, The Divinity of our Lord
and Saviour Jesus Christ (Lecture IV - 'Our Lord's Divinity as wit
nessed by his consciousness - St John 1 0 . 3 3 ' - with its uncompromis
ing assertion, 'The "Christ of history" none other than the "Christ of
dogma'"). But it was also true of Schleiermacher's very different
presentation of Jesus' divine sonship in his Life of Jesus, which never
theless rested equally on the assumption that the consciousness of
Jesus is truly reflected in the Fourth Gospel. However, with the
increasing recognition of the theological character of the Fourth
Gospel's presentation of Jesus (in the second half of the nineteenth
century), it became less and less possible for would-be Life of Jesus
historians to use the Johannine discourses as the expression of the
historical Jesus' self-consciousness: at best they were Johannine medi
tations on the significance of Jesus in the light of Easter faith using
some authentic Jesus-tradition as starting point; at worst they were
the total creation of the author's faith with no anchor point in history.
Either way the crucial passages like John 8.58 and 10.30 had to be
accounted to the side of John's theology and not to the side of the
historical Jesus (see above pp.28, 8of.).
1

In the last hundred years N T researchers have been confronted

with three alternatives in the main.
(a) The most popular alternative in the latter decades of the nine
teenth century was to let the Jesus of history and the Christ of dogma/
faith fall apart and to abandon the latter for the former. Many Liberal
Protestant scholars despaired of rooting the kerygma of early Christ
ianity in Jesus' own ministry and settled for the gospel of Jesus - a
gospel where Jesus himself played no role such as was ascribed to
him by post-Easter faith, a gospel where the self-consciousness of
Jesus was much less exalted than that represented in the Fourth Gos
pel. In other words, they settled for a gospel where Jesus was simply
the first to proclaim and live by the ideals which the nineteenth
century had (at last) recognized to be of enduring value. They settled
for a christology where Jesus was the great exemplar, in effect, the
first Christian. This alternative is still favoured by some who want
2

1. F. D. E. Schleiermacher, Life of Jesus, 1864, E T Fortress 1 9 7 5 .

2. A Harnack's famous presentation of liberal Christianity, What is Christianity?, 1900,
E T 1 9 0 1 , reprinted Benn 1 9 5 8 , can be summed up at this point in two famous sentences:

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[50.1

to present Jesus merely as the prototype revolutionary, the exemplary

man for others, the model for secular man, and so on.
(b) The second alternative is to attempt to blur again the distinction
between the gospel of Jesus and the kerygma of Paul. One way to do
this is to claim that the kerygmatic Christ is the only one with whom
we have to deal, and that it is neither necessary nor possible to get
behind the kerygmatic Christ to a historical Jesus. This in substance
was the thesis argued by Martin Kahler at the end of the nineteenth
century, and his thesis had considerable influence on the whole bibli
cal theology movement which dominated the first half of the twentieth
century. In effect it was an attempt to reinstate traditional christology
ogy on a sounder theological and exegetical footing. The other not
independent but rather different way is so to reinterpret the kerygma(ta) of the early church(es) that the centrality of Christ in it (them)
is demythologized. That is to say, the role given to Christ becomes a
history- and culture-conditioned expression of some other message for example, the possibility of authentic existence - a message which
is also found to be the (demythologized) message of the historical
Jesus. In other words, the kerygma of Christianity becomes a kind of
all purpose message whose proclamation of Jesus and/or by Jesus is in
the last analysis an accident of history. For all his protests, Bultmann's
christology is in constant danger of succumbing to this kind of
reductionism.
(c) The third alternative is to attempt to uncover or trace some link
or links between the message of Jesus and the kerygma about Christ.
It believes that enough of the message of the historical Jesus can be
recovered by us today to give us its characteristic notes and emphases,
and it endeavours to discover whether any of these are sufficient to
explain some or part of the characteristic christological emphases of
the early kerygmata. This investigation has been a dominant concern
of Gospel research over the past half-century or so. It has concentrated
for the most part on two aspects of Jesus' message - its forward
looking emphasis and its realized eschatological element - both of
which can be interpreted as containing an implicit claim to christolog
ical or eschatological significance, a claim which provides at least
3

'The Gospel, as Jesus proclaimed it, has to do with the Father only and not with the Son';
'True faith in Jesus is not a matter of credal orthodoxy but of doing as he did' (Lecture 8
and contents summary).
3. M . Kahler, The So-called Historical Jesus and the Historic Biblical Christ, 1 8 9 2 , E T
ed., C. E. Braaten, Fortress 1 9 6 4 .
4. Cf. particularly Braun, 'New Testament Christology', JThC, 5, 1968, pp. 8 9 - 1 2 7 ;
and the criticisms of Bultmann by S. M . Ogden, Christ without Myth, Harper 1 9 6 1 ,
pp. 7 6 - 9 4 .

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some correlation between the Christ-centred kerygma of early Christ

ianity and the proclamation of Jesus himself.
On the one hand, some have recognized in Jesus' proclamation of
the coming kingdom a claim that the coming kingdom was in some
way dependent on his proclamation or would constitute a vindication
of his mission - whether because he saw himself as the Elijah of the
end-time, the forerunner of the divine intervention, or because he
believed that the Son of Man (a heavenly figure other than himself)
would judge men by reference to his mission and message (particularly
Luke i2.8f.; Mark 8.38), or because in more general terms his whole
work aimed at and remained open to the eschatological verification
of his present claims, a hope in which he went to his death and which
found answer in his resurrection. This last in particular offers the
possibility of a very direct and substantial continuity between Jesus'
proclamation of the kingdom and the post-Easter proclamation of
the risen Christ, and we shall have to examine it more closely below.
On the other hand some have argued that Jesus' proclamation of
the kingdom's presence involved an implicit christological claim, for
in proclaiming that the eschatological 'shift in the ages' was already
taking place he was claiming in effect that it was taking place precisely
in and through his own ministry, or that his ministry, even he himself,
was the sign of what was already in train. An important variation of
this view is that of W. Marxsen who also wants to diminish the
christological break between the pre-Easter proclamation by Jesus
and the post-Easter proclamation about Jesus: the break between
proclaimer and proclaimed does not lie in Easter - it comes 'at the
5

5. Cf. J . A . T. Robinson, 'Elijah, John and Jesus', NTS, 4, 1 9 5 7 - 5 8 , pp. 2 6 3 - 8 1 ,

reprinted in Twelve New Testament Studies, S C M Press 1 9 6 2 , pp. 2 8 - 5 Z ; cf. also J . Becker,
'Das Gottesbild Jesu und die lteste Auslegung von Ostern',/CHT, pp. 1 0 5 - 2 6 .
6. So particularly Tdt, Son of Man, and F. Hahn, The Titles of Jesus in Christology,
1963, E T Lutterworth 1969, pp. 2 8 - 3 4 .
7. U. Wilckens, 'The Understanding of Revelation within the History of Primitive
Christianity', Revelation as History, ed., W. Pannenberg, 1 9 6 1 , E T Macmillan 1 9 6 8 ,
pp. 5 7 - 1 2 1 ; W. Pannenberg, Jesus God and Man, 1964, E T S C M Press 1968, pp. 5 3 - 6 6 ;
cf. N . A. Dahl, 'The Problem of the Historical Jesus' (1962), The Crucified Messiah and
other Essays, ET Augsburg 1974: 'Either the events of Easter and Pentecost are the prelimi
nary fulfilment of Jesus' eschatological promise, or this promise, at the heart of his message,
remained unfulfilled' (p. 83). See also C. K. Barrett, Jesus and the Gospel Tradition, SPCK
1 9 6 7 , ch. 3; A. Strobel, Kerygma und Apokalyptik, Gttingen 1 9 6 7 .
8. Initially argued by E. Kasemann, 'Problem', ENTT, particularly pp. 42f., and
G. Bornkamm, Jesus of Nazareth, 1 9 5 6 , E T Hodder 8c Stoughton i960, particularly
pp. 6 7 - 9 . More recently P. Stuhlmacher, 'Jesus als Vershner', JCHT, pp. 9 5 - 7 . We should
not forget Bultmann's own earlier formulation in 'The Significance of the Historical Jesus
for the Theology of Paul' (1929), Faith and Understanding, E T S C M Press 1969, pp. 2 3 7 ! :
'Such a call to decision in the light of his person (Luke 12.8f.) implies a christology' (p. 237).

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[50.1

point where a believer proclaims Jesus' words and deeds'; continuity

between the message of Jesus and the kerygma of the first Christians
lies in the fact that already before Easter some had been brought to
faith by Jesus and proclaimed Jesus' words and deeds, and were
thus proclaiming Jesus. In other words, the link between Jesus the
proclaimer and Jesus the proclaimed, is Jesus proclaimed as the proclaimer. The same basic point can be put in more general terms: Jesus
so proclaimed God that his hearers knew Jesus himself to be the one
through whom God comes to expression.
In effect winding up the 'new quest' L. E. Keck attempted to synth
esize these two approaches (of Ebeling and Pannenberg - nn. 10 and
7): 'To trust Jesus is to appropriate him as the index of God'; 'Whom
God vindicates discloses the character of God'.
Of the three alternatives outlined above the first two have in effect
given up any hope of rooting the kerygma of Christianity in the
historical Jesus: one opts for a historical Jesus who in the end of the
day has a much lesser significance than that characteristically ascribed
to him by Christianity; the other opts for a kerygmatic Christ who in
his central significance has no discernible connection with the histori
cal Jesus. But has first-century christology lost touch with the his
torical reality so completely? If it has, then Christianity is something
other than it has always claimed to be. If it has, then the one unifying
element which we have found to hold together the diversities of firstcentury Christianity will have shattered in our hands, leaving Christ
ianity as a whole without a unifying centre. Only the third alternative
offers the possibility of a more positive answer - of a continuity
between the message of Jesus and the kerygmata of earliest Christ
ianity which provides an anchor point for the early churches' claims
about Christ in the history of the man Jesus of Nazareth, of a unity
between kerygmatic Christ and historical Jesus which alone can hold
9

10

11

9. W. Marxsen, The Beginnings of Christology, E T Fortress 1 9 6 9 , particularly ch. 5;

also 'Die urchristlichen Kerygmata und das Ereignis Jesus von Nazareth', ZTK, 7 3 , 1 9 7 6 ,
pp.42-64; see also H. Schurmann, 'Die vorsterlichen Anfange der Logientradition', Der
historische Jesus und der kerygmatische Christus: Beitrge zum Christusverstndnis im
Forschung und Verkndigung, ed. H. Ristow and K. Matthiae, Berlin 1 9 6 1 , pp. 3 6 2 - 8 ;
J . Ernst, Anfnge der Christologie, Stuttgarter Bibelstudien 5 7 , 1 9 7 2 , pp. 1 2 5 - 6 1 .
1 0 . Cf. G. Ebeling, Theology and Proclamation, 1 9 6 2 , E T Collins 1 9 6 6 , p. 79;
E. Jungel, Paulus und Jesus, Tubingen 1 9 6 7 , pp. 2 8 0 - 8 3 .
1 1 . L . E . Keck, A Future for the Historical Jesus, S C M Press 1 9 7 2 , pp. 1 8 3 , 2 3 5 . For
other literature on the three alternative positions outlined above, see S. Schulz, 'Der his
torische Jesus: Bilanz der Fragen und Lsungen', JCHT, pp. 2iff. The 'new quest' has
now been superceded by the 'third quest' (see above p. xxxiii n. 9), which is in effect an
extension of (c) with particular concern to set Jesus as fully as possible within his Jewish
context.
3

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the diverse forms of Christianity together as one. The claims made

under the third alternative are relatively modest, but only if such
building blocks provide a solid foundation can there be any hope of
building something more upon them.
50.2 Can we then speak meaningfully of a continuity and unity
between the kerygmatic Christ and the historical Jesus? Our own
study of the early Christian kerygmata posed the problem for us in
chapter II. It was posed afresh in chapter IV by our recognition that
the 'Jesus-tradition is cited by Paul only in matters ethical and with
reference to the Lord's Supper, whereas the kerygmatic tradition as
such uses only the tradition of Jesus' death and resurrection' (p. 84);
that is to say, the kerygma was not intended (simply) to reproduce
the teaching of Jesus, and the problem of relating Jesus' proclamation
to the message of cross and resurrection remains unresolved. Our
study of the sacraments in first-century Christianity illustrated the
issue from another angle: for while there was some continuity between
the table-fellowship practised by Jesus and the common meals of the
earliest Christian communities in Palestine, the more both baptism
and Lord's Supper came to be seen as distinct ritual acts representing
the death of Christ the less they had in common with the actual
discipleship to which Jesus called men and women during his ministry.
At the same time in chapter III we discovered a marked degree of
continuity between, on the one hand, Jesus' own distinctive selfunderstanding (particularly bar ' nasa and abba) and the recognition
accorded to him (hailed as Messiah, authority as teacher), and,
on the other, the explicit language of (confessional) faith which
developed after Easter (Son of Man, Son of God, Messiah, Lord).
And in chapter IX we noted some features of Jesus' own experience
which closely paralleled those of early Christian experience and which
therefore also suggest themselves as worthy of further investigation.
In the light of the variations of the third alternative outlined above
(50.1) therefore it would appear that some lines of continuity can be
exposed further to view, some building blocks picked out as offering a
historical foundation for christological theologizing. There are three
in particular which seem to offer the best prospect.
e

50.3 Jesus' expectation of vindication. It is very probable that Jesus

foresaw the suffering that would be his lot and that his ministry
would be brought to a violent end in death. Even apart from the more
disputed passion sayings (Mark 8.31; 9.31; 10.33L; also 2.20), there
are clear indications of this in Mark 10.3 8f., 14.8, 22-24, 7 35*"
Following as he did consciously in the prophetic tradition (see above
2

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[50.3

p. 201 and 45.3) he almost certainly regarded martyrdom in Jerusa

lem as part of his prophetic role (Mark 1 2 . 1 - 9 pars.; Matt. 2 3 . 2 9 36/Luke 1 1 . 4 7 - 5 1 ; Luke 1 3 . 3 3 ; Matt. 23.37/Luke 13.34). And he
must have known that his action in 'cleansing the temple' was a
challenge to and condemnation of the religious establishment which
they could hardly ignore and which in the event seems to have been
the spur which goaded the authorities into using the ultimate sanction
to silence him.
If then Jesus anticipated a violent death, at least some time before
his last journey to Jerusalem, it is scarcely conceivable that he failed
to tie this into his belief in the presence of the kingdom and its
imminent consummation (see above 3.1,2). A theological rational
ization of Jesus' death is not necessarily a post-eventum construction.
As A. Schweitzer pointed out to W. Wrede, the fact that Jesus' resolve
to suffer and die in Mark is a dogmatic formulation does not mean
that it is unhistorical; on the contrary, the dogma may be Jesus' own,
grounded in his own eschatological conceptions. In such a case he
could scarcely have thought of his death as a calamity, as marking
the failure and nullification of his mission (otherwise he would not
have gone up to Jerusalem); on the contrary, he must have looked
beyond his death to some sort of vindication, God's ratification of
what he had said and done.
This inherently plausible conclusion is supported by several exegetical considerations. (1) Jesus probably thought his death would fulfil
the Baptist's expectation that the end-time would be introduced by a
fiery baptism (Luke 1 2 . 4 9 ^ - see above pp.167, 6 8 , and below
pp.348f.); that is, his suffering and death would be the beginning of
the messianic woes which would anticipate and therefore precipitate
the establishment of the messianic kingdom (hence the vow of abstin
ence in Mark 14.25 and the shuddering horror of Mark 1 4 . 3 3 - 3 6 ) .
(2) In so far as Jesus did use a bar ' nas form of expression both in
self-reference and with allusion to Dan. 7.13 (see above pp. 4if.),
then it becomes immediately relevant to recall that the manlike figure
of Dan. 7 appears as 'the representative of God's chosen people,
destined through suffering to be exalted'. (3) It is not at all implausible
that Jesus could have been influenced here by a firm belief in the
12

13

1 2 . See further Jeremias, Theology, I, pp. 2 7 7 - 8 6 ; H. Schurmann, 'Wie hat Jesus

seinen Tod bestanden und verstanden?', Orientierung an Jesus: Fr Josef Schmid, ed., P.
Hoffmann, Herder 1 9 7 3 , pp. 3 2 5 - 6 3 ; V . Howard, 'Did Jesus speak about his own death?',
CBQ 39, 1 9 7 7 , pp. 5 1 5 - 2 . 7
1 3 . A . Schweitzer, The Quest of the Historical Jesus, E T A . & C. Black 1 9 1 0 , pp. 3 8 5 ,
390.

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14

vindication of the suffering righteous man (see especially Wisd. 2 - 5 ),

or even by the martyr theology already current to the effect that a
martyr's death both has vicarious value for Israel's salvation and ends
in the vindication of resurrection (II Mace. 7.14, 23, 37f.). Indeed a
direct influence of Isa. 53 on Jesus is not at all out of the question the possibility being strenghtened by the direct quotation of Isa. 5 3 . 1 2
in Luke 22.37, although the verse may very well have been added
to what certainly appears to be authentic (and enigmatic) Jesustradition. The point is of course that Isa. 53 includes the thought
both of vicarious suffering, and, more prominently, of the vindication
of the sufferer. (4) It is even possible that Jesus expressed his hope of
vindication in terms of resurrection (cf. II Mace. 7 . 1 1 , 23; 14.46) that is, the general resurrection when the kingdom would come in its
fullness, beginning the final judgment and the messianic age. Such a
hope is certainly implied in Mark 1 0 . 3 7 - 4 0 , 1 2 . 2 5 , 4 - 5 5 Matt.
19.28/Luke 22.28-30. To correlate such an expectation with the idea
of the Son of Man coming in glory is a difficult problem but not
insuperable.
In short, there are not insubstantial grounds for the conclusion that
Jesus looked on his approaching death as a vicarious suffering which
would issue in divine vindication. This means that his message about
the imminent kingdom embodied a claim about himself which
remained open and subject to future verification. The precise charac
ter of the verification he expected is no longer clear to us; in our
sources it is couched too much in terms of what actually transpired;
and we should not exclude the possibility that Jesus himself was not
clear about what would happen (cf. Mark 1 3 . 3 2 ; Luke 1 1 . 2 9 - 3 2 /
Matt. 1 2 . 3 9 - 4 2 , 1 6 . 4 ) . But at least we can say that in this expectation
of Jesus we have a substantial line of continuity between Jesus' own
message and the kerygma about the risen Christ - that the resurrection
15

16

14. See particularly E. Schweizer, Erniedrigung und Erhhung bei Jesus und seinen
Nachfolgern, Zurich i92, 2 - 3 . See also G. W. E. Nickelsburg, Resurrection Immortal
ity, and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism, Harvard 1 9 7 2 . And note the important
qualification of Schweizer's thesis by L. Ruppert, Jesus als der leidende Grechte}, Stuttgarter
Bibelstudien 59, 1 9 7 2 , that it was Jesus himself who brought together at this point strands
of O T and intertestamental thought which were previously unrelated. Cf. Stuhlmacher
(above n. 8) p. 1 0 2 .
1 5 . See further J . Jeremias (with W. Zimmerli), Servant, pp. 9 9 - 1 0 6 ; Cullmann,
Christology, pp. 6 0 - 6 9 ; otherwise M . D. Hooker, Jesus and the Servant, SPCK 1 9 5 9 ;
Hahn, Titles, pp. 5 4 - 6 7 .
1 6 . In Mark 8 . 3 1 , 9 . 3 1 and 1 0 . 3 3 ^ , the language suggests nothing beyond an individual
resurrection of Jesus. But the earliest understanding was evidently of Jesus' resurrection as
the beginning of the general resurrection (Rom. i.3f.; I Cor. 1 5 . 2 0 , 23; cf. Matt. 27.52^);
see also below 67.3. For the whole issue see now H. F. Bayer, Jesus' Predictions of
Vindication and Resurrection, W U N T 2.20, Tbingen 1 9 8 6 .
2

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[50.4

of Jesus was in a very real sense the fulfilment of Jesus' own expec
tation, that however different or not it was from his own expectation
it provided in the event the vindication that Jesus had looked for.
50.4 Jesus' sense of sonship. We have seen above how fundamental
to Jesus' own understanding of himself and of his mission was his
experience of God as Father (45.2). What we must now note is
that Jesus sought to bring his disciples into the reality of the same
experienced relationship; that is, he encouraged his disciples to
address God with the same boldness and intimacy - 'Abba' (particu
larly Luke 11.2/Matt. 6.9). Moreover, it was apparently only his own
disciples that he so encouraged to live out of this relationship (Mark
1 1 . 2 5 par.; Matt. 5.48/Luke 6.36; Matt. 6.32/Luke 12.30; Matt. 7 . 1 1 /
Luke 1 1 . 1 3 ; Luke 12.32). There is no evidence that he preached a
much wider message of divine fatherhood and human brotherhood such a summary arises more from the timeless ideals of nineteenthcentury Liberal Protestantism than from the eschatological 'Either-or'
of Jesus' message. In other words, Jesus seems to have seen a link
between his disciples' sonship to God and their discipleship of him;
their use of abba was somehow dependent on their relationship with
him; their 'Abba' was somehow derived from his 'Abba', their sonship
from his.
If this is a fair characterization of pre-Easter discipleship, then it
becomes at once noteworthy that in the post-Easter situation sonship
appears again as an important way of describing the believer's
relationship to God (Matt. 23.8f.; Rom. 8 . 1 4 - 1 7 , 29; Gal. 4.6f.; Col.
1 . 1 8 ; Heb. 2 . 1 1 - 1 7 ; I John 3.if.; Rev. 1.5) - the continued use of the
Aramaic 'Abba' in the Greek speaking churches (Rom. 8.15; Gal. 4.6)
showing how deeply rooted both experience and expression were in
the primitive community. More important, these references indicate
with sufficient clarity that the sonship thus experienced was under
stood as determined by Jesus' own sonship: they cried 'Abba' just as
he did, and in conscious dependence on the Spirit of Christ (Rom.
8.9, 1 5 - 1 7 ; Gal. 4.6f.). Indeed the explicit allusion to Jesus' own
sonship (thereby they show themselves to be 'fellow-heirs with Christ'
- Rom. 8.17; it is precisely 'the Spirit of the Son' who cries 'Abba,
Father' - Gal. 4.6) strongly implies that those who so prayed know
ingly traced both experience and expression back to the distinctive
prayer style and experience of Jesus while on earth.
Here is a point of no little significance: that in this one expression
of prayer experience so widespread in early Christianity we see clearly
visible the unity and continuity between earthly Jesus and exalted
Christ, with the link firmly bonded at both ends. At the one end the

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prayer is inspired by the Spirit of the exalted Christ, the prayer which
was so distinctively the prayer of Jesus of Nazareth. At the other it is
the prayer, the same prayer, which Jesus taught his own disciples to
pray during his own ministry. The point is that at both ends the
prayer and the relationship it brings to expression are understood as
only possible in dependence on Jesus and as derived from Jesus' own
sonship. We are of course not talking about the public proclamation
of either Jesus or the early churches, but more at the level of the
presupposition of proclamation - the relationship out of which the
proclamation sprang as it was explicated within the circle of discipleship. But we can say that at that deeper level of self-understanding,
both of Jesus and of the earliest Christians, the role of Jesus was alike
central on both sides of Easter. And thus we are given a further
strand of continuity between the pre-Easter call to discipleship and
the post-Easter call to faith.
50.5 Jesus' experience of the kingdom and of the Spirit of God, or
more accurately his understanding of the kingdom and of his experi
ence of the Spirit, provides us with one further anchor point within
the history of Jesus for another element in the first Christians' selfunderstanding. For it is fairly clear that Jesus experienced and under
stood the kingdom as an eschatological tension - that is, a tension
between an eschatological reality already experienced and a consum
mation of the kingdom imminent and longed for but not yet realized
(cf. e.g. Matt. 11.5/Luke 7.22; Matt. I3.i6f./Luke 1 0 . 2 3 ^ with Matt.
6.10/Luke 1 1 . 2 ; Mark 14.25 pars. - see further above 3.1, 2).
Moreover, this eschatological tension was a function of the Spirit:
because he experienced a plenitude of the Spirit, because he under
stood his exorcisms as the effect of divine power working in him
and through him, he concluded that this was a manifestation of the
end-time rule of God, a manifestation of the kingdom (Matt. 12.28;
see above pp.203f.); and since the end-time Spirit was already active,
the end itself could not long be delayed - the rout of Satan was
anticipated and already in train though not yet complete (Luke 1 0 . 1 8 ;
Mark 3.27). This also means that in Jesus' understanding, his own
experience of the Spirit and his ministry in the power of the Spirit
was something unique: his was not just the inspiration of a prophet,
but the anointing of the end-time Spirit (Isa. 61. if. - see above p.204);
only in his exorcisms was the kingdom manifested, precisely because
his exorcistic power was that of the eschatological Spirit - that is, a
power which he alone experienced (Matt. 12.27L). But this in turn
involves a certain interdependence and interchange between Jesus and
the eschatological power of his mission: opposition to this ministry

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[50.5

was opposition to the Spirit (Mark 3.28f. pars.); he himself was part
of the eschatological offence of his own mission (Matt. n.5f./Luke
7.22f.; cf. Luke 12.8f. pars.). He who understands himself as endowed
in unique degree by the Spirit also understands the Spirit as uniquely
his.
In the first-century Christianity most clearly represented in Paul we
see the same kind of eschatological tension, between the already of
the grace already given and the not yet of a kingdom inheritance still
to be fully realized. Not only so, but this post-Easter eschatological
tension is also understood as a function of the Spirit: in the Pauline
churches the Spirit is understood precisely as the first instalment of
that kingdom inheritance which guarantees its full realization in the
resurrection of the body (Rom. 8.10L, 1 5 - 2 3 ; I Cor. 6 . 9 - 1 1 ; 1 5 . 4 5 50; II Cor. 4 . 1 6 - 5 . 5 ; Gal. 4.6L; 5 . 1 6 - 2 4 ; Eph. 1 . 1 3 L ) . More impor
tant, the Spirit thus experienced is experienced as the Spirit of Jesus
- the power of the crucified and risen one which manifests itself
precisely as it did in him, as power in weakness, as life through death
(see above 46.4). That is to say, there is a certain merging or fusing
of the role of the Spirit with the exalted Christ (I Cor. 15.45) so that
the presence and work of the Spirit is determined and defined by its
relation to Christ, that is, by whether or not it manifests the same
character as was manifested in the ministry of Jesus.
Here again then we have a parallel between the self-understanding
of Jesus and that of the first Christians. But more than that, we have
an explication of their experience by the first Christians which is
rooted in Jesus' own explication of his experience. The unique relation
between Jesus and the Spirit which was a presupposition of their
gospel proclamation is in the end of the day nothing but an elabor
ation and development (in the light of his resurrection) of Jesus' own
presupposition of a unique inspiration by the eschatological Spirit.
To be sure there is no clear evidence that Jesus looked for an outpour
ing of the Spirit on his disciples for which he would be responsible although such a tradition quite possibly underlies the Paraclete pass
ages of John 1 4 - 1 6 which are at least paralleled in the testamentary
disposition regarding the kingdom in Luke 22.29, ^ did seem to
embrace the other aspect of the Baptist's prediction regarding the
ministry of the Coming One (above p.226). Be that as it may, the
point is that once again we have a strand of continuity which runs
through Easter - experience which is attributed to the exalted Christ,
17

a n

18

1 7 . See further J . D. G. Dunn, 'I Corinthians 1 5 . 4 5

Last Adam, Life-giving Spirit',
CSNT, pp. 1 2 7 - 4 1 .
1 8 . On Acts 1.5 see Dunn, Jesus, ch. VI, n. 60 (p. 398) and above p. 2 1 n. 9.

50.6]

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Christ

231

which is similar to Jesus' own experience as he himself interpreted it,

and whose distinctive features were already determined by the charac
ter of Jesus' mission as he himself understood it and lived it out.
I need merely add briefly that a closely related point emerges from
a comparison of Jesus' and Paul's attitudes to the law. For I would
wish to argue that Paul's view of Jesus as 'the end of the law' (Rom.
10.4) is rooted not only in his understanding of Jesus' death and
resurrection but also in his awareness of Jesus' own freedom with
regard to the law and supremely authoritative interpretation of the
law (see above pp.106, 201); compare particularly Mark 7.19b and
note the centrality of the love command for both (Mark 1 2 . 3 1 par.;
Rom. 1 3 . 8 - 1 0 ; Gal. 5 . 1 4 ) . That is to say, Jesus' sovereign handling
of the law in the light of the coming kingdom and as expression of
his own eschatological (self-)consciousness provides another anchor
point within the ministry of the historical Jesus for Paul's teaching on
the righteousness of God in the light of Good Friday and Easter.
19

20

50.6 To sum up, it appears that we can speak meaningfully of a unity

and continuity between the historical Jesus and the kerygmatic Christ
- a unity and continuity which is not merely a post-Easter theological
creation, but which has sufficiently firm anchor points in the preEaster history of Jesus. This does not mean that the proclamation of
Jesus and the kerygmata of the first Christians are one and the same,
or that their presuppositions are one and the same. It does not mean
that the post-Easter disciples simply revived and repeated the message
Jesus himself had preached with little change of any importance
(above p.225). Nothing of what we have said above diminishes the
central significance of Easter in decisively determining and shaping the
post-Easter kerygmata. The vindication which resurrection actually
achieved for Jesus was not altogether the vindication which Jesus
had anticipated (the general resurrection and judgment following) though his expectation was not all that precisely formulated. And
certainly, on the other two points of continuity, the first Christians
were quite clear that what they experienced was not simply a relation
or experience like that of Jesus, or even simply one determined by the
ministry of the earthly Jesus, but a relation and an experience brought

1 9 . See R. Bultmann, Faith and Understanding, pp. 2 2 3 - 3 5 ; Jungel, Paulus, pp. 2 6 8 7 3 ; R. Banks, Jesus and the Law in the Synoptic Tradition, Cambridge University Press
1 9 7 5 , p. 245 n. 4.
20. See further my 'Pharisees, Sinners and Jesus', The Social World of Formative Christ
ianity and Judaism, H. C . Kee Festschrift, ed. J . Neusner et al., Fortress 1 9 8 8 , pp. 2 6 4 89, here pp. 2 8 2 - 3 ; reprinted in my Jesus, Paul and the Law, SPCK 1 9 9 0 .

Christ and Christology

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[51

about by the risen Jesus and deriving immediately from his resur
rection.
In other words, the unity and continuity we have discovered
between historical Jesus and kerygmatic Christ does not diminish the
significance of Easter in shaping the kerygma and self-understanding
of earliest Christianity. But neither does the importance of Easter
diminish the central role already filled by Jesus even before Easter in
his own proclamation and self-understanding. Already before Easter
the eschatological nearness of God as Father was seen to be somehow
dependent on him. Already before Easter the imminent consummation
was understood to be somehow determined in relation to him.
Already before Easter the eschatological Spirit and the already/not
yet tension was thought of as somehow bound up with him. Already
before Easter freedom with respect to the law was recognized to be a
feature and consequence of his ministry. In short, there are sufficiently
clear foreshadowings of the centrality of the kerygmatic Christ in the
self-understanding of Jesus during his ministry for us to recognize the
kerygmata of the early churches as a development from Jesus' own
proclamation in the light of his resurrection. As Christianity could
properly claim to be a legitimate interpretation of the OT in the
light of Jesus, so the kerygmatic Christ can claim to be a legitimate
interpretation of the historical Jesus in the light of Jesus' resurrection.

51.

'ONE JESUS,

MANY

CHRISTS?'

If we recognize the continuity between the historical Jesus and the

kerygmatic Christ we must also recognize that there are many keryg
matic Christs. That is to say, it is no single coherent understanding
or presentation of Christ which meets us after Easter. 'The kerygmatic
Christ' is a convenient shorthand to distinguish Jesus as the object of
historical research from Jesus as the object of faith, the historical
Jesus from the proclaimed Christ. But if 'the N T kerygma' is an
oversimplification, so is 'the kerygmatic Christ'; if we have to speak
of N T kerygmata (ch. II above), so we have to speak of kerygmatic
Christs - diverse understandings and presentations of 'the Christ of
faith' within first-century Christianity. We have already seen some
thing of this in chapter III, where we traced the main features of
development in thefirst-centuryChristians' confessional faith in Jesus
as Son of Man, Messiah, Son of God and Lord. Now I want to
illustrate this diversity further by highlighting what is probably the
chief contrast within NT christology - namely, that between the
christology of the veryfirstChristians and the christology that began

5i.i]

'One Jesus, many Christs?'

133

to develop as Christianity began to adopt (and adapt to) more of the

conceptualizations of the wider religious philosophy of the time. Then
by way of summary we will briefly compare the different evaluations
of the dimensions and stages of 'the Christ event'. In this whole field
there are many passages whose original life-setting and reference is
disputed. But even without coming to a firm opinion on most of them
a sufficiently clear picture emerges.
5 1 . 1 The christology of earliest Christianity seems to have been
essentially forward looking. This is evident from what are probably
the earliest post-Easter uses of the four main christological titles
(above ch. III). The hope that Jesus as the Son of Man would soon
return must have been a dominant expectation: the 'coming of the
Son of Man' sayings form the largest homogeneous group among the
Son of Man logia; only in the eschatological fervency of the first
few years would it have been meaningful to preserve (or create) and
circulate Matt. 10.23; and no Son of Man saying seems to have been
subjected to such reflection (at a very early stage) as Luke i2.8f./
Matt. io-32f./Mark 8.38/Luke 9.26 (see also below p.353). As for
Jesus as Messiah, Acts 3 . 1 9 - 2 1 apparently embodies what is probably
a fragment of earliest Christian preaching, where the promise is
explicitly held out that if men repent and turn again, the Lord (=
God) would send Jesus the Christ from heaven once again. On Son
of God, one of the earliest formulations links Jesus' installation as
Son of God (in power) with 'the resurrection of the dead' (Rom. i.3f.
- see further below p.234; cf. I Thess. 1.10). And of course the earliest
post-Easter designation of Jesus as Lord preserved in the Pauline
letters is I Cor. 16.22, an invocation vibrant with longing for Christ's
return - 'Our Lord, come!' (cf. Rev. 22.20; of a sense of Christ's
coming to or in the Lord's Supper there is no evidence. )
At the same time we must not ignore the central emphasis given to
the resurrection of Christ, as is reflected particularly in the early
kerygmatic traditions (see above p.22, also pp.48 and 54). This was
certainly seen as a vindication of his ministry and claims (cf. above
50.3 and below p.23 5), in particular as his installation or adoption to
a new and exalted status (Acts 2.36; 1 3 . 3 3 ; R o - i.3f.; Heb. 5.5; cf.
Phil. 2 . 9 - 1 1 ; see also above p.48 and below p.262). But it was also
seen as an eschatological event foreshadowing the consummation, the
21

2 1 . Cf. C. F. D. Moule, 'A Reconsideration of the Context of Maranatha', Essays in

New Testament Interpretation, Cambridge University Press 1 9 8 2 , pp. 2 2 2 - 6 . Against
Cullmann, Christology, pp. 2 1 if.; B. Sandvik, Das Kommen des Herrn beim Abendmahl
im Neuen Testament, Zurich 1970. See also above p. 59.

Christ and Christology

234

[51. i

beginning of the end, the first act in the general resurrection. This is
clearly indicated by the (obviously early) description of Jesus' resur
rection as the 'first fruits', that is, as part of and beginning of the
general resurrection (I Cor. 15.20, 23). The same understanding is
preserved in the reference to Jesus' resurrection as the (general) resur
rection of the dead (Rom. 1.4) and in the ancient tradition preserved
in Matt. 27.52f. Since the resurrection had begun in Jesus, the 'last
days' were already in progress. The resurrection announced both his
exaltation and the imminent consummation. If there is any truth at
all in the suggestion that the parousia hope developed out of the belief
in Jesus' ascension, the development must have taken place within
a very short time since the evidence otherwise is clear that the parousia
hope was part and parcel of the earliest community's fervent eschatological expectation (see further below 67.3). In short, the resurrection
of Jesus was significant for the first Christians both for what Jesus
had become thereby and for what it foreshadowed. That is to say,
the resurrection of Jesus was significant as an anticipation of the
future and as a promise of Jesus' role in that future, as the beginning
of what was soon to be completed.
So too we are not surprised to find that at this earliest stage no real
thought seems to have been given to the role of the exalted Jesus
between his resurrection-exaltation (-outpouring of the Spirit) and his
parousia. Even in Acts the only function attributed to Jesus between
Pentecost and his final role as judge (10.42; 1 7 . 3 1 ) is his appearance
in a number of visions (7.55L.; 9.10; 18.9; 2 2 . 1 7 ^ ; 2 3 . 1 1 ; 26.16, 19).
And though the use of the name of the exalted Jesus invokes his
power by its use, the name itself serves more as a surrogate for
Jesus (as with the name of Yahweh in contemporary Judaism) and so
underscores the lack of his personal presence (Jesus is present only in
his name - cf. particularly 4.10, 1 2 ; see also above p. 19). Further
more, it is probably significant that the tradition of Jesus' sayings has
not been elaborated at this point: no attempt has been made to fill in
the gap between Jesus' hoped for resurrection and his promised par
ousia; the two elements remain unrelated within the Jesus-tradition.
Perhaps here too we have a partial reflection of that period when no
real gap between exaltation and parousia was yet envisaged: to speak
of Jesus' resurrection and to speak of his parousia were more or less
alternative ways of saying the same thing - that Jesus had been exalted
22

23

22. Cf. J . A . T. Robinson, Jesus and his Coming, S C M Press 1 9 5 7 ; Perrin, Teaching,
pp. 1 6 4 - 8 5 . See also n. 36 below.
23. For the importance of the resurrection in the earliest stage of Christian theologizing
see P. Pokorny, The Genesis of Christology, T. & T. Clark 1987.

5i.i]

'One Jesus, many Christs?'

2-35

(to pour out the Spirit and) to return in eschatological consummation.

All this does not mean that the earliest believers were uninterested
in other aspects of 'the Christ event'. As we have seen they soon began
to wrestle with the problem of a crucified Messiah (10.2). But how
soon the death of Christ became the focus of soteriological reflection
is not clear, for the evidence is capable of different interpretations.
On the one hand the idea of Jesus' death as (the new) covenant
sacrifice may well be part of the earliest tradition of the words spoken
at the last supper (see above pp.i8if.), though the eschatological note
probably rang loudest in the common meals of the earliest community
(above pp.178, 183); and in the very early tradition of I Cor. 15.3
Jesus' death is confessed as 'for our sins', though in the extended
formula of I Cor. 1 5 the main emphasis is on Jesus' resurrection
appearances, and I Cor. 1 5 itself is an exposition of Jesus' resurrection
as the prototype of the general resurrection. On the other hand, there
is the almost complete lack of any concern with Jesus' passion in the
Q sayings; and in the sermons in Acts the death of Jesus is mentioned
only as part of the suffering-vindication theme, as the rejection of
Christ prior to his resurrection, and not in terms of vicarious suffering
- though this is probably a reflection of Lukan theological emphasis
as much as anything else (see above pp. i7f.). Perhaps the simplest
solution of this conflict of evidence is that the death of Jesus was
reflected on christologically (as Jesus' humiliation before his vin
dication) before its meaning was developed soteriologically, and
that initially the imminent parousia was seen as the decisive act of
salvation (cf. Acts 3 . 1 9 ^ ; I Thess. 1 . 1 0 ; 5.8f.).
24

Interest in the earthly teaching and ministry of Jesus is implied as

soon as we have a concern to preserve the traditions about Jesus.
Such a concern is minimal in the sermons of Acts (2.22; 1 0 . 3 6 - 3 9 see above p. 1 7 ) , but clearly lies behind the compilation of Q, though
we should at once recall the strong forward looking christology of Q
(see further below p. 310). And Paul certainly takes very seriously the
ethical traditions which, as we saw, probably largely referred back to
the life and teaching of Jesus (above 17.3) - though here it is interest
ing to note that he appeals to this Jesus-tradition in II Thessalonians
against something like the eschatological fervency which must have
characterized the earliest Palestinian community (II Thess. 3 . 6 - 1 2 ;
cf. Acts 2.44^; 4 . 3 2 - 3 5 ) . So too it may be relevant to recall that at
Corinth an interest in Jesus as miracle worker may well have been
wedded to a realized eschatology which left no room for hope of a
2,4. In primitive Christianity 'salvation' is primarily a future, eschatological term
(W. Foerster, sozo\ T D N T , VII, pp. 99x8.).
i

2-3

Christ and Christology

[51.2.

future resurrection (see above pp. i44f., and below pp. 30if.). All
this suggests again that initially interest in the earthly teaching and
ministry of Jesus was subordinate to the parousia hope and that the
Jesus-tradition served in part at first as a kind of counterbalance to
(over) enthusiastic imminent expectation.
In short, so far as we can tell, the christology (and soteriology) of
the first Christians seems to have been essentially forward looking.
5 1 . 2 The developments in christology after this earliest period can be
characterized as the beginning of a shift of the decisive 'christological
moment' backwards in time from the eschatological double event
of resurrection-exaltation-parousia. We perhaps see something of this
already in the pre-Pauline formula of Rom. 8.34, where the (lengthen
ing) gap between Jesus' exaltation and parousia is understood to be
filled by Jesus' role as intercessor. Still more so in Hebrews: Jesus'
exaltation is still central (his highpriestly entry into the heavenly
sanctuary), but the emphasis falls markedly on Jesus' present continu
ing role as forerunner into and intercessor in heaven where believers
can already enter in (1.3; 2.10; 4 . 1 4 - 1 6 ; 6.i<?f.; 7.25; 8.if.; 9.24;
1 0 . 1 9 - 2 2 ; 1 2 . 2 2 - 2 4 ) , whereas the parousia hope, while still present,
receives little attention.
A certain shift in the christological moment seems to be bound up
with the crystallization of the account of Jesus' encounter with John
at Jordan and of his anointing with the Spirit there. The explicit use
of Ps. 2.7b (in part in Mark/Matthew, in whole in what is probably
the original Lukan text, and possibly Q) suggests that for some at
least this was the point in time when Jesus became Messiah and Son.
Here the same verse (Ps. 2.7 - 'You are my son, today I have begotten
you'), which seems to have expressed the earliest community's 'adoptionist' view of the resurrection of Jesus (Acts 1 3 . 3 3 ; Heb. 5.5; see
above pp.48, 233), has been referred to the starting point of Jesus'
ministry. Behind this presumably lies a concern to include Jesus'
whole earthly ministry within the salvation-history events now recog
nized as decisive both for Christ's status and for human salvation.
Perhaps also bound up with this was the interest in Jesus as a miracleworker which, as we have seen, was probably an element in the
situations addressed by II Cor. 1 0 - 1 3 d by Mark and in the frag
mentary miracle source used by the Fourth Evangelist in John 2 . 1 1 1 and 4.46-54 (above pp. 75f., 194L and below pp. 33of.). Such
25

a n

25. By 'christological moment' I mean that event which is seen as defining and determin
ing the character and status of Christ. Similarly, by the phrase 'soteriological moment'
I mean that event which is seen as decisive for salvation.

51.2]

'One Jesus, many Christs?'

237

an evaluation of Christ would presumably have attached no little

significance to Jesus' baptism as the moment of endowment with these
supernatural powers (the Corinthians at least seem to have accorded
baptism some such significance - see above 39.5). Paul and Mark, as
we have seen, responded by focusing the decisive soteriological moment
on Jesus' death and resurrection and by emphasizing Jesus' suffering
more than his miracles (above pp. 76, 210). John responded by rebuk
ing the faith which depends on signs (2.23-25; 4.48) and by emphasiz
ing that the miracles of his Gospel are significant because they
foreshadow the hour of Jesus' death-glorification (see further below
p. 330). Matthew and Luke incidentally also effectively counter a
christology wrongly based on Jesus' baptism and mighty works by
interposing the fuller Q account of Jesus' temptations between Jesus'
baptism and the start of his ministry in such a way that they qualify
both.
Much the most important shift in the christological moment is
heralded by the introduction of the language of pre-existence into the
talk about Christ. When this developmentfirsttook place is not clear;
even if the idea of pre-existent entities or beings is more typical of Greek
than of Hebraic thought, pre-Christian Judaism was already familiar
with it - particularly in its speculation about Wisdom (Prov. 3.19;
8 . 2 2 - 3 1 ; Wisd. 7 . 2 2 - 8 . 1 ; 9.if.; Ecclus. 2 4 . 1 - 2 2 ) . So we need not
assume that the category of pre-existence entered Christian theology
only when the new sect encountered Hellenistic philosophy for itself. It
is quite possible indeed that it wasfirstused as a corollary to a fuller
appraisal of the significance of Jesus' resurrection-exaltation. Be that
as it may, it would appear that the thought of pre-existence initially
entered early christology by the application of Wisdom terminology to
Christ. So far as we can now tell, Jesus though of himself as Wisdom's
messenger - a self-understanding reflected particularly in Q (Matt.
1 1 . 2 5 - 2 7 ; Luke 7 . 3 1 - 3 5 ; 1 1 . 4 9 - 5 1 ) . That is to say, there is no evi
dence that Jesus thought of himself as pre-existent Wisdom, and noth
ing in the traditions of Q and Mark which implies that the thought of
pre-existence was present (either to Jesus or to Q and Mark). The
26

27

26. J . Knox, The Humanity and Divinity of Christ, Cambridge University Press 1 9 6 7 ,
p. 1 1 ; cf. G. Schneider, 'Praexistenz Christi', NTK, pp. 405, 4o8f., 4 1 2 . But see my
Christology, p. 63.
27. There is no evidence that Jesus' use of bar ^ns implied a consciousness or convic
tion of pre-existence. The thought of the Son of Man's pre-existence first emerged in I
Enoch 48.6, 62.7, but these passages are part of the only section of Enoch (the Similitudes
or Parables - 1 Enoch 3 7 - 7 1 ) which has failed so far to appear among the Dead Sea Scrolls
- a fact suggesting that the Similitudes were added to I Enoch at a date subsequent to
Qumran (finally destroyed A D 68) (see further particularly Milik, Enoch, pp. 89-98).
Pre-existence is implied neither in Dan. 7 . 1 3 , nor in the Synoptic Son of Man material (cf.

2 8
3

Christ and Christology

[51.2

idea of pre-existence first entered by way of implication with the

identification of Christ with Wisdom herself. This identification was
certainly made by Matthew (see below pp. 279L); but already, earlier,
Paul had left the matter in no doubt (I Cor. 1.24, 30); nor had
he hesitated to ascribe to Christ the role of pre-existent Wisdom
(particularly I Cor. 8.6; Col. 1 . 1 5 - 1 7 ) .
Now here we must recall that within Judaism Wisdom was only
a way of speaking about God's action in creation, revelation and
redemption without actually speaking about God. Wisdom, like the
name of God, the Spirit of God, the Logos, etc., denotes the immanent
activity of God, without detracting from God's wholly other trans
cendence. For pre-Christian Judaism Wisdom was neither an inferior
heavenly being (one of the heavenly council) nor a divine hypostasis
(as in the later Trinitarian conception of God); such a development
would have been (and in the event was) unacceptable to Judaism's
strict monotheism. Wisdom in fact is no more than a personification
of God's immanence, no more to be regarded as a distinct person
within the Godhead than the rabbinic concept or talk of a pre-existent
Torah. The probability then is that Paul in applying Wisdom language
to Christ is in effect simply saying: that which you have hitherto
ascribed to Wisdom, we see most fully expressed and embodied in
Christ; that same power and wisdom you recognize to be manifested
in God's creative, revelatory and redemptive purpose, we now see
manifested finally and exclusively in Jesus Christ our Lord. This
would also explain why Paul never used the name 'Jesus' alone for
the pre-existent one: Jesus was not himself pre-existent; he was the
man that pre-existent Wisdom became.
28

29

Todt, Son of Man, p. 300; otherwise R. G. Hamerton-Kelly, Pre-existence, Wisdom and

the Son of Man, Cambridge University Press 1 9 7 3 , whose firm conclusions on pp. 67, 1 0 2 ,
go beyond even his own evidence - cf. eg., the earlier conclusion on p. 4 7 ) . See further my
Christology, p. 29.
28. The same applies to Rom. 8.3 and Gal. 4.4; cf. Wisd. 9 . 1 0 (also to Rom. 10.6f. if
an allusion to Wisdom is intended there - cf. Bar. 3.29); see particularly E. Schweizer, 'Zur
Herkunft der Praexistenzvorstellung bei Paulus', Ev Th, 1 9 , 1 9 5 9 , pp. 6 5 - 7 0 ; reprinted in
Neotestamentica, pp. 1 0 5 - 9 ; also 'Zum religionsgeschichtlichen Hintergrund der "Sendungsformel" Gal. 4.4^, Rom. 8.3f., John 3 . n f . , I John 4.9', ZNW, 5 7 , 1966, pp. 1 9 9 2 1 0 . The description of the pre-existent one as 'God's Son' does not advance the discussion
in either direction, since Wisdom is also hailed as God's child and Philo can call the Logos
God's 'eldest and first born son' while also calling the (visible) world God's 'younger son'
(Philo, De Conf. Ling., 6zi.; Quod Deus 1mm., 3 if.; cf. De Ebr., 30). See further my
Christology, ch. VI.
29. The oddly literalist thesis of A . T . Hanson, Jesus Christ in the Old Testament,
SPCK 1 9 6 5 , that Paul and the other N T writers understood not a few O T passages either
to refer to the pre-existent Jesus or to have been spoken by the pre-existent Jesus(!) has
very little to commend it. The lynch-pin text, I Cor. 10.4, is, as we have seen, probably an
explanatory or decoding note to explain Paul's typological-allegorical interpretation (above

51.2]

'One Jesus, many

Christs'

239

However, as the last sentence indicates, with the use of the language
of pre-existence the concept of incarnation becomes part of christology. And the door is thereby opened to that christology which sees
Jesus not only as the incarnation of divine Wisdom or divine Logos,
but which also reckons the incarnation as the decisive moment in
salvation - the taking of humanity into the godhead and thereby
sanctifying it. In such a case Jesus' death, resurrection and parousia
become in effect not much more than a ratification of what had
already been achieved in principle; and christology becomes a matter
of trying to understand the human(ity of) Jesus in the light of what
must be true of the pre-existent Logos, rather than a matter of trying
to understand the exalted Christ in the light of the traditions about
Jesus of Nazareth. Of course, all this has not yet happened in the N T
writings, but already we see beginning to emerge in the NT the
tendency for the impersonal pre-existent intermediary figure to be
thought of as a personal pre-existent divine being whose decision to
become incarnate has already determined man's salvation and its
means. Perhaps it is present as early as the Phil. 2 . 6 - 1 1 hymn; though
I suspect that Paul's thought is dominated at this point by the Adam/
Christ parallel? In which case Jesus' earthly career is expressed in
language appropriate to the archetypal man, Adam: like Adam he
was made in the image of God (cf. Gen. i.26f.; 2.7), but unlike Adam
he did not grasp after equality with God (cf. Gen. 3.5); like Adam he
surrendered his privileged status and embraced its human antithesis
(cf. Gen. 3 . 1 7 - 1 9 ) , but unlike Adam he did this freely and not as
punishment, willingly submitting even to the shameful death of the
cross, and thus he attained an honour higher than the honour God
had first intended for man. If this line of interpretation adequately
represents Paul's mind in Phil. 2 . 6 - 1 1 (and it does accord quite closely
with Rom. 5.14D-19), then we must question whether there is any
real thought of personal pre-existence here. Besides, there is no
0

31

p. 98 n. 19), though many scholars do take it as another instance of Christ being accorded
a role elsewhere attributed to Wisdom (cf. Philo, Leg. Alleg., 11.86; Quod.Det., 1 1 5 - 1 8 ) .
30. Cf. e.g. Cullmann, Christology: 'All the statements of Phil. 2.6ff. are to be understood from the standpoint of the Old Testament history of Adam' (p. 1 8 1 ) ; C. H. Talbert,
'The Problem of Pre-existence in Philippians 2 . 6 - 1 1 ' , JBL, 86, 1 9 6 7 , pp. 1 4 1 - 5 3 ;
J . Murphy-O'Connor, 'Christological Anthropology in Phil. 2 . 6 - 1 1 ' , RB, 83, 1 9 7 6 ,
pp. 2 5 - 5 0 . Note also Schweizer, Erniedrigung, p. 96 n. 383; M . D. Hooker, 'Philippians
2 . 6 - 1 1 ' , JuP, pp. 1 6 0 - 4 . See further above p. 1 4 7 .
3 1 . Cf. J . A . T. Robinson, The Human Face of God, S C M Press 1 9 7 3 , pp. 1 6 2 - 6 and
those cited there; otherwise Hamerton-Kelly, Pre-existence, pp. 1 5 6 - 6 8 . See also above
pp. i35f. The rich/poor antithesis of II Cor. 8.9 need not be intended as a pre-existence/
incarnation antithesis, but may be simply a fulsome contrast between the sinless life of
Jesus and the humiliation of the cross (cf. II Cor. 5 . 2 1 , and Dunn, Christology, pp. 1 2 1 - 3 ) .

Christ and Christology

[51.2

question that for Paul the decisive event for both christology and
soteriology was Jesus' death and resurrection (so also Phil. 2.8f.; and
note how the 'sending' formulations of Rom. 8.3 and Gal. 4.4 are at
once elaborated by reference to Jesus' death - Rom. 8.3c, Gal. 4.5a).
Prior to his death Jesus was wholly one with man, first Adam (Rom.
8.3; Phil. 27f.); only with the resurrection did Jesus become represen
tative of a new humanity, last Adam (Rom. 8.29; Col. 1 . 1 8 ; and
particularly I Cor. 1 5 . 2 0 - 2 3 , 45).
If we are looking for the earliest appearance of the thought of
personal pre-existence in relation to Jesus a stronger candidate is the
letter to the Hebrews. Like Paul the writer describes Jesus in the
language of pre-existent Wisdom (i.2f.); but in addition the thought
of personal pre-existence may be implied in the argument of 7.3 (Jesus
qualifies as a Melchizedek priest because like Melchizedek he has
'neither beginning of days nor end of life', or more precisely, because
his resurrection demonstrates the indestructible quality of his life 7.16), and in 10.5 (cf. 1.8, 2.14 and 13.8 - see below p.281). Yet we
should not fail to notice that this is accompanied by some of the
strongest adoptionist language to be found in the N T (see below
pp. 280L), and there is little doubt that for Hebrews too the christological moment focuses firmly on Jesus' death and entry into the
heavenly sanctuary (1.3L; 2.9L; 5 . 5 - 1 0 ; .20; 7 . 1 5 ^ , 26-28; etc.).
Equally significant is Hebrews' exegesis of Ps. 8.4-6, where Jesus is
represented as the man who fulfilled the divine programme for man,
which had hitherto remained unfulfilled, and so as the pioneer who
leads the way and makes it possible for his brother men to follow him
through the programme to its intended end ( 2.5 - 1 8 ) - a christology not
so very far removed from Paul's Adam/last Adam christology in
Rom. 8.3 and I Cor. 1 5 .
It is only really in John's Gospel, towards the end of the first
century, that we see the shift in the christological moment actually
beginning to take place - where Jesus is presented as conscious of a
personal pre-existence (particularly 8.58), and the talk of ascent is set
in counterpoise with the talk of a prior descent (3.13; 6.33, 38, 41 f.,
5of., 58, 62). Yet even here (as with Paul), Jesus is more precisely to
be thought of as the man that pre-existent Logos became (1.14), that
is, the man who brings God to expression more clearly than any of
God's previous acts (1.18); and the divine glory which was discernible
32

3 3

32. See E. Schweizer, Jesus, 1968, E T S C M Press 1 9 7 1 , pp. 841.

33. J . Knox assesses the christology of Hebrews as 'a close approximation to a pure
kenoticism' (Humanity, p. 43); but he has not demonstrated that the thought of a personal
pre-existence of the Son is present in Hebrews; and even if it can be argued for in 7.3 and
10.5 it is hardly as strong or as persistent as the adoptionist language (see below pp. 28of.).

51.3]

'One Jesus, many Christs?'

to the eye of faith in the earthly Jesus (1.14) is pre-eminently the

glorification of death-resurrection-ascension (7.39; 1 2 . 1 6 , 2 3 ; 1 7 . 1 , 5).
Moreover, the soteriological moment remains firmly centred on this
salvation climax to Jesus' ministry; for the flesh which the Logos
became (1.14) is of no avail 6.63; cf. 3.6); it is only the Jesus given
over to death, lifted up on the cross and in resurrection who thereby
becomes the source of the life-giving Spirit, of life for the world ( 3 . 1 3 1 5 ; 6.51, 62L; 7-3 ^-; 19-30 34; 2.0.22).
In short, as the first century draws to a close we seem but a step
away from an incarnation-centred christology. In John the decisive
soteriological moment is still that of death-resurrection-ascension. But
the christological moment is split between the descent of a pre-existent
Logos in incarnation and the ascent whence he was before through
the counterpoised uplifting in the glorification of cross and exaltation.
This is still a far cry from the idea of redemption by means of incarnation, such as we find later particularly in Gregory of Nyssa, where
however much Christ's death and resurrection are stressed, the decisive christological and the decisive soteriological moment are both
focused on the incarnation. But it is also significantly different from
the christology of some 40 or 50 years earlier with its forward-looking
focus on the Jesus now risen to become Messiah, Son of God and
Lord and soon to return again.
8

34

51.3 We can demonstrate the diversity of first-century christology

very simply from another angle in more summary fashion. The development which we have traced in first-century christology (ch. Ill
and above 51.1, 2) is reflected in the diverse evaluations of the different stages of 'the Christ event' which we find within the NT. Thus
next to nothing is made of the ministry of Jesus in the Acts sermons
and in Paul, whereas certain elements within Hellenistic Christianity
seem to have focused attention on Jesus as the great miracle worker
(the so-called 'divine man' christology), and there is a strand of imitatio Christi running through much of the N T which Liberal Protestantism was able to elaborate with considerable effect, though less
justification (e.g. Mark 8.34; Luke 9.57^; John 1 3 . 1 3 - 1 6 ; I Cor.
1 1 . 1 ; Heb. 12.if.; I Peter 2.21). As regards the death of Jesus: Jesus
himself probably regarded it as the beginning of the messianic woes
34. Gregory of Nyssa, contra Eunomium, 5 . 5 , 1 2 . 1 ; oratio catechetica, 26 (ET in H.
Bettenson, The Later Christian Fathers, Oxford University Press 1970, pp. 1 3 7 , 1 4 2 - 5 ) .
Cf. Leo's fifth Christmas sermon (in J . P. Jossua, Le salut incarnation ou mystre pascal,
Paris 1968, p. 363 - 1 owe these references to my colleague S. G. Hall); cf. also Harnack's
comment on Athanasius (History of Dogma, i 8 9 4 , E T Williams 8c Norgate 1897, III,
pp. 292f.).
3

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[51.3

which would bring in the eschaton, the final rule of God; the earliest
churches and/or Luke apparently made little of it as a soteriological
factor; whereas Paul in particular developed a theology of the suffer
ing and death of Christ probably partly at least in response to a
'gospel' of Christ the miracle working Son of God (Mark and John
somewhat similarly).
Popular ideas of the resurrection of Jesus are largely determined by
Luke's presentation in Luke 24 and Acts 1 . But 'resurrection' was in
fact only one way of speaking about what had happened to Jesus after
his death, only one way of interpreting their post-Easter experience of
Jesus. Mark's account of the empty tomb could possibly have been
interpreted in terms of a translation of Jesus from earth to heaven
(like those of Enoch and Elijah). Elsewhere in the N T , resurrection,
exaltation, ascension are all equivalent forms of expression (Hebrews
never really speaks of Jesus' resurrection as such - the nearest is
13.20); whereas Luke envisages a two-stage process with resurrec
tion clearly distinguished from ascension. Similarly the resurrection
appearances are differently interpreted - by Paul in terms of a spiritual
body from heaven, by Luke particularly in very physical and earthy
terms (Luke 24.39).
What of Jesus' present role now that he has been raised/exalted?
In earliest Christianity, in the Synoptic tradition and in Acts hardly
any role is attributed to the exalted Christ. Whereas Hebrews focuses
attention precisely at this point - on Jesus' continuing role as high
priest interceding on our behalf in the very presence of God (cf. Rom.
8.34; I John 2.1). In Paul there is a strange ambivalence since he
speaks of the exalted Lord both as an exalted being in heaven (e.g.
Rom. 8.34; I Cor. 1 5 . 2 5 ; Phil. 2 . 9 - 1 1 ) , as the Spirit who gives life to
man on earth (I Cor. 15.45), and as the community of believers (I Cor.
1 2 . 1 2 ) . In fact, it is not in the end clear how Paul conceived of the
exalted Christ and how he conceived of Christ's present role in
relation to believers ('in Christ').
As for the parousia, the harsh reality is that the imminent parousia
hope of (Jesus and) thefirstChristians did not materialize - Jesus did
not return in glory within the life-span of his own generation. And
35

35. Cf. the biting judgment of H. S. Reimarus: 'Now if the apostles had at that time
said that it would be about seventeen, eighteen, or several hundred years before Christ
would return in the clouds of heaven and begin his kingdom, people would simply have
laughed at them, and would naturally have thought that by their placing the fulfilment of
the promise far beyond the lives of so many men and generations, they were only seeking
to hide their own and their master's disgrace . . . If Christ neither has nor does come again
to reward the faithful in his kingdom, then our belief is as useless as it is false' (Fragments,
1 7 7 8 , ed., C . H. Talbert, S C M Press 1 9 7 1 , pp. 2 1 5 , 228).

51.3]

'One Jesus, many Christs?'

243

most students of the N T readily recognize the problems which the

delay of the parousia caused particularly to Luke, John and II Peter
(see below 71.2-4). To be sure, it is possible to escape the christological problem of Jesus' being mistaken about the imminent parousia,
by arguing that the original hope was not of parousia at all: it was of
a coming (parousia) all right, but of a coming in the clouds of heaven
to the Ancient of Days (Dan. 7.13) rather than a coming again to
earth; that it was the hope of exaltation rather than of return (Mark
14.62). But if this was the case then the parousia hope itself is a
secondary development and we have an important further element of
diversity.
What finally of pre-existence and deity} There is no good evidence
that Jesus thought of himself as a pre-existent being. Certainly the
earliest christology seems to have been distinctly 'adoptionist' in
character (even if the description is somewhat anachronistic); indeed,
I would find it very hard to escape that conclusion (see above pp.20,
48f., 54, 233, 24of.). It was probably only when the Jesus-tradition
was put together as a kind of 'life of Jesus' that the emphasis in
the apologetic use of Ps. 2.7 swung from Jesus' resurrection to his
experience at Jordan. The thought of pre-existence first came in
through a Wisdom christology, where Jesus was understood as the
embodiment and fullest expression of Wisdom. Initially the language
of pre-existence probably referred only to Wisdom as such and the
man Jesus was what Wisdom became. But in the Fourth Gospel the
concept of a personal pre-existence of Jesus himself begins to emerge.
How this squares with the idea of a virgin birth as in Matthew (and
Luke) is not clear; though the concepts of incarnation and virgin birth
are not necessarily incompatible. Be that as it may, it is not an unfair
summary to say that while for Mark the beginning of the Christ event
is the baptism of John (Mark 1 . 1 ) , for Matthew and Luke it is Jesus'
conception by Mary, whereas John sets it before creation itself (John
i.if.).
36

37

38

Similarly the thought of Jesus' deity seems to be a relatively late

arrival on the first-century stage. Paul does not yet understand the
36. T. F. Glasson, The Second Advent, Epworth 1 9 4 5 , pp. 64L; Robinson, Jesus and
his Coming, pp. 4 3 - 5 8 . See also n. 2 2 above.
3 7 . The evidence reviewed above (6.2, 18.4) is decisive against the view that John is
attempting to present Jesus 'as he actually was' in such passages as John 8.58 and 10.30.
38. More difficult is the question whether the concepts of incarnation and virgin birth
are finally compatible with the full humanity of Jesus. Cf. e.g., Brown, Virginal Conception,
pp. 4 5 - 7 ; Knox, Humanity, pp. 6if., 68, 7 3 , etc. In the revision of U&D I have been
conscious that too little is said about the virgin birth. But see R. E. Brown, The Birth of
the Messiah, Chapman 1 9 7 7 .

Christ and Christology

244

[52.1

risen Christ as the object of worship: he is the theme of worship, the

one for whom praise is given, the one whose risen presence in and
through the Spirit constitutes the worshipping community, the one
through whom the pray-er prays to God (Rom. 1.8; 7.25; II Cor.
1.20; Col. 3.17), but not the object of worship or prayer. So too his
reticence about calling Jesus 'God'. Even the title 'Lord' becomes a
way of distinguishing Jesus from God rather than of identifying him
with God (Rom. 15.6; I Cor. 8.6; 1 5 . 2 4 - 2 8 ; II Cor. 1.3; 1 1 . 3 1 ; Eph.
1.3, 1 7 ; Phil. 2.n;Col. 1.3). Paul was and remained a monotheist
(see above pp.56f.). That reticence in calling Jesus 'God' is only really
overcome towards the end of the first century with the Pastorals (Titus
2.13) and again with the Fourth Gospel (John 1 . 1 , 1 8 ; 20.28).
In short, 'the kerygmatic Christ' is no single or simple formulation,
but a fairly wide diversity of formulations which embrace quite a
broad spectrum of different understandings of 'the Christ event',
which are not always wholly compatible with each other, and which
change and develop as the first century progresses.
39

52.

CONCLUSIONS

52.1 Diversity. After such a catalogue as outlined above (51.3) one

might be tempted to ask, 'Will the real christology please stand up'!
The fact is that there was no one christology in first-century Christ
ianity but a diversity of christologies. There is no single christology
to which we can point and say, 'That is the view of Christ which the
churches of the first century recognized as orthodox.' There are of
course formulations which Paul and the Johannine writers all reject
(II Cor. 1 1 . 4 ; I John 4.2L - see further below 62.3, 64.3), but no
single orthodoxy, and certainly no single comprehensive orthodoxy.
Indeed, what many Christians both past and present have regarded
as orthodox christology may be represented (not altogether unfairly)
as a curious amalgam of different elements taken from different parts
of first-century Christianity - personal pre-existence from John, virgin
birth from Matthew, the miracle-worker from the so-called 'divine
man' christology prevalent among some Hellenistic Christians, his
death as atonement from Paul, the character of his resurrection from
Luke, his present role from Hebrews, and the hope of his parousia
from the earlier decades. Well might Don Cupitt entitle his essay,

39. Possibly as early as Rom. 9.5 - but if so only as an isolated instance. See my
Romans, pp. 5 2 8 - 9 .

52.2]

Conclusions

245
40

'One Jesus, many Christs?' - though it would be more accurate to

speak of 'one Jesus, many christologies'.
52.2 Unity. Within this diversity however a unifying element is regu
larly discernible: namely, the affirmation of the identity of the man Jesus
with the risen Lord, the conviction that the heavenly reality known in
kerygma and scripture, in community, worship and religious experi
ence generally is one and the same Jesus of whom the Jesus-tradition
speaks. So for Paul, the Risen One is precisely the Crucified One, the
last Adam who shared the fleshness of the first Adam; and the Spirit
is precisely the Spirit of Jesus who enables the believer to echo the
prayer of the earthly Jesus - 'Abba, Father'. For Mark the gospel is
of the Son of God, but also of the suffering Son of Man. In Luke the
unity is less clear, but he too certainly wants to hold Jesus the man
and Jesus the Lord together as one, for he himself calls the Jesus of
his narratives 'Lord' (e.g. Luke 7.19; 1 0 . 1 ) and he evidently regards
his second volume as complementary to his first (Acts i.if.). The
same consciousness that Jesus of Nazareth is the heavenly presence
in worship comes through in Matthew, particularly in 1 1 . 2 8 - 3 0 and
18.20, which are probably words of the exalted Christ but attributed
without sense of inconsistency to the earthly Jesus (see above p. 80).
In Hebrews the key point of his argument is that Jesus is now high
priest in the heavenly sanctuary, only because he was and is man;
only because he knows human weakness from the inside, only because
he was made 'perfect through suffering', is he qualified as priest, can
he serve as priest (2.6-18; 4 . 1 4 - 5 . 1 0 ) . When I Peter speaks to those
faced with persecution it is the one Jesus who provides both an
example by his own patience in suffering ( 2 . 2 1 - 2 3 ; 4 - J 3 ^ 5 5- )
and the hope of glory to come by his resurrection (1.7, 1 1 , 2 1 ; 4 . 1 3 ;
5.1, 4, 10). In Revelation the central image for Christ is a lamb
'standing as though slain' (5.6; cf. 5.9); the glorified Christ is precisely
the lamb who was slain, and who still bears the mark of the fatal
wound (see also below pp. 363^).
Above all there is John. The inspired genius of John is most clearly
seen in the way he weaves into one the two strands of the basic
christological affirmation - he who was, is - or perhaps better, he
who is, was. Thus he presents the earthly Jesus already in terms of
his exalted glory. Thus in the great bread of life discourse (John 6),
41

40. D. Cupitt, in Christ Faith and History: Cambridge Studies in Christology, ed., S. W.
Sykes and J . P. Clayton, Cambridge University Press 1 9 7 2 , pp. 1 3 1 - 4 4 .
4 1 . Note e.g. the deliberate parallels between the Gospel and Acts listed in G. Stahlin,
Die Apostlegeschichte, N T D , 5, i^6z, pp. i3f.
w

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Christ and Christology

[52.3

the bread of life is precisely the incarnate one, but the incarnate one
who died, was exalted and now ministers to his own through the
Spirit (6.51, 6zi.). Thus the whole Gospel seeks to present the climax
of Jesus' ministry precisely as a unity of death and exaltation - a
single upward sweep of the pendulum lifting up Jesus on the cross in
ascension and glorification (see above p. 81 and n. 25). Thus the
Spirit is precisely the other Paraclete, the alter ego of the incarnate
Logos, whose coming is Jesus' return to indwell his own. And thus
the future life, judgment, resurrection are already anticipated in the
here and now of Christ (3.18 f.; 5.24.; 1 1 . 2 5 f-) ~ past, present and
future tied together in a glorious unity.
We must add of course that from very early on the first believers
found it necessary to speak of Christ in the language of pre-existence.
The reality of Christ could not be comprehended adequately in talk
simply of resurrection and exaltation. Jesus himself had to be under
stood not merely as the eschatological proclaimer of God's kingdom
and as the one through whom men now come to God, but as himself
the expression of God's revelation and redemptive purpose, as the
embodiment of the divine wisdom that had always been manifest in
all God's works. And this conviction developed through the use of
more traditional wisdom language in Paul and Hebrews to John's
bold presentation of Jesus as the incarnate Logos conscious of a
personal pre-existence. Thereafter, if I may summarize so briefly,
the christological moment began to centre more and more on the
incarnation while the soteriological moment swung between incar
nation and atonement. But ultimately all such reflection stems from
a realization that the man who is thus exalted must at the same time
have been more than man from the beginning - not just representing,
embodying man (Adam, 'man' of Ps. 8), but somehow also rep
resenting God, embodying the wisdom of God. So ultimately it all
stems from the primary affirmation that Jesus the man has been
exalted after death.
52.3 We can affirm also a unity between the historical Jesus and the
kerygmatic Christ. That is to say, the identity between the man Jesus
and the proclaimed Christ unites not only the diverse kerygmata in
one, but unites also the pre-Easter proclamation of Jesus with the
post-Easter kerygma of the first Christians. Two firm strands of conti
nuity bind the before and after of Easter into one. (1) There is a close
similarity between the relation with God into which Jesus sought to
bring his disciples and that which the kerygma of the earliest believers
sought to realize (the abba relationship, through the power of the
eschatological Spirit). Not only so, but on both sides of Easter bound

52.4]

Conclusions

247

up with this is a recognition that this relationship is dependent on

Jesus - a sonship which Jesus himself sought to share with his disciples
(Luke 1 1 . 2 ) , and one which the early Christians recognized as a
sharing in Jesus' own sonship (Rom. 8 . 1 5 - 1 7 ) ; the Spirit/power which
the first Christians regarded as peculiarly his own ('Spirit of Jesus')
was already so in Jesus' own mind (Matt. 12.28). (2) There is a
forward lookingness in Jesus' own ministry which reaches forward
through Easter, just as there is a backward lookingness in the first
Christians' proclamation which reaches back through Easter, and
these together provide a double clamp which holds the two firmly
joined. In other words, Jesus looked forward to a future vindication
which was not so very far removed in conceptualization from the
vindication which the first Christians believed he had received through
the resurrection; and the first-century Christians look back to the
earthly Jesus and to the character of his life and ministry and count
that, together with the proclamation of his death and resurrection, as
the chief criteria by which to test the claims of new revelation and of
their own understanding and practice of 'the faith of Christ' (48.3).
In short, the identity of historical Jesus with kerygmatic Christ is the
one basis and bond of unity which holds together the manifold diver
sity of first-century Christianity; that is, the continuity between the
message of Jesus and the post-Easter proclamation, and the agreement
of the different kerygmata in affirming that Jesus of Nazareth and the
exalted Christ are one and the same, is the unifying core round which
the diversity of N T Christianity coheres. Or to put the same point in
a way which evokes older discussions: even in Jesus' own mind and
ministry he never simply stood as man before God; and in the postEaster christology he never simply stood as God before man. There
was an element of divine otherness even in his own ministry, just as
the exalted Christ never ceased to be Jesus of Nazareth for any N T
writer. On both sides of Easter elements of the divine and the human
belong firmly together - in different ways and with different
'weighting', but always together.
52.4 It is important to reaffirm the point which we stressed at the end
of chapter II (7.1) - that this unifying core is an abstraction. When
we look at any of the areas examined in the preceding chapters, the
particular self-understanding which becomes apparent in procla
mation, confession, apologetic, worship, etc., is always fuller than
the unifying core itself. The leading N T theologians (Paul and the
Johannine school most explicitly) are sufficiently self-conscious about
the basic unifying core to revert to it when a criterion for faith and
conduct is required. But when they attempt to put Christianity into

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Christ and Christology

[52.5

words at any particular point, it is always a much fuller formulation

which they use - inevitably so if they were to speak clearly and
meaningfully to their own situations and their potential readerships.
But this also means that as soon as we move beyond the unifying
core, the self expressions of Christian faith, worship and life multiply
and diversify. Indeed the diversity is much more obviously a feature
of the beginnings of Christianity than the unity. Moreover, many of
the differences which become immediately apparent are in fact integ
ral to these different self expressions. Diversity is as integral to firstcentury Christianity as unity. In short, there is no single closely defined
Christianity or christology in the NT; and if we recognize the unifying
christological strand in first-century Christianity we must recognize
also the many different strands which are woven in with it at different
points to form the diverse patterns which are first-century Christ
ianity. We must explore the ramifications and repercussions of this
conclusion more fully in our final chapter below.
52.5 Of the three main questions posed in the penultimate paragraph
of 49 above we have dealt only with the first two in any detail. We
can make only a few remarks on the third, since it raises issues which
go far beyond the scope of the present study. But clearly there is a
problem of considerable dimensions here: granted the unity and diver
sity which we.have discovered in NT christology, what are we to say
about traditional christology? How are we to correlate the two? How
well rooted in the N T is the latter? The problem can perhaps be
illustrated by recalling how the original World Council of Churches
confession of 'our Lord Jesus Christ as God and Saviour' was
expanded by the New Delhi Assembly in 1961 by the addition of the
phrase 'according to the Scriptures' and by an explicit Trinitarian
formula. Quite properly the scriptures are here regarded as providing
Christians with the normative definition of Christian faith (see further
below ch. XV). But what about the diversity of N T christology? What
if it is the case that the title 'God' only began to be attributed to
Jesus in the latest writings of the NT? that a full-blown Trinitarian
understanding of God was only one possible interpretation of much
more ambivalent language and thought in Paul, John, etc.? Does it
matter that of the N T writings only the Pastorals and II Peter show
much enthusiasm for the title 'Saviour'? What if it is the case that
the shift of the christological moment from resurrection-exaltation to
incarnation, a shift which made possible the full flowering of Logos
and Alexandrian christology in the subsequent centuries, was only
42

42. For possible reasons see Foerster, 'soter', TDNT,

VII, pp. i02of.

52.5]

Conclusions

249

beginning to take place in the last of the four Gospels and one of the
last of the N T writings? Then to be sure traditional christology can
claim to have some sort of foothold in the N T - at least one of the
diverse strands which gathered round the unifying strand provides a
guideline which leads forward into the formulations of later centuries.
But what of the other diverse strands? What of earliest Christianity's
'adoptionism'? What of Paul's unwillingness to pray to Jesus and
reservation about calling Jesus 'God'? What of the central christological and soteriological significance of Jesus' death and resurrection so much more characteristic of the N T writers at large than any
thought of the incarnation of pre-existent deity? What of the more
limited claims involved in the earliest Wisdom christology and the
fact that Jesus seems to have thought of himself only as Wisdom's
messenger? What indeed of the limitations of the historical Jesus'
own self-understanding? - was Jesus much, much more than even he
himself sensed? In short, how typical of first-century Christianity is
the World Council's present confession of Christ? How truly can it
claim to be 'according to the Scriptures'? Should there be room for a
greater diversity of expression, or at least for a greater hesitation or
uncertainty than these firm assertions seem to allow? Of course we
may well wish to argue that the first Ecumenical Councils recognized
what strand of N T christology was the one that really mattered that out of the diverse half-formed ideas and faith formulations of
first-century Christianity they grasped and elaborated the one that
had most truly perceived the reality that was (and is) Christ. But then
that is a christology which is not simply 'according to the Scriptures',
but according to one particular interpretation of the scriptures - an
interpretation which came to dominate and triumph over the other
interpretations which could claim also to be justifiable interpretations
of the scriptures, but which the winning orthodoxy branded as
heresies. A Jew could of course make the same criticism of N T inter
pretation of the Jewish scriptures. But it does raise crucial questions
about the locus and norm of revelation and authority - some of which
will become clearer in the course of Part II and to which we must
return in chapter X V .
43

44

4 3 . Cf. the comments of Knox and K. Rahner cited by Knox, Humanity, pp.56f.
44. When I returned to these questions and subjected the N T data to much more careful
scrutiny I was interested to find that my respect for the subsequent Trinitarian formulations
was considerably strengthened - rather to my surprise (see Christology, pp. 2 6 2 - 3 , 2.668, and New Foreword to Second Edition pp. xxviii - xxxii). But since a large part of the
task of this present book is to stimulate questioning and provoke theological reflection I
decided to leave the questions of 52.5 as originally posed and unchanged for the second
edition.

Part Two
D I V E R S I T Y IN U N I T Y ?

XI

Jewish Christianity

53.

INTRODUCTION

If we may claim to have discovered the unity within the diversity of

first-century Christianity we can now go on to examine the range
of diversity round that unity. Just how diverse was the diversity of
first-century Christianity? We have discovered the centre of the circle
of first-century Christianity. Now we must inquire whether there was
also a circumference to that circle - and if so whether it was clearly
marked or barely discernible, or whether perhaps it only began to
emerge in the second, third or subsequent generations of Christianity.
How can we best pursue this second main line of inquiry? Perhaps
it is simplest to take a lead from later developments. For we know
that from the second half of the second century onwards clear boun
daries were being drawn, marking off the emerging great Church
from its competitors - particularly the various Jewish Christian sects,
the different varieties of Gnostic Christianity and the Marcionites,
and the enthusiastic apocalypticism of Montanism. We may pose our
question this way: Are similar or equivalent boundaries already being
drawn within the N T period? Or do some of the features, some of
the emphases within first-century Christianity lie in the areas that
were later excluded by developing orthodoxy? Are there elements in
the N T writings themselves which give more scope to the later Jewish
Christian, Gnostic and apocalyptic sects than orthodoxy in the event
allowed? How far does the diversity of first-century Christianity
extend? Where did acceptable diversity fall over into unacceptable
diversity?
Developments in the latter decades of the second century thus sug
gest four main areas in which we might hope to find answers to these
questions. For want of better titles I will head these chapters simply
Jewish Christianity, Hellenistic Christianity, Apocalyptic Christ
ianity, and Early Catholicism. None of these is very satisfactory and
they are liable to provoke dispute, so I should perhaps stress at once
that (1) they do not denote mutually exclusive segments of first-

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[53

century Christianity - rather they denote dimensions and emphases

within first-century Christianity which all overlap and interact to
some degree, but which can nevertheless be subjected to separate
analysis without resorting to unacceptable oversimplification; (2) they
do not presuppose any particular relation or continuity between these
dimensions and emphases of first-century Christianity and the more
clearly defined sects and 'heresies' of the second and third centuries
onwards.
The difficulty in nomenclature is highlighted by the phrase 'Jewish
Christianity'. 'Jewish Christian' can be used quite appropriately to
describe all the N T writings, since they are all in greater or less degree
dependent on and expressive of Christianity's Jewish heritage (see
above p.87); or it can be restricted to the first generation Christians
who remained in Jerusalem (and Palestine), particularly those who,
according to Eusebius (H, III.5.3), fled from Jerusalem during the
60s across the Jordan to Perea (and their successors); or again it can
be confined to the four or so more clearly distinguished Jewish Christ
ian sects of the second and third centuries who were attacked by
several early Fathers as heretical (see below p.258 n.6). In the present
study I use the title in a blanket way covering particularly the last
two more restricted senses, but more to provoke the question as to
what their relation to each other was, not to specify any particular
relation.
Similarly 'Hellenistic Christianity' could embrace the whole of
first-century Christianity since more or less all Palestine and all Jewish
life and thought was to greater or less degree influenced by Hellenism,
so that, for example, Matthew is described more accurately as a
Hellenistic Jewish Christian document than simply as a Jewish Christ
ian document. But here we will have to use 'Hellenistic Christianity'
in a more restricted sense to denote Christianity as it spread beyond
Palestine and Judaism, the Christianity of the Gentile mission, Christ
ianity as it came into increasing contact with the philosophical
speculations, mystery cults and gnostic tendencies of the wider oriental-hellenistic syncretism of the Eastern Mediterranean (including
influences from Judaism), since alternative short-hand titles like
'Gentile Christianity' and 'Gnostic Christianity' are too narrow and
if anything even more misleading.
1

1. Cf. J . Danielou, The Theology of Jewish Christianity, 1 9 5 8 , E T Darton, Longman

&C Todd 1 9 6 4 , pp. 7ff.; S. K. Riegel, 'Jewish Christianity: Definitions and Terminology',
NTS, 24, 1 9 7 7 - 7 8 , pp. 4 1 0 - 5 .
2. 'From about the middle of the third century B C all Judaism must really be designated
"Hellenistic Judaism" in the strict sense' (M. Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism, E T S C M
Press 1 9 7 4 , Vol. I, p. 104.)

54 ]

Earliest Palestinian Christianity ?

55

The last two titles are no less contentious - 'Apocalyptic Christ

ianity' denoting the influence within first-century Christianity of
Jewish apocalyptic thought and provoking the questions: How integ
ral was apocalypticism to earliest Christianity? How distinctive was
earliest Christian apocalyptic eschatology? Did it do enough to guard
itself against the fanaticism which later on brought apocalyptic
enthusiasm into such disrepute in the eyes of the orthodox?' 'Early
Catholicism' turns the questioning around and asks whether and to
what extent the hallmarks of emerging catholic orthodoxy are already
present in the N T . When do the bulwarks of later orthodoxy begin
to appear?
These four titles are of course not meant to be a definitive or
exhaustive description of the total phenomenon of first-century
Christianity. Others could be coined, other emphases highlighted. But
our task here is the limited one of investigating the diversity of earliest
Christianity by focusing attention on those areas and movements
within earliest Christianity wherein that diversity came to clearest
expression and where we may have good hope of discovering where
acceptable diversity fell over into unacceptable diversity.
We begin in this chapter by comparing the earliest form of Christ
ianity with the Jewish Christianity which came to be regarded as
heretical in the late second and third centuries, to investigate the
similarity and possible continuity between the two. We then turn to
the intervening period to find out if we can where the acceptable
diversity of Jewish Christianity within the N T differs from the
unacceptable diversity of the Ebionites.

54.

H O W

' O R T H O D O X '

P A L E S T I N I A N

W A S

E A R L I E S T

C H R I S T I A N I T Y ?

54.1 The first Christians were Jews. Even accepting Luke's account
of the range of nationalities present at Pentecost, they were all
'Jews and proselytes' (Acts 2.10). And even though they believed that
Jesus was Messiah and risen from the dead, that did not alter their
standing or outlook as Jews, although to be sure their belief in a
crucified Messiah and a resurrection already begun or past would be
regarded as eccentric by most other Jews (cf. I Cor. 1.23). They
constituted a small messianic conventicle or eschatological sect within
Judaism, but they continued to think and act as Jews in all matters
most characteristic of Judaism. This can be demonstrated with
sufficient probability.
(a) They evidently regarded themselves as the climax of Judaism,

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256

[54.1

what Paul later called 'the Israel of God' (Gal. 6.16): thus 'the twelve'
presumably constituted the earliest community's focal point in their
role as representatives of eschatological Israel (Matt. 19.28/Luke
22.29 f.; Acts. 1.21 f.; I Cor. 1 5 . 5 ; see above p. 1 1 7 ) ; so too the
earliest function of the Lord's Supper was probably as the meal of
the new covenant (see above 40.4, and further below PP.352L).
(b) They apparently continued to observe the law without question,
not interpreting their traditions of Jesus' words and actions in a
manner hostile to the law. Hence the Pharisees seem to have seen in
them little or nothing of the threat which Jesus had posed (Acts
5.33-39) and not a few became members of the Jesus-sect while still
remaining Pharisees (Acts 1 5 . 5 ; 21.20); hence too the shock of the
Cornelius episode to the Jerusalem believers - it had not occurred to
them that faith in Jesus the Christ might make the purity law irrel
evant (Acts 1 0 . 1 4 , 45; 1 1 . 2 f.; see further above 16.3).
(c) They evidently continued to be firmly attached to the temple,
attending daily at the hours of prayer (Acts 2.46; 3.1), regularly
coming together there for mutual support and in order to teach and
evangelize (5.12, 20 f., 25, 42). Luke's account of the earliest period
in the life of the new community ends with them never having stirred
from Jerusalem and still largely centred on the temple (5.42). More
over, the fact that Matt. 5.23 f. was preserved in the Jesus-tradition
suggests that it had continuing relevance for the first Christians - that
is, they continued to use and be part of the sacrificial cultus; note the
similar implication of Acts 21.24 (
l above p. 1 3 5 ) .
{d) Their belief in the imminent parousia of Jesus, the Son of Man,
Messiah and Lord (see above pp.42, 45, 54L, 2.33ft. and below
PP.352L) seems to have stayed within the framework of Jewish esch
atological hope. This is probably the chief reason why they remained
so firmly rooted in Jerusalem and centred on the temple, for the
temple was the obvious focal point of the imminent consummation,
as Mai. 3.1 clearly indicated; and the tradition of the mysterious word
of Jesus about destroying and rebuilding the temple (Mark 14.58;
15.29; John 2.19 - see above p.79) certainly testifies that the hope of
a renewed cultus in the eschatological temple was cherished among
the first Christians (see further below p.353f.).
(e) This would also explain why there was such a lack of concern
for the Gentiles or for mission outside Jerusalem among the earliest
Jerusalem community. They were still thinking only in terms of Israel
(Acts 1.6, 21 f.; 2.39 - 'all that are far off = Jews of the diaspora;
3

s e e

s o

3. See also C. K. Barrett, 'Paul and the "Pillar" Apostles', Studia Paulina in honorem
J. de Zwaan, Haarlem 1 9 5 3 , pp. 1 - 1 9 .

54-2-]

Earliest Palestinian

Christianity?

257

3.25; 5 . 3 1 ; cf. Matt. 10.5 f., 23; 1 5 . 2 4 ) / In so far as the Gentiles

entered into their thinking it would probably be in terms of the long
cherished hope that in the new age the Gentiles would flock to Mount
Zion (with the diaspora Jews) to worship God there as eschatological
proselytes (e.g. Ps. 22.27; I - - f-; 56.6-8; Zeph. 3.9 f; Zech. 1 4 . 1 6 ;
Tobit 1 3 . 1 1 ; T. Ben. 9.2; Ps.Sol. 1 7 . 3 3 - 3 5 ; Sib.Or. III.702-18, 7 7 2 76) - a perspective and a hope which Jesus himself may well have
shared (Matt. 10.5 f., 23; 15.24; together with Matt. 8 . 1 1 f./Luke
13.28 f. and Mark 1 1 . 1 7 = Isa. 56.7 - a word spoken in the Court of
the Gentiles).
In short, it is evident that the earliest community in no sense felt
themselves to be a new religion, distinct from Judaism. There was no
sense of a boundary line drawn between themselves and their fellow
Jews. They saw themselves simply as a fulfilled Judaism, the beginning
of eschatological Israel. And the Jewish authorities evidently did not
see them as anything very different from themselves: they held one or
two eccentric beliefs (so did other Jewish sects), but otherwise they
were wholly Jewish. Indeed we may put the point even more strongly:
since Judaism has always been concerned more with orthopraxy than
with orthodoxy (right practice rather than right belief) the earliest
Christians were not simply Jews, but in fact continued to be quite
'orthodox' Jews.
Notice then, that this is the group with whom Christianity proper
all began. Only their belief in Jesus as Messiah and risen, and their
belief that the last days were upon them mark them out as different
from the majority of their fellow Jews. None of the other great Christ
ian distinctives that come to expression in and through Paul are
present. The Lukan psalms were probably used from earliest days in
this community, and we have already seen how undistinctively Christ
ian they are (see above 35.1). Altogether it is a form of Christianity
which we today would scarcely recognize - Jewish Christianity
indeed, or perhaps more precisely, a form of Jewish messianism, a
messianic renewal movement within pre-70 Judaism.
sa

54.2 If we now shift our glance from the beginning of Christianity

forward 150 years or so into the second century and beyond, it at once
becomes evident that the situation has significantly altered: Jewish
Christianity, far from being the only form of Christianity, is now
4. See also Deut. 3 0 . 1 - 1 0 ; the ioth of the 1 8 Benedictions; and the material surveyed
by E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, S C M Press 1 9 8 5 , particularly pp. 7 9 - 8 6 , 9 6 - 8 .
5. At all these points the evidence from Acts is sufficiently consistent with itself at the
historical level and with the evidence from elsewhere in the N T for us to conclude that
Luke is drawing on good historical tradition (see also above pp. 68f., 1 3 8 ) .

Jewish Christianity

z 8
5

[54.2

beginning to be classified as unorthodox and heretical. There seem to

have been several groups of Jewish Christians (four anyway) whose
beliefs put them beyond the pale of the emerging great Church. One
at least preserved an ancient title for early Christians - Nazareans (cf.
Acts 24.5) - the name probably embodying a claim to preserve the
true tradition against the antinomian (in Jewish Christian eyes)
Christian communities elsewhere. The best known sect, whose name
became a kind of stereotype in great Church polemic against Jewish
Christian heresy, was the EbionitesJ
Three significant characteristics distinguish heretical Jewish Christ
ianity so far as we can now tell - though of course we should not
assume that the different Jewish Christian groups were uniform in all
three respects (see e.g. below pp. 278f.).
(a) Faithful adherence to the law. Justin Martyr knew of Jews who
believed in Christ and who kept the law without insisting that all
Christians should. But he also knew others who not only kept the
law themselves, but who also compelled Gentile believers to keep it
too: either the Gentile believers 'live in all respects according to the
law given by Moses' or else the Jewish believers withheld full fellow
ship from them. Of the Nazareans Epiphanius says:
6

Only in this respect they differ from the Jews and Christians: with
the Jews they do not agree because of their belief in Christ, with
the Christians because they are trained in the law, in circumcision,
the sabbath and the other things.
9

Likewise the Ebionites, according to Irenaeus:

They practise circumcision, persevere in the customs which are
according to the Law and practise a Jewish way of life, even adoring
Jerusalem as if it were the house of God.
10

6. A . F. J . Klijn and G. J . Reinink, Patristic Evidence for Jewish-Christian Sects, Leiden

1 9 7 3 , p. 7 1 . On the significance and diversity of second- and third-century Jewish Christ
ianity see G. Strecker, 'On the Problem of Jewish Christianity', in Bauer, Orthodoxy,
pp. 2 4 1 - 8 5 .
7. In what follows I will frequently use 'Ebionite', 'Ebionism' to denote the characteristic
emphases of heretical Jewish Christianity, without forgetting or denying thereby that the
reality was much more complex.
8. Justin, Dial., 4 7 .
9. Epiphanius, Pan., 29.7.5.
10. Irenaeus, adv.haer., 1.26.2. See also Tertullian, de prae.haer., 3 2 . 5 ; Origen, hom.in
Gen., III.5; comm.in Matt., X I . 1 2 ; in Matt.comm.ser., 79; cont.Cels., H.i; Epiphanius,
Pan., 30.2.2; 3 0 . 2 6 . 1 - 2 ; Epistula Petri, 2 . 4 - 5 (Hennecke, Apocrypha, II, p. 1 1 2 ) .

54-2-]

Earliest Palestinian

Christianity?

259

In the Jewish Christian view which comes to strongest expression in

the pseudo-Clementines and the underlying material known as the
Kerygmata Petrou (Preaching of Peter, c. AD 200?), Jesus was the
greatest of 'the true prophets', last in a line of succession going back
to Adam, and including, of course, most eminently, Moses. The true
prophet was the bearer of divine revelation, namely the law. That is
to say, Jesus had no wish to suppress or abandon the law - that was
the charge laid at Paul's door; on the contrary, Jesus upheld the law,
and reformed it by bringing it back to the true ideas of Moses.
(b) Exaltation of James and denigration of Paul. The exaltation of
James is not such a prominent feature as the first. It is clearest in the
pseudo-Clementine literature where James appears as the head of the
Jerusalem church from the first, 'ordained bishop in it by the Lord'
(Recog., I.43). As for Peter, he and the other apostles are shown as
subordinate to James and must give account of their work to him (see
e.g. Recog., 1.17, 72; IV.35; Horn., I.20; XI.35). Thus the Clementines
are introduced by a letter wherein Peter addresses James as 'the
lord and bishop of the holy Church'. Likewise Clement addresses his
letter to
11

James, the lord and the bishop of bishops, who rules Jerusalem,
the holy church of the Hebrews, and the churches everywhere excel
lently founded by the providence of God . . .
Jerome preserves a fragment of the Gospel of the Hebrews which has
significance here; it occurs 'after the account of the resurrection of
the Lord':
But the Lord after he had given his linen cloth to the servant of the
priest went to James and appeared to him (for James had sworn
that he would not eat bread from the hour in which he drank the
cup of the Lord until he had seen him rising again from those who
sleep).. ,
12

Notice how James is given special prominence: he was present at the

last supper; and the risen Jesus appearedfirstto him (not to Peter or
the twelve). This Gospel obviously stems from a community where
James was the most significantfigureof the earliest Church: by impli
cation, continuity with Jesus was through James (he was present
1 1 . See e.g., Clem.Recog., 1.44; V . i o ; X . 5 1 ; Clem.Hom., II.38; I I I . 4 9 - 5 1 ; VIII.7. See
further H. J . Schoeps, Theologie und Geschichte des Judenchristentwns, Tubingen 1 9 4 9 ,
ch. 3; also Jewish Christianity, 1964, E T Fortress 1969, ch. 5.
1 2 . Jerome, de vir.ill., II.

Jewish Christianity

z6o

[54.2

at the last supper), and he was the authoritative guarantor of the

resurrection of Jesus (the first appearance was to James). Two other
passages are perhaps worthy of mention. According to Epiphanius
the Ebionites wrote books which they passed off 'as if these were
from the hands of James, Matthew and the other disciples' - note the
two who are named. Finally we may observe that Marius Victorinus
links the origin of the (Jewish Christian) sect called the Symmachians
with James.
Exaltation of James is accompanied by denigration of Paul.
Irenaeus, Origen, Eusebius and Epiphanius number rejection of Paul
as one of the characteristics of Ebionism and of the other Jewish
Christian sects. In the pseudo-Clementines Paul is violently attacked
(under the figure of Simon Magus). Peter calls him 'the man who is
my enemy' (Epistula Petri, 2.3), and dismisses his claim to have seen
the risen Christ: Peter's experience at Caesarea Philippi (Matt.
1 6 . 1 6 f.) taught him that 'revelation is knowledge gained without
instruction, and without apparitions and dreams'.
13

14

The statements to a friend are made face to face, openly and not
through riddles and visions and dreams, as to an enemy. If, then,
our Jesus appeared to you in a vision, made himself known to you,
and spoke to you, it was as one who is enraged with an adversary
(Horn., X V I I . 1 8 - 1 9 ) .
15

For Jewish Christianity in general Paul was the arch enemy, respon
sible for the rest of Christianity's rejection of the law and himself an
apostate from the law.
(c) Adoptionism. One of the most frequently attested features of
Ebionite christology is their affirmation that Jesus' birth was wholly
natural - he was the natural son of Joseph and Mary. In this connec
tion it should be noted that they used only the Gospel of Matthew,
16

17

1 3 . Epiphanius, Pan., 30.2.3.1; Marius Victorinus, in ep.ad Gal., 4 . 1 2 ; cf. 1 . 1 5 . See also
Epiphanius, Pan., 30.2.6, and cf. 3 0 . 1 3 . 3 . And note the striking saying in the Gospel of
Thomas: 'Jesus said to them, In the place to which you have come, you will go to James
the Just, for whose sake heaven and earth came into existence' (Logion 1 2 ) ; see further
J . Doresse, The Secret Books of the Egyptian Gnostics, 1 9 5 8 , E T Hollis & Carter i960,
p. 2 3 7 .
1 4 . Irenaeus, adv.haer., I.26.2; Origen, cont.Cels., V . 6 5 ; Eusebius, HE, VI.38; Ephiphanius, Pan., 2 8 . 5 . 3 ; 3 0 . 1 6 . 8 - 9 .
1 5 . See also Schoeps, Theologie, pp. 4 1 8 - 3 4 ; Jewish Christianity, pp. 5 1 - 5 ; Hennecke,
II, pp. 1 2 1 - 3 .
1 6 . See e.g. Irenaeus, adv.haer., III.21.1; V . 1 . 3 ; Tertullian, de virg.vel., 6.1; de car.Chr.,
1 4 ; Origen, hom.in hue, XVII; Ephiphanius, Pan., 30.2.2; 3 0 . 3 . 1 .
1 7 . Irenaeus, adv.haer., I.26.2; III.11.7; Epiphanius, Pan., 30.3.7.

542-]

Earliest Palestinian Christianity?

z6i

and that according to Epiphanius it was an incomplete, mutilated

version, wholly lacking the first two chapters; that is to say, the
Ebionites had removed both genealogy and account of Jesus' birth
from a virgin.
The clearest expression of Ebionite adoptionism is found in Epi
phanius:
18

Christ they call the prophet of truth and 'Christ, the Son of God'
on account of his progress (in virtue) and the exaltation which
descended upon him from above . . . They want him to be only a
prophet and man and Son of God and Christ and mere man, as we
said before, who attained by a virtuous life the right to be called
Son of God.
19

That is to say, Jesus was named both Christ and Son of God because
the Spirit/Christ descended upon him at Jordan and because he kept
the law. This must be the significance of the Ebionite Gospel of
Matthew's account of Jesus' baptism:
20

And when he came up from the water, the heavens opened and he
saw the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove coming down and entering
into him. And a voice from heaven said, 'You are my beloved Son,
in you I am well pleased'; and again, 'This day I have begotten
you'.
21

Perhaps also significantly, John the Baptist's recognition of Jesus

(Matt. 3.14) has been transposed to follow the descent of the Spirit
and the heavenly voice.
How the relation between Christ and Jesus in Ebionite thought is
to be more fully understood is not entirely clear. Epiphanius reports
the Ebionites' claim that Christ was 'not begotten by God the Father,
but created as one of the archangels . . . and that he is Lord over the
angels . . . \ This could match the pseudo-Clementine belief that the
Spirit of Christ was manifested in repeated incarnations of the true
prophet from Adam onwards (see particularly Clem. Horn., III.20).
22

2 3

1 8 . Epiphanius, Pan., 3 0 . 1 3 . 2 ; 3 0 . 1 4 . 3 .
1 9 . Epiphanius, Pan., 3 0 . 1 8 . 5 - 6 . Cf. Justin, Dial. 48.
20. See also Hippolytus, Ref., V I I . 3 4 . 1 - 2 ; Eusebius, HE, I I I . 2 7 . 1 - 2 ; Epiphanius, Pan.,
30.14.4; 3 0 . 1 6 . 3 ; Clem. Recog., I.48.
2 1 . Epiphanius, Pan., 3 0 . 1 3 . 7 .
2 2 . Epiphanius, Pan., 3 0 . 1 3 . 8 .
2 3 . Epiphanius, Pan., 30.16.4; see also 30.3.4. Also Tertullian, de car. Chr., 1 4 . 5 ;
though see Klijn and Reinink, pp. 2if.

Jewish Christianity

262

[54.3

Presumably Jesus was the final reincarnation since their hope now
centred on the second coming of Jesus as the Christ (Recog., I.49,
6 ).
24

54.3 If these are indeed the three principal features of heretical Jew
ish Christianity, then a striking point immediately emerges: heretical
Jewish Christianity would appear to be not so very different from the
faith of the first Jewish believers.
(a) We have already noted that the first Christians remained loyal
to the law (above p.256). And as the Christian gospel began to spread
outside Palestine it was the Jewish Christian desire to maintain their
observance of circumcision, the sabbath and the purity law which lay
at the root of some of the most serious problems and disputes (cf.
Acts 15.iff.; Rom. 1 4 . 1 - 5 ; Gal. 2.4^, I2.; 4.10; 5.2ff.; 6.i2ff.; Phil.
3.2; Col. 2.i6f., 2 0 - 2 2 ) . Notice also that the earliest Christian
preaching seems to have included the claim that Jesus was the prophet
like Moses, whose coming Moses himself had promised (Deut.
i8.i5f.; so Acts 3.22; 7.37; cf. Luke 1.68-79 - see above p.144).
(b) When we first meet James, the brother of Jesus, in the earliest
Christian literature, he is already among the leadership of the Jerusa
lem church (Gal. 1.19), and very soon thereafter he stands at the head
of the community eclipsing even Peter in importance (Gal. 2.9, 1 2 ;
Acts 1 2 . 1 7 ; i5-i3ff. - see above p. 1 1 8 ) . As for hostility to Paul, we
know from his own account in Galatians how unpopular Paul quickly
became with Jewish believers, an antagonism so sharp that Luke
makes little attempt to disguise it (Acts 15.if.; 2i.2of. - see further
below 56.3).
(c) The adoptionist christology of the Ebionites too seems to have
a firm anchor point in the earliest Christian attempts to express faith
in Jesus the Christ (Acts 2.36; 1 3 . 3 3 ; Rom. 1.3L; Heb. 5.5; cf. Phil.
2 . 9 - 1 1 - see above pp.48, 233L). Note also Acts 2.22 - 'Jesus of
Nazareth, a man attested to you by God . . . ' ; and 10.38 - able to do
good and heal, 'for God was with him' (see above p.20). It may
also be significant that the earliest N T writings (Paul and Mark)
seem to know nothing, or at least say nothing about any virgin birth
tradition. Indeed both Mark and the kerygma of the Acts sermons
make the starting point of the gospel about Jesus the ministry of John
the Baptist (Mark i.iff.; Acts io.36f.; 13.24L) - like the Gospel of
the Ebionites.
24. For further discussion see Klijn and Reinink, pp. 33f.; Danielou, Theology, ch. 4;
Longenecker, Christology, pp. 26ff.; Schoeps, Theologie, pp. 7 8 - 8 2 ; Jewish Christianity,
pp. 62ff.

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Earliest Palestinian

Christianity?

263

Only at one point do the second-century Ebionites seem to stand

apart from the first believers in Jerusalem, for the Ebionites were
markedly hostile to the sacrificial cult of the temple. This does not
seem to reflect the views of the first Christians (see above p.256),
particularly Matt. 5.23^ and Acts 3.1 (where 'the hour of prayer' =
the hour of evening sacrifice), though it is possible that the sacrificial
cult was of secondary importance to them (reflected perhaps in the
absence of sacrificial language in the early understanding of Jesus'
death - see above pp.iyf., 235). On balance however it is more
probable that the Ebionite hostility dates back ultimately to the Jewish
Christians' flight from Jerusalem in the 60s and the increasing influ
ence of Essene thought in the trans Jordan settlements after the
destruction of the temple. It is less likely to stem from Stephen's
rejection of the temple (see below pp.293f.). Such animadversion to
the cult was hardly possible for a Jewish Christianity so long as it
remained centred in Jerusalem.
In short, apart from the different attitudes to the temple cult, the
measure of agreement between the earliest Jerusalem believers and
Ebionites is quite striking. The heretical Jewish Christianity of the
second and third centuries apparently has no closer parallel than the
earliest Christian community in Jerusalem. Indeed, on the basis of
this evidence, the heretical Jewish Christianity of the later centuries
could quite properly claim to be more truly the heir of earliest Christ
ianity than any other expression of Christianity.
However, that is only one side of the picture; to leave such a claim
unchallenged would give a false impression. For there are two other
important differences between Ebionism and earliest Christianity. The
first we might call the difference in tone. The faith and practice of
the primitive Jerusalem community was not something thought out,
clearly crystallized in debate; it was simply the first stage in the devel
opment from a form of Jewish messianism to Christianity proper,
from Jewish faith with some peculiarities to a distinctively Christian
faith. Consequently an important difference between the two forms
of Jewish Christianity does emerge: the practice and beliefs of the
primitive Jerusalem community were marked by development and
transition, there was nothing fixed and final, everything was fluid;
whereas Ebionism is a self-conscious faith, held in opposition to
other expressions of Christian faith (notably Paul), thought out and
clearly articulated. A link can certainly be traced between the two, a
25

26

27

2 5 . Epiphanius, Pan., 19.3.6; 3 0 . 1 6 . 5 , 7; Recog., I.3sff.; Horn., III.45.

26. So Danielou, Theology, p. 64 (citing particularly Cullmann).
27. Against Schoeps, Theologie, pp. 4 4 0 - 8 ; Jewish Christianity, pp. 4 2 - 4 .

264

Jewish Christianity

[54-4

continuity of tradition; but Ebionism has hardened and petrified a

tradition that was initially fluid and developing.
The second difference follows from the first - a difference in time.
The primitive Jerusalem faith and practice was the first tentative
attempt to express the newness of belief in Jesus as Messiah, risen and
coming again - to express it, that is, in a totally Jewish environment.
Ebionism came to expression in quite different circumstances - when
Christianity had expanded right out of Judaism, had become predomi
nantly Gentile - and, most importantly, after at least several crucial
debates and controversies on the relationship between the new faith
and the Judaism which cradled it in infancy. In other words, we
might justifiably conclude that Ebionism was rejected because in a
developing situation where Christianity had to develop and change,
it did not!
Here then is an interesting definition of heresy. Heretical Jewish
Christianity could claim a direct line of continuity with the most
primitive form of Christianity. It could certainly claim to be more in
accord with the most primitive faith than Paul, say. If the earliest
Church is the norm of orthodoxy, then Ebionism measures up pretty
well; if primitiveness means purity, then Ebionism can claim to have
a purer faith than almost any other. But Ebionism was rejected why? Because its faith did not develop as Christianity developed. It
clung to an expression of Christian faith which was acceptable at
the beginning of Christianity in a context of Judaism. In the wider
environment of the second and third centuries, with the formative
documents of Christianity already written, the simple Jewish messianism was no longer adequate. In short, heretical Jewish Christianity
was a form of stunted, underdeveloped Christianity, rigid and unfitted
to be the mouthpiece of the gospel in a new age.
28

54.4 So far we have studied the Jewish Christianity of two periods

- the Christianity of the earliest years in Palestine, and the Jewish
Christian sects of the second and third centuries. What about the
intervening period? How did primitive Jewish Christianity shape up
to the developments which moulded Christianity in a non-Jewish
fashion during the rest of thefirstcentury? What were the events and
controversies which prepared the way for Ebionism? Where and why
28. Cf. Bauer, Orthodoxy, p. 236; H. Koester, 'The Theological Aspects of Primitive
Christian Heresy', FRP, p. 83; Schoeps, Jewish Christianity: 'The delay of the Parousia
made possible the development of the Catholic church, but the Ebionite communities which
derived from the primitive church in Jerusalem were not to survive this brute fact since
they had deliberately remained at a more primitive stage of christology, a stage based on
the expectation of the Son of man' (p. 65).

55-i]

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265

did simple Jewish messianism cease to be adequate? If the answer is

to be found at all it will be found within the N T . We proceed then
by measuring various N T writings and passages against the check list
of the three characteristic features of second- and third-century Jewish
Christianity.

55.

JEWISH

CHRISTIANITY

TESTAMENT:

(i)

WITHIN

ADHERENCE

TO

THE

THE

NEW
LAW

We know from Galatians and Acts in particular that the question of

whether the law was binding on all believers became a central area
of controversy within first-century Christianity - Paul maintaining
against many, probably most of the Jerusalem based believers, that
those in Christ have been liberated from the yoke of the law. We shall
return to this below (56). One of the key factors in Peter's loss of
influence in Jerusalem was very probably his greater ambivalence or
openness on this issue (cf. above p . 1 1 8 and below p.430).
What is more interesting is the fact that we have among the N T
documents themselves two writings which give clear expression to a
Jewish Christian attitude to the law (in contrast to the Pauline view)
- Matthew and James.
55.1 Matthew's attitude to the law comes to clearest expression
in 5 . 1 7 - 1 9 . These were probably three independent logia which
Matthew himself has joined together, though possibly v v . 1 8 - 1 9 were
already linked in the (more conservative?) tradition on which he was
drawing. Whatever their original meaning, Matthew clearly under
stands them in terms of continuing loyalty to the law, that is, for him,
the law as interpreted by Jesus. Whatever Jesus himself may have
meant by any talk of fulfilling the law, he is not to be understood as
superseding it, or leaving it behind. On the contrary, 'fulfilment' is
defined by the antithesis with 'destroy': Jesus came not to abolish (the
affirmation is repeated) but to fulfil - that is, presumably, to realize
or complete the law and thus to establish it, set it on a firmer basis
(5.17). The point is strengthened by linking the saying with v. 18 by
the explanatory 'for': Jesus came not to destroy but to fulfil, 'for so
long as heaven and earth endure, not one dot not one letter will
19

29. See further R. Banks, 'Matthew's Understanding of the Law: Authenticity and
Interpretation in Matthew 5 . 1 7 - 2 0 ' , JBL, 93, 1 9 7 4 , pp. 2 2 6 - 4 2 ; also Jesus and the Law,
pp. 2 0 3 - 2 6 ; R. A . Guelich, The Sermon on th Mount, Word 1 9 8 2 , pp. 1 3 4 - 7 4 ; U. Luz,
Das Evangelium nach Matthaus, E K K 1 / 1 , Benziger/Neukirchener 1 9 8 5 , pp. 2 4 1 L

Jewish Christianity

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[55.1

disappear from the law until everything has happened'. That is to

say, the law will remain inviolate, imperishable until the end of the
age, or until the will of God has been fully accomplished. And what
that means is clarified in turn by setting out v. 19 as a corollary:
'Therefore whoever relaxes (or sets aside) even the least of these
commandments and teaches others to do the same, he shall be called
least in the kingdom of heaven' (note, not excluded from the kingdom,
but definitely a second rate citizen); whereas 'whoever keeps the com
mandments and teaches others so will be called great in the kingdom
of heaven'. Here clearly the law as 'realized' by Jesus retains an
unconditional validity for those who belong to the kingdom of
heaven; and here too is afirmrebuke to other members of the king
dom (other Christians - Matt. 8 . 1 1 ) who were more liberal in their
attitude to the law. A similar emphasis is evident in 23.3 - 'Whatever
the scribes and Pharisees tell you practise and observe'; also 23.23 you should practise the weightier matters of the law (justice, mercy
and faith) without neglecting the lesser matters (tithing mint, dill and
cummin).
Matthew's high regard for the law is also expressed in two words
distinctive in his vocabulary. The godlessness against which he con
tends in his gospel he characterizes as anomia - 'lawlessness, rejection
of the law'. The word occurs in Matthew more often than in any
other N T document, and Matthew is the only evangelist to use it
(7.23; 1 3 . 4 1 ; 23.28; 2 4 . 1 2 ) - clearly, then, his own formulation and
expressive of his own understanding of Jesus' message as advocating
continuing faithfulness to the law. The same point is implied in the
second distinctively Matthean word - dikaiosune, 'righteousness' (7
times in Matthew; elsewhere in the Gospels only in Luke 1.75 and
John 16.8, 10). Its use in Matt. 5.20 indicates that Matthew under
stands 'righteousness' in terms of keeping the commandments (note
again the explanatory 'for' linking vv.19 and 20): 'unless your righ
teousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never
enter the kingdom of heaven' (cf. 6.1 and contrast Luke 1 8 . 9 - 1 4 ) .
We could perhaps just mention also the emphasis Matthew places
on the disciples 'doing' (poiein). The verb occurs about 40 times in
Matthew's special material, and 22 times in the Sermon on the Mount
alone: only he who does the will of Jesus' Father in heaven will enter
the kingdom of heaven (see particularly 5.19; 7 . 2 1 , 24; 12.50; 19. i6f.;
25.40, 45).
30

31

30. Matt. 3 . 1 5 ; 5.6, 1 0 , 20; .i, 3 3 ; 2 1 . 3 2 .

3 1 . See A . Sand, Das Gesetz und die Propheten: Untersuchungen zur Theologie des
Evangeliums nach Matthus, Regensburg 1 9 7 4 , ch. 7.

55-i]

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Further confirmation of Matthew's Jewish Christian attitude to the

law may be found at one or two points in his redaction of Mark. For
example, the question about divorce: in Mark 10.2 the question reads
simply, 'Can a man divorce his wife?'; but Matthew reformulates it,
'Can a man divorce his wife for any cause}' Thereby he transforms a
general question and sets it within the rabbinic debate between the
schools of Hillel and Shammai; the Matthean formulation in fact
presupposes the then current practice of divorce and asks Jesus for
a verdict on the then dominant Hillelite position (divorce permissible
for any cause). With the same effect the unconditional ruling of
Jesus in Mark 1 0 . 1 1 is amended by Matthew to allow the possib
ility of divorce in cases of unchastity - the more rigorous position of
Shammai (19.9; so 5.32.). Jesus is thus shown as engaging in a current
rabbinic debate and as favouring the stricter viewpoint of the
Shammaites.
Again, Matthew's redaction of Jesus' words about true cleanliness
is significant (Matt. 15.17-20/Mark 7 . 1 8 - 2 3 ) . Mark reads,' "Do you
not see that whatever goes into a man from outside cannot defile him,
since it enters, not his heart but his stomach, and so passes out into the
drain?" (Thus he declared all foods clean)'. Matthew was evidently
unhappy with Mark's presentation at this point, for he omits the two
key phrases: '"Do you not see that whatever goes into the mouth
passes into the stomach and so is discharged into the drain?'". He
could not escape the force of the tradition itself ( 1 5 . 1 1 - 'not what
goes into the mouth defiles a man...'), but (1) he softens Mark's
version (Mark 7.15) - he was not prepared to have Jesus affirm
that unclean foods cannot defile; (2) he completely omits Mark's
interpretation that Jesus' saying implied annulment of the law on
clean and unclean foods; and (3) by his additions of 1 5 . 1 2 - 1 4 and
particularly 15.20b (summarizing the teaching) he attempts to direct
the force of Jesus' words into a rejection of the rabbinic elaboration
of the law (rather than of the law itself - 'to eat with unwashed hands
does not defile a man'). From this we may deduce that Matthew was
less than willing to abandon the dietary laws himself and less than
happy with the suggestion that Jesus' words amounted to an abroga
tion of the law.
32

33

3 2 . See D. R. Catchpole, 'The Synoptic Divorce Material as a Traditio-historical Prob

lem', BJRL, 57, 1 9 7 4 , pp. 93ff.; J . A. Fitzmyer, 'The Matthean Divorce Texts and some
new Palestinian Evidence', Theological Studies, 3 7 , 1 9 7 6 , pp. 1 9 7 - 2 2 6 .
3 3. For other examples of Matthew's 'casuistic' redaction of Mark see C. E. Carlston,
'The Things that Defile (Mark 7.14) and the Law in Matthew and Mark', NTS, 1 5 , 1 9 6 8 69, pp. 86ff. See further my 'Jesus and Ritual Purity: a study of the tradition history of Mk
7 . 1 5 ' , Jesus, Paul and the Law, SPCK 1990, ch. 2.

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[55.1

In addition a noticeable feature of Matthew's Gospel is his presen

tation of Jesus as the fulfilment of OT revelation - most clearly seen
in the 'fulfilment quotations' so distinctive of Matthew (i.22f.; 2.5L,
1 5 , 1 7 L , 23; 4 . 1 4 - 1 6 ; 8.17; 1 2 . 1 7 - 2 1 ; 1 3 . 3 5 ; 2.1.4f.; 27.9L - note
also 5.17; 26.54, 56), and in his suggestion that Jesus' teaching was
the climax of the prophetic interpretation of the law ('the law and
the prophets' - 5 . 1 7 ; 7 . 1 2 ; 1 1 . 1 3 ; 22.40). There is possibly something
of a parallel here with the more distinctive second- and third-century
Jewish Christian idea of Jesus as the climax of prophetic revelation
(above p.259). If so, this parallel may be strengthened by the element
of Moses typology which is fairly clearly discernible in Matthew's
Gospel. I am thinking here especially of the (deliberate) parallel
between the 'slaughter of the innocents' in Matt. 2.i6ff. and Ex. 1.22,
of the evocation of the sojourn in Egypt and of the Exodus in Matt.
2 . 1 3 - 1 5 , and of the similar evocation of the wilderness wanderings
and Moses' 'forty days and forty nights' on Sinai in Matt. 4 . 1 - 1 1 .
Like Moses, Jesus dispenses both blessing and curse (5.3ff.; 23.i3ff.).
Perhaps most striking of all, Matthew seems deliberately to have
gathered together Jesus' teaching into five blocks (5-7; 9 . 3 6 - 1 0 . 4 2 ;
1 3 . 1 - 5 2 ; 1 7 . 2 2 - 1 8 . 3 5 ; 2 3 - 2 5 ) , each block preceded by narrative
material and its conclusion marked by the repeated formula, 'When
Jesusfinishedthese words/parables/teaching . . . ' (a feature which can
hardly be accidental - 7.28; 1 1 . 1 ; 1 3 . 5 3 ; 1 9 . 1 ; 26.1). A not implaus
ible explanation of this feature is that Matthew intends thereby to
suggest that Jesus' teaching parallels the five books of Moses. In
particular it can hardly be coincidence that Matthew specifically has
Jesus deliver his first block of teaching on a mountain (whereas Luke
speaks of 'a level place') - again an allusion to the giving of the law
from Mount Sinai is strongly implied.
All this reinforces the view that Matthew stands firmly within the
mainstream of Jewish Christianity: whether, like the Ebionites, he
saw Moses and Jesus as the two greatest prophets is not so clear,
but he certainly understood the revelation given by Jesus to be con
tinuous with and a faithful realization of the law first given through
Moses.
3 4

35

36

37

34. As noted above (p. 95), Gerhardsson has argued plausibly that Matt. 4 . 1 - 1 1 is a
midrash on Deut. 6 - 8 . Here the Israel typology is stronger than the specific Moses typology.
3 5 . Though see Banks, Jesus and the Law, pp. 23off.
3 6. For various expositions of this Moses typology motif in Matthew see those cited in
Sand, Gesetz, pp. ioiff., Dunn, Jesus, III n. 19, and Banks, Jesus and the Law, p. 230 n. 1 .
37. The echo of Deut. 1 8 . 1 5 in the transfiguration scene (Matt. 1 7 . 5 - 'Hear him') is
simply taken over from Mark 9.7.

55-2-]

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269

55.2 Matthew's attitude to the law comes into still clearer perspec
tive when we take into account two further strands of evidence which
seem to indicate that Matthew was seeking to defend the law from
abuse on two fronts. On the one hand there is his polemic against
anomia, lawlessness - in particular against what he considers to be
charismatic antinomianism ( 7 . 1 5 - 2 3 ; 24.1 off.). Notice the contrast
between reliance on prophetic inspiration and spiritual powers on the
one hand, and doing God's will on the other; those who rely on their
charismata are called 'workers of lawlessness'. Quite possibly then
there were some enthusiastic Christians in or around the communities
addressed by Matthew, who believed that their spiritual experience
and charismata put them on a plane where they were (wholly) liber
ated from the law. Against them Matthew insists that doing God's
will means precisely keeping the law.
On the other hand, Matthew seems to befightingagainst too legal
istic an understanding of the law - an attitude probably coming to
ever clearer expression in the rabbinic Judaism of his own day. Hence
presumably the strong attacks on the Pharisees for what Matthew
counts as in fact failure to keep the law ( 3 . 7 - 1 0 ; 5.20; 1 5 . 1 2 - 1 4 ;
1 6 . 1 2 ; 2 1 . 2 8 - 3 2 , 3 3 - 4 6 ; and particularly 2 3 . 1 - 3 6 ) . The critical
question at this point concerns the law's interpretation. And here he
shows Jesus frequently confronting Pharisaism with a new and deeper
understanding of the law - in three ways. (1) In a manner unparalleled
in other Gospels, Matthew draws on Jesus' teaching to underscore
his conviction that the commandment of love is the heart and essence
of the law, in contrast to Jewish legalism (5.43-48; 7 . 1 2 ; 1 2 . 1 - 8 , 9 14 - love determines how the law is to be obeyed; 1 8 . 1 2 - 3 5 ; 2 2 . 3 4 40). (2) So too in a manner unparalleled in the other Gospels Matthew
presents Jesus' interpretation of the law as continuous with and the
climax of the prophetic protest against mere law-observance; note
particularly the repeated appeal to Hos. 6.6 against the Pharisees
(Matt. 9 . 1 3 ; 1 2 . 7 ; and see again the emphasis on 'the law and the
prophets' - 5.17; 7 . 1 2 ; 1 1 . 1 3 ; 22.40). (3) Other passages indicate
Matthew's conviction that Jesus did not set himself against the law,
but against the rabbinic tradition - the multiplying scrupulosity of
the oral tradition. Thus particularly the great antitheses of 5.21-48;
Matthew clearly intends his readers to understand Jesus' teaching as
a repudiation of the oral tradition, not of the law itself ( 5 . 1 7 - 1 9
determines the interpretation of what follows); in these sharp edged
sayings Jesus returns to the original commandment and exposes its
deeper meaning. And thus also 5.20: obedience at this deeper level
exceeds the Pharisees' casuistic obedience to the oral tradition (see
also 1 5 . 1 - 2 0 ) . In short, Matthew agreed with rabbinic Judaism in

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[55.2

holding fast to the whole law; but where they interpreted the law by
elaborating its rulings, he shows Jesus standing within the prophetic
tradition and interpreting the law by love - and in this way 'fulfilling
the law'.
It appears then that Matthew is attempting to steer his readers
between the two extremes of antinomianism and Pharisaism: the
whole law has an abiding validity, but it expresses the will of God
only when interpreted by love - only then do we penetrate to its real
meaning.
At this point therefore Matthew stands wholly within the stream
of Jewish Christianity which flows from the earliest Jerusalem com
munity. His position is not so very different from that of the first
Christians, though obviously more self-conscious and more fully
thought through. Certainly his attitude to the law is far more con
servative than Paul's (or Mark's, say) - though there is no evidence
that he attacks Paul as such. And quite clearly he represents a form
of Jewish Christianity which Paul would probably regard as still
unliberated from the law, though nevertheless as valid. On only one
related issue does he seem to have moved out beyond the earliest
unthought-out Jewish Christianity of the first believers - in reference
to mission. By way of concession to that more limited view of mission
he retains the tradition that (the pre-Easter) Jesus envisaged only a
mission to Israel (10.5f., 23; 15.24). But he qualifies this with the
universal commission of the risen Christ in 2 8 . 1 8 - 2 0 . Similarly his
redaction of Mark 1 1 . 1 7 probably signifies his abandonment of the
view that 'all the nations' will flock to Mount Zion in the last days
(see above p.257) in favour of the view that the gospel mustfirstbe
taken out to 'all the nations' (28.19; cf
Matthean additions
1 2 . 1 8 - 2 1 ; 2 1 . 4 3 ; 24.14)
Does Matthew therefore provide us with something of a link
between the Jewish Christianity of the earliest Church in Jerusalem
on the one hand and later Ebionism on the other? There is a continuity
of attitude towards the law. In particular Matthew shares a similar
loyalty to the law (cf. Matt. 5.18 with Clem.Hom., VIII.10 - 'eternal
law'). And he shares too something of the Ebionite belief that Jesus
came as the fulfiller of OT revelation, to restore the true meaning of
the law. Yet at the same time his 'intensifications' of the law (Matt.
38

39

t n e

38. See particularly G. Barth in G. Bornkamm, G. Barth and H. I. Held, Tradition and
Interpretation in Matthew, i960, E T S C M Press 1 9 6 3 , pp. 6 2 - 1 0 5 ; Sand, Gesetz.
39. See W. D. Da vies, The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount, Cambridge University
Press 1964, pp. 3 1 6 - 4 1 . Notice also that it is Peter who is given prominence rather than
James (see above 30.3).

55.3]

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271
40

5.21-48) are of a different order from those of the Ebionites, and

he shows an awareness of the dangers of a casuistic legalism which is
lacking in Ebionism. Perhaps therefore we could go so far as to say
that however 'Ebionite' Matthew is at this point, it is his insistence
on love as the determining factor in how the law is to be obeyed which
keeps him wholly within the mainstream of developing Christianity.
55.3 The letter of James is the most Jewish, the most undistinctively
Christian document in the NT. The name 'Christ' appears in only
two places - at points where it could easily have been added ( 1 . 1 ;
2.1). Otherwise no explicit reference is made to the life, death or
resurrection of Jesus. When an example of patience under suffering
is sought, it is found in the OT prophets and Job (5.1 of.), not in Jesus
(contrast I Peter 2.2iff.). The Jewish and undistinctively Christian
character of the letter is such that some have been able to argue, not
implausibly, that James was originally a Jewish document taken over
with little alteration by an early church. However, there are a
number of features which seem to require a Christian author - in
particular, the reference to birth through the word ( 1 . 1 8 ; cf. I Cor.
4 . 1 5 ; I Peter 1.23; I John 3.9) and not a few echoes of Jesus' teaching
as preserved most noticeably in the (Hellenistic) Jewish Christian
Gospel, Matthew (e.g. James 1.5, 1 7 = Matt. 7-7ff.; James i.22f. =
Matt. 7-24ff.; James 4 . 1 2 = Matt. 7 . 1 ; James 5 . 1 2 = Matt. 5.3437). So James is best understood as belonging to the same stream
of Jewish Christianity as the Lukan psalms and Matthew. The faith
he gives expression to is one which seeks to live according to the
teaching of Jesus within a wholly Jewish framework of belief and
practice - Christian at significant points but more characteristically
Jewish in sum.
The most striking passage in James is 2 . 1 4 - 2 6 , his polemic against
the doctrine of faith without works. This seems to be directed against
the Pauline expression of the gospel, or more precisely, against those
who have seized on Paul's slogan, 'justification by faith (alone)'. It
was Paul whofirstexpressed the gospel in this way (particularly Rom.
3.28); so the view which James attacks certainly goes back to Paul.
That Paul's argument is in view is also indicated by the fact that
James in effect refutes the Pauline exegesis of Gen. 15.6: 'Abraham
believed God and it was reckoned to him as righteousness'. This,
41

42

40. See Schoeps, Theologie pp. 1 8 8 - 2 1 8 ; Jewish Christianity, pp. 9 9 - 1 0 9 .

4 1 . See W. G. Kummel, Introduction to the New Testament, revised 1 9 7 3 , E T S C M
Press 1 9 7 5 , pp. 4o6f.
42. See further J . B. Mayor, The Epistle of St James, Macmillan i 8 9 7 , pp. lxxxivff.;
F. Mussner, Der Jakobusbrief, Herder i 9 7 , pp. 4 7 - 5 1 .
2

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[56

affirms James, was 'fulfilled' in Abraham's work, not in his faith that is, not in 'faith alone' (contrast Rom. 4 . 3 - 2 2 , particularly vv. 3 8; Gal. 3.2-7; cf. above p. 95).
It is obvious then that what is reflected here is a controversy within
Christianity - between that stream of Jewish Christianity which was
represented by James at Jerusalem on the one hand, and the Gentile
churches or Hellenistic Jewish Christians who had been decisively
influenced by Paul's teaching on the other. It is precisely this exal
tation of the law - 'the perfect law' (1.25), 'the law of liberty' (1.25;
2.12), 'the royal law' (2.8) - in reaction against Paul, which marks
out Ebionism. James however does not attack Paul as such, only a
one-sided influence of Paul, a Pauline slogan out of context. So at
most he represents only a halfway stage towards Ebionism - but very
definitely a Jewish Christianity which remained loyal to the law and
consequently was sharply critical of the faith-and-not-works emphasis
so distinctive of the Gentile mission.
43

56.

JEWISH

TESTAMENT:

CHRISTIANITY WITHIN
(2)

E X A L T A T I O N OF

DENIGRATION

OF

THE

NEW

JAMES

AND

PAUL

These twin emphases are complementary to the first, for in Jewish

Christianity Paul was denigrated precisely because he was considered
'an apostate from the law', and James was exalted precisely because
of his exemplary fidelity to the law. Within the N T itself this latter
emphasis is not so clearly articulated, though we should note Acts
15.20, where significantly it is James who lays down the minimal
requirements of law which he expects all Christians to observe, and
we should recall that the N T document which shows itself in most
explicit disagreement with Paul is attributed specifically to this same
James (above 55.3). Apart from these there are three passages in
particular which give us as it were soundings at three points along
the stream of Jewish Christianity in or about the middle of the first
century, and which give some indication of the way in which Jewish
Christian antagonism against Paul gathered strength even during
Paul's lifetime - Gal. 2, II Cor. 1 0 - 1 3 and Acts 2 1 .
44

45

4 3 . See further my Romans, p. 1 9 7 .

44. Irenaeus, adv.haer., I.26.2; Epiphanius, Pan., 28.5.3; 30.16.9.
45. Eusebius, dem.ev., III.5 - James 'whom those formerly living in Jerusalem called
"the righteous one" because of the excellencies of his virtue'; Marius Victorinus, in ep.ad
Gal., 4 . 1 2 . See also Danielou, Theology, pp. 37of.

56.1]

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2-73

56.1 Gal. 2. We know from Gal. 2.4, not to mention Acts 1 5 . 1 and
Phil. 3-2ff., that there was a strong party in the Palestinian churches,
a powerful force in the Christianity of Jerusalem and Palestine, which
insisted on circumcision for all converts. Paul calls them some very
rude names - 'false brethren' (RSV), 'sham Christians, interlopers'
(NEB - Gal. 2.4), 'dogs' (Phil. 3.2) (see also above p.24). But it is
quite clear, from Gal. 2 and Acts 1 5 at least, that they were Jewish
Christians - that is to say, a force within the Jerusalem community
who could with justice claim to speak for Jewish believers in Judea.
Moreover, they obviously saw it as their task to undo the evil which
they thought Paul was doing with his law-free gospel; for evidently
they set themselves deliberately against Paul and what he stood for.
Here at once we recognize a form of Jewish Christianity which stands
within the Christian spectrum at the time of Paul's missionary work,
hut which manifests a character very similar to that of later Ebionism.
If the controversy in Jerusalem was relatively straightforward
(whether Gentile converts should be circumcised) and its resolution
amicable, the same cannot at all be said for the subsequent dispute at
Antioch (Gal. 2 . 1 1 - 1 4 ) . Here is one of the most tantalizing episodes
in the whole of the N T . If we could only uncover the full picture of
what happened here, what led up to it and what its sequel was, we
would have gained an invaluable insight into the development of
earliest Christianity. Instead we have to be content to make what we
can of the clues and hints Paul gives us - the problem being, of
course, that we have only one side of the dispute, Paul's, and just
how one-sided it is we are not fully able to judge.
Who was at fault in the incident? The likelihood is that the earlier
agreement implied in Gal. 2 . 7 - 1 0 (cf. Acts 1 5 . 2 2 - 2 9 ) included some
ruling (possibly not explicit) about the mutual relations of Jews and
Gentiles within mixed Christian communities - probably to the effect
that Jewish Christians should continue to regard the law as obligatory
among themselves without forcing it upon the Gentile Christians. In
the strongly (perhaps predominantly) Gentile church at Antioch (Acts
1 1 . 2 0 - 2 4 ) the diaspora Jewish Christians no doubt felt it appropriate
to be less rigorous in their practice of ritual purity (Gal. 2.12a, 14b).
But when a party of Jewish Christians came down from Jerusalem
46

47

46. Cf. Bauer, Orthodoxy: 'Paul was the only heresiarch known to the apostolic age the only one who was so considered in that period at least from one particular perspective
(p. 236).
47. I have written a good deal more on this passage since U&D (see my Jesus, Paul
and the Law, S P C K , 1990); but I have left the text here unaltered as my earliest statement
on a theme which came increasingly to occupy my attention in the 1980s. See also P. J .
Achtemeier, The Quest for Unity in the New Testament Church, Fortress 1 9 8 7 .

Jewish Christianity

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[56.1

'from James' they presumably felt that the positions were reversed
and consequently expected the Gentiles at Antioch to exercise their
liberty in turn and to accept the Jewish dietary laws for as long as
James's people were present. Otherwise they would be requiring Jews
to 'Hellenize', to abandon something integral to their faith (something
their ancestors had resisted to the death), they would be threatening
the whole Jewish Christian understanding of Christianity as a fulfilled
Judaism (see above 54.1), indeed they would be threatening the very
existence of the Jewish communities within Palestine. Thus for the
sake of Christianity in Palestine the agreement had to be observed,
and the Gentile Christians could be expected to see this and to respond
in a free and considerate manner, as the Jewish Christians had done
in the earlier situation. Whether this was Peter's line of reasoning or
not, we have certainly to reckon with some such considerations,
weighty enough to explain the actions of Peter and of so many other
Jewish Christians, including Barnabas, who, after all, had been as
much identified with the Gentile mission as Paul.
If the events leading up to the confrontation between Paul and
Peter are obscure, so also is its sequel. We naturally tend to assume
that Paul made his point and won the day - Peter admitting his
mistake, and the previous practice being resumed. But Paul does not
actually say so, and his upbraiding of Peter tails off into a defence of
his own position to the Galatians. Yet if Paul had won, and if Peter
had acknowledged the force of his argument, Paul would surely have
noted this, just as he strengthened his earlier position by nothing the
approval of the 'pillar apostles' in 2 . 7 - 1 0 . Moreover, the line Paul
takes in 2 . 1 1 - 1 4 is a very hard one - Peter 'stands condemned',
the rest of the Jews including Barnabas 'acted hypocritically', 'their
conduct did not square with the truth of the gospel', Peter was forcing
Gentiles to 'judaize' - an attitude in fact which contrasts quite sharply
with theflexibilityof Peter! In the circumstances then, it is quite likely
that Paul was defeated at Antioch, that the church as a whole at
Antioch sided with Peter rather than with Paul. This episode would
thus mark the end of Paul's specific association with Antioch and his
emergence as a fully independent missionary (according to Acts he
visited Antioch only once more during his life - 18.22); it was also
probably a decisive factor in bringing Paul and Barnabas to the part
ing of the ways (cf. Acts 15.36-40); and no doubt it caused Paul to
48

48. It may just be relevant that in later tradition (as early as Origen) Peter was regarded
as the first bishop of Antioch (see O. Cullmann, Peter. Disciple, Apostle, Martyr, E T S C M
Press i 9 6 z , p. 54 n. 60); perhaps also indicative is the fact that the next letter we know
of to have been addressed to the churches in Galatia is attributed to Peter!
2

56.2]

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2-75

redefine his position on the mutual responsibilities of Jewish and

Gentile Christians within a mixed Christian community - for it can
hardly go unnoticed that Paul's advice to such communities in I Cor.
8 , 1 0 . 2 3 - 1 1 . 1 , and Rom. 1 4 . 1 - 1 5 . 6 (not to mention his own practice
according to Acts 21.20-26) is more in line with the policy of Peter
and Barnabas at Antioch than in accord with his own strongly worded
principle in Gal. 2 . 1 1 - 1 4 !
Whatever the precise facts of the matter then it is evident that there
was a much deeper divide between Paul and the Jewish Christianity
emanating from Jerusalem than at first appears. It is probable indeed
that Paul was much more isolated in the strong line he maintained at
Antioch than his own version of the episode admits. Not only so, but
the fierceness of his response to Peter at Antioch and elaborated in
Galatians may well have been a contributing factor of some signifi
cance in fuelling the antagonism of Jewish Christianity towards Paul.
4 9

56.2 The situation is if anything more serious, the tone more strident
in II Cor. 10-13. It would appear that some missionaries had arrived
in Corinth where they proceeded to attack Paul in no uncertain terms.
Who these missionaries were is not entirely clear; but the best expla
nation is that they were Jewish Christians from Jerusalem (note par
ticularly 1 1 . 2 2 ) , presenting themselves in a way that would most
commend them to the gnostically influenced Corinthians. Whoever
they were, they obviously claimed to be Christians and were accepted
as such (10.7). Paul calls them 'super-apostles' ( 1 1 . 5 ; 1 2 . 1 1 ) ; but also
'false apostles', 'servants of Satan' ( 1 1 . 1 3 - 1 5 ) ! Obviously then they
claimed to be much superior to Paul: they were the true apostles,
'apostles of Christ' ( 1 1 . 1 3 ) , beside whom Paul did not begin to count
as an apostle - he was the false apostle, the servant of Satan. Presum
ably in their eyes only the original apostles (the twelve?) and those
properly accredited by the mother church (that is, by James?) at
Jerusalem could claim to be 'apostles of Christ' - and Paul had no
such credentials, he was quite unqualified, wholly lacking in authority
(II Cor. 3.1 f., 5f.). Paul also accuses them of preaching another Jesus,
50

49. Cf. E. Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles, E T Blackwell 1 9 7 1 , pp. 475ff.; Koester,
'Gnomai Diaphoroi', Trajectories, pp. 1 2 1 L ; and the general thesis of J . W. Drane, Paul,
Libertine or Legalist?, SPCK 1 9 7 5 .
50. See especially E. Ksemann, 'Die Legitimitt des Apostles', ZNW, 4 1 , 1 9 4 2 , pp. 3 3 7 1 ; reprinted separately as a booklet in 1956 (Darmstadt); and again in K. H. Rengstorf,
Das Paulusbild in der neuren deutschen Forschung, Darmstadt 1969, pp. 4 7 5 - 5 2 1 ; C. K.
Barrett, 'Christianity at Corinth', BJRL, 46, 1 9 6 4 , pp. 2 8 6 - 9 7 ; ' P S E U D A P O S T O L O I ,
II Cor. 1 1 . 1 3 ' , MBBR, pp. 3 7 7 - 9 6 ; 'Paul's Opponents in II Corinthians', NTS,
17,19707 1 , p p . 2 3 3 - 5 4 ; (all three essays reprinted in Barrett's Essays on Paul, SPCK 1982);
II Corinthians, A. & C. Black 1 9 7 3 , pp. 5 - 1 0 , 2 8 - 3 2 , 2 7 7 ^ See also above pp. 7 5 L , 194L

276

Jewish Christianity

[56.3

of having a different spirit, of proclaiming a different gospel ( 1 1 . 4 ) .

No doubt they made precisely the same accusation against Paul!: it
was he who preached another Jesus (not the Jesus whose teaching
was echoed in the letter of James); it was Paul who proclaimed a
different gospel, who had perverted the original message of Jesus'
words and deeds in an antinomian and obscurantist sense (cf. 4.2f.).
Here then is evidence of a deepening rift between Paul and the
Jerusalem church - with each disputing the other's authority, and
each attributing the other's gospel to Satan. It may be, of course,
that the 'super-apostles' had exceeded their brief from Jerusalem; but
almost certainly they claimed Jerusalem's authority and must have
represented a very significant body of opinion within Jewish Christ
ianity which denounced Paul as an upstart, traitor and false teacher.
II Cor. 2.17 indeed suggests that the majority of evangelists or (Jew
ish) missionaries were opposed to Paul. An alternative and very
plausible explanation is that the 'false apostles' and the 'superapostles' were two different groups, and that by 'super-apostles' Paul
means in fact the pillar apostles or the twelve at Jerusalem. If that
was the case, then the sharpness of the antagonism between Paul and
Jerusalem can hardly be overstated. Barrett puts Paul's point of view
on this thesis in these terms: 'He (Paul) was obliged to recognize that
the point of origin from which Christianity was disseminated into the
world had come to be a source of perversion'. If that truly represents
Paul's attitude as expressed in II Corinthians, then no doubt there
was equal and very likely even stronger animosity on the side of the
Jerusalem Christians (cf. particularly I Cor. 15.8 - 'abortion' looks
like a sharp-ended jibe directed against Paul). But even if that is an
overstatement, II Cor. 1 0 - 1 3 remains a strong testimony to a depth
of division between Paul and Jerusalem which helps considerably
towards explaining later Jewish Christianity's loathing for Paul the
apostate.
51

52

53

56.3 Acts 21 tells of Paul's last journey to Jerusalem and his reception
there. Several features are rather striking for the careful reader. At
Tyre a prophecy in the assembly warned Paul against going to Jerusa
lem - an utterance regarded as an authoritative word of the Spirit
( 2 1 . 4 ) . Caesarea was the last community to welcome him. There he
stayed with Philip (21.8), one of the leaders of the Hellenists in the

5 1 . Barrett, 'Pseudapostoloi', pp. 3 8 4 ^

52. So Kasemann and Barrett. Paul had, after all, already been somewhat dismissive of
the 'pillar apostles' in Gal. 2.6, 9.
53. Barrett, II Corinthians, p. viii.

56.3]

James and Paul

277

initial schism within the Jerusalem community (Acts 6-8; see below
60). There Agabus prophesied a hostile reception from the Jews in
Jerusalem; Agabus had just come from Judea and knew how strong
was the feeling against Paul (2i.iof.). There Paul expressed his will
ingness to die in Jerusalem ( 2 1 . 1 3 ) . F his time in Jerusalem, with
whom did he stay? - not James, nor one of the leaders of the Jerusalem
community (as Philip evidently was at Caesarea) - but with 'Mnason
of Cyprus, an early disciple', that is, in all probability, a Hellenist
( 2 1 . 1 5 ^ ) . When Paul met with James and the elders immediately they
pointed out how zealous for the law were the great bulk of the
Christian community, they repeated the hostile reports of Paul which
were being passed around the Jerusalem church, and at once they put
pressure on him to reaffirm his loyalty to the law, to demonstrate
that those reports were groundless and that he himself still lived in
observance of the law. Obviously Paul was widely regarded as a
renegade for abandoning the law, and it would seem that little or
nothing had been done within or by the Jerusalem church to defend
him on this score (21.20-24; despite 16.3 and 18.18). Then when
Paul was arrested and put on trial we hear nothing of any Jewish
Christians standing by him, speaking in his defence - and this despite
James's apparent high standing among orthodox Jews (above p.275
n.45). Where were the Jerusalem Christians? It looks very much as
though they had washed their hands of Paul, left him to stew in his
own juice. If so it implies a fundamental antipathy on the part of the
Jewish Christians to Paul himself and to what he stood for.
Most striking of all, Luke says nothing of the collection which Paul
had been making for the church in Jerusalem; even in 24.17 the word
'collection' is avoided, and without Paul's letters we would hardly
recognize the allusion here - indeed the allusion may only be to his
act of piety in 21.26. Yet we know from Paul's correspondence how
important the collection was for him (Rom. 1 5 . 2 5 - 3 2 ; I Cor. 1 6 . 1 4; II Cor. 8-9). Luke does mention seven delegates from the churches
(Acts 20.4L), but he fails to mention why they travelled with Paul namely, to deliver the collection. This was obviously Paul's chief
concern in going to Jerusalem, but Luke fails to mention that too.
Why? The answer lies probably in Paul's reason for making the collec
tion in the first place: for Paul it was an expression of unity, unity
between the churches he had established and the churches of Judea.
The reason why Luke omits to mention it therefore is most likely
because the Jerusalem church refused to accept the collection - some
thing which Paul himself had feared might happen (Rom. 15.3of.).
For the Jerusalem Christians, acceptance of the collection would, or
would be seen to mean declaring their agreement with Paul's mission,
r

Jewish Christianity

278

[57

approving the attitude Paul had adopted towards the law. And this
would destroy their own position among their fellow Jews, inevitably
so in a period of mounting Jewish nationalism. So most likely they
chose to reject the collection, thereby symbolizing their disapproval
of Paul and his methods. Probably the rejection was not quite so
abrupt as it seems at first: the course of action which James urged
upon Paul may well have been one which would have allowed the
Jerusalem Christians to accept Paul's gift, once Paul had proved his
good Jewish faith. But the plan went very badly wrong and in the
ensuing confrontation and crisis Paul seems hardly to have been sup
ported, let alone his collection accepted by the local Christians. Luke
evidently chose to omit this whole side of the episode, since it was
hardly the sort of picture of the early Church which he would wish
to preserve (see below 72.z).
If all this is a fair reconstruction of Paul'sfinalclose encounter with
the Jewish Christianity of Jerusalem it shows how wide and deep the
split between Jewish Christianity and the Gentile congregations had
become, how sharp and bitter was the antagonism of Jewish Christ
ians towards Paul. A Jewish Christianity which had aligned itself so
firmly with its Jewish heritage and which had set its face so firmly
against Paul and the law-free Gentile mission was well on the way to
Ebionism.
54

57.

JEWISH

TESTAMENT:

CHRISTIANITY WITHIN
(3)

ADOPTIONIST

THE

NEW

CHRISTOLOGY

So far we have uncovered evidence of a Jewish Christianity within

the N T period which has some striking resemblances to the secondand third-century Jewish Christianity which emerging orthodoxy con
demned as heretical. But now with this third feature we can for
the first time draw a fairly distinct line between later Ebionism and
the Jewish Christian documents of the N T itself. James is no help on
this issue - he can hardly be said to have a christology as such. But
what about the others?
57.1 Matthew. As we have already seen there is one possible impor
tant link between Matthew's christology and that of Ebionism 54. See also Haenchen, Acts, pp. 6 1 1 - 1 4 ; O. Cullmann, 'Dissensions within the Early
Church', New Testament Issues, ed., R. Batey, S C M Press 1 9 7 0 , pp. 124fr.; A . J . Mattill,
'The Purpose of Acts: Schneckenburger Reconsidered', AHGFFB,
pp. nsff.; Achtemeier,
Quest.

5 7 i ]

Adoptionist

christology

279

namely, the Moses typology evident in the construction of Matthew.

On the other hand, Matthew does not give much weight to the idea
of Jesus as a prophet. He reports it as the opinion of the crowds
(16.14; 2 , 1 . 1 1 , 46; and see above p. 268), but as a recognition of
Jesus' significance it falls far short of the designation, 'the Christ, the
Son of the living God' ( 1 6 . 1 5 - 1 7 ) . The Fourth Gospel, it is perhaps
worth mentioning, sharpens this implied antithesis considerably: Jesus
is called 'prophet' by those on the way to faith (4.19; 9.17) and by
the fickle wavering crowd (6.14; 7.40), but the title completely fails
to express the significance of him who already was, long before
Abraham or any prophet appeared (8.52-59).
More important, Matthew contains a birth narrative: clearly in
Matthew's intention Jesus' experience of the Spirit at Jordan must be
understood in the light of his virgin birth. Now, as we saw above
(p.261), it was precisely the birth narratives which the Ebionites had
excised from Matthew, enabling them to give a more 'adoptionist'
weighting to the Jordan episode. Thus the account of the virgin birth
indicates with sufficient clarity that Matthew's christology had
already developed beyond the point at which Ebionite christology
'seized up'; and the Ebionite mutilation of Matthew likewise indicates
a self-conscious retreat from or rejection of the christology of the
Jewish Christianity which finds expression in Matthew.
One further point of contrast should be noted. According to Origen
some Ebionites did accept the virgin birth; but these, adds Eusebius,
'refused to confess that he was God, Word and Wisdom'. The point
is that besides the virgin birth narrative, Matthew also identifies Jesus
with Wisdom. This is clearly to be seen in his redaction of Q. Luke
7.35 reads, 'Yet Wisdom is justified by all her children', where Jesus
(and John the Baptist) are evidently called Wisdom's children. But
Matt. 1 1 . 1 9 has altered this Q saying to read, 'Yet Wisdom is justified
by her deeds', where the 'deeds' are obviously to be understood as
the 'deeds' and 'mighty works' of Jesus ( 1 1 . 2 , 2off.). Similarly the
saying attributed by Luke 1 1 . 4 9 - 5 1
'
Wisdom of God' is
specifically attributed to Jesus by Matt. 23.34-36. And in Matt.
1 1 . 2 8 - 3 0 Matthew has probably appended to Q material a typically
Wisdom utterance where Wisdom calls men to accept her yoke (cf.
particularly Ecclus. 5 1 . 2 3 - 2 7 ) ; but again Matthew presents it as a
saying of Jesus - Jesus not merely counsels men to accept the yoke
of Wisdom but issues Wisdom's own invitation (see above p.8o).
55

56

t o

m e

55. Matt. 1 3 . 5 7 and John 4.44 have the character more of a proverbial saying than of
a christological affirmation.
56. Origen, cont. Cels., V . 6 1 ; Eusebius, HE, III.27.3.

Jewish Christianity

28o

[57.2

In other words, in each case Jesus is portrayed by Matthew not

merely as Wisdom's messenger but as Wisdom herself. So here again
Matthew seems already to have advanced in his christology even
beyond the modified Ebionism of which Origen and Eusebius testify;
and that Ebionism seems to have made a dogma of the more inchoate
and less developed christology of pre-Matthean Jewish Christianity.
In short, Matthew's virgin birth narrative and his Wisdom christol
ogy provide us with clear points at which any tendency towards
Ebionism infirst-centuryJewish Christianity began to diverge from
the Jewish Christianity which remained within the spectrum of accept
able diversity offirst-centuryChristianity.
57

57.2 Hebrews has obvious claims to be considered among the more

Jewish documents of the N T , and its argument that Jesus' death and
entry into the heavenly sanctuary has brought the (earthly) temple
cult to an end (Heb. 1 0 . 1 - 1 8 ) has obvious parallels with the Ebionite
hostility to the sacrificial cult (see above p.263). More to our present
point, however, the distinctive highpriestly christology of Hebrews
seems atfirstglance to offer few contacts with Ebionism. But a careful
reading of the text soon uncovers quite a remarkable amount of
adoptionist language. In particular we might note 1.4 - by his passion
and exaltation he was become superior to the angels and inherited a
title superior to theirs; 1.5, 5.5 - likewise by his exaltation he was
begotten as God's Son and appointed God's high priest; 1 . 9 - because
he loved right and hated wrong, therefore God anointed him above
his fellows; 2.6-9 he was the one man in whom the divine pro
gramme for humanity has been fulfilled - he alone of all men had
been crowned with glory and honour because he suffered death; 2.10
- he was made perfect through suffering; 3.2L - like Moses he was
faithful to him who appointed him, but he has been deemed worthy
of greater honour than Moses; 5-7ff. - because of his humble sub
mission his prayer was heard - he learned obedience through what
he suffered - and being thus made perfect he was designated high
priest after the order of Melchizedek. Here then are not a few
points of contact with the adoptionist christology of second- and
third-century Jewish Christianity. One might even say that 9.14 is
not so far from the Ebionite idea of Jesus' mission being made effective
through the Spirit who as the eternal Spirit manifested himself in
earlier revelations, particularly Melchizedek (in the case of Hebrews):
-

58

57. See M . J . Suggs, Wisdom, Christology and Law in Matthew's Gospel, Harvard
University Press 1 9 7 0 , pp. 5 5 - 6 1 , 9 5 - 1 0 0 ; Dunn, Christology, pp. 1 9 7 - 2 0 6 .
58. See J . A. T. Robinson, Human Face, pp. i56ff.

5 72-]

Adoptionist

christology

281

as Melchizedek had 'neither beginning of days nor end of life' (7.3), so

Jesus attained to that priesthood by demonstrating the indestructible
quality of his life in his resurrection (7.15f.).
On the other hand, we have already noted (above p.238) that
Hebrews, like Paul, identifies Jesus with pre-existent Wisdom (i.2f.).
Not only so, but Heb. i.8f. refers Ps. 45.6. to the exalted Son, and
thereby addresses him as 'God'. Whether the writer intended this in
the hyperbolic sense of the psalmist's original address to the king or
not (cf. Ps. 82.6f.; John 10.34^), the fact remains that in these opening
verses Hebrews has more or less explicitly affirmed of Jesus two of
the very titles which, according to Eusebius, even the more moderate
Ebionites denied to Jesus (God, Wisdom - see above p.279). Indeed,
if we look more carefully at the initial development of Hebrews'
whole argument in this light it almost reads like a polemic against
Ebionite christology. If Ebionism regarded Jesus chiefly as a prophet,
the writer to the Hebrews begins by setting Jesus in a category apart:
the prophets made God known 'in fragmentary and varied fashion',
but now God has spoken through a Son, a Son who 'reflects the glory
of God and bears the very stamp of his nature' ( 1 . 1 - 3 ) . If Ebionism
evaluated Jesus or the Christ as an angel or archangel (see above
p.261), the writer to the Hebrews, still in his opening sentence, moves
on to dismiss the view that the Son is even comparable to the angels:
on the contrary he has a rank and title far superior to those of any
angel - 'To what angel did God ever say . . . ?' ( 1 . 4 - 2 . 1 8 ) . If Ebionism
attributed to Jesus the significance of another Mosesfigure,Hebrews
concludes its opening theological exposition ( 1 . 1 - 3 . 6 ) by comparing
and contrasting Moses with Jesus as equally faithful in God's service
but of quite different rank and status - Moses a servant, Jesus the
Son ( 3 . 1 - 6 ) . It is only when he has dismissed these Ebionite-like views
as wholly inadequate to express the significance of Jesus the Son of
God that he goes on in his subsequent argument to develop his more
distinctive high-priesthood christology.
How the author of Hebrews managed to maintain the tension
between these two sides of his christology - the adoptionist language,
together with his anti-Ebionite stance (if we may so put it) - is not at
all clear. But what does seem to be clearly implied is that Hebrews
stands within the developing stream of Jewish Christian christology,
that already some of the characteristic features of later Ebionite
christology have become an issue within Jewish Christianity, and that
the writer to the Hebrews while maintaining his adoptionist language
is unwilling to freeze it within Ebionite-like limitations. It would
appear in fact as though Hebrews, like Matthew, marks a parting of
the ways of the two main currents within Jewish Christianity, the one

Jewish Christianity

282

[58.1

remaining as an element within the acceptable diversity of Christ

ianity, the other veering off into the unacceptable diversity of secondand third-century Jewish Christianity. If this is a fair assessment then
the point to note is that we do not need to wait until the late second
century and the emergence of orthodoxy to find a denial of the
christology which was to characterize Ebionism; that denial had
already been made within the first century and came from within
Jewish Christianity itself.

58.

CONCLUSIONS

58.1 There is a significant similarity, possibly even continuity

between the Jewish Christianity evident in the NT and the Jewish
Christianity adjudged heretical by the emerging great Church in the
late second and third centuries. The three most characteristic features
of the latter - their faithful adherence to the law, their exaltation of
James and denigration of Paul, and their 'adoptionist' christology are all present in the Christianity which centred on Jerusalem during
the first decades of the new sect's existence. Indeed the earliest form
of Christianity is almost more like second- and third-century Ebion
ism than anything else - though it must at once be added that the
earliest Christian community was only beginning to express their faith
and reformulate their life-style, whereas Ebionism was much more
carefully thought out, much more a reaction to developments else
where in Christianity and in Judaism. But even in the Jewish Christian
documents and the Pauline correspondence in the second half of the
first century we see clear indications of the way in which Jewish
Christianity was developing; even within the NT itself we see signs
of that reaction to the law-free Gentile mission, and a certain clinging
to the early christological formulations which became so character
istic of Ebionism. So if there is a continuity between Jerusalem Christ
ianity and later Ebionism then perhaps we have to conclude that
something of this development within Jewish Christianity can be
traced in part by means of the N T documents and in part through
the NT documents themselves.
58.2 It is however also possible to draw a firm line of distinction
between the Jewish Christianity of the NT and the Jewish Christianity
deemed heretical by the great Church in later centuries. Such a line
cannot be drawn in terms of law: James and Matthew are in some
ways nearer to the Ebionites than they are to Paul as regards the
status and role they attribute to the law - though Matthew's emphasis

58.3]

Conclusions

283

on love (the love shown by Jesus) as the means of interpreting the

law does mark off his attitude as more distinctively Christian than
Jewish, or better Pharisaic. Such a line certainly cannot be drawn
betweenfirst-centuryJerusalem Christianity's attitudes to James and
Paul and later Jewish Christianity's attitudes to James and Paul - each
seems to be almost as deferential to the former and certainly as hostile
to the latter as the other. In other words, on these two issues we are
not really in a position to mark off heretical Jewish Christianity from
the Jewish Christianity which was an acceptable part of the Christian
spectrum; Jewish Christianity could take up a very conservative stance
towards the law and a very antagonistic stance towards Paul and still
be recognized as a valid expression of faith in Jesus the Christ.
Where the line of distinction is firmly drawn is in the assessment
of Jesus. Second- and third-century Jewish Christianity regarded Jesus
as a prophet, as the greatest of the prophets, who was adopted as
God's Son and Christ by the descent of the Spirit or Christ (= angel?)
and by virtue of his obedience to the law. But already within the N T ,
and indeed within the Jewish Christianity of the N T , such views of
Jesus were being rejected as inadequate - he was Son in a unique
sense, Wisdom itself and not just her mouthpiece, in a class apart
from and immeasurably superior to prophet, angel or Moses. That is
to say, already within the first century Jewish Christians were setting
themselves against assessments of Jesus which became characteristic
of Ebionism, already within the N T Jewish Christians were defining
the limits of valid Jewish Christianity.
The significance of this point should be underlined: just as the unity
of Christianity was defined in terms of Jesus, so now we see that the
diversity of Jewish Christianity is being defined also in terms of Jesus.
As the exaltation of Jesus and the unity between the man of Nazareth
and the exalted one present to the first Christians in their worship
and service was the strand which united the diverse kerygmata, con
fessions, worship, etc., so the exaltation of the man Jesus, the affirma
tion that the man Jesus was in fact God's Wisdom, the assertion of
his (in the end) unquantifiable superiority over prophet, angel, Moses
and priest, becomes the dividing line where the acceptable diversity
of first-century Jewish Christianity falls over into the unacceptable
diversity of later Ebionism, where faith in Jesus falls short of Christian
faith.
58.3 When we talk of Jewish Christianity we are talking about a
spectrum. Jewish Christianity was not just a point on the spectrum
of first-century Christianity; it was itself a spectrum, a diverse
phenomenon. At one end of that spectrum Jewish Christianity falls

Jewish Christianity

284

[58.3

over into the unacceptable beliefs that were to characterize Ebionism.

But also within acceptable Jewish Christianity there was diversity;
even within the N T Jewish Christian writings themselves we can see
that they do not all represent a single uniform type of faith. The
opponents of Paul whom we met in Gal. 2, II Cor. 1 0 - 1 3 d Acts
21 are in the end of the day not easy to differentiate from the later
Ebionites. The letter of James and the Lukan psalms are characteristi
cally Jewish but hardly yet distinctively Christian. The Gospel of
Matthew is more discriminating and more interesting, for he seems
to be steering a middle course between a more conservative (Ebionitelike?) Jewish Christianity and a more liberal Hellenistic Jewish Christ
ianity: on the one hand, he affirms the inviolability of the law, while
on the other he emphasizes that the law must be interpreted by love
and not by multiplying halakic rulings; again, on the one hand, he
preserves sayings of Jesus which limited mission to Israel, while on
the other he emphasizes that Jesus' message is for all nations - almost
as though he was saying to the conservative, 'The gospel is for all,
Gentile as well as Jew', and to the liberal, 'Remember that Jesus
himself confined his mission within the boundaries of Israel' (see
above 55.1, 2).
To locate Hebrews within the spectrum of Jewish Christianity is
even more fascinating. For Hebrews seems to belong chiefly to that
type of Hellenistic Jewish Christianity which wefirstmeet in Stephen
(see below 60 and p.297). It does not take issue over the law
(except perhaps for Heb. 13.9), but deals almost exclusively with the
question of the traditional cult: priesthood, tabernacle, sacrifice - do
they continue in Christian Judaism in some sense, or have they been
superseded? Otherwise the law does not seem to have posed any
problems. At the same time, Hebrews has been influenced to a
considerable extent by Greek philosophic thought, in particular the
Platonic world view of two worlds, where the world of ideals/ideas
is the real world, and our world is the world of copies/shadows; the
writer develops his theme by a fascinating combination of the Jewish
belief in two ages with that Platonic belief in two worlds. From this
we can build up a picture of the Jewish Christian community to
a n

59

60

61

59. For possible links between Stephen and Hebrews see W. Manson, The Epistle to
the Hebrews, Hodder 8c Stoughton 1 9 5 1 , ch. II.
60. It is difficult to imagine a Gentile Christian community where both the argument
of Hebrews was directly relevant and questions of law observance were of little moment.
The problems seem to be more those of a distinctive Jewish Christian group in a post-AD
70 context. Otherwise, Kiimmel, Introduction, pp. 398ff.
6 1 . See further above p. 97. Hebrews' technique here is helpfully set out by G. Vos,
The Teaching of the Epistle to the Hebrews, Eerdmans 1 9 5 6 , pp. $6i.

58.3]

Conclusions

285

which Hebrews was written: it was not involved in dispute about

the whether-or-not of law observance, and so was probably a fairly
homogeneous Jewish Christian community untouched by the sort of
questions Paul raised; but probably it did hanker after the tangibility
of the temple cult, such as the primitive Jerusalem community had
enjoyed; and it was familiar with Platonic philosophic thought - quite
likely then a rather special form of Jewish Christianity or particular
group of Jewish Christians in the diaspora, hankering after the primi
tive simplicities of earliest Christianity. Perhaps therefore Hebrews
represents a developing type of Jewish Christianity whose deve
lopment both reflects something of the influences which made for
Ebionism and also embodies the growing convictions which caused
Christianity later to reject Ebionism. Thus, on the one hand, the
author seems to regard the sort of loyalty to the traditional cult which
we find in the earliest Jerusalem church as a childish stage of faith
which should have been outgrown. But on the other, while he retains
the sort of strong adoptionist language which must have remained
most congenial to Ebionite christology, it is clear that already his own
faith has begun to transcend what in fact became the chief categories
of Ebionite christology. If this is so, then Hebrews represents a kind
of middle path or indeed a turning point in the development of Jewish
Christianity, where it has turned its back both on the primitive formu
lations and loyalties of thefirststage of Christianity as outmoded and
on the otherwise conservative developments which led to Ebionism.
We should perhaps just note that the Gospel of John can be
regarded as a more developed expression of roughly the same attitude.
A major concern of the Fourth Evangelist is to present Jesus as the
fulfilment of Judaism - its law (4.10, 14; 6.27, 3 0 - 3 2 , 48, 58, 63),
its temple ( 2 . 1 3 - 2 2 ; 4.20-24), its festivals (particularly 1.29; 7 . 3 7 39; 10.22, 36; 1 9 . 3 3 - 3 6 ) and its rites (2.6; 3.25) - and not least Jesus
as the one whose revelation has superseded that of Moses ( 1 . 1 7 ) .
Note particularly that John is the only Evangelist to attribute to
Jesus himself the saying about the temple which evidently prompted
Stephen's rejection of the temple (John 2.19; Acts 6.14; see above
pp.106, 142). At the same time his assessment of Jesus leaves far
behind the tentative formulations of Hebrews not to mention the
ossified categories of later Ebionism. John indeed is so far along
the spectrum of Jewish Christianity from Ebionism that he is best
considered under the heading of Hellenistic Christianity - though he
does serve to remind us that these classifications are not at all mutually
exclusive or rigid.
If all this is a fair representation of these N T writings then we can
represent the spectrum of Jewish Christianity diagrammatically, the

286

Jewish Christianity

[58.4

broad vertical line marking the point at which acceptable diversity

falls over into unacceptable diversity.
JEWISH CHRISTIANITY
John Hebrews Matthew Lukan psalms James Opponents of Paul Ebionites
in (ralattMtt x etc.

But even if there remains much that is open to question in the above
analysis, there can be little doubt that Jewish Christianity in the first
century did comprise a wide diversity: Jewish Christians who had
abandoned the law and the cult and devoted themselves to a universal
mission and who had been influenced by wider Hellenistic culture
and thought in varying degrees; Jewish Christians who were variously
questioning the narrower view of mission, the continuing validity of
the cult, and some, but by no means all, the continuing validity of the
law; Jewish Christians who were unhappy with the law-free Gentile
mission, and who saw the law as having a continuing validity for
Christians - some continuing to regard the temple as of central sig
nificance; and Jewish Christians who were opposed to the Gentile
mission, hostile to Paul and devout in their observance of the whole
law - Christian Jews rather than Jewish Christians, many of them the
direct forerunners of the later Ebionites.
62

58.4 To sum up. Two, possibly three criteria of unity and diversity
seem to have emerged from this chapter. First, Matthew's insistence
that the law must be interpreted by love may provide one: Jewish
Christianity was counted unacceptable when it began to regard strict
observance of the law as more important than the spontaneity of love.
More clearly, second, Jewish Christianity was counted unacceptable
when it persisted in clinging to a limited view of Jesus and his role. It
could claim support for this conservatism from some of the earliest
expressions of Christian faith. But since the spread of Christianity
outside Palestine and the controversies of thefirstfew decades caused
these early, more fluid and provisional formulations to be left be
hind as inadequate, the Jewish Christianity of the second and third
centuries represents in the end a reactionary attempt to restrict the
Christian estimate of Jesus within the limitations and confines of
traditionally conceived Jewish thought and practice. Third, Jewish
62. Cf. R. E . Brown, 'Not Jewish Christianity and Gentile Christianity, but Types of
Jewish/Gentile Christianity', CBQ, 4 5 , 1 9 8 3 , pp. 7 4 - 9 ; also (with J . P. Meier) Antioch
and Rome, Chapman 1 9 8 3 , pp. 2 - 8 .

58.4]

Conclusions

287

Christianity was counted unacceptable when it failed to develop,

when it hardened the inchoate expressions of the earliest days into a
system, when it lost the flexibility and openness to a new revelation
which questions of law and mission demanded in a developing situ
ation, when it became rigid and exclusive. One of the earliest heresies
was conservatism! In short, the failure of heretical Jewish Christ
ianity was that it neither held to the unity (the exaltation of Jesus
showing Jesus to be the unique expression of God) nor allowed for
the diversity (of developing Christianity).
63

63. Cf. R. Murray's review: 'it is inaccurate to refer to conservatism as a "heresy";

rather it is one of the seed beds, always pathetic, sometimes tragic, of heresy' (Heythrop
Journal 2 0 , 1 9 7 9 , pp. i94f.; referring to his own 'Tradition as Criterion of Unity' in Church
Membership and Intercommunion, ed. J . Kent and R. Murray, London, 1 9 7 3 , pp. 2 5 1 80, especially 2 5 7 - 7 1 ) .

XII

Hellenistic Christianity

59.

INTRODUCTION

So far we have explored something of the overlap between Christ

ianity and Judaism, something of the interaction within Jewish Christ
ianity between the emphases of emerging (rabbinic) Judaism and those
of developing Christianity, something offirst-centuryJewish Christ
ianity's attitude towards the tendencies which may have grown into
the distinctive beliefs of later Ebionism. But Christianity of course
soon spread outside Palestine and came into interaction with other
beliefs and ideas within the syncretistic milieu of the eastern Mediter
ranean, speculations and cults themselves shaped in greater or less
degree by a wide range of religious and philosophical influences
(including those from Palestine itself). It was from this first-century
melting pot that Gnosticism emerged in the second century, Christ
ianity's most dangerous rival for several decades at least, though as
is now generally recognized individual ideas and emphases which
became characteristic of second-century Gnosticism were already
current in the first century (I will speak of these as 'gnostic' or 'preGnostic').
1

Our question is simply posed: How wasfirst-centuryChristianity

affected by these various influences and ideas? How open were the
early Christians to them? How widely ranging was the diversity of
first-century Christianity on this broad front? Didfirst-centuryChrist
ianity embrace within its acceptable diversity anything that might
properly be called gnostic Christianity? Or were the boundaries
drawn in the latter decades of the second century to separate Christ
ianity and Gnosticism already being drawn in thefirstcentury?

1. On distinctions in terminology (Gnosticism, Gnosis; proto-Gnostic, pre-Gnostic) see

U. Bianchi, ed., Le Origini dello Gnosticismo, Leiden 1 9 6 7 , pp. xxviff. The best collection
of texts on and from Gnosticism is W. Foerster, Gnosis, 2 vols, Oxford University Press
1 9 7 2 , 1 9 7 4 . For the Nag Hammadi texts see J. M . Robinson, The Nag Hammadi Library
in English, third revised edition, Brill 1988.

6o]

The first confessional schism

We start with the 'Hellenists' of Acts 6. Not only does their very
name indicate that we can quite properly speak of a Hellenistic Christ
ianity in some distinction from Jewish Christianity (the 'Hebrews' of
Acts 6.1 - see below 60), but, more to the point, the Hellenists mark
the first significant broadening out of primitive Christianity: it was
they who evidently began the large scale movement of Christianity
towards 'the Greeks' (Acts 1 1 . 2 0 ) ; and it was they who thereby in
effect began to open up Christianity to the wider range of influences
prevalent within Greek religion and culture. We will then focus atten
tion on the growing edge of Christianity as it began to compete more
and more effectively with the ancient Graeco-Roman religions, the
mystery cults and the philosophical speculations current in the major
centres of the area. Here we must ask: To what extent were the
earliest Christian communities emerging from the Gentile mission
affected by these wider influences? To what extent (if at all) does
first-century Christianity on these frontiers manifest a syncretistic
character, manifest tendencies which became distinctive of later Gnos
ticism? In particular, twentieth-century research into the history of
religions in this period forces us to ask whether any of the N T docu
ments themselves (or their immediate sources) express what can prop
erly be called gnostic features, or leave themselves open to gnosticizing
interpretation and use. Here the discussion will focus on the Synoptic
source Q, on Paul, and on the Fourth Gospel.

60.

'THE

FIRST C O N F E S S I O N A L
CHURCH

SCHISM

IN

HISTORY'

Who were the 'Hellenists' ? Most likely Hellenistai signifies Jews who
used or could use only Greek as their lingua franca and who had been
influenced to a significant extent by Greek culture. The majority of
these would probably be Jews of the diaspora who had settled in
Jerusalem (cf. Acts 2 . 9 - 1 1 ; 6.9), though no doubt there were not a
few local Jews who associated with them, seeking to cultivate the
more sophisticated Greek customs. So too the 'Hebrews' probably
denote those who retained Aramaic (or Hebrew) as their daily tongue
even in the diaspora and who had been educated to remain defiantly
Jewish through and through in the face of pressure to relax their
loyalty to Torah and temple (cf. II Cor. 1 1 . 2 2 ; Phil. 3 . 5 ) . Whatever
2

2. So e.g. N . A. Dahl, Das Volk Gottes, 1 9 4 1 , Darmstadt i 9 6 3 , p. 193; M . Simon,

St Stephen and the Hellenists in the Primitive Church, Longmans 1958, pp. uff.; F. F.
Bruce, New Testament History, Nelson 1969, pp. 2i7f.

Hellenistic Christianity

290

[60

the precise facts, the clear implication of Acts 6 is that the Jerusalem
Hellenists maintained separate synagogues where no doubt the
common language of teaching and worship was Greek (6.9). Obvi
ously many Hellenists had been converted and identified themselves
with the new sect of the Nazarene.
One conclusion follows almost immediately: that the earliest
Christian community embraced two fairly distinct groups more or
less from the first - Hebrews who spoke Aramaic (or Hebrew) as a
badge of their Jewishness, and Hellenists who preferred to or who
could converse only in Greek, presumably as the language more
appropriate to a faith that made universalistic claims. Moreover, the
Hellenists must have lived rather apart from the rest; otherwise how
could the Christian widows have been so completely neglected (6.1)
- not just some of them, but the whole group? This strongly suggests
that Hebrews and Hellenists were somewhat isolated from each other,
the Hellenists probably living in a particular section of the city, a
fairly distinctive social quarter. The relationships between the two
groups would be complicated by the fact that the thoroughly ortho
dox very probably tended to regard the Hellenists as religiously
inferior: their embracing of Greek customs would certainly feed the
suspicion that they were lax in their observance of the law; proselytes,
inferior to Hebrews born and bred, would naturally associate more
with the Hellenists (cf. 6.5); and from the time of the Maccabees
'Hellenist' probably contained 'a disparaging nuance' - where the
Sadducees had collaborated with alien forces politically, the Hellenists
had compromised culturally.
These latent tensions within the earliest Christian community came
to a head in the failure of the 'community of goods' - the separateness
of the two groups resulting in the Hellenist widows being missed out
in the daily distribution from the common fund ( 6 . 1 ) . Luke's narrative
suggests that the only problem was a temporary breakdown in the
community's administration which was soon put right. But almost
certainly the failure to cater for the Hellenists and the subsequent
complaints of the Hellenists were only the surface expressions of these
latent tensions, the symptoms of a deeper division. The case for seeing
this confrontation as the beginning of 'the first confessional schism
3

3. W. L. Knox, St Paul and the Church of Jerusalem, Cambridge University Press 1 9 2 5 ,

p. 48 n. 2. Social factors would be important here too. Since the hellenization of the region,
in the wake of Alexander the Great's conquests, embracing of Greek language and customs
had always been a mark of the upper class, better educated, well to do. In this case Barnabas
(Acts 4.36) and John Mark (Acts 1 2 . 1 2 , 2 5 ) would have to be included in their number.
4. Simon, Stephen, p. 1 2 .

6o]

The first confessional schism

5

in church history' (to use E. Haenchen's too formal phrase) is a

cumulative one, but here can be stated only briefly.
{a) The implications of the names, 'Hebrews' and 'Hellenists', and
(b) the indications of the fuller circumstances surrounding the Hellen
ists' complaints (6.1) have already been drawn out.
(c) The seven who were elected in 6.5 were probably all Hellenists,
since all have Greek names. Of course Greek names were not so
uncommon among Palestinian Jews - two of the twelve had Greek
names, after all (Andrew and Philip). But Stephen and Philip, the first
two of the seven named, were certainly Hellenists, and Nicolaus, the
last named, 'a proselyte from Antioch', would also rank among the
Hellenists. More than likely then the middle four were Hellenists too.
But even if our conclusion here runs beyond the immediate evidence,
the astonishing fact remains that among the seven chosen, not one
non-Greek name appears. How odd that the group elected to adminis
ter the common fund for the whole community should be composed
(almost?) entirely of Hellenists! It is more plausible, I think, that the
seven were all Hellenists and that they were elected as spokesmen for
the Hellenist believers, presumably to represent the Hellenists at city
level as the twelve represented (in effect only) the Hebrews. Very
likely indeed they were already the de facto leaders of the Hellenist
Christians, perhaps the emerging leaders of the Hellenistic house
groups. In such a case their election would simply be a recognition
of the leadership qualities they already displayed - as in fact the
narrative suggests (6.3,5).
(d) According to Luke the seven were elected 'to serve tables', to
leave the twelve free to preach the word of God (6.2). But in the
following narratives the ones depicted as preaching the word of God
are precisely Stephen and Philip (6.8-8.13). That is to say, they act
as initiators and evangelists taking the gospel to those whom the
Hebrews had tended to neglect - the Hellenists in Jerusalem and the
half-breed Samaritans. Is there here implied a different attitude to
mission? The local Jerusalem Christians as we have seen had little
thought of going out with the gospel; if anything they expected dias
pora and heathen to come to them, to worship in the temple in the
end-time (see above PP.256L). Quite likely the Hellenists with their
background of diaspora Judaism tended more or less from the first
6

5. E. Haenchen, 'The Book of Acts as Source Material for the History of Early Christ
ianity', SLA, p. 264.
6. Cf. L. Goppelt, Apostolic and Post-Apostolic Times, 1 9 6 2 , E T A . & C. Black 1 9 7 0 ,
pp. 54f.; M . Hengel, 'Between Jesus and Paul', Between Jesus and Paul, S C M Press/ Fortress
1 9 8 3 , pp. 1 3 - 1 6 .

292

Hellenistic Christianity

[60

to be much more outward going in their understanding of the gospel

and of evangelism.
(e) This last speculation gains support from the most striking evi
dence of all - namely, the attitude to the temple which is credited to
Stephen in Acts 6 and 7. The discussion here is complicated by the
question of the historical trustworthiness of the Lukan narrative and
of the speech attributed to Stephen. Suffice it to say that the speech
is so distinctive within Acts and chapters 6-8 contain such distinctive
features that the most plausible view is that Luke is here drawing on
a source which has preserved quite accurately the views of the Hellen
ists or even Stephen in particular with regard to the temple. Certainly
the whole narrative explains the subsequent persecution of the Hellen
ists so well that there is no real reason to doubt its essential historicity.
The point then is that Stephen was accused of speaking against the
temple and the customs handed down by Moses (Acts 6.1 3L). And
this accusation is borne out by the speech which follows.
Far from being a dull, straightforward recital of Israel's history of
no immediate bearing on the situation envisaged, as it at first seems,
the speech attributed to Stephen is a subtly slanted presentation which
climaxes in an outspoken attack on the temple. It concentrates on the
period prior to Israeli settlement in the promised land, prior, that is,
to Jerusalem's becoming the national and religious capital of Israel.
The underlying theme of the first half is the presence of God with his
people outside Judea (note particularly vv.2, 5, 8, 9, 1 6 , 20, 3 0 - 3 3 ) .
Then the climax quickly builds up, composed of two antiphonal
themes. The first is the contrast between the tabernacle and the
temple: the tabernacle typified the time of the wilderness wanderings
when the congregation (ekklesia) received the living oracles and the
angel of the presence was with them (v.38), it was made according to
the pattern shown to Moses on Sinai (v.44), it symbolized God's
presence moving with them in the period of the conquest (v.45), it
provided no permanent place of worship during Israel's golden age
(v.46); whereas the house which Solomon provided for God was fixed
and rooted in one spot (vv.48ff.). The second is the direct line of
apostasy which the speech draws from Israel's rejection of Moses for
the tangible idolatry of the golden calf (vv.39-41), through the idol
atry of the worship of the planetary powers which resulted in the
exile to Babylon (vv.42-43), to the climax of the present idolatry of
the temple (vv.48f.). This is the most astonishing feature of the speech
- its outspoken attack on the temple itself. The key word here is
Stephen's description of the temple as 'made with hands' (cheiropoietos). It was a word used by more sophisticated Greek thinkers in
criticism of idolatry. But, more important, it was regularly used by

6o]

The first confessional schism

293

Hellenistic Jews in their condemnation of paganism - the word itself

often serving to characterize both the idol itself and the Jewish scorn
of idolatry from the time of the L X X on (see e.g. Lev. 26.1; Isa. 46.6;
Sib. Or. III. 605L, 618; I V . 8 - 1 2 ; Philo, Vit. Mos., I.303; II. 1 6 5 , 168;
Apoc. Peter 1 0 ; cf. Acts 7.41; 17.24). But Stephen uses this adjective
of the temple in Jerusalem - he calls the temple an idol\ - and com
pounds his blasphemy by quoting Isa. 6 6 . 1 - 2 , one of the few OT
passages which seem to denounce the temple root and branch (w.
49-50; cf. Barn. 16.2).
The significance of the views expressed here should not go un
marked. (1) Stephen's rejection of the temple meant in effect also a
rejection of the local Christians' attitude to the temple. As we have
seen, the bulk of the new community apparently continued to worship
at the temple and probably looked to the temple as the locus of the
Son of Man's return and the focus of God's eschatological action (see
above pp. 256^). Stephen's speech was in fact a sharp-edged criticism
of the narrow cultic nationalism of his fellow believers in Jesus the
Christ. In other words, the speech confirms the suggestion made above
that the breakdown of the community of goods was only symptomatic
of a deeper division between Hebrew and Hellenist within the earliest
Christian community. (2) The emphasis on God's presence outside
Judea and the evidence that the speech shows influence of distinctively
Samaritan views, may also confirm the further suggestion made
above (d), that Stephen and the Hellenists were more outward going
in their understanding of the demands of the gospel, and consequently
critical of the stay-in-Jerusalem attitude of the Hebrews. (3) Since the
accusation against Stephen in Acts 6.14 so clearly echoes the saying
attributed to Jesus by the false witnesses in Mark 14.58 and attrib
uted to Jesus by John 2.19, the most obvious implication is that
Stephen's view of the temple was greatly influenced by this particular
Jesus-tradition (see above pp. 79, 106). In which case we see here the
first instance of Christians differing (and differing sharply) in their
interpretation of Jesus' teaching. In fact, Jesus' views about the temple
7

7. See particularly A . Spiro, 'Stephen's Samaritan Background', in J . Munck, The Acts

of the Apostles, Anchor Bible 3 1 , Doubleday 1 9 6 7 , pp. 2 8 5 - 3 0 0 ; M . H. Scharlemann,
Stephen: A Singular Saint, Analecta Biblica 34, Rome 1968, pp. 3 6 - 5 1 ; C. H. H. Scobie,
'The Origins and Development of Samaritan Christianity', NTS, 1 9 , 1 9 7 2 - 7 3 , pp. 3 9 1 400. Spiro greatly overstates his case and Scharlemann also makes too much of the
Samaritan influence on Stephen; note also the cautionary comments of R. Pummer, 'The
Samaritan Pentateuch and the New Testament', NTS, 2 2 , 1 9 7 5 - 7 6 , pp. 4 4 1 - 3 ; E. Richard,
'Acts 7: An Investigation of the Samaritan Evidence', CBQ, 39, 1 9 7 7 , pp. 1 9 0 - 2 0 8 .
8. Note how Mark also uses the same blasphemous description (cheiropoieton) for the
temple in his version of this obscure saying of Jesus (Mark 14.58).

294

Hellenistic Christianity

[60

were neither so uncritical as the Hebrew Christians' practices implied,

nor so hostile as Stephen's ('my Father's house' - see above 34.1).
As with his attitude to mission, so here, there were strands in his
teaching which could be followed in different directions. The earliest
believers evidently opted for an essentially conservative interpretation
of those parts of the Jesus-tradition which might have caused unneces
sary friction with the Jerusalem authorities. Whereas Stephen seems
to have seen the significance of this neglected strand (see also above
34.2). The point is that he did not hesitate to emphasize this side of
Jesus' teaching and to elaborate it even though it meant being
(sharply) critical of his fellow (Hebrew) Christians and provoking the
hostility of the more orthodox Jews.
(4) We should perhaps simply note that there is no indication in
the speech of Acts 7 that Stephen or the Hellenists were at this stage
attacking the law as well as the temple: the speech hardly plays down
the importance of Moses (see particularly vv. 1 7 , 20, 22, 36-38) or
of the law (particularly vv. 38, 53) - there is no Pauline antithesis
here between the covenant given to Abraham (v.8) and the 'living
oracles' given to Moses (v.38). The accusations of 6.13. may have
been expressed in general terms by Luke, or 'the law' and 'the customs
delivered to us by Moses' may have referred solely in the first instance
to the law relating to the temple and the cult. Of course, since so
much of the law was bound up with the sacrificial system, a rejection
of the temple was bound to lead sooner or later to a questioning of
the law as a whole. And it was evidently zeal for the law and the
traditions which made Paul a persecutor of the Hellenists (Gal. i.i3f.;
Phil. 3.5 f. ). But when it was that the continuing authority of the law
as such came into question is not clear. Stephen himself probably did
not yet consider his position as constituting a breach with Judaism
and the law; he may indeed have believed that Jesus' coming and
exaltation as the prophet like Moses (Acts 7.37) constituted a call to
return to the authentic religion of Moses, stripped of all its later
idolatrous abuses and corruptions (sacrifices, ritual and temple). If
so, the point is that the first attempt to broaden Christianity began in
a division within Judaism.
9

(f) Stephen's views seem to have led directly to an open split within
the earliest community of Christians; the differences which first be
came visible in Acts 6.1 now deepened into a more obvious and clearcut division. The depth of this division is indicated by the account of
Stephen's trial and death. The Hebrew Christians seem to have shown
no solidarity with or support for Stephen in his trial (despite Peter's
9. Simon, Stephen, pp. 45ff.

6o]

The first confessional schism

and John's earlier boldness in face of the same Sanhedrin - 4.13).

Had Stephen gone too far for them in attacking the temple so fiercely?
Luke's silence is ominous. Similarly the account of Stephen's burial
is probably significant - 'devout men (eulabeis) buried Stephen' (8.2).
Who were the eulabeis} The word is used elsewhere in the N T only
of devout Jews, that is, devout in their attendance on the temple (Luke
2.25), in their pilgrimages to Jerusalem (Acts 2.5), in their observance
of the law (Acts 22.12). Does the word then indicate men who agreed
with Stephen's execution, orthodox Jews noted for their pious good
deeds (acting in obedience to Deut. 21.22L)? If so, why them? Why
not 'believers' or 'young men' as in 5.6, 10? Why does Luke say
that (only) they 'made great lamentation over Stephen' and not 'the
church'? Why not 'the apostles' if indeed they were the only ones
spared in the persecution following Stephen's death (8.1)? Is Luke
perhaps trying to cloak the fact that the Hebrew Christians had virtu
ally abandoned Stephen, so antagonized were they by his views on
the temple? Perhaps they believed that Stephen had brought his fate
upon his own head, even that his death was just reward for the
extremeness of his views. At any rate it looks rather as though
Stephen's views had at least lost him the sympathy of the local Hebrew
Christians, who may weH have felt that Stephen had gone much too
far, and had jeopardized the very existence of the whole new sect; by
tacitly repudiating Stephen's views they made possible their continu
ing presence within Jerusalem. If this is the case then the ramifi
cations of this first confessional schism become more apparent - the
Hebrew Christians seeking to preserve their position within Judaism
and thereby drawing away in the opposite direction from their fellow
believers who were more outward going and more ready to pursue
the implications of Jesus' teaching even when it meant a radical
reappraisal of the new sect's understanding of and relation towards
Judaism as a whole.
(g) Finally we may note that the persecution following Stephen's
death seems to have affected only or principally the Hellenist Christ
ians. Stephen's initial evangelism and disputation was evidently
carried on within the Hellenist synagogues (6.9L). His views on the
temple would naturally cause deep offence to those who had aban
doned homes in the diaspora precisely in order to live in Jerusalem,
the city of the temple; Stephen's attitude to the temple may indeed
partly be explained as the reaction of an 'angry young man' to his
10

10. Note the Jerusalem Christians' anxiety to refute the same accusation (of changing
or abandoning 'the customs' handed down from Moses) against Paul (Acts 2 1 . 2 1 ; cf. 6.14);

see also above 56.3.

Hellenistic Christianity

[60

elders' over-valuation of the temple cult. At all events it was the

Hellenists who engineered the accusation against Stephen and his
arrest (6.1 iff.), and significantly the leading part in the subsequent
persecution was played by Saul, a Jew of the diaspora (Gal. 1 . 1 3 , 23;
Phil. 3.6; Acts 8.3; 9.iff.). In other words the persecution has the
marks of an intra-Hellenist conflict. This strongly suggests that the
chief, perhaps sole targets of the persecution were the renegade (that
is Christian) Hellenists, and that the Hebrew believers were caught
up in it only incidentally or only for a brief time. Luke maintains that
the whole church was scattered abroad, 'except the apostles' (8.1);
but that persecuting authorities would concentrate on the numerous
followers and ignore the leaders of any proscribed movement is very
hard to accept and contrary to obvious pogrom strategy (cf. 1 2 . 1 - 3 ) .
Besides, in Jerusalem the Hellenists would stand out and be easily
recognized, and the Hellenist Christians who shared Stephen's views
would have few friends to shelter them; whereas local Hebrew Christ
ians still loyal to temple and law would be relatively secure. What
ever the actual scope of the persecution the fact seems to be that
the Hellenists were almost wholly driven out of Jerusalem (8.4ff.;
n.i9ff.), and thereafter the Jerusalem church consisted almost
entirely of Hebrews, the bastion of the more conservative Jewish
Christianity in the subsequent disputes over the Gentile mission (see
above 56; cf. Clem. Horn., XI.35 - James, leader of 'the church of
the Hebrews in Jerusalem'). In that case the persecution following
Stephen's death simply pushed further apart the two sides of the
schism which Stephen's views had already brought about.
Here then is a considerable element of diversity within Christianity
almost at the very beginning of its existence, in fact a schism within
the first Christian community. In effect we have uncovered in part at
least the first division between two types of Christian - conservative
and liberal (to use broad and recognizable categories) - the one hold
ing fast to tradition, the other sitting loose to it in the light of changing
circumstances. The local Hebrew believers thought it more important
to remain within the already existing pattern of Judaism - as Jesus
himself had, of course. But the Hellenist believers evidently began to
place more importance on those elements in the Jesus-tradition which
could not find continuing expression within the pattern of Judaism
then prevailing: the new material was beginning to rend the old gar
ment, the new wine to burst the old bottles - as Jesus also had foreseen
(Mark 2.2 if.).
11

1 1 . Knox, Jerusalem, p. 57 n. 4 2 .

6I.I]

6l.

Gnostic tendencies

GNOSTIC

TENDENCIES

297

WITHIN

FIRST-CENTURY

CHRISTIANITY

If Christianity broadened out so quickly as a result of the Hellenists'

views and consequent persecution (Acts 8.4ff.; n.i9ff.), how far
could it broaden out before it lost effective contact with its roots in
Judaism and its centre in Christ? How diverse did Christianity become
in the missionary churches which sprang from the Hellenists' work
and from Paul's apostolic labours? How syncretistic or gnostically
inclined were the churches addressed within the NT? In this section
we begin our attempt to answer these questions by examining those
Christian communities or sections of Christian churches which seem
to have been most open to and influenced by categories and concepts
characteristic of the full blown Gnostic systems of the second century
and beyond.
12

13

6 1 . 1 The church at Corinth. I Corinthians provides the clearest evi

dence in the N T of a division within a Christian community.
I appeal to you, brethren, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ,
that all of you agree and that there be no dissensions among you,
but that you be united in the same mind and the same judgment.
For it has been reported to me by Chloe's people that there is
quarreling among you, my brethren. What I mean is that each one
of you says, 'I belong to Paul', or 'I belong to Apollos', or 'I belong
to Cephas', or T belong to Christ'. Is Christ divided? Was Paul
crucified for you? Or were you baptized in the name of Paul? (I Cor.
1.10-13).
This passage has been frequently understood to mean that there were
four parties in Corinth - a Paul party, an Apollos party, a Peter party
and a Christ party - the first three expressing loyalty to a significant
figure in the early mission of Christianity, and the Christ party pre
sumably decrying such factionalism but in a rather supercilious,
1 2 . For possible direct influence of Stephen's views see above p. 284 n. 59. Other
suggestions include G. Friedrich, 'Die Gegner des Paulus im II Korintherbrief, Abraham
unser Vater, O. Michel Festschrift, ed., O. Betz, M . Hengel and P. Schmidt, Leiden 1 9 6 3 ,
pp. 1 8 1 - 2 1 5 , who argues for a link between Stephen and Paul's opponents in II Cor., and
Cullmann, Johannine Circle, who suggests a link between the Hellenists and the circle from
which the Fourth Gospel emerged.
1 3 . We will pass by Hebrews here, though in some ways it is the most Hellenistic of
the N T writings in its use of the Platonic world view (see above pp. 2.84^).

Hellenistic Christianity

298

[61.1

perhaps exclusive manner, claiming loyalty to Christ alone, but in

such a way as to make themselves a fourth party. J . Munck, on the
other hand, has argued that there were in fact no 'parties' or factions
in Corinth, only bickerings provoked by a wrong evaluation of wis
dom. The best explanation is probably that of N. A. Dahl: there
were not four different factions but only two - a pro-Paul party and
a faction hostile to Paul. This is most clearly indicated by three fea
tures. (1) There are no traces of three opposing viewpoints in the rest
of the letter: all the troubles seem to have arisen from a single diverse
form of teaching which clashed with Paul's at various points. There
were certainly Jewish Christians in Corinth (as the dimensions of the
problem tackled in I Cor. 8 - 1 0 make clear), but they do not seem to
have been hostile to Paul, and probably did not form a coherent party
as such, though it is quite possible that one or two of them offered
the slogan, 'I am of Cephas' as a sort of protest against the two
more distinct factions. (2) In the opening section dealing with the
factionalism Paul does not in fact deal with various groups: the whole
section, 1 . 1 0 - 4 . 2 1 , is an apology by Paul for himself, his conduct
and ministry, an attempt to re-establish his authority against the
attacks made on it. (3) In the immediate response to the different
slogans Paul poses his question in terms of only two parties - those
who claimed allegiance to himself, and those who claimed allegiance
to Christ. Had there been an Apollos or Cephas party distinct from
the Christ party Paul's questions would probably have embraced them
too - 'Was Apollos crucified for you?', or 'Were you baptized in the
name of Cephas?' Similarly in II Cor. 1 0 . 7 he confronts only those
who claim to be Christ's in an exclusive manner - no other parties
are envisaged.
Why then four different slogans in I.IZ? Dahl answers this question
adequately:
14

15

16

Those who said 'I belong to Paul' were proud of him and held
that his excellence surpassed that of Apollos or Cephas. The other
slogans are all to be understood as declarations of independence
from Paul. Apollos is mentioned as the most outstanding Christian
teacher who had visited Corinth after Paul. Cephas is the famous

1 4 . See J . C. Hurd, The Origin of I Corinthians, SPCK 1 9 6 5 , ch. 4, for the different
theories on this point.
1 5 . Munck, Paul, ch. 5.
16. N . A . Dahl, 'Paul and the Church at Corinth in I Cor. 1 . 1 0 - 4 . 2 . 1 ' , Christian History
and Interpretation: Studies Presented to John Knox, ed., W. R. Farmer, C. F. D. Moule
and R. R. Niebuhr, Cambridge University Press 1967, pp. 3 1 3 - 3 5 .

61.1]

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pillar, the first witness to the resurrection, an apostle before

Paul. The slogan 'I belong to Christ' is not the motto of a specific
'Christ-party' but simply means 'I belong myself to Christ - and
am independent of Paul'.
17

Who then were Paul's opponents in Corinth? The best explanation

is that they were Christians heavily influenced by the sort of thought
which was to characterize later Gnosticism, and enthusiastic in ex
pression (see above p. 194). Indeed many scholars would be prepared
to call them Gnostics as such, though there is no evidence in the
Corinthian letters of a complete Gnostic system, particularly in the
area of christology.
(a) It is clear, particularly from 2.6-3.4, that Paul was confronting
in Corinth those who called themselves pneumatics, spiritual ones
(pneumatikoi) - a key gnostic word; indeed, in all three instances
where Paul uses the word in I Corinthians he seems to be picking up
the language of his opponents (2.13, 1 5 ; 3 . 1 ; 1 2 . 1 ; 1 4 . 1 , 37; 15.44,
46). With this self-esteem was linked a high evaluation of what they
called 'wisdom' {sophia). As pneumatics and wise they despised Paul
for the naivety of his teaching, both its manner and content ( 1 . 1 7 2.5); they had left behind the milk of his teaching for the solid meat
of deeper wisdom (3.if.). Already they had attained fullness, already
they were rich, already reigning, and consequently they could look
down on their fellow believers with inflated pride and arrogance and
on Paul as the teacher of an inferior brand of Christianity (4.6, 8, 1 0 ,
18). Clearly then they saw Christianity as a form of wisdom and
themselves as possessing a deeper wisdom, a higher spirituality; in
contrast to other believers they were mature, the spiritual ones. The
parallels here with later Gnostic thought are striking. The Gnostic
systems differed at many points, but typically Gnostic was the division
of humankind into two (or three) classes, with pneumatics inherently
superior to the rest. Wisdom (sophia) played an important role in
18

19

20

1 7 . Dahl, 'Paul and the Church at Corinth', p. 3 2 2 .

1 8 . See e.g. Kummel, Introduction, pp. 274L and those cited by him there. The strongest
proponent of the thesis that Paul's opponents were Gnostics is W. Schmithals, Gnosticism
in Corinth, 1965,
E T Abingdon 1 9 7 1 .
19. See those cited by E. Yamauchi, Pre-Christian Gnosticism, Tyndale Press 1 9 7 3 ,
pp. 3 9 - 4 3 . See further below n. 59. If indeed the II Cor. 1 0 - 1 3 'false apostles' did present
Jesus as a supreme miracle worker (see above pp. 7 5 L , i94f.), then we must infer that the
Corinthian delight in the miraculous had taken a more explicitly christological turn by the
time Paul wrote II Cor. 1 0 - 1 3 (
further below p. 3 1 9 ) .
20. See particularly Irenaeus, adv.haer., 1 . 5 . 4 - 6 . 2 , 4; 7.5; 8.3; Clement, Exc. Theod.,
zi; 5 3 - 5 8 ; Hypostasis of the Archons, 8 7 . 1 8 .
2

s e e

Hellenistic Christianity

300

[61.1

21

their understanding of salvation. And the cross was an embarrass

ment for some at least.
(b) The questions of immorality and marriage treated in I Cor.
5-7 may also reflect early gnostic or pre-Gnostic thought. As is well
known, Gnostic dualism of spirit and body could lead to either prom
iscuity or asceticism. If the spirit is alone good and the body evil,
despised 'mud', a prison incarcerating the divine spark in matter, then
logically it is really of no great consequence how the body is treated:
it can be either indulged even in the grossest sensuality (the spirit
being unaffected) or starved. So the immorality of I Cor. 5-6 may
well be the corollary of gnostic ideas about the body, combined with
the social pressures of a Corinth notorious for its social licence (hence
the argument of 6.15-20). So too if I Cor. 7.36-38 reflects an ascetic
or spiritual marriage, this could also just possibly be a consequence
of the same basic gnostic ideas, possibly combined with a reaction
against the immoral laxity of Corinth and with the expectation of an
imminent consummation.
(c) The tension in the Corinthian community between meat-eaters
and vegetarians looks very much like a division between gnostics and
others (8-10). The 'men of knowledge' obviously made much of their
knowledge (gnosis), their superior insight and understanding (8.1, 7,
10, 1 1 ) , in a manner very similar to later Gnosticism. 'We have
knowledge', was obviously their proud claim (8.1, 10) - probably
also, 'We know God and are known by him' (8.3 - cf. Gosp. of Truth,
19.33). Consequently they thought nothing of idols and felt wholly
free to join in and enjoy feasts that took place in the temples - again
just like those who made the same claim in the second century.
22

23

24

25

26

27

2 1 . Particularly in the very elaborate Valentinian system: see e.g. Irenaeus, adv.haer.,
I.7.1; 2 1 . 5 ; Clement, Exc.Theod., 44L, 5 3 . Note the certain identification in Valentinian
thought between Wisdom and the Spirit (Irenaeus, adv.haer., I.4.1; Hippolytus, Kef.,
V I . 3 4 . 1 ; 3 5 . f . , 7).
22. So Cerinthus, Basilides and the Valentinians (Irenaeus, adv.haer., I.26.1; 1.24.4;
1.7.2; Clement, Exc. Theod., 61.6).
23. Irenaeus, adv.haer., 1.6.2; 25.3L; Clement, Strom, III.10.1; Hippolytus, Kef.,
VI.19.5; Epiphanius, Pan., 40.2.4.
24. Irenaeus, adv.haer., I.24.2; Hippolytus, Kef., V . 9 . 1 1 ; Epiphanius, Pan., 4 5 . 2 . 1 - 3 .
25. Cf. particularly Irenaeus, adv.haer., I.6.3.
26. Basilides - 'The gospel is, according to them, the knowledge of the supermundane
things' (Hippolytus, Kef., VII.27.7). Valentinians - 'The end will come when all that is
spiritual is shaped and perfected through knowledge . . . ' ; 'They claim that they have more
knowledge than all others, and that they alone have attained the greatness of the knowledge
of the ineffable power'; 'The inner, spiritual man is redeemed through knowledge' (Irenaeus,
adv.haer., I.6.1; 1 3 . 6 ; 21.4). See also Hippolytus, Kef., V.6.4, 6; Epiphanius, Pan., 2 6 . 1 0 . 7 3

9; 3i.7.8f.; Poimandres, z6f., 32, etc.

27. Irenaeus, adv.haer., I.6.3; 24.5.

6I.I]

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301

(d) The spiritual conceit of the pneumatics (they would have said
knowledge of the true state of affairs) is probably reflected behind
several of the other disputes that racked the Corinthian church though not all. It came to clear expression in their conduct at the
common meal and Lord's Supper ( 1 1 . 1 7 - 2 2 , 33): one section of
the community made it an occasion for a good meal and ignored the
poorer members who had little food or who came late. Almost cer
tainly the former were the same group whose superior knowledge
enabled them to enjoy the good things of life - they were treating the
common meal and Lord's Supper like the idol feasts they attended
(cf. 1 0 . 1 9 - 2 1 ). The same spiritual conceit is again evident in the
matter of spiritual gifts ( 1 2 - 1 4 ) : they were clearly proud of their
spiritual gifts (pneumatika), particularly their experiences of ecstatic
inspiration when they spoke in tongues ( 1 4 . 1 2 , 23, 33), regarding
such experiences as a manifestation of their superior spirituality, and
disregarding those with less striking gifts as worthy of little esteem
(12.21). It may even be that in 12.3 we have one of the earliest
formulations of a distinctively Gnostic christology - the earthly Jesus
was of no account, it was the heavenly Christ alone that counted.
(e) A striking feature of the later Gnosticism was their conviction
that having been given knowledge of the true state of things and of
themselves they were thereby already 'perfect'. Analogously we see
in the Corinthian faction opposing Paul an overemphasis on the
'already' and a neglect of the 'not yet' of eschatological salvation.
Hence the inflated language of 4.8: 'Already you are filled! Already
you have become rich! Without us you have become kings!' So too
the whole point of 1 0 . 1 - 1 2 was obviously to warn those who thought
they had already arrived (presumably by virtue of their participation
in the sacraments); on the contrary they were still on the way, and
might well come to grief as a result of their inflated self-confidence the example of what happened to the Israelites between the Red
Sea and Jordan providing an awful precedent. Probably the clearest
example of the 'already' mentality of the Corinthian pneumatics was
their attitude to the resurrection (15). They are most obviously to be
28

29

30

31

28. On the Corinthians' attitude to baptism and the Lord's Supper see further above
39.5 and pp. 1 8 0 , i82f.
29. See the brief discussion in Dunn, Jesus, pp. 234L and nn. 1 7 6 , 1 7 7 and 1 8 0 .
30. As in Irenaeus, adv.haer., I.6.4; 1 3 . 6 ; Clement, Strom., III. 1 (Basilides, Fragments,
8.3); Hippolytus, Ref., V.8.9, 29; Acts of Thomas, 18.34; 36.20; 42.28; 43.20; Gosp. of
Philip, 3 1 , 100; Thomas the Contender, 140.10L; 1 4 5 . 1 7 .
3 1 . See above 39.5. Cf. Acts of Thomas, 2 6 - 'The apostle said to them: "I am glad
and I entreat you to receive this seal and partake with me in this eucharist and praising of
the Lord and be perfected by it"'.

Hellenistic Christianity

302

[61.1

identified as the group in the Corinthian church who affirmed 'that

there is no resurrection of the dead' ( 1 5 . 1 2 ) . What presumably they
meant was that there was no future resurrection, no resurrection
still to come: already they were raised, experiencing through their
participation in the life-giving Spirit participation in the resurrection
of him who by resurrection had become life-giving Spirit (15.45).
denying resurrection of the dead, they meant denying resurrection of
the (dead) body: salvation did not depend on what happened to the
body at or after death - indeed resurrection of the (material) body
would have been incomprehensible to a gnostic, a contradiction of
his fundamental dualism between spirit and matter; on the contrary,
salvation was already secured, resurrection was already theirs in the
resurrection Spirit. Here once more then we have an affirmation
typical of later Gnosticism.
To sum up, the root of the trouble facing Paul at Corinth was
almost certainly the strong influence of gnostic (or pre-Gnostic) ideas
on a large section of the Christian community. The situation was
undoubtedly more complicated than we have been able to show, but
enough has been done to demonstrate that what may properly be
called 'gnostic tendencies' were present within the church at Corinth.
The point which we must take note of is the diversity within that one
congregation: there was a division in the community, but both fac
tions were still recognized as belonging to the community; one end
of the spectrum of Corinthian Christianity was familiar with and
relished concepts and categories drawn from the wider syncretistic
mix of Hellenistic culture and religious philosophy, but that did not
exclude them from the community. In other words, there were gnos
tics within the church at Corinth, and Paul did not denounce them
as non-Christian, sham believers. He rebuked them for their pride
and lack of love, but he nonetheless recognized them to be members
of the body of Christ. In short, we are only half way through the first
century, but already we can see in early form of gnostic or pre-Gnostic
Christianity gaining ground - not as a threat or attack from outside
the church, but as part of the spectrum of Christianity itself?
m

32

33

3 2. See J . H. Wilson, 'The Corinthians who say there is no resurrection of the dead',
ZNW,
59, 1 9 6 8 , pp. 9 0 - 1 0 7 , and those cited by him on pp. 95ff.; also Barrett,
J Corinthians, pp. 3 4 7 L ; Robinson, Trajectories, pp. 33ff.; J . H. Schiitz, Paul and the
Anatomy of Apostolic Authority, Cambridge University Press 1 9 7 5 , pp. 85f.
3 3 . II Tim. 2 . 1 8 ; Justin, Dialogue 80; Irenaeus, adv.haer., I.23.5; I I . 3 1 . 2 ; Tertullian, de
praes.haer.., 3 3 . 7 ; de res.car., 19; Acts of Paul and Thecla, 1 4 ; Letter to Rheginos, 49.i5ff.;
Gosp. of Philip, 2 1 , 6 3 , 90, 95. But see further below pp. 3 1 5 ^
34. Further studies have highlighted other, particularly social factors (G. Theissen, The
Social Setting of Pauline Christianity, 1 9 7 9 , E T Fortress/T. 8c T. Clark 1 9 8 2 ; P. Marshall.
Enmity in Corinth: Social Conventions in Paul's Relations with the Corinthians, W U N T

61.2]

Gnostic

tendencies

303

61.2 When we look elsewhere in the N T it is not too difficult to find

evidence of the pressure of gnostic tendencies within the growing
Hellenistic edge of early Christianity.
(a) The situation involving the church at Philippi was rather com
plex, to our view at least. By 'mirror reading' the evidence we can
deduce that, like the Corinthian faction, many in the Philippian con
gregation believed that they had already reached the ultimate, were
already perfect and fulfilled ( 3 . 1 2 - 1 5 ; cf. 1.6, 1 1 ) so that talk of a
salvation still to be worked out left them unmoved (2.12) and talk
of a still future resurrection was irrelevant (3.1 of., 2of.). Like the
Corinthians their beliefs made them conceited, they disregarded
others and concerned themselves only with their own higher affairs
(2.3^). Probably the antinomian corollaries to such beliefs were
already being drawn out by them - at least such seems to be implied
by the emphases in 2 . 1 2 , 1 4 , 3.16, and 48f. Consequently the
Philippians were ready prey to those against whom Paul warns in
3 . 1 7 - 1 9 . Who were this latter group? Clearly they were libertines
who boasted of their (gross) sensuality ('their god is their belly, and
they glory in their shame'). Probably, like the Corinthian gnostics
they thought the message of the cross was folly ('enemies of the cross
of Christ, whose end is destruction' - cf. I Cor. 1.18). Probably too
they boasted of their knowledge of heavenly matters ('with minds set
on earthly things' being a derisive parody). So, most likely they were
libertines with marked gnostic tendencies.
35

What is most interesting for us is their relationship to the church

at Philippi. Evidently Paul regarded them as not members of the
church, as is implied by the distinction between the 'many' and the
'brethren' in 3.17L and between 'them' and 'us' in 3.19L But probably
they thought of themselves as Christians (they had a theology of the
cross, their teaching was very attractive to the Philippians, and note
the parallel verbs in vv. 1 6 - 1 8 ) . They may even have been members
of the church at Philippi in the beginning (why else would Paul speak
of them 'with tears'?). If so their libertine attitudes must have quickly
emerged (or been brought in with them) and presumably Paul quickly
saw the danger they posed and had them 'disfellowshipped' or
expelled (cf. I Cor. 5 . 2 - 1 3 ) . At all events they had been in or near
2.23. Tubingen 1987); but this simply underlines the complexity of the 'mix' at Corinth,
including syncretistic religious elements (especially 'knowledge') which point towards the
subsequently fully developed Gnostic systems.
3 5 . See particularly R. Jewett, 'Conflicting Movements in the Early Church as Reflected
in Philippians', Nov Test, 1 2 , 1970, pp. 3 6 2 - 9 0 ; Martin, Philippians, pp. 2 2 - 3 6 . I would
probably wish to qualify this conclusion now; see my Romans, p. 903; cf. G. F. Hawthorne,
Philippians, Word Biblical Commentary 4 3 , Word 1 9 8 3 , pp. xliv-xlvii.

Hellenistic Christianity

304

[61.2

the Philippian congregation for a long time (Phil. 3.18), and the
attractiveness of their life style to the Philippians had if anything
increased in the interim. Here then we may have a good example of
the effect and interaction of gnostic or syncretistic tendencies with
and within one of the churches which Paul regarded most highly.
(b) Colossae. Evidently there were those in the Colossian church
(not necessarily a coherent faction) who might 'delude' the rest 'with
specious arguments' (2.4) - proponents of what Paul calls 'hollow
and delusive speculations, based on traditions of man-made teaching
and centred on the elemental spirits of the world' (2.8), who probably
regarded Jesus as one intermediary heavenly figure among many (cf.
2.9, and see below p.3 20). Apparently they were strictly ascetic: they
demanded observance of festivals, new moon and sabbath (2.16);
they laid down regulations about food (2.16, 2 1 ) ; their self denial
was aimed at mortifying the flesh (2.20-23). Quite probably they
called for 'worship of angels' (and of other spiritual beings - 2.8?),
and made much of visions they had experienced, as a sign that they
had attained to a higher stage of spirituality (2.18 - though the precise
meaning of the verse is obscure). How this kind of teaching is to be
designated is not clear. Bearing in mind that the eastern Mediter
ranean was at this time a melting pot of a whole variety of religious
concepts and practices, it looks very much as though we have to do
here with a syncretistic teaching which drew together elements of
Judaism, mystery cults, Christianity and probably more characteristi
cally gnostic ideas - combining in a single system, its proponents
would no doubt claim, the best from different quarters. If so we have
a good illustration of the nature of the growing edge of Christianity
in Asia Minor, of how blurred was the border of Hellenistic Christ
ianity and how subtle the attraction for the first Christians of mould
ing their new faith and worship into more impressive syncretistic or
gnostic forms.
[c) Pastorals. When we move on a generation or so, we find a
situation not very much changed, though to be sure warnings against
false teaching are more emphatic and more frequently reiterated than
before. The false teaching in question was fairly clearly a kind of
Jewish Christian gnosis not unlike that encountered above at Colos
sae. The writer refers to them as 'the circumcision party' (Titus 1.10)
who had a high regard for the law and argued for its validity (I Tim.
36

36. See e.g. W. L. Knox, St Paul and the Church of the Gentiles, Cambridge University
Press 1 9 3 9 , p. 1 7 0 , and the discussion in E . Lohse, Die Briefe an die Kolosser und an
Philemon, K E K 1968, pp. 1 7 3 - 8 . But see also F. O. Francis in F. O. Francis and W. A.
Meeks, Conflict at Colossae, Scholars 1 9 7 5 ; P. T. O'Brien, Colossians, Philemon, Word
Biblical Commentary 44, Word 1 9 8 2 , pp. 1 4 1 - 6 .

61.2]

Gnostic tendencies

305

1.7; Titus 1.141".; 3.9). But 'gnosis' was obviously also a key word
(I Tim. 6.20), and in propagating it they occupied themselves 'with
myths and endless genealogies . . . ' (I Tim. 1.4; 4.7; Titus 3.9). They
were markedly ascetic in practice (I Tim.4.3; Titus 1.141".). And, most
striking of all perhaps, they believed that the resurrection was already
past (II Tim. 2.18). Most likely then it was a teaching which saw
redemption in terms of the spiritual man's knowledge of the true state
of affairs concerning both the cosmos and himself, and which came
to expression in an acute disdain for things material. But the point is,
this teaching is envisaged as not coming from without. It is a teaching
which was propagated within the community (I Tim. i.3f.; II Tim.
2.i6ff.; 3.5; Titus i.i f.; 3.9^), and which had already so captivated
some that they had had to be 'disfellowshipped' or expelled (I Tim.
i.i f.; Titus 3.iof.; cf. I Tim. i.6f.; 6.2of.; II Tim. 2.18; 4.14). That
is to say, even in a second (or third) generation situation where 'the
faith' was more clearly outlined and defined (see above 17.4), the
actual boundaries of the communities themselves were not so clearly
defined. The gnostic teaching was condemned, but it was still argued
for within the churches and many had obviously found it attractive.
Here again then we see the same kind of diversity as before, present
within communities near the turn of thefirstcentury.
(d) The churches addressed in Rev. 2 - 3 were clearly a very mixed
bag. Most noticeably the church of Thyatira 'tolerated' a prophetess,
'that Jezebel . . . who by her teaching lures my servants into fornica
tion and into eating food sacrificed to idols' (Rev. 2.20; so Pergamum
- 2.i4f.; contrast Ephesus - 2.6). Moreover her followers gloried in
deeper spiritual experiences - 'what they like to call the deep secrets
of Satan' (2.24 - though it may well be the seer who added or changed
the last word into 'Satan'). Probably therefore we have to do with a
kind of libertine Gnosis - though since the seer is so morally strict
himself (14.4) we may have to discount some of his description as an
over-conservative reaction to what was simply a more liberal form of
Christianity. Whatever the precise facts the point is that the teaching
rejected by the seer and by the church at Ephesus was being enter
tained ('tolerated' is the seer's word) by the churches at Pergamum
and Thyatira. In them at least clear limits marking off orthodox from
heretic, Christian from non-Christian, still had to be drawn.
(e) The epistle of Jude also opposes what is clearly a form of
libertine pre-Gnostic spirituality: v. 19 - 'These men draw a line
between spiritual and unspiritual persons, although they are them
selves wholly unspiritual' (NEB). Obviously they were pneumatics
who considered their own inspiration (in dreams or visions) superior
to any other authority (v.8). They were proud of their ideas and
3

Hellenistic Christianity

3o6

[61.3

boasted about their spiritual superiority (v. 16). This pride in spiritual
knowledge was combined with uninhibited indulgence of the body:
they perverted the grace of God into debauchery (v.4); like the Corin
thian gnostics they were completely selfish in their behaviour at the
common meals (v. 12); they indulged in sexual immorality and un
natural lust (w.yf.); they acted like brute beasts, following their
godless passions (vv.io, 18). Here then we are certainly dealing with
a form of gnostic teaching, very much like that referred to above
(p. 300 nn. 2 3 , 27), where the body was thought to have so little
integral relation to the Spirit within that it could be freely indulged
without harming the spirit. The important verse for us is v. 1 2 'These men are a blot on your lovefeasts'. That is to say, the gnostics
were not outsiders trying to subvert and draw away the true believers,
they were inside the community, they took part in the common love
feasts. Moreover Jude, like the Pastorals, does not make any real
attempt to answer the challenge of this teaching; and though he threat
ens them with God's judgment (vv. 5 - 7 , 1 3 , 1 5 ) , he does not call
for them to be expelled from the community. In other words, the
Christianity which Jude addressed was not a pure unadulterated faith,
but a Christianity which contained within itself some gnostic-like (or
pre-Gnostic) elements. A similar conclusion would have to be drawn
from 77 Peter since the key chapter (II Peter 2) is so heavily dependent
on Jude.
37

61.3 Here then are Christian communities at different times in the

first century and probably into the second century as well, which
contained a considerable degree of diversity - a spectrum of diversity
which stretches right over into faith and conduct which the later
Church found thoroughly unacceptable - a trajectory (if the metaphor
is not too misleading) whose outer edge continually merged into the
sort of gnostic beliefs and practices which later orthodoxy condemned
out of hand as heretical. There are various attempts made by the
letter writers to achieve a clearer idea of what is acceptable diversity
and what beliefs and conduct ought to be wwacceptable. But in the
communities themselves a considerable spectrum of diversity was
evidently counted acceptable - a diversity which embraced within
itself elements which later characterized full-blown Gnosticism, the

37. F. Wisse, 'The Epistle of Jude in the History of Heresiology', Essays on the Nag
Hammadi Texts in Honour of A. Bhlig, ed., M . Krause, Leiden 1 9 7 2 , pp. 1 3 3 - 4 3 , denies
that Jude has a particular historical situation in mind, though he fails to explain how Jude
could still envisage such people as accepted participants in Christian love feasts. But see
R. J . Bauckham, Jude, II Peter, Word Biblical Commentary 50, Word 1 9 8 3 , pp. 1 1 - 1 3 .

62.i]

The 'gnosticizing proclivity' of Qf

gnostics participating in the inner life of the Church as fully accepted

members. In other words, we do not at this stage see a church, far
less the Church with a full(y) Christian system of faith and order,
where the only false teachers come from outside and are clearly recog
nized as such. On the contrary, the fact that only a modest system of
discipline and expulsion had been attained even in the Pastorals
implies that there were as yet no well defined or unanimous views
regarding orthodoxy and heresy, and that these were only beginning
to become appropriate concepts as the first century drew to a close.
38

62.

THE 'GNOSTICIZING

PROCLIVITY'

OF Q?

J. M. Robinson, elaborating some hints from Bultmann, has pointed

out that the nearest parallels to the literary form of Q are on the one
hand the collections of Wisdom saying such as we find in Proverbs
and on the other the collection of sayings of Jesus presented to us in
the Oxyrhynchus Papyri and the Gospel of Thomas. He designates
the Gattung, Logoi Sophon - 'Sayings of the Sages', or 'Words of the
Wise' - and suggests consequently that Q lies on a trajectory from
Jewish Wisdom to Hellenistic Gnosticism in which a gnosticizing
tendency is at work. H. Koester, following up Robinson's thesis, has
qualified it by arguing that the Gospel of Thomas is derived from
pre-Q traditions (some of the Thomas logia appear to be more primi
tive than the Q version) - pre-Q traditions 'in which the apocalyptic
expectation of the Son of man was missing' - and that Q has intro
duced this apocalyptic element 'to check the gnosticizing tendencies of
this sayings gospel'. Can we then properly speak of the 'gnosticizing
proclivity' of Q? Do we have to place Q on a 'gnosticizing trajectory'?
39

62.1 Several considerations could be taken to indicate a positive

answer to this question.

38. Cf. A . D. Nock, 'Gnosticism', Essays on Religion and the Ancient World, ed., Z .
Stewart, Oxford University Press 1 9 7 2 : 'What we call Gnosticism seems to me to be the
aggregate of a series of individualistic responses to the religious situation - the responses,
moreover, of men who in many cases cannot have thought of themselves as in any way
deviationist. The crystallization of what came to be orthodoxy was a gradual process, a
progressive elimination of ideas which proved unacceptable' (p. 954 - my emphasis).
39. J . M . Robinson, 'Logoi Sophon: on the Gattung of Q', Trajectories, ch. 3; also in
FRP, ch. 5; H. Koester, 'Gnomai DiaphoroV, Trajectories, ch. 4 (here see particularly
pp. 1 2 6 - 4 3 ) ; l 'One Jesus', Trajectories, ch. 5 (here pp. 1 6 6 - 8 7 - quotation from i86f.)
For the relationship of the Oxyrhynchus fragments with Thomas see Hennecke, Apocrypha,
a

i, pp- 9 7 - 1 1 3

s o

38

Hellenistic Christianity

[62.1

{a) About a quarter of the 1 1 4 Thomas sayings are paralleled in

whole or in part by Q tradition. If we included in the comparison
Q material which has been reproduced by only Matthew or only Luke
or likely (pre-) Q material from only Thomas, the proportion would
rise to nearer one third. Clearly then, there is a continuity between
the tradition which Q has preserved and the Gospel of Thomas, and
Thomas is ultimately dependent on that tradition to quite a marked
degree. One example with only slight modification is Logion 86 interesting as being the only Son of Man saying preserved in Thomas:
'Jesus said: (Foxes have their holes) and birds have (their) nests, but
the Son of man has nowhere to lay his head (and) to rest' (cf. Matt.
8.20/Luke 9.58) - only the last two words having been added (cf.
Logia 50, 5 1 , 60, 90).
(b) One of the most noteworthy features of Q has always been the
absence of any interest in Jesus' suffering or death - that is, not merely
the lack of any passion narrative, which would be understandable in
a collection of sayings, but also the absence of any of the passion
predictions which receive such emphasis in the latter half of Mark
(Mark 8.31; 9 . 3 1 ; 10.33f., 45). As we noted above (p.42 n.19), the
thought of suffering and rejection is not entirely absent from Q, but
it is hardly obvious, and the sayings in question could be otherwise
interpreted. The only ones which Thomas used are Logion 5 5 (Matt.
10.38/Luke 14.27) and Logion 86 (quoted just above); but these were
probably understood in a Gnostic sense of Sophia's and the spiritual
man's wandering existence with no home in this world, no rest or
acceptance within the material creation.
{c) Finally we might note how strong is the wisdom influence within
Q. It does not appear as though Jesus is yet identified with Wisdom.
But Jesus is certainly presented by Q as a teacher of wisdom. Taken
together with the last point therefore, it looks rather as though the Q
tradition presents Jesus' teaching as guidance for living in the last
days rather than as kerygma, with Jesus understood as one whose
words have eschatological significance quite apart from any question
of his dying or rising. When we turn to the Gospel of Thomas we
find a significant parallel, in so far as many of the same sayings
together with all the rest are presented as the words of 'the living
Jesus' who thus gives life through his teaching (cf. Logion 52); 'faith
40

41

42

40. 6b, 1 6 , 2 1 b , 26, 33a, 3 3 b , 3 4 , 3 6 , 39a, 44, 4 5 , 46, 47a, 54, 5 5 , 64, 68, 69b, 7 3 ,
76b, 7 8 , 86, 89, 9 1 (?), 92a, 94, 95(?), 96, 1 0 1 , 1 0 3 , io6b(?), 1 0 7 .
4 1 . See above pp. 237f., 279^; also G. N . Stanton, 'On the Christology of Q', CSNT
pp. 36ff.
4 2 . See particularly R. A . Edwards, A Theology of Q, Fortress 1 9 7 6 , ch. V .

62.2]

The 'gnosticizing proclivity' of Qf

is understood as belief in Jesus' words', which disclose 'eternal wis

dom about man's true self'.
Here then are some possible grounds for seeing Q as located earlier
on the same gnosticizing Wisdom trajectory to which Thomas
belongs.
43

62.2 On the other hand we cannot ignore at least two other factors.
{a) There is nothing distinctively Gnostic in Q, whereas the Gospel
of Thomas has typically Gnostic features. See particularly
Logion 29 - Jesus said: If the flesh has come into existence because
of spirit, it is a marvel; but if spirit (has come into existence) because
of the body, it is a marvel of marvels. But I marvel at how this
great wealth has settled down in this poverty.
Logion 50 - Jesus said: If they say to you, Whence have you come?
say to them, We have come from the light, (from) the place where
the light came into existence through itself alone . . .
Logion 77 - Jesus said: I am the light which is over everything. I
am the All; the All came forth from me and the All has reached to
me. Split the wood; I am there. Lift up the stone, and you will find
me there.
44

Moreover, Thomas was able to use early Q-type material precisely

by reading it as gnosis or elaborating it in a Gnostic direction. Thus,
as we saw above, only two of the few Q sayings which could be
readily interpreted as allusions to Jesus' suffering and rejection have
been retained in Thomas, in one case with a small but significant
addition to give it a more Gnostic-like tinge (Logion 86). Two other
examples are
Logion 2 - Jesus said: He who seeks must not stop seeking until he
finds (cf. Logion 92; Matt. 7.7/Luke 1 1 . 9 ) ; and when he finds, he
will be bewildered; and if he is bewildered, he will marvel, and will
be king over the All.
Logion 3 - . . . But the kingdom is within you and outside you (cf.
Luke 1 7 . 2 1 ) . When you know yourselves, then you will be known;
43. Koester, 'Gnomai Diapboroi', Trajectories, pp. i38f.; 'One Jesus', Trajectories,
p.186.
44. Other good examples of logia manifestly Gnostic in character include 39, 60 and 87.

Hellenistic Christianity

[62.2

and you will know that you are the sons of the living Father. But
if you do not know yourselves, then you are in poverty, and you
are poverty.
(b) The most striking difference between Q and Thomas is in the
area of eschatology. For Q is thoroughly eschatological and is charac
terized to a significant degree by the expectation of the soon coming
of the Son of Man; whereas in Thomas eschatological interest
is almost wholly absent, and the Synoptic-like material which it
has preserved has been thoroughly de-eschatologized. Thus, for
example,
45

Logion 1 0 - Jesus said: I have cast fire upon the world (note the
past tense - cf. Luke 12.49), d behold, I guard it until it is ablaze.
a n

Logion 1 8 - The disciples said to Jesus: Tell us in what way our

end will take place. Jesus said: Have you indeed uncovered the
beginning so that you may seek the end? For in the place where the
beginning is, there shall the end be. Blessed is he who will stand at
the beginning, and he will know the end and will not taste death.
Logion 46 - . . . But I have said that whoever among you will
become a little one will know the kingdom and will be greater than
John (cf. Matt. 18.3; Matt. n . n / L u k e 7.28).
See also the realized emphasis in 1 , 3, 1 1 , 1 9 , 3 5 , 37, 5 1 , 59, i n ,
1 1 3 , and notice how the parables of crisis have become advice to
prudence rather than to watchfulness for the eschaton (21, 103), and
how the parables of the kingdom have become wisdom sayings (8,
76, 109). Koester argues that Thomas reflects a stage of the Q tra
dition when the emphasis was wholly realized; but I do not think the
future eschatology in Jesus' teaching can be sloughed off quite so
readily (see below 67.2) - so that Q is almost certainly earlier and
nearer to Jesus' emphasis than any non-eschatological version of the
Jesus-tradition. More to the present point, the Thomas material in
these logia just mentioned looks much more like de-eschatologized
tradition rather than pre-eschatologized tradition - with the escha
tology of Logion 57 seen as an unremoved residue rather than as the
forerunner of a more thorough eschatologizing.
45. See Edwards, Q, pp. 3 7 - 4 3 and those cited by him there; Koester, Introduction,
vol. z, p. 1 4 8 .

62.3]

The 'gnosticizing proclivity' of Qf

311

62.3 To sum up, we must not overemphasize the wisdom character

of Q. If the eschatological element was as strong as it appears then
Q was certainly not content to portray Jesus simply as the teacher of
wisdom who lives on in and through his words; on the contrary, the
soon coming of Jesus as the Son of Man was integral to its christology
and its message. Yet at the same time the fact remains that Q was not
retained by the early Christian churches as it stood (as they retained
the other source of Matthew and Luke - Mark); they retained it only
as wedded to, inserted within a Markan framework - that is, only
whenfirmlyunited to the passion narrative, only when set in conjunc
tion with and in the context of Jesus' total ministry, his life and death
and resurrection. The early churches did not choose to preserve and
use Jesus' teaching in isolation from his death; Q in itself was appar
ently not treated as gospel by most of the early Christians. Quite
possibly they recognized the danger of presenting Jesus simply as a
revealer and teacher of wisdom. And it is not impossible that some
even saw the danger of Q being swept up into the trajectory of
gnosticizing Wisdom - although in this case at least the trajectory
metaphor itself suggests afirmerconnection and continuity with later
developments than the evidence really allows. In short, there is noth
ing overtly gnostic in Q itself, not even a recognizable 'gnosticizing
proclivity'; but perhaps we have also to say that by their failure to
include any of Jesus' forebodings of his suffering and death (except
five or six more allusive references) the compilers of Q left its tra
ditions somewhat exposed to the sort of interpretation which was
perhaps inevitable once the parousia hope had faded and which sub
sequently came to full expression in the Gospel of Thomas - the sort
of interpretation which was impossible once the Q tradition had been
firmly wedded to the Markan passion story.
But this means that once again it is the unity and continuity of the
man Jesus with the exalted Christ which was crucial for Christianity
even in its earliest use of the Jesus-tradition. It was not the earthly
Jesus alone or his teaching by itself which the first Christians valued,
but the teaching of him who was the soon coming Son of Man (so
Q). And even the Q combination and balance of tradition was, on
reflection, found inadequate to serve as an expression of the Christian
gospel, since it lacked precisely the emphasis that Jesus is the crucified
and risen one as well as the teacher of wisdom and Son of Man
coming in glory.
One other point is perhaps worth making. Christian Gnosticism
usually attributed its secret teaching of Jesus to discourses delivered
by him, so they maintained, in a lengthy ministry after his resurrection
(as in Thomas the Contender and Pistis Sophia). The Gospel of

Hellenistic Christianity

312

[63.1

Thomas is unusual therefore in attempting to use the Jesus-tradition

as the vehicle for its teaching. Indeed, it rather looks as though the
attempt to treat Jesus' teaching as 'sayings of the wise' was found
wanting in Gnostic circles, despite the freedom they exercised in
redacting and adding to the Jesus-tradition, and was abandoned in
favour of the complete freedom provided by the literary form of
'resurrection dialogues'. Perhaps Gnosticism abandoned the Gospel
of Thomas format because it was to some extent subject to check and
rebuttal from Jesus-tradition preserved elsewhere: the more thorough
their redaction of the Jesus-tradition, the less credible it became;
whereas there were no such checks with the resurrection dialogues.
At all events, Gnosticism was able to present its message in a sustained
way as teaching of Jesus only by separating the risen Christ from the
earthly Jesus and by abandoning the attempt to show a continuity
between the Jesus of the Jesus-tradition and the heavenly Christ of
their faith.
In short, the 'criterion' of the unity of the man Jesus and the exalted
Christ suggests in part how the Q tradition became vulnerable to
gnostic redaction, and Q suggests in part why the criterion began to
take the shape it did in Mark as unity not just between Jesus the
teacher and the coming Son of Man but as the unity of the Son of
Man who must suffer and die before he is raised and exalted.
46

63.

PAUL

'THE

G R E A T E S T OF

ALL

THE

GNOSTICS' ?
47

63.1 R. Reitzenstein's description of Paul (which heads this section)

comes as something of a shock to those familiar only with the Paul
of ecclesiastical tradition, held in honour by the great Church as a
staunch defender of orthodoxy more or less since Irenaeus. But in
fact, at not a few points Paul affirmed views which commended him
more to the heretical Gnostics than to the orthodox Fathers. Let me
illustrate this at a number of key points.
(a) The Valentinians firmly maintained that their theology was
based on Paul and that he

46. Robinson Trajectories, pp. 82.-5, io2f.; cf. J . D. Turner, 'A New Link in the Syrian
Judas Thomas Tradition', Essays on the Nag Hammadi Texts in Honour of A. Bhlig, ed.,
M . Krause, Leiden 1 9 7 2 , pp. i i 5 f . See also J . S. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q,
Fortress 1 9 8 7 .
47. The Hellenistic Mystery-Religions, i^zj, E T Pickwick 1 9 7 8 , p. 84.
i

63.1]

Paul - 'the greatest of all the Gnostics'?

3i3

made use of the basic concepts of their system in his letters in a

manner sufficiently clear to anyone who can read . . . The teaching
of Valentinus is just as inconceivable without the letters of Paul as
without the prologue to the Fourth Gospel, and it is no accident
that Paul is preferred by all Valentinians as the preacher of the
hidden wisdom who speaks out most clearly.
48

Thus they could appeal to Gal. 1 . 1 2 , 1 5 L , where Paul affirms that his
gospel was revealed directly to him by immediate revelation from
God and was not received from men. Thisfirmassertion of Paul that
his gospel was not ultimately dependent on the Jerusalem apostles
and their tradition is used to justify the second-century Gnostics'
appeal to their revelation over against the ecclesiastical tradition of
the orthodox Fathers (cf. Eph. 3.3). Similarly Valentinian exegetes
could enlist Paul's support (I Cor. 2 . 1 3 ^ ) for their distinction between
pneumatikoi and psychikoi. Moreover they were able to cite Paul's
claim that, contrary to the jibes of his Corinthian opponents he did
speak wisdom among the mature (I Cor. 2.6; cf. II Cor. 1 2 . 4 ) , as
justification of the secret wisdom which they taught their initiates.
W. Schmithals is not altogether unjustified therefore when he says
of Gal. 1 . 1 2 , 'This argument is genuinely Gnostic. The Gnostic
apostle is not identified by means of a chain of tradition, by the
apostolic succession, but by direct pneumatic vocation'; and of the
I Corinthian passage - 'What is found in 2 . 6 - 3 . 1 could be the precise
exposition of a Gnostic'. Similarly the Valentinians valued Ephesians
as unfolding 'the mystery of the pneumatic redemption', and seem
to have attributed their speculation about the aeons to Ephesians and
Colossians.
(b) The greatest Paulinist in the early centuries was Marcion - some
would say the greatest Paulinist of all time, at least in the sense of
one who acknowledged the greatest debt to Paul. At any rate he was
49

50

51

52

53

48. T. Zahn, cited by Bauer, Orthodoxy, pp. ZZ4L See also E. H. Pagels, The Gnostic
Paul, Fortress 1 9 7 5 , PPThe Valentinians were the most important of the second and
third century Gnostic systems.
49. Pagels, Paul, pp. 5 7 L , ioiff., 1 2 1 . See also B. A . Pearson, The PneumatikosPsychikos Terminology in I Corinthians, SBL Dissertation Series 1 2 , 1 9 7 3 , pp. 59, 66f.,
7 1 , 8of.; 'By far the most important apostolic authority for the Christian Gnostics was the
apostle Paul' (p. 84).
50. W. Schmithals, Paul and the Gnostics, E T Abingdon 1 9 7 2 , p. 29.
5 1 . Schmithals, Gnosticism, p. 1 5 1 .
52. Pagels, Paul, p. 1 1 5 .
5 3 . Bauer, Orthodoxy, p. 2 3 4 . We may also recall that the Jewish Christian pseudoClementines attacked Paul under the figure of Simon Magus (above p. 260) - the very one
whom Justin, Hegesippus and Irenaeus regarded as the earliest Gnostic.

Hellenistic Christianity

314

[63.1

54

'the first systematic collector of the Pauline heritage'. Now a key

element in Marcion's theology, probably the key to his whole system,
was his antithesis between law and gospel. This antithesis he derived
directly from Paul. And there can be no doubt that Paul expressed
the antithesis between law and gospel, between faith and works very
sharply in several places - particularly II Cor. 3.6 - 'the written code
kills, but the Spirit gives life' (see also e.g. Rom. 5.20; 7.6; Gal. 3.2f.).
It is this contrast between the old covenant as a dispensation of
condemnation and death and the new covenant of grace and life
which served as the springboard for Marcion's radical hostility to the
OT, its law, its religion, its God (cf. II Cor. 4.4 - 'the god of this
world'). Not so far from the mark then is J . W. Drane's claim that
'Paul's statements on the law in Galatians can with a great deal of
justification be called blatantly Gnostic'.
(c) We have already identified the anti-Paul faction at Corinth as a
gnostically inclined group within the Christian church of that city
(above 61.1). The striking fact which must now be noted is that at
several points Paul is plainly in sympathy with the views of the Corin
thian gnostics. In particular, he agrees with those who 'have know
ledge' that idols are nothing and that Christians are at liberty to eat
anything (10.26; cf. Rom. 1 4 . 1 4 , 20), though he is willing to restrict
his liberty for the sake of the 'weak' (I Cor. 8.13; io.28f.; cf. Rom.
1 4 . 1 3 - 2 1 ) . He places a high value on spiritual gifts (pneumatika),
though his preferred word is charismata, and he thinks the Corin
thians have greatly overestimated the benefit of glossolalia (I Cor.
1 2 - 1 4 ) . And he wants to call himself pneumatikos, to affirm that he
does speak wisdom among the mature, denying such a title to other
members of the community, though on rather different grounds from
the gnostics (2.6-3.4). Perhaps it is also relevant to note that Paul
was himself pronouncedly ascetic in his attitude to marriage and to
his body (I Cor. 7; 9.27), an asceticism perhaps shared by some of
the Corinthian gnostics. In addition we should recall that while Paul
obviously does not share the predominant Corinthian view of baptism
(see above 39.5) he does not argue against it or condemn it (see
55

56

57

54. Bauer, Orthodoxy, p. 2 2 1 .

55. Tertullian, adv.Marc, - 'Marcion's special and principal work is the separation of
the law and the gospel' ( 1 . 1 9 ) .
56. See also E. C . Blackman, Marriott and his Influence, SPCK 1 9 4 8 , p. 1 0 7 .
57. Drane, Paul, p. 1 1 2 ; see also pp. 1 0 0 , ii2f., 1 1 4 , 1 1 9 . Drane does not make this
comment with Marcion in mind; and it is disputable whether Marcion should properly be
called a Gnostic; but Marcion does hold several ideas which are also present in Gnosis. Cf.
also H. D. Betz. 'Spirit, Freedom and Law: Paul's Message to the Galatian Churches',
Svensk Exegetisk Arsbok, 39, 1 9 7 4 , pp. 1 5 9 - 6 1 .

63.1]

Paul - 'the greatest of all the Gnostics'?

315

above p.2,5) - and that he is quite prepared to speak of the Lord's

Supper as 'participation' in the body and blood of Christ (10.16).
Indeed the evidence of I Corinthians is such that J . C. Hurd has been
able to argue that the Corinthians against whom Paul now writes had
simply remained faithful to the more enthusiastic emphases of Paul's
original preaching, when Paul had presented the gospel in terms of
'knowledge' and 'wisdom' and had himself valued glossolalia much
more highly. If that conclusion goes beyond the evidence, at least
we have to accept that the Corinthian errors were to a very large
extent simply unbalanced developments of views that Paul himself
held.
(d) In particular, when viewed from a second-century perspective,
Paul's teaching on the resurrection body in I Cor. 1 5 and II Cor. 5
seems to be more gnostic than orthodox. It is probable that his distinc
tion between the natural (psychic) body and the spiritual (pneumatic)
body (I Cor. i5.44ff.), and his strong assertion that 'flesh and blood
cannot inherit the kingdom' (15.50), was both something of an
advance from the earlier, more physical understanding of Jesus' resur
rection body and a deliberate concession to Hellenistic aversion to
the material flesh - an attempt to make the Christian understanding
of the resurrection more meaningfully acceptable to Greek thought;
without abandoning the more Hebraic affirmation of the wholeness
of salvation: thus, bodily resurrection (not immortality of the soul),
but resurrection of the whole man as a spiritual body (not resurrection
of the physical body, the flesh). What is even more striking, however,
is that in the subsequent decades and disputes about the resurrection
body it was the Gnostics who often remained more faithful to Paul's
view than the orthodox Fathers: for when the Christian Gnostics
came to express their understanding of the pneumatic's mode of exist
ence after his release from the flesh they quite often used language
denoting some kind of spiritual body; whereas the early Fathers
retreated from Paul's position and reaffirmed that it was precisely the
58

59

60

61

58. Hurd, / Cor., ch. 8; cf. Drane's suggestion that Paul's Corinthian opponents 'had
actually quoted his statements in Galatians to prove their own point of view' (p. 61). This
thesis too, though containing valuable insights, goes beyond the evidence.
59. It is unlikely that Paul was indebted to a more developed Gnosticism in the form
of a Sophia myth in I Cor. 2 (see above n. 19); and if I Cor. i5-44ff. shows any awareness
of Primal man speculation (but see my Christology, pp. 1 2 3 - 5 ) , P l seeks to correct it
rather than simply to draw on it. See the full discussions of L. Schottroff, Der Glaubende
und die feindliche Welt, Neukirchen 1970, chs 4 - 5 ; cf. Pearson, Pneumatikos-Psychikos,
chs 3 - 4 .
60. See Dunn, Jesus, 21, particularly pp. i2of.
6 1 . See texts in M . L. Peel, 'Gnostic Eschatology and the New Testament', Nov Test,
1 2 , 1970, pp. 1 5 9 - 6 2 ; also The Epistle to Rheginos, S C M Press 1969, pp. 1 4 6 - 9 .
a u

Hellenistic Christianity

i6

[63.2

physical body, precisely the flesh that was raised (see further below
p.317).
(e) Finally we might note that Paul's christology was vulnerable at
a key point to Gnostic interpretation. I refer to Paul's view of the
earthly Jesus, of Jesus as a man. For one thing, he seems so unconcerned with the earthly life of Jesus and wholly preoccupied with the
exalted Christ; moreover, to affirm that no longer (that is, since the
'revelation of Jesus Christ' to him outside Damascus), no longer did
he know Christ 'according to the flesh' (II Cor. 5.16) was in effect an
open invitation to a Gnostic evaluation of Christ 'according to the
Spirit'. And for another, Paul twice speaks of Jesus coming in the
'likeness' (homoioma) of flesh or of men (Rom. 8.3; Phil. 2.7), which
the Gnostics were able readily to cite as evidence that the Saviour
took upon him only the appearance of a human body.
Small wonder then that Tertullian called Paul 'the apostle of the
heretics'.
62

63

64

65

63.2 Paul's amenability to a gnosticizing interpretation can also be

illustrated from the other side - namely, from the Fathers' own treatment of Paul in response to such Gnostic interpretations. Faced with
the very real threat of a Marcionite and Valentinian 'take over' of
Paul, they had to demonstrate Paul's orthodoxy on the points at
dispute, but in the event could only use Paul in defence of orthodoxy
at (most of) these points by abusing him.
(3;) As we have seen, the Gnostics were able to use Galatians in
asserting their own independence from the ecclesiastical tradition of
emerging orthodoxy - including Gal. 2 . 5 : ' . . . to them we did not
yield submission even for a moment, that the truth of the gospel might
be preserved for you'. In attempting to refute the heretics' exegesis of
this passage both Irenaeus and Tertullian rejected the usual reading
of the text and followed an infrequent variant reading which omits
the negative: 'to them we yielded submission for a time . . . ' . In other
words, with this exegesis they were able to bolster their claim that
Paul did after all submit to the authority of the Jerusalem apostles
66

62. See e.g. Luke 24.39; Ignatius, Smyrn., 3; II Clement 9; Apoc. Peter 4 , 1 7 ; Tertullian,
de res.car.; and the Old Roman Creed's belief in 'the resurrection of the flesh'. But note
also the view of Origen and the impact it had (see J . N . D. Kelly, Early Christian Doctrines,
A. & C. Black i 9 6 o , pp. 4 7 0 - 2 , 4 7 4 - 9 ) .
63. Cf. Exc.Theod., 2 3 . 2 - 3 , cited by Pagels, Paul, p. 1 4 .
64. So apparently the Valentinian, Alexander, attacked by Tertullian, de car.Chr., 1 6 .
See also Tertullian, adv.Marc, 5 . 1 4 . 1 - 3 , and other passages cited by M . F. Wiles, The
Divine Apostle, Cambridge University Press 1967, pp. 8if.
65. Tertullian, adv.Marc, 3 . 5 .
66. Pagels, Paul, p. 104.
2

63.2]

Paul - 'the greatest of all the Gnostics'?

317

- a claim which, as we have seen, must be regarded as a misinterpret

ation both of history and of Paul's letters themselves.
(b) The Fathers were generally embarrassed by the strength of
Paul's contrast between law and gospel, works and faith, and were
prepared to welcome any exegetical device, however far-fetched,
which would prevent Paul being understood in a Marcionite sense.
Cyril of Jerusalem, for example, declared that Paul remained a per
secutor of the Church so long as he believed that Christianity abro
gated the law rather than fulfilled it, and Pelagius argued that Paul
wrote ten letters (including Hebrews, but excluding Philemon and the
Pastorals) in order to signify his basic accord with the law of Moses.
More usually however they attempted to win their case by emphasiz
ing (we should say, overemphasizing) the Pauline idea of the law as
a kind of tutor until Christ came (Gal. 3.24), and by introducing the
distinction between the moral and the ceremonial law into Paul's
thought (a distinction not drawn from Paul himself). So too the
majority of the Fathers were able to soften the sharpness of Paul's
antithesis between faith and works by reading Paul through the eyes
of the author of James, but all too often at the cost of emptying the
Pauline understanding of grace and faith of its richness and power.
(c) The Gnostic dualism between God and the world and its conse
quent disjunction between creation and redemption was able to draw
too much strength from the Pauline view of the resurrection body.
Recognizing this the Fathers sought to interpret Paul in conformity
with their own belief in the resurrection of the flesh - but again,
inevitably, it involved some exegetical contortions. Irenaeus and Tertullian, for example, were clearly concerned at the capital which their
opponents were able to make out of I Cor. 15.50, but their attempts
to wrest a favourable meaning from it are hardly convincing. And
Epiphanius rants at the Valentinians, somewhat amusingly at this
point for us, in the following terms:
67

68

69

70

They deny the resurrection of the dead, saying something mysteri

ous and ridiculous, that it is not this body which rises, but another
one rises from it, which they call spiritual (but cf. I Cor. 1 5 . 3 5 50).
71

67. Cited by Wiles, Apostle, pp. 49L

68. Wiles, Apostle, p. 1 3 3 .
69. Wiles, Apostle, p. 1 3 6 ; see also T. F. Torrance, The Doctrine of Grace in the
Apostolic Fathers, Oliver 6c Boyd 1948.
70. Irenaeus, adv.haer., V.9.4; Tertullian, de res.car., 4 9 - 5 0 . See also Wiles, Apostle,
pp. ff.
7 1 . Epiphanius, Pan., 3 1 . 7 . 6 .
4

Hellenistic Christianity

i8

[63.3

In short, at all these critical points in the debate between Gnosticism

and emerging orthodoxy the Fathers were only able to retain Paul
within the great Church by misinterpreting him.
63.3 Is Reitzenstein's description of Paul therefore justified? Was Paul
so much a part of a gnosticizing trajectory that the heretics had a
better claim to him than the orthodox? Was Marcion simply taking
Paul's reasoning to its logical conclusion so that the great Church
would have shown a better historical judgment if they had rejected
him along with Marcion instead of holding on to him on their own
terms? There is, fortunately, another side to the story.
(a) If the Fathers subjected Paul to exegetical violence, the same is
true of the Gnostics. The technique of the Valentinians, for example,
was simple: by reading different passages symbolically as references
to the demiurge or the pleroma, to psychics or pneumatics (or hylics),
they were able to achieve the appropriate meaning in every case. The
result was a very plausible exegesis of such passages as Rom. 7 . 1 4 25 and Gal. 4 . 2 1 - 2 6 , but in passages like I Cor. i.iff., 1 . 2 2 , 1 5 . 2 0 23 and Eph. 5 . 2 2 - 3 2 the distinction between psychic and pneumatic
became very forced and artificial. And, rather significantly, in inter
preting I Cor. 4.8 they ignored the obvious irony and read it as a
positive assertion of the criteria by which pneumatics could recog
nize their election. Marcion's technique was simpler. Although he
appealed solely to Paul and allowed into his canon only those writings
which conformed with Paul, there were passages even in Paul which
he could not accept. These he simply regarded as judaizing falsifica
tions; consequently he saw it as his task to remove these interp
olations, and thus to restore the genuine Paulinism which he regarded
as the true gospel. In the event, not surprisingly, the verses which
were excised as non-Pauline were the very passages which showed
that the Pauline antithesis between law and gospel should not be read
as antithesis between Old Testament and New, between creation and
redemption (for example he struck out Rom. 1 . 1 9 - 2 . 1 , 3 . 3 1 - 4 . 2 5 ,
8.19-22, 9 . 1 - 3 3 , 1 0 . 5 - 1 1 . 3 2 ; the phrases 'which I also received' and
'according to the scriptures' in I Cor. 15.3f.; and Col. 1 . 1 5 - 1 7 was
left reading 'he is the image of the invisible God, and he is before all
things').
72

73

74

75

7 2 . Pagels, Paul, pp. 32f., n o .

7 3 . Pagels, Paul, pp. 5 3 , 5 5 ^ , 82, 1 2 6 L
74. Pagels, Paul, p. 63. See further R. McL. Wilson, Gnosis and the New Testament,
Blackwell 1968, ch. III.
7 5 . See A. Harnack, Marcion, Leipzig i 9 2 4 , pp. 4 5 - 5 1 ; Blackman, Marcion, pp. 44L
2

63.3]

Paul - 'the greatest of all the Gnostics'?

319

(b) More important for our purposes are the lines of demarcation
which Paul himself drew between his own message and practice and
that of his gnosticizing opponents. In I Corinthians Paul's chief criti
cism is the Corinthian faction's failure of love, their lack of concern
for their fellow believers and for the edification of the whole com
munity. Any claims to wisdom or knowledge or gifts which caused
believers to think of themselves as superior and of others as inferior
he roundly rebuked: '"Knowledge" breeds conceit; it is love that
edifies' (I Cor. 8.1; cf. e.g. 3.3^; 10.23; 12.-2.1ff.; 1 3 ) . The strength of
Paul's relationship with his communities was precisely the breadth of
his love. If the compulsion of Christ's love led him to become as one
outside the law in order to win those outside the law, it also led him
to become as one under the law in order to win those under the law
(I Cor. 9.20L). The welfare of the whole congregation was his concern
- weak as well as strong, but strong as well as weak (Rom. 1 4 . 1 15.6; I Cor. 8 - 1 0 ; Gal. 5 . 1 3 - 6 . 5 ) . He would not stand for Jewish
Christians narrowing down Christian liberty into legalism (Gal. 5.iff.;
Phil. 3-2ff.); but neither would he stand for Gentile Christians per
verting Christian liberty into licence and elitism (Rom. i6.i7f.; I Cor.
5-6; 8 - 1 0 ; cf. II Thess. 3.6, i4f.).
(c) The other and more striking line of demarcation which Paul
drew was the christological one. Where the Corinthian would-be-wise
evidently made much of their experience of relationship with the
pneumatic Christ and of resurrection already realized (cf. I Cor. 1 . 1 2 ;
2.16; 4.8; 1 5 . 1 2 , 45), Paul emphasized that his kerygma was the folly
of Christ crucified, proclaimed in the same weakness (I Cor. 1 . 1 8 25; 2 . 1 - 5 , 8b), and he strongly asserted that the mark of the Spirit
was the confession of the man Jesus as Lord (12.3). Against the false
apostles of II Corinthians who, as we have already suggested (above
pp. 75f., 1 9 4 ^ , 275 n.50) probably adapted their message and
missionary style to strengthen their appeal to the Corinthian gnostics,
Paul argued that the mark of pneumatic maturity was not simply a
ministering of Christ's life but a sharing also in his death (II Cor.
4.iof.), was to be evaluated not simply in terms of power, the power
of the risen Christ, but in terms also of weakness, the weakness of the
crucified Christ ( 1 2 . 1 - 1 0 ; 13.3f.). Likewise against the perfectionist
tendencies at Philippi (above pp.3 03f.) he emphasized that knowing
Christ was not simply a matter of knowing the power of his resurrec
tion but also of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his
death (Phil. 3.10) (see also above 46.4).
76

76. This moral/ethical boundary drawn by Paul should have been given more promin
ence; see p. 333.

Hellenistic Christianity

320

[63.3

The thrust of Colossians is significantly different - which suggests

either a different authorship, or, more likely, that the syncretistic mix
confronting Paul at Colossae included different gnostic elements. I
am thinking here, on the one hand, of the much stronger realized
emphasis of 1 . 1 3 , 2 . 1 2 , 2.20-3.3 (see below p. 378), which would
have been welcomed by his gnosticizing opponents in Corinth and
Philippi. And on the other, of the emphasis on the primacy of the
exalted Christ, which is such a mark of the Colossian hymn: note the
repeated uses of 'all' - 'firstborn of all creation . . . in him all things
were created . . . all things were created through him and for him. He
is before all things, and in him all things hold together . . . that in
everything he might be pre-eminent... in him all the fullness of God
was pleased to dwell . . . through him to reconcile to himself all
things' ( 1 . 1 5 - 2 0 ) . Here evidently what is under attack (at least by
implication) is that other aspect of pre-Gnostic teaching which tended
to view Jesus as one intermediary within what became in developed
Gnosticism a whole hierarchy of divine beings distancing the pleroma
from humankind. Paul's emphasis then is clear-cut: the believer's
relation with God through Christ is direct and complete and through
Christ alone; or, as Paul puts it emphatically in his own words, 'in
Christ lie hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge . . . in
him dwells embodied the complete pleroma of deity . . . he is the head
of all rule and authority' (2.3,
But in addition he retains the
christological emphasis of the earlier letters and rules out of court
any potential gnostic dualism between an impassible heavenly Christ
and a human Jesus who dies: he adds (probably) to the hymn the
phrase 'by the blood of his cross' (1.20) - he 'who is the image of
the invisible God' is also the crucified one; he underlines the fact that
the Son accomplished his reconciling work 'in his body of flesh by his
death' (1.22); and 1.24 echoes the II Corinthian and Philippian theme
of (apostolic) ministry as a sharing in Christ's sufferings (see also
2.1lf., 20).
In short, it is this strong affirmation that Jesus the Lord is Christ the
crucified, so consistent in Paul, which cuts at the nerve of Christian
Gnosticism. It is this which prevents Paul, for all his openness to
Hellenistic thought, from being absorbed into Christian Gnosticism.
It is this which in particular makes it impossible for the Gnostic
interpretation of Rom. 8.3 and Phil. 2.7 to be counted as a fair
representation of Paul's thought: he who came 'in the (very) likeness
of sinful flesh' came for sin (that is, probably as a sin offering) to
77

78

77. See references in index, 'Pleroma', of Foerster, Gnosis, II, p. 337.

78. Cf. Dunn, Jesus, 55 and above p. ziof.

63.4]

Paul - 'the greatest of all the Gnostics'?

321

condemn (to death and by death) sin in the flesh (Rom. 8.3); he who
'became in the (very) likeness of men' humbled himself to death, death
on a cross (Phil. 2.7f.). Thus once again it is the unity between
human Jesus and exalted Lord which marks the boundary of accept
able diversity. Once again, the refusal to let worship through and
union with the glorified Christ fall apart from the historical reality of
the man from Nazareth marks the point at which a gnosticizing
Christianity diverges from the Christianity proclaimed and taught by
Paul.
79

63.4 It was probably inevitable that Paul should become associated

with a Gnostic anti-Judaism. For Paul played the principal role during
the first decades of Christianity in disengaging faith in Christ from
Judaism. But after his death, and after A D 70, Judaism began to
withdraw into itself, and the danger that Christianity would remain
a dependent sect of Judaism or be confused with Jewish nationalism
began to recede. Now the principal danger came to be perceived as
posed from the other side - the danger that Christianity would become
separated from its Jewish heritage, would become too hellenized. The
process of disengagement from Judaism and from the OT law could
be and was reversed; the now predominantly Gentile Church began
consciously to appropriate its Jewish heritage in a more comprehen
sive manner, its organizational structure (see above pp. 1 2 4 ^ ) , its
liturgy and fasting practice (see Didache 8.1) and especially the OT
(see I Clement, Barnabas, Justin's Dialogue with Trypho). In this
reverse process Paul was bound to appear in the wrong light and a
genuinely Pauline emphasis and balance would easily become identi
fied with the forces of Gnosticism. Thus it was that in the second
century Paul's influence was more detectable on Valentinus and Marcion than on the theologians of the great Church, and it was only
with Irenaeus that orthodoxy began to make a determined effort to
wrest Paul's theology from the embrace of the heretics. But it was
80

81

82

79. Marcion followed Paul in placing a high value on Christ's death (Harnack, Marcion,
pp. 1 3 iff.), but this was wedded to an explicitly docetist understanding of the incarnation
(pp. 1 2 4 ^ ) ; so his christology has only an apparent contact with Paul's kerygma of Christ
crucified.
80. W. O. E. Oesterley, The Jewish Background of the Christian Liturgy, Oxford
University Press 1 9 2 5 .
8 1 . Cf. Bauer, Orthodoxy, pp. 23 8f.
82. Cf. H. Schneemelcher, 'Paulus in der griechischen Kirche des zweiten Jahrhunderts',
ZKG, 7 5 , 1 9 6 4 , pp. 1 - 2 0 ; E. Dassmann, Der Stachel in Fleisch. Paulus in der frh
christlichen Literatur bei Irenaus, Aschendorff 1 9 7 9 . A . Lindemann, Paulus im ltesten
Christentum, Tbingen 1 9 7 9 , does not carry his analysis through as far as Irenaeus.

Hellenistic Christianity

322

[64.1

83

the Paul of the Pastorals, the Paul of Acts who emerged - a Paul
who opposed heresy with the weight of ecclesiastical tradition, a
Paul who readily acknowledged the authority of the twelve and knew
no breach with Jerusalem, a Paul whose antithesis between law and
gospel was muted, whose central teaching on justification by grace
through faith alone was scarcely to be seen. In short, as Bauer puts
it, 'the price the Apostle to the Gentiles had to pay to be allowed to
remain in the church was the complete surrender of his personality
and historical peculiarity'.
The fact is that Paul did not belong wholeheartedly to any one
of the main second- and third-century camps contesting the title of
Christian: he was rejected totally by the Jewish Christians, and he
was misinterpreted to the point of abuse by both Gnostic and ortho
dox. The author of the Pauline epistles was too big for the narrowing
pigeonholes of the second century, his theology too dynamic, too
open-ended to be compressed within the constrictive categories of
later orthodoxy. Paul owned but one Lord, Jesus Christ - that was
the focus of unity for him. Christ apart he acknowledged no other
loyalty - that was his greatness. But it was also his undoing, for in
the controversies of later centuries when the party men could not win
his vote on his terms they seized it anyway on their own.
84

64.

WAS JOHN

'GUILTY'

OF 'NAIVE

DOCETISM'?

64.1 As Paul was the Gnostic apostle, so John was the Gnostic gospel.
As we have seen, Paul was almost taken over completely by the
second-century Gnostics; the Fourth Gospel almost suffered the same
fate. Where the Ebionites used only an abbreviated Matthew, and
Marcion only a mutilated Luke, the Gnostics, particularly the Valentinians, centred their attention on and made copious use of John. The
first commentary we know to have been written on the Gospel was
by Heracleon, a Valentinian. So much indeed was the Fourth Gospel
capable of being identified with a Gnostic standpoint that the Alogi
85

86

83. See Irenaeus, adv.haer., praef.; III. 1 3 . 3 ; 1 4 . 1 - 4 (referred to by Pagels, Paul, p. 1 6 1 ) .

84. Bauer, Orthodoxy, p. 227; as further illustration of the point he refers to the Acts
of Paul, and Epistula Apostolorum. Cf. Bousset who talks of 'the ecclesiastically tempered
Paulinism, the Paulinism that has been divested of all Gnostic dangers and tendencies'
(Kyrios Christos, p. 2 1 ) . Note also the slightly more qualified judgment of C. K. Barrett,
'Pauline Controversies in the Post-Pauline Period', N T S , 20, 1 9 7 3 - 7 4 , pp. 2 2 9 - 4 5 .
85. Irenaeus, adv.haer., III. 1 1 . 7 . See J. N . Sanders, The Fourth Gospel in the Early
Church, Cambridge University Press 1 9 4 3 , pp. 5 5 - 6 6 .
86. See E. H. Pagels, The Johannine Gospel in Gnostic Exegesis: Heracleon's Commen
tary on John, SBL Monograph 1 7 , Abingdon 1 9 7 3 .

64.1]

Was John 'guilty' of 'naive docetism'f

323

(second half of second century) and the Roman presbyter Caius (early
third century) both ascribed it to the Gnostic Cerinthus. But again,
as with Paul, it was Irenaeus who stemmed the tide and rescued John
for orthodoxy, so that from the third century onwards John became
increasingly the source book and scriptural keystone of orthodox
christology.
The question of John's relation with Gnosticism was however far
from closed, and in the past two centuries it has once again become
a front line issue. In the middle of the nineteenth century A. Hilgen
feld, a follower of the Tbingen school, maintained the view that
John was a product of Gnosticism, full of Gnostic teaching about
sons of God and sons of the devil (see particularly 8.44) and riddled
through and through with Gnostic conceptions of the world.
G. Volkmar, another Tbinger, argued more extravagantly that the
Gospel started from 'the dualistic anti-Judaical Gnosis of Marcion'!
All this involved the Tbingen school's thesis that the Gospel first
appeared about the middle of the second century (Hilgenfeld himself
argued for a date between 120 and 140) - a dating soon shown to be
implausible, in view of second-century writers' knowledge of John
(quite likely as early as Ignatius), and finally rendered virtually
impossible by the discovery of the Rylands papyrus 457 (p ) in Egypt,
an early second-century fragment containing a few verses of John 18
(first published in 1935).
But that did not resolve the issue of John's relation to Gnosticism
either. For already the History of Religions researchers had begun
to demonstrate that Gnosticism was not merely a second-century
Christian heresy, but an altogether much older phenomenon, prob
ably in its earliest forms as old (or older) than Christianity itself.
Consequently the possibility emerged with renewed force that John
was dependent on or at least influenced by a form of pre-Christian
Gnosis. It was R. Bultmann in particular who first attempted by using
Mandaean writings to construct the Gnostic myth which he believed
the Fourth Evangelist had utilized; more specifically in his commen
tary on John (1941) he argued that the Gnostic influence on the
Fourth Gospel had come through a revelatory speech source which
87

88

89

52

90

87. Sanders, Fourth Gospel, pp. 6 5 - 8 4 .

88. A. Hilgenfeld, Das Urchristenthum, Jena 1 8 5 5 , cited by H. Harris, The Tubingen
School, Oxford University Press 1 9 7 5 , p. 2 2 5 .
89. Cited by H. A. W. Meyer, The Gospel of John, E T 1 8 7 4 , p. 40.
90. R. Bultmann, 'Die Bedeutung der neuerschlossenen mandischen und manichaischen Quellen fr der Verstndnis des Johannesevangeliums', ZNW, 24, 1 9 2 5 ,
pp. 1 0 0 - 1 4 6 , reprinted in Exegetica, Tbingen 1967, pp. 5 5 - 1 0 4 ; see also his Primitive
Christianity in its Contemporary Setting, E T Thames 8c Hudson 1 9 5 6 , pp. i63f.

324

Hellenistic Christianity

[64.1

John had used as the basis for the discourses of Jesus. This particular
attempt too has gained little favour. Few now would accept the
hypothesis of a discourse source - the speeches in the Fourth Gospel
are all so distinctively Johannine in character that the demonstration
of such a source is not possible. And the theory of a pre-Christian
Gnostic redeemer myth suffers from the fact that it depends wholly
on documents dated after the first century A D (often much later);
Bultmann's own chief evidence in reconstructing the myth seems to
have been the Johannine discourses themselves! The more plausible
conclusion is that whatever elements of the myth were already in
circulation before Christianity, the synthesis is itself strictly speaking a
post-Christian development in which the more distinctively Christian
belief in Christ as redeemer played a decisive role.
The discovery of the Qumran scrolls and the Nag Hammadi writ
ings gave a new twist to the debate. On the one hand, the former
demonstrated that several features of the Fourth Gospel which had
previously been regarded as typical of oriental Gnosticism, particu
larly its dualism, were after all thoroughly rooted in the Palestine of
Jesus - albeit in a form of sectarian Judaism (see below n.97). But the
latter have begun to expose a number of significant parallels with
Johannine thought, as in the case of the 'I ams' and the coming of the
Son from the Father into the world and back again. More important,
both sets of discoveries have strengthened the case for viewing the
background of John not simply as an either-or of Palestinian Judaism
or gnosticizing Hellenism, but as an extremely syncretistic milieu
which had absorbed influences particularly from the Wisdom specu
lation of Hellenistic Judaism and the mythological soteriology typical
of early or proto-Gnosticism. There is indeed a growing consensus
among N T scholars that influences from some kind of very syncretis
tic (or gnosticizing) Judaism have to be assumed if the character of
the Fourth Gospel is to be explained and understood (though the
precise nature of these influences is greatly disputed).
91

92

93

94

9 1 . R. H. Fuller, The New Testament in Current Study, S C M Press 1 9 6 3 , p. 1 3 6 .

92. See those cited by Yamauchi, Pre-Christian Gnosticism, pp. 1 6 4 - 9 .
93. G. W. MacRae, 'The Ego-Proclamation in Gnostic Sources'. The Trial of Jesus, ed.,
E. Bammel, S C M Press 1 9 7 0 , pp. 1 2 2 - 3 4 ; R. Schnackenburg, Das Johannesevangelium,
Part II, Herder 1 9 7 1 , pp. 1 6 2 - 6 .
94. See e.g., those cited by Wilson, Gnosis, pp. 4 5 L ; R. Kysar, The Fourth Evangelist
and his Gospel, Augsburg 1 9 7 5 , pp. 1 0 2 - 4 6 . After further study I would now place John's
Gospel still more firmly within a broad (and diverse) Jewish milieu, wherein apocalyptic
and mystical concerns were particularly prominent, which inter alia provides a fuller
explanation of the important descending/ascending motif in John. See further my 'Let John
be John', Das Evangelium und die Evangelien, hrsg. P. Stuhlmacher, Mohr: Tubingen,
1 9 8 3 , pp. 3 0 9 - 3 9 . But the first paragraph of 64.2 can remain unaltered.

64.2.]

Was John 'guilty' of 'naive docetism'?

325

All this poses some very obvious questions. If a movement or tend

ency towards Gnosticism is discernible within and through the syncretistic 'mix' of the period, is John part of that movement? Does the
Fourth Gospel belong to a broad gnosticizing trajectory, together
with Hellenistic Jewish Wisdom, the Dead Sea scrolls, the Hermetic
and Mandaean literature and now also the Nag Hammadi Coptic
documents (though presumably not all in a direct line)? And if an
affirmative answer is at all appropriate, did the Fourth Gospel in
crease the gnosticizing tendency of this trajectory, or did it resist that
tendency, or was it simply at the mercy of the concepts and forms it
had chosen for other reasons to use? In other words, E. Kasemann's
claim that the Fourth Evangelist presents his understanding of Christ
'in the form of a naive docetism' only serves to give sharper point to
an issue which is forced upon us anyway by any attempt to understand
the Fourth Gospel against its historical background.
64.2 Is John then 'guilty' of 'naive docetism'} Did he begin to lose
the distinctiveness of the Christian proclamation by merging it into
the language and thought forms of syncretistic Judaism, by surren
dering it to words and conceptualizations over which in the end of
the day he had too little control? Did he take a decisive step forward
in the process of mythicizing the Jesus-tradition?
Most of the older indices do not help us much here. The parallels
with Hellenistic Jewish Wisdom and the Qumran scrolls on the one
hand and with the Mandaean, Hermetic and Nag Hammadi texts
on the other, indicate only that John belongs somewhere within the
same broad cultural context, but do not tell us where: if one parallel
commends itself as more distinctively 'Gnostic' to some, another com
mends itself as quite properly 'Jewish' to others. Thus the fact that
the verb ginoskein (to know) occurs more frequently in the Johannine
writings (John's Gospel 56, Johannine Epistles 26) does not help us
very much, especially since the total avoidance of the noun gnosis
(knowledge) seems also to be deliberate. The revelatory discourses of
John can indeed be paralleled at quite a number of individual points
in the Odes of Solomon and the Mandaean literature, as Bultmann
showed (above n.90), but in overall content the Wisdom literature
offers better parallels and the form of the speeches is much nearer
that of a Jewish midrash (as most obviously in John 6 - see above
p.94). Again the Johannine dualism between light and darkness,
above and below, spirit and flesh, etc. (1.5; 3.6, 19, 3 1 ; 6.63; 8.12,
95

95. See Brown, John, pp. cxxiiff.

Hellenistic Christianity

326

[64. 2

96

23; 12.3 5,46) can readily be paralleled in Gnosticism, though John's

is not so much a cosmological dualism (note particularly 1.3; 3.16)
as a dualism of decision and the parallels with Qumran are closer.
Closely related to John's dualism is a certain element of predestinarianism or determinism (as in 8.42ff.; 10.26-28; 1 2 . 3 9 - 4 1 ; 1 7 . 2 2 ^
- see also above pp.29f.), where again the parallels on both sides are
not dissimilar in strength. The logos of the Johannine prologue has
parallels in the variously named intermediaryfigure(s)of developed
Gnosticism, though John's use of it is more firmly and more immedi
ately rooted in Hellenistic Jewish speculation about Wisdom (cf.
Wisd. 1.4-7; 9 - 9 - ; 1 8 . 1 4 - 1 6 ; Ecclus. 24; iQH i.7f.). Similarly
the nearest parallels to John's talk of the Son of Man's descent and
ascent (3.13; 6.62; 20.17)
to be found in Wisdom on the one
hand (note particularly I Enoch 42.if.) and in the later Gnostic
redeemer myth on the other.
However, the case for recognizing a naive docetism in John does
not rest on any specific features in the Fourth Gospel so much as on
the overall impact of John's christology. Nor does its strength depend
on the amassing of particular parallels with later Gnostic literature
so much as on the sharpness of the contrast between John's presen
tation of Jesus and that of the Synoptics. For anyone familiar with
the Fourth Gospel we need only recall some of the points we have
mentioned before (pp.28, 8if., 24of.) - the exalted self-knowledge of
the 'I ams', the assertion of complete and unbroken oneness with
the Father, the unclouded (wwkenotic) consciousness of divine pre97

98

99

-12

100

a r e

101

96. See e.g. the indices in Foerster, Gnosis.

97. See particularly J . H. Charlesworth, 'A Critical Comparison of the Dualism of i Q S
3 . 1 3 - 4 . 2 6 and the "Dualism" Contained in the Gospel of John', NTS, 1 5 , 1968, pp. 3 8 9 4 1 8 ; reprinted in John and Qumran, ed., J . H. Charlesworth, Chapman 1 9 7 2 , pp. 7 6 - 1 0 6 .
The earlier discussion is reviewed by H. Braun, Qumran und das Neue Testament, Tubingen
1966, II, pp. 1 1 9 - 2 3 .
98. For Qumran see e.g. i Q S 3 . 1 3 - 4 . 2 6 ; C D 2 . 1 1 - 1 3 ; I Q M 1 3 . 9 - 1 3 ; i Q H 7 . 6 1 2 ; 1 4 . 1 3 - 6 ; 1 5 . 1 3 - 2 2 . For Gnosticism see e.g. the discussion in Pagels, Heracleon's
Commentary, ch. 6.
99. Bultmann,/o&, pp. 2 4 - 3 1 ; S. Schulz, Das Evangelium nach Johannes, N T D 1 9 7 2 ,
pp. 2 6 - 9 . The parallels are assessed also by Schnackenburg, John, I, pp. 489ff.
100. See e.g., Dodd, Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel, pp. 274L; Brown, John,
pp. 52iff.; Dunn, Christology, pp. 2 3 9 - 4 5 ; and cf. G. W. MacRae, 'The Jewish Background
of the Gnostic Sophia Myth', NovTest, 1 2 , 1 9 7 0 , particularly pp. 8 8 - 9 4 .
1 0 1 . Irenaeus, adv.haer., 1 . 1 5 . 3 ; 3 0 . 1 2 , 1 4 ; Hippolytus, Ref., V . 1 2 . 6 . 'The decisive
factor in this is that the concept of the descent and ascent of the redeemer, which is of
fundamental importance for John, cannot be demonstrated in Judaism but is characteristic
of Gnosticism' (Kummel, Introduction, p. 227); cf. Schnackenburg, John, I, pp. 5 5 0 - 5 3 .
But see C. H. Talbert, 'The Myth of a Descending-Ascending Redeemer in Mediterranean
Antiquity', NTS, 2 2 , 1 9 7 5 - 7 6 , pp. 4 1 8 - 4 0 ; J. A . Buhner, Der Gesandte und sein Weg im
4. Evangelium, Tubingen 1 9 7 7 ; and see also above n. 94.

64.2,]

Was John 'guilty' of 'naive docetism'i

327

existence, the parody of prayer in 1 1 . 4 2 and 1 2 . 2 7 - 3 0 (cf. 6.6). Can

this be a human being who so speaks, or are we here encountering
rather the Son of God, fully conscious of his divine origin and glory,
debating with others from the vantage point of heaven, wholly master
of events and of men? Kasemann is not without some justification
when he exclaims:
Not merely from the prologue and from the month of Thomas, but
from the whole Gospel he (the reader) perceives the confession,
'My Lord and my God'. How does all this agree with the under
standing of a realistic incarnation? Does the statement 'The Word
became flesh' really mean more than that he descended into the
world of man and there came into contact with earthly existence,
so that an encounter with him became possible? Is not this state
ment totally over-shadowed by the confession 'We beheld his glory',
so that it receives its meaning from i t . . . The Son of Man is neither
a man among others, nor the representation of the people of God
or of the ideal humanity, but God, descending into the human
realm and there manifesting his glory.
102

All this strongly suggests that John has so elaborated the Jesustradition that the historical Jesus has been very largely hidden behind
the bold presentation of the divine Son of God. And if so, then John
is moving in the direction of docetism, of presenting a Jesus who for
all his human traits (like hunger and grief) is in the end of the day
more god than man - divine certainly, human only to outward view.
However, that is not the whole story. Kasemann's argument is
heavily lopsided at several points. Here I can elaborate only the two
main deficiencies.
{a) 1.14a - 'the Word becameflesh'.This is a clear assertion of the
historicity and reality of the incarnation. It is not possible to weaken
its force to that of a divine appearance among men (so Kasemann).
The ancient world was quite familiar with that idea, and could express
it in various ways. John chooses none of them. Instead he affirms
simply and pointedly, 'The Word (the same Word as in 1 . 1 - 3 ) became
flesh - not appeared as or 'came down into', but 'became' - a con
fession which 'can only be understood as a protest against all other
103

1 0 2 . Ksemann, Testament, pp. 9L, 1 3 ; cf. the equivalent presentation of Bousset,

Kyrios Christos, pp. ziyif.; S. Angus, The Religious Quests of the Graeco-Roman World,
Murray 1 9 2 9 , pp. 3 89ff.; and the more extreme theses of Schulz, Johannes, especially
pp. 2 1 if., and Schottroff, Glaubende, pp. 2 6 8 - 9 6 .
1 0 3 . See also particularly M . M . Thompson, The Humanity of Jesus in the Fourth
Gospel, Fortress 1 9 8 8 .

328

Hellenistic Christianity

[64.2

104

religious of redemption in Hellenism and Gnosticism'. Nor is it

possible to weaken the force of 1.14a by referring to the divine glory
visible in and through the incarnate Word, for the noun is deliberately
chosen too - that which the Word became was 'flesh'; and for John
'flesh' signifies human nature in absolute contrast and antithesis to
God ( 1 . 1 3 ; 3.6; 6.63; 8.15). John underscores the shocking nature of
his assertion in 6 . 5 1 - 6 3 : to believe in Jesus is to crunch or chew his
flesh and drink his blood. This was a scandalous claim, as John well
knew (6.60): the very idea of attaining eternal life by feeding upon
flesh would horrify John's Hellenistic readers and most of all any
docetists. But John's choice of words is clearly deliberate (he substi
tutes 'flesh' for 'bread' and 'chew' for 'eat' in 6.51, 54); such otherwise
needlessly offensive language can only be understood as deliberately
and provocatively directed against any docetic spiritualization of
Jesus' humanity, an attempt to exclude docetism by emphasizing the
reality of the incarnation in all its offensiveness - 6 . 5 1 - 5 8 thereby
simply bringing into sharper focus what was already implicit in 1.14
(cf. again 3.6; and see above pp.i85f.).
{b) The central importance of Jesus' death in John's theology, the
incarnate Logos dies - something the docetists sought at all costs to
deny (see above p.300 n.22). Kasemann attempts to weaken the force
of this point by arguing that 'apart from a few remarks that point
ahead to it, the passion comes into view in John only at the very end'
(p.7). This is a serious misinterpretation of the Fourth Gospel. Far
from bringing it into view only at the very end, on the contrary,
John continually points forward towards the climax of Jesus' death,
resurrection and ascension. We have previously noted the dramatic
forward looking effect he achieves by the frequent talk of Jesus' 'hour'
or 'time', like a steady drum beat heralding the hour of his passion
(see above p.81). Here we need simply list the various sayings which
appear from the first chapter onwards and which on every occasion
draw the reader's thoughts towards the same climax - 1.29, (51),
2.i9ff., 3 . 1 3 L , 6.51, 53ff., 62, 7.39, 8.28, 1 0 . 1 1 , 1 5 , 17L., 1 1 . 1 6 , 50,
1 2 . 7 , 16, 23f., (28), 32, etc. Notice particularly that the motif of
Jesus' glory plays a significant role in this dramatic crescendo. It was
precisely by means of Jesus' death and resurrection-ascension (not by
his resurrection-ascension alone) that Jesus was to be glorified: the
hour of his greatest glory was the hour of his passion! (most clearly
104. Schnackenburg, John. I, p. 268; cf. C . Colpe, 'New Testament and Gnostic
Christology', Religions in Antiquity: Essays in Memory of E. R. Goodenough, ed.,
J . Neusner, Leiden 1968, pp. 2 3 3 L , 236L See also Dunn, Christology, particularly p. 3 4 7
n. 104.

64.3]

Was John 'guilty' of 'naive docetism'?

1 2 . 2 3 ^ , 1 7 . 1 ) . 'We beheld his glory' (1.14) therefore cannot be taken

to imply that Jesus' flesh was only a kind of thin insubstantial covering
barely cloaking his heavenly glory (his whole life a perpetual trans
figuration). In John's presentation Jesus' glory was revealed not so
much in his life as in his death-resurrection-ascension; and it was
manifested in his signs and words only in so far as they pointed
forward to that climax ( 2 . 1 1 ; 7 . 3 7 - 3 9 ; 11.4)
Above all there is 1 9 . 3 4 ^ , where John goes out of his way to
emphasize the historical veracity of the account of the blood and
water coming from the side of the crucified Jesus after the spear
thrust. The sufficiently close parallel with I John 5.6 tells us why.
John wishes to give convincing proof that the incarnate Logos really
died, that his body was not simply a phantom, his death simply an
elaborate confidence trick - look, real blood! In other words, it
seems to me to be excessively difficult to avoid the conclusion that
there is a deliberate anti-docetic polemic intended here. Since Kasemann would regard 6 . 5 1 - 5 8 and 1 9 . 3 4 - 3 5 as the work of an ecclesias
tical redactor, I should simply add that I find this an unnecessary and
unjustified hypothesis. There is no prima facie literary or textual
evidence for the thesis; and the Gospel hangs together well as a
theological whole - in particular, 6.63 creates more problems if 6 . 5 1 5 8 is attributed to an ecclesiastical redactor than if it is taken together
with 6 . 5 1 - 5 8 as an expression of the same author's intention (even
if in a final revision). And since the whole can be shown to give a
consistent meaning in serving a single author's joint concern about
docetism and sacraments (above 41 and pp^oof.). these verses
(6.51-58; 1 9 . 3 4 - 3 5 ) can be excluded only at the risk of misinter
preting the whole (as Kasemann's thesis shows).
In short, it is not necessary to demonstrate that the anti-docetic
polemic is a major plank in the construction of the Fourth Gospel. It
was not. But the conclusion remains firmly grounded in the text that
at two points in particular John wished to guard against a docetic
interpretation of his Gospel - the very points which docetism sought
to deny - the reality of the eternal Word's becoming flesh, and the
reality of his death.
105

64.3 How then are we to reconcile these twin features in the Fourth
Gospel - the powerful presentation of the divine Son of God on earth
(so amenable to Gnostic interpretation), and the firm refusal to draw
1 0 5 . The water from Jesus' side represents a fulfilment of 7.3SL (see Dunn, Baptism,
pp. i87f.; and above p. 185); the Spirit for John is precisely the Spirit of the crucified one
(cf. 19-30)

330

Hellenistic Christianity

[64.3

the docetist corollary? One answer which suggests itself is that John
was deliberately attempting to portray Jesus in a manner as attractive
as possible to would-be {Christian) Gnostics, while at the same time
marking out the limits he himself imposed on such a presentation.
This suggestion, plausible in itself in the light of the evidence reviewed
above, may appeal for further support to John's relationship on the
one hand with his putative signs source and on the other with J John.
{a) Of the various written sources suggested for John only one has
a real plausibility - a Signs Source. The extent of it is far from clear
(Fortna's and Teeple's reconstructions are over bold); but certainly
there are sufficient indications of a source behind at least 2 . 1 - 1 1 ,
4 . 4 6 - 5 4 and probably 6 . 1 - 2 1 ; and almost certainly it did not include
a passion narrative. The point for us is that John seems both to have
used this source and to have qualified or corrected it. The clearest
indication of this is 4.48, an awkward insertion intended to counter
what was probably the source's aim - namely, to recount Jesus'
miracles as an encouragement to faith (contrast 2 . 1 1 , 4.53 with par
ticularly 2.23-25, 4.48 and 6 . 2 5 - 3 6 ) . This suggests in turn that
the source saw Jesus pre-eminently as a miracle worker and invited
faith in him on that basis - an attitude which both Paul (II Cor.) and
Mark probably encountered and sought to refute with their own
respective theologies of the cross (see above PP.75L, i94f.). If so, then
it would appear that John took account of the attitude represented in
the Signs Source and sought to present Jesus in a way that would
make the greatest appeal to those who saw Jesus primarily as the
miracle working Son of God. At the same time he sought to counter
their inadequate christology and gospel by affirming that the primary
function of the signs was to point forward to the life-giving effect of
his death-resurrection-ascension. Signs thus seen in their full signifi
cance did provide a basis for faith (cf. 2 . 1 1 ; 6.26; 9 . 3 5 - 3 9 ; 12.37;
20.3of.); but faith in the signs/miracles themselves was defective faith,
the shallow affirmation of the fickle crowd, faith in Jesus as a mere
miracle worker (2.23-3.2; 4.48; 6.2, 14, 30; 7 . 3 1 ; 9.16; cf. 20.29). In
other words, if a naive docetism or gnosticizing tendency is detectable
within the Fourth Gospel's material, it is a feature of John's miracle
source rather than of John's Gospel itself, John used this source (and
to that extent was influenced by it), but evidently he was well aware
106

107

106. See particularly R. T. Fortna, The Gospel of Signs. A Reconstruction of the

Narrative Source Underlying the Fourth Gospel, Cambridge University Press 1970; also
The Fourth Gospel and its Predecessor. From Narrative Source to Present Gospel, T. & T.
Clark 1989; W. Nicol, The Smeia in the Fourth Gospel, SNT, XXXII, 1972; H. M .
Teeple, The Literary Origin of the Gospel of John, Evanston 1974.
107. See further, e.g. Nicol, Smeia, pp. 9 9 - 1 0 6 .

64.3]

Was John 'guilty' of naive docetism'?

331

of its vulnerability to docetic interpretation and sought both to correct

his source and to safeguard his own work at precisely this point.
(b) Two features of I John are of particular significance for us.
First, it presents a much blunter, more explicit rebuttal of docetic
christology ( 4 . 1 - 3 ; 5.5-8). Second, it indicates that there had been a
split in the community - a number of its erstwhile members had
withdrawn (2.19). The point is that these two features are evidently
linked - those who 'went out' are identified with the 'antichrists' who
deny that Jesus is the Christ, that Jesus Christ came in the flesh (2.18,
22; 4.3; II John 7). In other words, it looks as though there had been
a 'showdown' over christology; the issue of docetism had come into
the open, and an irreconcilable confrontation was the result. We
should note also that in the view of the author those who went out
were probably guilty of a failure in love as well; the words 'love'
(noun and verb) appear more frequently in I John than anywhere else
in the N T (46 times). Presumably the author regarded their claim to
a higher anointing and fuller knowledge (attacked in 2.20) as a failure
to love and respect their brothers - and how could anyone claim to
love God when he despised his brother?
All this suggests that the Fourth Evangelist was dealing with a
community which in part at least had become fascinated by a gnosticizing understanding of Christ. He therefore wrote his Gospel
largely, but not wholly with this in view - that is, to present Jesus in
such a way as to attract and hold such believers within the community
(John 20.3of.). Thus he used language and ideas which were meaning
ful to would-be Gnostics, he painted a portrait of the earthly Jesus in
colours they would appreciate and respond to, he took over as much
as possible of their sort of understanding of Jesus, but without going
the whole way with them. How successful he was we cannot now
know. But if I John was written subsequently to John's Gospel and
to the same community (as seems quite probable), it would appear
that his apologetic attempt failed, or was only partly successful. The
situation apparently deteriorated from one of acceptable diversity
into an open rift. While many of those addressed were prepared to
draw the line at the points the Fourth Evangelist had indicated, others
found it necessary to go the whole way into outright docetism and to
108

109

108. Cf. G. Bornkamn, 'Zur Interpretation des Johannes-Evangeliums', Geschichte und

Glaube, I, Mnchen 1 9 6 8 , pp. nsff.; J . Becker, 'Wunder und Christologie', NTS, 1 6 ,
1 9 6 9 - 7 0 , pp. 1 3 6 - 4 8 ; Fortna, Signs, p. 224; Schottroff, Glaubende, pp. 2 4 5 - 6 8 ; Koester
and Robinson, Trajectories, pp. i88f., 2 3 8 - 6 0 .
109. See further R. E. Brown, The Community of the Beloved Disciple, Chapman 1 9 7 9 ,
pp. 1 0 9 - 2 3 .

Hellenistic Christianity

[64.4

withdraw from the community. With such an outcome the author of

I John was able to draw back from the rather more exposed christology of the Gospel and to lay down the borders of acceptable diver
sity explicitly and emphatically.
64.4 If there is anything in this last suggestion (64.3) then the Fourth
Gospel is to be seen as a classic example of the challenge and danger
of translating the good news of Jesus Christ into the language and
thought patterns of other cultures - the challenge of translating with
as little loss from or gain to the original, the danger that the good
news will be absorbed wholly into these thought patterns and lose
both its distinctive otherness and its power to change them. This
apparently was the challenge and danger that confronted the Fourth
Evangelist. In order to speak effectively to his syncretistic society, in
order to meet the the challenge of a Christian community influenced
by gnosticizing tendencies, he presented Jesus as the incarnate Logos,
the divine Son of God in full awareness of his deity and in perfect
union with the Father. He almost paid the price; he sailed as close as
possible to the wind of early Gnosticism and was almost swept away
by it! He skirted the last border with emerging Gnosticism and was
almost dragged over by the Gnostics! To win would-be Gnostics
he almost became a Gnostic and was almost branded by emerging
orthodoxy as a heretic!
But - and this is the significant fact - he himself saw these dangers.
He did not go all the way with (some of) those for whom he wrote.
He did not go as far as he might quite well have done. On the
contrary, he opposed the developing (proto-)Gnosticism of his time
at the decisive point. If then he interacted with a broad gnosticizing
tendency of his time, at the crucial point he distanced himself from
it. And that point is again Jesus; and again it is the refusal to let go
the unity between the historical man Jesus and the glorified Christ,
the refusal to dissolve the history of Jesus in the acidic categories of
a transcultural myth. Jesus is indeed presented in godly garb in the
Fourth Gospel, but it is the Logos who became flesh who is so pre
sented, the one on whose flesh and blood humanity faith depends,
the one who really died on the cross and who only thus gave forth
the life-giving Spirit. Once again therefore it is the identity of earthly
Jesus with exalted Christ which not only marks out the unity but also
marks off the limits of acceptable diversity of first-century Christian
faith.

65.1]

Conclusions

333

65.

CONCLUSIONS

65.1 If Jewish Christianity was characterized by its loyalty to the

traditions of Christianity's mother faith, Hellenistic Christianity was
characterized by its readiness to pull free from the apron strings, by
its willingness to leave behind the earlier formulations of the new
faith, by its desire to let its experience of the exalted Christ shape its
faith and life into whatever language and life-style was most appropri
ate to its several situations and societies. This was true of Stephen,
who saw it as essential that he should develop and propagate an
interpretation of Jesus' teaching sharply at odds with the current
practice of most of his fellow believers. It was true in excessive
measure of the various churches briefly reviewed above in 61, many
of whose members evidently thought that the Christian gospel was
about liberty before anything else; at the growing edge of Christianity
there was no clear margin between Christianity and the surrounding
syncretism and there must have been not a few whose faith was not
so very different from that of men like Hymenaeus and Philetus
(II Tim. 2.17L.) but who were fully active members of the local church.
It was true of Paul, noted as he was for his insistence on the signifi
cance of his own revelatory experience of Christ, for his role in
liberating Christianity from the tutelage of Pharisaic Judaism, and for
his unwillingness to denounce and condemn outright ideas with which
he disagreed (only gross sensuality consistently earned his condem
nation - Rom. 1 6 . 1 7 ^ ; I Cor. 5-6; II Cor. 1 2 . 2 1 ; Phil. 3.i8f.). And
it was true of John in his readiness to present the earthly Jesus in the
full light of his exalted glory as the divine Son of God, even at some
risk of mythicizing the Jesus-tradition. It is perhaps worth noting in
addition that Paul in particular is nowhere so violently polemical
against gnosticizing tendencies as he was against the Judaizers - the
insistence on a strict conformity to a single authority and tradition
^Jerusalem) he evidently regarded as more dangerous than the radical
openness of diverse nonconformity. There is no question of course
that Paul and John (and no doubt Stephen too) stood four square
within the circle of Christianity and heldfirmlyto Jesus Christ at the
centre. The point is however that they were open to new and different
ways of looking at the centre and of bringing the centre into inter
action with the various other circles of faith round about it. Such a
policy is always a dangerous one, open to misunderstanding, exposed
to attack from those who value tradition more than liberty, to abuse
from those who value liberty more than love; but ultimately it is
probably the most Christian position of all.

334

Hellenistic Christianity

[65.2

65.2 While gnostic tendencies and concepts are already clearly evi
dent in the churches of the first century, no NT document can prop
erly he described as gnostic in character. For all their openness to
new developments, the N T writers most caught up in the broadening
out of Christianity were conscious that a line had to be drawn at
some point - that there could and should be a wide ranging diversity
round the centre, but that a circumference had to be sketched in at
certain points and some expressions of Christianity adjudged to have
pushed out beyond it. Thus we saw that some attempted formulations
of the Christian message were early on judged to be less than adequate
in themselves, too vulnerable to abuse. This in effect was the judgment
of Matthew and Luke on Q, and indeed of all the churches who
retained Q only as absorbed into Matthew and Luke and not in its
own right. Others were judged to be wrongheaded: however attractive
their presentation of the gospel in some respects, they had ignored an
indispensably integral emphasis. This in effect was the judgment of
Paul (particularly II Corinthians and Philippians), Mark and John (in
relation to their miracle sources). In both cases the criterion was the
same: does this new formulation hold together the crucified Christ
and the exalted Lord and Son of God? In other words, already within
thefirst-centuryperiod a stand was being taken by Hellenistic Christ
ians against what would become integral to the distinctive christology
of (second-century) Gnosticism. As the more characteristically Jewish
Christian documents in the N T drew a line of demarcation between
the acceptable diversity of Jewish Christianity and (what later
became) unacceptable Ebionism - and that line is Christ, that the
historical Jesus is truly exalted Lord, the embodiment of Wisdom,
exalted to an incomparable status before God; so the more broadly
ranging Hellenistic Christian documents in the N T drew a line of
demarcation between the acceptable diversity of Hellenistic Christ
ianity and (what later became) unacceptable Gnosticism - and that
line also is Christ, that the glorified Lord, the one mediator between
God and man is Jesus, who ascended to glory by being lifted up on a
cross.
It is again perhaps worth noting that so far as we know Paul
was the first to formulate this absolutely fundamental christological
criterion. For it was precisely this Pauline emphasis which Mark
transposed into the format of a 'Gospel': confronted (probably) by a
teaching similar to that which Paul faced at Corinth (presenting Jesus
primarily as a wielder and dispenser of power) Mark so constructed
his Gospel as to focus attention most fully on Jesus as the suffering
Son of Man (see above pp.40, 76, 195). It was this Markan definition
of 'gospel format' which became the pattern for Matthew and Luke.

65.3]

Conclusions

335

And it was the insertion of Q material into a Markan framework

which counteracted most effectively any vulnerability to gnostic
interpretation inherent in its format. Similarly the Fourth Evangelist,
apparently confronted with a similar challenge as faced Mark (a Signs
Source presenting Jesus' miracles as a basis for faith), met it in a way
ultimately the same as Mark's - that is, by setting the miracle working
Jesus in the shadow of the passion. Finally we may note that the
equivalent emphasis in Hebrews and I Peter were quite probably due
ultimately to Pauline influence. Christianity's indebtedness to Paul at
this point therefore is considerable.
In short, once again it becomes evident that for the NT writers not
only the unity but also the diversity of Christianity was determined
by reference to Christ - the centrality and primacy of the exalted
Lord, and the identity of the crucified Jesus with the exalted Son of
God - this is the decisive mark of Christian faith.
110

65.3 As with Jewish Christianity so in the case of Hellenistic Christ

ianity, we are dealing with a diverse phenomenon, or in oversimplified
terms, a spectrum. At one end of the spectrum, Hellenistic Christianity
falls over into the unacceptable diversity of Gnosticism. But also
within acceptable Hellenistic Christianity there was a considerable
diversity - from the libertines tolerated by churches addressed by the
seer of Revelation and Jude at one end, to Paul (and Mark) at the
other. There was no single form of acceptable Hellenistic Christianity
in the first century. If the oversimplification can be tolerated (that is,
reducing the diversity to a single straight line), perhaps we could most
easily represent this diversity thus - the broad vertical line again
marking out where acceptable diversity falls over into unacceptable
diversity.
HELLENISTIC CHRISTIANITY
Paul John Q

Opponents attacks!

Proponents-of

in I Corinthians,

JOMWdbnm

Philippians,

chrMtofogy

Those referred to Gnosticism

in I John 2 . 1 9

proper

Colossians,
Pastorals,
Revelation, Jud<

n o . The same is true of the ethical principles and guidelines drawn by Paul (pp. 3 1 9 ,
353f.), since the primary emphasis falls on a walk in accordance both with the Spirit of
Christ (Rom. 8 . 4 - 6 , 1 2 - 1 4 ; Gal. 5 . 1 6 - 2 5 ) and with the traditions of Christ's ethical
teaching (above p. 7 3 ) , particularly love of neighbour as fulfilling the law (Rom. 1 3 . 8 - 1 0 ;
Gal. 5 . 1 4 ) .

336

Hellenistic Christianity

[65.4

65.4 To sum up, two criteria for distinguishing unacceptable from

acceptable diversity again seem to have emerged. First, Hellenistic
Christians became unacceptable when they ceased to love other
Christians, when they claimed a spiritual superiority and failed to
respect the knowledge and spiritual experience of other believers.
When no christological issue was at stake (as apparently in
I Corinthians) right relationships were regarded by Paul as more
important than right belief. Second, Hellenistic Christianity became
unacceptable when its liberalism became detached from the centre,
when its diversity began to reduce the significance of the exalted
Christ or to pull apart the unity of earthly Jesus and exalted Lord.
Christian liberty is not limitless: it is always to be constrained by love
of others in its conduct and by belief in Christ as man and Lord in
its faith, otherwise it ceases to be Christian.

XIII

Apocalyptic Christianity

66. W H A T

is

'APOCALYPTIC'?

66. i Apocalyptic Christianity has been both historically and theologi

cally one of the most striking and important expressions of Christian
faith. Despite this the main body of Christian tradition has largely
ignored the phenomenon of apocalyptic Christianity: because of its
highly charged spiritual enthusiasm the great Church has usually been
embarrassed by it; because of its tendency to fanaticism the major
churches have frequently suppressed it. But in fact Christianity first
emerged in a context of apocalyptic thought, as is now generally
recognized. Moreover, in the beginning, Christianity was itself in large
measure an eschatological and enthusiastic movement with marked
apocalyptic traits, as we shall see. And from the first century to the
beginning of the Middle Ages it produced an extensive apocalyptic
literature. Indeed no 'trajectory' is more clearly visible in historical
Christianity than that which runs from the apocalyptic expectations
of the later Jewish prophets, through the earlier Jewish apocalyptic
literature, Qumran, John the Baptist, Jesus, the primitive Palestinian
community, the early Paul, the book of Revelation, early Montanism
and the various Jewish and Christian apocalypses of the first two or
three centuries of the Christian era, and on through the medieval
millenarian sects, to leave its clearest mark in 1 5 3 4 in the messianic
reign of John of Leyden at Miinster. From there the influence of
apocalyptic thought can be traced in different directions - in religious
movements like Jehovah's Witnesses and Pentecostalism on the one
hand, and in the totalitarian movements of Communism and National
Socialism on the other. Recognition of its historical importance has
been one of the major factors in bringing an apocalyptic perspective
back into the centre of biblical and theological study in recent years.
1

1. See e.g. R. W. Funk, ed., Apocalypticism, JThC, 6, 1969; K. Koch, The Rediscovery
of Apocalyptic, 1 9 7 0 , E T S C M Press 1 9 7 2 ; J . Barr, 'Jewish Apocalyptic in Recent Scholarly
Study', BJRL, 58, 1 9 7 5 - 7 6 , pp. 9 - 3 5 . See also nn. 2 - 3 below. C. Rowland, Radical
Christianity. A Reading of Recovery, Polity 1988, highlights the continuing influence of

Apocalyptic

338

Christianity

[66.1

But what is 'apocalyptic?' Most of twentieth-century discussion has

been confused, with the force and scope of the key word 'apocalyptic'
unclear. Can it be used as a noun, or only as an adjective? Does it
refer only to literature, a classification of genre? Or can it also describe
beliefs and ideas characteristic of such literature, but present else
where? Or is it primarily a sociological category - an apocalyptic
(= millenarian) movement? The most recent scholarship has in fact
abandoned the use of 'apocalyptic' as a noun and distinguishes
between apocalypse as a literary genre, apocalypticism as a social
ideology, and apocalyptic eschatology as a set of ideas present in other
genres and social settings. More important, should 'apocalyptic' be
used primarily or exclusively for mode of revelation (apokalypsis =
unveiling of heavenly mysteries), or for the content of such revelation?
C. Rowland in particular has pointed out that what has often been
described as 'apocalyptic' (= revelation of final events) is better classi
fied under the heading 'eschatology', and that while apocalypses typi
cally have a very strong interest in 'the end events', that is by no means
the exclusive focus of their interest; 'apocalyptic' and 'eschatology' are
not synonymous.
The following analysis reflects some of the earlier difficulties and
confusions. Since there is no standard type of apocalypse, the features
picked out in the next section do not constitute a description of the
genre but simply highlight the most striking of the features which
appear frequently in 'apocalypses'. And the list of theological charac
teristics likewise focuses more on apocalyptic eschatology than on
'apocalyptic' as a broader category. Together they provide a clear
enough picture of what we have already called, for want of a better
title, 'apocalyptic Christianity'. Our question is simple. To what
extent were Jesus and the first Christians apocalyptic in outlook and
message? To what extent is an apocalyptic eschatology integral to
2

apocalyptic thought in later centuries. For the investigation of apocalypticism prior to 1 9 4 7

see J . M . Schmidt, Die jiidsiche Apokalyptik, Neukirchen 1 9 6 9 .
2. See particularly P. D. Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic, Fortress 1 9 7 5 , i 9 7 9 ,
pp. 1 0 - 1 2 , 429ff.; J . J . Collins, ed., Apocalypse. The Morphology of a Genre, Semeia 14,
1 9 7 9 , pp. 1 - 1 9 ; J . J . Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination, Crossroad 1984, ch. 1 especi
ally p. 2. This clarification hopefully meets the most important of the objections to the
continued use of the word by T. F. Glasson, 'What is Apocalyptic?', NTS, 2 7 , 1 9 8 0 - 8 1 ,
pp. 9 8 - 1 0 5 .
3. C. Rowland, The Open Heaven. A Study of Apocalyptic in Judaism and Early
Christianity, SPCK 1 9 8 2 ; also Christian Origins, SPCK 1 9 8 5 , pp. 5 6 - 6 4 .
4. For convenience I draw particularly on P. Vielhauer's analysis in Hennecke, Apocry
pha, II, pp. 5 8 2 - 9 4 . See also particularly W . Bousset and H. Gressmann, Die Religion des
Judentums im spdthellenistischen Zeitalter, Tubingen s.<)66, ch. XIII; C. K. Barrett, The
New Testament Background: Selected Documents, SPCK 1 9 5 6 , pp. 2 2 7 - 5 5 ; Russell,
Apocalyptic; Koch, Apocalyptic, pp. 2 3 - 3 3 . See also Foreword, p. xlvii.
2

66.2]

What is 'apocalyptic'?

339

earliest Christianity so that without it Christianity becomes something

qualitatively other than that movement which began in Palestine
nearly two millennia ago?
66.2 Literary characteristics of apocalypses. Apocalypses are 'revel
atory writings which disclose the secrets of the beyond and especially
of the end of time'. The chief characteristics of such writings are as
follows.
(a) Pseudonymity. It is typical of the apocalyptist that he did not
use his name but set out his writing under the name of some famous
individual from the past (e.g. Peter or Paul, Moses or Ezra, Enoch or
Adam). Presumably he used this device as a way of stressing his claim
to stand in continuity with and to be the authoritative interpreter of
one who by common consent had been highly favoured with divine
revelation.
(b) Visions and symbolism. The apocalyptist usually received his
revelation in visions, sometimes through dreams, often full of bizarre
symbolism and heavenly portents - for example, Daniel's visionary
dream of the four beasts which came up out of the sea (Dan. 7 ) , or
IV Ezra's dream: 'Lo! there came up from the sea an eagle which had
twelve(?) feathered wings, and three heads' (IV Ezra 1 1 ) . At other
times the visions came while the apocalyptist was awake - an experi
ence of visionary ecstasy; this, for example, was how the N T seer
received his visions - 'After this I looked, and lo, in heaven, an open
door! . . . At once I was in the Spirit, and lo, a throne stood in
heaven . ..' (Rev. 4.if.). Angels regularly feature as the intermediary
who explains and interprets the vision. To what extent the visionary
form derived ultimately from a genuine religious experience or was
simply a literary device remains in most cases an open question.
(c) Survey of history as from a perspective in the past. One feature
of pseudonymity is that the apocalyptist was able to represent himself
as standing at an earlier point in history. He then presented the
course of history from his pseudonymous standpoint up to his actual
standpoint in the form of prophecy, usually allegorical prophecy: for
example, the image of different metals or the four beasts in Dan. 2
and 7, or the elaborate dream vision of world history in I Enoch 8 5 90. The allegorical prophecy was then continued down into the real
author's future, depicting the events of the end, the decisive divine
intervention into the course of history which he believed was about
5

5. Vielhauer in Hennecke, Apocrypha, II, p. 582. It should be noted that this definition
is quite acceptable to Rowland (above n. 3).
6. See D. G. Meade, Pseudonymity and Canon, W U N T 39, Tubingen 1 9 8 6 .

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to take place. As C. K. Barrett points out: 'This method often permits

the dating of apocalypses; the point at which the history loses pre
cision and accuracy is the moment of writing'.
{d) Esoteric character - a corollary to the bizarre symbolism and
allegorical prophecy form. It is not always clear what the dreams and
visions meant, or what dating was intended by the division of history
into days and weeks. The survey of history was in code form, its
information about the future was something to be kept from general
knowledge, something to be handed down in secret. Thus, for
example, Daniel is instructed to 'seal up the vision', to 'keep the vision
secret, for it points to days far ahead' (8.26), and at the end is told,
'Go your way Daniel, for the words are kept secret and sealed till the
time of the end' (12.9). Similarly Enoch is told at the beginning that
he writes not for this generation but for a generation far distant in
the future (I Enoch 1.2).
{e) 'Underground literature'? Apocalyptic literature was very often
faith's response to a situation of crisis - a looking to God to intervene
in a situation where human resources were failing and the men of
faith were in danger of being destroyed by faith's enemies. Thus, for
example, Daniel seems to have been written to stir up resistance to
Antiochus Epiphanes' attempt to impose Hellenistic practices and
worship upon the Jews (c. 1 6 7 BC); the War Scroll of the Qumran
sect gives the battle orders for the imminent final conflict between the
sons of light and the sons of darkness (iQM); IV Ezra reflects some
thing of the crisis which Judaism underwent after the fall of Jerusalem
in A D 70; and Revelation seems to have been called forth partly at
least by the threat of persecution under Emperor Domitian about
A D 95.
(/) Ethical exhortations. Apocalypses typically exhort their readers
to repent and convert in view of the imminent End and the coming
judgment, and include also more traditional exhortations - woes
and warnings against unrighteousness as well as urgings to righteous
living. Moral strictness is a regular feature of the trajectory of apoca
lypticism.
7

66.3 Theological characteristics of apocalyptic eschatology.

(a) The two ages. 'The Most High has made not one age but two'
(IV Ezra 7.50). Apocalyptic eschatology shares the Hebraic view of
7. Barrett, Background, p. 2 3 1 . E.g. cf. Ass.Mos. 7.iff. with 2 - 6 ; Sib.Or. IV before
and after line 1 3 4 .
8. D. N . Freedman, 'The Flowering of Apocalyptic', in Funk, Apocalypticism, p. 1 7 3 .
9. Collins, Imagination, p. 3 1 .

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What is 'apocalyptic'?

34i

history - a view almost unique in antiquity - that is, of history as a

linear rather than circular progression, moving forward rather than
repeating itself, and moving forward towards a definite end and goal.
Where apocalyptic is distinctive within Hebraic thought in turn is in
the sharp break it envisages in this line of history, the break between
this age and the age to come. This age and the age to come are not
simply consecutive segments of the same line of history: at the end of
this age the line breaks off; the new age starts as a new line, something
quite different. Often this age is divided into a number of periods (4,
7, 1 0 , 1 2 , 70), but the age to come is something wholly other.
The dualism of the Two-Ages doctrine recognizes no continuity
between the time of this world and that which is to come: 'For
behold, the days are coming when everything that has come into
being will be given over to destruction, and it will be as if it had
never been' (II Bar. 3 1 . 5 ) . Between the two Ages there is a qualitat
ive difference, and this comes to clearest expression in Dan. 7 with
the contrast of the beasts rising from the sea and the 'man' coming
from heaven (cf. also IV Ezra 7 . 5 2 - 6 1 ) .
10

(b) Pessimism and hope. The discontinuity between the two ages is
also clearly expressed in the apocalyptists' very different attitude to
the two ages. Towards the present age their attitude is one of unre
lieved pessimism: it is degenerate; it has grown old; it stands under
the domination of Satan and hostile powers; it is defiled with evils,
an age of ills, full of affliction and sorrow; there is no hope for it. But
the black picture of the present is more than compensated for by the
glory of the age to come - a new creation, a new heaven and earth,
a heavenly Jerusalem, Paradise restored. One of the most grandiose,
even grotesque expressions of this hope is in II Bar. 29.5:
The earth also shall yield its fruit ten thousandfold and on each
vine there shall be a thousand branches, and each branch shall
produce a thousand clusters, and each cluster a thousand grapes,
and each grape produce a cor of wine (cor = 1 2 0 gallons!).
{c) The eschatological climax - messianic woes, judgment (on God's
enemies), salvation (for Israel), and resurrection. A frequent feature
of apocalyptic thought is that the ending of the old age and introduc
tion of the new will be marked by a period of severe distress such as
the world has never known - sometimes thought of as a heightening
10. Vielhauer in Hennecke, Apocrypha, II, p. 588.

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[66.3

of ordinary woes or under the figure of childbirth, sometimes in

terms of military conflict and war, sometimes in terms of supernatural
cosmic portents and catastrophes, often with a combination of differ
ent metaphors and images. An early foreboding along these lines is
Jub. 2 3 . 1 3 . . . For calamity follows on calamity, and wound on wound, and
tribulation on tribulation, and evil tidings on evil tidings, and illness
on illness, and all evil judgments such as these, one with another,
illness and overthrow, and snow and frost and ice, and fever, and
chills, and torpor, and famine, and death, and sword, and captivity,
and all kinds of calamities and pains . . .
n

The messianic woes culminate in the divine intervention which

brings in the new age - the age of bliss for Israel, or at least for the
righteous remnant. As to the Gentiles, opinions differed. In some
writings, particularly the early ones, it is anticipated that the Gentiles
will be brought in to share the blessings of Israel - for example, the
Sibylline Oracles:
Then all the isles and the cities shall say, How doth the Eternal
love these men! . . . Let us make procession to his temple, for he
is the sole Potentate . . . And from every land they shall bring
frankincense and gifts to the house of the great God . . . (III.71 of.,
7 1 8 , 772L).
But the more usual tone, particularly of the later writings, is that any
nations which have shown hostility to Israel will be destroyed,
whether by the sword, or by the direct act of God. There is some
hope for the innocent or repentant nations; but, though spared, their
role in the new age would be one of subserviency to Israel.
Part of this eschatological hope is expressed in terms of resurrec
tion; the concept of the resurrection of the dead comes from apocalyp
tic eschatology. The righteous dead would be restored to life in order
to share the blessings of the new age; less frequently expressed is the
belief that the wicked too would be raised, in order to be judged. An
early formulation of this expectation is Dan. i2.2f.: '(Many of) those
12

1 1 . Other references in Bousset-Gressmann, Religion, pp. 25 of.; Strack-Billerbeck,

I V . 9 7 7 - 8 6 ; Russell, Apocalyptic, pp. 2 7 2 - 6 ; W. Schmithals, The Apocalyptic MovementIntroduction and Interpretation, 1 9 7 3 , E T Abingdon 1 9 7 5 , pp. 25f.; and above p. 1 6 7 .
1 2 . See Russell, Apocalyptic, pp. 2 9 7 - 3 0 3 .

66.3]

What is 'apocalyptic'?

343

who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting
life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt'.
{d) Imminence of the End. Apocalyptic eschatology is born of crisis
and is characterized by a longing for the End, the end of the present
evil world, its suffering and affliction, and a longing for the new. This
anxious yearning expresses itself in an impatient questioning: 'How
long? How long?'; (Dan. 8.13; i2.5ff.; IV Ezra 4.33t; 6.59; II Bar.
26; 8 1 . 3 ; etc.). Some at least of the apocalyptists were conscious that
the End could not be hastened - God's purpose must be fully worked
out (so particularly IV Ezra 4 . 3 3 - 3 7 ) . But more typical is the sense
of tip-toe expectancy, the conviction that the End itself could not be
long delayed. The very fact that these secret revelations which the
men of old sealed up for the end of time were now being made known
was itself a sure sign that the End was near. The survey of past history
in prophetic form arose from the conviction that the final acts of
history were about to take place: the stone hewn from the mountain
without hands would soon shatter the iron and clay feet of the idol
(Dan. 2). The present age could be divided into periods because its
climax was near - writer and reader, Jew and Gentile together stood
already in the final period before the End. God's purpose had first to
be fulfilled, of course, but that fulfilment was almost complete, the
consummation was at hand (IV Ezra 4.33-50; 8.61; 1 1 . 4 4 ) .
13

14

For the youth of the world is past, and the strength of the creation
is already long ago at an end, and the advance of the ages is almost
here and even past. For the pitcher is nearly to the fountain, the
ship to the harbour, the caravan to the city, and life to its conclusion
(II Bar. 85.10).
(e) Supernatural and cosmic dimensions. Characteristic of the apocalyptist is the fact that his vision of reality is not confined merely to
Israel, it embraces the whole world, and not just the whole earth, but
heaven and the underworld as well. Even apocalypses with strong
Jewish nationalist colouring depict the events of the End as affecting
the whole of humankind; resurrection, world judgment and world
dissolution in particular are on a cosmic scale. And if the cosmos is
the stage the actors are not just men, but divine beings - angels and
spirits. Behind the evil of earth stand the fallen angels and demons,
1 3 . See further Dunn, Jesus, pp. n y f .
1 4 . See further W. Harnisch, Verhngnis und Verheissung der Geschichte. Untersu
chungen zum Zeitnund Geschichtsverstndnis im 4. Buch Ezra und in der BaruchApokalypse, Gttingen 1 9 6 9 , especially pp. 2 6 8 - 3 2 1 ; C. L. Holman, Till Jesus Comes:
Origins of Christian Apocalyptic Speculation, Hendrickson 1996.

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Christianity

[66.4

represented above all by Satan or anti-Christ (see particularly I Enoch

6 - 1 1 ; 16; 2 1 ; 54-6; etc.; Sib.Or. Ill.^ff.). This of course is why the
saints of the Most High are helpless in the face of evil - why they
have to wait for and depend on the intervention of God. In prophetic
works the agent of divine purpose is classically thought of as the
Messiah - a humanfigure.But the classical expression in apocalyptic
literature is in terms of the Son of Man - a transcendent, almost
divine being (Dan. 7 . 1 3 ^ ; I Enoch 48; 69.26-29; 7 1 . 1 4 - 1 7 ; Mark
1 3 . 2 4 - 2 7 ; Rev. I4.i4ff.; probably IV Ezra 1 3 ) .
(f) Divine sovereignty and control. Overarching all is the faith that
God is in control, that God is in control of history - it is moving
towards his goal. This faith is most clearly evident in the picture of
future history as already written down in a scroll (Dan. 8.26; 12.4, 9;
Rev. 5-8). The message is plain; all that is to happen is foreknown, it
has all been determined beforehand. Likewise the apocalyptist looks
to God alone to bring in the new age. It is not something which will
grow out of the present age, or something which will be achieved by
human activity. Only God can wind up the old age; the new age will
come only through divine, supernatural intervention. This is why
hope can rise above pessimism. The apocalyptist does not dwell on
the appearances, or the reality of the present; he looks beyond to God
and sees it as his task to present to his readers his understanding of the
fuller, cosmic reality and his vision of God's imminent intervention.
15

66.4 We can sum up our findings and perhaps further clarify the
distinctive character of apocalyptic eschatology by comparing and
contrasting it briefly with prophecy, out of which it probably deve
loped. Clearly there is a fair amount of overlap between the two.
Isaiah, for example, looked forward to a future when men would live
at peace, when nature would be transformed, the wolf dwelling with
the lamb, the leopard lying down with the kid, and the whole earth
filled with the knowledge of Yahweh (Isa. 2; 1 1 ) . Ezekiel experienced
visions and used the sort of fantastic imagery which we more naturally
associate with apocalypses - 'the four living creatures', four wheels
whose rims were 'full of eyes round about', etc. Particularly in the
post-exilic period there is discernible a development within prophecy
towards apocalypticism - with the picture of divine judgment on the
nations and of deliverance and vindication for the righteous remnant,
leading to a new golden age of justice, peace and infinite bliss. But in
apocalyptic eschatology the picture is painted on a larger canvas,
with bolder brush strokes. At each of the characteristic points of
1 5 . Cf. Jub. 3 2 . 2 1 ; also Dan. 2 . 2 1 ; Ass.Mos. zz.^L; I Enoch 3 9 . 1 1 ; 92.2; IQS 3.15f.

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'Apocalyptic - the mother of all Christian theology'?

345

apocalypticism there is a radical heightening of the eschatology which

leaves prophecy behind. The discontinuity between old age and age
to come is much sharper there than anything we find in prophecy.
The utter pessimism with regard to the present is much more radical.
The end-time suffering is more terrible, the judgments and salvation
are final, the End much closer, the reliance on divine intervention by
a divine agent more absolute. Likewise the esoteric character of so
many apocalypses, the elaboration of the idea of a pre-determined
history, the cosmic dimensions . . . These can all be seen as extensions
of prophecy, but also mark the boundary between prophecy and
apocalypse. H. H. Rowley sums up the difference thus: 'Speaking
generally, the prophets foretold the future that should arise out of the
present, while the apocalyptists foretold the future that should break
into the present'.
If then we have done enough to clarify the distinctive character
of 'apocalyptic', we can now go on to examine the beginnings of
Christianity and its writings to ascertain whether and to what extent
we can speak of first-century Christianity as 'apocalyptic Christ
ianity'.
16

67.

'APOCALYPTIC CHRISTIAN

THE

MOTHER

OF

ALL

THEOLOGY'?

Jewish apocalyptic writing extends from late third century B C to

second century A D . The apocalyptic writings which we have fall into
two roughly equal halves on either side of Jesus. This means that
Jesus stands in the middle of a period when apocalypticism was one
of the most important forces in Jewish religious thought. The full
significance of this was first brought home to N T scholarship by the
work of J. Weiss and A. Schweitzer at the turn of the twentieth
century, who argued that Jesus was strongly influenced by apocalyptic
eschatology and that his proclamation of the kingdom and under
standing of his mission was constitutively stamped with the character
istics of apocalypticism and cannot be understood apart from the
apocalyptic thought world. In a very real and important sense almost
all historical Jesus research since then has been an attempt to escape
from or at least to soften this evaluation of Jesus, not least in many
instances because of the christological corollaries that follow in its
train. There have been fewer inhibitions about dubbing the earliest
3

1 6 . H. H. Rowley, The Relevance of Apocalyptic, Lutterworth, 1 9 4 4 , i 963, p. 38 (my

emphasis). See further Hanson, Dawn of Apocalyptic.

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[67.1

Christian community 'apocalyptic', despite the lack of supporting

evidence in Acts. Either way E. Kasemann's claim that 'apocalyptic
was the mother of all Christian theology' becomes a characterization
which can hardly be ignored, and whose importance for our under
standing of first-century Christianity has still to be fully appreciated.
If Christianity first emerged out of an apocalyptic thought world, as
an apocalyptic sect, what does that tell us about Christianity?
17

67.1 We know too little about John the Baptist to reconstruct an

elaborate account of his work and preaching. But what we have
shows clearly enough that his preaching was greatly influenced by
apocalyptic eschatology. His message was predominantly one of judg
ment (Matt. 3.7-12/Luke 3.7-9, 1 5 - 1 8 ) , but, more to the point, of
final judgment - the final verdict on the vineyard (every unfruitful
tree cut down and thrown on the bonfire), the final harvest (wheat
gathered into the granary, chaff burned with 'unquenchable fire').
Not only so, but the judgment was imminent-, those who had come
out to hear him were fleeing from the (eschatological) wrath about
to begin; 'Already the axe is laid at the root of the trees'; the shovel
was ready in hand to begin the winnowing of the threshing floor.
John's imagery of judgment is typical of apocalyptic eschatology.
The metaphor of the harvest is common to both prophecy and apoca
lypse (cf. Joel 3 . 1 3 ; IV Ezra 4.30). But the idea of judgment by fire,
the dominant feature of (what we have of) the Baptist's message
(Matt. 3.10, 1 1 , 1 2 ) is more distinctively apocalyptic (see e.g. I Enoch
10.6, 1 3 ; 90.24ff.; 100.9; 1 0 2 . 1 ; Test.Jud. 25.3; Sib.Or. III.542ff.;
IV.i76ff.; II Bar. 48.39, 43; 59.2; IV Ezra 7-36ff.; i Q H 6.i8f.). Even
more striking is John's use of baptism, the rite which was his own
hallmark, as a metaphor for this divine judgment - 'he will baptize
with Spirit and fire' (Matt. 3.11/Luke 3.16). John here had probably
picked up the apocalyptic symbol of judgment as a river of fire (Isa.
30.27^; Dan. 7.10; I Enoch 1 4 . 1 9 ; 1 7 . 5 ; 67.7, 1 3 ; 7 1 . 2 ; II Enoch
10.2; Sib.Or. III.54; IV Ezra i3.iof.; i Q H 3.Z9H.). And since he
evidently envisaged both unrepentant and repentant as being baptized
in this stream of fiery pneuma (breath/spirit), he must have under
stood it as both destructive for the former (cf. Matt. 3.10, 12/Luke
3.9, 17) and purgative for the latter (see above p. 167 n.6). In other
words, his metaphor is best understood as a variant on the apocalyptic
theme which we know as 'the messianic woes' - that end-time tribula-

1 7 . 'The Beginnings of Christian Theology', in Funk, Apocalypticism,

NTQT, p. 1 0 2 .

p. 40; also

67.2.]

'Apocalyptic - the mother of all Christian theology'? 347

tion and catastrophe which would both destroy and purify as the old
age gave way to the new (above pp. 167 and 342,).
We should notice also the combination of pessimism and hope in
John's message. So far as we can tell, he gave no weight to the view
that faithful observance of the law could win God's favour, and he
explicitly attacked the closely related view that descent from Abraham
(including circumcision) even began to satisfy God. Only those who
repented genuinely and wholeheartedly could hope to survive the
baptism in Spirit and fire, and even then only at the cost of every taint
and mark of the present age being burned up in the stream of fiery
pneuma. But those who did repent and survived the winnowing of
the messianic woes would then be as the good grain in the granary
of the new age.
It is not clear who John thought of as the agent of divine judgment:
all we hear of is 'one who comes after me, who is greater than me'
(Mark 1.7 pars.). Possibly he thought in terms of a human figure
endowed with divine authority. But it is more probable that he envisaged a heavenly being, perhaps in human form; and indeed it is just
conceivable that John was here influenced by the apocalyptic imagery
of the man-like figure or Son of Man; notice particularly how the
(Son of) Man and the stream of fire belong together in the vision of
Dan. 7 . 9 - 1 4 and even more closely in the vision of IV Ezra i3.iof.
(cf. also Rev. 1 4 . 1 4 with the Baptist's harvest metaphors).
Despite the lack of material therefore we have enough to substantiate the case that John the Baptist belonged firmly within the broad
trajectory of first-century apocalyptic thought.
18

67.2 What then of Jesus} We have already summarized Jesus' proclamation (above 3); here we need only focus on the salient points of
comparison. It will be simplest if we follow the rough sketch of
theological characteristics outlined above in 66.3.
(3;) It is quite likely that Jesus used the language of the two ages
(Mark 3.29/Matt. 1 2 . 3 2 ; Mark 10.30/Luke 18.30; Mark 11.14/Matt.
2 1 . 1 9 ; f- Mark 4.19/Matt. 1 3 . 2 2 ; Matt. 1 3 . 3 9 ^ , 49; Luke 16.8;
20.34L). More characteristic however is his talk of 'the kingdom of
God'. This is not a regular apocalyptic phrase, but it can certainly be
regarded quite properly as a variation on the two-ages motif - that
is, as Jesus' way of speaking about the age to come. And almost
certainly Jesus did so use it (Matt. 6.10/Luke 1 1 . 2 ; Matt. 8.11/Luke
13.28L.; Matt. 10.7/Luke 10.9, 1 1 ; Mark 9.1 pars.). Here the insight
of Weiss still stands: the kingdom of God cannot be conceived as
c

1 8 . But see Dunn, Christology, p. 304 n. 1 3 9 .

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[67.2

something which develops out of and in this world, but only as 'a
radically superworldly entity which stands in diametric opposition to
this world'. Even though Jesus understood the power of the end-time
to be already present in and through his own ministry (see above
3.2, 50.5 and below p.351), it was precisely as the power of the
age to come that he perceived it - so distinctively supernatural and
eschatologically wholly other that it allowed no comparison and
resistance to it imperilled one's place in the age to come (Matt.
i2.27f./Luke n.i9f.; Mark 3.28f. pars.). The discontinuity between
the present age and the coming kingdom is further indicated by the
different kind of sustenance and relationships of the latter (Matt.
6.11/Luke 1 1 . 3 - eschatological bread; Mark 12.25 P ~ 'like angels
in heaven'), by the complete reversal of this-worldly values (Luke
6.20/Matt. 5.3; Mark io.29f., 3 1 pars.; Luke 1 2 . 1 6 - 2 1 ) , by the dif
ferent kind of temple (eschatological - cf. Mark 14.58; John 2.19; see
above p.44), and particularly by the fact that the final judgment would
mark the beginning of the age of the kingdom (Matt. 19.28/Luke
22.29L).
19

a r s

(b) The pessimism-hope dualism typical of apocalypses is not so

marked in Jesus - principally because Jesus saw the eschatological
hope already being fulfilled in his ministry (see below p. 3 5 1 ) . But the
fulfilment was precisely the power of the future kingdom already
breaking into the present age, it did not emerge from the present age.
On the contrary, like John the Baptist, Jesus saw little to encourage
him from within the present age: it stood under the sway of evil spirits
and demons, a kingdom opposed to God's (Mark 1 . 2 3 - 2 7 , 34; 3 . 2 2 26; etc.; cf. Matt. 4.8-10/Luke 4.5-8; Matt. 6.10b); without repent
ance there was no hope for individuals or cities, Jews or not (Matt.
1 1 . 2 1 - 2 4 / L u k e 1 0 . 1 3 - 1 5 ; Matt. i2.4if./Luke n . i f . ; Luke 1 3 . 1 5); Israel as a whole was like one of the unfruitful trees of which
the Baptist had spoken (Mark 1 1 . 1 2 - 1 4 pars.; Luke 1 3 . 6 - 9 ) ; even
Jerusalem, 'the city of the great king', stood under divine judgment
(Matt. 23.37-39/Luke 13.34L).
(c) In Jesus' conception of the events of the End apocalyptic influ
ence is again evident. He anticipated a time of suffering and tribula
tion, the time of eschatological trial prior to the End (Matt. 5.1 if./
Luke 6.22L; Matt. 6.13/Luke 1 1 . 4 ; Mark 10.39; Matt. 1 0 . 2 3 , 24L;
Mark 1 3 . 7 ^ , 1 4 - 2 0 ) ; it would probably be marked by unnatural
enmity (Matt. 10.34-36/Luke 1 2 . 5 1 - 5 3 ; Mark 13.12/Matt. 1 0 . 2 1 as in I Enoch 100.2; IV Ezra 5.9), and probably also by cosmic
3

1 9 . J . Weiss, Jesus' Proclamation of the Kingdom of God, 1 8 9 2 , E T S C M Press 1 9 7 1 ,

p. 1 1 4 . Cf. particularly Sib.Or., III. 46f., 767; Ass.Mos., io.iff.; I Q M 6.6; 1 2 . 7 .

67.2,]

'Apocalyptic

- the mother of all Christian theology'f 349

catastrophe (Mark i3.24f.; as in Ass.Mos. 10.5); and as with John

the Baptist the imagery of fire in the tradition of Jesus' teaching
denotes not only final judgment (Mark 9.43, 48 par.; Matt. 5.22;
7.19; 13.40, 42, 50; 25.41), but also the fiery purification through
which the repentant must go if they would enter the kingdom (such
is the implication of the various 'fire-logia' - Mark 9.49; Luke 12.49;
Gosp. Thomas 1 0 , 1 6 , 82; cf. Luke 9.54). Indeed (as we have seen
above pp. 168, 226), it is probable that Jesus used the Baptist's fire
imagery as a way of understanding his own anticipated death - that
is, as suffering the messianic woes (Luke i2.49f./Mark 10.38f.; so
also the imagery of the cup of God's wrath - Mark 10.38f.; 14.36;
cf. 14.27); that is to say, he quite probably saw his death as the
necessary antecedent to the coming of the kingdom (cf. Mark 14.25
pars.).
In addition Jesus seems to have seen eschatological salvation as
primarily Israel centred (Matt. 10.5f., 23; 15.24), though he fully
expected that the Gentiles would be brought into the kingdom in the
End, and by no means necessarily on inferior terms (Matt. 8.1 if./
Luke 13.28L; Mark 1 1 . 1 7 pars. = Isa. 56.7). So too the hope of the
end events typical of apocalypses are again not so marked in Jesus'
teaching. However, in view of the evident influence of apocalyptic
thought on Jesus' expectations for the future, there is no real reason
why he should not have expressed his hope of his own vindication a
short time after his death in terms of resurrection also (Mark 8.31;
9.31; 10.34; see further above p.227) - that is, as part of the beginning
of the resurrection of the dead at the end of time ushering in the new
age (see also below pp352f.).
(d) It also looks very much as though Jesus thought the End was
imminent (Mark 1 . 1 5 ; Matt. 10.7/Luke 10.9, 1 1 ) , within the lifetime
of his own generation (Mark 9.1 pars.; 1 3 . 3 0 pars. - where 'this
generation' can only refer to the contemporaries of Jesus), before
the disciples had completed the round of preaching to Israel (Matt.
1 0 . 2 3 ) . Hence the sense of urgency and crisis in so many of Jesus'
sayings and parables (Mark 13.28L pars.; 1 3 . 3 4 - 3 6 pars.; Matt.
5-25f./Luke 12.58L; Matt. 8.22/Luke 9.60; Matt. 2443f./Luke
12.39L; Matt. 24.45-5i/Luke 1 2 . 4 2 - 4 6 ; Matt. 2 5 . 1 - 1 2 ; Luke
9.61L; 10.4; 12.36; 1 3 . 1 - 5 ; 18.7L; see above p.79), and the vow to
fast in Mark 14.25 (see above p. 177). It is not possible to excise such
a well rooted strand without seriously distorting the Jesus-tradition.
The counter emphasis of Mark 1 3 . 1 0 is about as clear an example of
20

20. See particularly W. G. Kummel, 'Eschatological Expectation in the Proclamation of

Jesus' (1964), FRP, pp. 2 9 - 4 8 .

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[67.2

an interpretative addition in the light of a changed perspective as we

could expect to find in the Synoptic tradition (see above p. 80).
(e) The supernatural and cosmic dimensions of the end events are
again not so clearly marked in Jesus' teaching as in apocalyptic.
However, it is significant that in the only really clear allusion to Jesus
as a visionary, Jesus 'saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven' (Luke
1 0 . 1 8 ) . The only other possible candidates for visions of Jesus are his
experience at Jordan, the account of which uses the apocalyptic
imagery of the heavens opening to afford a heavenly revelation (Mark
i.iof. pars.), and the temptation narrative in which Jesus again sees,
encounters and defeats Satan (Matt. 4 . 1 - n / L u k e 4 . 1 - 1 2 ; see also
above p.200). Moreover, Jesus evidently understood events on earth
as reflecting supernatural conflict, at least to the extent that he
regarded his casting out of demons as the beginning of Satan's eschatological defeat (Mark 3.27 pars.). And he probably saw the climax
of the end events as the coming from heaven of (himself as) the Son
of Man, deliberately echoing the apocalyptic language of Dan. 7
(Mark 8.38 pars.; etc.). Note also the language of Mark 1 3 . 2 4 - 2 7
which probably belongs to the earliest stratum of the Mark 1 3 dis
course, the so-called 'little apocalypse'.
(/) Finally we need simply note that Jesus' technical term 'the king
dom of God? in itself underlines his belief not only in its transcendent
character, but also in the divine sovereignty which controls events
leading to its full establishment (cf. also e.g. Matt. 6.9-13/Luke
1 1 . 2 - 4 ; Mark 14.36 pars.).
In short, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that Jesus' expectation
of the future kingdom was apocalyptic in character. However, there
are two features of Jesus' preaching at this point which mark Jesus'
apocalypticism off from more typical contemporary apocalypses.
First, there was what we might call a cautionary note in his teaching
on the future. That is to say, like some apocalyptists, he seems to
have contemplated an interval of time before the End, during which
several decisive developments had still to take place - not least his
own death and vindication, his disciples' final appeal to Israel, their
persecution and the end-time tribulation. But in addition Jesus did
not follow typical apocalyptic practice in drawing up a calendar (of
days or weeks) of the End. On the contrary, he specifically denied the
possibility of calculating such a timetable - 'Of that day or that hour
no one knows . . . only the Father' (Mark 1 3 . 3 2 ) . In other words,
for Jesus there was an element of unknowability and therefore of
21

2 1 . See particularly W . G. Kummel, Promise and Fulfilment, 1 9 5 6 , E T S C M Press

i 9 6 i , pp. 6 4 - 8 3 .

67.2.]

'Apocalyptic - the mother of all Christian theology'? 3 5 1

uncertainty about the End; its coming was not so rigorously predeter
mined as most apocalyptists seem to have believed. As God could
shorten the period of eschatological distress (Mark 1 3 . 2 0 par.; Luke
i8.7f.) so it was conceivable that he could lengthen the time of respite,
the final period of grace, the last chance to repent (Luke 1 3 . 6 - 9 ) .
This does not alter the conclusion that Jesus expected the End as
imminent, but it does qualify it to some extent.
Second, what marks Jesus' teaching off most distinctively from
other apocalyptic eschatology is its clear note of realized eschatology
- that the eschatological kingdom was already in some sense present
and active in and through his ministry. This forms a decisive break
with the apocalypticism of Jesus' time. Kasemann indeed believed
that this is so much the distinctive feature of Jesus' teaching that it
sets Jesus wholly outside the framework of apocalyptic thought: 'His
own preaching was not constitutively stamped by apocalyptic but
proclaimed the immediate nearness of God'. The passages in the
Synoptic tradition which speak of an imminent End belong not to the
message of Jesus, but to the preaching of the primitive Christian
community, to the post-Easter enthusiasm for the parousia, wherein
the primitive community resorted again to apocalyptic terms and 'in
a certain sense' supplanted Jesus' preaching of 'the nearness of God'.
Kasemann however has undoubtedly overstated his case. Such a
complete discontinuity between an apocalyptic John the Baptist, a
wow-apocalyptic Jesus, and an apocalyptic primitive community is
scarcely credible. Moreover, the apocalyptic language and imagery
is so pervasive in the Jesus-tradition, as we have seen above, that it
can hardly be removed, just as it could hardly have been added,
without altering the character of Jesus' message drastically and com
pletely (not merely 'in a certain sense'). The fact is that Kasemann
has failed to grasp the nature of the present-future tension in Jesus'
preaching. The 'immediate nearness of God' is not something other
than the presence of the kingdom in eschatological blessing, and the
presence of the kingdom was precisely the end-time power already
entering the present age and presaging the imminent coming of the
kingdom in eschatological finality (see also above PP.14L, and 229).
To sum up then, we must resist the temptation to cut and run in
the face of the challenge which Weiss and Schweitzer still pose to
22

23

24

2 2 . Jeremias, Theology, I, pp. i39f.; cf. A . L. Moore, The Parousia in the New Testa
ment, SNT, XIII, 1966, pp. 2 0 5 ^
2 3 . Kasemann in Funk, Apocalypticism, p. 40, and NTQT, p. 1 0 2 ; Cf. E. Linnemann,
'Zeitansage und Zeitvorstellung in der Verkndigung Jesu', JCHT, pp. 2 3 7 - 6 3 .
24. Koch, Apocalyptic, p. 78; W. Schmithals, 'Jesus und die Apokalyptik', JCHT,
pp. 6 4 - 9 .

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[67.3

twentieth-century theology, the temptation to resort to a neoLiberalism which stresses only that strand in Jesus' teaching which is
most easily translatable into modern terms. Dogmatic theologizing
and contemporary apologetic must not dictate to historical research
what itsfindingsshould be, but must do their best with what historical
research does find. And at this point the conclusion is to be neither
weakened nor avoided that Jesus not only proclaimed God's eschatological power as already active hut proclaimed also the final consum
mation of God's purpose for the world as imminent and did so in the
language of apocalyptic eschatology. To that extent the message of
Jesus is part of the trajectory linking Jewish and Christian apocalyp
ticism.
67.3 The primitive Christian community. The earliest days of Christ
ianity proper were marked by a high degree of eschatological fervency,
as most historical researchers agree. This is less easy to document
than the eschatological character of Jesus' message (67.2) or of the
early preaching of Paul (68.1). For his own reasons Luke has chosen
to ignore or suppress this important aspect of earliest Christianity
(see below p.380) - so, for example, there were many visionaries and
visions (not least of angels) in thefirstfew years, but in Luke's account
only a handful could begin to warrant the description 'apocalyptic'
(Acts 1 . 9 - 1 1 ; 7-55f.; cf. 2.2f.; 1 0 . 1 0 - 1 6 ; 26. 1 3 - 1 9 ) . Nevertheless
there are sufficient other indications of the apocalyptic enthusiasm of
thefirstChristians.
{a) It cannot be insignificant that they found it necessary to use the
apocalyptic category of resurrection to express their new faith (see
above p.233). Evidently they believed that Jesus' resurrection was
the beginning of the resurrection of the dead, the first sheaf of the
eschatological harvest now being reaped (Rom. i. f.; I Cor. 15.20,
23; cf. Matt. 27.52^) - a belief and metaphor (first fruits) which Paul
can hardly have coined for the first time twenty years after the event
and which must have been part of the initial enthusiasm: Jesus has
been raised from the dead - the resurrection of the dead has begun.
Thus they believed also that they stood in 'the last days', leading up
to the last day, as predicted by Joel (Acts z.iyf.; Joel 2.28-32). They
had reached the climactic point of God's purpose for Israel: they were
the eschatological Israel, the people of the new covenant inaugurated
25

26

25. See more fully Dunn, Jesus, pp. 1 5 8 - 6 2 . The preceding sentence betrays the older
definition of 'apocalyptic' on which the chapter was originally structured; all visions of
heaven or of heavenly beings can properly be described as 'apocalyptic' (Rowland).
26. Cf. W . Pannenberg, Revelation as History, 1 9 6 1 , E T Macmillan 1968, pp. i4iff.

67.3]

'Apocalyptic

- the mother of all Christian theology'? 353

by the death and resurrection of Jesus (Mark 1 4 . 2 2 - 2 5 pars.; I Cor.

n.23ff.); their representatives, 'the twelve' (reconstituted with the
election of Matthias in Judas's place - Acts 1 . 1 5 - 2 6 ) , would soon
take up their role as judges of Israel in thefinaljudgment itself (Matt.
19.28/Luke 22.29f.).
(b) Evidently too they lived in daily expectation of the parousia of
Jesus. This is clearly implied: by the primitive invocation preserved
by Paul in its original Aramaic in I Cor. 16.22 - 'Our Lord, come!
(cf. James 5.7L; Rev. 22.20); by the primitive kerygmatic formulation
embedded in Luke's account of Peter's second sermon - if his hearers
repented God would send the Christ from heaven (Acts 3 . 1 9 - 2 1 ) ;
and by the hope of the soon coming of Jesus as the Son of Man
preserved in Q (Luke i2.8f./(Matt. 10.32L); Luke n.3o/(Matt.
12.40); Matt. 24.27/Luke 17.24; Matt. 24.37/Luke 17.26; Luke
i7.3o/(Matt. 24.39); Matt. 24.44/Luke 12.40). The degree of rework
ing to which this Son of Man tradition has been subjected (cf. above
pp.37, 233) indicates that it was a topic of vital interest and concern
in the earliest churches; it is not without significance that according
to tradition both Stephen and James (the brother of Jesus) summed
up their faith at the point of crisis by reference to the (coming) Son
of Man (Acts 7.56; Eusebius, HE, II.23.13). Similarly the more likely
it is that Mark 1 3 is the product of a lengthy development, the
dominant view in recent redactional studies, the more difficult it is
to escape the conclusion that there was a continuing eschatological
speculation of considerable vigour and influence within earliest
Christianity. It is almost certainly within the context of such eschatol
ogical enthusiasm that we have to understand the so-called 'com
munity of goods' (Acts 2.44L; 4.32-37) - that is, not as a careless
enterprise (they disposed of their capital goods, not merely their
income) on the part of those who anticipated many years of evangel
ism ahead of them, but as a policy which disdained the needs of the
present age in view of the imminent End of the present age itself.
27

(c) Finally we might recall to what extent the earliest community's

common life seems to have revolved round the temple (above
PP.256L). Evidently the first Christians' hope for eschatological
renewal centred on Mount Zion and on an eschatologically renewed
or rebuilt temple (as in Tob. 14.4L; I Enoch 9o.28f.; 9 1 . 1 3 ; Test. Ben.
9.2; Sib. Or. III. 7 1 8 , 772ff.; Ass. Mos. i.i7f.; II Bar. 4.2-7; 6.7L;
27. See particularly L. Hartmann, Prophecy Interpreted, Uppsala 1966; J . Lambrecht,
Die Redaktion der Markus-Apokalypse, Analecta Biblica 28, Rome 1967; R. Pesch, Naherwartungen: Tradition und Redaktion in Markus 1 3 , Dusseldorf 1968; L. Gaston, No Stone
on Another, SNT, XXIII, 1 9 7 0 , ch. II; though see also D. Wenham, The Rediscovery of
Jesus' Eschatological Discourse, J S O T Press 1 9 8 4 .

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[67.3

28

IV Ezra 7.26; 8.52; 1 0 . 2 5 - 5 7 ; and at Qumran ). This no doubt is

the significance they attached to Jesus' 'cleansing of the temple' (Mark
1 1 . 1 7 = Isa. 56.7; Mai. 3.1) and why the puzzling word of Jesus
about the destruction and rebuilding of the temple (Mark 14.58;
15.29; John 2.19) was preserved among the first Christians - an
important part of their self-understanding as the representatives of
eschatological Israel. This is no doubt why too they evidently did not
stir from Jerusalem in the early months and why Stephen's alternative
interpretation of that saying met with such hostility from them (see
above pp. 29 2ff.). The same Israel centredness of their eschatological
concern is also reflected in the question preserved in Acts 1.6 - 'Lord,
will you at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?' - a question
which has an odd ring in the context of Luke's de-eschatologized
history, but which rings true in the circumstances as we have outlined
them above; and note again Matt. 1 0 . 2 3 .
In short, the perspective of the earliest Christian church (es) seems
to have been very narrow indeed: they were already in the last days
leading up to the last day, they stood in the final climactic period of
history, at the edge of the End, the final swing of the pendulum had
already begun. To the extent that they looked back to the resurrection
as already begun in the resurrection of Jesus, and to Jesus as Messiah
and Son of Man already during his earthly ministry, to that extent
the note of realized eschatology so distinctive of Jesus was certainly
present; on the other hand, so far as we can tell, the cautionary note
also present in Jesus' teaching seems to have been almost wholly
swamped by the eschatological fervour for the imminent End. It is
well to remind ourselves that we are talking here of the mother church
of all Christianity - that Christianity began as an eschatological sect
within Judaism, a sect which in its apocalypticism was in substantial
continuity with the messages both of John the Baptist and of Jesus.
And since this is where Christianity all began, to that extent Kasemann is correct: 'apocalyptic was the mother of all Christian theology'.
29

28. See J . T. Milik, Ten Years of Discovery in the Wilderness of Judaea, 1 9 5 7 , E T S C M

Press 1 9 5 9 , pp. 4if.
29. See also W. Thusing, Erhhungsvorstellung und Parusieerwartung in der ltesten
nachsterlichen Christologie, Stuttgarter Bibelstudien 4 2 , 1 9 6 9 . But I. H. Marshall, 'Is
Apocalyptic the Mother of Christian Theology?', Tradition and Interpretation in the New
Testament, E. E . Ellis Festschrift, ed. G. F. Hawthorne, Eerdmans 1 9 8 7 , p p . 3 3 - 4 2 , dis
counts the evidence overmuch in his attempt to dispute the intensity of the imminent
expectation of the earliest believers.

68.i]

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68.

APOCALYPTIC

L I T E R A T U R E IN

THE

355

NEW

TESTAMENT

The trajectory of apocalyptic Christianity is most easily traced

through the first century by referring to the literature which makes
up the NT. It has left a literary deposit at three points in particular I and II Thessalonians, the so-called Markan apocalypse (Mark 13)
and the apocalypse of John (Revelation).
68.1 J and II Thessalonians. It will occasion no surprise, in view of
67 above, that (probably) the earliest N T documents, though not
apocalypses as such, have characteristic apocalyptic features (see par
ticularly I Thess. 1.9L; 4 . 1 3 - 5 . 1 1 , 23; II Thess. 1 . 4 - 1 0 ; 2 . 1 - 1 2 ) . It
is not to be disputed that in Thessalonica at least Paul's preaching
was marked by apocalyptic eschatology - as Paul himself reminds his
Thessalonian converts in II Thess. 2.5 (see further below). In particu
lar, the expectation of an imminent parousia was a prominent feature:
it was well known that the Thessalonians' turning to God had been
a turning to await the parousia, the coming of Jesus which would
deliver them from the eschatological wrath and judgment of God
(I Thess. 1.9L). Evidently Paul's proclamation had led his converts to
believe that the eschatological climax was very imminent indeed. That
was why the death of some of the Thessalonian Christians since Paul's
visit was causing some bewilderment. So far as Paul personally was
concerned there was no real problem, and his own expectation of an
imminent End was scarcely diminished: many of them, he was clearly
convinced, would still be alive to greet Christ on his return (I Thess.
4.15,1755.23).
The parousia itself he describes in distinctive apocalyptic language
- as a descending from heaven, with archangels and clouds, with loud
shouts and trumpet blasts, and the resurrection of the dead (I Thess.
4.if.); it would come without warning, bringing destruction for the
unprepared, sudden and terrible, the birth pangs of the new age, 'and
there will be no escape' (I Thess. 5.2L). We may note also how much
of this apocalyptic anticipation seems to have been fed by prophecy
(I Thess. 5.19L), and that 'the word of the Lord' in 4.15 was in all
probability itself a prophetic utterance in a Pauline assembly, an
oracle which clarified the apocalyptic hope in relation to those con
verts who had already died. In short, not only does the oldest text in
30

30. On the eschatological significance of the trumpet see G. Friedrich, TDNT, VII,
p.

84.

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[68.1

the N T itself demonstrate distinctively apocalyptic features, but it

also reveals clearly how markedly apocalyptic was the teaching and
hope of the early Pauline churches. If I Thessalonians is not necessarily
wholly typical at this point, it cannot be wholly untypical either;
apocalyptic eschatology was an integral feature of the early Christian
expansion beyond the confines of Palestine.
II Thessalonians is even more interesting. Paul (and I see no signifi
cant reason to deny the letter to Paul) reaffirms his expectation of
an imminent parousia and again paints it in apocalyptic colours
(II Thess. 1 . 4 - 1 0 ) . Notice particularly, he seems to think that the
suffering his Thessalonian converts were already experiencing was
part or the beginning of the messianic woes (so also I. Thess. 3.3^) the tribulation believers must endure before the kingdom, the new
age fully comes - at which time the Lord would be revealed from
heaven with his mighty angels in blazing fire, bringing relief to the
believers and inflicting vengeance upon all who had persecuted them
and refused to acknowledge God or obey his gospel.
II Thess. 2 . 1 - 1 2 holds the chief interest for us, since it demonstrates
both the extent to which Paul at this stage was prepared to think and
teach in typically apocalyptic language, and also how conscious Paul
was of the danger of eschatological enthusiasm getting out of hand.
Evidently prophecies had been made in the Thessalonian assemblies
and reports or letters received to the effect that the day of the Lord
was already present (2.2). What the Thessalonians understood this to
mean is far from clear, and Paul's initial response is a tantalizingly
unfinished sentence (2.3). But the result seems to have been quite
a feverish frenzy and alarm (2.2), with many of the new converts
abandoning their work and employment (so as to be ready? - 3 . 6 1 2 ) . Paul's response has three strands. First, he warns them that
prophecy can deceive and correspondence be forged - don't accept
uncritically all you hear or read, however inspired sounding or auth
oritatively written! Second, he reminds them of what he had already
told them - that there would be a necessary interval before the End:
the opposition to God which they were already experiencing (i.sff.)
mustfirstrise to a climax with the appearance of 'the man of lawless
ness' (2.3^). It was true that 'the mystery of lawlessness' ('the secret
power of wickedness' - NEB) was already present (2.7); the last revolt
against God was already under way - the End was imminent. But the
31

3 1 . See particularly Kummel, Introduction, pp. 2 6 4 - 9 ; R- Jewett, The Thessalonian

Correspondence, Fortress 1 9 8 6 . Otherwise see now particularly G. S. Holland, The Tra
dition that You Received from Us: 2 Thessalonians in the Pauline Tradition, Tubingen
1988.

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357

rebellion against God had still to come to full expression - there was
a 'restraining hand' (to katechon) which held back the full intensity
of the flood of wickedness and end-time tribulation (2.6f.). Only
when it had been removed would the lawless man appear in all his
power and deceit {2..9L) and be destroyed by the parousia (2.8). Third,
Paul insists that the normal business of life must be pursued while the
parousia is awaited: those who refuse to work - that is, presumably,
who insist on standing around in readiness for the End - must not
expect support from any common funds (3.10).
Particularly striking in this passage is the strong influence of classi
cal Jewish apocalyptic imagery, (a) 'The man of lawlessness', 'the son
of perdition' reflects a Jewish apocalyptic world view, where the
eschatological opposition to God was often represented by a single
figure - Satan, or a dragon, or in human form as a tyrant or prophet
hostile to God (the closest parallel is Sib. Or. III.63-70). In
II Thessalonians 'the man of lawlessness' is the Christian equivalent.
We should notice that he is not properly speaking an anti-Christ
figure, the opponent and opposite pole to Christ; in II Thess. 2 he
opposes God. Here Christian thought has taken over the Jewish con
cept, but has not yet developed it into the more distinctively Christian
idea of anti-Christ; that idea as such only appears in the Johannine
letters and Revelation (I John 2 . 1 8 , 22; 4.3; II John 7; cf. Rev. 1 3 ; 1 7 ) .
(b) The supreme blasphemy of 'the man of lawlessness' is his taking
his seat in the temple of God and proclaiming himself to be God
(II Thess. 2.4). In Jewish thought the classical type of opposition to
God was the descration of the temple by Antiochus Epiphanes (Dan.
9.27; 1 1 . 3 1 ; 1 2 . 1 1 ; I Mace. 1.54). It is evidently this that Paul has in
mind, as the probable allusion to Dan. 1 1 . 3 6 confirms. Here then is
Christianity, already spread into Europe, but still depicting the final
rebellion in terms of Jewish apocalyptic fears regarding the Jerusalem
temple.
(c) Also very marked is the esoteric character - a typical apocalyptic
stylistic feature, as we saw above (p.3 40). 'The man of lawlessness'
is obscure enough, but 'that which restrains' (to katechon) and 'the
restrainer' (ho katechon) are obviously a deliberately veiled reference
which the readers presumably could decode without too much diffi
culty, but which we certainly cannot.
32

32. It is far from clear what to katechon, ho katechon mean; suggestions include the
Roman state, a divine or heavenly power, the gospel, and even (very unlikely) Paul himself.
See particularly C. H. Giblin, The Threat to Faith: an exegetical and theological re
examination of II Thessalonians z, Analecta Biblica 3 1 , Rome 1 9 6 7 , pp. 1 6 7 - 2 4 2 ; Best,
Thessalonians, pp. 2 9 5 - 3 0 2 .

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[68.1

(d) Finally we might note the ethical exhortations in view of the

imminent denouement (I Thess. 5 . 1 - 1 1 ; II Thess. 2 . 1 5 ; 3 . 6 - 1 3 ) another feature characteristic of Jewish apocalypses (p. 340). The
eschatological hope should not mean a slackening of moral effort; on
the contrary it should mean all the greater watchfulness. It is this
combination of imminent expectation and moral earnestness which
marked off the enthusiasm of apocalyptic Christianity so clearly from
the enthusiasm of Hellenistic Christianity.
In short, here we have a Christian document, about twenty years
after the first burst of apocalyptic enthusiasm which launched the
new sect in Jerusalem, and with the Gentile mission already well
under way, and the hope of an imminent end still burns brightly and is
still expressed in language and imagery typical of Jewish apocalyptic.
At the same time distinctively Christian features have clearly
emerged (1) Notice particularly that the divine agent who will bring
about the End is identified with Jesus. This is what distinguishes
Christian from Jewish apocalyptic eschatology. In the latter the same
obscurity veils the apocalyptist's vision of the agent of God as veils
his vision of the opponents of God. But in the apocalyptic expectation
of I and II Thessalonians the vision has come to focus and no doubt
remains - the one who will intervene to institute judgment, destroy
the man of lawlessness and save his persecuted people is a heavenly
figure whose identity is already known as one who previously walked
this earth, 'the Lord Jesus'. (2) The element of realized eschatology is
not prominent; presumably the expectation of an imminent parousia
drowned its note - though in Paul's later writings it comes to steadily
increasing prominence (see below 7 1 . 1 ) . But the cautionary note of
Jesus' preaching is certainly present: to katechon is still operative; the
flood of end-time evil and tribulation is still quite a way short of its
peak; Paul refuses to be drawn into speculation about the dates and
times of the end events (I Thess. 5.1). This note of sobriety remains an
integral part of apocalyptic thought within the NT. At the same time
we should note the significance of the fact that Paul does not meet the
Thessalonian abuse of eschatology by abandoning eschatology, but
simply by spelling out the apocalyptic hope more fully. At this stage
anyway (nearly twenty years after his conversion) apocalyptic escha
tology remained integral to his message and his hope?
3

3 3 . On I Cor. 1 5 . 2 0 - 2 8 see the studies of E. Schweizer, 'I Korinther 1 5 . 2 0 - 2 8 als

Zeugnis paulinischer Eschatologie und ihrer Verwandschaft mit der Verkndigung Jesu',
JuP, pp. 3 0 1 - 1 4 ; J . Baumgarten, Paulus und die Apokalyptik, Neukirchen 1 9 7 5 , PP- 99~
106; L. J . Kreitzer, Jesus and God in Paul's Eschatology, J S O T Press 1 9 8 7 .

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68.2 Mark 1 3 is not an apocalypse either but a composite of indi

vidual sayings of Jesus and interpretative and editorial additions,
infused with an apocalyptic eschatology (see above p. 353 n.27).
How much goes back to Jesus is a matter of considerable dispute (cf.
67.2 above); but here we are concerned with the passage as a com
plete whole. Mark presents the whole discourse as an elaboration of
Jesus' prophetic utterance concerning the destruction of the temple 'Not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down'
(13.2). The disciples then ask, 'When will this happen? What will be
the sign when the fulfilment of all this is at hand?' (13.4). The dis
course is Jesus' reply.
[a) Notice the typical apocalyptic elements: v.4 - 'when all these
things are to be accomplished (sunteleisthai)}\ where the equivalent
noun phrase, sunteleia (tou aidnos), as in Matt. 24.3, is a technical
apocalyptic term, particularly in Daniel and the Testaments of the
Twelve Patriarchs, to denote the End; vv.7f. - world-wide turmoil,
wars and natural disasters, 'the beginning of the birth pangs' (of the
new age), that is, the messianic woes; vv.9-13 - severe affliction and
persecution for the disciples, including the characteristic apocalyptic
foreboding of internecine family strife (references above p.348); v.14
- the esoteric sign, 'the desolating sacrilege', an allusion again to
Antiochus Epiphanes' profanity in erecting an altar to Zeus in the
temple in 168 B C (references above p.357) - notice Mark's cryptic
decoding signal ('let the reader understand'); vv.14-20 - the urgency
and unprecedented anguish of the final tribulation; vv.24-27 - the
cosmic dimensions of the messianic woes, the whole of creation in
labour to bring the new age to birth, including the coming of the Son
of Man 'in clouds with great power and glory' (cf. Dan. 7 . 1 3 ^ ) ;
vv.28-30 - the imminence of these events of the End, 'at the very
gates', within this very generation; vv.33-37 - exhortations to be
ready.
(b) It is fairly clear from this chapter that Mark saw the destruction
of Jerusalem and the temple as part of the messianic woes, the birth
pangs of the new age (probably reflecting and elaborating Jesus' own
expectations about the End - above 67.2). The dating of the Gospel
is uncertain, but the strongest probability remains that Mark was
writing prior to the fall of Jerusalem, though at a time when this
catastrophe was beginning to loom large on the horizon - that is,
about the middle of the 60s. In which case, he evidently anticipated
34

35

34. See G. Dalman, The Words of Jesus, E T T. & T. Clark 1902, pp. 1 5 5 ^ ; G. Delling,
TD NT, VIII, pp. 65L On the echoes of Daniel in Mark 1 3 see Hartmann, Prophecy, ch. V.
3 5 . Cf. Strack-Billerbeck, I, pp. 950.

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that the desecration of the temple would mark the beginning of the
End. Notice, for example, the warnings against false prophets and
false messiahs which take up such a prominent place in the discourse
(vv.5f., 2if.); the fact that Mark places these warningsfirstand then
repeats them implies that this was a real and pressing threat; and we
know from Josephus that not a few such claimants disturbed and
incited Palestine in the 50s and 60s. Likewise vv.Oyff. in Mark's mind
probably refer to the very bitter antagonism which grew up between
the different parties within Judaism as the national crisis heightened.
We do not know what role, if any, the Christian communities in
Palestine played in all this, but it is likely that they were caught up in
the cross-fire to some extent at least. Some no doubt favoured the
militants, but others would be more quietist in their apocalyptic hope
of Jesus' return, and consequently leave themselves open to the charge
of being unpatriotic, etc. Notice particularly v. 13 b - in Mark's presen
tation the suffering referred to would continue right to the End; in
effect the passage is saying, 'Hang on! the End is near!'. Verses i4ff.
obviously refer to the inevitable attack on Jerusalem. And, above all,
v.24 links all thisfirmlywith the cosmic catastrophes of the End itself
- 'But in those days (which cannot refer to anything other than the
events described in the first half of the chapter - note particularly
vv.17, i9f.), after that tribulation, the sun will be darkened . ..' and
the Son of Man come. In short, Mark, in typical apocalyptic fashion,
writes in a context of mounting crisis which he sees as building up to
the final crisis of the End, and his purpose here at least is to warn
and encourage his readers to recognize the true nature of the crisis
and to endure to the End.
36

(c) At the same time we can see the same two distinctively Christian
elements as we noticed in II Thessalonians. First, the apocalyptic
expectation is related to Christ. It is his prediction; warnings against
false christs are given a prominent position and repeated; the Son of
Man is obviously in Mark's mind to be identified with Christ; and
'the desolating sacrilege' (a neuter concept to which he attaches a
masculine participle) he probably associated with anti-Christ - 'The
verse evidently treats of an adversary raised to titanic proportions, in
contrast to which the false messiahs (vv.2if.) are, so to speak, but
"forerunners" \
Second, the apocalyptic enthusiasm is kept within firm bounds;
there is a distinct cautionary note in the whole discourse which is
designed to prevent the reader from building his hopes too high. Verse
3 7

36. Josephus, Beil., II. 2 5 8 - 6 3 ; V I . 2 8 5 - 3 1 5 .

37. W. Marxsen, Mark the Evangelist, 1 9 5 6 , E T Abingdon 1969, pp. i85f.

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7 - . . but the end is not yet'; v.8 - 'these are the beginning of the
sufferings/messianic woes' - the final events are beginning, but only
beginning; v. 1 0 - 'the gospel must first be preached to all nations' (a
task already well under way but not yet complete); v.24 - 'after that
tribulation'; v.32 - 'of that day or that hour no one knows, not even
the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father'. Within this
generation, yes (v.30), but not necessarily immediately. The recog
nition of this cautionary note incidentally helps us to understand the
function of all the various 'signs of the End' in Mark 1 3 . They were
not given to enable the reader to compute the date and hour of the
Son of Man's coming; they were listed rather to encourage the reader
who was already in the midst of these tribulations, to assure him that
his sufferings were part of the messianic woes, that the End could not
be too far distant - 'Hold on! Endure to the End!'
The importance of the cautionary element is of course given added
point by the fact that Jerusalem fell and the temple was destroyed
(AD 70) and yet the End did not come. This would obviously cause
problems for the later Evangelists in their use of Mark 1 3 . In particu
lar we shall see below how Luke reinterpreted Mark 1 3 by disen
tangling what for Mark (and probably Jesus) were a single complex
of events (destruction of temple and parousia) and by separating them
into two distinct events (p. 3 79). In other words, for Luke there was
both an element of fulfilment of the earlier apocalyptic hope: Jerusa
lem had fallen, the temple had been destroyed - 'the desolating sacri
lege' had been decoded by the event as the siege of Jerusalem by
(Roman) armies (Luke 21.20). At the same time the apocalyptic hope
is reaffirmed afresh: the cautionary element already present in Mark
is extended to break the link between the destruction of Jerusalem
and the parousia precisely so that the parousia hope can be reaffirmed
afresh (21.27L, 3if.; note also 1 7 . 2 2 - 1 8 . 8 ) . The point which we
must note now is that despite the lack of fulfilment of the apocalyptic
hope of Mark (and of Jesus) Luke does not abandon the apocalyptic
discourse; rather he reinterprets it in the light of unfulfilled expec
tation without abandoning the hope it expresses.
38

68.3 Revelation, {a) The Apocalypse of John obviously stands firmly

within the tradition of apocalyptic literature. It is essentially a tran
script of John's visions, and is built round three seven-fold visions seven seals ( 5 . 1 - 8 . 1 ) , seven trumpets ( 8 . 2 - 9 . 2 1 , 1 1 . 1 5 - 1 9 ) and seven
38. Cf. E. Franklin, Christ the Lord: a Study in the Purpose and Theology of Luke-Acts,
SPCK 1 9 7 5 , pp. 1 2 - 2 1 . Other references in C. H. Talbert, 'Shifting Sands: the Recent
Study of the Gospel of Luke', Interpretation, 30, 1 9 7 6 , p. 386 n. 3 8 .

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[68.3

bowls ( 1 5 - 1 6 ) . Note also the repeated phrase 'in the Spirit' ( 1 . 1 0 ;

4.2; 1 7 . 3 ; 2 1 . 1 0 ) . It is full of fantastic imagery typical of apocalypses:
for example, 1 . 1 6 - 'one like a son of man' (Dan. 7.13) holding seven
stars in his hand, and with a two edged sword coming from his
mouth; 4.6 - round the throne four living creatures covered with eyes
in front and behind; 5.6 - a lamb with seven horns and seven eyes;
9-7ff. - most fearsome locusts; 9.i7ff. - apocalyptic horsemen; etc.
Prominent also are visions of world wide turmoil and cosmic catas
trophe - particularly the visions of the trumpets (8) and the bowls
(16). Numbers obviously play an important role, particularly the
number seven - seven seals, seven trumpets, seven bowls, etc.; but
also three, four and twelve; 666, the number of the beast ( 1 3 . 1 8 ) ;
and 1260 days = 42 months = 3V2 years (n.2f; 12.6, 14; 13.5) - by
now a stereotyped apocalyptic number which goes back to Dan. 1 2 . 7 .
Revelation is firmly in the tradition of apocalyptic literature too in
that it has clearly been born out of crisis. John believed that the final
tribulation was already upon them: it had already claimed not a few
victims (2.13; 6.9), and it would soon reach world wide proportions
(3.10; cf. 2.10; 6.10; 16.6; 18.24; 19.2; 20.4). He was most probably
referring to the increasingly sharp confrontation between Christianity
and the imperial cult which marked the final years of Emperor Domitian's reign (AD 93-96). Emperor worship had been practised in Asia
Minor since the time of Augustus, but it was only under Domitian,
who took his divinity more seriously than most of his predecessors,
that Christians (and others) began systematically to be persecuted for
failure to pay him the divine honours he required of his subjects.
Most commentators recognize this as the most likely background to
Revelation, with Rome and the emperor pictured in terms of a fear
some beast who demanded men's worship (13.4, 1 2 - 1 5 ; 4-9
16.2; 19.20). Whether we should actually identify Domitian as the
eighth king of 1 7 . 1 1 is a much more disputed issue, but one whose
outcome does not affect the point here. The point is that John writes
against the backcloth of a mounting persecution which he believed
was building up to the final climax of evil and tribulation.
39

One thing does distinguish Revelation from earlier apocalypses namely the fact that the author writes under his own name - he does
not use a pseudonym ( 1 . 1 , 4, 9; 22.8). This may be because, unlike
his predecessors, he is not attempting to survey past history from an
even earlier standpoint - although 1 7 . 1 0 could be read as an attempt
to present his writing as contemporaneous with an earlier emperor,
probably Vespasian (AD 69-79), and the bulk of the book does appear
39. Dio Cassius 6 7 . 1 4 . 1 - 3 ; Eusebius, HE, IV.26.9.

68.3]

Apocalyptic literature in the New Testament

33

to consist of three or four surveys of the End period, from the first
advent of Jesus to his final triumph ( 6 . 1 - 8 . 1 ; 8 - 1 1 ; 1 2 - 1 4 ; 5 6 ) .
But John evidently saw himself as nearing the climax of the End and
was not disposed to cloak that fact. Hence too there is no command
to seal up the revelation, 'till the time of the End', as in Dan. 8.26,
12.9 - the crisis was too pressing, too final for such artifice, the End
was already at hand (Rev. 22.10). And similarly he is not concerned
to veil his meaning by using elaborate symbolic visions which only
the initiated could decipher; to be sure we today have little certainty
about the precise reference of the beast whose number is 666 ( 1 3 . 1 8 ) ,
but the woman on the beast is clearly Rome and John does not care
who knows it (17.9, 18).
Nevertheless, other characteristics of apocalyptic literature are so
marked that it would be pusillanimous to deny Revelation's place
within the apocalyptic genre.
(b) The main theological characteristics of apocalyptic are also
present in Revelation. This will already be sufficiently obvious from
the details given above. Here we need only highlight a few others. (1)
Notice particularly the apocalyptic dualism. The real struggle is not
so much between the churches and the pagan powers as between
Christ and Satan. Moreover, John has no hope for this world; all he
foresees for it is destruction. His own hope is focused in heaven, and
on the new heaven and the new earth, on the new Jerusalem which
will come down from heaven ( 2 1 - 2 2 ) . The theme is not unfamiliar
to apocalyptic eschatology (see above pp.3 53L), but more clearly than
any other apocalyptist John has transfigured the hope of an eschaton
focused on Mount Zion into the vision of a heavenly Jerusalem,
representative of the rebirth of the whole of creation. (2) The mes
sianic woes, the tribulation of the saints, are a feature to which we
have already alluded (above p.362). The present persecution suffered
or about to be suffered by John and his readers is 'the great tribula
tion' (7.14; see also e.g. ii-7f.; 13.7), the great tribulation of the
end-time. But fear not, comforts John, the seal of God is upon you
( 7 . 1 - 8 ; 9.4). (3) The expectation of the End as imminent is given
particular emphasis by its prominence at both beginning and end: 1 . 1
- 'what must shortly take place'; 1.3 - 'the time is near', 1 . 7 - 'he is
coming with clouds'; 3 . 1 1 - 'I am coming soon'; 22.10 - 'the time is
near'; 22.20 - 'He who testifies to these things says, "Yes, I am coming
soon". Amen! Come, Lord Jesus!' (4) Perhaps most striking of all is
the way in which John expresses his confidence in God's sovereign
I

- I

40

40. Cf. Hanson, Dawn

pp. 7 0 - 7 2 .

pp. 4 2 8 - 9 ; A. Y . Collins in Collins, ed.,

Apocalypse

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[68.3

control. 'The plan of God for history is unalterably laid down in the
"book with seven seals" and, after the opening of this, it is unfolded
without obstruction.'
John's message is therefore very simple. To those already enduring
persecution, or under the threat of persecution, he says, 'Do not be
distracted by what is happening on earth. The End is near. God is in
control. Your present tribulations foreshadow God's intervention.
Your enemies will shortly be utterly routed and destroyed, and you
will soon enjoy the life of heaven in the new creation.'
(c) The distinctive Christian features are more prominent here than
in Mark 1 3 and I and II Thess. First, its Christ-focus. 5.5 - no one
else is worthy to open the scroll of the End, only the Lion of Judah,
the Root of David, he it is who has won the right to open the scroll
and break the seven seals; that is to say, only he can accomplish God's
purposes, can initiate the events of the End. Notice particularly how
closely the thought of this authority is linked to Jesus' death and
resurrection: it is precisely the lamb who has been killed who takes
the scroll and opens the seals (5.6, 9, 12). So too it is the 'first born
from the dead', he who once died but is now alive for evermore (1.5,
18), who grants John the revelation of what is and what is to come.
The whole apocalypse in fact moves between the victory of the risen
Jesus and his coming again: as his victory qualifies Jesus to open the
scroll, to initiate the final acts, so his parousia is the climax of the
whole - ' "I am coming soon". Amen! Come, Lord Jesus!' (22.20). In
short, the seer of the apocalypse holds together the historical Jesus,
the exalted Christ and the soon coming Lord asfirmlyand as clearly
as any other N T writer (see also above p.245).
Second, the cautionary element of Christian apocalyptic eschatology is preserved. The note of imminence never becomes a definite
prediction. The 42 months = 3V2 years is a standard number which
was hardly intended to provide a timetable on which the events of
the End could be calculated. The letters of Rev. 2 - 3 have exhortations
which imply that the End is not just yet - for example, the ten days
of tribulation to come (2.10) and the frequent calls to endure and
conquer. John certainly sees the beginning of the persecution under
Domitian as the beginning of the final period of tribulation. But how
long he expects these tribulations to last is something he does not
really attempt to specify. There is no call here to be caught up in an
apocalyptic frenzy of expectation. It is enough for John to know that
the sufferings of the present are those which will precede the soon
coming of the Lord.
41

4 1 . Vielhauer in Hennecke, Apocrypha, II, p. 6 2 4 .

69.1]

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Conclusions

69.

CONCLUSIONS

69.1 Our method in this chapter has been different from that of the
last two chapters. This is principally because apocalyptic Christianity
has generally been regarded in a different and a dimmer light. No one
doubts that Christianity's attempts to understand itself within the
context of its Jewish heritage and in face of the manifold challenges
of the syncretism of the age were central and fundamental aspects
of first-century Christianity - so our task there was to explore the
dimensions of this quest for self-understanding, to demonstrate how
farfirst-centuryChristianity's diversity overlapped with surrounding
faiths, to investigate the extent to which thefirst-centuryChristians
were of the fringe as well as of the centre. But apocalyptic Christianity
is usually regarded as something which by definition belongs to the
fringe from the start, and has been so treated in history as well as in
modern theology. So our task here has been rather to show how
central to earliest Christianity was apocalyptic hope and expression,
to show that apocalyptic eschatology is as fundamental to the diver
sity offirst-centuryChristianity as the Christianity of Matthew and
James or the Christianity of Corinth and of John.
This we have demonstrated. There can now be no doubt that apoca
lyptic eschatology had an integral part in first-century Christianity.
We can ignore it or remove it only by distorting the historical reality
of Christianity's beginnings (and distorting thereby the whole of
Christian theology). Christianity emerged from an environmentstrongly oriented to an apocalyptic perspective; the preaching of its
Baptist herald was apocalyptic in content. Jesus' own expectation for
the future can hardly avoid being described as apocalyptic; and the
earliest Christian community in Palestine was thoroughly apocalyptic
in character and self-understanding. Similarly the kerygma of the
early Gentile mission was strongly marked by apocalyptic features.
One of the earliest, perhaps the earliest, collections of sayings of Jesus
into a larger discourse, (what became) the eschatological discourse of
Mark 1 3 , indicates the apocalyptic expectations of Jesus to be one of
42

43

44

42. Cf. the protest of Koch, ApocalypticT

4 3 . Despite the various hesitations (at points justified) of e.g. G. Ebeling, 'The Ground
of Christian Theology' ( 1 9 6 1 ) , E T in Funk, Apocalypticism, pp. 4 7 - 6 8 ; E. Lohse, 'Apokalyptik und Christologie', ZNW, 62, 1 9 7 1 , pp. 4 8 - 6 7 ; W. G. Rollins, 'The New Testament
and Apocalyptic', NTS, 1 7 , 1 9 7 0 - 7 1 , pp. 4 5 4 - 7 6 ; L. Morris, Apocalyptic, Tyndale Press
1973.
44. Cf. Ksemann's concluding remarks (Funk, Apocalypticism, p. 46, and NTQT,
p. 107).

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[69.2

the areas of most vigorous theological concern in the earliest decades

of Christianity. And the Revelation of John shows how little the fires
of apocalyptic expectancy had faded in the latter decades of the first
century, and how quickly they flared up again when Christians were
confronted with the crisis alternatives of submission to the imperial
cult or bloody persecution.
69.2 Granted then that earliest Christianity and some of the N T
literature belong firmly within an apocalyptic trajectory stretching
from the apocalypses of early Judaism to second-century Montanism
and beyond, what are the distinctive or characteristic features of
earliest apocalyptic Christianity? The present chapter has brought to
light three such features which mark off earliest Christian apocalyptic
eschatology from what went before.
(a) It was Christ-centred. Where the hope of Jewish eschatology
was undefined or was left in purely symbolic language, the Christian
apocalyptic hope crystallized round a particular man whom many of
the first Christians had already encountered in history. That hope
came to classical expression in the expectation of the parousia of this
Jesus now exalted. Demythologized we may re-express it thus: the
transcendent power which is shaping history and which will bring
history to an end has the 'shape' and character of Jesus of Nazareth.
Or, in more traditional terms, the exalted Jesus will intervene in future
history as he did in past history, but next time his intervention will
be of immediate and final significance for the world as a whole.
(b) The already/not yet tension. The future hope was linked with
events in the past; the divine climax was seen in terms of Jesus, the
future resurrection in terms of Jesus' resurrection. The hope for the
future arose out of what had happened in the past. The Christian
apocalyptist looked both ways. This characteristic was also expressed
in the belief that Christians live in the overlap of the ages; that the
event of Jesus (his life, death and resurrection) was decisive for the
future; that the last days were already here, the Spirit being the first
instalment of eschatological salvation. In other words, God's inter
vention in the past had already determined the End; however long
delayed it might be, the power already operative in believers was the
same power which would bring about the End, was already working
towards that End.
(c) A cautionary note. The first-century Christian apocalyptic writ
ings never allowed enthusiasm to get out of hand; they deliberately
set their face against speculating about dates and times; always the
note of the not yet was present to prevent hope becoming too detailed,
too certain about the details of God's future. This was true also of

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Conclusions

367

Jesus' apocalyptic expectation, so far as we can tell, though the hope

of the earliest Jerusalem community seems to have been less inhibited,
and some of the Thessalonian Christians apparently abandoned them
selves to their hope without reservation. But otherwise the emphasis
on the already, the looking to the past as well as to the future,
prevented the looking to the future becoming too frenzied and so
inevitably disappointed. As Cullmann has well expressed the point:
The hope of Paul suffered no loss either in intensity or in its firm
anchorage, because from the outset its starting point had been that
the centre, the fixed point of orientation, lies not in the future but
in the past, and accordingly in an assured fact which cannot be
touched by the delay in the Parousia.
45

Of these characteristic features of Christian apocalypticism only

the third is readily paralleled in Jewish apocalypticism (see above
p. 343). This means that it is the Christ-centredness, the already
emphasis centred on the man of Nazareth, his life, death and resurrec
tion, which alone clearly distinguishes Christian from Jewish apoca
lyptic eschatology. It is the realized character Jesus stamped on Jewish
eschatology and the centrality of Jesus himself in earliest Christian
apocalyptic eschatology which determines its nature. That is to say,
Christian apocalyptic eschatology is formed not only by the applica
tion of Jewish apocalyptic hope to Jesus, but even more distinctively
by the reinterpretation of Jewish apocalyptic hope in the light of the
Christ event - both his own proclamation and his resurrection. In
other words, once again the distinctiveness of Christianity at this
point boils down to the unity between the man of Nazareth and the
soon coming Christ, the continuity between Jesus' own proclamation
(both its realized and future emphasis) and the resurrection faith and
parousia hope of the first Christians.
46

69.3 It is also worth drawing attention to the distinctiveness of apoca

lyptic Christianity within earliest Christianity. Apocalyptic Christ
ianity was essentially a form of Jewish Christian enthusiasm, the
combination of Jewish apocalypticism and a broadening Christian
perspective. Thus it was able to retain its fervour even when Christ
ianity moved outside of Palestine and its Jewishness became more
diluted with elements from a wider spectrum. For example, Luke
2

45. O. Cullmann, Christ and Time, 1 9 4 6 , E T S C M Press 1 9 6 2 , p. 88; cf. the thesis of
Baumgarten that Paul 'de-apocalypticizes' the eschatological content of the gospel (Paulus,
pp. 232ff.). See also E. S. Fiorenza, The Book of Revelation, Fortress 1 9 8 5 , p. 3.
46. Cf. Ebeling, in Funk, Apocalypticism, pp. 5 3 - 9 .

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[69.4

retained Jesus' and Mark's apocalyptic expectation, but separated

it from the fall of Jerusalem. And Revelation retained the idea of
a Jerusalem centred consummation, but, writing in Asia Minor,
expressed it in terms of a heavenly Jerusalem, a new Jerusalem coming
down out of heaven from God - Jewish nationalist apocalypticism
had been internationalized, reinterpreted in cosmic terms.
At the same time Christian apocalypticism did retain its Jewishness
over against the other principal form of enthusiasm within early
Christianity, the more gnostic type of enthusiasm which came to clear
expression in the Corinthian church, at two points. First, apocalyptic
enthusiasm is essentially future-oriented, while more gnostically
influenced Christianity has an essentially realized emphasis (see above
pp.3oif.); where gnostic enthusiasm stressed the already, apocalyptic
enthusiasm stressed the not yet (and the imminence of its realization).
At this point Paul in particular stands more under the banner of
Jewish Christian apocalypticism than under that of gnostic enthusi
asm. Second, apocalyptic enthusiasm was marked off from gnostic
enthusiasm by its moral earnestness. Gnostic Christian stress on the
freedom already achieved led all too easily and quickly to ethical
laxity and licence in all too many instances. Apocalyptic eschatology,
looking for the End, spelt out firmly what manner of life the Christian
ought to lead in view of this hope. Thus, for example, Matthew
retained the apocalyptic hope of Mark 1 3 , but wedded it to some
very forceful attacks on an antinomian enthusiasm (note particularly
Matt. 7.23; 24.1 if; see above p.269). And the seer of Revelation took
a very firm stand against the moral laxity of some of the churches to
which he wrote. This combination of ethical strictness and apocalyp
tic enthusiasm was to be a feature of many apocalyptic movements
in later centuries, from Montanism to classical Pentecostalism.
47

48

69.4 There is in no sense an apocalyptic orthodoxy; there never was

and there never could be. Its visions and its hope are too relative, too
bound up with the period of history which called them forth, to allow
any standardized interpretation or expression of apocalyptic hope.
This means inevitably that apocalyptic eschatology has never fitted
very comfortably into the orthodoxy of the great Church. The whole
trajectory of apocalyptic Christianity has skirted along the edges of
47. Cf. E. Kasemann, 'On the Topic of Primitive Christian Apocalyptic' (1962), E T
in Funk, Apocalypticism, pp. i26ff., and NTQT, pp. 13 iff. See more generally Beker
(n. 49 below); L. E . Keck, 'Paul and Apocalyptic Theology', Interpretation 3 8 , 1 9 8 4 ,
pp. 2 2 9 - 4 1 .
48. Note here R. M . Grant's thesis that 'Gnosticism originated out of the failure of the
apocalyptic hope' (Gnosticism and Early Christianity, 1 9 5 9 , Harper 1966, p. 38).
2

69.4]

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Conclusions

orthodoxy, giving too much scope to unbridled enthusiasm for

churchmen like Dionysius of Alexandria and Martin Luther, both of
whom were more than a little unhappy about accepting Revelation
into the N T canon. Yet the surprising thing about apocalyptic Christ
ianity is its extraordinary vitality. Repeated disappointments have not
dimmed the apocalyptic fervour of fresh generations.
Matthew and Luke did not wholly abandon the apocalyptic expec
tation of Jesus and of Mark, despite its lack of fulfilment; they reinter
preted it and hoped afresh. And, despite the failure of the new heaven
and new earth to appear 'soon', Revelation did find a place within
the N T canon.
This means that apocalyptic eschatology has a valid and important
place within Christianity - despite its dangers and failures. Attempts
to exclude it from the more sophisticated great Church have simply
resulted in it springing up afresh outside the great Church and robbing
the great Church of the vitality and enthusiasm it brings. Since nine
teenth-century Liberal Protestantism's aversion to apocalypticism
remains influential, it is worthwhile reminding ourselves of the sig
nificance and continuing relevance of apocalyptic Christianity.
(a) It sees reality on a wide canvas - history, past, present and
future, as involving not only men and nations, but God. It affirms
that God is not distant from or unconcerned about the world, but
has a part in the spiritual forces operating 'behind the scenes' - the
decisive part. This means, inevitably, that humanity is responsible in
some way before God - a belief classically expressed in the apocalyptic
vision of the last judgment. 'To keep alive this sense that life is charged
with responsibility, and that we are responsible unto God, is to render
a lasting service to men.'
(b) It sees history as having a purpose, a goal. It is not only God
oriented, it is future oriented. Fundamental within Christian apoca
lyptic eschatology is hope - not a hope based on a naive optimism in
human progress, but a hope based on the belief that the forces of
history are ultimately in God's control and are driving towards his
goal. This hope, expressed in the N T in terms of Jesus' second coming,
is integral to the gospel of first-century Christianity: 'to reject this
hope is to mutilate the N T message of salvation'.
(c) These two beliefs have two results. First of all, to enable believers
to give a proper evaluation to the present. They cherish no allusions
49

50

51

49. Hence the title of J . C. Beker's study of Pauline theology - Paul the Apostle. The
Triumph of God in Life and Thought, Fortress/T. & T. Clark 1 9 8 0 .
50. Rowley, Relevance, p. 1 8 9 .
5 1 . Cullmann, cited by Rowley, Relevance, p. 1 6 4 .

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[69.4

about the present and its possibilities. In particular, they are able to
adopt a positive attitude towards suffering. The suffering of the pre
sent is in some way an inevitable phase in the movement of history
towards God's goal, in some sense a necessary preparation for and
antecedent to the greater, richer future of God. As F. C. Burkitt noted,
'The Gospel is the great protest against the modern view that the
really important thing is to be comfortable.'
(d) Second, apocalyptic hope should bring believers a new sense of
responsibility towards the world. They cease to be dependent on the
world for value and hope, but they become more responsible for it to live and work in the world for the hastening of God's purposed
End. Notice that the apocalyptic hope as such is not one which ignores
or turns its back on the world - although it has been all too often
interpreted in that way down through the centuries. Certainly it ceases
to find its value and meaning in the world, and it is pessimistic
towards the future of the world itself. But it does not opt out of this
world: it has been born of suffering in the world, and it holds itself
responsible both to declare to the world the true state of reality, the
true course of history, and to work in the world so far as it is possible
to hasten the coming of God's kingdom from beyond. Moreover, it
is able to persevere in this mission, despite persecution and dis
appointment, precisely because it is not dependent on this world for
recognition and value. This is why apocalyptic eschatology contains
seeds of revolution, and has in fact been the basic inspiration for
many revolutionary movements in European history.
The role of apocalyptic Christianity is therefore to resist all or any
temptation to abandon hope for the 'realities' of the present, or to
abandon the present for the vision of the future, but instead to relate
the two to each other, to understand the present in the light of the
future and the future in the relation to the present. This is an ongoing
task, the responsibility of each generation to work out afresh. The
new generation must not confuse the hope for the future with the
particular expression of earlier generations; it must not abandon
the hope because a particular expression of it was too much bound up
with events and personalities now past. Rather it must recognize the
relativeness of any expression of apocalyptic hope, it must reinterpret
the present in the light both of the past (the already) and the future
(the not yet), and it must reaffirm the future as God's and hope afresh.
In short, the problem of apocalyptic Christianity is how both to
retain it and to restrain it: To retain its hope of God's imminent
intervention and the enthusiasm it brings, and to restrain it from
52

52. Quoted by Rowley, Relevance, p. 1 8 1 .

69.4]

Conclusions

371

becoming detailed, too certain of its particular expression, too depen

dent on a particular fulfilment of that hope. Apocalyptic Christianity
is confronted by the constant danger of 'accelerating expectations',
the problem of retaining hope without letting it get out of hand. Such
conflicting currents have been an integral and important part of the
broad stream of Christianity from the earliest days till now.
53

53. Freedman in Funk, Apocalypticism, p. 1 7 3 .

XIV

Early Catholicism

70.

WHAT

IS ' E A R L Y

CATHOLICISM'?

To what extent are the features which characterize catholic Christ

ianity from the (late) second century already present in the NT? When
did it become inevitable that (Western) Christianity was going to
become the catholic orthodoxy of Cyprian and Leo? Was Catholicism
a post-apostolic development, a falling away from the primeval purity
and simplicity of the first century? - as some Protestants have argued.
Or was it simply the natural unfolding of what had belonged to
the essence of Christianity from the first? - as many Catholics have
maintained. Or does the answer lie somewhere in between? - perhaps
in a decisive development (or several such) during the first century;
perhaps in the dominance of one view over others towards the end
of the first century; perhaps in the slow coming together of different
elements into a coherent whole which had more lasting power than
alternative views and structures; perhaps by way of reaction to other
first-century developments. And if any of the latter alternatives better
represent the facts than the rest, can we then speak of an 'early
Catholicism' within the NT? Are there N T writings which are primar
ily centred on the 'trajectory' of emerging catholic orthodoxy?
The phrase 'early Catholicism' {Frithkatholizismus) itself seems to
have been coined round about the turn of the twentieth century. But
the issues involved in it go back at least to the middle of the nineteenth
century and the Tubingen school of F. C. Baur. For Baur and particu
larly his pupil A. Schwegler argued in effect that 'Catholicism' first
emerged in the second century as a compromise between the two rival
factions which had dominated first- and early second-century Christ
ianity-Jewish (Petrine) Christianity and Gentile (Pauline) Christianity.
This compromise first appeared in conciliatory documents like Acts,
1

1. Cf. K. H. Neufeld, * "Fruhkatholizismus" - Idee und Begriff, ZKT, 9 4 , 1 9 7 2 , pp. 1 28. Cf. also S. Schulz, Die Mitte der Schrift, Stuttgart 1 9 7 6 , pp. 2 9 - 8 4 , though Schulz
finds the recognition of early Catholicism in the N T foreshadowed in Luther's setting
Hebrews, James, Jude and Revelation apart from the rest of the canon (pp. 1 4 - 2 8 ) .

jo]

What

is

'early

Catholicism'?

373

Philippians, I Clement (Rome) and Hebrews (Asia Minor), which

attempt to mediate between the two parties and to play down dis
agreements between their representative heroes; and it was consoli
dated in the later second-century works, the Pastorals and the letters
of Ignatius (Rome) and the Gospel of John (Asia Minor).
The beginning of the end of the Tubingen school was marked by
the publication of the second edition of A. Ritschl's, Die Entstehung
der altkatholischen Kirche. In this he demonstrated that early Christ
ian history was not simply a case of two monolithic blocks grinding
against each other: Peter (and the original apostles) were to be distin
guished from the Jewish Christians (Judaizers), and there was a
Gentile Christianity distinct from Paul and little influenced by him.
More to the point for us, he insisted that Catholicism was not the
consequence of a reconciliation between Jewish and Gentile Christ
ianity, but was in fact 'only a stage of Gentile Christianity', the
development of a popular Gentile Christianity independent of Paul.
This thesis was in turn taken up by his protg, A. Harnack, with
his understanding of the essence of Catholicism as the 'Hellenizing'
of Christianity. As Harnack himself later defined it:
2

[Catholicism] is the Christian preaching influenced by the Old Tes

tament, lifted out of its original environment and plunged into
Hellenic modes of thought, that is, into the syncretism of the age
and the idealistic philosophy.
4

In an important sense then, on this view the movement towards

Catholicism was inherent in Gentile Christianity,
. . . for the Greek spirit, the element which was most operative in
Gnosticism, was already concealed in the earliest Gentile Christ
ianity itself . . . The great Apostle to the Gentiles himself, in his
epistle to the Romans and in those to the Corinthians, transplanted
the Gospel into Greek modes of thought.. .
5

But the 'influx of Hellenism, of the Greek spirit' only h a p p e n e d in a

significant way in the second century (Harnack can even d a t e it
specifically to about A D 130), a n d C a t h o l i c i s m proper, the Church of
2. A. Schwegler, Das nachapostolische Zeitalter in den Hauptomomenten seiner
Entwicklung, Tbingen 1 8 4 6 - usefully summarized in Harris, Tbingen School, pp. 2 0 2 - 7 .
3. A . Ritschl, Die Entstehung der altkatholischen Kirche, Bonn 1 8 5 7 .
4. A . Harnack, The Constitution and Law of the Church in the First Two Centuries,
1 9 1 0 , E T Williams & Norgate 1 9 1 0 , p. 254.
5. Harnack, History of Dogma, Vol. I, p. 2 1 8 . But see also pp. $6(.
2

Early Catholicism

374

[70

established doctrine and fixed form, only emerged in the struggle

with Gnosticism, in the conflict between Hellenization and 'radical
Hellenization'.
6

This view of the matter w a s questioned from two sides. In the

History of Religions school the Hellenization which is the foundation

of 'Catholicism' w a s identified more precisely as the sacramentalism
which intruded from the religious environment of the Gentile mission
into early Christian understanding of baptism and the Lord's Supper.
Catholicism here is defined in terms of reliance upon the outward and
visible ritual act and ordinance, an attitude already present in Paul's
letters (so early Catholicism), even though it w a s in conflict w i t h Paul's
own understanding of faith.

On a different tack completely R. Sohm took Luther's distinction

between the visible and invisible Church as his starting point rather
than Hellenistic thought, societies or religions. He defined 'the essence
of Catholicism' as
. . . the refusal to make any distinction between the Church in the
religious sense [the Church of Christl and the Church in the legal
sense [the Church as a legally constituted entity]. The teaching of
the visibleness of the Church of Christ . . . is the basic dogma on
which the whole history of Catholicism rests from the first.
8

Catholicism then first emerged when the charismatic organization

which characterized the earliest Church gave way to institutionaliz
ation, where the institution was identified as Church with all which
that meant in terms of authority of office and ecclesiastical law. The
decisive step here was taken in I Clement which thus marks the rise
of Catholicism. In the subsequent debate on the relation between
charisma and office those who accept that there was a transition from
one to the other would see it as having already happened within
the N T , with the Pastorals providing the primary evidence and the
position of Acts disputed.
The one major new element to be introduced into the debate since
then is 'the delay of the parousia'. If earliest Christianity was apoca
lyptic enthusiastic in character, then 'early Catholicism' can be defined
6. Harnack, What is Christianity?, 1900, E T Williams 8c Norgate 1 9 0 1 , Lecture X I .
Harnack defined Gnosticism as 'the radical (or acute) hellenizing of Christianity' (Dogma,
I, p. 227).
7. Heitmuller, Taufe, pp. 1 8 - 2 6 , E . Troeltsch, The Social Teaching of the Christian
Churches, 1 9 1 1 , E T Allen 8c Unwin 1 9 3 1 , 1 , pp. 95L
8. R. Sohm, Wesen und Ursprung des Katholizismus, i 9 i 2 , Darmstadt 1 9 6 7 , pp. 1 3 ,
2

15

jo]

What is 'early Catholicism'?

375

precisely in terms of the recognition by the Church that the End is

not yet, that it must therefore settle down to a protracted period
of waiting with all which that involves in more stable patterns of
organization geared to preserving the Church's identity with the past
and its continuity into the future M. Werner indeed argued that the
change in presupposition consequent on the delay of the parousia
was 'the turning point' which set Christianity's face towards early
Catholicism.
The rise of Christian doctrine, i.e. the transformation of the Primi
tive Christian faith into the doctrine of early Catholicism, was
achieved as a process of the de-eschatologizing of Primitive Christ
ianity in the course of its Hellenization.
9

E. Ksemann has contributed most to this debate in the post-war

decades; he defines early Catholicism thus:
Early Catholicism means that transition from earliest Christianity
to the so-called ancient Church, which is completed with the dis
appearance of the imminent expectation . . . there is a characteristic
movement towards that great Church which understands itself as
the Una Sancta Apostolica.
10

So too in effect he redefines the earlier thesis of Heitmiiller: Cath

olicism does not emerge from the 'enthusiastic-mystic' sacramental
piety of Hellenistic Christianity, but is to be understood precisely as
a reaction against all 'enthusiasm', both Hellenistic enthusiasm and
(in my own terms) apocalyptic enthusiasm.
In the light of all this it becomes fairly clear what we are looking
for. Early Catholicism can be distinguished by three main features:
11

9. M . Werner, The Formation of Christian Dogma, 1 9 4 1 , E T A. 8c C. Black 1 9 5 7 ,

pp. 2 5 , 297.
10. E. Kasemann, 'Paul and Early Catholicism' (1963), NTQT, p. 2 3 7 .
1 1 . Cf. now G. Strecker, Die Johannesbriefe, K E K Gttingen, 1 9 8 9 , pp. 3 4 8 - 5 4 .
Cf. F. Hahn, 'Frhkatholizismus als kumenisches Problem', Exegestische Beitrge zum
kumenischen Gesprch, Gttingen 1986, pp. 6 6 - 7 5 . Schulz works with a maximizing list
of early catholic characteristics (including 'the misunderstanding of the Pauline message of
justification as the theology of the cross' and 'the unpauline understanding of the law' Schrift, p. 80) so that 'early Catholicism' in Schulz's discussion becomes too broad a concept
embracing whatever is not in accord with the Paulinism of the principal Pauline letters (he
finds early catholic tendencies and characteristics in no less than 20 of the 27 N T writings).
Far too little consideration is given to the other forces and considerations which shaped
much of the nonpauline material (particularly the more specifically Jewish Christian docu
ments); see e.g. his treatment of Matthew and the law (pp. 1 8 3 - 9 ) and his description of
Luke-Acts as 'anti-enthusiastic' (pp. 1 5 3 - 5 ) . F
alternative schematization of early
r a

Early Catholicism

376

[70

{a) The fading of the parousia hope, 'the disappearance of the

imminent expectation (NaherwartungY, the slackening of the eschatological tension between the already of Christ's earthly ministry and
the not yet of his imminent reappearing to bring in the End.
(b) Increasing institutionalization: this would include some or all
of the following features - the emergence of the concept of office, of
a distinction between clergy and laity, of a priestly hierarchy, of
'apostolic succession', of sacramentalism, of an identification between
Church and institution so ordered.
(c) Crystallization of the faith into set forms, the emergence of a
'rule of faith', with the specific aim of providing a bulwark against
enthusiasm and false teaching - the sense that the founding era of
revelation was now past, with the correlatives that the responsibility
of the present becomes the preservation of the faith from the founding
fathers for the future, and that claims to new revelation from the
prophetic Spirit become more the mark of the enthusiast and heretic
than of the Church.
These were certainly the features which distinguished emerging
catholic orthodoxy in the second century when it sought to ward off
the challenges of Gnosticism and Montanism (see also above 26).
The question which now confronts us is, To what extent are these
features already visible in the N T writings themselves? To what extent
can we properly speak of an early catholic element within the NT?
When does the trajectory of (early) Catholicism first appear? Our
earlier investigations have already touched on these issues at several
points, so in this chapter we will be able to gather up a few loose
ends.
12

Catholicism see U. Luz, 'Erwgungen zur Entstehung des "Frhkatholizismus", Eine Skizze',
ZNW 65, 1 9 7 4 , pp. 8 8 - 1 1 1 . Hahn properly points out that 'the designation Fruhkatholizismus is useable only as a partial concept for individual phenomena, not as a complete
description of a period of early church history continuous with primitive Christianity' ('Das
Problem des Frhkatholizismus', Beitrge p. 49). See also the disclaimers of 53 above.
The debate, including Schulz's contribution in particular, has been reviewed by J . Rohde,
'Die Diskussion um den Frhkatholizismus im Neuen Testament, dargestellt am Beispiel
des Amtes in den sptneutestamentlichen Schriften', in J . Rogge and G. Schille, Frhkathol
izismus im kumenischen Gesprch, Berlin 1 9 8 3 , pp. 2 7 - 5 1 .
1 2 . See M . Hornschuh in Hennecke, Apocrypha, II, pp. 7 4 - 9 .

71. i ]

71.

The imminent expectation

THE

FADING

OF

THE

IMMINENT

377

PAROUSIA

HOPE,

'THE

EXPECTATION'

As we saw in ch. XIII the expectation of an imminent parousia was

integral to earliest Christianity and was a strong feature of Christian
self-understanding during the first generation of Christianity. To that
extent early Catholicism is almost inevitably a second generation
development at best and cannot be traced back to the beginnings of
Christianity; for early Catholicism is not simply about organization,
but about organization that will last; early Catholicism is properly
defined as, in part at least, a reaction consequent upon the failure of
the parousia hope. Where then in the N T do we find evidence of the
fading of the parousia hope?
13

7 1 . 1 The later Paul and the Pastorals. In 68.1 above we noted how
apocalyptic categories featured strongly in Paul's (early) preaching
and teaching in the Gentile mission. So far as the expectation of an
imminent End is concerned we might have referred also to I Cor.
7 . 2 6 - 3 1 and 15.5 if., or to Paul's powerful conviction of the eschatological significance of his apostleship - that his mission to the Gentiles
was the last act in the history of salvation before the End (Rom.
n.i3ff.; I 5 . i 5 f f . ; I Cor. 4.9). There is evidence however that this
imminent expectation had begun to fade somewhat before the end of
his life.
The earliest indication of such a change in perspective may be I Cor.
15.5if. itself, where, although the parousia is still expected within his
own generation, death prior to the parousia has become more the
norm. Even less specific is Rom. 1 3 . 1 if., for all the intensity of its
hope - near? yes; but how near? And by the time we reach the later
letters of Paul the contrast with the eschatological enthusiasm of I
and II Thessalonians is clear. In Philippians the parousia hope itself
is still strong (Phil. 1.6, 1 0 ; 2.16; 3.20; 4.5), but Paul is no longer
confident that he himself will still be alive when 'the day of Christ'
comes (Phil. i.2off.), as he evidently was in I Thess. 4 . 1 5 - 1 7 (see also
above p.26).
14

15

1 3 . Cf. what follows with P. J . Achtemeier, 'An Apocalyptic Shift in Early Christian
Tradition: Reflections on Some Canonical Evidence', CBQ, 4 5 , 1 9 8 3 , pp. 2 3 1 - 4 8 .
1 4 . Cf. Dunn, Jesus, 20.2.
1 5 . Cf. particularly G. Klein, 'Apokalyptische Naherwartung bei Paulus', Neues
Testament und christliche Existenz: Festschrift fr Herbert Braun, ed., H. D. Betz and
L. Schottroff, Tubingen 1 9 7 3 , PP- 4 4 5 8 . See also above pp. 26, 3 6 7 n. 4 5 .
2

378

Early Catholicism

[71.1

In Colossians There is only one explicit reference to the coming of

Christ (Col. 3.4), but there is no sense of imminence or urgency (cf.
1.5, 1 2 , 23, 27; 3.6, 24). Moreover, as we noted above (p.320), there
is a much stronger realized emphasis in 1 . 1 3 and 2 . 1 2 , 2.20-3.3:
where in the earlier Pauline epistles inheritance of and entry into the
kingdom of God is something still outstanding (I Cor. 6.9L; 15.50;
Gal. 5.21; I Thess. 2 . 1 2 ; II Thess. 1.5), in Col. 1 . 1 3 Paul speaks of
believers as having already been transferred into the kingdom of the
Son (at conversion); and where in Rom. 6.5 and 8 . 1 1 Paul spoke of
resurrection with Christ as something future, part of the not yet
consummation, in Col. 2 . 1 2 and 3.1 resurrection with Christ is some
thing already accomplished, part of the already. Is the implication
not fairly clear that in Colossians we see Paul turning away from the
urgent hope of an imminent parousia which previously drove him on,
to a more tranquil and settled hope which now reckoned with a
longer interval before the parousia, with more continuing human
relationships ( 3 . 1 8 - 4 . 1 ) , and so focused attention more on what
Christ had already accomplished? Here, it could justly be argued, we
see the first movement towards early Catholicism in Paul himself.
In Ephesians the same sense of hope deferred comes through even
more strongly. There is still a forward looking to a future consum
mation (Eph. 1 . 1 4 , 1 8 , 2 1 ; 4.4, 30; 5.5) and also an urgency of
exhortation which recalls the earlier Paul (5.16). But otherwise the
expectation of an imminent End is wholly lacking and the parousia
is not even mentioned (cf. 5.27). Instead the author seems to envisage
a much longer period on the earth lasting several generations before
the End finally comes (2.7; 3 . 2 1 ; 6.3); the already of new life and
salvation is strongly emphasized (2.1, 5f., 8; 5.8); and the hope of
consummation and completion in Christ in 2 . 1 9 - 2 2 and 4 . 1 3 - 1 6 has
been stripped of every apocalyptic feature (though an apocalyptic
residue is still evident in 1 . 1 0 , 2 0 - 2 3 ) . Whether this shift in perspec
tive postdates Paul or not, it is from such a shift in perspective that
early Catholicism emerged.

With the Pastorals the position is not so very different. The belief
in the day of the Lord is still strong (II Tim. 1 . 1 2 , 1 8 ; 4.8) and in 'the
appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ' (I Tim. 6.14; II Tim. 4 . 1 , 8; Titus
2 . 1 3 ) . It may even be that the author believes he and his readers are
(still) in the last days (I Tim. 4 . 1 ; II Tim. 3 . 1 ) , although II Tim. 4.3
could indicate that for the author the last days have not yet begun.
Either that or 'the last days' has become something of a formal phrase
lacking its original eschatological fervency, for clearly in II Tim. 2.2
the perspective has perceptively lengthened, and other future looking
statements are much more like the language of later piety which holds

71.2.]

The imminent

expectation

379

a doctrine of 'the Last Things' but lacks the urgency of an imminent

End expectation (I Tim. 4.8; 5.2.4; 6.7; II Tim. 2.ioff.; 4.18). So here
again we see evidenced that shift in perspective, that disappearance
of eschatological tension which is part and parcel of early Catholicism.
7 1 . 2 Luke-Acts. The disappointment of the earliest Christians' 'immi
nent expectation' is perhaps nowhere so clearly marked in the N T as
in Luke-Acts. The most striking evidence of this is Luke's redaction of
the Markan apocalypse and his presentation of the earliest Jerusalem
community in Acts.
(a) It very much appears as though Luke, writing in the period after
the fall of Jerusalem (AD 70), was faced with the problem of what to
do with Mark 1 3 , in which, as we saw above (68.2), the destruction
of Jerusalem was seen as part of the messianic woes, the beginning of
the End. For when we compare Mark 1 3 with Luke 2 1 it becomes
increasingly evident that Luke has carefully separated these two
elements (fall of Jerusalem and parousia), and that he has extended
Mark's cautionary note to embrace a further (and lengthy) period of
time. Luke 21.8 - in Mark the false prophets say only, 'I am he'
(Mark 13.6); Luke adds another oracle, 'The time (End) is at hand';
proclamation of the imminence of the End has become a false proph
ecy! Mark had spoken of the world-wide turmoil as 'the beginning
of the messianic woes' (Mark 13.8); Luke omits the phrase altogether
(Luke 2 1 . 1 1 ) . Mark had said, 'He who endures to the end shall be
saved (Mark 1 3 . 1 3 ) ; Luke omits the reference to the end (Luke 2 1 . 1 9
- 'By your endurance you will gain your lives') - the suffering connec
ted with the fall of Jerusalem is not to be linked with the tribulation
of the last days. Mark thought of the suffering caused by the siege
and fall of Jerusalem as the eschatological distress - so severe that
God would have to shorten it for the sake of the elect (Mark 13.20);
Luke completely separates the fall of Jerusalem from the End - 'Jeru
salem will be trodden down by the Gentiles, until the times of the
Gentiles are fulfilled' (Luke 21.24). Mark had firmly linked the
destruction of Jerusalem with the cosmic upheavals of the End - 'in
those days . . . ' (Mark 13.24); Luke just as firmly cuts the link by
omitting the phrase altogether (Luke 21.25). As we ^ noted above
(p.3 61), part of Luke's object in thus severing Mark's imminent
expectation of the parousia from the destruction of Jerusalem and its
temple was that he might reaffirm the parousia hope despite the
failure of Mark's expectation. But the point we must note here is that
he was able to reaffirm the parousia only by effectively denying its
immediate imminence for Jesus and by 'postponing' it (for another
generation?), to the far end of a further stage or epoch of history ('the
a

s o

Early Catholicism

8o

[71.2

16

times of the Gentiles' = the age of the church). Here then is hope
deferred, 'imminent expectation' faded.
(b) As we demonstrated above (67.3) the primitive Christian com
munity in Jerusalem must have been markedly apocalyptic in its
thought and self-understanding. We can scarcely begin to understand
how a key concept like Jesus' resurrection and the gift of the Spirit
as the 'first fruits' of the end-time harvest emerged, or how a phrase
like 'Maranatha' ('Our Lord, come!') became established in the lan
guage of worship (I Cor. 16.22), or how such an improvident practice
as the community of goods (selling off capital) swept the new sect off
its feet, unless they were all more or less spontaneous expressions of
a dominant conviction that the end-time had begun, the parousia
would take place very soon, the End was imminent. And yet this sense
of tip-toe expectancy is completely absent from the account in Acts.
Nothing of the 'Maranatha' invocation finds expression in Acts. There
is still talk of parousia (Acts 1 . 1 1 ) , but attention is focused rather on
the responsibility for world-wide mission (1.6-8), and the sense of
imminence is barely preserved in Luke's use of the early material in
Acts 3.20L There is talk too of the day of judgment (Acts 10.42;
1 7 . 3 1 ; 24.25), but only as a still distant threat (the last things) and
no longer as something pressingly close. The apocalyptic language of
Joel 2.28-32 is quoted, including the cosmic signs (Acts 2 . 1 7 - 2 1 ) ,
but as a prophecy already fulfilled at Pentecost. Otherwise no vestige
of primitive Christianity's apocalyptic fervour remains - and the same
is true of the early Paul's imminent expectation, even though Luke
gives some details of Paul's missionary work in Thessalonica (Acts
1 7 ) . There can be only one explanation, for Luke can hardly have
been unaware that earliest Christianity ran a high eschatological tem
perature: Luke must have decided to ignore or suppress this feature
(even at the cost of making the community of goods seem more an
act of complete irresponsibility than an act of zealous faith). To
present such a picture of first generation Christianity, so even temperatured from beginning to end, so remarkably wwapocalyptic, could
certainly constitute a qualification for the title 'early catholic'.
We need simply add that, as has been widely recognized in the
second half of the twentieth century, the very act of writing a history
of earliest Christianity (rather than an apocalypse) was an admission
that the earliest parousia hope was mistaken and that the parousia
hope itself had faded. When Luke wrote not only a 'life of Jesus', but
1 6 . He achieves the same effect by his introduction to the parable of the pounds - Luke
1 9 . 1 1 ; and his redaction of Mark 1 2 . 1 (Luke 20.9 - 'for a long time'); cf. Luke i7.2of.;
22.69 ( P - Mark 14.62).
ar

71.3]

The imminent expectation

381

also a history of the Church, he was in effect interposing a whole new

epoch between the resurrection/ascension of Jesus and the parousia.
Jesus' death and resurrection could no longer be regarded as the
beginning of the End, the (final) eschatological climax, as Jesus and
the first Christians had understood it, but rather as the mid-point of
history, with an epoch stretching forward into the future on one
side as well as one stretching back into the past on the other. It is
unnecessarily confusing, indeed it is misleading, to say that Luke
substituted the idea of salvation history for the earlier eschatology,
as a way of resolving the problem posed by the delay of the parousia.
Imminent eschatology and salvation history are by no means contra
dictory or mutually exclusive understandings: the salvation history
perspective is fairly basic to all the main N T writers and the already/
not yet tension is almost always present in N T eschatological. But
in Luke-Acts the eschatological tension has certainly been slackened
to a significant extent; and for Acts in particular the hoped for parou
sia is a reality only as the still distant climax at the far end of the age
of the Church. In thus presenting Christianity as faced with the need
to organize itself for a longer term future Luke had certainly opened
the door to early Catholicism.
17

18

71.3 We cannot ignore the fact that the strongest expression of real
ized eschatology in the NT is to be found in John's Gospel. Its most
prominent features are the conviction that judgment is something
which has already taken place in the coming of Jesus as the light of
the world and in human reaction to him (John 3.19), that those who
hear and believe the truth of Jesus 'do not come into judgment, but
have (already) passed from death to life' (5.24), that Jesus himself is
both the resurrection and the life - to know him is to know eternal
life, resurrection life here and now ( 1 1 . 2 5 ^ ) . When John says 'we
beheld his glory' (1.14), in a real sense he has collapsed the past and
future glory of the Son of God into the period of his earthly ministry
with its climax of cross and resurrection; and the resultant faith which
the Gospel seeks to engender is a believing in one who can no longer
be seen, on the testimony of those who did see his glory, and without
any forward glance to its future manifestation (20.29-31). Or again,
when the Johannine Jesus speaks of his imminent departure and

1 7 . So P. Vielhauer, 'On the "Paulinism" of Acts' (1950, E T 1963), SLA, pp. 4 5 - 8 ;

H. Conzelmann, The Theology of St Luke, I 9 5 3 , i 9 5 7 , E T Faber & Faber i 9 6 i , p p . 13 if.;
E. Kasemann, 'New Testament Questions of Today' (1957), NTQT, pp. zif.; Schulz,
Schrift, p. 1 3 4 .
1 8 . O. Cullmann, Salvation in History, 1965, ET S C M Press 1967; and above pp. 242^
2

Early Catholicism

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[71.4

reappearance ( 1 4 . 1 8 ; 1 6 . 1 6 - 2 2 ) what is fairly clearly in mind is the

coming of the Paraclete ( 1 4 . 1 5 - 2 6 ; 16.7); in a real sense the parousia
of the Paraclete, the life-giving Spirit, has so filled Jesus' place that
there is little cause to think of a still future parousia.
It would not be true however to say that there is no future eschatology in John; passages like 5.28f., 6.39L, 12.48 (cf. I John 2.18, 28;
3.2; 4.17) cannot simply be consigned to a redactor and conveniently
passed over. But the hope they express is much less immediate than
the hope of the first Christians. John 1 4 . 1 - 3 is probably the one
passage in the Fourth Gospel itself which does speak of the second
coming of Christ as such, but it is more the sort of passage which
(rightly) comforts the hearts of the bereaved than one which conveys
any sense of the pressing imminence of the End. And in the epilogue
in John 2 1 the final little episode climaxing in v.23 seems to have
been included in order to meet the problem caused by John's dying
prior to the parousia. In short, it is almost as though the forward
movement of salvation history in John has been suspended in a time
less eschatological 'now', where all that matters is the individual's
response to the words of Jesus which are Spirit and life (4.23; 5.25;
6.63). Whether this is a theology that properly can be called 'early
catholic' is another question to which we will return below.
Not so very far removed from John's eschatology is that of
Hebrews. To be sure the writer of the letter maintains a more vivid
expectation of the imminent parousia (10.25, 375 cf. 1.2; 6 . 1 8 - 2 0 ;
9.27^). But his eschatology has been significantly modified by merging
the Jewish (apocalyptic) doctrine of the two ages with the Platonic
distinction between the heavenly world of the real and the earthly
world of shadow (see above pp.284f. and n.61). By so doing he has
to some extent detached the hope of full participation in the heavenly
reality from the belief in a still future consummation ( 4 . 1 4 - 1 6 ; 7.19;
10.19-22; 12.22-24).
this Y is l e to encourage his readers
in their striving and suffering and 'to impress upon believers the
nearness of the invisible world without insisting on the nearness of
the parousia'.
m

w a

19

7 1 . 4 We must also mention II Peter, probably the latest of the N T

writings. The striking feature about its eschatology is its somewhat
hollow 'orthodoxy'. It is 'orthodox' enough in its talk of entering
into 'the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ'
1 9 . C. K. Barrett, 'The Eschatology of the Epistle to the Hebrews', BNTE, p. 3 9 1 ; cf.
H. Conzelmann, An Outline of the Theology of the New Testament, i 9 6 8 , E T S C M Press
1969, pp. 3izf.
2

71.4]

The imminent

expectation

383

(II Peter 1 . 1 1 ) , of the day of judgment (2.9, 1 7 ; 3.7), of scoffers 'in

the last days' (3.3), of the day of the Lord coming like a thief in the
night (3.10), of a future cosmic dissolution in vivid apocalyptic
colours ( 3 . 1 0 , 1 2 ) , and of the coming of new heavens and a new earth
(3.13). But the delay of the parousia has clearly become a major
stumbling block - 'Where is the promise of his coming? . . . ' (3.4).
The author's response is for the most part traditional in character
- the argument from the purpose of God in salvation history (3.57); the argument that the delay is the mercy of God giving time for
repentance (3.9), and so on. The somewhat hollow ring comes in the
argument of 3.8 - the rather unsatisfactory consideration that con
cepts of time are inadequate when thinking of an act of God - 'with
the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one
day'. That is, he denies that the Christian can relate hope to any
events of the present; human time and God's promise are not so
readily correlated. This inevitably imparts a degree of arbitrariness
into the action of God (at least from the human standpoint) and cuts
away at the nerve of apocalyptic eschatology. He who argues thus
has lost all hope of an imminent parousia and would not be surprised
if centuries (even one or two millennia) elapsed before the traditional
parousia hope was realized. In short, in II Peter the original language
of apocalyptic fervour has become the more dogmatically calculated
language of 'the last things'. If 'early Catholicism' is a reaction to the
repeated disappointment of apocalyptic hope, then II Peter is a prime
example of early Catholicism.
The later Paulines and the Pastorals, Luke-Acts, John and II Peter
- these are the N T writings which most clearly reflect the changes in
emphasis and self-understanding which the delay of the parousia
forced upon the early Christians in the second half of the first century
and beyond. These examples are sufficient to demonstrate the point
that if early Catholicism is defined, in part at least, by the fading of
the imminent parousia hope, then early Catholicism is already well
established within the NT.
20

11

20. Cf. E. Kasemann, 'An Apologia for Primitive Christian Eschatology' (1952), ENTT,
p. 1 9 4 .
2 1 . But see also R. J . Bauckham, Jude, II Peter, Word Biblical Commentary 50, Word
1 9 8 3 , pp. 1 5 1 - 4 .

Early Catholicism

72.

INCREASING

[72

INSTITUTIONALIZATION

Increasing institutionalization is the clearest mark of early Cath

olicism - when Church becomes increasingly identified with insti
22

tution, when authority becomes increasingly coterminous with office,

when a basic distinction between clergy and laity becomes increas

ingly self-evident, when grace becomes increasingly narrowed to well
defined ritual acts. We saw above that such features were absent from
first generation Christianity (chs VI and VIII), though in the second
generation the picture was beginning to change.
72.1 Ephesians and Pastorals. The strongest evidence that an early
catholic perspective manifests itself already in Ephesians is the use of
ekklesia and Eph. 2.20. Whereas in the earlier Paul ekklesia (church)
almost always denotes all the Christians living or gathered in one
place, in Ephesians ekklesia is used exclusively of the universal Church
(1.22; 3 . 1 0 , 2 1 ; 5 . 2 3 - 2 5 , 27, 29, 32; contrast even Col. 4 . 1 5 ^ ) .
And Eph. 2.20 is easily read as an expression of second generation
veneration of first generation leaders. Yet, on the other hand, there
are strong parallels between the image of church order in Eph. 4 and
the body metaphor in Rom. 1 2 and I Cor. 1 2 . So we cannot be certain
on internal evidence alone whether Ephesians is the work of Paul
enlarging his vision of the local church as charismatic community to
cosmic dimensions (Eph. i.22f.; 2 . 1 9 - 2 2 ; 3 . 1 0 ; 5 . 2 3 - 3 2 ; cf. Col.
1 . 1 8 , 24), or the work of a second generation disciple of Paul begin
ning to think of ministry in terms of offices valid throughout the
universal Church. Even in the latter case, the absence of any mention
of bishops or elders makes it very arguable that the author is resisting
early catholicizing pressures as much as anything else.
With the Pastorals the position is clearer. I need only refer to the
evidence presented above (30.1). Notice particularly how the con
cept of office has already clearly emerged: elders, overseers (bishops)
and deacons are all titles for well established offices (I Tim. 3 . 1 'office of overseer'). Even more striking are the respective positions
of Timothy and Titus. They are obviously not simply emissaries from
Paul visiting one of his churches as his spokesman, as in days of yore
23

24

2 2 . See e.g. H. Conzelmann, RGG ,

III.139; F. Mussner, LTK, VI.89f. See further
Foreword on ch. V I (p. xlii and n. 2 7 ) .
2 3 . See further Dunn, Jesus, p. 346L
24. Cf. K. M . Fischer, Tendenz und Absicht des Epheserbriefes, Gottingen 1 9 7 3 ,
pp. 2 1 - 3 9 .

72.2]

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(I Cor. 4.17; Phil. 2.19; I Thess. 3.2, 6; II Cor. 7.13L; 1 2 . 1 8 ) . Rather

they begin to assume something of the role of monarchical bishops,
with authority over the community and its members concentrated in
them: theirs is the responsibility to keep the faith pure (I Tim. i.3f.;
4.6ff., 1 1 - 1 6 ; etc.), to order the life and relationships of the com
munity (I Tim. 5 . 1 - 1 6 - Timothy has the authority to enrol a widow
or to refuse enrolment, apparently without reference to others; 6.2,
1 7 ; Titus 2 . 1 - 1 0 , 1 5 - 'with all authority'), to exercise discipline and
mete out justice not least in the case of elders (I Tim. 5-i9ff. - Timothy
is the court of appeal, above the eldership), to lay on hands (I Tim.
5.22 - a function already reserved to Timothy?), and to appoint elders
(Titus 1.5). There is also a concept of 'apostolic succession' beginning
to emerge - Paul to Timothy to 'faithful men' to 'others', though
whether the succession is yet conceived in formal terms, from office
to office, is not clear (II Tim. 2.2). Also unclear is whether a kind of
sacramentalism has begun to emerge: the 'faithful saying' of Titus
3.5-7 is not significantly different from the (earlier) Pauline under
standing of baptism (see above p. 174), though it is possible that the
metaphor of 'washing' was now equated with the water of baptism
by the author. This is rather more likely than the saying itself suggests
since elsewhere in the Pastorals a clear theology of ordination has
emerged, with charisma no longer a free manifestation of the Spirit
through any member of the church, but the power of office bestowed
through the laying on of hands (I Tim. 4.14; II Tim. i.6. With such
evidence it would be difficult to deny that the Pastorals are already
some way along the trajectory of early Catholicism.
25

72.2 Luke-Acts. The evidence suggesting early catholic tendencies in

Luke-Acts at this point is not difficult to gather together (cf. above
pp. n 6 f . ) , although there is another side to the picture. In the first
place it is fairly clear that Luke has attempted to portray earliest
Christianity as much more unified in spirit and uniform in organiz
ation than was in fact the case.
(a) Considerfirstthe way he has cloaked the very serious and deep
divisions between the Jewish Christians centred on Jerusalem and the
expanding Gentile mission. He has presented the initial schism
between Hebrews and Hellenists as merely an administrative hitch
(Acts 6), whereas the reality was evidently much more serious (see
above 60). The disagreement over circumcision between Paul and
Barnabas and 'some men' from Judea was serious, but amicably and

25. See further Dunn, Jesus, pp. 348f.

386

Early Catholicism

[72.2

unanimously resolved at the Jerusalem council (Acts 1 5 ) . But we hear

nothing in Acts of the subsequent confrontation between Paul and
Peter at Antioch (involving 'some men from James'), which Paul
obviously regarded with the utmost seriousness (Gal. 2), nor of the
depth of hostility between Paul and the apostles from Palestine in
II Cor. 1 0 - 1 3 , not to mention the violent explosions of Gal. 1.6-9,
5.12 and Phil. 3.2ft, or their causes. Similarly his account of Paul's
last visit to Jerusalem in Acts 2 1 successfully ignores the purpose of
Paul's visit (to deliver the collection) and so draws a veil over what
was probably the saddest breach of all between Paul and the Jerusalem
leadership (see above 56). All this gives added weight to the observa
tions about Acts familiar since they were first documented by M.
Schneckenburger, Uber den Zweck der Apostelgeschichte: namely
the parallelism between the activity of Peter and of Paul (cf. particu
larly 3 . 1 - 1 0 with 1 4 . 8 - 1 0 ; 5.15 with 1 9 . 1 2 ; 8.14-24 with 1 3 . 6 - 1 2 ;
9 . 3 6 - 4 1 with 2 0 . 9 - 1 2 ) ; the portrayal of Paul as one who fulfilled the
law's requirements (note particularly 1 6 . 1 - 3 ; 1 8 . 1 8 ; 20.16; 2 1 . 2 0 26; and cf. 23.6; 24.17; 25.8; 26.5; 28.17), d who showed due
respect for the Jerusalem apostles (9.27; 1 5 ; 16.4; 21.26); and the
character of the sermons attributed to Paul in Acts which are more
like the sermons in the first half of Acts and contain little that is
distinctively Pauline (cf. particularly 2.22-40 with 1 3 . 2 6 - 4 1 ) . In all
this Luke has hardly given an unbiased and fully rounded picture
even of the episodes and areas he has chosen to cover. It is not
necessary to conclude that Luke has invented all or even many of
these details; nor need we assume that Paul's own treatment of the
issues between him and the Jerusalem church is wholly objective and
fair. But if Paul's treatment is one-sided, so certainly is Luke's. At the
very least Luke has rubbed off the sharp angles of Paul's personality
and polemic as much as was necessary to fit him comfortably into his
unified picture of earliest Christianity. Is this not a kind of early
catholic papering over the first-century cracks?
26

a n

(b) We should note how cleverly Luke has focused this unity of the
early Church on Jerusalem as the fountainhead. His Gospel begins in
the temple and the Lukan birth narratives end in the temple (Luke 1 2), just as the climax to the Lukan version of the temptations of Jesus
is set on the temple (Luke 4-9ff.). More than a third of this Gospel is
presented in the framework of a journey from Galilee to Jerusalem

26. M . Schneckenburger, ber den Zweck der Apostelgeschichte, Bern 1 8 4 1 ; summar

ized in W. W . Gasque's useful study, A History of the Criticism of the Acts of the Apostles,
Tbingen 1 9 7 5 , pp. 34ff. See also Mattill, 'Purpose of Acts' (Bruce Festschrift),
pp. 1 0 8 - 2 2 .

72.2]

Increasing

institutionalization

387

(Luke 9 . 5 1 - 1 9 . 4 6 ) . And the Gospel ends where it began, with the

disciples 'continually in the temple blessing God' (Luke 24.53). Most
striking of all is the way in which Luke has concentrated all the
resurrection appearances in Jerusalem. By a simple redaction he omits
all reference to resurrection appearances in Galilee. Where Mark
reads, 'Go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going before you to
Galilee; there you will see him, as he told you' (Mark 16.7, with
reference back to 14.28), Luke reads instead, 'Remember how he told
you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be
delivered into the hands of sinful men . . .' (Luke 24.6f., with Mark
14.28 simply omitted). Evidently then, Luke wished to present Jerusa
lem as the fountainhead of the gospel, the undisputed birthplace
and mother church of Christianity. Thus it is no accident that the
programme of his history has the gospel going out from Jerusalem in
ever widening circles till it reaches Rome (Acts 1.8; 28.30^). In the
early stages he is able to show the leadingfiguresin Jerusalem super
vising the decisive stages of the widening mission (8.i4ff.; 11.iff.,
22ff.). And in the latter half where the focus is exclusively on Paul he
achieves his end by presenting Paul as a regular visitor to Jerusalem
and his mission in effect as a series of missionary journeys out from
and back to Jerusalem (9.28; 1 2 . 2 5 ; 5- i 18.22 - the church of
Jerusalem is 'the church'; 20.16; 2 1 . 1 7 ) . All this is historically
grounded at least to the extent that Paul acknowledged a certain
primacy of Jerusalem (Rom. 15.27). But Luke has clearly slanted his
material by portraying earliest Christianity as a unified whole with
the progress of the gospel from Jerusalem to Rome backed by the
resources of a Church united round Jerusalem and threatened in a
serious or lasting way only from without - very much the sort of
presentation that we would expect from an early catholic historian.
I

2 7

(c) Luke also endeavours to focus the unity of the first generation
Church in the twelve apostles at Jerusalem and to depict the earliest
churches as uniform in organization. As we saw above, 'the twelve'
and 'the apostles' were not initially the same group (p. 1 1 6 ) ; and
whereas the Jerusalem church evidently gathered round the twelve in
the first stages of its life (p. 1 1 7 ) , the earliest outreach beyond Pales
tine and to the Gentiles probably focused round the apostles, with
'apostleship' presumably reckoned in terms of mission (p. 1 1 6 ) . But
Luke has in effect merged these two (overlapping) groups and made
them synonymous - the focus of unity for the whole Church world
wide (note particularly Luke 6.13; Acts 1 . 2 1 - 2 6 ; 2.42L; 4.33; 6.2, 6;
27. See further G. W. H. Lampe, St Luke and the Church of Jerusalem, Athlone Press
1969.

Early Catholicism

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[72.2.

8.14; 9.27; 1 1 . 1 ; 1 5 . 2 2 ^ ; 16.4). This has had two curious corollaries.

First, in 8.1 he portrays the whole church in Jerusalem as scattered
throughout Judea and Samaria (cf. 1.8) - that is, all except 'the
apostles'. In preserving apostolic continuity in and with Jerusalem
Luke wholly abandons the earlier sense of apostle = missionary, and
depicts the apostles in Jerusalem as the representative, or should we
say institutional centre of the whole growing Church. More impor
tant, second, by using 1.2if. as his definition of an apostle - one who
accompanied Jesus from the beginning of his ministry and witnessed
his resurrection and ascension - he effectively excludes Paul from this
central group of apostles, the twelve. Presumably it is for the same
reason that he treats the appearance of Jesus to Paul on the Damascus
road as simply a 'vision' (so specifically in 26.19) and not therefore
as a (very tangible) resurrection appearance like those which the
apostles enjoyed and which qualified for apostleship (cf. particularly
Luke 24.39). Here again we see Luke the apologist for Paul neverthe
less so anxious to portray the Church of first generation Christianity
as unified and in accord that he is willing to concede one of the points
which the historical Paul argued for most vehemently over against (at
least some) Jewish Christians (Gal. 1 . 1 , 1 5 - 1 7 ; I Cor. 9 . 1 - 6 ; 1 5 . 7 9). Luke achieves the rapprochement with Jerusalem which eluded
Paul in the end, but only by blurring his differences with Jerusalem
and by presenting him as one with and in effect subordinate to the
Jerusalem apostles.
The same effect is achieved in the area of 'church government' for he depicts Paul as appointing elders in all his churches (14.23) an act and an office of which we nowhere find mention in the Pauline
letters and which would have run counter to his vision of the Church
as charismatic community (see above p. 1 1 7 and 29) - but an act and
an office which made the Pauline churches accord with the Jerusalem
pattern of government from the first (see above p. 1 1 8 ) . Note also
the use of 'overseers' (20.28) = elders (20.17) ~ usage and equation
foreshadowing the post-Pauline merging of the developed order of
the Pauline churches and the Jerusalem form of church government,
and again implying a higher degree of uniformity than was evidently
the case (above 30). Again it is not necessary to conclude that Luke's
account is wholly fabricated, since most of the functions which
came to be concentrated on overseers and elders in the post-Pauline
28

28. Luke does call Paul and Barnabas 'apostles' in Acts 1 4 . 4 , 1 4 , but only in the
'missionary journey' which was immediately^and^ directly sponsored by the church at
Antioch ( 1 3 . 1 - 3 ) , so that 'apostle' in these two passages is used in the earlier sense of
'missionary' = apostle from Antioch, and does not carry the same weight as 'apostle' when
used of the twelve in Jerusalem (cf. II Cor. 8.234 Phil. 2.25).

72.2]

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situation had very probably been fulfilled from the first by diverse
members (charismatically) in the Pauline churches. But we have to
say that Luke's account is at least anachronistic and involves what
can properly be called an early catholic tidying up of the intial rather
diverse forms into the more uniform pattern of later decades (cf. I
Clem. 42.4).
A rather striking conclusion emerges from all this - namely, that
F. C. Baur's understanding of Acts was not so far from the truth
after all, despite its dogmatic overstatement. Luke's picture of earliest
Christianity and of Paul's role in it is after all something of a compro
mise between Jewish and Gentile Christianity, a smoothing of the
wrinkles and a disguising of the tears that disfigured the cloth of first
generation Christianity and made up into a suit which both might
find reasonably acceptable. The compromise, however, is not so
much between Peter and Paul, as Baur argued, as between James and
Paul, with Peter in effect the medianfigureto whom both are subtly
conformed (James - see Acts i5.i3ff.; Paul - see above p. 386). Is
this not justifiably to be designated 'early catholic'? But there is yet
more to be said.
(d) We must remind ourselves at this point that we have already
described Luke as an enthusiast (44.3), and that early Catholicism
has to be understood in part at least precisely as a reaction to enthusi
asm, an attempt 'to throw up a dam against the flood of enthusiasm'.
What are we to make of this surprising paradox? The fact is that
much though Luke wants to present earliest Christianity as a unified
whole, he also wants to demonstrate the sovereign freedom of the
Spirit over the Church. Hence even more than the completion of the
twelve apostles, the mission of the Church must await the coming of
the Spirit (Acts 1 - 2 ) . Hence even more than the official teaching
of the apostles, the prophetic inspiration of the Spirit is emphasized
(p. 197). Hence even more than the supervision of Jerusalem in the
Church's mission, the direction of the Spirit and of ecstatic vision is
29

30

31

29. 'The historical study of the last 100 years has not shown that the conflicts, tensions,
and resolutions described by F. C . Baur are imaginary; it has shown that they belong to
earlier dates than those to which Baur assigned them' (Barrett, 'Pauline Controversies',
p. 243).
3 o. Peter had a very significant role to play in preserving the unity of earliest Christianity
(see further below p. 430). But if the above presentation is at all securely grounded it
becomes impossible to trace back early Catholicism, or in particular, the (Roman) Catholic
concept of Petrine primacy, apostleship and apostolic succession, either to the beginnings
of Christianity or to the intention of Jesus (see also above ch. VI; against such theses as
those of P. Batiffol, Primitive Catholicism, i 9 i i , E T Longmans 1 9 1 1 , and O. Karrer,
Peter and the Church, E T Herder 1963).
3 1 . Kasemann, NTQT, p. 2 2 .
5

Early Catholicism

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[72.2

2 -

given prominence (Acts 1.8; 8.29, 39; 1 0 . 1 9 ; 3 - 4 ; 16.6L; 1 9 . 2 1 ;

20.22; and see above p. 196). Hence, above all, it is the gift of the
Spirit which is decisive for entry into Christianity, not approval or
ratification by Jerusalem and the apostles; these are not opposites for
Luke, of course ( 8 . 1 4 - 1 7 ) , but where the primary emphasis lies is
clear enough from the episodes of the Ethiopian eunuch (8.38f. - no
ratification here), Paul's conversion ( 9 . 1 0 - 1 9 ~ Ananias is described
as a devout Jew, 2 2 . 1 2 , but no attempt is made to tie him in with
Jerusalem or to represent him as Jerusalem's agent), Cornelius and
his friends (10.44-48, 1 1 . 1 5 - 1 8 ; 1 5 . 7 - 9 ) and Apollos (i8.25f. Priscilla and Aquila are as independent of Jerusalem as Ananias, and
add nothing fundamental to Apollos's Christianity).
These episodes also underline the point that there is no developed
sacramentalism in Acts. There is no dependence of the Spirit on bap
tism in Acts 8, 1 0 or 19; rather the clear message is that the gift of
the Spirit is the one thing that matters above all else ( 8 . 1 2 - 1 7 ; 9- )>
and that where the Spirit is already given baptism serves primarily as
acknowledgment of God's prior act and rite of entry into the Church
(10.44-48). To be sure Luke does speak of the Spirit as 'given
through the laying on of the apostles' hands' (8.18; cf. 5.12; 14.3;
1 9 . 1 1 ) , but the sequel at once rules out a sacramentalist interpretation
(8.i9ff.), and elsewhere in Acts laying on of hands is a wholly charis
matic act, the spontaneous act of identification and prayer for the
appropriate gift of grace (see particularly 3-6f.; 6.6; 9.17; 1 3 . 3 ; 19.6;
28.8). Kasemann's attempt to bulldoze this evidence into conformity
with his understanding of Luke as early catholic through and through
strains the evidence of Acts beyond endurance. Similarly with his
attempt to argue that in Acts 'the word' has been subordinated to the
Church. Not so! - a central theme of Acts is the free and victorious
progress of the word of God. It is not so much a case of the Church
carrying the word from Jerusalem to Rome as the word carrying the
Church to Rome (see particularly 6.7; 12.24; 3-495 19.20).
I

32

33

34

35

I therefore see nothing for it but to accept that Luke is both early
catholic and enthusiastic in outlook - however strange the paradox.
Perhaps he is able to hold the two contrasting strands together because
he writes in a second generation situation when enthusiasm had
32. See further Dunn, Baptism, ch. IX and above p. 1 7 1 .
33. Ksemann, 'The Disciples of John the Baptist in Ephesus' (1952), E T ENTT,
pp. 1 3 6 - 4 8 .
34. Kasemann, NTQT, p. 2 2 .
35. See also C . K. Barrett, Luke the Historian in Recent Study, Epworth 1 9 6 1 , and
Fortress Facet Book 1970, pp. 68, 7 0 - 7 6 ; Haenchen, Acts, p. 49; H. Conzelmann, 'Luke's
Place in the Development of Early Christianity', SLA, p. 304.

72.3]

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greatly receded and early catholic attitudes had become more domi
nant. But in so far as Luke has refused to subordinate Spirit to sacra
ment, or word to Church, and so refused also to portray the earliest
Christian ministry as a kind of priesthood, to that extent he cannot
be designated 'early catholic'. The description of Luke the early cath
olic has to be qualified by the description of Luke the enthusiast and vice-versa. It could be argued, of course, that his presentation
implies a confining of 'enthusiasm' to the idealized primitive past. But
the fact that he at the same time plays down the parousia hope of the
first Christians suggests rather that he wanted to portray earliest
Christianity in its life and mission as something of a model for his
own time. And since he could just as easily have played down or
ignored the other enthusiastic features of the earliest period, the fact
that he did not do so (rather the reverse - see above 44.3) leads us
back to the conclusion that Luke was himself an enthusiast. In short,
if we have to conclude that early catholic tendencies were operative
in Luke's writing of Acts, we have also to conclude that his own
enthusiasm provided an effective brake on these tendencies.
72.3 The Pastorals and Luke-Acts are the only serious NT candidates
for the title 'early catholic' in respect of increasing institutionalization,
though II Peter 1 . 1 9 - 2 1 can be understood as restricting exegesis of
the scriptures to an official teaching ministry. Matthew and John
could also just possibly be considered, if only because both of them
do speak in one passage of the Church as universal, the Una Sancta
(Matt. 1 6 . 1 8 ; John 1 7 . 2 0 - 2 3 ) . But as we have already seen, their
ecclesiology is actually much less institutionalized, much more indi
vidualistic, than that of the Pastorals (see above 30.3, 3 1 . 1 ) , and
their emphasis on the universal Church is in fact much closer to that
of Ephesians than to the early Catholicism of the Pastorals. A similar
judgment would have to be made, mutatis mutandis, with regard to
I Peter, Hebrews and Revelation (see above 30.2, 3 1 . 2 , 3), and no
clear impression can be gained from Jude on this point (though Jude
2off. has strong Pauline echoes). Nor is any sacramentalism evident
in these writings. Matthew 28.19 probably envisages a more formal
baptismal ceremony, but gives no hint of a sacramentalist view of
baptism. I Peter 3.21 defines baptism as the expression of faith (not
as a channel of grace), and no other reference in I Peter (or James)
involves a reference to baptism. Hebrews 10.22 describes baptism
only as a washing of the body with pure water and so puts baptism
36

36. Kasemann, 'Apologia', ENTT,

pp. 1 8 7 - 9 1 .

Early Catholicism

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[73

on the same level as Jewish washings (also 6.2). And a passage like
Rev. 7.14 hardly refers to baptism (washed in blood).
In particular, John's individualism is very plausibly to be under
stood precisely as a protest against the kind of institutionalizing trends
so evident in Pastorals (above pp.i29f., cf. again Hebrews and Reve
lation - 31.2, 3). Likewise the Johannine writings seem if any
thing to be opposed to the kind of sacramentalism which is already
clearly established in the early Catholicism of Ignatius ('the medicine
of immortality' - Eph., 20.2) (see above 41). Most intriguing of all
is the attack of 'the elder' on Diotrephes in III John 9f. Diotrephes
was clearly in control of this church at least: not only was he able to
refuse a welcome to visiting Christians, but he also 'expels from the
church' those who crossed him. Diotrephes, in other words, was
acting with the authority of a monarchical bishop (cf. Ignatius,
Eph., 6.1; Trail., 7.2; Smyrn., 8.if.), and it was against this lust for
ecclesiastical prominence and power (philoproteuon) that 'the elder'
wrote. In other words, assuming that III John comes from the same
circle as I and II John, it is best seen as the response of a kind
of convention or conventicle Christianity, an anti-institutional and
individualistic pietism, protesting against the increasing influence of
early Catholicism.
In short, // the increasing institutionalization of early Catholicism
begins to emerge within the NT itself, in part in Luke-Acts and
most strikingly in the Pastorals, so too does a protest against early
Catholicism, in part in Hebrews and Revelation, in part even in Acts,
more strongly in John's Gospel and the Johannine epistles, and most
strongly probably in III John.
37

38

73.

C R Y S T A L L I Z A T I O N OF
SET

THE

FAITH

INTO

FORMS

We need not delay long in this area since ch. IV above has covered
most of the ground already, and the findings there bear directly upon
our question here. It is quite clear of course that there was a tendency
to formulate Christian faith into particular statements more or less
37. See Dunn, Baptism, chs XVII-XVIII.
38. Cf. e.g. von Campenhausen, Authority, pp. 1 2 2 L ; Kiimmel, Introduction, p. 448;
J . Lieu, The Second and Third Epistles of John, T. & T. Clark 1986, pp. 1 6 2 - 3 ; and the
extremer thesis of Kasemann (above p. 5). Some discern 'early catholic' traits in the
Johannine epistles, particularly in the emphasis on tradition and truth; but see C. C .
Black, 'The Johannine Epistles and the Question of Early Catholicism', NovTest, 2 8 , 1 9 8 6 ,
pp. 1 3 1 - 5 8 ; Strecker, Johannesbriefe, pp. 3 5 1 - 4 .

73]

Crystallization of the faith

393

from the beginning (e.g. Rom. 1.3L; 10.9; I Cor. 15-3ff.; II Tim. 2.8).
But we were forced to conclude from our study of the role of tradition
in first-century Christianity that in Paul and John at least tradition
was not something which, once put into words, set fast in unyielding
forms which were simply passed from apostle to new church, from
teacher to taught. For both Paul and John faith was living faith,
tradition was pneumatic tradition, and teaching was as much (or
more) charisma as craft. So, for example, the gospel which Paul
proclaimed to the Galatians was not simply a series of traditional
formulations passed on to him from the Jerusalem apostles, but the
kerygma interpreted by him in a way which caused offence to many
Jewish Christians (though the pillar apostles accepted the interpret
ation). And in I Cor. 15 the argument he uses is not simply a repetition
of the tradition about the death and resurrection appearances of
Jesus, but an interpretation of that tradition which ran counter to the
interpretation (of the same tradition) maintained by the Corinthian
gnostics (I Cor. 1 5 . 1 2 ) . Likewise John's Gospel is hardly simply the
literary deposit of traditions of Jesus which have remained fixed from
the first, but his own inspired reproclamation, that is reinterpretation
of earlier traditional material. Just as the formula with which the
docetists are denounced in I John is not an original tradition, but the
early faith interpreted and reformulated in the face of the new chal
lenge (see further above 17.1, 18.4, 19.3; also 47.3, 64.3). So it is
clear at this point at least that early Catholicism has no real anchor
point in Paul and John, for the mark of early Catholicism is not
simply the framing or passing on of tradition, but the crystallization
of tradition into set forms, with liberty to reinterpret and recast these
forms either denied or strictly limited to a selected few. Where then
in the N T is there evidence of such an attitude to tradition?
{a) We saw above that a more conservative attitude towards the
traditions of Judaism was a mark of the earliest Jerusalem community
and indeed of Jewish Christianity in general (16.3, 54.2, 55). An
obvious question therefore is whether any of the more distinctively
Jewish Christian writings in the N T demonstrate early catholic traits
in respect of Christian tradition. Neither James nor Hebrews shows
any real sign of early Catholicism at this point; Hebrews' urging of its
readers to hold fast their confession is about as near as we get (3.1;
4.14; 10.23), and that is hardly close. But there is perhaps some more
positive evidence in Matthew. I am thinking here particularly of
Matt. 1 6 . 1 9 , 1 8 . 1 8 , 24.35 d 2,8.2c Matthew 24.35 speaks of the
a n

39

39. On Matthew's attitude to charismatic enthusiasm, including the immediacy of inspi

ration, see above pp. 1 9 5 , 2 1 2 , 269.

394

Early Catholicism

[73

timeless validity of Jesus' words, and, though the saying is taken over
without alteration from Mark 1 3 . 3 1 , it may be intended by Matthew
to denote a fixity of the Jesus-tradition similar to that of the law in
Matt. 5.18. Matthew 28.20 formulates the final commission to the
disciples in terms of 'making disciples . . . and teaching them to
observe all that I have commanded you' - in some contrast to the
nearest parallel in Luke (Luke 24.47). Most striking of all is the use
of the language of 'binding' and 'loosing' in Matt. 1 6 . 1 9 d 1 8 . 1 8
- material peculiar to Matthew; for most probably Matthew has in
mind here the technical Aramaic terms for the verdict of a doctor of
the law who pronounces something forbidden (bound) or permitted
(loosed), the judgment being made in the light of the oral law - the
implication being that the teaching of Jesus has taken the place of the
oral law.
On the other hand, we have also noticed that Matthew's own
presentation of Jesus' teaching is itself a development and interpret
ation of the Jesus-tradition (cf. 1 8 . 1 - 3 ) , though of course it is
always possible that he hoped his representation of the Jesus-tradition
would be the lasting and determinative one (hence perhaps his presen
tation of Jesus' teaching in five blocks in echo of the Pentateuch - see
above p.268). We saw too that Matthew himself seems to have set
his face against the oral tradition of the rabbis and insisted that
Christians must interpret the law by love (55.2); for Matthew the
teaching of Jesus had not become part of the law, so as to share its
fixed and inviolate nature, but provided an extended illustration of
how Christians should interpret the law by love. Andfinally-weshould
recall that for Matthew the authority to bind and ; loose was not
restricted to Peter or to some ecclesiastical hierarchy, but was pre
cisely the prerogative of every member in the community (30.3). We
must conclude therefore that while there are expressed in Matthew
attitudes which could develop into an early catholic view of the faith,
Matthew himself hardly qualifies even as a candidate for the title
'early catholic'.
a n

40

{b) The other most conservative attitude to tradition was that of

the Pastorals. And here indeed we have the strongest evidence in the
NT of an early catholic attitude to Christian tradition. As we noted
above (17.4), in the Pastorals a coherent body of tradition has al
ready crystallized into set forms and serves as a well defined touch
stone of orthodoxy - 'the faith', 'sound teaching', 'that which has
been entrusted', etc. The possibility of this tradition being (radically)
recast or moulded into fresh formulations is nowhere envisaged, and
40. Dalman, Words, pp. xi^i.

73]

Crystallization of the faith

395

indeed is almost certainly excluded. The role of the church hierarchy

is to preserve, cling to, protect the tradition (I Tim. 6.14, 20; II Tim.
1 . 1 4 ; Titus 1.9), not to reinterpret or refashion it. Prophecy, which
Paul had always prized more highly than teaching (Rom. 12.6; I Cor.
12.28; 1 4 . 1 ; Eph. 4 . 1 1 ) , is evidently seen by the author as belonging
more to the past than the present, or it may conceivably have been
reduced to a formalized element within the ritual of ordination (I Tim.
1 . 1 8 ; 4 . 1 , 14). At any rate it no longer stands in dynamic interaction
with the earlier tradition, as in Paul and John, and the possibility of
new revelations which could call in question the established formula
tions of 'the teaching' is hardly envisaged, or else such questionings
are already condemned as idle speculations, so-called knowledge,
stupid controversies and the like (I Tim. 1.4; 6.20; Titus 3.9). Even
Paul is himself depicted more as the keeper of tradition than its
creator, and the Spirit as the preserver of the past tradition rather
than as the one who leads into new truth (I Tim. 1 . 1 1 ; II Tim. 1 . 1 2 14; Titus 1.3). If in Paul's letters enthusiasm was contained, in the
Pastorals it is wholly excluded (above 47.2). Early Catholicism
indeed!
(c) Elsewhere in the N T the only real evidence of the development
of an early catholic 'rule of faith' comes in Jude, where false teaching
is not argued against but simply confronted with the established for
mulations of the faith - 'the faith which was once for all delivered to
the saints' (Jude 3; cf. v. 1 7 ) - and II Peter, where again we see the
concept already developed of a clearly defined and authoritative body
of truth passed on from the prophets and apostles of an earlier genera
tion (II Peter 1 . 1 2 ; 3.2; cf. 2.2, 2 1 ; also 3 . 1 5 ^ - Paul now a somewhat
awkward part of the sacred inspired tradition).
There is however, no real sign in Acts of a similar crystallization
of the faith into set forms, despite the claims once again of Kasemann. To be sure Luke presents a picture of 'the (authoritative) teach
ing' of the apostles in Acts 2.42 (cf. i.2if.; 6.2, 4), and speaks readily
of 'the faith' in 6.7 and 13.8 (cf. 14.22; 16.5); but to say that 'this
principle of tradition and legitimate succession runs like a red thread
through the fabric of the whole first section of Acts' is a conclusion
which far outruns the evidence. There is a certain fixing of tradition
in the threefold repetition of the key episodes of Paul's conversion
(Acts 9; 22; 26) and Cornelius's conversion (10; 1 1 ; 1 5 . 7 - 1 1 ) , just
41

4 2

43

44

4 1 . Dunn, Jesus, ch. X I , n. 1 4 .

42. Disputed by Bauckham, Jude pp. 8 - 1 1 , who also notes the extent to which Jude is
dependent on the apocalyptic writings, I Enoch and Ass.Mos.
43. Kasemann, 'Ministry', ENTT, pp. S9H.; 'Ephesians and Acts', SLA, p. 290.
44. Kasemann, 'Ministry', ENTT, p. 89.

Early Catholicism

[74.1

as the repeated emphases in many of the sermons in Acts presumably

indicate what Luke considers should be the character and central
content of evangelistic preaching in his own day. And in 20.29L
there appears the typical view of later orthodoxy (cf. above pp.zf.),
that heresy is (by definition) a post-apostolic development. Yet at the
same time the sermons are by no means repeated stereotypes: not one
is parallel to another throughout, each has its own distinctive elements
(e.g. 2 . 1 4 - 2 1 ; 1 0 . 3 4 - 3 9 ; 1 3 . 1 6 - 2 5 ) , and the speeches of Acts 7 and
1 7 are quite unlike any of the rest. Similarly the three accounts of
Paul's conversion differ significantly in detail. In neither case can we
really speak of Luke fixing the tradition into set forms. Nor is there
any attempt by Luke to portray an 'apostolic succession', or instruc
tion in the faith as a transmission of apostolic tradition in the manner
suggested by the Pastorals, Jude and II Peter - not even in Acts 2 0 . 1 8 3 5 ; Luke i.iff. certainly need not be so interpreted, and Acts 16.4,
the most plausible case in point, is better understood as part of Luke's
attempt to show the unity of earliest Christianity and does not rep
resent an early catholicizing of tradition (see further above pp.385f).
Once again therefore Acts fails to fulfil the criterion which would
require us to designate it 'early catholic'. Only the Pastorals, Jude and
II Peter pass muster on this point.
45

46

47

74.

CONCLUSIONS

74.1 It can hardly be disputed that early Catholicism is to be founds

already in the NT, that there are clear-cut tendencies evident in some
NT writings which developed directly into the Catholicism of later
centuries, that the trajectory of early Catholicism begins within the
first century and some N T documents lie firmly on it. The clearest
examples are the Pastorals: in them the parousia hope is a faded
shadow of its earliest expression, in them institutionalization is
already well advanced, in them Christian faith has already set fast in

45. Cf. Schweizer, 'Concerning the Speeches in Acts' ( 1 9 5 7 ) , E T SLA, pp. 2 0 8 - 1 6 ; and
above 4. But see also Schweizer, Jesus, pp. 1 4 7 - 5 1 .
46. Cf. further W. W. Gasque, 'The Speeches of Acts: Dibelius Reconsidered', New
Dimensions in New Testament Study, ed., R. N . Longenecker and M . C. Tenney, Zondervan 1 9 7 4 , pp. 2 4 7 - 9 .
47. See H.-J. Michel, Die Abschiedsrede des Paulus an die Kirche Apg.
20.17-38,
Mnchen 1 9 7 3 , PP- 9 7 5 otherwise H.-F. Weiss, ' "Frhkatholizismus" im Neuen Testa
ment?', in J . Rogge and G. Schule, Frhkatholizismus im kumenischen Gesprch, Berlin
1 9 8 3 , pp. 1 8 - 2 0 . The earlier debate is helpfully reviewed by E . Grasser, 'Acta Forschung
seit i960', ThR, 4 1 , 1 9 7 6 , pp. 2 7 5 - 8 6 (here particularly pp. 2 8 1 - 3 ) .
I -

74-2.]

Conclusions

397

fixed forms. The question of whether Ephesians should also be classi

fied as early catholic depends on the interpretation of one or two key
passages, that is to say it depends on whether Ephesians is regarded
as Pauline or post-Pauline in origin: if Pauline, then the passages are
better interpreted as a development of the Pauline understanding of
the Church which does not significantly depart from his vision of the
Church as charismatic community; if post-Pauline, then they could
be interpreted as a movement (an unwilling movement? - see above
p. 384 n. 24) towards the early Catholicism of the Pastorals. The other
clearest example of early Catholicism within the N T is II Peter, in
virtue particularly of its treatment of the parousia and of its appeal
to the sacred tradition from the founding era of Christianity now
past. Jude also probably qualifies if only because for it too 'the faith'
has already become fixed and established - though there is also evi
dence in Jude of a livelier and less formalized experience of the Spirit
than would be typical of early Catholicism (Jude i9f.).
John's Gospel and IIII John should not be regarded as early cath
olic. Despite the evidence of some reaction against an imminent par
ousia hope, these Johannine writings are better understood as a
reaction also against early Catholicism itself. The Pastorals and the
Johannine circle are in fact sharply contrasting ways of meeting
the same problem of the delay of the parousia. Finally Luke-Acts, the
most intriguing N T documents on the question of early Catholicism,
are best understood as an attempt at a sort of merger between an
early catholic perspective and the enthusiasm of thefirstChristians.
Baur was on the right lines when he saw Acts as a compromise
between Jewish and Gentile Christianity, and such a compromise is
the basis of the early catholic view of the Una Sancta Apostolica. But
Luke was evidently aware of the danger of squeezing out the spirit,
of subordinating him to a church hierarchy, of confining him within
set forms and rites, and so wrote as one who wanted to see the Church
of his own day both unified and open to the Spirit - open to the Spirit
in the way the first Christians had been, unified in a way they had
not.
74.2 In terms of historical origin within thefirstcentury, early Cath
olicism was a late starter. Christianity, as we saw above (67.3),
began as an enthusiastic apocalyptic sect, and early Catholicism has
all the marks of subsequent reaction in face of the disappointments
and excesses of such enthusiasm. Early Catholicism is the typical
second generation solidifying and standardizing of forms and patterns
which were much more spontaneously diverse in the enthusiasm of
the first generation, so that, for example, the institutionalization of

3 9

Early Catholicism

[74.3

the Pastorals is the post-Pauline reaction to the failure of the Pauline

vision of charismatic community to provide an enduring structure of
internal and inter-church relationships.
This judgment has to be qualified in one respect, since it is clear
that the organization of the Jerusalem church which developed under
James (still in thefirstgeneration) was in many ways more conducive
to early Catholicism than the Pauline 'model' - particularly in so far
as the synagogue pattern of government and the Jewish Christian
respect for tradition provided for an easier transition to early Cath
olicism. It is precisely the merger of the Jerusalem pattern and the
post-Pauline form which constitutes some of the clearest evidence of
early Catholicism in Acts and the Pastorals (Acts 1 4 . 2 3 ; 20.17, 8 see above p. 388; I Tim. 3 . 1 - 7 ; 5.17, 1 9 ; Titus 1.5, 7ff.). This being
so, then in view of the theses of Harnack and Heitmuller mentioned
above (pp. 373^), it is worth noting that if anything, early,Catholicism
was rooted more in the conservatism of Jewish Christianity than in
the syncretism of Hellenistic Christianity.
2

48

74.3 Early Catholicism was not the only trajectory or form of Christ
ianity to emerge from the first century. It is the one which became
dominant in later decades, but at the turn of the century it was not
yet dominant. And if judgment was to be made solely in terms of the
NT alone there would be nothing to suggest that it should become
the normative expression of Christianity. Unfortunately however the
other main alternatives at the end of thefirstcentury were not so well
constituted to provide a pattern of church life that would endure.
Apocalyptic Christianity, almost by definition, is unable to outlive
any more than one generation; failure of the parousia hope, if it did
not destroy the faith which bore it, would in most cases result in a
reaction into some kind of early Catholicism; imminent End expec
tation is hardly a tradition which can be passed from one generation
to another, but can only be reborn afresh as something wholly new
in succeeding generations. As for Jewish and Hellenistic Christianity,
early Catholicism may be understood precisely as that compromise
between the two which absorbed the most enduring elements of both
and which left second- and third-century Christians a choice between
the large middle ground now occupied by early Catholicism or the
radical alternatives of Ebionism and Christian Gnosticism. The
49

48. Cf. W. Wiefel, 'Fruhkatholizismus und synagogales Erbe', in J . Rogge and G. Schille,
hrsg., Frhkatholizismus im kumenischen Gesprch, Berlin 1 9 8 3 , pp. 5 2 - 6 1 .
49. As has been demonstrated in the twentieth century by the successive waves of early
Pentecostalism, 'Latter Rain', neo-Pentecostalism, and Charismatic Movement.

74-4]

Conclusions

399

Johannine alternative to early Catholicism has in fact prospered after

a fashion, but (in the West) only as confined to the mystical tradition
within Christianity, or squeezed out to the fringes of Christianity to
emerge sporadically as the conventicle or camp-meeting protest
against the authoritarianism of the great Church. And the attempt of
Acts to provide a lasting balance between the early catholic vision of
the Una Sancta and the enthusiasm of Christianity's beginnings has
also been a failure, since subsequent interpreters looking for a model
of churchmanship have usually failed to recognize the Lukan balance
and have been captivated either by his early Catholicism (the catholic
tradition of interpretation) or by his enthusiasm (the Pentecostal tra
dition of interpretation). Thus it was that early Catholicism became
increasingly the dominant trajectory as Christianity moved through
the second and third centuries, became indeed theflightpath of ortho
doxy, so that the price which such as Paul had to pay in order to be
included within the canon was their conformity to that norm (see
above 63.4).
74.4 An intriguing question arises from all this: whether, from the
perspective of Christian origins, early Catholicism should have been
seen to be capable of heretical expression? Jewish Christianity, Hell
enistic Christianity, Apocalyptic Christianity were all widely recog
nized to have tendencies within them which when unchecked led into
heresy (Ebionism, Gnosticism, Montanism). That is to say, it was
widely recognized that there were elements in each which could be
overemphasized and cause the whole to become unacceptably lop
sided. Would it not have been better if equivalent tendencies had been
(more widely) recognized as present within early Catholicism? May it
not be that among those who eventually laid the most effective claim
to the title 'orthodox' there was too little recognition that Catholicism
could become similarly lopsided? - in particular, too little recognition
of how integral a lively eschatological hope is to lively Christianity,
of the importance of maintaining the eschatological tension, too little
recognition that church life and organization could be grievously
overstructured, the Spirit bottled up in office and ritual, too little
recognition that faith could be reduced to formulae and stifled within
set forms, not just crystallized but petrified. Luke and John both
sounded warnings against such developments, but they went largely
unheeded. Subsequently the only really effective protests, in Western
Christianity at least, were to be found in monasticism, in the rise of
50

50. 'Prophecy and imminent expectation belong together' (U. B. Muller, Prophtie und
Predigt im Neuen Testament, Gtersloh 1 9 7 5 , p. 2 3 8 ) .

400

Early Catholicism

[74.4

the orders and in the Reformation. Perhaps then the tragedy of early
Catholicism was its failure to realize that the biggest heresy of all is
the insistence that there is only one ecclesiastical obedience, only one
orthodoxy.

CONCLUSION

XV

The Authority of the New Testament

75.

SUMMARY

7 5 . 1 The task we set ourselves at the beginning of this book was to

investigate the unity and diversity of first-century Christianity and of
its literary deposit, the New Testament. I think it can justly be said
that we have discovered a fairly clear and consistent unifying strand
which from the first both marked out Christianity as something dis
tinctive and different and provided the integrating centre for the
diverse expressions of Christianity. That unifying element was the
unity between the historical Jesus and the exalted Christ, that is to
say, the conviction that the wandering charismatic preacher from
Nazareth had ministered, died and been raised from the dead to bring
God and manfinallytogether, the recognition that the divine power
through which they now worshipped and were encountered and
accepted by God was one and the same person, Jesus, the man, the
Christ, the Son of God, the Lord, the life-giving Spirit. Whether we
looked at the proclamation of thefirstchurches, at their confessional
formulae, at the role of tradition or their use of the OT, at their
concepts of ministry, their practice of worship, their developing sacra
ments, their spiritual experience - the answer came out consistently
in more or less the same terms: the cohesive focal point was Jesus,
the man, the exalted one. Even when we probed more deeply into the
most difficult area of all - the relation between the message of Jesus
and the messages of the first Christians - the same answer began to
emerge: the continuity between Jesus the man and Jesus the exalted
one was not simply assumed or read back as a post eventum theologi
cal insight, but was rooted in Jesus' own understanding of his relation
ship with God, with his disciples and with God's kingdom. So, that
there is a fundamental unifying strand running through earliest
Christianity and the N T can hardly be doubted, and that unifying
strand - Jesus himself.
What about other unifying elements? At various stages in our inves
tigation we have noted several such features which would have been

The Authority of the New Testament

[75.1

(or should have been) common to all or most of first-century Christian

communities. In particular, the diverse kerygmata called for the same
faith and made the same promise (forgiveness, salvation, Spirit)
(above pp.3of.);first-centuryChristianity was uniformly monotheistic
(above pp.56f.); kerygmatic and Jesus traditions could be appealed
to as common property (above p.82); the Jewish scriptures provided
a common basis for allfirst-centurybelievers (above p.87); the sense
that Christianity is the continuation and eschatological fulfilment of
Israel, the people of God, is widespread within the N T (above p. 13 2,
n.27); all Christians practised baptism in the name of Jesus and joined
in the common meals from which emerged the Lord's Supper as such
(above p.188); experience of the Spirit was a sine qua non of belong
ing to Christ (p.215); love of neighbour is regularly the touchstone
of conduct pleasing to God from Jesus to I John (pp.286, 336); and
all first-century Christians looked for the parousia of Christ albeit
with varying degrees of fervent expectancy (pp.365^). It would be
quite possible to seize on one (or more) of these and to make that the
central unifying focus offirst-centuryChristianity and the N T writ
ings - for example, on salvation-history, on faith or the selfunderstanding of faith (see above p.4), or on love of neighbour. But
in fact again and again the unifying element in these other features of
earliest Christianity narrows back down to Christ; that which really
distinguishes Christianity from itsfirst-centuryrivals is Jesus the man
and exalted one, Christ crucified and risen marking out both centre
and circumference. The faith called for by the kerygmata is faith in
Christ, the promise held out in effect the promise of grace through
Christ. What marks Christian monotheism off from Judaism's mono
theism is the Christian conviction that the one God is precisely to be
recognized as the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. The kerygmatic
and Jesus traditions are unifying precisely because they focus on Jesus,
on the significance of his death and resurrection, on the words of the
earthly Jesus which continue to express the mind of the exalted Lord.
Beyond that no one kerygma provided common ground on which all
were content to stand, no one confession served as a banner which
all waved with equal fervency, and even the Jesus-tradition was not
interpreted uniformly across the spectrum of first-century Christ
ianity. The Christian OT is in the end of the day something other
than the Jewish Bible, for the simple reason that the effective Christian
1

1. E.g. A . M . Hunter, The Unity of the New Testament, S C M Press 1 9 4 3 .

2. Cf. H. Braun, 'The Problem of a New Testament Theology' ( 1 9 6 1 ) , E T in The
Bultmann School of Biblical Interpretation: New Directions, J . M . Robinson, et al., JThC,
i , 1 9 6 5 , pp. 1 6 9 - 8 3 .

75- ]

Summary

OT is the Jewish Bible interpreted in the light of the revelation of the

Christ event; and here too the application of the same hermeneutic
principle led in the event to diverse interpretations of particular pass
ages. The Christian concept of salvation-history is distinct from the
Jewish in its conviction that God's purpose for Israel has climaxed in
Jesus and that the whole present and future of that purpose revolve
round Jesus - Christ the mid-point of time, the parousia of Christ the
end of time. So too the Gentiles can be included within the people of
God only by regarding them as heirs of God's promise in and through
Christ. Beyond that the actual outworking of this conviction resulted
in very different concepts and practices of mission, ministry and wor
ship. As for the sacraments, they are a force for unity precisely because
they focus the unity and continuity of the Lord we now encounter in
Jesus of Nazareth the crucified and risen. Beyond that the way in
which they do this and enable the encounter is a matter of continuing
dispute. In particular, although the eating of bread and drinking of
wine was common to all, the form which that eating and drinking
took was developing right through our period (so too the accom
panying words), so that again the really unifying factor was neither
form nor formula so much as the recognition that in these words and
actions the common faith in Jesus the man and exalted one came to
expression and was strengthened. Experience of the Spirit was only a
force for unity when the spirit in question could be recognized pre
cisely as the Spirit of Jesus; beyond that attitudes to religious experi
ence and enthusiasm quickly diversify. And the Christian motivation
and practice of love of neighbour is distinctive in its conviction that
this love was nowhere so clearly enunciated or embodied as in Jesus,
that this love is enabled in the present precisely by the Spirit of the
same Jesus. The unity of the N T writings then is not simply faith, but
faith in this Christ, not simply the self-understanding of faith, but
that self-understanding which measures itself by the cross and resur
rection of Christ and which receives and understands the experience
of grace precisely as mediated through that Christ, 'the grace of our
Lord Jesus Christ'.
In short, our study has shown the surprising extent to which the
different unifying factors in first-century Christianity focus again and
again on Christ, on the unity between Jesus the man and Jesus the
exalted one. And when we ask in addition what both unifies and
marks out the distinctiveness offirst-centuryChristianity, the unifying
strand narrows again and again to Christ alone. As soon as we move
beyond it, as soon as we begin to attempt to fill it out in word or
practice, diversity quickly becomes as prominent as unity. And the
more we attempt to add to it, the more disagreement and controversy

4o6

The Authority of the New Testament

[75.2

we find ourselves caught up in. In the final analysis then, the unity of
first-century Christianity focuses (often exclusively) on Jesus the man
now exalted, Christ crucified but risen.
75.2 Our study has also forced us to recognize a marked degree of
diversity within first-century Christianity. We can no longer doubt
that there are many different expressions of Christianity within the
N T . No form of Christianity in thefirstcentury consisted simply and
solely of the unifying strand outlined above. In different situations
and environments that strand was woven into more complex patterns,
and when we compare these patterns we find that by no means did
they always complement each other; on the contrary, they not
infrequently clashed, sometimes fiercely. To put it another way, the
same faith in Jesus man and exalted one had to come to expression
in words in a variety of different individuals and circumstances. Inevi
tably the language forms, even when shaped primarily by that faith,
were shaped also in part at least by each individual's own distinctive
experience and by the circumstances in relation to which the words
were framed or repeated. And so the language forms were different,
often so different that the words of one believer could not serve as
the vehicle for the faith of another, or even for himself or herself in
different circumstances. And not infrequently the differences were so
sharp that they provoked disagreement, dispute and even some con
flict. This was the picture which emerged again and again from our
study, whether we looked at the language of faith in proclamation or
confession or tradition or worship, or whether we turned rather to
the attitudes and actions of faith expressed in ministry, in worship or
in sacrament. So, if we have been convinced of the unity of firstcentury Christianity we can hardly be less convinced of its diversity.
We should also remind ourselves of just how diverse the diversity
has proved to be. When we compare the unifying strand with the
claims of other contemporary religions and sects the differences
between them are clear and undisputable. But when we compare the
elaborated pattern, Christianity as it actually was within its different
first-century historical contexts, when we set the diverse expressions
of first-century Christianity against their religious cultural back
grounds, then we have to confess that the margins become blurred,
there is no clearly agreed outline to be discerned. Earliest Jewish
Christianity was not so very different from the Judaism out of which
it grew; the Jewish Christianity of which we hear in the letters of Paul
was evidently anxious to remain as closely linked with Judaism as
possible; and the most Jewish Christian of the N T writings evince the
same concern to maintain continuity with the religion of the law and

75-2.]

Summary

to avoid that breach which would show Christianity to be something

wholly distinct. So too when we looked across the diversity to the
edges of Hellenistic Christianity the same picture emerged - the
churches of the Gentile mission often a very mixed bag, subject to
gnosticizing pressures within and with no clear margin (baptism not
withstanding) marking off their beliefs and religious practices from
those of the surrounding syncretistic cults. Not only so, but key figures
like Paul and John were open to ways of presenting their faith in
Jesus the man now exalted which seemed to others to hazard the
distinctiveness of that faith. That is to say, even when we look at the
writings of the N T themselves the margin (or better margins) between
accepted Christianity and its competitors are not so easy to draw, are
neither clear nor constant. The unifying strand remains distinctive,
but the more it was elaborated the less distinctive it appears to have
been. Not only so, but when we compare Jewish Christianity and
Hellenistic Christianity with each other we see that diversity meant
also disagreement, that the nearer we draw towards the blurred
margin of each in its environment the further each draws apart from
the other, and the sharper the disagreement becomes. As for enthusi
astic Christianity and apocalyptic Christianity, they almost by defi
nition are impossible to retain within fixed boundaries since their
high surges of devotion and excitement almost inevitably carry them
into some excess or other, even while holding firmly to the unifying
centre. On the other hand, early Catholicism certainly began to draw

firmer and clearer boundaries, to define 'the faith' more precisely and
safeguard its ministration, and that already before the first century
had drawn to a close. But so far asfirst-centuryChristianity itself is
concerned and so far as the N T is concerned, early Catholicism was
only one part of the diversity which wasfirst-centuryChristianity,
which is the N T .
We must conclude therefore that there was no single normative
form of Christianity in the first century. When we ask about the
Christianity of the N T we are not asking about any one entity; rather
we encounter different types of Christianity, each of which viewed
others as too extreme in one respect or other - too conservatively
Jewish or too influenced by antinomian or gnostic thought and prac
tice, too enthusiastic or tending towards too much institutionaliz
ation. Not only so, but each 'type' of Christianity was itself not
monochrome and homogeneous, rather more like a spectrum. Even
when we looked at individual churches the picture was the same of diversity in expression of faith and life-style, of tension between
conservative and liberal, old and new, past and present, individual
and community.

4o8

The Authority of the New Testament

[76

In short, if the distinctive unifying strand running through the N T

and first-century Christianity is narrow, the surrounding diversity is
broad and its outer margins not always readily discernible. An identifi
able unity, yes; but orthodoxy, whether in concept or actuality, no.

76.

HAS THE CANON

A CONTINUING

FUNCTION?

A crucial issue emerges from all this - the issue of the N T canon. In
view of this sharply contrasting picture of a tightly focused unity and
a wide-ranging diversity, what continuing value has the canon} Since
the N T is not a homogeneous collection of neatly complementary
writings, can we any longer speak of 'the N T teaching' on this or
that? Is the phrase 'the N T says' any longer meaningful except when
speaking of the central unifying factor? Must we not rather talk in
terms of 'Jesus' teaching', 'Paul says', and so on? Since the N T
writings do not speak with a united voice, where does that leave the
authority of the N T ? The orthodoxy of later centuries tried to read
catholic tradition, order, liturgy back into the beginnings of Christ
ianity; the sectarian response has been to pursue the vision of the
purity of the primitive Church unsullied by the post-apostolic 'fall'.
The N T justifies neither expediency but bears witness to a diversity
and disagreement within Christianity more or less from the first. So
how does the N T function as a 'canon', as a criterion for orthodoxy,
as a norm for Christians of later generations? These are questions
that require a much fuller discussion than is appropriate here. All that
I can do is outline a number of points that highlight the relevance of
the present study for such a fuller discussion. At the turn of the
century I reflected further on these points and include these further
reflections in what follows.
3

3. M y recent monograph, The Theology of Paul the Apostle, Eerdmans/T. & T. Clark
1 9 9 8 , has been criticized for attempting to achieve a composite voice of Paul from his
letters, though I would prefer to speak of the theology of Paul at the time he wrote his
letter to Rome, with the elements of his fuller theology not dealt with in Romans filled in
from his other letters.
4. Cf. H. Koester, ' G N O M A I D I A P H O R O I : The Origin and Nature of Diversification
in the History of Early Christianity', in J . M . Robinson and H. Koester, Trajectories
through Early Christianity, Fortress 1 9 7 1 , pp. 1 1 4 - 5 7 : 'The term canonical loses its norma
tive relevance when the New Testament books themselves emerge as a deliberate collection
of writings representing various divergent convictions which are not easily reconciled with
each other' (p. 1 1 5 ) .
5. In 'Has the Canon a Continuing Function?', in L . M . McDonald and J . A. Sanders,
eds., The Canon Debate, Hendrickson 2002, pp. 5 5 8 - 7 9 , I suggested that the 'further
reflections' could be regarded as 'a kind of book review of a book first written nearly

76.1]

Has the canon a continuing function?

76.1 A canon within the canon. We must observe first the historical
fact that no Christian church or group has in the event treated the N T
writings as uniformly canonical. Whatever the theory and theology of
canonicity, the reality is that all Christians have operated with a
canon within the canon. Any who use their N T a great deal will at
once acknowledge that some pages are more grubby with finger marks
than others (how many sermons has the average 'person in the pew'
heard on Hebrews 7, say, as against Matthew 5 - 7 or Acts 2 or
I Corinthians 13?). All Christians no doubt operate on the principle
of interpreting the unclear passages by means of the clear; but, of
course, a passage that gives a clear meaning to one is precisely the
unclear passage for another, and vice versa. This we should recall
includes the first-century Christians themselves who used the scrip
tural passages (OT) that spoke most clearly to their own faith and
experience of God through Jesus Christ to interpret others that pro
vided the basis for emerging Judaism (see above, 24).
It is hardly too much of an oversimplification to say that (until
recently) the effective N T canon for Roman Catholic ecclesiology
has been Matt. 1 6 . 1 7 - 1 9 and the Pastoral Epistles. The canon for
Protestant theology has clearly been the (earlier) letters of Paul; for
many Lutherans indeed 'justification by faith' is the real canon within
the canon. Eastern Orthodoxy and the mystical tradition within
Western Christianity could be said to draw their principal N T inspi
ration from the Johannine writings. While Pentecostalism looks for
its primary authentication to the Acts of the Apostles. Or again, the
canon for nineteenth-century Liberal Protestantism was the (socalled) historical Jesus, whereas after the First World War the focus
of authority for many Christian theologians became 'the kerygma',
while more recently others have sought to orient themselves in
relation to 'the apostolic witness'. Perhaps most arresting of all, we
6

quarter of a century ago! It's a kind of rhetorical trick, if you like, and designed, of course,
to tweak the reader's interest and possibly even to persuade her/him, either of the earlier
view, or, preferably, of its critical refinement' (p. 558).
6. Cf. H. Kung, The Church, 1 9 6 7 , E T Burns & Oates 1 9 6 8 , p. 1 7 9 .
7. See e.g. I. Lonning, 'Kanon im KanorC, Oslo 1 9 7 2 , p. 2 7 2 ; S. Schulz, Die Mitte der
Schrift, Stuttgart 1976, pp. 4x9a.; E. Kasemann, Das Neue Testament als Kanon, Gottingen
1970, p. 405. But Kasemann goes on: 'Every christology which is not oriented to the
justification of the godless, abstracts from the Nazarene and his cross. Every proclamation
of justification which does not remain anchored christologically and continuously drawn
back to the Lordship of Jesus Christ ends in an anthropology or ecclesiology, or possibly
in religious doctrine which can be legitimated in other ways' (p. 405). See also A . Stock,
Einheit des Neuen Testaments, Zurich, 1969, pp. 2off.
8. W. Marxsen, The New Testament as the Church's Book, 1.966, E T Fortress 1 9 7 2 .
'The locus of the canon . . . can only be the earliest traditions of Christian witness accessible

The Authority of the New Testament

[76.1

must remind ourselves that since early Catholicism was only one
strand within the N T , consequently orthodoxy itself is based on a
canon within the canon, where the lack of clarity of a Paul or a John
(cf. 2 Peter 3.15f.) has been interpreted into a conformity with that
single strand (cf. above, particularly 63.4).
Like it or not, then, all Christians have operated and continue to
operate with a canon within the N T canon. Since the N T in fact
enshrines such a diversity of first-century Christianity it cannot be
otherwise. It is inevitable that one should find Paul most congenial,
while another recoils from Paul and relaxes with John, while yet
another turns in puzzlement from both to the clarity of the Sermon
on the Mount, or the simplicities of Acts, or the orderliness of the
Pastorals, or is caught up in the fascination which the Apocalypse of
John has exercised throughout the history of Christianity. To recog
nize the reality that each does in fact operate with a canon within the
canon should not cause embarrassment or shame; it simply means
accepting that Christians are no different in their diversity from their
fellow believers of the first century.
Granted, then, that each Christian operates with a different canon
within the canon, is there no one canon within the canon that would
serve as the norm for all (like the 'historical Jesus' for the Liberal
Protestants and 'justification by faith' for so many Lutherans)?
Granted the diversity of the N T , does the unity within the N T not
offer itself as the canon within the canon? Our study would point
towards an affirmative answer, Jesus Christ. The common faith in
Jesus-the-man-now-exalted was the consistent focus of unity through
out Part I, and in Part II we came to realize that that nuclear faith
served not only as the centre of unity but also to mark out the
circumference of acceptable diversity.
Certainly, if the N T serves any continuing usefulness for Christians
today, nothing less than that canon within the canon will do. Christ
ianity begins from and finally depends on the conviction that in Jesus
to us today by historical-critical analysis of those writings. Specifically the canon of the
church . . . must now be located in what form critics generally speak of as the earliest layer
of the Synoptic tradition, or what Marxsen in particular refers to as "the Jesus-kerygma"'
(S. M . Ogden, 'The Authority of Scripture for Theology', Interpretation, 30, 1 9 7 6 , p. 2 5 8 ;
this becomes the hermeneutical basis of Ogden's The Point of Christology, S C M Press 1982).
The same logic provides a sort of theological underpinning for the neo-Liberal enterprise of
the Jesus Seminar, as illustrated by R. W. Funk, Honest to Jesus, Harper SanFrancisco 1996,
and of G. Ludemann, The Great Deception and What Jesus Really Said and Did, S C M Press,
1998, though in each case talk of 'canon' would be far from their thought. I have suggested
that the first Christians in effect used such a 'canon' themselves in determining what properly
belonged within the Jesus-tradition, that is, in judging whether a prophetic utterance was a
word of (the exalted) Jesus or not (see above, p. 38 n. 8).

76.1]

Has the canon a continuing function?

411

we still have a paradigm for our relationship to God and to one

another, that in Jesus' life, death and life out of death we see the
clearest and fullest embodiment of divine grace, of creative wisdom
and power, that ever achieved historical actuality, that Christians are
accepted by God and enabled to love God and their neighbours by
that same grace which we now recognize to have the character of that
same Jesus. This conviction (whether in these or in alternative words)
would appear to be the irreducible minimum without which 'Christ
ianity' loses any distinctive definition and becomes an empty pot into
which people pour whatever meaning they choose. But to require
some particular elaboration of it as the norm, to insist that some
further assertion or a particular form of words is also fundamental,
would be to move beyond the unifying canon within the canon, to
erect a canon on only one or two strands within the N T and no
longer on the broad consensus of the N T writings as a whole. It would
be divisive rather than unifying. It would draw the circumference
of acceptable diversity far more tightly than the canonical writings
themselves justify.
In short, the canon of the N T still has a continuing function in that
the NT in all its diversity still bears consistent testimony to the unify
ing centre. Its unity canonizes Jesus-the-man-now-exalted as the
canon within the canon. Its diversity prevents us from insisting on a
larger or different canon within the canon (see further below, 76.5).

10

Further reflection. The discerning critic will note a slight but signifi
cant shift in the formulation of the proposed 'canon within the canon'
- from 'Jesus-the-man-now-exalted' to the more elaborate formula
tion of the penultimate paragraph. The shift was from a christological
focus solely in terms of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, to
one that includes also the incarnation - from a Good Friday and
Easter focused christology, to one that includes also Christmas within
9. Cf. e.g. Luther: 'The proper touchstone by which to find out what may be wrong
with all the books is whether they treat of Christ. Whatever does not touch Christ is not
apostolic, even if Peter or Paul teaches it. On the other hand, whatever preaches Christ,
that is apostolic, even if it is done by someone like Judas, Annas, Pilate or Herod' (Preface
to James [ 1 5 2 2 ] , cited by W. G. Kummel, Introduction to the New Testament, 1 9 7 3 , E T
S C M Press 1 9 7 5 , p. 505); J . Denney, Jesus and the Gospel, Hodder 8c Stoughton 1908,
i 9 i i , suggested that the confession, 'I believe in God through Jesus Christ his only Son,
our Lord and Saviour' would 'safeguard everything which is vital to New Testament
Christianity . . . include everything which ought to have a place in a fundamental confession
of faith, and . . . [provide] the only basis of union broad enough and solid enough for all
Christians to meet upon' (pp. 398ff.).
10. The Lutheran canon within the canon in effect de-canonizes James (as Luther
found).

412,

The Authority of the New Testament

[76.1

the focus. The earlier, narrower focus reflected my own earlier percep
tion of where^the initial impetus and fulcrum point is to be found in
earliest Christian theology. But I was glad that I had even then recog
nized the need to broaden out the intra-canon formulation, for since
then the importance of the incarnation as a fundamental element
within Christian theology, and already within the N T , has become
steadily clearer to me.
The point is that while Good Friday and Easter are the definitive
moment for Christian soteriology, Christmas is the definitive moment
for Christian theology ('theology' in the narrower sense of 'under
standing of God'). The Christian doctrine of the incarnation starts
from the insight that Jesus shows us what God is like; or in more
weighty terms, that God has revealed himself in and through Jesus in
as final a way as is possible in human flesh. 'Definitive' means 'norma
tive' means 'canonical'. There is some tension between the two christological moments (Christmas; Good Friday and Easter). But that
tension is the basic stuff of Christian theologizing. To keep the appro
priate balance between them is difficult (the Orthodox have tended
to put more weight on the former; Protestants on the latter). But
better to experience the difficulty of maintaining the balance than to
lose the balance altogether. It is the wholeness of the Christ-event
that is the canon within the canon, the fundamental reference point
for both the characteristic and the distinctive features of Christianity.
The importance of including the moment of incarnation is that it
includes the implication of continuity - continuity with Jesus' own
religious and cultural heritage (Jesus the Jew, not just Jesus the Mes
siah), and continuity with creation (Jesus, the Wisdom of God). Too
great an emphasis on the moment of Good Friday and Easter over
weights the element of discontinuity between Jesus and the first
Christians on the one hand and their Jewish heritage on the other.
That begins a long road which winds its way through Marcion and
leads eventually to Auschwitz. In the last 50 years it has become
increasingly important for me to recognize that Christianity cannot
understand itself properly without understanding itself in terms of its
Jewish heritage, as in some sense part of Israel (on the model of the
olive tree of Rom. 1 1 . 1 7 - 2 4 ) . Similarly, too great an emphasis on
11

12

1 3

1 1 . It was the fuller formulation that provided the jumping-off point for my Christology
in the Making, S C M Press 1 9 8 0 , ^ 9 8 9 , which was the immediate successor to U&D
(Christology, p. 6).
1 2 . I am using the term 'moment' to signify both an event in time (more than a 'moment'
in the temporal sense, of course) and its importance ('of great moment', 'momentous').
1 3 . See e.g. my 'Two Covenant or One? The Interdependence of Jewish and Christian

76.2]

Has the canon a continuing function?

413

the moment of Good Friday and Easter inserts too sharp a disconti
nuity between salvation and creation, almost as though 'new creation'
obliterated 'old creation' (and concern for old creation) completely.
That way led to Gnosticism, to the extremes of apocalyptic, millennial
fanaticism and to the current malaise of ecological irresponsibility.
Above all, it is the continuity between Jesus and God that is at stake.
Without that continuity (expressed particularly in Word of God and
Son of God terms) Christianity loses, or loses sight of, its most funda
mental distinctive.
In short, the whole Christ-event is Christianity's canon within the
canon, simply because without it Christianity loses its right to exist
ence, loses its core definition, loses its single sine qua non identity
factor.
76.2 Unity in diversity. The canon of the N T has a continuing func
tion also in that it recognizes the validity of diversity; it canonizes
very different expressions of Christianity. As Ernst Kasemann pointed
out in a lecture already cited (see above p. 13 2), which gave ecumenical
thinking a massive jolt in the middle of the century of ecumenism:
the New Testament canon does not, as such, constitute the founda
tion of the unity of the church. On the contrary, as such (that is,
in its accessibility to the historian) it provides the basis for the
multiplicity of the confessions.
14

In other words the canon is important not just because it canonizes

the unity of Christianity, but also because it canonizes the diversity
of Christianity - not only the liberalism of Jesus but also the conserva
tism of thefirstJerusalem Christians, not only the theological sophisti
cation of Paul but also the uncritical enthusiasm of Luke, not only
the institutionalization of the Pastorals but also the individualism of
John. To put it another way: despite Ebionism, the letter of James
gained a place in the canon; despite Marcion, the letters of Paul were
accepted as canonical; despite Montanism, the book of Revelation
was accorded canonical status.
15

Identity', in H. Cancik et al., eds., Geschichte - Tradition - Reflexion, III Frhes Christen
tum, M . Hengel F S , Mohr-Siebeck 1996, pp. 9 7 - 1 2 2 .
1 4 . E . Kasemann, 'The New Testament Canon and the Unity of the Church', 1 9 5 1 ,
Essays on New Testament Themes, S C M Press 1964, p. 1 0 3 . In Kanon he puts the point
more sharply still: The canon 'also legitimizes as such more or less all sects and false
teaching' (p. 402)!
1 5 . These are all summaries of the earlier findings in U&D.

414

The Authority of the New Testament [ 7 6 . 2

If we take the canon of the N T seriously, therefore, we must take

seriously the diversity of Christianity. We must not strive for an
artificial unity - a unity based on our own particular canon within
the canon, or on some intricate meshing of traditions, hoping that
somehow we can cajole the others into line, whether by claiming a
monopoly of the Spirit or by the expedients of ecclesiastical blackmail.
There never was such a unity that could truly claim to be rooted in
the NT. The unity of the great Church in earlier centuries owed more
to social factors than to theological insights and could be justified
theologically only by ignoring or suppressing alternative but equally
valid expressions of Christianity (valid in terms of the diverse forms
of Christianity preserved in the NT). Such 'orthodoxy' is usually the
worst heresy of all, since its narrow rigidity and intolerant exclusiveness is a standing denial of the love of God in Christ.
To recognize the canon of the NT is to affirm the diversity of
Christianity. We cannot claim to accept the authority of the N T unless
we are willing to accept as valid whatever form of Christianity can
justifiably claim to be rooted in one of the strands that make up the
NT. To put it another way, we must take with renewed seriousness
the famous precept of Peter Meiderlin, quoted so often in ecumenical
circles:
In essentials, unity;
in non-essentials, liberty;
in all things, charity.
16

If the conclusions of this study are sound, the only way we can take
Meiderlin's precept seriously is by recognizing how few the essentials
are and how wide must be the range of acceptable liberty. We must
recognize that the Romans 14 paradigm of 'the weak' and 'the strong',
conservative and liberal, to which we alluded above (p. 8 5 ) , is of
wider application than merely to matters of conduct and tradition.
That is to say, we must recognize that other theological claims and
ecclesiastical forms which embody the unifying faith in Jesus the man
now exalted, or which truly spring from the diversity of the N T , are
authentic and valid expressions of Christianity, even when they cross
and conflict with some of the cherished claims and forms that we also
derive from the N T . 'Conservatives' who want to draw firm lines of
doctrine and practice out from the centre in accordance with their
particular tradition's interpretation of the N T , and 'liberals' who
16. R. Rouse and S. C. Neill, A History of the Ecumenical Movement 1 5 1 7 - 1 9 4 8 ,
SPCK 1 9 5 4 , ^ 9 6 7 , p.82.

76.2.]

Has the canon a continuing

function?

415

want to sit loose to all but the central core, must both learn to accept
the other as equally 'in Christ', must learn to respect the other's faith
and life as valid expressions of Christianity, must learn to welcome
the other's attitude and style as maintaining the living diversity of
the faith. The conservative must not condemn the liberal simply
because the latter does not conform to the former's particular canon
within the canon. And liberals must not despise conservatives simply
because the latter tend to count some non-essentials among their own
personal essentials (cf. Rom. 14.3). If 'canon' is to remain meaningful
it must be the whole N T canon; each must avoid confusing their own
tradition's interpretation of the N T with the N T itself, of confusing
their own canon within the canon with the canon proper. There are
obvious corollaries that follow from all this for our understanding of
'the visible unity of the Church'; but to explore them here would take
us too far beyond the proper scope of this study.
In short, whoever accepts the authority of the N T cannot ask less
than the NT's own unifying canon within the canon as the basis for
unity; but neither can we ask more without failing to respect the
canonical diversity of Christianity}
17

Further reflection. On the whole I am happy with what I wrote in this

section. It was meant to jolt readers out of any undue complacency on
the subject - and evidently succeeded in not a few cases. Such repu
tation as I had previously enjoyed for evangelical 'soundness' took a
large knock here. Though I should add, the downturn in that opinion
poll was more than compensated for by those who found the theme
here (or the book as a whole) liberating in a spiritually maturing
sense.
The broad brush treatment was not intended to call for reassess
ment of the christological controversies of the early Church; more on
that under 76.3 below. It was much more directed to the ecumenical
discussions of the twentieth century. One of the delights of the past
20 years has been the extent to which U&D has been recognized as
a positive contribution to the ecumenical debate. And in the same
spirit I would want to reassert the importance of the points being
19

1 7 . 'One must not make the canon in the canon into the canon' (Lonning, Kanon,
p.271).
1 8 . Cf. Kasemann, 'Is the Gospel Objective?', Essays on New Testament Themes: 'Those
who seek to maintain the identification of the Gospel with the canon are delivering Christen
dom over to syncretism, or, on the other wing, to the hopeless conflict between the Con
fessions' (p. 57).
1 9 . Giving rise e.g. to my '"Instruments of Koinonia" in the Early Church', One in
Christ, 2 5 , 1989, pp. 2 0 4 - 1 6 .

The Authority of the New Testament

4i6

[76.3

made in 76.2 for the wider ecumenism w%ich is ever more necessary
- not simply between the traditional denominations and expressions
of Christianity, but also for the expressions of Christianity that have
grown and flourish outside the traditional denominations: the parachurch organizations, home churches, the independent African
churches, and so on. If the Acts of the Apostles does teach anything
it is that the Church must follow the Spirit, not expect the Spirit to
follow the Church.
In the interval since Unity and Diversity I have also found that
Paul's conception of the body of Christ and Romans 1 4 (shorthand
for Rom. 1 4 . 1 - 1 5 . 6 ) are powerful ecumenical texts. The body of
Christ (as expounded in I Corinthians 12) is the scriptural model of
unity in diversity, for relations between churches as well as within
churches. And Paul's counsel to the weak and the strong/conservative
and liberal in Romans 1 4 has a continuing value which too few
have realized in their own intra- and inter-church relationships and
disagreements.
20

76.3 The limits of acceptable diversity. The N T also functions as

canon in that it marks out the limits of acceptable diversity. As was
noted in the chapters on 'Jewish Christianity' and 'Hellenistic Christ
ianity' (chs XI and XII above), even within the first century there
were those who recognized that not all expressions of Christianity
were to be accepted as equally valid. Already within the N T writings
themselves the limits of acceptable Jewish Christianity and Hellenistic
Christianity were beingfirmlydrawn: Jesus was more than a prophet;
the reality of his death was central, not just his teaching (58.2,
65.2). So too the character and limits of Christian apocalypticism

were being defined (69.2); though, it was also important to note,

and regret, that 'early Catholicism' had not been also seen to be
capable of a heretical (exaggerated) expression (74.4). The criterion
we saw in these chapters was basically two-fold: diversity that aban
dons the unity of the faith in Jesus the man now exalted is unaccept
able; diversity that abandons the unity of love for fellow believers is
unacceptable. In other words, where the conviction had been aban
doned that worship of God was determined by Jesus of Nazareth and
his resurrection, was now 'through' Jesus, then diversity had gone
20. I have found myself returning repeatedly to these passages in subsequent lectures;
see e.g. 'Unity and Diversity in the Church: A New Testament Perspective', Gregorianutn,
7 1 , 1990, pp. 6 2 9 - 5 6 (reprinted below pp. 4 3 4 - 5 9 ) ; 'Liberty and Community', Christian
Liberty: A New Testament Perspective, Paternoster Press/Eerdmans 1 9 9 3 , ch. 4; 'Living
with fundamental disagreements', Theology of Paul, pp. 6 8 0 - 9 .

76.3]

Has the canon a continuing function?

417

too far. Or where the conviction had been abandoned that the one
encountered in worship now was not really fully one with, continuous
with Jesus the man, then diversity had gone too far. Or again, where
diversity meant a breach in love towards those who also called upon
the name of this Jesus, then diversity had gone too far. The centre
also determined the circumference.
The N T thus shows not only how diverse wasfirst-centuryChrist
ianity but also where that diversity lost its hold on the centre. In
which case the N T can be said to function as canon by defining both
the breadth and the boundaries of the word 'Christian'. Of course,
to accept the N T as canon is not simply a matter of restricting the
adjective 'Christian' only to the actual Christianity witnessed to by
the N T (see also below 76.4). But it does mean that any claimants
to the title 'Christian' who cannot demonstrate their substantial
dependence on and continuity with the N T (in its unity as well as its
diversity) thereby forfeit their claim.
That such judgements (about acceptable and unacceptable diver
sity) were not lightly or easily achieved may perhaps be indicated, for
example, by the difficulty which both James and Hebrews and in a
different way Paul and John experienced in achieving canonicity. That
is to say, the great Church consciously drawing the lines of orthodoxy
more strictly was not wholly comfortable with precisely those writings
that were exploring the frontiers of Christianity and drawing in boun
daries in a day when the border area was much more of a no man's
land. In effect, we continue to explore this twofold criterion of accept
able diversity and the difficulty of its application in the following
three paragraphs - the interaction between the unity and diversity of
faith in Jesus in 76.4 and 76.5, and the interaction between diversity
and the unity of love in 76.6.
Further reflection. An issue insufficiently addressed in Unity and
Diversity was that of the N T canon itself. That is, why just these
writings? Since the study had taken the parameters of the N T as it
now is as the parameters for its discussion, it was not a question that
I needed or had occasion to pose. The logic was straightforward: if
this is the N T , and if the N T counts as 'canon', what then follows in
regard to the NT's canonical function? The questions raised even
from that limited question seemed to me sufficiently challenging on
their own without going into further questions on the what and the
why of the canon.
That was a pity, since the question of the legitimacy and limits of
the canon had been posed sharply to twentieth-century scholarship

4i8

The Authority of the New Testament

[76.3

from a history of religions perspective by ^jpfliam Wrede, to whom

I had referred at the beginning of the book. And since then the work
particularly of Helmut Koester has not permitted late twentiethcentury scholarship to escape that question. The issue is now more
pressing than ever. For in earlier discussion it could always be claimed
that a mark of canonicity was earliness: the N T consists more or less
of all the extant Christian documents from the first century. But now
the claim is pushed with great vigour, by Koester and others, that
there are other Gospels and forms of very early tradition outside the
canon, which should be given equal weight to the canonical Gospels
- notably, the Gospel of Thomas. This is a challenge that should
not be ducked.
I bring the issue up now simply because it seems to me that the
concept of canon and its function as developed in Unity and Diversity
provides something of an answer to this challenge. My point is two
fold. First, if the findings of Unity and Diversity are at all on track,
then it follows that the gospel about Jesus, the one sent from God,
who died and was raised 'for our salvation', was canonical more or
less from the first. It defined and identified the new 'sect of the Nazarene'. It gave canonical shape to the written expressions of the new
faith, including, not least, the Gospels. But it also determined, more
or less from the start, what were less than adequate as expressions of
that gospel. If there was a Q document, containing only sayings,
then it was valued as a collection of Jesus' teaching among the early
Christian churches, though not as an alternative to the gospel. The
argument that it was so conceived, that there was a 'Q community',
which knew only this form of Jesus' teaching and nothing of the
gospel of Good Friday and Easter, or even was hostile to that gospel,
is a scholarly hypothesis that confuses speculation with fact and dif
ference with antithesis. All we know with any confidence is (a) that
the only way Q was retained was within the framework of the
passion-directed Gospel of Mark; and (b) that Q-type material was
subsequently used by those who did see their form of Christianity as
an alternative to the canonically presented Jesus (the Gospel of
Thomas). There is nothing beyond scholarly imagination and contriv
ance to demonstrate that first-century diversity stretched much further
than what is indicated by the N T writings themselves. And if there
were groups more 'radical' than the 'disciples' of Acts 1 9 . 1 - 7 , or the
21

22

23

z i . W . Wrede, 'The Task and Methods of "New Testament Theology" ', 1 8 9 7 , E T in

R. Morgan, The Nature of New Testament Theology, S C M Press 1 9 7 3 , pp. 6 8 - 1 1 6 .
2 2 . See particularly H. Koester, Ancient Christian Gospels, S C M Press/TPI 1 9 9 0 .
2 3 . So e.g. R. W . Funk, et al., The Five Gospels, Macmillan/Polebridge 1 9 9 3 .

76.4]

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'spirituals' of I Cor. 1 - 4 , say, then all that that means is that already
in the earliest years the gospel regarding Jesus' life, death and resurrec
tion was already working to demonstrate the inadequacy of such
presentations, the limits of acceptable diversity. What if Q was dug
up from the sands of Egypt? Would it not have to be included within
the N T canon? No! Not at all! The decision was already made within
the first century that Q would not be retained as it stood, but only as
incorporated within the gospel form as we find in Matthew and
Luke. Nothing that has been discovered since, that is, nothing beyond
certain ill-founded, speculative reconstructions, requires us to recon
sider that decision.
Second, we should not forget the dynamic of the canon-process.
It is still sometimes assumed or implied that the N T writings did not
function as canon until the Church declared them canonical. That is
simply an inadequate way to conceive of the canon, or I might say, a
manifestation of the heretical form of 'early Catholicism' whose
danger was not adequately perceived. Rather we have to recognize
that there were various writings that so impressed theirfirstreaders/
hearers as church-creating and church-sustaining, that they were
retained by the recipients, re-read, pondered on and circulated more
widely. Something of this is already hinted at in the letters of Paul. In
other words, they exercised a shaping, defining influence (a canonical
authority) from the first. It was not everything written by a Christian
leader in the first century that became canonical: some of Paul's
letters, for example, were not retained; Q was not retained as Q. The
fact that the N T writings were preserved is itself a testimony to the
de facto canonical authority that they exercised more or less from the
first. In short, the N T canon was not so much decreed as acknowl
edged. The N T writings were hailed as canonical in recognition of
the authority they had been exercising from the first and in steadily
widening circles since then. It is not the Church that determines the
gospel, but the gospel that determines the Church.
24

76.4 On development. The N T canon also canonizes the develop

ment of Christian faith and practice, both the need for faith in Jesus
the man now exalted to take new forms in new situations, and the
way in which the N T witness to Christ has continually to be brought
into interaction with the changing world in which faith must live its
life. The N T shows Christianity always to have been a living and
24. I reflected further on this aspect particularly in 'Levels of Canonical Authority',
Horizons in Biblical Theology, 4 1 9 8 2 , pp. 1 3 - 6 0 ; reprinted in my The Living Word, S C M
Press/Fortress 1 9 8 7 , pp. 1 4 1 - 7 4 , 1 8 6 - 9 2 .

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[76.4

developing diversity and provides some sort of norm fof the ongoing
process of interpretation and reinterpretation.
The need for development is plain. For example, faith's talk of
Jesus as the Christ had in other circumstances to be supplemented, in
effect superseded, by the confession of Jesus as the Son of God; while
in still other circumstances it was the (new) confession that Jesus
Christ came in the flesh which became the vital expression of living
faith (see above p.62). Again, those who framed the hymns used in
Philippians and Colossians, etc. evidently found it important and
necessary to develop an expression of worship which spoke meaning
fully in the language and thought forms of contemporary speculation
(ch. VII). Later on it would appear that the Jewish Christianity that
failed to be canonized by the N T was precisely that form of primitive
Christianity that failed to develop. Or to put the point the other
way round, it was only Matthew's and Hebrews' more developed
christologies that countered the more primitive christology retained
by the Ebionites; just as it was I John's more developed confession of
Jesus Christ come in the flesh that countered interpretations that
could be drawn from the more ambiguous Son of God confession.
The fact is that no N T document as such preserves or embodies
Christianity as it actually was in the very beginning; rather, each
shows us Christianity in a different place and at a different time, and
consequently in a different and developed form.
25

As to the 'how* of such development, two points of clarification

are necessary. When I talk here of development, I am not thinking of
the developments within the NT as a straight line, of one development
growing out of another, of Newman's idea of evolutionary develop
ment, whereby doctrinal developments can be justified as an organic
growth from N T shoots. I am not arguing, for example, that the
Johannine christology of the personal pre-existence of the Son is
simply the fuller apprehension of what had always been true, the
making explicit of what had always been implicit in earlier formula
tions (or that the orthodox Trinitarianism of the Councils was simply
the inevitable progressive unfolding of what had always been integral
to the whole of N T theology). That would be to make John, or a
particular doctrine of revelation, or a particular doctrinal formulation
the effective canon within the canon, rather than one deriving from
26

27

2 5 . Referring to ch. XI above, including one of the most provocative conclusions to

emerge from the study: 'One of the earliest heresies was conservatism' (p. 2 8 7 ) !
2 6 . J . H. Newman, Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine, 1 8 4 5 , Penguin
1974.
2 7 . See Further Reflection below.

76.4]

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historical critical exegesis (as above 76.1). For if the canon is the
N T as such, then why should the earlier, less developed expressions
of faith not be equally normative, normative in their very uncertainty
or unwillingness or refusal to head in the direction John followed so
boldly? To argue that only one development within the N T is canoni
cal is to fail to recognize the diversity of development within the N T .
Indeed to argue that only one development within the N T is canonical
is in fact to deny canonicity to the N T (where the elimination of
elements unacceptable to later orthodoxy is far from complete) and
actually shifts canonical authority to the great Church's interpretation
of the N T writings from the late second century onwards - no longer
a canon within the canon, but a canon outside the canon. In the N T
picture each development is less like another length of pipeline, and
more like another radius of a sphere (or spheroid), formed by immedi
ate interaction between the unifying centre and the moving circumfer
ence. Alternatively, the diverse developments of the N T are somewhat
like a series of branches (to be sure often intertwined) growing out of
the trunk of the unifying centre, with nothing in the NT itself to
justify the claim that only the branch of early Catholicism should

become the main (far less normative) line of growth.

The second clarification is that the N T functions as canon at this
point in that it shows us the how of development, but not the what
of development. If the N T canon does not support the sole legitimacy
of only one of the subsequent developments (catholic orthodoxy),
neither does it restrict legitimacy only to the developments that are
actually enshrined within its pages. We must not absolutize the par
ticular forms that Christianity took in the N T documents; we must
not make the N T into a 'law of the Medes and Persians'. The N T as
canon demonstrates how the unifying centre of Christian faith came
to diverse expression in the diverse circumstances of thefirstcentury;
it does not dictate what the expression of Christian faith should be
in any and every circumstance.
The how of development can be characterized as the interaction
between my or a church's faith in the Jesus of the N T and my or a
church's perception of the diverse challenges and needs confronting
that faith as it seeks contemporary expression; or in shorthand, as a
dialogue between the historical Christ-event and the present Spirit.
Christianity cannot be Christianity unless it lives out and expresses
in its daily life the creative tension between the givenness of the
historical past of its founding era and the vitality of the present Spirit.
The more we believe that the Spirit of God inspired the writers of the
N T to speak the word of God to people of the 60s, 70s, 80s or 90s
of the first century A D , reinterpreting faith and life-style diversely to

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The Authority of the New Testament

diverse circumstances, the more acceptance of the NT canon requires

us to be open to the Spirit to reinterpret in similar or equivalent ways
in the twenty-first century.
Consequently, to accept the NT as canon means wrestling with
such questions as these: if Matthew is canonical, who went so far as
he did in presenting Jesus' attitude to the law so conservatively, what
does Matthew's canonicity say concerning those who want to remain
in close dialogue with their own particular traditions? If John is
canonical who went so far as he did in open dialogue with emerging
(proto-) Gnosticism, what does John's canonicity say concerning
those who seek dialogue with the equivalent ideologies and (quasi-)
religious philosophies of the twenty-first century? If Revelation is
canonical and retained apocalyptic eschatology as part of NT Christ
ianity, even when the parousia had already been long delayed, what
does that say about the character and form of Christian hope in the
twenty-first century? If the Pastorals are canonical, and evidence to us
of early Catholicism already within the first century, what does that say
about the necessity for form and structure in community, about the
desirability or inevitability of a growing institutionalism and con
servatism in church structure and community leadership? I should
perhaps underline the point that by dialogue I mean dialogue - neither
side dictating to the other, past to present, or present to past, but a
critical interaction between the NT in all its first-centuriness and me
and the church(es) in all our twenty-first-centuriness - using all the tools
of historical critical exegesis to enable us to hear the words of the NT
writings as they were heard by their first readers, to catch the full
meaning intended by the writers, but always with an ear cocked for
the unexpected word of God through the witness of the NT challeng
ing our twenty-first-century presuppositions and perceptions.
28

Further reflection. In the 1990 revision I was already regretting that

I had expressed myself quite as I did in the third paragraph of 76.4.
For as I pointed out in the new n. 44 of ch. X (p. 249), my appreciation
of the subtlety and sophistication of the classic Trinitarian formulae
28. See further my Living Word. Cf. Kasemann, 'Canon', Essays: 'The canon is not the
word of God tout simple. It can only become and be the Word of God so long as we do
not seek to imprison God within it; for this would be to make it a substitute for the God
who addresses us and makes claims upon us . . . The Spirit does not contradict the "It is
written..." but manifests himself in Scripture. But Scripture itself can at any moment
become "the letter" and indeed does so as soon as it ceases to submit to the authorization
of the Spirit and sets itself up as immediate Authority, seeking to replace the Spirit. The
tension between Spirit and Scripture is constitutive . . . ' (pp. 1 0 5 - 6 ) . See also NTQT,
pp. 8ff.; Kanon, pp. 407ff.

76.4]

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423

had grown as my grasp of what was at stake in incarnation theology

had deepened. And when confronted with the outworking of an evol
utionary model of christological development, as offered by my
former Nottingham colleague Maurice Casey, I found myself driven
back more to the Newman model of organic growth. What is of
continuing validity, I believe, in the concerns thus expressed rather
inadequately can be restated in two ways.
First, we must recognize the historical particularity and limitations
of the credal formulations that seek to encapsulate the significance
of the Christ-event. Of course, both the Christ-event itself and the
canonical descriptions and assessments of the Christ-event share the
same character (historical particularity and limitation). We will return
to that below ( # 7 6 . 5 ) . Here the point is that there has been a tendency
to absolutize the credal formulae, as though they were not only suf
ficient to make their theological claim, but also so finally definitive
that no departure or variation from them could be permitted. If
Biblicism results in a form of bibliolatry, then Credalism results in a
form of creedolatry. In each case it is important to recognize the
inadequacy of human language to express the reality of the divine. If
the words of the N T or creed are best seen as icons, that is, as
windows into the divine, then it is important not to make the icon
into an idol. If no words are adequate to the task, that includes the
particular words used in the credal formulae of the N T and beyond.
In each case there is a reality that is being expressed inadequately, the
Word within and through the words. That is not to say (and here is
the correction I want to make to my earlier formulation) that any or
many alternative formulations could prove as adequate or as enduring
as the classic N T or confessional formulae. On the contrary, as with
the canon, these ways of speaking of God and of Christ have proved
themselves to be the most adequate and enduring for Christianity,
and that constitutes a large part of their authority. But they are
enduring and authoritative as the best approximation to the divine
reality that we have been able to come up with in words. They are
not the thing itself! Only when we learn to acknowledge the historical
particularity and provisionality of such statements will we be able to
prize them properly.
29

29. See what is in effect my retraction of the implications of the third paragraph of
76.4 in 'The Making of Christology: Evolution or Unfolding?', in J . B. Green and M .
Turner, eds., Jesus of Nazareth, Lord and Christ: Essays on the Historical Jesus and New
Testament Christology, I. H. Marshall F S , Eerdmans 1 9 9 4 , pp. 4 3 7 - 5 2 , reprinted in my
The Christ and the Spirit: Vol. 1 , Christology, Eerdmans 1998, pp. 3 8 8 - 4 0 4 , which refers
in turn to the Foreword to the Second Edition of Christology in the Making, reprinted in
The Christ and the Spirit Vol. 1 , here pp. 2 9 1 - 3 .

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The Authority of the New Testament

[^6.5

I tried to express something of this in the conclusion to ch. II on

'Kerygma or Kerygmata?' And I rather wished I had made more of
these conclusions in the overall Conclusion (ch. XV). In summary,
the points that came through there were (1) that the core kerygma is
never to be found as such in the N T , but (2) only in the expanded
forms made necessary as the particularity of different situations are
addressed, that is, (3) in the different forms which the different situ
ations made necessary, and (4) that the differences were integral to
the proclamations in and to these different situations. From that I
concluded that any attempt to find a single, once-for-all unifying
kerygma (we could now add, creed) is bound to fail. For concrete
situations always call forth fuller expressions, and it is in the fuller
expressions that the diversity, including differences and disagree
ments, lie. This in turn means that a truly ecumenical approach to
the issue will always need to recognize a certain 'beyondness', an
uncontrollability by any particular group or tradition of the core
gospel, of the canon within the canon, of the Word within the word;
and also an acceptance of the inevitability of different preached, writ
ten, and ecclesial forms of the gospel. The final unifying factor here
can only be submission before the intangible otherness of Spirit and
Gospel and a warm embrace of all who share that submission.
Second, another way of putting the point is to recognize the degree
of openness that wefindin the N T , the openness of the kerygma to ever
fresh expressions, the openness of the canon within the canon to ever
fresh formulations of what is definitive in order to address the par
ticularity of ever new challenges. What I was reacting against in the
earlier formulation, I would now re-express as the danger of reading in
the developed credal formulations too quickly, the danger of prema
ture closure; that is, the danger of closing down too quickly on the for
mulations that may emerge from the N T as though those that did
emerge in the controversies of fourth andfifthcenturies left no room for
others. This line of reflection has been partly stimulated by the current
hermeneutical debate and the degree to which meaning is realized (I
would not say 'created') in the encounter between hearer/reader and
text. I stress that I do not retreat one inch from my insistence on the
canonical force of the Christ-event as the determiner of meaning and
limitation on the range of meaning which the sensus fidelium should
recognize. But I do want to underline the fact that the canon encour
ages and requires ever fresh reformulation of kerygma and creed and
stands ready to authenticate (or dis-authenticate) them.
76.5 The importance of the NT. In the second half of 76.4 I spoke
of 'a dialogue between the historical Christ-event and the present

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Spirit. . . between the givenness of the historical past of its founding

era and the vitality of the present Spirit'. In this dialogue the N T
canon has an indispensable function, in that only through the NT
have we access to the past, to the other pole of the dialogue - to Jesus
as he was encountered in the hills and streets of Palestine, to the
initial encounters with the risen Jesus which from the first have been
recognized as definitive for faith in Jesus as the exalted one. Or, in
other words, only through the N T canon do we have access to the
historical actuality of the Jesus who himself constitutes the unifying
centre of Christianity, to the first and definitive witness to the
wholeness of the Christ-event.
Here we must revert to our earlier talk of canon within the canon
(76.1) and define the concept more carefully, for in fact Jesus-theman-now-exalted is the Jesus of the NT: he is not separable from the
NT; the diverse N T witness to him cannot be peeled away like a husk
leaving an easily detachable Jesus-kernel. In other words, in Jesus as
the centre we have not so much a canon within the canon, as a canon
through the canon, a canon embodied in and only accessible through
the N T . It is not possible to hold to Jesus the centre without also
holding to the NT witness to the centre. For so far as the Jesus of
first-century history and faith is concerned we are always like
Zacchaeus, standing behind the crowd of first-century disciples,
dependent on what those in the crowd nearest to us report of this
Jesus whom we too would see. It is not possible to hear Jesus of
Nazareth except in the words of his followers. It is not possible to
encounter the Jesus of history except in the words of the N T .
All this, of course, does not mean that the N T writings become
themselves the Christ-event. As we have already noted, they are them
selves products of a dialogue between Christ-event and present Spirit
already begun. But without the N T it is not possible to recognize him
we now encounter as Jesus, not possible to recognize the God and
Father of our Lord Jesus Christ to be such. The Christ-event always
meets us in the N T clothed in particular forms and language culturally
and historically conditioned (that is why historical critical exegesis is
necessary, that is why it must be a dialogue rather than a fundament
alist subserviency). But without the N T we have no possible way
of tying our faith into the Christ-event, no possible way of carrying
forward the dialogue of faith for ourselves.
Nor does what I say mean that God's word cannot and does not
come to expression apart from these writings; otherwise Christian
belief in the Spirit would be without meaning. Revelation takes place
every time God encounters us. But if Jesus is determinative for Christ
ian faith, then, I say again, the N T is indispensable, because only

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[76.5

through the N T writings have we access to the historical events

involving Jesus and the first faith in him as risen. If we do not recog
nize Jesus and the character of Christian faith here, then we have no
standard or definition, no criterion by which to recognize Jesus and
the character of Christianity anywhere.
That is, of course, why the traditions of the N T have a normative
authority that cannot be accorded to later church traditions (contrary
to Roman Catholic dogma). For the N T is the primary source for the
original traditions whose interpretation and reinterpretation is the
purpose of the dialogue. The N T is the initial statement (complex in
itself) of the theme on which all that follows are but variations. Later
traditions can and should play a part in the dialogue, of course, for
they demonstrate how the dialogue has been carried forward in other
ages and situations; they provide many an object lesson on the 'hows'
and 'how nots' of that dialogue. But the primary dialogue must be
with the original traditions, for only they can serve as a norm for the
authenticity of what we call Christian, only they can fill the word
'Jesus' with authoritative meaning. If I may put it thus: with only the
N T and without all the rest of Christian history and documentation,
we should have more than enough to serve as chart and compass
as Christianity presses into the unknown future. But with all the
confessions, dogmas, traditions, liturgies of church history and with
out the NT, we would be lost, with no clear idea of what Christianity
should be or of where it should be going.
Further reflection. Here again my evangelical regard for scripture and
very Protestant suspicion of tradition came through rather strongly.
I have no wish to retreat on the former, as I hope is fairly clear from
the strong emphasis I have placed on the N T witness to Jesus Christ,
the canon for all Christian faith, the N T as providing the definition
of what Christianity is. But it is desirable to pull back some way from
the latter. For in the interval I have come to appreciate two factors
more adequately.
One I have already mentioned. I refer to my growing appreciation
of the sophistication and subtlety of so many of the great theologians,
fathers and teachers within the history of Christianity. It is all too
easy to take some summary and (therefore necessarily) simplified
description of what one or other said, and to criticize it without
making the effort necessary to get inside the greater profundities of
their thought - in other words, a rather cheap criticism. And even a
superficial acquaintance with Catholic and Orthodox theology cannot
but be impressed by the seriousness with which they take the
Church's/churches' tradition, and live out of it, liturgically and theo-

76.5]

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427

logically. Moreover, Hans-Georg Gadamer has taught many theo

logians that the interpreter does not stand over against the tradition,
but in one degree or other is caught in and already determined by the
tradition in the hermeneutical task. To ignore tradition is to increase
the likelihood of misinterpretation. Although I have stressed that the
N T was in the event self-authenticating as canon, I can hardly ignore
the fact that it was the developing great Church that gave definitive
recognition of the canonical status of the N T writings, and that it is
through this tradition (in teaching and liturgy) that the N T has come
down to us.
The other is that the N T is itself tradition and the product of
the living tradition that stemmed particularly from Jesus and the
Christ-event as the primary fons et origo. In one sense, indeed, the
N T writings are a series of particular crystallizations of the flow of
that living tradition. That recognition warns us once again not to
absolutize these particular forms, as though, for example, what Paul
wrote to Corinth was of valid application to all times and places
thereafter, irrespective of their different circumstances. On the other
hand, it does not diminish the authority of the N T , so long as the
historical particularities of each writing are respected. Remember, it
is diversity that is being canonized here as much as the unity of the
canon within the canon. The point here, then, is that the setting of
scripture and tradition in straightforward antithesis is being simply
untrue to historical facts and unrealistic regarding the interpretative
task.
All that being said, however, I still want to underline two points.
One is the importance of the role of the N T as canon within the
complex of scripture-tradition. If tradition is also in some degree or
other normative, then it is still important for the N T to be seen to
function as 'the norm which norms the norm', norma normans.
Here we have to pay due credit to the historical criticism that has been
an important feature of Western Christianity since the Renaissance. It
is that which has prevented us from domesticating the N T , from
30

31

30. I refer to Gadamer's concept of Wirkungsgeschichte, the 'history of effect' of a text,

which is not to be reduced simply to the recognition that the interpreter stands within
a history influenced by the text. The key term is actually the more elaborate phrase,
wirkungsgeschichtliches Bewusstsem, 'historically effected consciousness'. That is to say,
the interpreter's consciousness has in some measure been brought into being by the text; it
is itself in some degree a product of the text; it is a consciousness of the text to be
interpreted. See further H.-G. Gadamer, Truth and Method, Crossroad ^ 9 8 9 , particularly
pp. 3 0 0 - 7 .
3 1 . That this albeit 'Protestant point' is recognized from the Catholic side is indicated
by J . Ratzinger in H. Vorgrimler, ed., Commentary on the Documents of Vatican II, Vol.
Ill, Burns & Oates/Herder &C Herder 1968, pp. 1 9 2 - 3 .

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[76.5

hearing it only through the tradition. It is that which has enabled us

to hear the N T critically, that is, to hear it as criticizing ourselves and
our traditions, where criticism is called for. The great example of
this in the last 50 years is the recognition that the N T historically
understood renders every and any form of Christian anti-Semitism
indefensible. Without such distancing of oneself from the tradition,
which the N T read historically makes possible, it is unlikely that
any Reformation would have taken place (including the 'CounterReformation'). It is the role of the N T as canon within the tradition
that makes self-criticism possible, since it serves as the norm against
which we must always measure our profession.
The other is the continuing importance of historical study in regard
to Jesus and the N T period. The particularity of the N T witness to
Jesus Christ is a historical particularity. The theology of incarnation
gives the historical particularity of Jesus a central importance, as the
person and time and place in and through which God manifested
himself and his saving purpose most clearly and definitively, a centrality which in Christian perspective no other person, time and place
can share. In consequence, the Christian theologian and interpreter
of these foundation traditions has no other choice than to examine
that historical particularity in as much detail as possible. The 'quest
of the historical Jesus', for Jesus the Jew, is not a luxury with which
faith can dispense, but a necessity to inform faith and for faith's
self-understanding. It cannot be effectively pursued without recourse
to the tools of historical criticism as they have been refined through
the past four centuries.
So to argue is not to make the church(es) too dependent on N T
scholars or to give theologians undue importance. It is an ecclesial,
not an individual responsibility which is here in view. Within that
communal responsibility, scholars and theologians have a role to play,
a contribution (charism) which they have been gifted/granted to make
in, to and through the Church. It is when the church(es) appreciate
the importance of hearing and grasping the gospel in (or better,
through) itsfirst-centuryterms that the role of N T teaching will be
given its proper place within its/their ministries. A second, but not
unimportant corollary is that through its trained teachers and scholars
32

33

34

3 2 . Orthodoxy that lives within the tradition and hears the N T only through the Fathers
has yet to demonstrate that it can achieve the self-criticism necessary to condemn the
Christian tradition of anti-Semitism.
3 3. Not to prove faith, as Bultmann in particular rightly insisted.
34. As, classically, Martin Kahler feared in his famous 1 8 9 6 monograph, The So-called
Historical Jesus and the Historic Biblical Christ, E T and ed. C . E . Braaten, Fortress 1 9 6 4 .

76.6]

Has the canon a continuing function?

429

the church(es) are able to participate in the wider academic, theoreti

cal and practical discussions that help shape our national life. The
Church should not expect its scholars to serve simply as catechists.
On the contrary, their task, here seen in terms of historical study,
helps them maintain a certain critical distance, which in turn helps
keep both them and the Church honest and deserving of respect in
the wider intellectual search for knowledge, truth and wisdom.
76.6 The NT as bridge. One final reason why the N T writings can
continue to function as canon is suggested by the fuller appreciation
we have begun to achieve of the role played by the N T writings
themselves within the diversity offirst-centuryChristianity. I had in
mind particularly the observation (above pp. 5of.) that some at least
of the N T documents served as bridge builders or connecting links
between different strands withinfirst-centuryChristianity. That is to
say, their canonicity is a recognition not that they served as a founding
charter for one kind of Christianity over against another, but a recog
nition rather of their eirenical spirit, that for all their diversity they
served also to promote the unity of the first-century churches. Thus
Matthew and Hebrews served not so much as Jewish Christian party
statements, but rather as bridges between a more narrowly conceived
Jewish Christianity and a Jewish Christianity much more influenced
by Hellenistic thought (above pp. 5of., 284^). Mark and Paul seem
to be fulfilling a similar function, holding together Gentile Christ
i a n i t y and diaspora Jewish Christianity. To be sure, Galatians or
II Corinthians 1 0 - 1 3 in particular can hardly be called eirenic. But
the canonicity of Paul at this point is a function not so much of any
one letter (though Romans would most nearly fill the bill) as of the
whole Pauline corpus (particularly when the Pastorals are included).
For here within these 1 3 letters we have embraced the whole sweep
of Christianity, from apocalyptic enthusiasm to early C a t h o l i c i s m ,
from deep Jewish self-understanding and sympathies to whole
hearted commitment to the Gentiles, from fervent insistence on the
immediacy of revelation to complete subserviency to the inherited
tradition, etc. Again, Acts and John in different ways serve as bridges
between the origins of Christianity and the situations facing Christ
ianity towards the end of the first century: Acts serving as Luke's
attempt to hold together the initial enthusiasm of Christianity with
the growing influence of early Catholicism; and the Johannine writings
serving as a bridge between the message given 'from the beginning'
and the challenge facing Jewish Christians within the wider orientalHellenistic syncretism of the time. Even Revelation can be seen as a
bridge in the way it sought to internationalize Jewish apocalypticism,

43

The Authority of the New Testament

[76.6

that it might serve as a vehicle for the hopes of all Christians. Perhaps
most striking of all, particularly in view of the tensions of secondcentury Christianity, is the function fulfilled by I Peter, in so far as in
its theology and traditional authorship it serves to bring Paul and
Peter together.
To explore this thesis in adequate detail would take far longer than
is appropriate here. But perhaps I should just point out that this
bridge-building function of the N T writings should not in any way be
taken as a denial of the diversity offirst-centuryChristianity explored
above in Part II, nor of the full sweep of diversity embodied in the
N T writings themselves. Those who explore the vague boundary
areas between Christianity and the competing religious claims and
languages round about, and who seek to let the central faith in Jesus
determine where in any one instance the boundary line should be
drawn, also show their concern thereby to hold fast links with their
fellow Christians who wish to remain much further back from the
boundary areas. It is precisely because the N T documents as a whole
both represent such a wide-ranging diversity and built bridges linking
up and overlapping with each other that the whole N T canon can
serve as canon for the whole Church.
One further very tentative thought is perhaps worth outlining
briefly. If bridge-building is a central reason for the canonicity of
many of the N T writings, then perhaps this explains more fully why
it was Peter who became the focal point of unity in the great Church.
For Peter was probably in fact and effect the bridge-man (pontifex
maximus!) who did more than any other to hold together the diversity
of first-century Christianity. James (brother of Jesus) and Paul, the
two other most prominent leadingfiguresin first-century Christianity,
were too much identified with their respective 'brands' of Christianity,
at least in the eyes of Christians at the opposite end of this particular
spectrum. But Peter, as shown particularly by the Antioch episode in
Galatians 2, had both a care to hold firm to his Jewish heritage
which Paul lacked, and an openness to the demands of developing
Christianity which James lacked. John might have served as such a
figure of the centre holding together the extremes, but if the writings
linked with his name are at all indicative of his own stance he was
too much of an individualist to provide such a rallying point. Others
could link the developing new religion as or more firmly to its
founding events and to Jesus himself. But none of them, including
none of the rest of the twelve, seem to have played any role of
continuing significance for the whole sweep of Christianity (though
James the brother of John might have proved an exception had he

76.7]

Has the canon a continuing function?

431

35

been spared). So it is Peter who becomes the focal point of unity for
the whole Church - Peter who was probably the most prominent
among Jesus' disciples, Peter who according to early traditions was
the first witness of the risen Jesus, Peter who was the leading figure
in the earliest days of the new sect in Jerusalem, but Peter who also
was concerned for mission, and who as Christianity broadened its
outreach and character broadened with it, at the cost to be sure of
losing his leading role in Jerusalem, but with the result that he became
the most hopeful symbol of unity for that growing Christianity which
more and more came to think of itself as the Church Catholic.
Further reflection hardly seems necessary here. I intended it as an
eirenic reflection and am happy for it to stand as it is, without qualifi
cation or further elaboration (beyond n. 35). The final conclusion can
also stand without further reflection.
76.7 Sum up. In sum, then, how meaningful is the concept of a N T
canon, and has the N T canon a continuing function? I have not tried
to explain or defend the canon in the traditional terms of 'apostolicity', for I do not think it can be done. We cannot ignore the over
whelming conclusions of N T scholarship that some at least of the
N T writings were not composed by 'apostles' and are second (or even
third) generation in their origin. And if 'apostolicity' is broadened to
a concept like 'the apostolic faith', that does not help much since it
tends to cloak the fact that the apostles did not all preach precisely
the same message and disagreed strongly on several important points
(that is, in their elaboration of what they nonetheless thought of as
the common gospel). Nor have I said, nor would I want to say, that
the N T writings are canonical because they were more inspired than
other and later Christian writings. Almost every Christian who wrote
in an authoritative way during the first two centuries of Christianity
claimed the same sort of inspiration for their writing as Paul had for
his. And I would want to insist that in not a few compositions,
36

37

3 5 . The Gospel of Thomas has brought Thomas back into prominence, and the Mar
Thoma church of south India is a reminder of the danger of assuming that because we
know so little of the rest of the 'twelve' they were of no significance. But neither observation
changes the main point made in the text.
36. Other than in Luther's terms, that is (n. 9 above).
3 7 . See A. C. Sundberg, 'The Bible Canon and the Christian Doctrine of Inspiration',
Interpretation, 29, 1 9 7 5 , pp. 3 6 4 - 7 1 . Of course, inspiration has not only to be claimed
but also recognized and acknowledged by the churches (see also the Foreword to the second
edition, p. xxxi = pp. 1-li above).

The Authority of the New Testament

432.

[76.7

Martin Luther and Charles Wesley, for example, were as, if not more
inspired, than the author of II Peter. Nor certainly would I attempt
to define N T canonicity in terms of some kind of orthodoxy, for our
findings are clearly that no real concept of orthodoxy as yet existed
in the first century and that in terms of later orthodoxy the N T
writings themselves can hardly be called wholly 'orthodox'. Nor can
I enter here into the question of the limits of the canon which all this
inevitably raises - whether, for example, II Peter should have been
excluded from the N T canon and Didache or I Clement included for that would take us too far beyond the already extended limits of
the present study.
Nevertheless, if the conclusions drawn in the last few pages are
sound, then the N T does have a continuing function as canon.
(1) It canonizes the unity of Christianity. It embodies, albeit in
diverse expressions, the unifying centre of Christianity. It shows how
small and how basic that canon within the canon actually is. It is a
striking fact that all the diversity of the N T can claim to be justifiable
interpretations of the Christ-event - James as well as Paul, Revelation
as well as the Pastorals.
(2) It canonizes the diversity of Christianity. It shows just how
diverse, sometimes dangerously diverse, the expressions of that unify
ing faith could be. It is a standing corrective to each individual's, each
church's, more limited, more narrowly circumscribed perception of
Christianity. To all who would say of only one kind of N T Christ
ianity, 'This alone is Christianity,' the N T replies, 'And that, and that
too is Christianity.'
(3) It canonizes the range of acceptable diversity but also the limits
of acceptable diversity. It recognizes the Gospel of Matthew, but not
the Gospel of the Ebionites, the Gospel of John but not the Gospel
of Thomas, the Acts of the Apostles but not the Acts of Paul, the
Apocalypse of John but not the Apocalypse of Peter. If the conviction
that God meets us now through the one who was Jesus of Nazareth
marks the beginning and heart of Christianity it also marks the limits
and edge of Christianity.
(4) It canonizes the development of Christianity and provides the
norm for the 'how' of development, for the way in which the unifying
centre should be brought into interaction with the moving circumfer
ence, particularly at the points of pressure or of possible expansion.
It shows us how genuine and deeply penetrating the dialogue between
past and present must be, neither permitting a mere clinging to forms
or formulations that are not meaningful to the contemporary situation
38

38. But see now the Further reflection on 76.3 above.

76.7]

Has the canon a continuing function?

433

nor allowing the contemporary situation to dictate the message and

perspectives of its faith.
(5) It serves as canon in that through it alone we have access to the
events that determined the character of Christianity. The portraits of
Jesus and statements about Jesus that we find in the N T are norma
tive, not in themselves but in the sense that only in and through these
portraits can we see the man behind them, only in and through these
statements can we encounter the original reality of the Christ-event.
(6) It serves as a canon because of the eirenic character of so many
of the N T writings themselves, each maintaining the twofold tension
between the (common) past and the particular present, but also
between the resultant form of Christianity and the diverse forms
of others. The N T is canonical not because it contains a ragbag of
writings documenting or defending the diverse developments of the
first century, not because it contains a cross-section of first-century
'party manifestos', but because the interlocking character of so many
of its component parts holds the whole together in the unity of a
diversity that acknowledges a common loyalty.
The N T does not, of course, function in the same way in each of
these different roles. For example, in (1) and (5) James and Jude do
not add anything to the Gospels; but in (2) James and Revelation
would be more important than Luke; while in (3) Hebrews could be
more important than Matthew. Or again in (4) Galatians and John
would probably in most circumstances be more important than the
Pastorals; whereas in (6) Matthew could provide more guidelines than
Galatians. The point is, of course, that only when we recognize the
full diversity of function of the canon as well as the full diversity of
the N T material, only then can the N T canon as a whole remain
viable. Or, more concisely, only when we recognize the unity in diver
sity of the N T and the diversity in unity of the N T and the ways they
interact, only then can the N T continue to function as canon.

APPENDIX

Unity and Diversity in the Church:

A New Testament Perspective""

INTRODUCTION

In the Ecumenical Movement we have gone far beyond the initial

excitement about how much we agree on, far beyond a contentment
with common formulae which unite us all by their convenient ambigu
ity. For some time now the question has been rather, what are the
fundamental features of our common faith and life, the common
elements which lie below the surface, uniting us despite the differences
of our traditions and the different interpretations we stillfindit neces
sary to bring to our common formulae, the common foundations on
which all our traditions build their diverse forms.
It is here that the New Testament specialists can make their particu
lar contribution. But they can only do so if they bear in mind the
twofold character of the N T writings - as historical source for the
beginnings of Christianity, and as Christian scripture. Permit me to
elaborate a little in the hope of providing some justification for my
theme.
{a) We must use the N T as historical source for Jesus' own ministry
and for the testimony of those closest to him. Not because we believe
that 'original is best', or cherish what has been fairly called 'the
myth of Christian beginnings'. But by the logic of our theology of
incarnation. We assert that the Word of God came to its fullest and
clearest expression in the life of Jesus, the most definitive expression
of divine revelation that is possible or ever has been within human
history. By that assertion we inevitably bind ourselves to the task of
historical inquiry, and to historical inquiry into the N T itself. For the
N T is, in simple fact, the only real source within history which we
have for that climatic period of divine revelation, the only historical
* This is the text of a public lecture delivered at the Gregorian University, Rome on
27 March 1990, and published in Gregorianum, 7 1 , 1990, pp. 6 2 9 - 5 6 .

Unity and Diversity in the Church

435

access to that crucial mid-point of salvation-history. And as with all

historical inquiry, that will require us to recognize the differences
between the languages and idioms, thought forms and assumptions,
conventions and social structures of that far distant time and our own.
It will require us above all to remember the historical contingency of
that revelation - the fact that the words preserved for us in the N T
were addressed to particular situations and that they usually can
not be fully understood without taking that historical context into
account. Just as the doctrine of the incarnation can never dispense
with 'the scandal of particularly', neither can exegesis ignore the
historical conditionedness and contingency of any N T passage.
(b) At the same time the N T is also Christian scripture. To describe
these documents as contingent and episodic in character is only part
of the picture. For however local and specific in purpose and function
they may have been in original intention, it is a historical fact that
they were recognized as much more than occasional by those to
whom they were initially sent. These documents were evidently cher
ished from the first - presumably because they were recognized to
bear a stamp of authority and relevance which transcended the
immediacy of the local situation. They were heard to speak not simply
with the voice of a Paul or a John, but as God's word. Other letters
and tracts written by the first Christians did not survive. But these
were preserved precisely because their continuing authority was
valued. Canonization was only in very small part a bestowing of
authority not previously possessed. Much more was it a process of
recognition of authority already experienced and acknowledged by
an ever widening circle of churches.
The point for us is that these two aspects of the N T must be kept
together. We cannot confine the meaning of the N T as a whole or of
any N T text in particular to the first and original meaning. The
word of God which has been heard through the N T in diverse and
developed forms down through the centuries has not been simply a
repetition of that first word. The canon has been used to validate
much more than ever appears in the N T itself. But neither dare we
let the meaning read from the N T become separated from the original
meaning. The meaning intended by the original author and heard by
the first readers was the decisive impulse towards the acknowledg
ment of their canonical authority. More important, that original
meaning is part of the first witness, the 'apostolic witness' to the
decisive revelation event of Christ which is the heart and foundation
in history for Christianity as a whole. That first testimony, in all its
historical conditionedness and relativity is bound to serve as some

436

Appendix

sort of check or control or 'canon' on the meanings subsequently

heard by those who recognize that canonical authority.
It is here, then, that the Christian N T scholar can hope to play his
part in discerning the voice of the Spirit today in issues to which the
N T also speaks. Not that the Neutestamentler can think to set himself
or herself over against the teaching authority of the church in its
diverse forms. But as specialist in the foundational documents or
constitutional articles of Christianity, the Christian Neutestamentler
is part of the teaching ministry of the church, whose special task or
charism is to recall the churches to fundamental features of the Christ
ian tradition as attested in the N T . In evaluating claims to word of
God authority today, the N T scriptures must have a primary claim
on our attention, since all other claims to word of God authority in
writing derive more or less immediately from them. And the one
whose calling has been to enter as fully as possible into the original
mind and purpose of these scriptures is specially charged to remind
others involved in that evaluation process of what the N T writers
said in their own terms and their own times.
With this in mind, what then does the N T contribute to the issue
of Unity and Diversity in the Church? And, in particular, what does
the N T contribute to our understanding of the deep foundational
structures of Christian unity and its diverse expression?
1

I. F U N D A M E N T A L

UNITY
1

In my study of Unity and Diversity in the New Testament. 1 came to

a conclusion, somewhat to my surprise, which has bearing on our
discussion. It can be expressed in the following terms. There is no
fundamental unity in the N T if by that is meant an agreed form
of words consistently maintained across the spectrum of the N T
documents. But there is an agreed heart or core of common faith
which came to expression in different terms in different contexts,
and round which other elements of faith and practice cohere, with
diverse and at times divergent emphases depending on context. At the
beginning of the final chapter I summarized the position thus. 'The
3

1. I am mindful here of the criticism of the 'Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revela

tion' acknowledged by J . Ratzinger in Commentary on the Documents of Vatican II, ed.
H. Vorgrimler, Vol. Ill, London: Burns 8c Oates/New York: Herder 8c Herder 1 9 6 8 ,
pp. 1 9 2 - 3 .
2. London: S C M Press/Philadelphia: Westminster 1 9 7 7 ; London: S C M Press/Philadel
phia: T P I 1990; London: S C M Press 2 0 0 5 .
3. U&D, p. 369 (= p. 403 above).
2

Unity and Diversity in the Church

437

integrating centre' and 'unifying element' in earliest Christianity

was
the unity between the historical Jesus and the exalted Christ, that
is to say, the conviction that the wandering charismatic preacher
from Nazareth had ministered, died and been raised from the dead
to bring God and man finally together, the recognition that the
divine power through which they now worshipped and were
encountered and accepted by God was one and the same person,
Jesus, the man, the Christ, the Son of God, the Lord, the life-giving
Spirit.
This remains, I believe, a justifiable statement of 'fundamental
unity' in the N T . But let me attempt a brief restatement of the
analysis which will speak more directly to our present discussion.
What do we mean by 'fundamental unity' in the NT? What are we
looking for? What are the criteria for recognizing it? I would suggest
two possible criteria, one which springs more from the N T as histori
cal source for the beginnings of Christianity, and the other from the
N T as scripture. Thefirstputs some stress on the word 'fundamental':
a fundamental unity is one on which all of Christianity was united
from the beginning, belonging to the historical foundation of Christ
ianity. The second gives a little more emphasis to the word 'unity': a
fundamental consensus is an element common to all the N T writings,
a basic belief or practice affirmed or assumed by all the N T docu
ments. When we ask what elements of Christianity meet both these
criteria we are driven towards the sort of answer that I gave above.
It can be summed up in two words - 'Easter' and 'Pentecost'.
(a) Easter. There can be little doubt that the resurrection of Jesus
is at the heart of Christianity - fundamental in terms of both the
above criteria.
The sources are clear. As far back as we can penetrate, it is the
resurrection of Jesus which is the most common element of faith and
proclamation. It is the central affirmation in the already well deve
loped credal statement which Paul cites in I Corinthians 1 5 : 'that
Christ died for our sins . . . and that he appeared to Cephas, then to
the twelve . . . ' . This is an expression of the gospel which, Paul says,
he himself received, that is, presumably at his conversion. Since Paul
was converted within three years of Jesus' death, and quite possibly
4

4. In U&D, pp. 378f. (= pp. 416L above) I also note that this centre also determined
the circumference, the limits of acceptable diversity; but I cannot go further into that aspect
of the subject in this study.

4 3

Appendix

some time earlier, this statement takes us with one bound back to
within two or three years of the event itself. That belief in the resurrec
tion of Jesus belongs to the earliest formulations which can properly
claim the title 'Christian' is confirmed by similar evidence elsewhere
in the earliest Christian writer, Paul. For example, various credal
elements have been detected in Paul's letter to the churches in Rome,
confessional fragments quoted by Paul, not least as reassurance to his
readers in Rome that he held the same faith as the other apostles.
Most of these make central affirmation of the resurrection of Jesus . . . descended from David according to the flesh, and appointed
son of God in power according to the spirit of holiness as from the
resurrection of the dead (i.3f.);
. . . who was handed over on account of our transgressions, and
raised on account of our justification (4.25);
It is Christ Jesus who died, or rather, was raised, who is also at the
right hand of God . . . (8.34);
If you confess with your mouth, 'Jesus is Lord', and believe in your
heart that God raised him from the dead, you shall be saved (10.9).
We need not illustrate the point further. These and other already
traditional fragments embedded within the earliest N T writings are
proof positive that belief in the resurrection of Jesus belongs to the
absolute bedrock of Christianity. The earliest Christian confession,
properly so called, is the claim that 'God raised Jesus from the dead'.
The same conclusion comes through strongly when we make his
torical investigation of the first Easter narratives. Although disputed
by some N T scholars, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that the
stories of Jesus' tomb being found empty are based on actual historical
reports. And few if any would question the central claim of the
resurrection appearance accounts, that Jesus 'was seen' alive after
death by many of his first disciples - and seen in such a way that they
were forced to the surprising conclusion that he had been 'raised from
the dead'. Even more sceptical assessments of the evidence can hardly
avoid the conclusion that Christianity began with 'the rise of Easter
faith'. So in terms of historical foundation there can be little doubt
5

5. See further e.g. W. Kramer, Christ, Lord, Son of God, London: S C M Press 1 9 6 6 ,
pp. 1 9 - 2 6 .
6. See further my The Evidence for Jesus, ch. 3.

Unity and Diversity in the Church

439

that the resurrection of Jesus is part of the fundamental unity in

the N T .
Similarly when we look across the sweep of the N T writings. Each
of the four Gospels climaxes in the promise or account of Jesus'
appearance after death, risen from the dead. The book of Acts begins
its account of the initial growth and expansion of Christianity at the
same point, and the sermons in Acts give more place to the affirmation
of Christ's resurrection than to anything else. So much is the claim
that Jesus has been raised from the dead at the centre of Christian
proclamation that, for example, Peter's earliest preaching can be
summed up as 'proclaiming in Jesus the resurrection from the dead'
(Acts 4.2.), and Paul's preaching at Athens can be misunderstood as
the proclamation of two new deities, Jesus and Anastasis (Acts 1 7 . 1 8 ) .
We have already seen how fundamental the resurrection was for Paul.
To cite but two examples. In Romans 10.9, quoted above, it is clear
that for Paul belief in Jesus' resurrection and confession of Jesus as
Lord are two sides of the same coin, and, as is well known, 'Lord' is
Paul's favourite title for Jesus. And in I Corinthians 1 5 , in arguing
against those who say 'there is no resurrection of the dead' (I Cor.
1 5 . 1 2 ) , it soon becomes clear that even there the common ground is
the belief that Jesus has been raised: 'if Christ has not been raised,
then our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain' (15.14).
Without labouring the point, we may simply note that I Timothy
and I Peter contain similar confessional formulae which speak of Jesus
as 'vindicated, or made alive in the Spirit' (I Tim. 3.16; I Peter 3.18);
that Hebrews, despite using different imagery throughout, ends with
a benediction invoking 'the God of peace who brought again from
the dead our Lord Jesus' (13.20), and that James, despite its lack of
distinctively Christian character, still speaks of Jesus as 'our Lord
Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory' (2.1); that central to the message of
I John is 'the testimony, that God gave us eternal life, and this life is
in his Son' ( 5 . 1 1 ) ; and that the apocalypse of John the seer unfolds
from the vision of the 'Lamb standing, as though it had been slain'
(5.6).
In short, if anything can claim to run through the NT writings like
a golden thread it is the conviction that God raised Jesus from the
dead. We may note in passing that none of the material just reviewed
gives any real scope for the more reductionist view that the resur
rection claim was simply a way of affirming that Jesus' memory or
teaching can never die. At the heart of this element of fundamental
unity is the claim that something had happened to Jesus not simply
to his disciples, the belief that God had vindicated Jesus, not simply
their following of him, and that God now dealt with them 'through''

44Q

Appendix

Jesus and not just 'for his sake'. This brings us to the second element
of fundamental unity.
(b) Pentecost. If one of the two fundamental impulses of Christ
ianity is christological, the other is pneumatological - the conviction
that God had given his Spirit in a new and fuller way than ever before
to be the mark of his people, the eschatological people of God, the
people of God at the end of time, in the new age.
As with Easter, so with Pentecost. Here too historical analysis
would be hard pressed to avoid the conclusion that the movement
which was to take the name 'Christianity' was characterized from the
first by its claim to a distinctive endowment of God's Spirit. It was
precisely this which marked off the followers of Jesus from those of
John the Baptist - that John baptized in water, but whereas Jesus
baptized in Holy Spirit. The contrast is recalled as the beginning of
the gospel by each of the Evangelists (Mark 1.8, etc.),.and Luke
continued to make use of it in describing the event of Pentecost itself
and the first decisive breakthrough to the Gentiles (Acts 1 . 5 ; 1 1 . 1 6 ) .
As for the Pentecost narrative itself (Acts 2), it would be widely
accepted by critical scholarship that at the very least it enshrines a
memory of the first mass ecstasy or charismatic experience enjoyed
by the first disciples. And if we take Luke's account seriously, the
earliest interpretation of that experience was that the Spirit had been
poured out in eschatological fulness - fulness both in measure, and
in extent: 'In the last days . . . I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh,
and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy . . .' (Acts 2.17).
Despite some scholarly speculation on the point, no other birthday
or birthplace was ever claimed for the Christian Church. With the
Pentecostal experience in Jerusalem the new age of God's Spirit and
the new covenant ratified by Christ's death had begun.
The historical assessment of the importance of an initial and over
whelming experience of divine Spirit for the beginnings of Christianity
dovetails into the recognition of the fundamental importance of
experience of the Spirit for the Christian self-understanding of the
main N T writers. The nearest thing we have to a definition of a
Christian in the N T is given by Paul precisely in terms of 'having the
Spirit' and being 'led by the Spirit' - 'If anyone does not have the
Spirit of Christ, that person does not belong to him'; 'As many as are
led by the Spirit of God, they are God's sons' (Rom. 8.9,14). Likewise
it is Paul who describes the Spirit as the 'down-payment or guarantee'
that God would complete his work of salvation - in other words, the
gift of the Spirit as the beginning of the process of salvation (II Cor.
7

7. See further my Jesus and the Spirit, ch. 6, especially pp. 1 3 6 - 4 6 .

Unity and Diversity in the Church

441

1.22; 5.5; Gal. 3.3; Phil. 1.6). And Paul too it is who uses the equiva
lent metaphor, 'first fruits' both for the resurrection of Jesus and for
the gift of the Spirit (Rom. 8.23; I Cor. 15.20, 23) - the resurrection
of Jesus and the gift of the Spirit as equally the beginning of the
harvest of resurrection, and guarantee of its completion.
In Acts we might simply note again that it is the gift and outpouring
of the Spirit which is the decisive factor, particularly in settling any
question about the acceptability of would-be converts within the new
movement. It is precisely the fact that God has given the Gentiles the
same gift as he gave at Pentecost which leaves Peter no choice: how
could he refuse those whom God had accepted (Acts 10.47; n - ? ) ?
In John the fundamental and distinctively new character of the Spirit's
work, from a Christian perspective, is strongly asserted. He can even
speak of the Spirit as 'not yet' prior to his being received by those
who believed, following Jesus' glorification (John 7.39). And in the
so-called 'Johannine Pentecost' he uses a verb which shows that he
thinks of the receiving of the Spirit as an act of new creation (John
20.22), Jesus' breathing on the disciples as the eschatological equiva
lent of the divine breath of creation in Genesis 2.7.
Again we need not labour the point, and though the emphasis on
the Spirit is not quite so consistent throughout the N T writings as
the emphasis on the resurrection, it would still not be too difficult to
elaborate the claim that the gift of the Spirit is also part of the
fundamental consensus in the N T (cf. e.g. Luke 1 1 . 1 3 ; Titus 3.5-7;
Heb. 6.4; I Peter 4.14; I John 2.20, 27; 3.24; Jude 19; Rev. 1.4;
etc.). Experience of the Spirit of God, belief that what they were
experiencing was God's eschatologically new outpouring of the Spirit
is part of the most basic stratum of Christian faith as attested by the
NT writers.
If then we are looking for fundamental unity in the N T , in the
twofold sense of elements which were part of Christianity from the
first and which consistently feature as central to Christianity across
the range of documents which make up the N T , we must start with
Easter and Pentecost, Christ and the Spirit. Moreover, we should not
ignore the fact that it was the manifest correlation of these two
fundamental elements which lay at the heart of Christianity's initial
distinctiveness and success. It was the proclamation of the resurrec
tion of Christ which evidently resulted in the gift of the Spirit. And
the gift of the Spirit was taken as proof that God had accepted the
act of commitment to Jesus Christ as risen Lord. The gift of the
1

8. For the last two paragraphs see further my Baptism in the Holy Spirit, London: S C M
Press/Philadelphia: Westminster 1970.

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442

Spirit demonstrated that God had both vindicated Christ and accepted
them. The experience of the Spirit was given definition by reference
to Christ - as the Spirit of Christ, the Spirit of the Son who cries
'Abba! Father!' (particularly Rom. 8.9, 1 5 ; Gal. 4.6). Ecumenical
conversation must never forget that it is the correlation and mutual
interdependence of doctrine and experience which is at the heart of
the fundamental unity of the NT.
Of course there are other elements' which are bound up in the
integration of these two fundamental elements. For example, it is
implicit in what has already been said that commitment to this risen
Christ was what brought these two together in the experience of faith
from the first. It is the Jesus recalled in the Gospel traditions who is
the exalted Lord. And other elements cohere with these most basic
features as soon as we begin to unpack them, or, speaking historically,
as soon as the first Christians began to work out what they meant in
the context of mission to Jew and Gentile. We will go on to look at
the most important of these in the next section. But none other seems
to be quite so fundamental in original expression or to be maintained
with quite the same consistency of emphasis across the N T docu
ments. These two, Easter and Pentecost, risen Christ and outpoured
Spirit, are the minimum core, the presupposition for all the rest, the
touchstone by which all the others can be seen to bear a Christian
character.
There is, however, one exception - a further feature of earliest and
N T Christianity which has only recently come to the fore in ecumeni
cal discussion and which deserves a good deal more attention than it
has so far received - what may perhaps best be described as the
fundamental tension between Christianity and its Jewish origins.
Which brings us to our next main topic.
9

3. F U N D A M E N T A L

TENSION

It belongs to the essence of Christianity that it emerged from firstcentury Judaism. Jesus was a Jew. The very first Christians were all
Jews. Christianity began as a movement within Judaism, a messianic
sect of Judaism. It did not understand itself as a new religion but
rather as the eschatological expression of Judaism. This point is well
enough known and need not be further elaborated. What has not
9. I am thinking here of the Rome Report, 1 9 8 3 , 'The Apostolic Faith in the Scriptures
and in the Early Church', in Apostolic Faith Today, ed. H.-G. Link, World Council of
Churches 1 9 8 5 , particularly pp. 2 5 9 - 6 0 , 2 6 5 .

Unity and Diversity in the Church

443

been so much appreciated, however, is that this fundamental relation

between Christianity and its original Jewish matrix set up within
Christianity a tension, a tension which is constitutive of Christianity
by virtue of these origins. It is the tension of continuity and disconti
nuity. The tension emerges from the fact of that continuity and dis
continuity, from the fact that the continuity and discontinuity have
to be held together and can never finally be resolved this side of the
eschaton.
The point which needs to be made here is that this fundamental
tension is as fundamental to Christianity as the elements of fundamen
tal unity already examined. At the heart of fundamental unity there
is also a fundamental tension, inescapable and unresolvable so long
as Jew and Christian go their separate ways. Let me try to docu
ment this point and to demonstrate its importance by referring to
the elements of fundamental unity already outlined and the other
elements of consensus which quickly became definitive for earliest
Christianity.
Resurrection and outpoured Spirit are part of Israel's hope for the
age to come (e.g. Dan. 1 2 . 2 ; Joel 2.28-32). The tension emerges even
here because Christianity lays claim to that hope as having been
fulfilled, but that hope interpreted in the light of the fulfilment which
actually happened. The resurrection of Jesus as a 'one-off, not part
of the beginning of thefinalresurrection prior to the judgment, as the
first Christians seem to have thought (Rom. 1.4 - the resurrection of
Jesus = 'the resurrection of the dead'). The outpoured Spirit on a
limited range of 'allflesh',not part of the climacticfinalevents marked
also by cosmic convulsions of which Joel spoke. It is this element of
reinterpretation of Jewish hope, which stemmed immediately from
the experience of Christ risen and Spirit given, which also sets up the
tension not only between Christianity and its parent faith, but within
Christianity itself as fulfilled Judaism. The tension is between the
'already' and the 'not yet', the tension of a fulfilment only partial,
of a continuity which has sufficient discontinuity for the Jewish
observer to have reasonable grounds for questioning whether it is
indeed fulfilment at all.
In other words, in order to make sense of its fundamental unity,
Christianity has to understand these two most basic of Christian
10

10. I use the terms which have become familiar in talk of the eschatological tension
classically described by O. Cullmann in his Christ and Time, London: S C M Press, revised
edition 1 9 6 2 . The importance of this tension between East and West is highlighted by
J . M . R. Tillard, 'We are Different', Fundamental Differences, Fundamental Consensus,
Midstream 2 5 , 1986, pp. 2 7 9 , 2 8 1 .

Appendix

444

beliefs as the eschatological fulfilment of Jewish hope. But in making

this very claim it has to reinterpret that hope in the light of what
actually happened at Easter and Pentecost. The problem of the delay
of the parousia, the ever lengthening gap between Jesus' first and
second comings, is simply an expression of this fundamental feature
of Christianity. Likewise the problem of formulating satisfactory doc
trines of sanctification, Christian perfection, fulness of Spirit, and so
on, when Christians started with the claim that they were already in
the new age, already part of the new creation, already enjoying the
Spirit outpoured in eschatological fulness. This eschatological tension
is constitutive of the Christianity which we meet in the NT. What its
consequences are for the expression of fundamental unity requires a
good deal more thought.
What is even more striking is that as soon as we broaden out the area
of fundamental unity beyond Easter and Pentecost we find that the
same tension between continuity and discontinuity with Christianity's
Jewish matrix is integral and inescapable. Let me illustrate.
{a) Christianity and the people of God. The belief that Christianity
is the continuation and eschatological fulfilment of Israel, the people
of God, is widespread within the N T , the conviction that those who
believed in Christ, Gentile as well as Jew, constituted a renewed or
even a new Israel. It is particularly important in Matthew, Paul and
Hebrews, and is prominent also in different ways in the writings of
Luke, the Fourth Gospel, I Peter and Revelation. But the disconti
nuity, and in historical terms the discord, emerges with the claim that
Gentiles are part of this Israel, and are so simply by virtue of their
faith in the risen Christ. The tension at this point enters into the very
heart of our conception of the people of God. Who are 'the people
of God'? Those to whom the promises to the patriarchs were given?
- a promise and 'calling' which Paul tells us are 'irrevocable' (Rom.
1 1 . 2 9 ) . Or only those Jews who believe in Jesus as Messiah? And if
Gentiles are members purely by faith, what then of the Jews who do
not (yet) believe in Jesus as Messiah? This tension remains unresolved
in the NT, even despite Paul's efforts (Rom. 9 - 1 1 ) , and was to prove
fruitful of the anti-Semitism which has been such a dreadful stain on
Christian history. It is unresolved because it is at the heart of Christ
ianity. The greatest schism in salvation-history is not between Cath
olic and Protestant or between East and West, but between Judaism
and Christianity. Even if all our current ecumenical efforts are success11

1 1 . See particularly M . Barth, The People of God, Sheffield: J S O T 1983: earlier version
in Paulus - Apostat order Apostel?, Regensburg: Pustet 1 9 7 7 .

Unity and Diversity in the Church

445

ful this tension will remain unresolved. Even at the level of fundamen
tal unity the question as to how Jew and Christian relate to each
other within the purposes of God remains open and unanswered.
(b) The same is true with regard to scripture. A fundamental para
dox at the heart of Christianity is its claim that the Old Testament is
also part of its sacred writings. There is no need to document the
degree of continuity which N T claims with Old. Even if, exception
ally, the Johannine Epistles never quote the Old Testament, it still
remains true that the OT is the substructure of N T theology. But
here too the fact of discontinuity between Judaism and Christianity
is inescapable, and indeed even more pronounced. For Christianity
takes over the Jewish scriptures only in a selective way. By reference
to Easter and Pentecost large tracts of the OT come to be disregarded
by the increasingly dominant Gentile churches. The laws of sacrifice
so central to the Pentateuch are set aside. So too food laws, and even
one of the ten commandments, the law of the sabbath. And perhaps
most striking of all, the law of circumcision, even though it was given
to Abraham as a sign of God's covenant with him, an 'everlasting
covenant' (Gen. 1 7 . 1 1 - 1 3 ) . This appeal to the OT as scripture, which
at the same time discounts so much of that scripture, sets up a tension
within Christianity which has never been resolved, and indeed never
will be resolved till Jew and Christian come together in common
worship of the one God. Not only so, but to take over so many
chapters as scripture by ignoring their obvious meaning and import
is to legitimate a hermeneutic fraught with problems for our own
interpretation, not only of the OT but of the N T as well. Here again
at the heart of Christianity are questions which permit of no simple
orfinalanswer.
(c) A somewhat similar point can be made with regard to worship
and order. Characteristic of the N T writers here too is the sense of
eschatological, age-to-come newness - of a reality of worship which
transcends the forms and structures of the old age and which belongs
to the age of spiritual immediacy. Worship no longer a matter of
sacred place, Gerizim or Jerusalem, but a worship in Spirit and truth
(John 4.20-24). Worship as the congregation act together, one body
in charismatic integration and interdependence (I Cor. 1 2 ; Rom. 1 2 ;
Eph. 4). Worship as no longer of the old age, where priests must offer
the same sacrifices year after year, but now of the new age where
each worshipper can enter immediately into the very presence of God
with only Christ as priest and mediator (Hebrews). The language of
12

1 2 . Using the imagery offered by C. H. Dodd, According to the Scriptures, London:

Nisbet 1 9 5 2 .

Appendix

446

priesthood is still used, but in its eschatological fulfilment - Christian

congregations as a whole as 'a holy and royal priesthood' (I Peter 2.5,
9; Rev. 1.6). The language of sacrifice and of priestly ministry is still
used, but it is the sacrifice of each Christian in the social relationships
of every day (Rom. 1 2 . 1 ) , the ministry of committed service, what
ever that service might be, as Paul shows it in describing his own
ministry and that of Epaphroditus (Rom. 1 5 . 1 6 ; Phil. 2 . 1 7 , 25).
In this case the tension expresses itself in the fact that despite this
consistent NT emphasis on discontinuity with the forms and ordering
of Jewish worship, Christianity began soon after to reassert a much
stronger degree of continuity, by readopting the categories of priest
and sacrifice which the N T writers had left behind. Here a Neutestamentler has the uncomfortable responsibility of asking the question:
Did the reacceptance of an order of priesthood, essentially different
from the priesthood of all believers, signal a crucial loss of that
eschatological perspective so fundamental for N T Christianity? Or
to put the issue more sharply: Would the N T writers not have
regarded the re-emergence of such an order of priesthood, more like
that of Aaron than that of Melchizedek, as a return to what Hebrews
certainly regards as the age of imperfection and shadow? Here it
would very much appear that the tension is not to be found within
the N T itself, where the discontinuity is much more marked than the
continuity. Or to put it the other way, the tension now seems to lie
between the N T on the one hand and Christian tradition as it
developed subsequently on the other. Is it too bold for a Protestant
Neutestamentler lecturing in Rome to suggest that any attempt of
Christianity truly to come to terms with the eschatological character
of its beginnings cannot avoid addressing even this issue and cannot
avoid giving still further thought to the question of how the concept
and practice of ministerial priesthood relates to that of the ministry
of the whole people of God?
1 3

14

15

1 3 . The point has been given justifiable emphasis by E. Kasemann, 'Worship in Everyday
Life: A Note on Romans 1 2 ' , New Testament Questions of Today, London: S C M Press
1969, pp. 1 8 8 - 9 5 ;
l
y Romans, W B C 38, pp. 7 0 9 - 1 2 .
1 4 . I am, of course, echoing Vatican II, Lumen Gentium 10: 'There is an essential
difference between the faithful's priesthood in common and the priesthood of the ministry
or the hierarchy and not just a difference of degree.' The A R C I C Report, 'Ministry and
Ordination', 1 9 7 3 , echoes this view ( 1 3 - 1 4 ) . But I note the important qualification argue
by E. Schillebeeckx, Ministry, London: S C M Press 1 9 8 1 , that 'in the ancient church the
whole of the believing community concelebrated, albeit under the leadership of the one
who presided over the community' (p. 49).
1 5 . My point, of course, is that Lumen Gentium can only be the beginning of a fuller
reappropriation of the ministry of the whole body of Christ for a church which takes the
semper reformanda with due seriousness.
s e e a

s o

Unity and Diversity in the Church

447

(d) Similar points can be made with regard to other fundamental

features of earliest Christianity. For example justification by faith'.
As Krister Stendahl pointed out quarter of a century ago, justification
by faith came to expression as a way of saying that Gentiles as much
as Jews are fully and equally accepted by God through Christ as
members of his people. As the proclamation of God's saving righ
teousness, justification by faith is actually part of Christianity's herit
age from the OT (particularly the Psalms and Second Isaiah). But in its
distinctiveness as a Christian doctrine, justification by faith emerged
precisely on the interface of Jewish/Christian continuity/discontinuity.
So too the later tension between Lutheran and Catholic on the issue of
faith and works is rooted in the tension caused by the early Christian
reinterpretation of the covenant with Israel - a tension already there
within the N T , between Paul and James, a tension unavoidable within
Christianity because of its roots in the revelation given to Israel.
We might just note that a consequent tension focuses on the centrality of the love command in Christian ethics. The issue between
Judaism and Christianity was not about whether 'Love your neigh
bour as yourself was a legitimate summary of the law regarding
human relationships. There were plenty within Judaism who would
have agreed with Jesus and Paul that Lev. 1 9 . 1 8 encapsulated such
social obligations and that 'the neighbour' could include a Gentile.
The real dispute was whether love of neighbour could only properly
be exercised by bringing the neighbour within the law or could be
offered to the neighbour without condition. The twentieth-century
tension within Christianity between the older-style 'evangelical' gos
pel and the so-called 'social gospel' has its roots here.
We can even include the doctrine of God at this point. The tension
within Christian understanding of God emerges precisely because of
the compelling need for Christians to give adequate significance to
the revelation event of Christ within the Jewish doctrine of God as
one. The Christian doctrine of the Trinity is not so much a resolution
1

16

17

18

1 6 . 'The Apostle Paul and the Introspective Conscience of the West', HTR, 56, 1 9 6 3 ,
pp. 1 9 9 - 2 1 5 ; reprinted in his Paul among Jews and Gentiles, London: S C M Press/Philadel
phia: Fortress 1 9 7 7 .
1 7 . Cf. two of the sayings attributed to Hillel: 'That which you hate, do not do to your
fellow; this is the whole law; the rest is commentary; go and learn it' (bShab. 31a); 'Be of
the disciples of Aaron, loving peace and pursuing peace, loving mankind and bringing them
nigh to the law' (m Abot 1 . 1 2 ) .
1 8 . I have attempted to reflect at greater length on this theme in a sequence of publi
cations: Christology in the Making, 1980, particularly chs 5 - 7 ; also a debate with Maurice
Wiles in Theology, 85, 1 9 8 2 , pp. 9 6 - 8 , 3 2 6 - 3 0 , 3 6 0 - 6 1 ; also 'Was Christianity a Mono
theistic Faith from the Beginning?', Scottish Journal of Theology, 3 5 , 1 9 8 2 , pp. 3 0 3 - 3 6 ;
also 'Let John be John - A Gospel for its Time', in Das Evangelium und die Evangelien,

Appendix

448

of that tension as a way of living with it, a heuristic definition of God,

an acknowledgment that the mystery of God can never be contained
within the inadequacies of human formulations. The Christian doc
trine of incarnation emerges initially as a way of asserting that God's
self-revelation has come to definitive andfinalexpression not in writ
ten Torah but in the human person Jesus of Nazareth, a revelation
much less capable of being reduced to any particular form of words.
{e) Finally we should simply instance the two (undisputed) sacra
ments. Here we are about as close to the elements of fundamental
unity as anywhere in the NT. For baptism in the name of Christ was
evidently a distinctive feature of Christianity from the first and is
taken for granted by the NT writers. And the words spoken by Jesus
on the night in which he was betrayed were evidently cherished,
passed on and remembered by regular repetition from thefirst.But
here too it is not possible to escape the fundamental tension of Christ
ianity's Jewish origins. Is baptism like circumcision, a mark of family,
tribal or national belonging? Or is the new covenant equivalent better
seen as 'the circumcision of the heart', the Pentecostal gift of the
Spirit, given to faith in the risen Christ? The tension which still
afflicts Christian understanding of baptism, particularly in relation to
faith, arises out of the continuity/discontinuity, of new covenant with
old and is inescapable as such. And how does the Lord's Supper relate
to the Passover meal and to the table-fellowship which was such a
hallmark of Jesus' ministry, not least his ministry among 'taxcollectors and sinners' ? To what extent are the tensions which still afflict
our understanding of the eucharist the direct result of our abstracting
it from its original context within a meal and aligning it more to the
ritual act of priest and sacrifice? Here again questions arise which
seem inescapable because of the fundamental tension which results
from Christianity's beginnings in Judaism.
19

20

To sum up, at the heart of the fundamental unity which we find in

the NT we also find a fundamental tension. Christianity understands
itself in continuity with the faith of the OT, and cannot understand
itself otherwise. At the same time, it has to assert a degree of disconti
nuity with the OT in order to make sense of its own distinctive claims,
a fulfilment which transforms some basic Jewish categories and nulli
fies others. That continuity and that discontinuity are forces which
pull Christianity in different directions and create a tension which is

hrsg. P. Stuhlmacher, Tubingen: Mohr 1 9 8 3 , pp. 3 0 9 - 3 9 ; see my Christology, 2nd edition

1989, pp. xxvi-xxxi.
19. An issue at the heart of my Baptism.
20. See e.g. J . Reumann, The Supper of the Lord, Philadelphia: Fortress 1 9 8 5 , pp. 4-5.

Unity and Diversity in the Church

449

part of Christianity. The tensions which in subsequent generations

were in danger of rending Christianity into two or more pieces were
there from the beginning, because they are constitutive of Christianity
as offspring of Judaism as it was before Christ.
In short, when we lift our eyes beyond the core elements of funda
mental unity wefindourselves still at a fundamental level of Christian
self-understanding. But we also find that that self-understanding con
tains a tension which runs all through it, because it involves an incom
plete dialogue with the Judaism from which Christianity sprang, an
unresolved ambiguity regarding Christianity's continuing relationship
with the Jewish scriptures and the faith and people they bear testi
mony to. And the clear implication seems to be that so long as this
dialogue remains incomplete, this ambiguity remains unresolved,
Christianity itself can never hope to achieve final expression of its
faith and worship as the people of God.
This brings us to our final main section.

4. F U N D A M E N T A L D I V E R S I T Y

The phenomenon of fundamental diversity in the N T is a direct

consequence of two features to which we have already drawn atten
tion. One is the diversity of situations and human contexts in which
the gospel came to expression from the first, and the fact that every
expression of the gospel was conditioned by its particular situation
and context in some degree or other. Diversity of expression was.an
inevitable consequence. The other feature is the fundamental tension
just described and illustrated - not that this is equally a factor in all
cases. And both, of course, are consequences of the fact that any
attempt to speak of God is bound to be provisional, any attempt to
encapsulate divine reality within human speech and act is bound to
be inadequate in greater or less degree, however 'adequate' we may
find it for the purposes of common confession and worship.
This is true even of our normative statements, in the N T or any
where else. As I pointed out in Unity and Diversity in the New
Testament there is no single formulation of the gospel which is main
tained unchanged throughout the N T . In different contexts and
writers wefindthe gospel taking different forms, containing different
elements. Easter and Pentecost remain more or less constant - the call
for faith in the risen one accompanied by the promise of the Spirit.
But even they come to diversity of expression. To achieve a more
universal formulation we would have to abstract it from the diversity
of forms, to summarize it in words which may never actually have

Appendix

45

been used by any N T writer - slogan summaries like 'Easter' and

'Pentecost'. We are sufficiently confident that we can speak of the
same gospel coming to expression in all these specific proclamations,
but at the same time we have to accept the uncomfortable fact that
there is no final orfinallydefinitive expression of that gospel.
The diversity within the N T can be illustrated readily enough. For
example, the fact of the four Gospels. No single connected exposition
of Jesus' life and ministry, death and resurrection, was considered
sufficient. And that diversity is broad enough and flexible enough to
contain, for example, two significantly different portrayals of Jesus'
attitude to the law, in Matthew and Mark. Mark can readily assume
that Jesus by his words and actions undercut and did away with a
whole tract of law (the law on clean and unclean foods - Mark 7 . 1 5 ,
i8f.). But Matthew in contrast feels it necessary to portray Jesus as
denying any such intention (Matt. 5 . 1 7 - 2 0 ) . Here the fundamental
tension pulls strongly in quite sharply opposed directions - presum
ably because the Gospels were written to quite different groups of
Christians, who also differed in their understanding and practice of
the law, but who both could look to Jesus' ministry for guidance on
the point.
Another example would be the different concepts of apostleship
within the N T . There is agreement that apostleship stems from a
commission by the risen Christ during the limited period of his resur
rection appearances (Acts i.2if.; I Cor. 15.8). But beyond that, diver
sity becomes more prominent. Paul regards successful establishment
of new churches as of the essence of apostleship (I Cor. 9.if.), and in
consequence he can speak of each church having its (own) apostles,
the ones who brought it into existence (I Cor. 12.27L.). Moreover, he
regards the authority of apostles as limited by their divine com
mission, limited to the sphere to which they were appointed (II Cor.
1 0 . 1 3 - 1 6 ; Gal. 2.7-9),
that
never thinks to exercise his apos
tolic authority in Jerusalem, while violently resisting any apostolic
encroachments on his own territory (Gal. 1.6-9; H Cor. 1 1 . 1 - 1 5 ) .
Luke however seems to think of 'the apostles' as more or less synony
mous with 'the twelve' (e.g. Acts 1 . 2 1 - 2 6 ; 6.2), and attempts in some
measure to show the Jerusalem apostolate as permanently resident in
Jerusalem, with only one or two of their number engaged in mission
and otherwise exerting a supervisory role over the (initial) expansion
21

22

s o

2 1 . U&D, pp. 2 9 - 3 1 (= pp. 3of. above).

2 2 . For details see U&D pp. 2 4 6 - 9 (= pp. 2 6 5 - 8 above), and the fuller treatment of the
Mark 7 tradition in my 'Jesus and Ritual Purity: A Study of the Tradition History of Mark
7 . 1 5 ' , A cause de Vevangile, J . Dupont Festschrift, (Lectio Divina 1 2 3 , Cerf 1 9 8 5 , pp. 2 5 1 76; reprinted in Jesus, Paul and the Law, London: SPCK/Louisville: Westminster 1990, ch. 2.

Unity and Diversity in the Church

45i

23

(e.g. Acts 8.1, i4f.; 11.zz). Here again we have an expression of

diversity which emerges directly from the fundamental tension within
Christianity, with Luke using the concept of apostleship to emphasize
the continuity of Christianity with its Jewish antecedents, while Paul
emphasizes the element of discontinuity with his strong insistence on
his apostleship to the Gentiles. We might simply remind ourselves
how these different concepts of mission have given rise to some of
the fiercest language in the N T , with Paul wishing that those who
demand circumcision would castrate themselves (Gal. 5.12)!, and
denouncing other missionaries as false apostles and servants of Satan
(II Cor. 1 1 . 1 3 - 1 5 ) . Not what we might wish to call the language of
friendly ecumenical dialogue!
The point could be illustrated further by reference to the subjects
dealt with under the heading of 'Fundamental Tension'. But perhaps
we need do no more than recall the diversity of the N T documents
themselves, the diversity within the canon. We may count it part of the
wisdom of the early fathers of the Church that they recognized that
Christianity can only exist in a diversity of forms and recognized the
importance of the insight by enshrining it in a diverse canon. The open
ness to new revelation and charismatic emphasis of Paul. The strongly
Jewish character of James. The appreciation of church office and 'routinizing of charisma' in the Pastorals. The enthusiasm of Luke, the mysti
cal depths of John, and the apocalyptic visions of his namesake. The
canon contains all these types of Christianity, presumably in recog
nition that Christianity can only exist in diverse forms, and always
has. The canon canonizes diversity as well as unity!
The point then is that diversity is not some secondary feature of
Christianity, not just a sequence of temporal husks which can be
peeled away to leave a virgin, pure, unchanging core. Diversity is
fundamental to Christianity. As fundamental as the unity and the
24

25

26

2 3 . See further Jesus and the Spirit, pp. 1 1 0 - 1 4 , 2.72.-80; also Unity, pp. 1 0 6 - 7 , m 1 2 , 3 5 4 - 6 (= pp. 1 1 6 , i2of., 3 8 7 - 9 above).
24. See also Evidence for Jesus, ch. 4.
25. I perhaps do not need to deal more fully with the example of christology itself since
points such as I expressed in U&D, 8 - 1 4 , 5 1 - 2 , and in Christology, pp. 2 6 5 - 7 , have
been well taken in the Odessa Report 1 9 8 1 . 'The Ecumenical Importance of the NiceneConstantinopolitan Creed', Apostolic Faith Today, pp. 2 5 1 , 2 5 3 .
26. The famous (or infamous) assertion of E. Kasemann - 'The New Testament canon
does not, as such, constitute the foundation of the unity of the Church. On the contrary,
as such (that is, in its accessibility to the historian) it provides the basis for the multiplicity
of the confessions', 'The New Testament Canon and the Unity of the Church', Essays on
New Testament Themes, London: S C M Press 1 9 6 4 , p. 1 0 3 - was perhaps stated too
provocatively, though it contains a recognition of N T diversity whose challenge dare not
be ignored. But it certainly should not be taken to justify 'a plurality of totally separate or
opposed churches', as Congar (below n. 28) rightly observes (Diversity, p. 6).

45

Appendix

tension. Christianity can only exist in concrete expressions and these

concrete expressions are inescapably different from each other. In
order to be Christianity it has to be diverse. This is a point which has
been well taken in ecumenical discussions, particularly in the last ten
years or so - that diversity coexists with unity, coheres with unity,
that unity exists in diversity. But what perhaps needs to be given
more attention is the fact that the N T contains the archetypal model
of 'unity in diversity' - viz. the body of Christ.
The metaphor of the Church as a body is used in three different
Pauline letters, and in three different ways. In Romans Paul speaks
of 'one body in Christ' (Rom. iz.5); in I Corinthians of Christ as 'one
body' (I Cor. 1 2 . 1 2 ) ; and in Ephesians Christ is the head of the body
(Eph. 4.15). But on each occasion Paul stresses that the unity of the
body is a unity in diversity. For the point to be made so often to
different audiences is sufficient indication of its importance. The point
is that the body only exists as a unity by virtue of its diversity. In the
famous twelfth chapter of I Corinthians Paul pours ridicule on the
idea of a body which had only a single organ: 'If the whole body were
an eye, where would be the hearing? If the whole body were an ear,
where would be the sense of smell? . . . If all were a single organ,
where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, yet one
body' (I Cor. 1 2 . 1 7 - 2 0 ) . The point is clear: without diversity the
body could not exist as a body. Diversity is not a regrettable rational
ization of a basically unsatisfactory state of affairs, nor a decline from
some higher ideal for which repentance is necessary. On the contrary,
diversity is integral to the pattern of community which God has
established. Without diversity there cannot be unity, the unity which
God intended.
27

28

Paul also provides some indication of how he saw this ideal of

unity in diversity working out in practice. I am thinking here of
Romans 1 4 . 1 - 1 $.6 There he deals with the problem of disagreement
29

27. Cf. Bonhoeffer's words: 'The Confessing Church does not confess in abstracta . . .
It confesses in concretissima against the "German Christian" church. . .' - quoted by U.
Duchrow, 'The Confessing Church and the Ecumenical Movement', Ecumenical Review,
3 3 , 1 9 8 1 , p. 2 1 4 .
28. See e.g. the Leuenberg Agreement in Apostolic Faith Today, 45; Baptism, Eucharist
and Ministry, World Council of Churches 1 9 8 2 , 23; the theme of 'reconciled diversity'
introduced by H. Meyer, with Y . Congar's reflections on it in Diversity and Communion,
London: S C M Press 1 9 8 4 , pp. 1 4 5 - 5 8 , and his plea for recognition that 'diversity has
always been accepted in the unity of faith', Diversity ch. 3; P. Avis, Ecumenical Theology
and the Elusiveness of Doctrine, London: SPCK 1986, particularly ch. 7.
29. Of course the body imagery has particular reference to ministry, but Rom. 1 4 is
also concerned with mutual relations within the Christian congregation, and by placing the
body imagery at the beginning of the whole section on relationships (chs 1 2 - 1 5 ) , P l
a u

Unity and Diversity in the Church

453

within the Church and gives advice on how to cope with it. The
disagreement was over food - what is permissible for the believer to
eat (14.2); also over holy days - whether some days should be given
special significance (14.5). It should not be thought that these were
minor matters - merely over vegetarianism or some particular feast
day. On the contrary, what we have here is almost certainly a further
expression of the fundamental tension. For those who would not eat
meat and who wished to observe some days as special would certainly
have at least included Jewish Christians. And for devout Jews the
observance of the food laws and the sabbath law was at the very
heart of the obligation laid upon them by their membership of the
covenant people of God. They could not yield on these matters with
out calling in question their history and traditions, without dis
honouring the blood of the (Maccabean) martyrs who had died for
these very beliefs (I Mace. i.62f. - 'Many in Israel stood firm and
were resolved in their hearts not to eat unclean food. They chose to
-die rather than to be defiled by food or to profane the holy covenant;
and they did die'). What was at stake was their very understanding
of the covenant and of the obligations laid upon the people of God deep and fundamental issues.
30

The advice Paul gives is clear and straightforward. It is that these

two opposed views could both be acceptable to God. There could be
disagreements over issues which were fundamental for the different
parties and yet both be upheld by God. It was not necessary for the
one to be wrong in order for the other to be right. The consequence
was that each should accept the other, despite the diversity of views.
Each should respect the other believer, that is respect his right to go
on holding a sharply distinct opinion, and not use his own conscience
as a stick to beat the other, and not see it as his duty to convince the
other of error (Rom. 1 4 . 3 - 1 3 ) . Here we might say is a model of
'reconciled diversity' - the willingness to defend the right of the
other to hold an opinion different from my own on issues which I
regard as fundamental to a proper understanding of the faith, and
the acceptance of that other as one with me in the diversity of the
one body of Christ.
31

probably intended the image of the Christian community as body to be determinative also
for the later passage; cf. particularly Rom. 1 2 . 3 with 14.4, 22f.
30. The importance of the food laws for Jewish self-identity is also indicated by three
of the most popular of the 'intertestamentaP writings, Daniel, Judith and Tobit, all of
which give special prominence to the heroes' and heroine's faithfulness in this matter (Dan.
1.816; Tobit 1 . 1 0 - 1 3 ; Judith 1 2 . 1 - 4 ) . As for the central significance of the sabbath we
may note especially Ex. 3 1 . 1 3 , 1 6 ; Isa. 56.6; Jubilees 2 . 1 7 - 3 3 .
3 1 . See n. 28 above.

Appendix

454

Romans 1 4 refers, of course, to the local church, or to be more

precise, the various house congregations in Rome. But Ephesians 4
shows that the body imagery transposes into the Church as universal.
On the universal scale the disagreements would be of the same order
- Jewish Christian congregations who understood the gospel and its
outworkings in terms of strong continuity with earlier Judaism;
largely Gentile congregations who emphasized discontinuity by disre
garding the law and more traditional patterns of Jewish worship and
order; and mixed congregations, like the ones in Rome, who had to
work out the tensions internally as best they could. The point is that
Paul's advice in Romans 14 would seem to be equally applicable: be
clear in your own mind about what's right for your congregation; but
don't insist that every other congregation agree with you in every
thing, even on points which you hold to be of central significance;
accept that the other who names Jesus as Lord is equally Christian,
equally accepted by your common Lord, and continue to worship
together. Only if there is diversity is there a body; but only if the
diversity is harmonious diversity is the body one.
One other thought might follow from Paul's conception of the
Church as Christ's body. Paul of course uses the term 'body' in other
ways than in reference to the Church, local or otherwise. His most
common usage is in reference to the body of the individual. The body
of the believer is the 'mortal body', the body of flesh. As such it
belongs to this age, is part of the eschatological 'not yet'. As such it
will waste away, a perishable body, 'dust to dust', to be 'put off in
death and transformed or 'redeemed' at the resurrection (e.g. Rom.
8 . 1 1 ; I Cor. 1 5 . 4 2 - 5 0 ; Phil. 3.21). If the physical body is the embodi
ment of the individual believer in this age, so we might say the struc
ture of the Church is the embodiment of the corporate body of
believers. In which case the forms taken by the Church as body in
this age must share the character of the physical body, perishable,
corruptible, 'dust to dust'. The point is that this would be true for
Paul even for the Church as Christ's body. For the church as Christ's
body is not the risen body of Christ; that transformation, as in the
case of the individual, awaits the resurrection. The Church in this age
is Christ's body crucified, his body broken, not yet his body of glory.
Consequently we may say that the diversity of the members of the
universal body of Christ is also an expression of the transitory nature
of all bodies in this age, the incompleteness of the eschatological 'not
yet'.
32

3 2 . Against J . A . T. Robinson, The Body, London: S C M Press 1 9 5 2 , ch. 3 , who makes

a highly questionable synthesis of different strands of Paul's thought.

Unity and Diversity in the Church

455

Whether thisfinalline of thought is followed or not, the chief point

of this last section is that diversity is inescapable when we look at the
Christianity which we see attested in the NT. In historical terms we
cannot ignore the diversity offirst-centuryChristianity, particularly
of Jewish Christian and Gentile Christian, with all the differences
involved of emphasis and attitude, of confessional or liturgical form.
Christians disagreed with one another, often over issues which were
central to one or other, and often passionately. The sophisticated
analyses of the 'fundamental differences' which are a feature of con
temporary ecumenism could be applied equally to the fundamental
differences within apostolic Christianity: the divisions between East
and West, in the final analysis, are no more profound than those
between Paul and James; the challenge to Luther, 'Are you alone right
and a thousand years wrong?' was in effectfirstput to Paul by Jewish
Christians.
In theological terms we cannot ignore the significance of the body
imagery. The unity of the body comes to expression by means of the
diversity of its members. Only by their functioning in harmonious
diversity does the body function as one. In short, diversity is as funda
mental to the Christianity of the NT as is the unity of Easter and
Pentecost and the tension caused by Christianity's Jewish origins. It
is the way the tension is lived out in the reality of the eschatological
'not yet'. Without it the Church cannot exist as Christ's body.
33

5. C O N C L U S I O N S

(a) There is a fundamental unity given us in the N T which is the basis

of Christianity and therefore the source of Christian unity - the unity
rooted in Easter and Pentecost. It is not capable of a single or finally
satisfactory expression in human language, but it can be confessed in
word and worship with a unifying power which no controversy over
mere words can prevent. This unity alone is not all that belongs to
the 'essence' of Christianity, for there is also what it inherits from its
parent faith, but this is where the distinctiveness of Christianity's
self-understanding begins.
Also fundamental is the fact of Christianity's emergence from firstcentury Judaism. In this OT and salvation-history heritage are
contained much that is integral to the fundamental unity of Easter
and Pentecost - including, we may say, the 'one hope, one faith, one
33. See particularly H. Meyer, 'Fundamental Difference - Fundamental Consensus',
Midstream, 2 5 , 1986, pp. 2 4 7 - 5 9 .

456

Appendix

baptism and one God' of Ephesians 4.4-6. But Christianity's claim

to that heritage also set up a fundamental tension which is an inescap
able part of Christian faith and which came to most tragic expression
in the schism between the Israel of old and the end-time Israel of Jew
and Gentile. This means that the unity can be expressed in fuller
terms which continuity between the Old Testament and the New
makes possible. But the more the unity is elaborated in terms of
Christian distinctives the more it is caught in the tension of continuity/
discontinuity which can never be finally resolved in this age. The
tension is fundamental because divine revelation has stretched human
logic and categories beyond their capacity. The new wine of Christ
has burst more than the wine skins of early Judaism.
Diversity of expression of truth and of life, individual and corpor
ate, is therefore inevitable as different generations and cultures strive
to express both the unity and the tension in their different life-settings.
The gospel of Christ can never come to adequate expression in the
abstract, only in the concrete. So with the body of Christ. There can
be agreement on the gospel even without agreement on the words
which express it. There can be oneness of Christ's body without
agreement on the forms taken by the body in its concrete existence.
Fundamental diversity is an inevitable expression of fundamental
unity within the imperfections of this age.
So then, 'Does the idea of fundamental consensus have biblical
grounds?' If there is anything at all in what I have tried to say, the
answer must be Yes. Just so long as (1) we do not try to pack too
much into the consensus; for then we quickly come to issues where
emphases are bound to differ and questions need to be left more open
than in most of our confessions. So long as (2) we do not insist that
the consensus can be expressed in one and only one set of words; for
that is to make an idol of our formulations. And (3) so long as we do
not attempt to hold only to the consensus and ignore the tension or
suppress the diversity; a consensus without the tension and without
the diversity is one-dimensional and of little lasting value.
(b) It is worth reflecting a little further on the fundamental role of
experience in the fundamental unity - particularly with reference to
the Spirit. The Spirit in the N T is characteristically a power that
inspires and engages the emotions at a deep level. For example, John
speaks of the Spirit as 'a fountain of water bubbling up into eternal
life' (John 4.14); Luke consistently depicts the Spirit as a power which
falls upon and catches up individuals in eye-catching action and
ecstatic speech (Acts 2.4; 8.18; 10.45L.; 19.6); and Paul thinks of the
gift of the Spirit as the means by which 'the love of God has been

Unity and Diversity in the Church

457

poured out in our hearts' (Rom. 5.5) and as bearing witness with
our spirits by inspiring our cry 'Abba! Father!' (8.15f.). For Paul in
particular it is this experience of the Spirit which is the foundation
and formative influence in their common life as Christians. The phrase
'the fellowship of the Spirit', koinonia tou pneumatos (II Cor. 1 3 . 1 3
and 14), does not denote an objective entity, a congregation or con
fessional community created by the Spirit. Rather it should be trans
lated 'participation in the Spirit', as referring to the shared experience
of the Spirit. It is this shared experience of the Spirit which is the
source of what we now more usually think of as 'fellowship'. That is
why the word koinonia first occurs in the description of the Christian
congregation after Pentecost - a new experience of community was
the consequence of this foundational experience of the Spirit which
they had shared (Acts 2.42). So too Paul in warning the Philippians
against selfishness and conceit appeals in emotive terms precisely to
their shared experience of the Spirit as providing the source and
motivation for a common mind (Phil. 2.iff.).
The point is that at the heart of the fundamental unity of the N T
is not just a doctrine of Christ's resurrection but the experience of
God's acceptance through his Spirit. The fundamental unity of the
ealiest Christian churches was a unity of spirit which grew out of the
shared experience of God's Spirit. It was by being baptized in one
Spirit, by having the one Spirit poured out on them, that they became
members of the one body: the oneness of the body was a consequence
of their sharing the one Spirit (I Cor. 1 2 . 1 3 ) . The unity of the Spirit
was not something created or contrived by them. On the contrary, it
was something they experienced as the outworking of God's gift of the
Spirit. The same point can be made with reference to the eucharistic
elements in I Corinthians 1 0 . The cup and the bread are described as
a sharing (koinonia) in the blood and body of Christ; 'because the
bread is one, we the many are one body, for we all participate in the
one bread' (io.i6f.). The oneness of the body is the consequence not
only of the oneness of the bread but of the common participation in
the one bread. Here too the reality of oneness is something which is
dependent upon, something which arises out of the shared experience
of communion.
All this seems to me to be a matter of fundamental importance for
our discussions. Inevitably we direct our attention to agreed state
ments and common liturgies. But in so doing it is all too easy to forget
that the unity of the Spirit is something experienced as a gracious gift
34

34. This is a mistaken exegesis which my much esteemed Doctor-father, C. F. D. Moule,

quite often warned against.

45

Appendix

of God. According to the apostle Paul, the unity of the body arises
out of the shared experience of the one Spirit and the one bread. It is
not something structural as such, nor something which we can create
or impose by our ecumenical labours. The fellowship of the Spirit is
something discovered, something given, and unless structural unity
grows out of the shared experience of the Spirit it surely cannot hope
to succeed.
(c) The eschatological character of Christianity's beginnings gives rise
to a further potentially important line of reflection. Christianity began
as a renewal movement within first-century Judaism. It began as an
experience of liberation, as a breaking through of boundaries and
recasting of traditions, as a movement of the Spirit clothing itself in
new forms and expressing itself in new structures. Moreover, that
self-understanding of Christianity, as a movement of liberation and
renewal, often enthusiastic in character, has been enshrined within
our foundation documents, the N T . It is integral to the canonical
portrayal of Christianity.
This remains true even though there are clear indications of fading
enthusiasm and increased patterning of faith and order also within
the N T , especially in the Pastoral Epistles; and even though Christ
ianity has often taken on the same sort of structural solidity and
exclusiveness as the Judaism against which Jesus and thefirstChrist
ians reacted. The point is that Christianity retains in its sacred scrip
tures not only the tension between Old Testament and New, but also
the inspiration and resources for renewal, within the structures of the
Church provided they are flexible enough, but, we should be warned,
outside them if they are not!
It is all the more important, therefore, that the structural unity
which grows out of the shared experience of the Spirit be sufficiently
open-ended to let the diversity of that experience come to fulness of
expression. All the more important that unity should be broad enough
to embrace all those who rejoice in and confess Easter and Pentecost,
open enough to leave tensions unresolved and ever subject to new
insight and revelation, and flexible enough to allow the diversity of
Christ's body to express itself in its full range. Only so can the diver
sity be expressive of the unity without allowing the tensions to pull
it apart.
{d) In short, if we may hazard a few final epigrammatic summaries
of what the N T seems to offer to our deliberations. The fundamental
unity of risen Christ and shared Spirit is the source of Christian unity.
Fundamental tension means that there are basic issues in Christianity

Unity and Diversity in the Church

459

which do not permit of resolution within Christianity itself or within

Christianity alone. Fundamental diversity means that uniformity is
not only unrealizable but theologically wrong-headed, since it would
only result in the fundamental diversity expressing itself in new and
schismatic forms. A continuing obligation within the ecumenical
movement is to maintain a biblical and realistic balance between these
three fundamentals.
Of course much more needs to be said on all the points made
above. Each issue needs much more careful analysis than is possible
within the limits of a single paper. Moreover, there are important
aspects of the topic I have been unable to go into - for example,
the limits of acceptable diversity, and the tensions which earliest
Christianity found on the other front as it entered more fully into the
wider Graeco-Roman world (some of which lie behind the great
prayer for unity in John 17). And I am fully aware that the N T is by
no means the only factor in the whole discussion. But it is itself a
'fundamental' factor in these discussions, and these seem to me to be
'fundamental' considerations which it presses upon us.
35

35. See n. 4 above.

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Meyer, B., 'Identity and Development', The Early Christians. Their World
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Chapter III

Primitive Confessional Formulae

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1 9 7 8 , pp. 2 4 5 - 6 0

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2

pp. 2 1 0 - 5 3

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Collins, J. J . , The Scepter and the Star: The Messiahs of the Dead Sea Scrolls and
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pp.

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The Origin of Christology, Cambridge University Press 1 9 7 7

Neufeld, V., The Earliest Christian Confessions, Leiden 1 9 6 3

Perrin, N., A Modern Pilgrimage in New Testament Christology, Fortress 1 9 7 4
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T. Clark 1 9 8 2

Schweizer, E., Erniedrigung und Erhhung bei Jesus and seinen Nachfolgern,
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Press i 9 6 0
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Chapter IV

The Role of Tradition

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Press 1 9 7 5
Bruce, F. F., Tradition Old and New, Paternoster 1 9 7 0

Paul and Jesus, Baker 1 9 7 4

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Congar, Y., Tradition and Traditions, i960, 1 9 6 3 , ET Burns & Oates 1 9 6 6
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PP- 5 9 - 7 5

Davies, W. D., The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount, Cambridge University
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Dibelius, M., From Tradition to Gospel, 1 9 1 9 , i 9 3 3 , ET Nicholson & Watson
1 9 3 4 ; James Clarke 1 9 7 1
Dodd, C. H., 'Ennomos Christof ( 1 9 5 3 ) , More New Testament Studies, Man
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2

Dungan, D. L., The Sayings of Jesus in the Churches of Paul, Blackwell 1 9 7 1

Dunn, J . D. G., Jesus Remembered, Eerdmans 2 0 0 3
'Jesus Tradition in Paul', in B. Chilton and C. A. Evans, eds., Studying the

Historical Jesus: Evaluation of the State of Current Research, Brill 1 9 9 4 ,

pp-155-78

France, R. T. and Wenham, D., ed., Gospel Perspectives. Studies of History and
Tradition in the Four Gospels, especially vols 1 and 2 , J S O T 1 9 8 0 , 1 9 8 1
Frser, J . W., Jesus and Paul, Marcham 1 9 7 4
Gerhardsson, B., Memory and Manuscript, Lund 1 9 6 1

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Goppelt, L., 'Tradition nach Paulus', KuD, 4 , 1 9 5 8 , pp. 2 1 3 - 3 3
Hahn, F., 'Das Problem "Schrift und Tradition" im Urchristentum', Ev Th, 3 0 ,
1 9 7 0 , pp. 4 4 9 - 6 8

Hanson, R. P. C. Tradition in the Early Church, S C M Press 1 9 6 2

Hartin, P. J . , James and the Q Sayings of Jesus, J S N T S 4 7 , Sheffield Academic
Press 1 9 9 1

Herford, R. T., Pirke Aboth: The Ethics of the Talmud: Sayings of the Fathers,
1 9 4 5 , Schocken 1 9 6 2
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Chapter V The Use of the Old Testament

Albl, M. C , 'And Scripture Cannot be Broken': The Form and Function of the
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Baker, D. L., Two Testaments, One Bible, Apollos, revised 1 9 9 1
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Barton, J . , Oracles of God, Darton, Longman &c Todd 1 9 8 6
Black, M . , 'The Christological Use of the Old Testament in the New Testament',
NTS,

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Bruce, F. F., Biblical Exegesis in the Qumran Texts, Tyndale Press 1 9 5 9

Carson, D. A., and Williamson, H. G. M., eds., It is Written: Scripture Citing
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Chilton, B., A Galilean Rabbi and his Bible. Jesus' Own Interpretation of Isaiah,
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Michel, O., Paulus und seine Bibel, Gtersloh 1 9 2 9

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Concepts of Ministry

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Patterns of Worship

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Sacraments

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Spirit and Experience

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Apocalyptic Christianity

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Theology: Problems and Perspectives, J . C. Beker F S , Abingdon 1 9 9 5 ,

pp. 2 7 6 - 8 9

Ksemann, E., 'Is the Gospel Objective?' ( 1 9 5 3 ) , 'The Canon of the New Testa
ment and the Unity of the Church' ( 1 9 5 1 ) , ENTT, pp. 4 8 - 6 2 , 9 5 - 1 0 7
'Thoughts on the Present Controversy about Scriptural Interpretation' ( 1 9 6 2 ) ,
NTQT, pp. 2 6 0 - 8 5

ed., Das Neue Testament als Kanon, Gttingen 1 9 7 0

Kelsey, D. H., The Uses of Scripture in Recent Theology, Fortress and S C M
Press 1 9 7 5
Kiing, H., ' "Early Catholicism" in the New Testament as a Problem in Contro
versial Theology', The Living Church, E T Sheed & Ward 1 9 6 3 , pp. 2 . 3 3 - 9 3 ;

(published in USA under the title The Council in Action: Theological Reflec
tions on the Second Vatican Council)
Lnning, I., 'Kanon im Kanon'. Zum dogmatischen Grundlagenproblem des
neutestamentlichen Kanons, Oslo 1 9 7 2

Bibliography

.487

Marxsen, W., The New Testament as the Church's Book, 1 9 6 6 , ET Fortress

1972

McDonald, L. M., The Formation of the Christian Biblical Canon, Hendrickson,

revised 1 9 9 5
McDonald, L. M . , and Sanders, J . A., eds., The Canon Debate, Hendrickson
2002

Meade. D. G., Pseudonymity and Canon. An Investigation into the Relationship

of Authorship and Authority in Jewish and Earliest Christian Tradition,
Tbingen/Eerdmans 1 9 8 6
Mildenberger, F., 'The Unity, Truth and Validity of the Bible', Interpretation,
2-9, i 9 7 5 > PP- 3 9 I - 4 0 5

Murray, R., 'How did the Church determine the Canon of Scripture?', Heythrop
Journal, 1 1 , 1 9 7 0 , pp. 1 1 5 - 2 6
Nineham, D. E., The Use and Abuse of the Bible, Macmillan 1 9 7 6
Ogden, S. M., 'The Authority of Scripture for Theology', Interpretation, 3 0 ,
1 9 7 6 , pp. 2 4 2 - 6 1

Pannenberg, W., Basic Questions in Theology, Vol. 1 , 1 9 6 7 , E T S C M Press 1 9 7 0

Pedersen, S., 'Die Kanonfrage als historisches und theologisches Problem', Studia
Theologica, 2 1 , 1 9 7 7 , pp. 8 3 - 1 3 6
Robinson, J . M . , The New Hermeneutic, Harper 1 9 6 4

Sanders, J. A., Canon and Community. A Guide to Canonical Criticism, Fortress

1984

Schneiders, S. M., The Revelatory Text: Interpreting the New Testament as

Sacred Scripture, HarperSanFrancisco 1 9 9 1
Schrmann, H., 'Auf der Suche nach dem "Evangelisch Katholischen",

Zum

Thema "Frhkatholizismus im kumenischen Gesprch, Berlin 1 9 8 3 , pp. 7 1 107

Schweizer, E., 'Scripture - Tradition - Modern Interpretation', Neo-testamentica,

Zrich 1 9 6 3 , pp. 2 0 3 - 3 5
Sheppard, G. T., 'Canonization. Hearing the Voice of the Same God through
Historically Dissimilar Traditions', Interpretation, 3 6 , 1 9 8 2 , pp. 2 1 - 3 3
Stendahl, K., 'One Canon is Enough', Meanings. The Bible as Document and as
Guide, Fortress 1 9 8 4 , pp. 5 5 - 6 8
Wall, R. W., 'The Problem of the Multiple Letter Canon of the New Testament',

Horizons in Biblical Theology 8, 1 9 8 6 pp. 1 - 3 1

Wiles, M . F., 'The Uses of "Holy Scripture"', What about the New Testament?

Essays in Honour of Christopher Evans, ed., M . Hooker and C. Hickling,

S C M Press 1 9 7 5 , pp. 1 5 5 - 6 4
Zahn, T., Geschichte des neutestamentlichen Kanons, 4 vols, Leipzig 1 8 8 8 - 9 2

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

I OLD TESTAMENT
Genesis
i.zf.

239

7
3-5, 1 7 - 1 9
12.3
12.7
15.6
17.11-13
18.18

2.39,
239
95
IOO
95, 104, 2 7 1
445
95

23.21
24.1
25.4
27.41".
30.1-10
30.11
30.12-14
30.14

106
106
98
142
257
107
95, 1 0 7
107

68.18
69.2, 1 5
69.21
74-9
78.24
82.6f.
110
IIO.I

13-5
14.6, 19
15.14

IOI
184
184

Proverbs
3.19
8.22-31

/ Samuel
2.1-10
10.10

!43
184

IOO
167
107
204
94
281
54
4 1 , 55, 56,
102, 105

Judges
Exodus
1.22
21.24
24.8
25.40
3 1 . 1 3 , 16
34-^9-35

268
106
181
97
453
95, 98

Leviticus
7.6, 1 5
17.10-14
18.5
19.12
19.18
24.20
26.1

179
181
106, 107
106
xix, 447
106
293

Numbers
11.16-25
30.2

116
106

Deuteronomy
6-8
95, 268
6.4-9
138
6.4
57
138
6.5
11.13-21
138
i8.i5f.
262
18.15
93, 268
i8.i8f.
144
19.21
106
2I.22f.
1 7 , 2-95

II Samuel
7.12-14
7-13
7.14
Psalms
2
2.7
8
8.4-6
8.4
8.6
19.4
22
22.27
31-5
32.lf.
34.20
40.6-8
42.5, I I
43-5
.6f.
58.4
45

44
106
47, 48

47
48, 105, 2 3 6 ,
243
4 1 , 246
240
39, 40, 4
41
IOO
102
2.57
107
95
107
96
109
109
281
41
1

Isaiah
2
2.2f.
4-4
6.9f.
7.14
8.14-18
II
II.I
11.6-8
25.6
30.27f.
40.11
42.1
43.2
43.16-21
44-3-5
45-2-3
46.6
52.1lf.
53
53.12
56.6-8
56.6
56.7
61.iff.

2-37
237

344
2-57
167
105
108
105
344
93,
93
177
167, 346
114
48
167
93
185
56
293
93
17, 45, 9 ,
102, 227
227
257
453
1 3 6 , 257,
349,354
144
1

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

490
6i.if.
65.13
66. if.

Jeremiah
18-19
23.5
32
Ezekiel
34.11-24
34.23
36.25-27
37.24
40-48
Daniel
1.8-16
2

2.4-7.28
2.21
5.25-28
7
7.9-14
7.10
7-i3f7-13

204, 229
177
106, 1 3 9 ,
293

1 0 1 , 104
93, 144
IOI

114
93
185
93
44
340
453
339, 343
91
344
91
226, 3 3 9 , 3 5
347
346
344, 359
40, 4 1 , 4 2 ,

7.19-22
8.13
8.26
9.27
1 1 . 3 1 , 36
12.1
I2.2f.
12.2
I2.4
I2. ff.
I2.7
I2.9
12.II
5

55, 1 0 5 , 226,
2-37, 2.43, 362
167
343
340, 344, 363
357
357
167
342
443
344
343
362
340, 3 4 4 , 363
357

Hosea
2.14-20
6.2
6.6

93
108
269

Joel
2.28-32
3.13

3 5 2 , 380, 443
346

Micah
4.6-8
5*
5-4

114
99,
114

Habakkuk
1.6, 1 3
2.4

92
92., 99

I C )

Zephaniah
3-9f-

57

Zechariah
3.8
6.12
9-9
II
II.12
il.13
12.10
13.2-6
14.12-15
14.16

144
144
108
104
108
IOO-I
105 .
204
167
2-57

Malachi
Amos
9-13

93

3-1
4-5

1 3 8 , 25
144

II OLD TESTAMENT APOCRYPHA AND PSEUD EPIGRAPH A

APOCRYPHA

Baruch
3-2-9

Tobit
1.10-13
13.II
I4.4f.
Judith
12.1-4

453
257
000

453

Wisdom of Solomon
1.4-7
326
227
2.-5
7.22-8.1
237
150
7.26L
237
9-if.
9.9-12
326
9.10
238
18.14-16
326
Ecclesiasticus (ben Sirach)
326
2-4
24.1-22
*37
24.8
150
51.23-27
279

238

/ Maccabees
1.54
357
453
204
9-2-7
II Maccabees
7 . 1 1 , 14
227
227
7-2-3, 37f14.46
227
PSEUDEPIGRAPHA
Jubilees
1.17, 27L
2.17-33
23.13
32.21

44
453
342
344

/ Enoch
1.2
6-11
9.4

340
344
53

10.6
10.9
10.13
14.19
16
17-5
21
37-71
39.11
42.lf.
48
48.6
54-56
62.7
62.14
67-7,13
69.26-29
71.2
71.14-17
85-90
90.24ff.
90.28L
91.13
92.2
100. iff.
100.2

346
53
346
346
344
346
344
237
344
326
344
237
344
237
177
346
344
346
344
339
346
44, 3 5 3
353
344
167
348

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

100.9
102.1

346
346

III.767
III.772-76
III. 72f.
IV
IV. 8 - 1 2
IV.i 6ff.
V. 2 f.

348
257
342, 3 5 3
340
293
346
44

Assumption
i.iji.
.iff.
lO.lff.
10.5
I2.4f.

of Moses

Testaments of the
Twelve Patriarchs

Levi
8.15
Judah
25.3
Benjamin
9.2

144

346

44, 1 4 4 , 2 3 7 ,
353

Sibylline Oracles
III.4f.
348
346
III.54
III. 6 3 - 7 0
357
III.63ff.
344
III.542.ff.
346
III. 605 f.
293
111.618
293
m.632-51 1 6 7
111.702-18 2 5 7
III. iof.
342
III.718
342-, 3 5 3
7

353
340
348
349
344

II Enoch
10.2

346

II Baruch
4.2-7
6. f.
26
29.5
29.8
31-5
32.4
48.39, 43
59.2

353
353
343
341
177
341
44
346
346

81.3
85.10

343
343

/ V Ezra
4.30
4-33-50
4-33-37
4.3 3f.
5-9
6.59
7.26
. 6ff.
7.50
7.52-61
8.52
8.61
9.38-10.27
10.25-27
II
11.44
13
13.10t.

340
346
343
343
343
348

343
354
346
340
341
354
343
44
354
339
343
344
346, 3 4 7

Psalms of Solomon
257
17-33-35
114
17-45

III DEAD SEA SCROLLS, PHILO, JOSEPHUS AND RABBINIC TEXTS

DEAD SEA SCROLLS
iQS
3.13-4.26
3.i5f.
4.20-22
9.II

326
344
185
144

iQSa
2.11-22

177

CD
2.11-13
6.3-11

326
98

iQM
6.6
12.7
13.9-13

340
348
348
326

iQH
i. f
3.29-36
3.29ff.
6.i8f.

326
167
346
346

7.6-12
14.13-16
15.13-22

326
326
326

iQ
Gen.Ap.
20.12-16

53

iQPHab

92

4Q Test.
5-8

144

4Qps
Dan A

47

PHILO
De Agricultura
97
94
De Confusione Linguarum
6xL
238
De Congressu Quaerendae
Eruditionis
172
94
De Ebrietate
30
238
De Praemiis et Poenis
61
94

4QEn
i.iii.14
1.V.5

53
53

nQtgJob
24.6-7
26.18

53
53

De Vita Mosis
I.303
293
II.165, 1 6 8 ,
293
Legum Allegoriarum
11.86
239

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

492.
Quis Rerum Divinarum
Hres
91
94

Quod Deus sit Immutabilis

21
94
238
if.
3

Bellum Judaicum
II.258-63
360
V I . 2 8 5 - 3 1 5 360

Quod Deterius Potiori

115-18
239

JOSEPHUS

RABBINIC TEXTS

Antiquities
XIII.x.6

66

Mishnah
Shabbath 7.2 68

IV NEW TESTAMENT
Matthew

I.I
1.17
I.18-25
I.22f.
2.4
2.6
2.13-15
2.15
2.l6ff.
2.171.
2.23
3-2
3.6
3.7-I2
3.7-IO
3.IO-I2
3.II
3-1413.14
3-15
3.16
3-17
4.1-11
4.3, 6
4-5-7
4.8-10
4.14-16
4.19
4.23
5-7
5
5.3.
5.3-6
5-3
5.6
5.10
.iif.
5.II
5

27,156,15 ,
161, 284,420,
422,429,432,
433,45
46
46
279
268
46
268
99
268
50, 268
268
268
101, 102,
1 0 3 , 268
166
166
346
79, 269
1 6 7 , 346
166, 1 6 7 , 346
77,167
261
266
168
77
50, 9 5 , 200,
268, 3 5 0
49, 50
200
348
268
279
13
268, 409
201
268
204
1 4 , 1 6 , 348
266
266
348
41

5.17-20
5.17-19
5-17
5.18-19
5.18
5-19
5.20
5.21-48
5.21-32
5-2lf.
5.22-24
5.22
5-231.
5.251.
5.271.
5.32
5-33-37
5-34-37
5.38-48
5.38-42
5.43-48
5-47
5.48
6.1
6.9-13
6.9
6.10
6.11, 13
6.14
6.16-18
6.30
6.32
6.33
7-i
7-3-5
7.7ff7-7
7.11
7.12
7.15-23

xx, 1 2 6 , 450
265, 269
136, 265,
268, 269
265
265, 270, 394
266
266, 269
xx, 269, 2 7 1
16
106
127
349
137, 138,
1 4 2 , 2 5 6 , 263
349
106
7 3 , 267
106
271
16
106
269
127
228
266
137, 139,
162, 350
1 9 , 48, 202,
228
1 4 , 229, 3 4 7 ,
348
348
279
137
127
228
266
271
127
271
309
228
268, 269
1 2 6 , 2 1 2 , 269

7.16-18
7.19
7.21-23
7.21
7.221.
7.22
7.23
7.24ft
7.24
7.28
7-2.9
8.2, 6, 8
8. f.
8.9f.
8.10
8.111.
8.11
8.17
8.20
5

8.22
8.25
8.26
8.29
9.13
9.27
9.28f.
9.28
9-35
9.36-10.42
9-37^
10.2-4
10.2
10.51.
10.6
io.7f.
10.7
10.15
10.21
10.23

10.241.
10.3 zi.

78
349
195
266
63, 1 2 7
142
266, 368
271
266
268
126
54
77
78, 201
1 5 , 200
257, 349
266, 3 4 7
268
39, 40, 4 ,
42, 308
349
54
127
50
1 3 7 , 269
46
200
1

! 5 , 54
13,!37
268
15
118
116
2-57, 270, 349
114,126
127, 142
1 4 , 346, 349
14
348
1 4 , 39, 1 2 6 ,
2-33, * 5 7 ,
270, 349, 3 5 4
348
42, 7 8 , 2 3 3 ,
353

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

10.32.
10.34-36
10.38
10.39
10.41
II.I

II.2
n. f.
l.5
II.II
II.12
il.13
n.i8f.
il.19
5

II.20ff.
il.21-24
II.21
11.25-27
II.25f.
11.27
11.28-30
I2.I-8
12.7
12.9-14
12.17-21
12.18-21
12.23
12.24-28
I2.27f.
12.27
12.28
12.30
I2.3lf.
12.32
12.33-35
i2.38f.
12.39-42
12.40
I2.4IL
12.41
i2.49f.
12.50
13.1-52
13.13
I3.i6f.
13.22
13-35
13.37
13.391".
13.40
13.41
13.42
13.44-46
13-49

41
348
42, 308
78
127
268
46, 279
230
14, 204,229
14, 3 9 , 3 1 0
14
268, 269
40
xxxviii, 1 6 ,
137,176,279
279
348
15
80,237
19,48,136,
202
50
8 0 , 2 4 5 , 279
269
137,269
269
268
270
46
203
229,348
204
1 5 , 200, 203,
229, 2 4 7
203
41
79, 203, 3 4 7
78
2 1 , 197
227
42, 353
1 4 , 39, 78,
348
12, 15
127
266
268
79
14,229
347
268
37
347
349
3 7 , 2.66
349
15
347

13.50
13.52
13-53
13-57
13.58
14.28-31
14.28,30
14-33
15.1-20
15.1-9
15.II
15.12-14
15.17-20
15.22
15.24
15.28
16.4
16.8
16.12
16.13
16.14
16.15-17
i6.i6f.
16.16
16.17-19
i6.i8f.
16.18
16.19
16.20
16.25
16.28
17-5
17.20
17.2218.35
18.1-20
18.1-6
18.3
18.10
18.12-35
18.12-20
l8.I2f.
18.15-20
18.15
18.17
18.18-20
18.18
i8.i9f.
18.20
18.21
18.23-35
18.35
19.1
19.3-8
19.9

349
80, 1 2 6
268
279
77
127
54
50, 7 7
269
67
267
267, 269
267
46
1 1 4 , 257,
270, 349
1 5 , 200
227
127
269
41
279
279
260
50
409
126
1 1 4 , 391
1 4 2 , 3 9 3 , 394
46
78
37
268
127, 142, 212
268
126, 127
127
15, 114, 310
127
269
127
127
142
127
114
127
127, 142,
393,394
142
80, 1 2 7 , 1 3 9 ,
1 6 2 , 245
127
16
127
268
106
79, 2.67

493
i9.i6f.
19.28

20.25-27
20.3 of.
21.2-7
21.4h
2.1-5
21.9
21.II
21.12-22
2I.I3
2I.I5
2I.I9
2I.28-32
2I.32
2I.33-46
2I.43
2I.46
22.I-IO
22.34-4O
22.4O
23-25
23.I-36
23.3
23.8-I2
23.8-IO
2 .8f.
23.8
23.10
23.1lf.
23.13ft.
23.23
23.26
23.28
23.29-36
23.33
23.34-36
2.3-37-39
23.37
24.3
24.5
2 4 . 1 off.
2 4 . 1 if.
24.11
24.12
24.14
24.20
24.24
24.27
24.30
3

2-4-35
24-37-44
24-37, 39
24.42

79, 266
42, 55, 1 1 4 ,
115, 117,
118, 127,
227, 256,
348, 353
127
46
108
268
101
46
279
77
101
46
347
269
266
269
270
279
177
2 1 2 , 269
268, 269
268
269
67, 1 3 8 , 266
126
127,133
228
115,117
46
127
268
1 3 8 , 266
16
266
226
14
279
42, 1 3 6 , 348
226
359
46
269
368
127
266
270
138
1 2 7 , 196
39,353
1 6 , 105
393
14
39,353
14

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

494
24-43-51
2-4-43124.44
24.45-51
25.1-13
25.1-12
25.10
25.40
25.41
25-45
26.1
26.2
26.18
26.26-28
26.42
26.54,56
26.61
26.63
27.3-10
27-91-

78
1 4 , 7 9 , 349
39,353
1 4 , 7 8 , 349
79
1 4 , 349
177
1 2 7 , 266
349
266
268

27.37
27.40
27-43
27.5 2f.
28.1-10
28.10
28.18-20
28.19t.
28.19

43
44, 50
50
227, 234, 3 5 2
134
127
162, 270
126, 158
50, 1 6 9 , 1 7 0 ,
270,391
393,394

28.20
Mark

I.iff.
I.I

37 .
167
181
202
268
44, 79
50
78
100-1, 103,
104, 1 0 8 , 268

36, 1 5 6 , 1 5 8 ,
195, 236,
242, 330,
4 1 8 , 429, 450
262

I.II

51, M3
79
166
347
440
350
1 6 8 , 200
48, 49, 5 1 , 7 7

1.14
1.15
1.16-28
1.21-27
1.21
1.22
I.23-27
I.24
I.27
1.29-31
1-34
1-35

13
1 3 , ! 4 , 349
77
137
67
54
348
48
54, 201
176
348
202

1.4-8
1-4, 5
1-7
1.8
i.iof.
1.10

1.39
1.44
2.1-12
2-5
2.8
2.10
2.15
2.16
2.l6f.
2.17
2.l8f.
2.18
2.19f.
2.19
2.20
2.2lf.
2.2.3-3-5
2.28
3-1
3-4
3.II
3.14t
3.16-19
3.20
3.22-29
3.22-26
3.27
3.28f.
3.28
3.29
3-31-35
3-34f3-35
4.iif.
4.12
4.19
4-35-5-43
5-7
5.21-43
5-34
5.36
6.2
6.4
6. f.
6.5
6.6
6.7
6.30
6.30-45
6.30-44
6.31-56
6.32-44
6.45
6.46
6.5 if.
7
5

137
137
77
16
201
40
176
177
xxviii
15,16
15
137
78
177
1 3 7 , 225
1 5 , 1 3 6 , 296
68
40
137
21
48, 5 1 , 5 2
115
118
199
203
3481 5 , 2 0 3 , 229,
350
79, 2 0 3 , 2 3 0 ,
348
41
347
xxi
114
114
105
79
347
76
48, 50, 5 1 , 5 2
77
1 5 , 2 1 , 200
1 5 , 200
54, 1 3 7 , 201
201
15
77
200
115
116
43
77
76
176
43
202
50, 7 7
106, 1 3 7

7.1-23
16
7.1-13
67
7 . 1 - 8 , 9 - 1 3 68
267, 450
7-15
7.18-23
267
7.i8f.
450
7.19
xx, 1 0 6 , 2 3 1
8.1-9
77
8.nf.
20, 1 9 7 , 200
8.14
176
8.27
41
8.29-33
44, 76
8.29
4 3 , 50
8.31
37, 225, 227,
308, 349
241
8-34
8.35
2i,77
8.38
39, 7 8 , 2 2 3 ,
233, 350
9.1
14, 37, 347,
349
9.2-8
200
54,113
9-5
5 1 , 5 2 , 268
9-7
9.9, 1 2
37
9.17
54, 1 1 3
1 5 , 200
9-2-3f9.31
3 7 , 76, 2 2 5 ,
2 2 7 , 308, 349
201
9-33-37
9.38-40
xxxviii
9.38
54, 1 1 3
9.43, 48
349
1 6 8 , 349
9-49
10.2-9
106
10.2
267
IO.II
79, 267
10.13-16
175
10.15
15
10.17-31
15
io.i7f.
79
10.17
54, 1 1 3
10.21
201
348
I0.29f.
10.30
347
10.31
348
10.33^
37, 225, 227,
308
10.34
349
10.35-40
177
10.35
54,113
10.37-40
227
io.38f.
2 2 5 , 349
10.38
168, 1 7 3 , 1 7 7
10.39
2 0 1 , 348
10.431.
115
10.45
1 8 , 3 7 , 308
10.46-52
77

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

10.51
10.52
11.2-7

54,113
1 5 , 2 1 , 200
108

il.3

54
46

11.9t".
11.12-25
il.12-14
il.14
il.17

11.23
11.25
11.28
12.1-9
12.1
12.6
12.25
12.28-31
1 2 . 3 0 , 33
12.31
12.35-37

77
348
347
1 3 6 , 2 5 7 , 270
349,354
200
228
54, 201
226
380
51
227,348
xix, 1 6
138
231
44, 46, 54,
55, 5 , 108
4 1 , 56
201
80, 350, 3 5 5 ,
3 5 9 - 6 1 , 364,
365, 368, 379
44, 1 3 6 , 1 3 9 ,
201,359
359
360

14.3
14.8
14.13t.
14.14
14.17t.
1 4 . 1 8 , 20
14.22-25
14.22-24
14.24
14.25

14.27
14.28
14.30
14.32-42
14.33-36
14-33-35
14.35t.
14.36

i o

12.36
12.43

f.

13

13.2
13.4
13.5t.
13.6, 8
13.7t.
13.9-13
13.10
13.II

13.12
13.13
13.14-20
13.14
13.17,19t.
13.20
13.21t.
13.22
13.24-27
13.24t.
13.24
13.26
13.28-30
13.28t.
13.30
13.31
13.32
13-33-37
13.34-36
14.1

14.58

14.61t.
14.61
14.62

379
348, 359, 361
359, 360
80, 349, 3
21
348
360, 3 7 9
1 4 , 348, 359,
360

15.2
15.26
15.29
15.30
15-34
I5-36
15-39
15.40t.
i6.6f.
16.7

359
360

Luke

3 5 1 , 379
360
196
344,350,359
349
360, 3 6 1 , 379
37
14,359
349
349, 3 6 1
394
48, 5 1 , 2 2 7 ,
350, 361
359
1 4 , 79, 349
37

1-2
I.lff.

1.32t.
1-31 35
1.46-55
1.68-79
1-75
2. iff.
2.14
2.25
2.29-32
3-3
3-7-14
3-7-9
3-9

176
2 0 1 , 225
81
54
177
201
353
1 8 1 , 225
114
177, 182,
2 0 1 , 226,
227, 229, 349
1 1 4 , 225, 349
79,387
201
108
225
109
227
1 9 , 48, 109,
168, 1 7 7 ,
202, 349,
350
44, 79, 1 3 6 ,
1 3 9 , 256,
293, 348, 354
44, 48
47, 50, 5 1
4 1 , 44, 1 0 5 ,
243,381
44
43
44, 1 5 6 , 3 5 4
50
202, 203
107
51
134
79
127,387
156, 158,
4 3 3 , 450t.
1 4 3 , 1 4 5 , 386
396
48
49
143
144,262
266
108
144
295
144
166
157
79, 346
1 6 7 , 346

495
3-I5-I8
3.16t.
3.16
3.17
3.21t,
3.21
3.22
4.1-12
4-3, 9
4.5-8
4

. ff.
9

4.15-21
4.16
.i8f.
4.18
4

4-43
5.16
6.5(D)
6.12
6.13
6.14-16
6.2of.
6.20
6.22f.
6.22
6.36
6.43-45
.6f.
.8f.
7

7-9
7.19
7.22t.
7.22
7.28
7-31-35
7.33t.
7-34
7-35
7.36-50
7.36
7-37f7.39ft.
7.4 if.
7.48-50
7.50
8.1-3
8.1
8.3
8.16
9.1-6
9.18
9.24
9.26
9.27
9.28t.
9.32
9.51-19.46
9-54

346
167
167,346
346
168
202
198
200, 3 5 0
49
348
386
137
67
204
14
13
202
78
202
387
118
204
1 4 , 1 6 , 348
348
41
228
78
77
201
1 5 , 200
245
230
1 4 , 204, 229
1 4 , 39, 3
237
40
16, 137
279
16
176
170
201
16
170
1 5 , 200
134, 176
13
114
78
77
202
78
78, 233
I

37
202
198
387
349

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

496
9-579.58
9-59, 61
9.60
9.61L
10.1-12
IO. I

10.2
10.4
10.7
10.9, I I
10.12
10.13-15
10.13
10.17ft
10.18
10.21
10.231.
10.3 if.
10.40
II.I

11.2-4
II.2

11.9
il.13
11.15-23
II.16

n.i9f.
il.19
11.20
11.29-32
11.29
11.30
1 1 . 3 if.
11.32
11.33
11.37
11.47-51
11.49-51
11.49
I2.8f.

12.8
12.10
12.16-2I
12.30
12.32
12.36-38
12.36
i2.39f.

241
39, 40, 4 1 ,
42,308
54
349
349
77, 1 1 6
145
15
349
73
347, 349
14
348
15
115
1 5 , 1 9 5 , 200,
229,350
1 9 , 48, 1 3 6 ,
1 9 5 , 202
1 4 , 229
137
54
54, 2.02
137, 139,
162, 350
1 4 , 1 9 , 48,
202, 2 2 8 ,
229, 2 4 7 , 3 4 7
348
309
228, 4 4 1
203
21, 197
348
204
1 5 , 200, 203
227
21, 197
39, 42-, 3 5 3
M , 39, 348
12, 15
78
176
226
80, 2 3 7 , 279
107
39, 4 2 , 7 8 ,
223, 230,
233, 353
41
4 1 , 79, 203
348
228
1 1 4 , 228
14
349
1 4 , 79, 349

12.40
12.41
12.42-46
i2.49f.

39, 3 5 3
54
14,349
168, 1 8 1 ,
2.2.6, 349

12.49
12.50
12.51-53
i2.58f.
13.1-5
13-3, 5
13.6-9
13.10
i3.28f.
13.33
i3-34f13-34
14.1
14.13
14.16-24
14.26
14.27
i -if.
15.2
15.7,10
15.11-32
15.17
16.8
16.16
16.19-31
16.30
16.31
17.14
17.19
i7.2of.
17.21
17.22-18.8
17.22
17.24
17.26-36
1 7 . 2 6 , 30
17-33
i8.7f.
18.9-14
18.17
18.30
19-5
19.7
19.8
19.10
19.11
20.9
2o.34f.
21
21.8,11,19
21.20
21.24,25
2I.27f.

3 1 0 , 349
173
348
349
348, 349
15
348, 3 5 1
67, 1 3 7
2-57, 3 4 7 , 345
2 0 1 , 226
42., 1 3 , 348
8 1 , 226
176
16
16, 1 7 7
xxi
42,308
16, 1 7 6
177
15
16
15
347
1 3 , !4
14
15
200
137
1 5 , 200
1 5 , 380
309
361
361
39
14
39, 3 5 3
78
1 6 , 349, 3 5 1
1 6 , 266

15
347
201
16
15
37
380
380
347
379
379
361
379
361

2 1 . 3 if.
21.31
22.16
22.18
22.19f.
22.20
22.24-27
22.26
22.28-3O
22.29f.

22.29
22.3O
22.37
22-43f.
22.43
22.69
23.34
23.38
23.46
2-4
24.6f.
24.26
24.30^
24.33
24.34
2-4-35
24.39
24.46
24.47
24.53
John

1-12
I

1.1-16
1.1-3
I.if.
I.I

1-3
1-5
1.12
1.13
1.14

361
14
177
177,182
180,181
177
177
18
42,227
18, 55, 1 1 4 ,
115, " 7 ,
1 1 8 , 256,
348, 3 5 3
48, 230
177
227
200
195
380
202
43
107, 202
242
80,387
45
178
176
54
178,
198,
316,
45
167,
387

188
242,
388
169, 394

156, 164,
236, 240f.,
39*, 4 1 3 ,
420, 4 2 2 ,
430,432, 433
128
28, 54, 1 8 4 ,
244
149-50, 152
327
143
57, 244
326
2-9, 3 2 5
27
328
28, 29, 49,
5 1 , 52, 240,
241, 3 7 ,
328, 3 2 9 ,
381
149
1 4 2 , 285
2

1.17t.
1.17

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

I.I8
I.19-34
1.20
1.26
1.29
I-3I, 33
1.32-34
1.34
1.35-42
1.41
1.49
1.51
2.1-11
2.3-5
2.4
2.6
2.II

2.I3-22
2.19ff.
2.I9

2.21
2.23-3.2
2.23-25
2.23t.
3.3-8
3-4
3.5-8
3-5
3.6-8
3.6
3.13-15
3.13t.
3.13
3.14
3.16
3.17-19
3.18t.
3.18
3.19-21
3.19
3.22t.
3.22
3.25-36
3.25
3.26-34
3.26
3.27-30
3.28
3.31
3.36

49, 5 1 , 5 7 ,
240, 244
7 9 , 80
43
185
142, 285, 328
185
168
50
166
43
50
328
176, 184,
236, 330
134
30, 8 1
1 4 2 , 1 8 5 , 285
28, 7 6 , 8 1 ,
329, 330
77, 79, 184,
285
328
44, 7 9 , 1 4 2 ,
256, 285,
1 9 3 , 348, 354
136
330
2-1, 2.37, 3 3 0
197
186
185
21, 213
184, 1 8 5 , 186
185
29, 1 8 5 , 2 1 4 ,
241, 3 * 5 , 3*8
241
328
28, 3 7 , 40,
8 1 , 240, 3 2 6
3 7 , 81
27, 5 1 , 326
81
2 1 4 , 246
51
29
325, 381
168
168
142, 185
285
185
168
79
43
325
29

4.1-42
4.1, 2
4-7-15
4.8
4.10-14
4.10, 14
4.14
4.19
4.20-24
4.23t.
4.23
4.25-30
4.25
4.31
439
4.44
4.46-54
4.48

81, 129
168
184
176
29, 2.13
142, 184,
186, 285
456
279
1 3 3 , 2 8 5 , 445
142, 162
382
134
43
176

5-15
5.28t.
6
6.1-21
6.1-15
6.2
6.4
6.6
6.14
6.15
6.16-21
6.25-58
6.25-36
6.26
6.27
6.29
6.30-35
6.30-32
6.30
6.31-58
6.31
6.33
6.35
6.36
6.38
6. f.
6.40, 4 7
6.41t.
6.48
6.50t.
6.51-63
39

6.51-58
6.51-56
6.51
6.53-58
6.53-56
6.54
6.56
6.58
6.60
6.62t.
6.62
6.63

134
279
236, 330
2 1 , 76, 196,
J

4-53
4-54
5.2-9
5.14
5.22-24
5-2-4

497

9 7 , 2.37, 3 3 0
330
76
184,185
137
81
29, 2 1 4 , 246,
381
29, 3 8 2
382
2-45, 3 * 5
330
4 3 , 81
330
142
327
50, 2 7 9 , 3 3 0
43
184
142
330
330
1 8 6 , 285
27, 186
142
285
330
94
94
29, 1 8 6 , 240
28, 1 8 6
186
28, 1 8 6 , 240
382
186
1 8 6 , 240
285
1 8 6 , 240
328

6.64
6.69
7.6,8
7.14
7.26
7.28
7.30
7.31
7.37-39

7-37*
7.38t.
7.38
7-39
7.40
7.41
7.42
7-43
8.12
8.15
8.20
8.23
8.24
8.28
8.38
8.42ft.
8.44f8.44
8.52-59
8.58
9
9-7
9.11
9.16
9.17

29, 1 8 4 , 1 8 5 ,
186, 328, 329
186
186, 2 4 1 ,
246, 3 2 8
128, 328
182
186, 328
29
1 8 6 , 240, 285
328
1 8 6 , 2 4 1 , 246
37, 40, 8 1 ,
240, 3 2 6 , 3 2 8
29, 1 8 5 , 1 8 6 ,
213, 214,
241, 285,
32.5, 3 * 8 ,
329, 382
186
27, 48, 1 8 6
81
137
43
137
81
330
142, 184,
185, 2 1 3 ,
2 8 5 , 329
128
29, 2 1 3 , 2 4 1 ,
329
101, 102, 185
2 1 , 8l, 186,
24I, 328, 44I
50, 2.79
43
46
81
28, 29, 3 2 5
328
81,137
326
2-7
37, 81, 328
28
326
29
323
279
28, 2 2 1 , 240,
243
81, 138, 185
184,185
184
81, 330
279

4 9

Index of Biblical and Ancient

9.22
9-35-39
9-39-41
IO.I-I8

10.1-16
io.3f.
10.7
IO.II

10.15
10.16
io.i7f.
10.19
10.22
10.23
10.24
10.26-28
10.30
10.33
io.34f.
10.36
II

11.4
II.16

11.24-27
Ii.25t
11.25
11.27
11.42
11.50
12.6
12.7
12.16
I2.23f.
12.23
12.25
12.27-30
12.27
12.28
12.31
12.32
12.34
12.35
12.37
12.39-41
12.39t
12.42
12.46
12.48
!3
13.1-20
13.1-16
13.1
13.13-16
I3.i3f.
13.16
13.23-25

47, 60
330
29
184
128
128
28
28, 3 2 8
328
128
328
81
285
137
43
326
2 2 1 , 243
221
281
28, 50, 285
128, 129
28, 8 1 , 3 2 9
328
134
2 7 , 29, 2 4 6 ,
381
28
1 7 , 4 3 , 50
327
328
114
328
81, 2 4 1 , 328
328, 329
28, 3 7 , 8 1 ,
241
78
327
81
81, 328
81
81, 328
37,8i
326
330
326
105
60
325
382
184,185
177
184
81
241
54
129
129

13-31'
13.31
13.341".
14-16
14.1-3
14.6
14.15-26
I4.i5f.
14.16, 1 7
14.18-23
14.18
14.26
15.1-11
15.1-6
15.1
15-4-7
I5.i8f.
15.26
16.7-15
16.7
16.8, 10
16.11
16.12-15
16.14t
16.16-22
16.25
16.27
16.32
17
17.1
17.4t".
17-5
17.6-26
17.20-23
17.20
I7.22f.
I7.24
18.3I-34
18.33-38
18.37-38
I9.I9
I9.3O
I9.33-36
I9.33
I9-34fI9.34
I9.36
19-37
20.1-18
20
20.1-18
20.2-8
20.17
20.22

20.23

81
28, 3 7
128
83, 1 2 9 , 2 1 3 ,
230
382
28
213,382
19
213
29
382
19, 83, 2 1 4
184
128
28
29, 1 2 8
214
213
19
382
266
81
84
214
382
81
27
81
459
81, 2 4 1 , 329
81
28, 2 4 1
128
128, 391
2.7
326
28
323
46
323
43
2 1 3 , 2 4 1 , 329
285
107
29, 3 2 9
184, 1 8 5 , 241
97, 142.
129
105
129
134
129
81, 326
2 1 , 29, 1 2 9 ,
186, 2 1 3 ,
241, 441
142

20.28
20.29-31
20.29
20.3 of.
20.31
21.12-14
21.12
21.15-17
21.2024
21.23
Acts

1-2
I

I.if.
1-3
1.4
1-5
1.6-8
1.6
1.8
1.9-11
I.II

1.13
1.14
1.15-26
i.i8f.
1.20-26
1.20
1.21-26
I.2lf.
2

2.2f.
2.3
2.4

2.9-11
2.10
2.14-2I
2.1 5 - 2 1
2.16-18
2.17-21
2. Ijt.
217
2.21
2.22-4O
2.22
2.23

Writings

5 7 , 59, 244
381
2 1 , I 9 7 , 33O
33O, 3 3 I
2 7 , 4 3 , 50
178
176
129
129
382
1 1 , 409, 4 1 0 ,
414,42.9,
432, 439
389
196, 242
245
198
178, 188
2 1 , 169, 1 7 1 ,
1 9 6 , 440
380
1 1 7 , 256, 354
196, 387,
388, 390
352
380
118
138
1 1 6 , 353
78
117
100
387,45
256, 388,
395, 450
19, 95, 192,
196, 197,
409, 440
352
195
171, 193,
195, 197, 456
295
289
255
396
19
197
380
141, 193,
196, 1 9 7 , 352.
1 7 1 , 440
21
386
1 7 , 20, 2 3 5 ,
262
17

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

2.24-32
2.29-31
2.3 if.
2.32
2.33
2.33-36

233-35

2.3 f.
2.36
4

2.37-39
2.3 8f.
2.38

2.39
2.41
2.42f.
2.42
2. 4f.
2.44
2.46f.
2.46
3-4
3.1-10
3-1
.6f.
3.6
3.13-15
3.13
3.16
3.18
3.19-21
3.i9f.
3.19
3.2of.
3.20
3.22
3.24
3-15
3.26
4
.if.
4.2
4.8
4.10
4

4.11
4.12
4.13
4.23-31
4.27
4.29-31
4.30
4.31
4.32-37

17
46
43
20
1 9 , 196, 198
105
105
56
1 7 , 20, 54,
58, 60, 2 3 3 ,
262
157
21, 215
1 9 , 20, 2 1 ,
169, 1 7 0 ,
1 7 1 , 184, 1 9 3
256
169
1 1 6 , 387
138, 178,
" S , 395, 4 5 7
2-35, 3 5 3
20
138
1 3 8 , 1 7 8 , 256
118
193,386
1 3 8 , 256, 263
390
1 9 , 1 7 0 , 193
17
1 7 , 48
1 7 0 , 193
43,45
170, 233, 353
235
20, 2 1 , 1 6 7
1 8 , 4 5 , 380
20, 60
262
19
2-57
1 7 , 20, 48
19
17
439
" 7 . 1 9 3 , 197
17, 19, 170,
1 9 3 , 234
100
21, 234
1 9 3 , 295
138
17,48
193
1 7 , 1 9 , 48
192, 193, 197
353

4-32-35
4.32
4-33-37
4-33
4.36
5.1-11
5-3,9
5.6, 1 0
5.12-14
5.12
5.14
.i f.
5-15
5.2of.
5-2.1
5.25
5.28
5-3f.
5.30
5-31
5.32
5-33-39
5.40t
5-42
5

6-8
6-7
6
6.1-6
6.1
6.2
6.3
6.4
6.5
6.6
6.7-8.4
6.7
6.8-8.13
6.8ff.
6.8
6.9f.
6.9
6.10
6.1 iff.
6.i3f.
6.13
6.14

235
20
116
1 7 , 387
290
193
193
295
197
1 3 8 , 256, 390
20
193
386
256
138
256
193
20
17
2 1 , 167, 257
21, 193, 197
69,256
193
4 3 , 58, 1 3 8 ,
256
277, 2.92
139,289-96
116, 292-3,
385
116, 118
3 5 , 2.89, 290,
2.91, 294, 395
116, 117,
291, 387,450
116, 118,
1 9 3 , 291
395
116, 193,
290,291
1 1 6 , 387, 390
118
1 1 7 , 390, 395
291
117
116, 117
295
1 3 8 , 289, 290
116, 117,
193, 197
296
1 3 9 , 292, 294
140
44, 79, 106,
137, 139,
140, 285,
293,295
106, 1 3 9 ,
140, 292,

499
7.2, 5, 8f.
7.8
7.16
7.17
7.20
7.22
7-30-33
7.36-38
7-37
7.38
7-39-43
7.41-50
7.41
7.44-46
7.48-50
7.52
7-53
7-55f7-55
7.56
8
8.1-4
8.1
8.2
8.3
8. ff.
8.5
8.7
8.12-17
4

8.izf.
8.12
8.13
8.14-24
8.14-17
8.14ft.
8.i4f.
8.14
8.15-17
8.16
8.17ft
8.18-24
8.i8f.
8.18
8.19ft.
8.20
8.26
8.29
8.30-35
8.36, 38
8.37
8.38f.
8.39
9. iff.

294,396
292
294
292
294
292, 294
294
292
294
262, 294
292, 294
292
106
293
292
139,292
17
294
1 9 , 1 9 7 , 234,
352
117
42, 1 0 5 , 353
21, 1 1 7 , 198,
390
139
1 1 6 , 295,
296, 388, 4 5 1
295
296
1 1 7 , 296, 297
43
193
169, 1 7 1 ,
198, 390
169, 198
17
197
386
215,390
387
451
1 1 6 , 1 1 8 , 388
21
1 9 , 1 7 0 , 196
192
197
196
390, 456
390
184
117
1 1 7 , 1 9 3 , 390
17
159
58, 1 5 7
390
1 1 7 , 1 9 3 , 390
296, 395

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

500
9.10-19

390

9.10

19, 1 1 7 , 193,
196, 234
390
193

9.17
9.18
9.20
9.22
9.27
9.28
9.31
9-33f9-34
9.36-41
9.42
10
10.3-6
10.9
10.10-16
10.10
10.14
10.19
10.34-39
10.36-39
10.3 6f.
10.36
10.38
10.39
io.4of.
10.40
10.42
10.43
10.44-48
10.44-47
10.44-46
10.44
io.45f.
10.45
10.46
io.47f.
10.47
10.48
II

II.iff.

II.I

II.2f.
Ii.3
11.5
li.14
li.15-18
il.15-17
li.15
II.16

li.17

49, 58
4 3 , 58, 60
386, 388
387
193
193
19, 1 7 0
193, 386
20, 1 9 7
390, 395
193,196
138
117, 193,
196, 3 5 2
193
138, 256
1 1 7 , 1 9 2 , 390
396
17, 135
262
58
20, 2 6 2
17
17
20
1 8 , 1 9 , 20,
234,380
20, 2 1 , 1 6 7
169, 1 7 1 ,
1 9 8 , 2 1 5 , 390
21, 192
197
196
456
184, 196, 256
195,197
170
441
16, 170
395
387
388
68, 2 5 6
138
193
21
1 9 8 , 390
215
196
2 1 , 169, 176,
1 9 6 , 440
20, 1 7 1 , 1 8 4 ,
441

11.18
11.19-21
11.20-24
11.20
II.22ff.
II.27
II.28
II.3O
12.1-3
I2.lf.
12.2
I2.3-I7
I2.9
12.12
I2.I7
I2.24
I2.25
13
13.1-3
I3.2-4
I3.2
I3.3
I3.4
13.6-12
13.6
13.8-11
13.8
13.9-11
13.12
13.16-25
13.23
I3.2 f.
13.24
13.26-41
13.26
i3.27f.
13.29
I3-30-37
13-33
4

i . 8f.
1 3 . 3 9 , 48
13-49
14.1
14.3
14.4
14.8-10
14.14
14.15
14.22
14.23
3

15
I .lff.
i .if.
15.1
15.2
5

117,167
1 3 9 , 296, 297
273
5 5 , 58, 289
387
451
197
116, 118
296
118
118
118
198
1 3 8 , 290
262
390
290, 3 8 7
95
117,388
390
1 1 7 , 1 9 3 , *97
390
117,193
1 9 7 , 386
197
193
395
197
20, 1 9 7
396
46
262
166
386
21
17
17
17
20, 4 8 , 60,
105, 233,
236, 262
21
20
390
20
390
1 1 6 , 388
386
1 1 6 , 388
20
1 7 , 395
20, 1 1 7 , 388,
398
273, 386
262
262
273
1 1 6 , 118, 387

15.4, 6
!5-5
15.7-11
15-7-9
15.8f.

I16, II8
69, 2 5 6
395
390
198

15-9
I5-I2f.
i5.i3ff.
15.20
15.22-29
15.22t.
15.22
15.28
15.29
15.32
15.36-40
16.1-3
16.3
16.4

174
121
1 1 8 , 262, 389
1 8 1 , 272
273
1 1 6 , 1 1 8 , 388
116, 119
117
181
119
*74
386
277
1 1 8 , 386,
388,396

16.5
i6.6f.
i6.9f.
16.14t.
16.15
16.18
16.31
i6. 3f.

395
1 9 , 1 1 7 , 390
1 1 7 , 193, 196
1 5 9 , 169

16.33
16.34
17
17.2f.

159,175
175
380, 3 9 6

17-3
17.7
17.18
17.24
1 7 . 3 of.
17.30
17.31
18.5
18.8
18.9

175
19
20, 2 1
169

45
4 3 , 58, 60
xxi, 46
1 7 , 439
293
17
20
1 8 , 1 9 , 20,
2 3 4 , 380

4 3 , 58
159, 169, 1 7 5
19, 1 1 7 , 193,
196, 234
18.13-16
xxi
18.18
277,386
18.22
274,387
18.24-19.7 21
18.24-28
169
18.25-28
I7I
l8.2 f.
39O
18.25
1 7 1 , I97
18.28
4 3 , 4 5 , 58, 60
19.1-7
169, 1 7 1 , 4 1 8
19.1-6
2 1 , 2 1 5 , 390
19.2f.
169,198
I9.2
1 9 6 , 390
I9.4
166
5

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

19.5h
19.5
19.6

I7I
l6, I 7 0
I92, I95,
I96, I97,
39O, 456

19.8
i9.nf.
19.II
19.12
19.13-20
19.13-18
19.17h
19.20
19.21
20.4h
20.9-12
20.11
20.16
20.17

I?

I93
I 9 7 , 39O
386
I97
I97
20
39O
360
277
I 9 3 , 386
I78
160, 386, 387
1 1 7 , i*5,
388, 398
396
197,390
197
17
1 8 , 1 2 5 , 388,
398
396

20.18-35
20.22
20.23
20.25
20.28
20.29h
20.35
21
21.4
21.8
21.9
2I.I0f.
2I.IO

21.II
21.13, !5 2I.I7
2I.18
2I.2O-26
2I.2O-24
2I.20h
2I.20
21.21
2I.23-26
2I.24
2I.26
22
22.12
22.17h
f

22.17
23.6
23.II

24.5
24.I7
24.25
25.8

1 7 , 78
1 2 1 , 272,
276, 284, 386
1 9 7 , 276
276
141
277
119
197
*77
387
118
275,386
277
68, 262
69, 1 3 8 , 256
295

69
256
2 7 7 , 386
385
295, 390
19, 1 1 7 , 1 9 3 ,
196, 234
193
386
1 9 , 234
258
277,386
18,380
386

26
26.5
26.13-19
26.16
26.18
26.19h
26.19
26.20
26.23
26.30-32
27.3 5h
28.8
28.17
28.23
28.25-28
28.30h
28.31
Romans
1.3h

1-3
1.4
1-5
1.8
I.IO

1.16
1.17
1.19-2.1
2
2.4
2.6-16
2.28f.
2.29
3.2I-5.21
3-24*
3-2-5
3.28
3.30
3.31-4.25
4
4.3-25
4.3-22
4-3-8
4-3
4.22
4.24h
4.25
5.2
5-3-5
5-5
5.9h
5.12-21
5.14-19

395
386
352
1 9 , 234
21, 167
196
1 9 , 192., 234,
388
20
45
xxi
178
390
386
17
105
xxi
17

1 9 , 20, 22,
46, 48, 49,
58, 60, 2 2 7 ,
2 3 3 , 262,
352-, 3 9 3 , 438
22
234, 443
158
56, 244
56
21
99
318
25
20
*5
1 7 4 , 206
21
23
22
18
271
57
318
132
95, 104
272
272
95
95
22, 46
22, 438
206
206
1 7 4 , 206, 4 5 7
21
147
239

501
5-14
5.15-19
5-15
5-17
5.20
6
6.3-6
6.3h
6.3
6.4
6.5
6.14
6.17
7
7.6
7.14-25
7.14-23
7.22-25
7.24h
7.25
8.2
8.3
8.4
8.9-11
8.9
8.10h
8.11
8.12ff.
8.13
8.14-17
8.14
8.15-23
8.15-17
8.15h

96,158
96
210
206
314
173
210
173
2-3, 1 7 5
169,172
2.6, 1 7 2 , 378
73
73,157,158
49
7 3 , 206, 3 1 4
318
206
23
211
6

5 , 244
2 1 , 7 3 , 206
49, 2 3 8 , 240,
3 1 6 , 320, 3 2 1
73
19
2 1 , 206, 209,
228, 440, 442
2 1 1 , 230
26, 1 7 2 , 378
*3
2 1 1 , 214
228
0 6

7 3 , 2 . , 440
230
228, 247
20, 1 6 2 , 209,

457
2 1 , 206, 228
210,228
318
211
1 9 , 206, 4 4 1
21
228, 240
2 2 , 46, 1 0 5 ,
1 3 3 , 236,
242, 438, 444
9-11
87
318
9-1-33
4 3 , 56
9-5
9.7h
96
9.27
21
1 0 1 , 105
9-33
IO.I
21
10.4-9
IO7
10.4
23I
IO.5-II.32 3 1 8
10.6-9
95
8.15
8.17
8.19-22
8.22h
8.23
8.24
8.29
8.34

Index of Biblical and Ancient

502
10.6.

lo.yi.
10.9

10.13
10.18
11.8
11.13-15
11.13ft
il.17-24
11.29
11.33-36
12
I2.I

12.2
12.3
I2.4
I2.4-8
I2.5
12.6-8
12.6
I2.7-8
12.8
I2.9-I3.7
12.14
12.19
13.8-IO
13.9
i3.iif.
14.1-15.6
14
14.1-5
I4-I-4
14.1
14.2
14-3
14.4
14-5-7
14.5fr".
14-5
14.9
14.10-12
14.13-21
14.14
14.15
14.19-15.2
14.20
14.23
I5-I-3
15-3
15.6
15.14
15.15.
15.16
15.19

238
21
2 2 , 5 3 , 58,
174, 393,
438,439
2 1 , 56
100
101
120
377
412
444
151
xxviii, 1 1 9 ,
1 2 5 , 384, 4 4 5
133,446
7 3 , 1 7 4 , 209
120
119
119
2.3, 452
1 2 2 , 209
206, 395
122
122
xxi
73
100
xx, 231
xix, 73
377
x x , 85, 2 7 5 ,
319, 416, 452
26, 69
262
25
69
138
85,415
XX
XX
160
138
46
XX
314
69,314
xxi
69
314
314
xxi
43
244
122
377
133
1 9 3 , 207

15-2.5-32.
15.27
15-30*
16.1-12
16.1
16.3
16.5
16.6
16.7
16.9
16.12
16.16
i6.iyi.
16.19
16.21
16.25t
16.25
16.26

277
126, 387
277
141
122, 134
122, 134
140

2.12-15
2.12
2.13f.
2.13
2.14f.
2.15
2.16
3.1-4
.if.

134
116, 134
122

134
119
25, 3 1 9 , 333
73
122
210
II

158

/ Corinthians
419
1-4
I. iff.
318
206
i. f.
1.10-4.21
298
I.10-17
169, 1 7 2
1.10-16
2.5
1.10-13
297
I.Ilf.
2-5
I.I2-16
170
I.I2-15
172
i.izf.
173
1.12
63,298,319
1.16
175
1.17-2.5
299
1.17-25
210
1.17
2-5, 1 7 4
1.18-4.21
194
1.18-25
319
1.18
303
II
1.21
1.22
318
I.23
2.2., 4 5 , 58,
76, 2 1 0 , 2 5 5
I.24
238
I.30
210, 238
2-3
208
2.1-5
319
2.2
2.2., 4 5 , 7 ,
210
7 1 , 207
2. f.
II
2.4
2.6-3.4
299,314
2.6-3.I
313
2.6-I3
207
2.6-8
210
2.6
313
2.8
319
IOI
2.9
4

3-1
3.3'.
3.5-II
. f.
3.10
4.6-21
4.6
4.8-10
4.8
3

4.9
4.10
4.15
4.i6f.
4.17
4.18
5-7
5-6
5.2-13
. f.
5-5
5-7
6.2f.
6. f.
5

6-5
6.9-11
6.9f.
6.11
6.15-20
7
7-7
7.10-16
7.10
7.14
7.15
7-17
7.25
7.26-31
7.29-31
7.36-38
7.40
8-10
8
8.1

Writings

140
123
313
299
209
1 2 3 , 299
56, 3 1 9
2 5 , 208
299
194,299
319
158
120
120
2.5
299
194
194, 2 1 4 ,
299, 3 0 1 ,
3 ! 8 , 3.19
116, 120,
121, 377
299
271
73
72., 3 8 5
299
300
300, 3 1 9 , 3 3 3
303
122, 142
180
97
127
142
123, 141
230
378
21, 174
300
72., 3 1 4
119
XX
72., 7 3 , 7 6
175
79
72, 1 1 9
123
377
1 9 , 26
300
123
x x , 8 5 , 298,
300, 3 1 9
26, 69, 1 9 4 ,
208, 2 7 5
207, 208,
300, 3 1 9

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

8.3
8.4-6
8.4
8. f.
8.6
8.7
8.8
8.9-13
8.10, I I
8.1 if.
8.11
8.12-14
8.13
9.1-6
9-if.
9.1
5

9.2
9.4
9.8-10

9.9.
9.14-15
9.14
9.19-22
9.19-23
9.20t.
9.21
9.27
10
10.1-13
IO.I-I2
IO. I - 4

io.3f.
10.4
10.6
IO.II

10.14-22
io.i6f.
10.16
10.17
10.18-22
10.18
10.19-21
10.20
10.21
10.23-11.1
10.23
10.25-29
I0.25f.
10.26
IO,28f.
11-14
II

II.if.
11.1

300
335
207
57, 60
57, 2 3 8 , 244
300
69
69
x x i , 300
179
454
335
314
388
1 1 6 , 450
1 1 6 , 120,
1 9 2 , 205
120
73
98
99
XX

7 2 , 7 3 , 76,
208
69
*5
319
o

li.2-16
II.2

li.5
II.16
li.17-34
II.17-22
II.21
11.23-25
11.23
II.24f.
11.24
11.25
11.26
1 1 . 2 7 , 29

11.29t.
11-33
12-15
12-14

319
xxi

x x , viii, 1 1 9 ,

I2.I
12.2
12.3-13
12.3

125,384
299
194
19
5 3 , 59, 60,
208, 3 0 1 ,

12.4-7
12.7
I2.8-IO

12.9t.
12.10
I2.II
12.12
12.13

12.14-27
12.14-26
12.17-20
12.17,19
I2.2lff.
12.21
I2.27f.
I2.27
I2.28-3O
I2.28f.
I2.28

69
314
314
142
7 2 , 7 3 , 140,
141
73
xxi, 241

72-, 179
179
179,180
179,301
45*
140, 3 0 1 ,
3 1 4 , 4 1 6 , 445

12

73, *
214,314
457
180
25, 1 7 2 , 2 1 1 ,
301
98, 180
98
98, 1 7 9 , 2.38
96, 1 5 8
96
178
179,180,457
181
165
179
179
301
179,180
188
275

I34
7 2 , 73
141
72
178, 179 301
179
2 2 , 7 2 , 76,
178, 353
208
59,181
183
1 1 4 , 180,
182, 183

13
I3.I-I3
I3.2
13-4-7
13.8-IO
14

319,453
119
1 1 9 , 209
209
207
1 2 1 , 1 9 3 , 209
119
1 6 2 , 242, 4 5 2
2 1 , 2 3 , 98,
173, 174,
2 1 5 , 206, 4 5 7
123
1 1 9 , 120
452
119
319
301
450
23, 1 1 9
207
193
120, 1 2 1 ,
1 2 2 , 395
2 1 2 , 3 1 9 , 409
208

503
14.1
14.2
14-3-13
14-3-5
14.4
14.5
14.6-25
14.6
14.12
14.14
14.15-17
14.15
14.16-19
14.16
14.17
I4.i8f.
14.19-15.2
I4.22f.
I4.23-25
I4.23
14.24^
14.26-333
14.26
14.29-333
14.29
14-33
14.330-36
14.34t.
14-37
14.39
14.40
15

15.1-3
15.3-11
15-3-7
15-3-5
i . ff15.3t.
15.3
5

15.4
15-5
15-7-9
15-7
15.8t.
15.8

73
208

15.9ft.
15.10t.
15.10
15.12-57
15.12

335
7 2 , 140, 1 4 1 ,
194, 209,

15.14-19
15.14

452
121
453
453
209
207
121
194
209
194
207
211
152
209
123
209
207
69
453
59
194
207
140
121
141
59,
72,
141
134
123
121
194
25,
301
393
70,
22
72,
46

454
*99,395

453
!93,453

209, 301

139

301
209
209
209
194,301

209, 299

1 3 5 , 240,
315,
4 3 7 , 439
158
116

24, *5, 393

318
1 8 , 1 2 , 45,
208 235
108
1 1 8 256
388
120
116
1 2 1 , 205,
207, 276, 450
120
116
206
*5
24, 194, 302,
3 1 9 , 393, 439
32
12

Index of Biblical and Ancient

504
I5.I6
15.2.0-28
15.2.0-23
I5-2.0, 23
I5.2.4-2.8
15.2.5-2.7
15.25
15.29
I5-35-50
15.42-50
15.44ft
15.44
15-45-50
15-45-49
15.45t".
15-45
15.46
15.50
i5-5i .
15.54-56
16.1-4
16.1
16.2
16.15-18
i6.i5f.
16.15
16.16
16.18
16.19
16.22
f

446
358, 439
2.3, ^40, 3 8
19, 2 2 7 , 2 3 4 ,
352., 4 4 1
48, 5 7 , 244
J

41
56, 1 0 5 , 2 4 2
25, 1 7 2
317
192,454
315
299
230
23, 2 1 0
194
19, 2 3 0 , 240,
242, 302, 3 1 9
299
315, 3 1 7 , 378
26, 3 7 7
96
277
119
140
122
209
122, 175
122, 134
122, 123
140
19, 53, 55,
56, 59, 1 3 9 ,
162, 233,
3 5 3 , 3 3 0 , 380

II Corinthians
i. f.
151
244
1-3
210
1-5
1.20
56, 244
I.2lf.
1 7 4 , 206
1.22
21, 441
2.7
122
2.I7
276
275
.lf.

4-5
4.7-12
4-7
4.iof.
4.10
4.16-5.5
4.16
5
5-5
5-13
5.14-21
5.15
5.16
5.21

6.2
6.16-18
7-9'
7-13'
8-9
8.1-7
8.9
8.23
9.12
9.14
9.15
10-13

IO.I

io.3f.
10.7
10.10
10.13-16
11.1-15
11.4

3-3
3-5f.
3.6
3.7-18
3-13'
3.14
3.16
3-17
3.18
.2f.
4.4-6
4.4
4

73,
2-75
73, 1 7 4 , 3 1 4
95, 98, 1 0 2
107
98, 1 0 3
100
7 3 , 98, 206
210
276
210
314

II.5

Ii.6
11.13-15
11.13ft
li.13
il.16-20
11.22
II.23
li.31
I2.I-IO

I 2.1-4
12.1
I2.2-4
I2.4
I2.7
12.8
I2.9f.
12.9
I2.II

53,58

76
2IO

319
I73,

2IO

2 1 1 , 230
I74
315
44I
207
l8, 22
46
316
239
96
IOI
20
385
277
125
210, 239
1 2 2 , 388
I26
206
I84
24, 2 5 , 1 2 1 ,
I94, I 9 5 ,
236, 272,
275, 276,
284, 299, 3 8 6
2IO,

73
210
2 7 5 , 298
76, 1 9 4
120, 1 2 1 , 450
450
24, 7 6 , 1 9 4 ,
244, 2 7 6
275
1 9 4 , 207
2-75, 4 5 1
24
2-4, 2 7 5
76
2 7 5 , 289

2-4

244
319
206
76, 1 9 2 , 194,
196
209
313
1 9 2 , 207
56
210
76, 206
2-75

12.12
12.18
12.21
13.3f.
13.4
13.13
13.14

Galatians
I
I.I

i.6f.
1.6-9
1-7
1.11-17
I.Ilf.
1.12
i.13-16
i.13t
1.13
1.14
1.15-17
i.i f.
5

i.i6f.
1.16
1.19
1.23
2
2.I-IO

2.2-5
2.2
2. ff.
2.4f.
2.4
i-5
2.6-10
2.6-9
2.6
2.7-10
2.7-9
2.7
2.8f.
2.8
2.9
3

2.10
2.1 iff.
2.II-2I
2.II-I4

2.12f.
2.12

Writings

7 6 , I 9 6 , 207
385
20,333
2 1 , 76, I96,
2IO, 319
46, 2 I O
457
174, 210,
" 5 , 457
433
393
25, 7 1 , 388
24, 3 1 , 386,
450
24
25
70, 1 2 1
210, 3 1 3
205
1 4 0 , 294
296
69
388
116, 120,
121, 313
71
192, 2 1 0
1 1 6 , 262
296
272, 273,
284, 286, 386
121
119
24, 1 2 1
1 3 8 , 208
24, 2 6 2
273
316
121
24
276
273, 274
1 2 1 , 450
23
126
118
116, 118,
206, 262, 2 7 6
69
121
2-4
24, 2 7 3 , 2 7 4 ,
275
262
68, 1 1 8 , 1 3 8 ,
262, 2 7 3

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

2.14
2.16-5.12
2.16-4.7
2.20
2.21
3
3.I-I4
3-1-5
3-1
3.2-7
3.2-5
.2f.
3-3
3-5
3.6
3.8-29
3.8-14
3.8
3.13
3.16
3

3-i9-*5
3.20
3.24
3.27
3.28
4-4
4-5
4.6f.
4.6
4-7
4.8-11
4.1 of.
4.10
4.21-26
4.22-31
4.24
5.1-13
5.1-12
5.1-6
.2ff.
5

5.I2

5.I3-6.5
5-13-2-5
5-14
5.16-25
5.16-24
5.i6f.
5.16
5.18
5.21
5-22f.
5.25-6.3
5.25

xxviii, 273
23
23
2 3 , 1 7 3 , 210
210
210
6

6.2
6.6
6.12ff.
6.14
6.15
6.16

xx, 7 3 , 208
121
262
173, 210
69
256

23
169
22, 45
272
206
2 1 , 314
441
1 9 3 , 207
105
95
95
1 0 1 , 1 0 2 , 103
18

Ephesians

155,313,
3 7 8 , 384, 397
xxxiii
151
244
210
206
21
378
I74, 206, 230
378
56
244
378
57, 378
41
378
384
384
378
378
378
151
107
3 7 8 , 384
384
210
313
206
184

I 7

IOO

107
57
317
4, 49, 1 0 3 ,
173
134
2 2 , 49, 2 3 8 ,
240
240
228, 230
20, 1 6 2 , 206,
209, 228, 442
210
69
160
138,262
318
98, 1 0 2
98
25
208,319
169
262
24, 386, 4 5 1
319
208
xix, 7 3 , 2 3 1 ,
335
XX, 3 3 5
230
23, 2 1 0
73
73, 2 1 2
378
212
208
73,

1.3-14
1-3
i.6f.
i. f.
1-7
1.10
i.i3f.
1.14
i.i6f.
1.17
1.18
1.20-23
1.20-22
1.21
I.22L
1.22
2.1
2. f.
2.7, 8
2.14-16
2.15
2.19-22
2.20
3.2-12
3-3
3. f.
7

3-7
3.10
3.21
4
. f.
4-3
4.4-6
4.4
4.5-6
4-7
4.8-1I
4.8
4.11
4.13-16
4.15
4.20-24
4.20
4.22-24
4.30
5-5,8
5.10
4

384
378,384
xxviii, 1 1 9 ,
384, 4 4 5 , 4 5 4
165
174,215
456
378
57
184
96
100
1 2 1 , 1 2 2 , 395
378
452
210
73
23
378
378
73

505
5.14
5.16
5.19
5.22-6.9
5.22-32
5.23-32
5.23-25
5-2-5-2-7
5.26
5.27
5.29, 3 2
6.3
6.17
6.18

101, 1 5 1 , 162
378
152
xxi
318
384
384
174
172
378,384
384
378
207
211

Philippians
I.I

1.6
i. f.
1.10
9

I.II

I.15-18
1.19
I.20ff.
1.21-24
2. iff.
2.1
2.3f.
2-5
2.6-11
2. f.
2.7
2.8f.
2.8
2.9-11
7

2.10f.
2.IO

2.11
2 . 1 2 , 14
2.16
2.I7
2.I9
2.25
2.3O
.2ff.
3.2
3

3-3
3.5h
3-5
3.6
3.7-10
3.iof.
3.10
3.12-19

122
303, 3 7 7 , 4 4
73
377
303
25, 26
209
26, 3 7 7
210
457
174,215
303

73
xliii, 146,
1 5 1 , 239
240, 3 2 1
3 1 6 , 320
240
146
54, 2 3 3 , 242,
262
56
146
5 3 , 59, 1 4 6 ,
244
303
377
1 2 6 , 446
385
122, 126,
! 3 3 , 388, 446
126
273,3*9,386
2 5 , 262, 273
1 7 4 , 206
140, 294
289
296
205
2 1 0 , 303
173, 210, 319
25, 208

Index of Biblical and Ancient

$o6
3.12-15
3.12-14
3.16-18
3-i6f.
3.16, 17L
3.17-19
3.17
3-i8f.
3.18
3.i9f.
3-2of.
3.20
3.21
4-3
4-5
4.6
4.8f.
4.9
4.10-18
4.14-18
Colossians
1-3
1-5
1-7
i. f.
9

I.I2-20

1.12-14
1.12
1.13
1.14
1.15
1.15-20
I.15-17
1.18
I.20, 2 2
I.23
I.24
I.26f.
I.27
2.3
1-4
2.6
2.8
2.9-15
2.9f.
2.9
2 . 1 if.
2.II

2.12
2.I3-I5
2.16-23
2.l6f.
2.16
2.17

303
214
303
208, 303
303
303
73, 158
333
304
303
303
377
454
122
377
73
7 3 , 303
7 2 , 208
125
125
154,157
244
378
122
73
155
151
378
320, 378
21
49
57, 1 4 7 - 8 ,
150, 320
238, 3 1 8
2 2 8 , 240, 384
320
378
210, 320, 384
210
378
320
304
58, 7*, 7 3 ,
157
2 5 , 304
!55
320
1 4 9 , 304
210, 320
174
* 5 , ! 7 * , 3*o,
378
151
*5
160, 2 6 2
1 3 8 , 304
149

2.18
2.20-3.3
2.20-23
2.20-22
2.2of.
2.20
2.2I-23
2.21
3-1
3-3
3-4
3.5-10
3.6
3-9f3.10
3.16
3-17
3.18-4.1
3.18
3.20
3.22-24
3.24
4-7
4.i5f.
4.15

195,196,304
320, 3 7 8
304
262
138
320
69
304
23, 26, 105,
378
23
378
23
378
210
174
122, 152
56, 244
xxi, 3 7 8
xxii
xxii
xxii
378
122
384
I40, I 4 I

J Thessalonians
i. f.
1-5
1.6
1-7
i. f.
5

1.10
2.6f.
2.6, 9
2.12
2.13
3.2
3-3f.
3.6
4.1
4.13-5.II
4.13-18
4.14
4.15-17
4-15, 1 7
4.i6f.
5.1-11
5-1
.2f.
5

5*
.8f.
5.12t
5.12
5

55, 3 5 5 , 3 7 7
206
7 1 , 207
73
158
26, 4 8 , 1 5 5 ,
170,355
19, 22, 2 3 3 ,
235
116
73
378
71
385
356
385
72
355
1 9 , 26
46
377
355
355
358
358
355
73
2-35
122, 123
134

5-13, 15
5.14
5.19-22
5.i9f.
5.2of.
5.23

Writings

73
122
2 5 , 1 4 0 , 209
1 9 3 , 207,
355
123
355

II Thessalonians
1.4-10
i. ff.
1-5
2
2.1-12
2.2
2.3f.
2.3
2.4
2.5
2.6f.
2.7
2.8, 9f.
2.9
2.15-3.6
2.15
3.6-13
3.6-12
3.6-9
3.6
3-7-9
3-9
3.10
3-i4f5

Pastorals

55, 3 5 6 , 3 7 7
355f356
378
357
355
2.5, ! 9 5 , 3 5 6
356
356
357
2 2 , 26, 3 5 5
357
356
357
196
208
72, 73, 358
195, 358
235, 356
73
72, 73, 319
73
158
357
2-5, 3 1 9
129, 186,
2I2f.,

248,

304f., 4 1 0 ,
422, 433
I Timothy
i. f.
1.4
i.6f.
3

1-7
1.10
I.II

1.15
1.17
1.18
1.19t
2-5
2.8
2.12
3
3.1-7
3-1
3.2

305, 3 8 5
305, 395
305
305
74
395
74,
*
151
1 4 1 , 395
305
l

57, 1 3 3
142
141
124t.
124,398
74, 1 2 4 , 384
141

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

3.8-13
3.16
4.1
4-3
.6ff.
4.6
4

4-7
4.8f.
4.8
4.11-16
4.12
4-13
4.14
4.16
5.1-16
.if.
5 - 1 7 , 19
.i ff.
5.22
5.24
6.1
6.2
6.3
6.7
6.12f.
6.14
5

6.i5f.
6.17
6.2of.
6.20

II Timothy
1.6
1.7, 8
I.12-14
1.12
1.13
1.14
1.18
2.2
2.8
2.1 off.
2.II-I3
2.II

2.l6f.
2.17f.
2.18
3-1
3-5
3.10
4.1
4-3
4-7
4.8

124
150-1, 162,
439
141.
305
385
74
305
74
379
385
158
141
124,
385,
74
385
124
124,

3 7 8 , 395

4.14
4.18

305
379

Titus
i-3
i-5
I. ff.
1.9
1.10
i.i3f.
i.i4f.
2-3
2.1-10
2.1
2-7
2.10
2.13
2.14
2.15
7

395
12.4, 3 8 5 , 398
1 2 4 , 398
74, 1 4 1 , 395
304
305
305

385
385
379
74
385
74
379
60

3-4
3.5-8
3-5-7
3-5
3-9f.

155
385
74
74,158
74
57, 2-44, 3 7 8
174
385
212
74, 1 6 2
212, 385, 441
172., 1 7 4
305

3-9
3.iof.

305, 3 9 5
305

74, 3 7 8 ,
395
151
385
305

Philemon
2

140

141,
395

398

Hebrews

74, 3 5 ,
395

1 2 4 , 385
212
74,395
74, 3 7 8
74
74,395
378
74, 3 7 8 , 3 8 5
22, 4 5 , 393
379
74, 1 6 2
74, 2.12
305
333
302, 305
378
305
74
378
74, 3 7 8
74
378

1.1-3.6
1.1-3
1.if.
I.lf.

1.2
i. f.
i-3
1.4-2.18
1.4
3

i-5
i.8f.
1.8
1.9
1.13
2.1
2.3f.
2.5-18
2.5-15
2.6-18
2.6-9
2.6
2.9f.
2.10

17, 129, 143,

28of., 284,
382, 3 9 3 ,
4 1 7 , 420,
42-9, 4 3 3
281
281
129
49, 240, 2 8 1
382
57, 2.40
150, 1 5 5 , 236
281
280
48, 1 0 5 , 280
281
240
57,280
56
439
211
240
162
2-45
96, 280
39
240
236, 280

507
2.11-17
2.13
2.14
2.17f.
2.17
3.1-6
3-1
3.2f.
3-7-4-13
3-7-19
4.14-5.10
4.14-16
4.i4f.
4.14
4.16
5-1
5.5-10
5-5
5.6
. ff.
5.11-6.8
5

5.II

5.14
6.1-2
6.2
6.4-8
6.4
6.6
6.10
6.18-20
6.i9f.
6.20
7-10
7
.if.
7-3
7.i5f.
7.16
7

7-19
7.25
7.26-28
8.if.
8.1
9.14
9.20
9.24
9.27f.
10.1-18
IO.I

228
105
240
162
129
281
60, 1 2 9 , 393
280
211
96
245
162, 236, 382
129
49, 60, 393
129, 143
129
240
20, 4 8 , 1 0 5 ,
2 3 3 , 2 3 6 , 280
439
280
129
439
129
158,170
392
211
184, 4 4 1
49
129
382
129, 143, 236
240
129
409
46
49, MO, 2.81
240, 2 8 1
240
382
105, 236
240
236
105
1 7 4 , 280
181
97, 2 3 6
382
280

10.5-10
10.5
10.19-22

97, 1 4 3
95, 96
240
129, 143,
162, 236, 382

10.22
10.23
10.25
10.26-31

174, 391
60, 393
129,382
211

Index of Biblical and Ancient

5o8
10.29
io.3 f.
10.37
I2.lf.
I2.I5
I2.22-24

49

13-5
13.7
13.8
13.9
13.15
13.17
13.20
13.24

IOI

James

IZ9
240
Z84
143
IZ9
1 7 , 2 4 2 , 439
IZ9

3.16
3.i8f., 2 2
3.18
3.21
4.1
4-iof.
4.10
4.i3f.
4.13
4.14
5-1-5
5-1, 4
5.10
5.14

l i , 27, 4 1 7 ,

II Peter

IOI

38z
Z4I
IZ9
Z36,38z

Z.I4-Z6
Z.I9
Z.23

433
271
271
271
27, 272
271
xix, 2 7 2
272
271
57
105

1.12
1.19-21
2
2.2, 2 1
2.9, 1 7
2.21
3.2
3.3-I3

4-5
4.12
. f.
5.iof., 1 2
5.i4f.
5.14

IOI

3-I5f-

271
55, 353
271
124
117

1.1, 5
1 . 1 7 , 18
i.zzf.
1.Z5
Z.I

Z.8
Z.IZ

/ Peter

1-3-5
1.5-7, 8
1-7
1.10-12
I.II

1.14
I.ZO
I.ZI

i.zzf.
1.23
z.z
5
z.8
Z.9
Z.18-3.17
z.z iff.
Z.ZI

Z.Z5

II, 1 8 , I25f.,
1 2 9 , i54f.,
1 5 7 , i59f.,
430
151
160
2-45
126
2

45
160

151
M5
160
271
160
125, 126,
1 3 3 , 446
105
126, 1 3 3 ,
446
xxi
151, 245,271
241
126,133

I.II

I John
1-7
2.1
2.4
2.7
2.18-23
2.18
2.19
2.20
2.22f.
2.22
2.23
2. Z4
2.27f.
2.27
2.28
.if.
3.2
3.6-9
3.6, 9f.
3

3-9
3.10-18
3.II
3.13-17
3.i4f.
3.14
3.23f.

125
151
439
97, 1 6 9 , 3 9 1
45
125
1 2 5 , 206
2 1 1 , 2 1 6 , 245
1 2 5 , 245
441
126
245
1 2 5 , 245
125

3.Z4

4.1-3

2 4 3 , 248,
306, 382f.,
432
383
395
391
306
395
383
395
395
383
395, 4 1 0
1 5 5 , 33if128
2 1 3 , 242
29, 30
84
60
3 3 1 , 357, 382
128, 3 3 1
213, 214,
3 3 1 , 335, 441
50
47, 3 3 1 , 3 5 7
2.9
84, 2.14
29
z i , 84, 1 2 9 ,
Z13, Z14, 441
38z
zz8
38z
214
Z9
271
iz8
84
iz8
2-9
Z9
iz8

4-zf.
4.2
4-3
. f.
4-7
4-9
4.12-16
4.13
4-15
4.17
4.2of.
4

5-1
5.5-12
5-5-8
5-5
5.6-10
5.6-8
5.6
5-7f5.10
5.12
5.18
5.20

Writings

2 1 , 29, 30,
143, 213,
2 1 5 , 441
2-9, 59, 60,
214, 331
30, 244
5*
331, 357
29, 2 1 4
30
51
29
143, 2 1 3 , 2 1 5
50
382
128
Z7, 4 7 , 5
50
331
27, 50 .
213
29
5 1 , 3*9
84
27
29
214
57

II John

7
9-11

52, 3 3 1 , 357
60

III John
f.

392

Jude
3
4, 7f.
5-7
8
10
12

433
395
306
306

13, 15
16, 18

305
306
306
306
306

17
19*.
19
20ff.

395
z u , 397
195, 305, 4 1 1
391

Revelation

340,
366,
472,
362,
130,
131,
362,
!55,

I.I

1.2
1-3
1.4
1-5

355,
368f.,
429, 4 3 2
363
131
363
441
2.28, 364

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

1.6
i-7

i-9
1.10
1.16
1.18
1.2.0
2-3
2.6
2.10

2.13
Z.14L

2.20
2.24
3-i
3.10

3.11
3.20
3.21

.if.
4.2
4.4
4.6
4.8
4

4.10

4.11
5-8
5-5
5.6
5.8
. f.
5-9
5

5.10
5.12

5-13
6.1-8.1

130, 1 3 3 , 446
105, 363
130, 1 3 1 , 362
2 1 1 , 362
362
364
130
130, 2 1 1 ,
305, 364
305
3 6 2 , 364
130, 1 3 1 , 362
305
130, 1 3 1 ,
2 1 1 , 305
305
211

362
363
178
130
339
2 1 1 , 362

130
362
145
130
145
344, 3 6 1
46, 364
2 1 1 , 245,
3 6 2 , 364
130
145
2 4 5 , 364
130
1 4 5 , 364
145
363

V EARLY CHRISTIAN
Acts of Paul

6.9-11
6.9
6.10

7.1-8
7-3

131
130, 362
362
363
130

7.10, 1 2

145
7.14
363, 392
8-11
363
8
362
8.2-9.21
361
9.4
363
362
9. ff9.17ft
362
10.7
130
II.2f.
362
II.3
130, 1 3 1
II.7L
363
II.7
130
11.8
98
II.10
130, 1 3 1
11.15-19
361
1 1 . 1 5 , 1 7 L 145
11.16
130
11.18
130,131
12-14
363
12.6
362
7

I2.IO-I2

12.11
12.14
12.17
13
13-4, 5
13.7
13.12-15
13.18
14.4
1 4 . 9 , II
I4.i4ff.
14.14

GNOSTIC

145
130, 1 3 1
362
130,131
357
362
363
362
3 6 2 , 363
305, 3 4 7
362
344
347
AND

Apostolic Constitutions

Acts of Thomas
18.34
301
26
301
36.20
301
301
42.28,
43.20
Apocalypse of Peter
4, 1 7 , 3 1 6

Barnabas
1 2 . 1 of.
12.10
16.2

321
5 5 , 108
46
293

Clement of Alexandria
Exc. Theod.
zi.
23.2-3
44f.
53-58

299
316
300
299

15-16
15.3h
-16
16.2
16.6
16.7
17
17-3

17.6
17.9
1 7 . 1 0 , II
17.18
18.20
18.24
19.1-3
19.2
19.4
19.5
19.6-8
19.10
19.20
20.4
20.6
21-22
21.2f.
2I.5
2I.9
2I.IO
2I.I4

22.6
22.8
22.9
22.IO
22.16
22.l8f.
22.20

OTHER ANCIENT

302, 3 2 2 , 4 5 2
Acts of Paul and Thecla
302
14

509
362, 363
145
362
362
130, 1 3 1 , 362
145
357
2 1 1 , 362
130, 1 3 1
363
362
363
130, 1 3 1
130, 1 3 1 , 362
145
362
130
145
145
130, 1 3 1 ,
211, 216
362
130, 1 3 1 , 362
130
363
133
131
133
2 1 1 , 362
130
130,131
362
130, 1 3 1
363
46
131
5 5 , 59, 2.33,
3 5 3 , 3 6 3 , 364

WRITINGS

53
61.6

300
300

Strom.
III. I
III. 1 0 . 1

301
300

/ Clement

42.4
44.4t.

47.6
57-1

3, 85, 1 2 5 ,
186, 2 1 2 ,
32-1, 3 7 3 ,
374,43*
1 2 5 , 389
125
125
125

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

Clement

316

(Pseudo-) Clementines
259,260,330
Epistufo Clem.
259
Epistula Petri
2.3
260
2.4-5
258
Homilies
I.20
II.38
III. 20
III.45
III.49-51
VIII.7
VIII.10
XI.35
XVII. 1 8 - 1 9

259
259
261
263
259
259
270
259, 296
260

30.3.1
30.3.4
30.3.7
30.13.2
30.13.3
30.13.7
30.13.8
30.14.3
30.14.4
30.16.1
30.16.3
30.16.4
30.16.5, 7
30.16.8-9
30.16.9
30.18.5-6
30.23.1
30.26.1-2
31.7.6
i. .8f.
40.2.4
45.2.1-3
3

Epistula
Recognitions
I.17
259
263
I.3 5ff.
259
I.43
I.44
259
I.48
261
262
I.49, 69
I.72
259
259
IV.35
V.io
259
X.51
259
Cyprian

372

Cyril of Jerusalem
317
Didache
8.1
9
10.6
10.7
15.1-2

432
321
180
5 5 , 59
188
125

Dio Cassius
362
67.14.1-3
Epiphanius,
19.3.6
26.10.7-9
28.5.3
29.7.5
30.2.2
30.2.6

Pan.
263
300
260, 2 7 2
258
2 5 8 , 260
260

260
261
260
261
260
261
261
261
261
178
261
261
263
260
272
261
260
258
317
300
300
300

Apostolorum
322

Eusebius dem. ev.

322
III.5
Historia Ecclesiastica
II.23.13
353
III.5.3
*54
III. 2 7 . 1 - 2
261
III. 27.3
279
III.3 2 . 7 - 8
3
362
IV.26.9
VI.38
260
Gospel of Philip
21
302
301
31
63, 90, 95 302
100
301
Gospel of Thomas
307
I
310
2
309
309, 3 1 0
3
6
308
8
310
10
1 6 8 , 3 1 0 , 349
II
310
12
260
16
308, 349
1 8 , 19
310
21
308, 3 1 0
26
308

29
3 3 , 34
35
36
37
39
44,45
46
47
50
51
5*
54
55
5 7 , 59
60
64, 68, 69
71
73
76
77
78
82
86
87
89
90
91
92
94, 95, 96

3
io6, i o 7
9, i n ,
113

309
308
310
308
310
308, 309
308
308, 3 1 0
308
308, 309
308, 3 1 0
308
308
308
310
308, 309
308
44
308
308, 3 1 0
309
308
78, 1 5 8 , 349
40, 308, 309
309
308
308
308
308, 309
308
308
308, 3 1 0
308
310

Gospel of Truth
19.33
300
Gregory of Nyssa
cantra Eunomium
5.5, 1 2 . 1
241
oratorio catechetica
26, 2 4 1
Hegesippus 2
Heracleon

322

Hippolytus

157

Refutatio
V.6.4, 6
V.8.9, 29
V.9.11
V.12.6

300
301
300
326

Index of Biblical and Ancient Writings

VI.19.5
VI.34.I
VI.35.3f., 7
VII.27.7
VII. 3 4 . 1 - 2

300
300
300
300
261

III.2I.I
V.i.3
V.9.4

Jerome contra Pelag.

III.2
167

Hypostasis of the Archons

87.18
299
Ignatius
Eph. 6.1
Eph. 20.2
Trail. 7.2
Smyrn. 3
Smyrn. 6.2
Smyrn.
8.1-2
Pto/. 4 . 1

3,85
392
1 8 6 , 392
392
316
1 8 2 , 186
1 1 2 , 392

Irenaeus

3, 3 1 2 , 3 1 6 ,
3 1 7 , 323

adv. haer.
Praef.
I.4.1
I.5.4-6.2
I.6.1
I.6.2
I.6.3
I.6.4
I.7.1
I.7.2
I.7.5
I.8.3
I.13.6
1.15.3
I.21.4
I.21.5
I.23.5
I.24.2
I.24.4
I.24.5
I.25.3f.
I.26.1
I.26.2
I.30.12, 14
II.31.2
III. 1 1 . 7
III. 1 3 . 3
III. 1 4 . 1 - 4

182

322
300
299
300
300
300
2-99,
300
300
299
299
300,
326
300
300
302
300
300
300
300
300
258,
326
302
260,
322
322

260
260
317

259

Pistis Sophia
311

Apology
I.67

Pliny, Epp.
X.96.7

Dialogue with Trypho

321
35-7
47
39.6
47
43.8
47
258
47
48
261
48.4
47
80
302
108.2
47
142
47
241, 372

Letter to Rheginos
49.15ff.
302

in ep. ad Gal.
1.15
260
4.12
260, 2 7 2

Poimandres
z6(., 3 2
300
Polycarp

Tertullian

3i6f.

adv. Marc.
I.I

1.19
3-5
5.14.1-3

14
14.5
16

258
279
260

322
horn, in Gen.
III.5
258

260
261
316

de prae. haer.
29
3
258
32-5
302
33-7

49-50
comm. in Matt.
XI. 1 2
258

3
314
316
316

de car. Chr.

de res. car.

cont. Cels.
II. 1
V.61
V.65

141

161

Origen

260, 2 7 2

317

Justin

Marius Victorinus
301

in Matt, comm ser.

1 7 8 , 258
79
Pelagius

de vir. ill.
II

Leo
301

horn, in Luc.
XVII
260

316
302
317

de virg. vel.
6.1
260
Theodore of Mopsuestia
157
Thomas the Contender
140.iof.
301
145.17
301

Index of Names

Achtemeier, P. J . 7 6 , 2 7 3 , 2 7 8 , 3 7 7
Adams, E . xviii
Angus, S. 3 2 7
Aune, D. E . xxxiv
Avis, P- 4 5 3
Banks, R. xlii, 2 3 1 , 2 6 5 , 268
Barclay, J . M . G. xxii, 73
Barr, J . 89, 2 0 2 , 3 3 7
Barrett, C . K. 1 7 9 , 2 2 3 , 2 5 6 , 2 7 5 , 2 7 6 ,
302, 3 2 2 , 3 3 8 , 340, 3 8 2 , 389, 390
Barth, G. 270
Barth, K. 1 6 5
Barth, M . 444
Barton, J . xxxiv
Batiffol, P. 389
Bauckham, R. J . 306, 3 8 3 , 395
Bauer, W. 3 , 5, 2 5 8 , 264, 2 7 3 , 3 1 3 , 3 1 4 ,
321, 322
Baumgarten, J . 3 5 8 , 3 6 7
Baur, F. C . xv, 31"., 6, 3 7 2 , 389, 3 9 7
Bayer, H. F. 2 2 7
Beasley-Murray, G. R. xvii, 1 6 6 , 1 8 4
Beck, N . A . xlvi
Becker, J . 2 2 3 , 3 3 1
Beker, J . C . xxxvii, 3 6 8 , 369
Berger, K. xxxviii, xlviii, 4 7
Best, E . 49, 3 5 7
Bettensen, H. 2 4 1
Betz, H. D. 5, 3 1 4
Betz, O. 44
Bianchi, U. 288
Black, C . C. 3 9 2
Black, M . 53
Blackman, E . C . 3 1 4 , 3 1 8
Blank, J . 81
Bloch, R. 90
Bockmuehl, M . xix
Boers, H. 53
Boismard, M . E . 1 5 5
Bonhoeffer, D. 4 5 2
Borg, M . J . xxvi, xxxiv
Borgen, P. 94

Bornkamm, G. 1 5 5 , 1 8 1 , 2 2 3 , 3 3 1
Bousset, W. 3 6 , 1 0 7 , 3 2 2 , 3 2 7 , 3 3 8 , 3 4 2
Bowker, J . 4 2 , 89, 95
Boyarin, D. xxiii
Braun, H. 5, 2 2 2 , 3 2 6 , 404
Brockhaus, U. xvii
Brown, R. E . xlv, 8 1 , 1 0 8 , 1 2 7 , 1 2 8 , 1 4 9 ,
1 8 4 , 2 4 3 , 286, 3 2 5 , 3 2 6 , 3 3 1
Brownlee, W. H. 9 2 , 99
Brox, N . 160
Bruce, F. F. 64, 7 2 , 7 3 , 9 2 , 289
Buhner, J . A. 3 2 6
Bultmann, R. 4, 5, 1 1 , 1 2 , 1 3 , 1 4 9 , 1 8 4 ,
2 2 2 , 2 2 3 , 2 3 1 , 3 2 3 , 3 2 6 , 428
Burger, C . 46, 1 5 1
Burkitt, F. C. 3 7 0
Butler, Bishop i9of.
Calvin, J . 1 6 4
Cameron, R. xxiv
Campenhausen, H. von 5 8 , 1 2 3 , 3 9 2
Caragounis, C . C . 38
Carlston, C . E. 79, 267
Carrington, P. 1 5 4 , 1 5 6
Casey, M . 39, 4 1 , 4 2 3
Catchpole, D. R. 267
Charlesworth, J . H. xxxiii, xxxiv, 3 2 6
Chariot, J . 6
Chilton, B. xxxiv
Collins, A . Y . 363
Collins, J . J . xlvii, 3 3 8 , 340
Colpe, C . 3 2 8
Congar, Y . 4 5 1 , 4 5 2
Conzelmann, H. 3 8 1 , 3 8 2 , 384, 390
Correll, A. 1 8 4
Craig, W. L . 1 9 2
Cross, F. L. i54f.
Crossan, J . D. xxiv, xxvi
Cullmann, O. xvii, xlviii, 44, 7 2 , 1 8 4 , 2 3 3 ,
2 3 9 , 2 6 3 , 2 7 4 , 2 7 8 , 297, 367, 369, 3 8 1 ,
443
Culpepper, R. A . xxxiv
Cupitt, D. 2 4 5

Index of Names
Dahl, N . A . 2 2 3 , 289, 298, 299
Dalman, G. 3 5 9 , 394
Danilou, J . 2 5 4 , 2 6 2 , 2 6 3 , 2 7 2
Dassmann, E. 3 2 1
Daube, D. 1 5 7
Davies, A . T. xlvi
Davies, W. D. 1 5 6 , 2 7 0
Daut, R. le 89
Deichgrber, R. 1 5 1
Delling, G. xvii, 3 5 9
Denney, J . 4 1 1
Dibelius, M . 109
Dodd, C. H. xvii, 1 1 , 1 3 , 2 5 , 7 3 , 7 9 , 8 1 ,
84, 87f., 1 5 8 , 3 2 6 , 445
Donfried, K. P. 1 2 7
Doresse, J . 260
Downing, F. G. xxxiv
Drane, J . W. 2 7 5 , 3 1 4 , 3 1 5
Dungan, D. L. 7 3
Dunn, J . D. G. (italics denote first mention
of title) xvi, xx, xxii, xxiii, xxvii, xxviii,
xxix, xxxii, xxxiv, xxxvi, xxxix, xl,
xtiv, xlv, I, 2 3 , 28, 3 8 , 4 1 , 46, 4 7 , 48,
68, 7 1 , 7 3 , 7 7 , 85, 86, 95, 1 0 5 , 106,
108, 1 1 3 , 1 2 0 , 1 4 7 , 1 4 9 , 1 5 0 , 1 5 8 , 166,
167, 1 6 8 , 1 7 2 , 1 7 3 , 1 7 5 , 1 7 7 , 1 7 8 , 184,
186, 1 9 1 , 1 9 2 , 1 9 8 , 200, 2 0 3 , 206, 209,
2 1 1 , 2 3 0 , 2 3 J , 2 3 9 , 244, 267, 268, 2 7 2 ,
2 7 3 , 280, 3 1 5 , 320, 3 2 6 , 3 2 8 , 3 2 9 , 3 4 3 ,
3 4 7 , 3 5 2 , 3 7 7 , 384, 3 8 5 , 390, 3 9 5 , 408,
412, 415, 416, 419, 4 2 2 , 4 2 3 , 4 3 6 , 4 3 7 ,
4 3 8 , 440, 4 4 1 , 4 4 7 , 448, 4 5 0 , 4 5 1
Ebeling, G. 2 2 4 , 3 6 5 , 3 6 7
Edwards, R. A . 308, 3 1 0
Elliott, J . H. xxxiii
Ellis, E . E. xvii, xxxii, 9 1 , 104
Emerton, J . A. 89
Engberg-Pedersen, T. xix
Ernst, J . 224
Fiorenza, E . S. 3 67
Fischer, K. M . 384
Fitzmyer, J . A . 4 1 , 4 7 , 5 3 , 9 9 , 1 0 8 , 2 0 2 , 2 6 7
Florovsky, G. V. 83
Foerster, W. 2 3 5 , 2 4 8 , 288, 320, 3 2 6
Fortna, R. T. 3 3 0 , 3 3 1
Fox, G. 1 9 0
Francis, F. O. 304
Franklin, E. 3 6 1
Fraser, J . W. 73
Freed, E. D. 104
Freedman, D. N . 340, 3 7 1
Freyne, S. xxxiv

513
Friedrich, G. 1 5 5 , 297, 3 5 5
Fuller, R. H. 324
Funk, R. W. xxiv, xxv, 3 3 7 , 3 6 5 , 4 1 0 , 4 1 8
Furnish, V . P. xix, 7 3
Gabathuler, H. J . 1 4 8
Gadamer, H.-G. 4 2 7
Gager, J . G. xlvi
Gasque, W. W. 386, 396
Gaston, L . 3 5 3
Georgi, D. 7 6 , 1 4 7
Gerhardsson, B. 80, 90
Giblin, C. H. 3 5 7
Glasson, T. F. 2 4 3 , 3 3 8
Goldstein, H. 1 2 6
Goppelt, L. 7 1 , 1 6 0 , 2 9 1
Goulder, M . D. xv, 1 5 6
Grant, R. M . 368
Grasser, E. 3 9 6
Gressmann, H. 3 3 8 , 3 4 2
Guelich, R. A . 265
Guilding, A . 1 5 6
Haenchen, E. 2 7 5 , 2 7 8 , 2 9 1 , 390
Hahn, F. xlviii, 1 3 7 , 2 2 3 , 3 7 5
Hamerton-Kelly, R. G. 2 3 8 , 239
Hanson, A . T. 97, 1 5 5 , 238
Hanson, P. D. 3 3 8 , 3 4 5 , 363
Harnack, A. 2 2 1 , 2 4 1 , 3 1 8 , 3 2 1 , 3 7 3 , 3 7 4
Harrington, D. J . xxxiii, xl
Harris, H. 3 2 3 , 3 7 3
Harsnisch, W. 343
Hartmann, L. 3 5 3 , 3 5 9
Harvey, A . E. xxxiii
Hawthorne, G. F. 303
Hay, D. M . 56, 1 0 5
Hays, R. B. xviii, xix
Heitmiiller, W. 1 7 2 , 3 7 4
Henderson, G. D. 1 6 4
Hengel, M . 3 5 , 4 7 , 2 5 4 , 2 9 1
Hennecke, E . 2 5 8 , 260, 307, 3 7 6
Herfbrd, R. T. 66
Hring, J . 1 8 0
Higgins, A . J . B. 1 8 0
Hilgenfeld, A . 3 2 3
Hoffmann, P. 36, 1 2 7
Hofius, O. 7 8 , 1 4 7
Holland, G. S. 3 5 6
Holman, C. L. 343
Holmberg, B. xlii
Hooker, M . D. 4 1 , 2 2 7 , 2 3 9
Hoover, R. W. xxiv
Horbury, W. xxii
Horgan, M . P. 9 2 , 99

514
Hornschuh, . 3 7 6
Horrell, D. G. xviii
Horsley, R. A. xxi, xxxiv
Howard, V. 2 2 6
Hunter, . M . xvii, 404
Hurd, J . C. 298, 3 1 5
Hurtado, L. W . xviii
Jackson, F. J . F. 1 6 9
Jasper, D. xxxiv
Jeremias, J . xvii, 49, 7 8 , 7 9 , 90, 1 1 4 , 1 3 7 ,
1 3 8 , 1 7 7 , 180, 201, 202, 226, 227, 3 5 1
Jervell, J . 1 5 5
Jewett, R. 85, 3 0 3 , 3 5 6
Jones, D. R. 1 4 5
Jrns, . P. 1 5 6
Jossua, J . P. 2 4 1
Juel, D. 88
Jngel, E . 224, 2 3 1
Kahler, M . 2 2 2 , 428
Karrer, O. 3 89
Ksemann, E . xxv, 5, 1 3 2 , 1 4 7 , 1 4 8 , 1 4 9 ,
1 5 5 , 180, 184, 201, 2 1 7 , 223, 2 7 5 , 276,
325, 3 2 7 , 328, 329, 346, 3 5 1 , 354, 365,
368, 3 7 5 , 3 8 1 , 3 8 3 , 389, 390, 3 9 1 , 392.,
3 9 5 , 409, 4 1 3 , 415 42-2-, 446, 4 5 1
Keck, L. E . 7 6 , 2 2 4 , 368
Kee, H. C . xxxiii
Kelber, W . 1 2 6
Kelly, J . N . D. 3 1 6
Kilpatrick, G. D. 1 5 6
Kim, S. 4 2
Kingsbury, J . D. 50
Kinnamon, M . xxxvi
Kirby, J . C . 1 5 5
Kistemaker, S. 104
Klappert, B. 1 7 7 , 1 8 1
Klausner, J . 200
Klein, G. 3 7 7
Klijn, A. F. J . 2 5 8 , 2 6 1 , 2 6 2
Kloppenborg, J . S. xxv, 3 1 2
Klos,H. 1 8 4
Knox, J . xliv, 2 3 7 , 240, 2 4 3 , 249, 296
Knox, R. A. 1 9 0 , 1 9 1
Knox, W. L. 290, 304
Koch, K. 3 3 7 , 3 3 8 , 3 5 1 , 365
Koenig, J . xlvi
Koester, . xl, 5, 40, 7 6 , 2 1 6 , 264, 2 7 5 ,
307, 309, 3 1 0 , 3 3 1 , 408, 4 1 8
Kraft, R. A . xxxiii
Kramer, W. xvii, 46, 5 5 , 4 3 8
Krnkl, E . 1 8
Kreitzer, L . J . 3 5 8

Index of Nantes
Kugelman, R. xlviii, 1
Kmmel, W. G. 4 1 , 1 7 9 , 1 8 0 , 2 7 1 , 284,
2.99, 3 4 9 , 3 5 , 3 5 6 , 3 9 i , 4 1 1
Kng, H. 409
Kysar, R. 324
Lake, K. 1 6 9
Lambrecht, J . 3 5 3
Lampe, G. W . H. 3 8 7
Lang, F. 1 8 1
Leaney, A. R. C . 1 5 5
Leivestad, R. xxxiv
Liddon, H. P. 2 2 1
Lietzmann, H. 59
Lieu, J . M . xxii, 3 9 2
Lindars, B. xvii, 4 2 , 5 5 , 1 0 1 , 1 0 5 , 1 0 8 ,
110
Lindemann, A. 3 2 1
Link, H.-G., Ii, 4 4 2
Linnemann, E. 3 5 1
Linton, O. 1 1 3
Loader, W . R. G. 56
Logan, A. H. B. xxiv
Lohfink, G. 1 1 3
Lohmeyer, E. 3 6 , 1 4 6
Lohse, E . xix, 1 8 , 304, 365
Longenecker, R. N . xix, 48, 7 3 , 98, 99, 2 6 2
Lnning, I. 409, 4 1 5
Loos, H . van der 200
Lvestam, E. 4 7
Lowe, M . xxii
Ldemann, G. 4 1 0
Luther, Martin 1 9 0 , 3 7 2 , 3 7 4 , 4 1 1
Luz, U. 2 6 5 , 3 7 6
McArthur, H. K. 1 0 8
Maccoby, H. xxiii
McConnell, R. S. 104
McDonald, J . I. H . 84
MacDonald, M . Y . xlii
Mack, B. L. xxiv, xxv
Mackey, J . P. 108
McKnight, E. V. xxxiv
McNamara, M . 89, 9 5 , 100
MacRae, G. W . 3 2 4 , 3 2 6
Malherbe, A. J . xxxii
Malina, B. J . xxxiii
Manson, T. W. 79
Manson, W . 284
Markus, R. A . xxxviii
Marshall, I. H. 3 8 , 1 7 7 , 1 8 1 , 3 5 4
Marshall, P. 302
Martin, J . P. 1 2 7
Martin, R. P. 7 6 , 1 4 6 , 1 5 5 , 303

Index of Nantes
Martyn, J . L . xxvi, 4 7
Marxsen, W. xix, 1 7 6 , 1 8 1 , 2 2 3 , 2 2 4 ,
360, 409, 4 1 0
Mattil, A. J . 2 7 8 , 386
Mayor, J . B. 2 7 1
Meade, D. G. 3 3 9
Meeks, W . A. xix, xxxiii
Meiderlin, P. 4 1 4
Meier, J . P. 286
Merklein, H. 1 8 1
Meyer, B. F. xxxiii, 2, 24, 2 5 , 2 1 5
Meyer, H. 4 5 2 , 4 5 5
Meyer, H. A . W . 3 2 3
Michaels, J . R. 1 6 0
Michel, H.-J. 396
Michie, D. xxxiv
Milik, J . T. 5 3 , 2 3 7 , 3 5 4
Miller, M . P. xxiv
Moloney, F. J . 40
Moo, D. J . 109
Moore, A. L . 3 5 1
Morgan, R. xxxiv, 4
Morris, L. 8 1 , 1 5 6 , 365
Moule, C . F. D . 1 9 , 2 6 , 4 1 , 54, 59, 7 3 ,
160, 2 3 3 , 4 5 7
Mller, U. B. 399
Munck, J . 1 5 9 , 298
Murphy-O'Connor, J . 2 3 9
Murray, R. xlv, 2 8 7
Mussner, F. xlvi, 28, 2 7 1 , 384
Nauck, W. 1 5 5
Neill, S. C . 4 1 4
Neufeld, K. H. 3 7 2
Neufeld, V. 61
Neusner, J . xxxiii, 67
Newbigin, L . 1 9 0
Newman, J . H. 420, 4 2 3
Nickelsburg, G. W . E . xxxiii, 2 2 7
Nicol, W. 3 3 0
Nock, A. D. 307
Norden, E . 1 4 7
O'Brien, P. T. 1 4 8 , 304
Oersterley, W. O. E. 3 2 1
Ogden, S. M . 2 2 2 , 4 1 0
Osten-Sacken, P. von der 1 5 5
Pagels, E . H. 3 1 3 , 3 1 6 , 3 1 8 , 3 2 2 , 3 2 6
Pannenberg, W. 2 2 3 , 2 2 4 , 3 5 2
Parkes, J . xxiii
Patte, D. 90, 9 1
Pearson, B. A. 3 1 3 , 3 1 5
Peel, M . L . 3 1 5

515
Perrin, N . 3 8 , 40, 5 5 , 1 0 5
Pesch, R. 3 8 , 3 5 3
Petersen, N . R. xxxiv
Petrement, S. xxiv
Piper, J . xix
Pokorny, P. 2 3 4
Preisker, H. 1 5 4 k
Pummer, R. 293
Radcliffe, T. xxxvi
Rahner, K. 249
Ratzinger, J . 4 2 7 , 4 3 6
Rawlinson, A . E. J . 55
Reicke, B. 1 5 7
Reimarus, H. S. 2 4 2
Reinink, G. J . 2 5 8 , 2 6 1 , 2 6 2
Reitzenstein, R. 3 1 2 , 3 1 8
Rengstorff, K. H. 2 7 5
Reumann, J . 1 2 7 , 448
Rhoads, D. xxxiv
Richard, E. 293
Richardson, A. 1 9 1
Richardson, P. xlvi
Riegei, S. K. 2 5 4
Riesenfeld, H. 80
Ritschl, A. 3 7 3
Robinson, J . A . T. xxxii, 2 2 3 , 2 3 4 , 2 3 9 ,
2 4 3 , 280, 4 5 4
Robinson, J . M . 6, 7 6 , 288, 302, 307,
312, 331
Robinson, T . A . xxxviii, xl
Robinson, W. 1 5 8
Rohde, J . 3 7 6
Rollins, W. G. 365
Rosner, B. xx
Rouse, R. 4 1 4
Rowland, C . xlvii, 3 3 7 , 3 3 8 , 3 5 2
Rowley, H. H. 3 4 5 , 369, 3 7 0
Ruppert, L. 2 2 7
Russell, D. S. 9 3 , 3 3 8 , 3 4 2
Sand, A. 266
Sanders, E . P. xxxiii, xxxiv, 2 5 7
Sanders, J . N . 3 2 2 , 3 2 3
Sanders, J . T. 1 4 9
Sandmel, S. xlvi
Sandvik, B. 2 3 3
Satake, A . 1 3 1
Scharlemann, M . H. 293
Schille, G. 1 5 5 , 3 7 6
Schillebeeckx, E. 446
Schleiermacher, F. D. E . 1 9 0 , 2 2 1
Schmidt, J . M . 3 3 8
Schmithals, W. 299, 3 1 3 , 3 4 2 , 3 5 1

Index of Names

i6

Schnackenburg, R. 3 8 , 8 1 , 1 2 7 , 3 2 4 , 3 2 6 ,
328
Schneckenburger, M . 3 8 6
Schneemelcher, H. 3 2 1
Schneider, G. 2 3 7
Schoeps, H. J . 255, 260, 2 6 2 , 2 6 3 , 264,
271
Schottroff, L. 3 1 5 , 3 2 7 , 3 3 1
Schrge, W . xix, xxxvii
Schulz, S. 5 3 , 2 2 4 , 3 2 7 , 3 7 2 , 3 7 5 , 3 7 ,
3 8 1 , 409
Schrer, E . xxxiii
Schrmann, H. xlviii, li, 1 8 0 , 2 2 4 , 2 2 6
Schtz, J . H. xlii, 3 0 2
Schwegler, A. 3 7 2 , 3 7 3
Schweitzer, A . xxvi, 2 2 6 , 3 4 5 , 3 5 1
Schweizer, E. xvii, 4 7 , 1 0 1 , 1 1 4 , 1 2 8 , 1 3 0 ,
1 7 6 , 1 7 7 , 1 7 9 , 1 8 1 , 2 2 7 , 2 3 8 , 2 3 9 , 240,
396
Scobie, C. H. H. 293
Seeberg, A. 3 5
Selwyn, E . G. 1 5 4
Setzer, C . xxii
Shanks, H. xxii
Silberman, N . A . xxi
Simon, M . xxiii, 289, 290, 294
Smith, D. M . 28
Smith, C . B. xxiv
Smith, J . Z . xxxii
Sding, T. xix
Sohm, R. 3 7 4
Sowers, S. G. 94
Sparks, H . F. D. xxxiii
Spiro, A . 293
Sthlin, G. 245
Stanton, G. N . 308
Starr, J . xix
Stauffer, E . 34
Stendahl, K. 9 2 , 99, 4 4 7
Stenning, J . F. 90
Stock, A . 409
Stone, M . E . xxxiii
Strack, H. L . 9 1 , 1 6 7 , 3 4 2 , 3 5 9
Strecker, G. 2 5 8 , 3 7 5 , 3 9 2
Strobel, A . 2 2 3
Stulmacher, P. 4 7 , 2 2 3
Suggs, M . J . 280
Sundberg, A. C. 4 3 1
Swidler, L . xxii

Theissen, G. xxxii, xxxiv, 3 0 2

Thompson, M . M . 3 2 7
Thornton, T. C . G. 1 6 0
Throckmorton, B. H. xv
Thusing, W . 3 5 4
Tillard, J . M . R. 443
Tdt, H. E . 36, 2 2 3 , 2 3 8
Torrance, T. F. 3 1 7
Trilling, W . xlviii
Trocm, E . 7 6 , 1 2 6
Troeltsch, E . 3 7 4
Tuckett, C . M . xxv
Tugwell, S. 1 8 9
Turner, H. E . W. 5
Turner, J . D. 3 1 2
Twelftree, G. H. 200

Talbert, C. H. 2 3 9 , 2 4 2 , 3 2 6 , 3 6 1
Tannehill, R. C . xxxiv
Taylor, V . 44, 55
Teeple, H. M . 3 3 0

Zahn, T. 3 1 3
Zeitlen, I. M . xxxiv
Zimmerli, W. 90, 2 2 7
Zinzendorf, Count 1 9 0

Unnik, W . C . van 4 7 , 1 5 9
2

Vermes, G. xxiii, xxxiii, 4 1 , 47 54

Vielhauer, P. 3 7 , 5 3 , 1 5 5 , 3 3 8 , 3 3 9 , 3 4 * ,
364, 3 8 1
Vos, G. 284
Watson, F. xviii
Wegenast, K. 74
Weiss, H.-F. 396
Weiss, J . 1 6 9 , 3 4 5 , 3 4 8 , 3 5 1
Wengst, K. xvii, 46, 59, 7 1 , 1 4 7
Wenham, D. 3 5 3
Werner, M . 3 7 5
Wesley, C. 1 3 5 , 4 3 2
Wesley, J . 1 9 0
Wiefel, W . 398
Wilckens, U. 2 2 3
Wiles, M . F. 3 1 6 , 3 1 7 , 4 4 7
Williams, G. 1 9 0
Williamson, C . M . xxii
Williamson, R. 94
Wilson, J . H. 3 0 2
Wilson, M . R. xlvi
Wilson, R. M c L . 3 1 8 , 3 2 4
Wilson, S. G. xxii, xlvi
Windisch, H. 1 5 5
Wisse, F. 306
Wrede, W . 4, 2 2 6 , 4 1 8
Wright, N . T. xxi, xxvi, xxxiii
Yamauchi, E . 299, 3 24

Index of Subjects

Abba 1 3 6 L , 1 3 9 , 1 6 2 , 202f., 209, 2 2 8 ,

245, 246f.
Adoptionism 20, 48, 2 3 3 , 2 3 6 , 240, 2 4 3 ,
249, 26of., 2 6 2 , 2 7 8 - 8 1
Allegory 89, 93f., 9 5 , 9 7 - 9 , 1 0 2
Anti-Christ 3 5 7 , 360
anti-Semitism xlvi, 428
Apocalyptic xxvf., xxxiv, xlvii, 8, 1 5 3 ,
2 5 3 - 5 , 3 1 0 , 3 3 7 - 7 1 , 3 7 8 , 398f.,
407
cautionary note 35of., 3 56*., 3 5 8 , 36of.,
364,

366L,

379

and prophecy 344*,

view of history 34of., 3 6 8 - 7 1
Apostles 3, 1 1 6 , i2of., 1 2 3 , 1 3 0 , 2 9 5 ,
3 1 3 , 3 1 6 , 3 2 2 , 387^, 389, 4 3 1
false apostles 24, 7 6 , 2 7 5
pillar apostles 2 3 , 1 1 8 , 274
Apostolic faith 1 , 24, 4 3 1
Apostolic succession 3 8 5 , 3 9 5 ^
Authority xlix-li, 7 2 , 84, 8 5 ^ , 87f., 1 0 2 ,
n o , 1 1 2 , ii7f., i2of., 1 2 7 , 1 3 3 , 1 7 9 ,
196, 2oof., 2 7 5 , 3 3 3
of Jesus 2 0 0 - 4
of New Testament 4 0 8 - 3 3
Baptism xliv, 2 5 , 3 5 , 59, 1 1 4 , 1 5 4 - 9 ,
1 6 6 - 7 6 , 1 8 7 , 1 8 9 , 206, 2 2 5 , 3 1 4 , 3 4 6 ,
385, 3 9 , 39if-, 4 4 , 448
for the dead 2 5 , 1 7 2
infant baptism 1 7 5 f .
of Jesus i67f., 1 8 8 , 236f., 2 6 1
of John i66f., 244
quasi-magical view of 1 7 2 - 4 , 1 8 7
in Spirit i67f., 1 7 1 , 1 7 3 , 1 8 4 ^
Bishops 5, 1 1 2 , 1 2 2 , 1 2 3 , 1 3 0 , 384^, 3 8 8 ,
392

Charisma 1 1 9 - 2 3 , 1 2 5 - 7 , i4of., 206,

2 0 9 - 1 1 , 269, 3 0 1 , 3 1 4 , 3 7 4 , 385
charismatic community 1 1 9 - 2 3 , I28f.,
i 3 i f . , 1 4 0 , 1 6 1 , 2i4f., 384
Christ 7, 4 2 - 7 , 2 1 8 - 4 9
^ Jesus
union with 1 9 , 2 3 , 2 9 , 3 1 , 1 7 4 8
Christ-mysticism 209 f.
Christian-Jewish relations 4 4 2 - 9
Christology xviii, xliii, xlv, 2 1 8 - 4 9 ,
411-13
s e e a

so

Church 1 , 3 , 1 1 3 - 1 5 , 1 1 9 - 2 1 , 1 4 7 ,
384-92, 41 f.
as body of Christ xxviii, ii9f., 1 2 2 , 1 2 8 ,
1 3 3 , 140, 1 6 2 , 180, 209, 2 1 5 , 302, 4 1 6 ,
4 5 2 , 454f.
unity and diversity in 4 3 4 - 5 9
Circumcision 1 7 4 , i75f.
Circumstances 2 5 ^ , 29, 3 1 , 3 3 , 6 1
Collection 277f.
Community of goods 290, 3 5 3 , 380
Confessions xvii, xli, 1 , 3 4 - 6 3 , 1 3 5 , 2 1 8 ,
423^, 426, 439
Creeds 1 , 3 4 - 6 , 46, 5 2 , 1 8 9
5

Deacons 1 1 6 , 1 2 2 , 1 2 3 - 5 , 3 , 384
Development xlv, 26, 37f., 4 1 9 - 2 2 , 432f.
Discernment 2o8f.
Disciples of Jesus 1 6 , 1 1 3 - 1 5 , 1 2 9 , 1 3 4 ,
166, 169, 228
Diversity xvf., xxv-xxvii, xxviii-xxx,
xxxivf., xxxvi, xl, xlvii, xix, li, 6f., 1 2 ,
3 1 , 3 3 , 63, 8 2 - 6 , 88, n o , 1 1 2 , 120,
1 2 5 , 1 3 2 , 1 3 5 , 1 4 0 , 1 4 3 , 1 5 3 ^ , i6if.,
1 8 7 , 1 9 1 , 2 1 5 - 1 7 , 2 1 9 , 2 3 2 - 4 5 , 248f.,
2 5 3 - 5 , 280, 2 , 2 8 3 - 7 , 2 9 7 - 3 0 7 ,
i

3*9, 3 3 " , 4 5 " 3 3 , 449-52-, 4 5 5 - ,

8f.

4 5

Docetism 5, 29, 5 2 , 1 8 2 , 1 8 6 , 3 2 5 - 3 2 ,
Canon xxviif., xlix-li, 3 , 8, 8 5 ^ , 1 3 2 ,
408-33
within canon 4 0 9 - 1 4 , 42of., 4 2 4 L , 4 2 7 ,
432
Catechisms 1 3 5 , 1 5 4 - 8 , 1 6 1

393
Dualism 28, 3 0 0 - 2 , 3 1 7 , 3 2 0 , 3 2 5 ^ , 363
Early Catholicism xxvif., xlvii-xlix, 18,
2 5 3 , 2 5 5 , 3 7 2 - 4 0 0 , 407, 4 1 0 , 429

Index of Subjects

i8

Easter 3 2 , 2 3 0 , 23 if., 246f.

Eastern Christianity 1 , 3 4 , 1 3 5 , 1 5 9 , 1 9 1 ,
409
Ebionism xlv, 3 , 1 7 8 , 2 5 8 - 6 4 , 264, 268,
2 7 1 , 272f., 2 7 8 - 8 7 , 3 2 2 , 398f., 4 1 3 ,
420, 4 3 2
Ecstasy 1 9 0 , 1 9 2 , 1 9 4 , 1 9 5 - 2 0 1 , 2 1 1
Elders n 6 f . , 1 2 3 L , 1 2 5 , 1 2 7 , 1 3 0 , 3 8 4 L ,
388, 3 9 2
Enthusiasm xliv, 1 8 9 - 2 0 1 , 2 0 5 - 1 7 ,
3 8 9 - 9 1 , 3 9 5 , 3 9 7 , 399, 407
dangers of 2 0 7 - 9
Eschatology 1 3 - 1 6 , 1 8 , 3 1 , 1 1 5 , 1 3 6 ,
1 7 7 , 1 7 9 , 2.16, 222f., 444
eschatological tension i4f., 30, 2 1 4 ,
229f., 3 7 6 , 3 7 9 , 38if.
imminent end 3 4 1 - 3 , 349f.
realized 3 0 , 2 1 4 , 3 5if., 38if. see also
Kingdom of God
Ethics xix-xxii, 1 6 , 2 1 , 3 1 , 73f., 340
Excommunication 4 7 , 3 0 3 , 3 0 5 ^
Experience xvii, 7, 1 8 9 - 2 1 6 , 2 1 9 , 2 2 5
Faith 5, 7, i5f., 2of., 2 3 , 2 7 , 3of., 69, 9 5 ,
io4f., 1 0 7 , 1 3 2 , 1 6 9 , 1 7 5 , 1 8 6 , 1 8 8 ,
308, 3 1 7 , 3 2 2 , 3 3 0 , 3 3 3 , 404f.
the Faith 1 1 , 1 1 2 , 3 7 2 , 3 7 6 , 3 9 2 - 7
Fellowship meals 1 3 8 , 1 4 1 , 1 7 7 - 8 3 , 1 8 8 ,
3 0 1 , 306 see also Jesus, table fellowship;
Lord's Supper
Forgiveness 1 6 , 2of., 29, 3 1 , 1 6 6 , 1 7 7
Galilee 36
Gentile Christianity 3 5 , 5if., 6 1 , i6if.,
3 7 2 - 4 , 389, 3 9 7 , 429
Gentile mission 2 3 , 80, 2 5 6 L , 2 7 0
Gnosis 207, 300, 304^, 3 1 4 L , 3 1 9 , 32.5
Gnosticism xxiv, xliii, xlvi, 5, 28, 62, 1 9 1 ,
2 5 3 , 288L, 3 0 7 - 1 2 , 3 3 5 , 3 7 6 , 398L,
413,422
Gnostic christology 3 0 1 , 3 1 6 , 32of. see
also Docetism
Gnostic influences 2 9 7 - 3 0 7
Gnostic perfectionism 30if., 303
Gnostic redeemer myth 1 4 7 - 9 , 3 3 ' - 3 6
Gospel n - 3 3 see also Kerygma
Grace xlii, 2 3 , 1 6 5 , 2 0 5 ^ , 2 1 0
'Hebrews' 2 8 9 - 9 6
Hellenistic Christianity xvf., xxiii-xxv,
xlvi, 4, 8, 55f., 6 1 , 1 7 1 , 2 5 3 ^ ,
2 8 8 - 3 3 6 , 3 7 3 L , 398L, 407
Hellenistic Jewish Christianity 4, 45f.,
49-51, 61, 145, 153, 161
z

Hellenists 3 5 , 69, 70, 1 1 8 , 1 3 7 , 1 3 9 , 1 6 1 ,

169, 288-96
Heresy 1 - 7 , 4 7 , 1 1 2 , 249, 2 5 3 - 5 , 4 ,
i 6

282f., 2 8 7 , 306, 3 1 6 , 3 2 I , 3 3 2 , 396,

399,414
Household codes xxi
Hymns 1 4 3 - 5 3 , 1 6 2
Individualism of John i28f., 1 4 3 , 2 1 7 , 3 9 2
Inspiration i93f., 1 9 7 , 207, 4 3 i f . see also
Prophecy
Institutionalization xlii, i28f., 1 4 2 , 3 7 4 ,
3 7 6 , 3 8 4 - 9 2 , 396
Interpretation of Old Testament 8 7 - 1 1 1
James 1 1 6 , 1 1 8 , 1 2 6 , 2 5 9 t , 2 6 2 , 2 7 1 t ,
275f., 2 7 7 , 282f., 389, 4 3 0 , 4 5 1 , 4 5 5
Jerusalem 3 6 , 2 7 2 - 8 , 386f., 398
Jesus
birth 49, 2 4 3 , 279
continuity with earliest Christianity
xviiif., 7, 3 2 , 4 3 t , 5if., 6of., 63, 69,
8 4 t , i32f., 1 5 2 t , i62f., 1 8 8 , 2l6f.,
2 1 8 - 3 2 , 2 4 4 - 9 , 2 8 3 , 3 i i f . , 32of.,
3 3 3 - 6 , 3 6 7 , 4 0 3 - 6 , 4iof., 4 2 4 t , 433L
death of i f., 2 2 , 24, 28, 3 1 , 4 4 - 6 , 76,
84f., 1 5 0 , 1 7 2 t , 1 7 9 , 1 8 2 , 1 8 8 , 2 1 0 ,
2 2 5 t , 2 3 5 , 2 3 7 , 2 3 9 ^ , 2 4 1 , 244, 249,
308, 3 1 1 , 3 1 9 , 32of., 328f., 3 3 2 , 4 0 5 ,
411
divinity of 5 1 , 56f., 2 1 9 , 22of., 2 4 8 t ,
2 8 1 , 328
example of 7 3 , 2 4 1
historical Jesus xxxiii, 1 7 , 28, 2 1 9 - 3 2 ,
409, 4 2 8
incarnation 1 5 2 , 2 3 7 - 4 1 , 249, 3 2 7 ^ ,
4iif., 428
last Supper 2 2 , 7 2 , 7 6 , 1 1 4 , 1 7 7 , 1 8 8
as miracle worker 75f., 8 3 , 1 9 4 t , 2 1 1 ,
236f., 2 4 2 , 244, 3 3 0
name of 1 9 , 1 5 9 , 1 7 0 , 1 7 2 t , 1 7 4 , 1 8 8
parousia of i8f., 5 5 , 1 0 5 , 1 8 3 , 2 4 2 t ,
244, 404
delay 1 9 , 2 4 2 t , 264, 3 1 1 , 3 7 4 ~ 3 , 3 9 7
imminence i8f., 2 2 , 26, 4 5 , 1 7 8 , 2 3 3 - 5 ,
242t, 256, 301, 310, 3 5 3 - 6 1 , 363^,
3 7 7 , 3 7 9 , 38*f., 39
prayer of 48, 1 3 7 , 202f., 229
pre-existence 2 8 , 49, 54, 1 4 7 - 5 0 , 1 5 2 ,
1 6 2 , 2 3 7 - 4 0 , 2 4 3 , 246, 249, 4 2 0
proclamation of 1 3 - 1 6 , 3 2 , 2 2 1 - 5
as prophet 2 0 1 , 2 2 6 , 2 2 9 , 279
resurrection of 1 7 , 1 9 - 2 2 , 24, 28, 30, 3 2 ,
46, 48, 54, 84L, 1 0 5 , 1 5 0 , 1 5 2 , l62f.,
7

Index of Subjects

519

1 7 2 , 2 2 7 , 2 3 1 , 2 3 3 - 7 , 2 4 2 , 244, 2 4 7 ,
249, 3 2 8 , 3 3 0 , 3 5 2 t , 4 0 5 , 4 1 1 ,
4 3 7 - 4 0 , 442-f-, 4 5 7
role of exalted 2 3 4 , 2 4 2
self-understanding 7 , 2 8 , 4 8 , 5 1 , 1 9 9 ,
22of., 2 2 5 , 2 2 7 - 3 2 , 249, 326f.
suffering of 3 7 , 3 8 , 4 2 , 44^, 7 6 , 2 1 0
table fellowship 1 6 , 1 0 6 , 1 1 4 , 1 3 9 , I76f.,
187, 225,448
as teacher, xli 54, 1 1 3 - 1 5
titles
'I ams' 2 8 , 3 2 6
High Priest 28, 1 0 5 , 1 3 0 , 1 3 3 , 1 6 2 , 2 3 6 ,
240, 2 4 3 , 2 8 1
last Adam 2 3 , 28, 1 4 7 , 2 3 9 ^
Lord xxviii, 1 2 , 2 3 , 3 0 , 4 2 , 5 if., 5 3 - 8 ,
6if., 7 2 , 1 4 8 , 1 6 2 , 1 7 9 , 2 2 5 , 2 3 2 , 2 4 1 ,
322
Messiah 2 7 - 9 , 4 2 - 7 , 49k, 6if., 1 0 3 ,
1 4 4 , 2 2 5 , 2 3 2 , 2 3 6 , 2 4 1 , 2 5 5 , 2 5 7 , 264,
3 5 3 , 4 2 0 , 444
Saviour 1 2 , 2 1 9 , 248
Son of David 2 2 , 4 5 ^ , 50
Son of God 1 2 , 2 7 - 9 , 46, 4 7 - 5 2 , 58,
6if., 2 2 5 , 232f., 2 3 6 , 2 4 2 , 3 2 9 - 3 2 ,
333,413,420
Son of Man 28, 3 6 - 4 2 , 6 1 , 7 6 , 2 1 1 , 2 2 3 ,
2 2 5 , 2 3 2 ^ , 264, 308, 3 1 0 - 1 2 , 3 2 6 ,
3 4 7 , 3 5 0 , 3 5 3 , 36of.
Word of God (Logos) 54, 1 3 3 , i49f.,
1 5 2 , 1 8 5 , 2 1 6 , 2 3 8 - 4 1 , 246, 248, 3 2 6 ,
328f., 3 3 1 , 4 1 3
Jewish Christianity xvf., xxiif., xlv, 4, 8,
3 5 , 46f., 50, 6if., 87, i09f., 1 2 5 - 8 ,
i 4 f . , i52f., 2 5 3 - 8 7 , 3 3 3 - 5 , 37*f-,
3 9 , 3 9 7 - 9 , 4o6f., 4 2 9
John the Baptist 39, 1 6 6 - 9 , 34 fJudaizers 24, 2 7 3 , 3 7 3
Justification 2 3 , 29, 409, 4 4 7
4

Kerygma xvii, xxx, xl, n - 3 3 , 1 3 5 , 2 1 8 ,

2 2 5 , 404, 4 2 4
Kingdom of God 1 3 - 1 7 , 3 if., 3 7 , 1 3 6 ,
203, 2 1 6 , 2 2 3 , 2 2 6 , 2 2 9 , 347f., 3 5 1 ,
378
Law xixf., xxx, xxxiv, 1 6 , 2 3 , 2 5 , 3 1 ,
6 6 - 9 , io6f., 1 2 6 , 1 3 7 , 2 3 1 , 2 5 6 , 258f.,
2 6 2 , 2 6 5 - 7 2 , 2 7 7 , 2 8 3 , 286, 289, 294,
X

304, 3 * 4 , 3 7 , 4 "
Jesus and io6f.
law-free mission 24, 2 7 3 , 2 7 8 , 2 8 2 ,
286
lawlessness 266, 269

oral law 6 6 - 9 , 2 6 7 , 269t.

Lectionary 1 5 6 , i6of.
Liturgy 59, 1 5 3 - 6 , 1 5 8 - 6 0 , 1 6 1 , 1 8 2 ,
1 8 9 , 426
Lord's Prayer 1 3 7
Lord's Supper xliv, 59, 84, 1 3 9 , 1 6 5 ,
1 7 6 - 8 8 , 2 2 5 , 2 3 3 , 2 5 6 , 3 0 1 , 3 1 5 , 404
448, 4 5 7
covenant meal 1 8 1 - 3 , 1 8 7
eschatological aspect of 1 7 8 , 1 7 9 , 182t.,
187
magical view of 179t., 1 8 7
Love xixf., 1 6 , 2 1 , 30, 3 1 , 1 2 8 , 1 3 3 , 208,
270, 283t., 286, 3 0 2 , 3 1 9 , 3 3 1 , 3 3 6 ,
405, 4 4 7
Marcion 3 , 2 5 3 , 3 1 3 ^ , 3 1 6 , 3 1 8 , 32if.,
413
Messianic woes 1 6 7 , 1 7 3 , 2 2 6 , 3 4 1 , 346L,
348f., 3 5 6 , 3 5 9 , 3 6 3 , 379
Midrash 89, 9of., 94t.
Ministry xvii, xliif., 7, 1 1 2 - 3 4 , 1 8 9 , 2 1 8
Miracles 1 9 3 , 196t., 2oof., 207, 2 1 if., see
also Jesus, as miracle worker
Monotheism 56, 5 7 , 58, 404
Montanism 3 , 1 9 1 , 2 5 3 , 3 3 7 , 3 7 6 , 399,
413
New Testament
authority of 4 0 8 - 3 3
and literary criticism xxxiv
sociological approaches to xviii, xxxif.,
xlif.
Old Testament xviif., xxvi, xlii, 7,
8 7 - 1 1 1 , 1 3 8 , 2 1 8 , 268, 404^, 4 4 5 ,
448
Orthodoxy 1 - 7 , 30, 1 3 5 , 244, 249,
2 - 5 3 - 5 , 2-57, 306, 3 1 2 , 3 1 6 , 3 2 1 , 3 3 2 ,
368, 3 7 2 , 396, 399^, 408, 4 1 4 , 4 3 2
Paul xvi, xxf., xxiif., xxviii, xxxiv, 4, 7,
1 1 , 2 2 - 7 , 45f., 5 3 , 6 9 - 7 6 , 1 1 9 - 2 3 ,
i4of., 1 7 2 - 5 , 1 7 8 - 8 0 , 1 9 2 - 5 , 2 0 6 - 1 1 ,
2 3 0 , 2 5 9 ^ , 2 6 2 , 2 7 1 - 8 , 298f., 3 1 2 - 2 2 ,
334f-, 3 5 5 - 8 , 3 7 7 ^ , 3 8 4 - 6 , 4 3 0 , 4 3 9 ,
444, 45of-, 4 5 5
Pentecostalism 1 , 399, 409
Pesher 82, 9if., 95L, 9 9 - 1 0 1 , io3f.
Peter 4, 2 3 , 1 2 6 , 259t., 2 7 4 , 298, 386f.,
389, 43of., 4 3 9
Pharisees 6 6 - 9 , 269t.
Prayer 1 3 7 , 1 4 2 , 228f.
Preaching 7, n - 3 3 , 58 see ^ Kerygma
a

s o

Index of Subjects
Priests 1 1 7 , 1 2 3 , 1 3 0 , 1 3 3 , 446
Prophecy 3 7 , 79, 1 2 1 , 1 2 6 , i3of., 1 3 2 ,
1 4 1 , 1 9 3 , 1 9 7 , 2 0 1 , 2o8f.
proof from prophecy 1 0 7 - 9
Q xxivf., 36, 3 7 , 40, 49, 7 5 , 7 7 , 79, 83,
1 5 8 , 2 3 5 - 7 , 3 0 7 - 1 2 . , 4i8fRepentance 1 3 , i5f., 2of., 2 7 , 1 6 6 , i67f.,
169, 1 7 1
Resurrection 1 9 4 , 3 1 5 ^ , 3 1 7 , 342f., 349,
352., 3 5 5 , 378
Sacramentalism xliv, 1 8 4 - 8 , 3 7 4 - 6 , 39of.
Sacraments xvii, xliiif., 1 6 4 - 8 8 , 2 1 8 , 2 2 5 ,
405,448
Salvation 2of., 29, 3 1 , 1 7 7
Spirit 1 , 7, 2 1 , 2 3 , 29f., 83f., 94, 1 0 3 ,
1 0 5 , 1 1 0 , ii7f., 1 1 9 - 2 3 , i28f., 1 3 1 ,
1 3 3 , 1 4 0 - 3 , i5of., 1 6 1 , 1 6 6 - 9 , 7 ,
174, 184-6, 1 8 9 - 2 1 6 , 219, 228-30,
238, 247, 2 6 1 , 302, 3 3 2 , 382, 389^,
404f., 4 1 6 , 42if., 4 2 5 , 4 4 0 - 2 , 443f.,
456-8
Synagogue H7f., i37f.
Syncretism xxivf., xlvif., 5, 60, 69,
1 5 0 , 297, 304, 320, 324^, 3 3 2 , 407,
429
I

Targum 89f., 94, 99f.

Teaching 7, 1 2 1 , i26f., 1 3 0 , 1 3 2 , 1 3 8 ,
1 4 1 , i57f.
Temple 44, 79, 1 3 6 - 9 , 256, 2 6 3 , 2 8 5 ,
289, 2 9 2 - 6 , 3 5 5 L , 3 5 7 , 3 5 9

Tradition xviif., xli, li, 1 , 7, 6 4 - 8 6 , 1 2 1 ,

1 3 8 , I42f., 2I2f., 2l6f., 2 l 8 , 3I2f.,
3 1 6 , 3 2 2 , 3 3 3 , 3 9 2 - 6 , 4 2 2 , 426f., 428
Church tradition 7if., 74, 2 1 6
ethical tradition 72f.
interpreted tradition 7 0 - 5 , 7 8 - 8 2 , 8 3 - 6
Jesus and 67f.
Jesus-tradition xxixf., 7 2 - 4 , 7 5 - 8 6 ,
io3f., 1 0 7 - 1 0 , i38f., 1 5 8 , i6if., 204,
208, 2 1 9 , 2 2 1 , 2 2 5 , 2 2 7 , 2 3 4 - 7 , 2 4 3 ,
293f., 296, 3iif., 326f., 3 3 3 , 394, 404
kerygmatic 7of., 74, 82f., 1 1 0 , 208, 2 1 6 ,
2 2 5 , 404
Traditionsgeschichte 4, 3 5 , 65, 7 7 - 8 8
Trinity 2 1 9 , 2 3 8 , 248f., 420, 4 2 2 , 447f.
The Twelve 1 1 6 - 1 9 , 1 2 7 , 1 2 9 , 256, 3 8 7 ^
Typology 89, 92f., 96f.
Unity xvf., xxv, xxvii, xxviii-xxx, xxxv,
xl, li, 6f., 1 2 , 3 1 , 3 3 , 63, 64f., 8 2 - 6 ,
87f., 1 1 0 , 1 1 2 , 1 2 0 , 1 2 8 , 1 3 2 , 1 3 5 , 1 4 0 ,
i6if., i64f., 1 8 8 , 1 9 1 , 2 1 5 , 2 1 7 , 2i8f.,
220, 2 4 5 - 9 , 2-77, 2 8 3 , 286f., 3 3 3 - 6 ,
4 0 3 - 3 2 , 4 1 7 , 4 3 2 , 436f., 458
Valentinians 3i2f., 3 1 6 , 3 1 7 , 32if.
Visions i92f., I94f., 1 9 6 , 2o6f., 2 1 1 , 3 3 9 ,
350, 3 5 2 , 36if.
Western Christianity 1 , 34, 1 5 9
Wisdom 5 7 , 1 3 6 , 1 4 8 - 5 0 , i52f., 1 6 2 ,
2 3 7 - 4 0 , 2 4 3 , 246, 249, 279^, 2 8 1 ,
299, 3 0 7 - n , 3 1 3 , 3 1 5 , 32.5fWorship xvii, xliii, , 59, 1 3 5 - 6 3 , 2 1 8 ,
7

445