(Gal. 2:15-16)

Introduction

The letter to the Galatians is generally considered to be one of the most important epistles penned by the apostle Paul.[1]  As such, it has played a significant role in the theological reflection and doctrinal development of the Christian Church.[2]  One of the central passages in the letter is 2:15-21 where, for the first time, Paul articulates his understanding of justification by faith over and against justification by works of the law.  Although there are a number of important interpretational issues hidden within this apparently simple but dense passage, the present essay will focus on reconstructing the meaning of the phrase “works of the law” (ἔργων νόμου) in 2:16 from within its historical and literary contexts.

Historical Context

It almost goes without saying that the apostle Paul was the author of the letter to the Galatians.  As Longenecker remarks, “If Galatians is not by Paul, no NT letter is by him, for none has any better claim.”[3]  After identifying himself by name (1:1), Paul goes on to share some important autobiographical information that sheds important light on the occasion and purpose of the letter (1:11-2:14).[4]

While the authorship of the letter is not contested, the identity of the recipients certainly is.[5]  Paul addresses the letter to the churches in Galatia (1:2), and later refers to them as Galatians (3:1).  The uncertainty of the recipients is caused by the fact that the name could be used in both an ethnic and geographic sense.[6]  This has given rise to what is commonly
referred to as the northern and southern hypotheses.  Although convincing arguments can be mounted in support of either position, the weight of evidence seems to lean towards the southern hypothesis.[7]  However, the precise location does not have any significant bearing on the interpretation of the “works of the law” and will thus not be pursued here.

Since Paul’s last visit to the believers in Galatia, a group of “troublemakers” had begun to infiltrate the churches (1:7; 5:10, 12).[8]  We know nothing about these individuals apart from that which we find in the letter itself.[9]  It seems that Paul himself is not exactly sure of the identity of the individuals who are troubling the Galatians either (3:1; 5:7, 10).  But according to the nformation that had reached him, these “troublemakers” were trying to impose the requirements of the Jewish Law upon those in the faith.[10]  This was revealed specifically in the way they were urging the believers to become circumcised (5:2-12; 6:12-13; cf. 2:3-5).  This was an outward sign of an inward concern they had over ethnic identity.  They believed that the Gentiles had to become Jews by circumcision before they could become true Christians.  As McKnight points out, they “saw their message as Jesus Christ plus Moses, not just Moses, not just Jesus Christ.”[11]  Paul thus charges them with preaching a distorted gospel (1:6-9).  There also seems to be hints that these “troublemakers” were casting doubt on Paul’s apostolic credentials, which helps to explain the extended autobiographical account of the divine origin of his calling and commission to preach the gospel (1:11-24).  Therefore, from the evidence presented within the letter, the picture that emerges of these “troublemakers” is that they were Jewish Christians who were teaching that Paul’s gospel was incomplete without obedience to the Law and specifically circumcision.  As far as they were concerned, Christ was subordinate to the Law.[12]

Literary Context

In his landmark commentary, Betz convincingly demonstrated that Galatians is an apologetic letter.[13]  Following the typical epistolary prescript and introduction (1:1-10), the first major section is the narratio (1:11-2:14), which contains a brief statement of the facts relevant to the charge being addressed; the second is the propositio (2:15-21), which contains a statement on the points of agreement and a statement on the points that are contested; and the third major section is the probatio (3:1-4:31), which is considered the most important part of the letter because it contains the proofs that that will determine whether or not the case will succeed.[14]  The passage being considered in the present essay falls between the narratio and the probatio, summing up the content of the former and setting up the arguments of the latter.[15]  Longenecker thus describes 2:15-21 as being “not only the hinge between what has gone before and what follows but actually the central affirmation of the letter.”[16]

The first argument that Paul puts forward in the propositio is in vv. 15-16 which he will develop more fully in 3:1-18.  It flows directly out of his rebuke of Peter in 2:11-14 regarding table fellowship at Antioch.  Prior to the arrival of a certain group of men from James, Peter had been content to eat with Gentiles (2:12).  Presumably, these men were from Jerusalem where most Christians were “zealous for the Law” (Acts 21:20).  Upon their arrival, Peter separated himself, causing the other Jewish Christians to do the same.  The immediate question that arises from this incident is whether or not Jewish Christians and Gentile Christians belong at the same table, an issue which carried significant social and ethnic implications.[17]  Most notably in this context is the Jewish understanding that eating with Gentiles, including those who had become Christians, meant crossing the line that was drawn by the Law.[18]  Paul sees the actions of Peter in this situation being very similar to those of the “troublemakers,” which is precisely why he tells this story in this way.[19]  “How is it” he questions Peter, “that you compel the Gentiles to live like Jews?”  (v. 14).  Although it is difficult to know where Paul ends this rebuke and begins stating his argument,[20] it seems that v. 15 marks the transition into his theological reflection of this incident that took place at Antioch.[21]

“Works of the Law”

Paul begins the propositio by building on common ground:[22] “We who are Jews by birth and not from among ‘Gentile sinners’.”  This last phrase “Gentile sinners” (ἐξ ἐθνῶν ἁμαρτωλοί) was a technical term for those who were outside the covenant.[23]  Paul identifies himself as a Jew and describes the typical Jewish attitude towards their ethnic identity – they were in, the Gentiles were out.  But, as Wright puts it, “he is about to show that in the gospel this ethnic identity is dismantled, so that a new identity may be constructed.”[24]  As Jews by nature, and Christians by faith, they knew “that a person is not justified by works of the law but only through the faithfulness of Jesus Christ.”[25]  Paul assumes that “this is the proper and normal view of Jewish Christians, in light of what they know and believe about the work of Christ.”[26]  But what exactly does Paul mean when he speaks of “works of the law” (ἔργων νόμου)?[27]  As Betz has noted, it is important to remember that Galatians “is composed of a great deal of doctrinal ‘abbreviations.’  These abbreviations are difficult to translate.  Commenting upon them means that they must be dissolved into the doctrinal statements which they intend to abbreviate.”[28]  This process must be carefully guided by that which has been discovered in the literary and historical contexts.

The phrase “works of law” is used by Paul eight times,[29] three of which occur in here in Gal. 2:16.  There is general agreement among biblical scholarship that when Paul speaks of “the Law” he has the Jewish Law, the Torah, in mind.[30]  As Witherington notes, the debate primarily centres not on what law Paul is referring to but rather what sort of works he has in mind.[31]  Is Paul referring to all works of the Law or just some in particular?  Or is he referring to legalism?  Traditionally, Paul’s statements about the “works of the law” have been understood as a denial that human beings can achieve salvation by their own works.[32]  This position is still held by some who argue, largely from their understanding of the argument in Romans, that the phrase refers to actions that are performed in obedience to the Law, actions that could be regarded as meritorious.[33]  In a similar vein, others have argued that, while the Law itself is good, the phrase is targeted at those who follow the demands of the Law in a spirit of legalism.  Bruce states that “Paul had no ready word or phrase in Greek to express what we mean by ‘legalism’, and therefore had to use ‘law’ or a phrase containing ‘law’ to express it.”[34]  Westerholm takes a slightly different approach when he maintains that “works of the law” refers to the inability of people to fulfil the requirements of the Law.[35]

These interpretations all seem to have been built upon a distorted understanding that first century Judaism was essentially a works-based religion.  In his ground-breaking study Paul and Palestinian Judaism, E. P. Sanders convincingly demonstrated that Judaism never taught that individuals must earn favour with God through good works.  Instead, as those who were already members of God’s covenant people, obedience to the Law was the way in which they maintained their position in the covenant, not how they entered it.[36]  Thus, any obedience or “works of the law” was an integral part of the covenant.  It would seem only natural then, that the phrase would refer to the obligations laid upon the Israelites by virtue of their covenantal membership.[37]  This historical understanding makes perfect sense of the literary context.  By withdrawing from table fellowship with Gentile believers, Peter was not striving to earn salvation by his own good works.  Instead, he was seeking to maintain the boundary between the Jewish Christians – those in the covenant, and the Gentile Christians – those who had to conform to the requirements of the covenant.[38]

Were there any specific requirements?  It would seem so.  Gal. 2:16 forms the immediate conclusion of the two preceding incidents recorded in the narratio which centred on the issues of circumcision (2:3-6) and the observance of Jewish food laws (2:12-14).  Dunn has pointed out that these two issues in particular had been central to Jewish identity and covenant faithfulness since the Maccabean crisis (1 Macc. 1:60-63).[39]  This helps us understand why they appear to have been test cases pushed upon the Galatian believers by the “troublemakers.”[40]  This does not mean, however, that “works of the law” only refers to circumcision and food laws.  Paul rebukes Peter for compelling the Gentiles to live like Jews (2:14), which seems to indicate that the phrase includes more than just these two covenantal markers, but the whole Jewish way of life summed up in the Law.  This understanding is also confirmed by the way in which Paul employs the phrase elsewhere in Galatians, especially in 3:9-10 where the antithesis is drawn between those who are “of faith” (ἐκ πίστεως) and those “of works of the law” (ἐξ ἔργων νόμου), clearly referring to two different modes of existence, the latter being those who view the observance of the Law as obligatory for God’s people.[41]  Thus, I think Witherington is correct in affirming that for Paul “works of law” refers to actions performed in obedience to the Law, “or more specifically acts performed in response to any and all commandments of the Law,” but wrong in denying that Paul is “simply concerned with specific laws,” or “with the social function and effect of the Law separating Jews from Gentiles.”[42]  The whole context has shown that that the phrase includes both the Law in general, and the specific laws in particular, from a covenantal perspective.  Hays appears to be the closest to the truth when he concludes that

The phrase does not refer only to markers of ethnic identity; in principle, it refers – as Dunn has acknowledged – to the comprehensive range of actions required by Torah. But the immediate context of Galatians suggests that “works of Law” points especially to the few litmus-test practices where Jewish identity was symbolically at stake.[43]

Conclusion

The present essay has attempted to reconstruct the meaning of the “works of the law” from within the historical and literary context of Galatians.  The historical context revealed important insights into the Law-driven agenda of the “troublemakers” who were specifically stirring up the Gentile believers to become circumcised.  The literary context further revealed the centrality of the propositio in the structure of the letter and how Paul’s theological statements in that section grow directly out of the incident at Antioch over ethnic separation.  Drawing on these two contexts, the meaning of the “works of the law” was shown to be referring not only to the covenantal boundary markers of circumcision and food laws, but also to the Jewish Law in general which distinguished Jews and Gentiles.  In condemning these “works of the law” as a means of justification, Paul is saying that our true covenantal identity is no longer found in the Law, but
in “the faithfulness of Jesus Christ.”

The historical narrative of 1 Kings 22 is one of the most theologically challenging passages in the Old Testament.[1]  The issues revolve around the actions attributed to YHWH in Micaiah’s vision of the heavenly courtroom (vv. 19-23).[2]  Numerous explanations have been offered in an attempt to reconcile these actions with the way in which YHWH is portrayed elsewhere in Scripture.  Following an exegetical analysis of the passage, the present essay will evaluate these various interpretations and conclude with the one that squares best with the text.

Exegesis of 1 Kings 22:19-23

The three years of peace that had settled between the nations of Israel and Aram came to a sudden end when Jehoshaphat, king of Judah, travelled north to visit Ahab, the king of Israel (vv. 1-2).[3]  During his visit, Ahab enlisted the help of the southern kingdom in recapturing Ramoth-gilead, a city that held important political and geographical advantage for Israel.[4]  Prior to joining forces with Ahab, Jehoshaphat wanted to know if this military campaign had the seal of divine approval, so he requested to hear a word from YHWH (v. 5).  Four hundred prophets were summoned who all agreed that YHWH would give the city into the hands of the king (v. 6).[5]  Unconvinced, Jehoshaphat enquired if there was any other prophet of YHWH (v. 7).  Ahab admitted that there was, resentfully describing him as one who never had anything good to say about matters in which Ahab was involved.  At Jehoshaphat’s insistence, Ahab reluctantly sent for Micaiah son of Imlah (vv. 8-9).[6]  Upon his arrival, Micaiah initially parroted the words of the other prophets, agreeing that the battle would be a success.[7] But his sarcastic support of the battle was immediately looked upon with suspicion by Ahab who demanded that he speak the truth (v. 16).  Micaiah’s response was given in the form of two visions.  In the first, he saw a flock of scattered sheep that no longer had a shepherd, symbolising Israel following the death of Ahab (v. 17).  In the second, he saw a heavenly court scene where YHWH was revealed to have sent a deceiving spirit into the mouth of Ahab’s prophets, thus explaining why they were unanimously in favour of going to war with Aram.  It is to this second vision that we will now turn to explore in more detail.

The passage begins with Micaiah seeing YHWH sitting on His throne, and all the host of heaven standing by Him on His right and on His left (v. 19).  This scene finds a number of similarities elsewhere in the Old Testament, most notably Job 1-2.[8]  The צְבָא הַשָּׁמַיִם (“host of heaven”) was a term often used to describe the celestial bodies that were worshiped by foreign nations.[9]  In this context however, the heavenly host seems to consist of YHWH’s attendants.  The literary structure in which this heavenly courtroom forms the central part (vv. 15-28) finds significant parallels with the earthly courtroom (vv. 5-14), suggesting that there is a relationship between the heavenly and earthly thrones.[10]  As the two kings sat on their thrones surrounded by their courtiers, so YHWH was seen sitting on His throne surrounded by His courtiers.

With this scene before him, Micaiah heard YHWH ask, “Who will entice Ahab to go up and fall at Ramoth-gilead?” (v. 20).  This question presents the first theological challenge in the interpretation of this vision, but more on that anon.  Here we find the first of three occurrences of the verb פתה (“to entice”) that forms the central theme of this vision (vv. 20, 21, 22). The basic meaning of the word is to be “gullible,” “inexperienced,” or “foolish.”[11]  In the piel form which the verb takes in this passage, it means “to treat as a fool.” [12]  Ahab will be seen as being a simple-minded fool because he will march into war knowing full well that he will be defeated and meet his death on the battlefield.  Similar instances of YHWH “enticing” evildoers towards their own demise are found throughout the Old Testament.[13] An obvious example is that of Pharaoh whose heart was hardened by both himself and YHWH, which ultimately led to his burial in a watery grave.[14]

After some initial hesitancy in the heavenly court where one said this while another said that, a spirit came forward and stood before YHWH and said, “I will entice him” (v. 21).  From among the heavenly host, one particular spirit offered to perform the divine task, literally referred to as הָרוּחַ (“the spirit”).[15]  The identity of this spirit has been the cause of much discussion as it has significant bearing on the theological interpretation of the text.  Some have suggested that the spirit is the devil or a demon that had YHWH’s permission to go and deceive.[16]  Although this has often been the way in which the passage has traditionally been interpreted, it is without exegetical support.  Reasons for this include the fact that the passage is devoid of any satanic or demonic thought.[17]  It also fails to take into account the definite article; it is not simply a spirit, but the spirit.  Furthermore, Satan is never called a רוח in the Old Testament.[18]  Instead, the context itself seems to suggest that רוח refers to prophetic inspiration.  Evidence for this is seen in the both the wider context, where the issue revolves around true and false prophecy,[19] and the more immediate context, where the destination of this רוח is in the mouths of Ahab’s prophets (vv. 22-23).  In connection with the divine assembly the writer “has here understood prophetic inspiration as a divine being which attends upon the heavenly King and functions as his advisor.”[20]  It therefore seems best to understand הָרוּחַ as the personification of prophetic inspiration.[21]

Stepping forward to take on the assignment, the spirit is asked how he would accomplish the task of enticing Ahab.  His response was that he would go out and be a deceiving spirit in the mouth of all his prophets” (v. 22).  It is important to note that the spirit first appears as a רוח and only subsequently announces that he will become, temporarily it seems, a רוּחַ שֶׁקֶר (“lying spirit”).  This would further suggest that the spirit is not one of evil substance or intent, but rather takes on the quality associated with his activity.[22]  Satisfied with his answer, YHWH commissioned the spirit: “You are to entice him and also prevail. Go and do so.”  This, explained Micaiah, was the reason why the prophets had spoken supportively of Ahab – because they were deceived (v. 23).  The question then arises, by whom were they deceived?

Interpretation of 1 Kings 22:19-23

Having now laid an exegetical foundation, we are in a better position to begin exploring the various theological interpretations of this passage.  Perhaps the most widely accepted interpretation of this vision among Christians grows out of the presupposition that YHWH is portrayed in the Old Testament as committing that which He permits.[23]  Both the good and the bad are attributed to Him.  The vision is therefore understood as YHWH allowing a demonic spirit to go out and cause the four hundred prophets to utter a false prophecy that would lead to the death of Ahab.  Although this understanding of YHWH seems to sit well within the general cultural worldview of the Old Testament, as an explanation of this passage it does not give full weight to the evidence present in the text.  Most significantly, it does not grow out of an exegetical understanding but an a priori understanding.  First, YHWH is not portrayed as merely stepping aside and permitting the spirit to go out and deceive Ahab, as in the case of הַשָּׂטָן (“the satan”) in Job 1-2. He “actively solicits a volunteer and orders him to follow through with his plan.”[24]  Second, those who interpret the text this way also automatically assume that the רוח is demonic.  Our exegesis has revealed otherwise.  Unlike other passages that specifically refer to a רוח as being evil,[25] there is no hint of that in the vision.

Others have interpreted the courtroom scene as being figurative or symbolic.  This position is articulated best by Moberly: “The court of YHWH is the spiritual counterpart to the court of Ahab, it is the other side of one and the same coin. The scene of YHWH’s court interprets to Ahab the reality of his court.”[26]  Support for this is found in the deliberate parallels drawn between the heavenly and earthly thrones.  The vision is simply understood as being a parable of how God would use Ahab’s own prophets to bring about his downfall.  It would therefore be unwise to press the details of the vision as though it were describing a celestial council that literally took place.  This neat-and-tidy interpretation almost manages to avoid the exegetical and theological landmines that are often triggered by other interpretations.  As appealing as this is, it is not without its weaknesses.  For instance, unlike the first vision which is clearly figurative and even written as a parable, the courtroom vision is written as a narrative which would most naturally be understood as describing events that had taken place.  Micaiah’s own interpretation seems to indicate this was how he himself understood it (v. 23).

Although weaknesses can be found in almost every interpretation, the one that seems to fit best with the evidence is the one that takes the passage as it reads.  As Crenshaw notes, the story is quite straight forward, “there can be no question about the fact that this story depicts the ‘false prophets’ as men who gave in good faith the message conveyed to them, and portrays God as the source of this lie, even if mediated by a spirit.”[27]  This of course raises a number of theological questions, the most obvious of which is how can YHWH be responsible for sending a lying spirit into the mouths of the prophets when the New Testament affirms that it is impossible for God to lie (Heb. 6:18)?  Clearly, it was not YHWH Himself who did the lying, but He is certainly seen as calling for and commissioning the spirit to deceive the prophets.  What is often forgotten in discussions on this and other similar passages is that the actions of YHWH in this vision are in fact consistent with the way He is portrayed throughout Scripture, in both the Old and New Testaments.[28]  The common theme that runs throughout the biblical narrative is that YHWH will often use means that may seem offensive to us in accomplishing His purposes.[29]  He is kind to the kind, blameless to the blameless, pure to the pure, but cunning with the crooked (Ps. 18:25-26).  As Nelson notes, “Sometimes prophecy contradicts itself, but both true and false prophets serve God’s greater purpose.”[30]  So why did YHWH inspire the four hundred prophets to prophesy a false message?  As Lindström writes, “The answer provided by the passage under discussion is that they [were] commissioned in order to help realize a divine decree of destruction.”[31]  In other words, to deliver His people from the menacing king Ahab.

Conclusion

By first laying an exegetical foundation, the present essay has attempted to construct a theological interpretation of Micaiah’s courtroom vision from the building materials found within the text itself and from similar passages elsewhere.  Two other alternative interpretations were examined and found wanting.  The understanding that YHWH Himself was behind the false prophecy of the four hundred prophets has been shown to square best with the exegetical analysis of the text and the theological contours of Scripture.  One final question remains, did YHWH actually deceive Ahab?  Not exactly.  In His mercy, YHWH revealed the situation to Ahab and yet he still marched into battle knowing full well the outcome.  Simply put, Ahab chose to believe the lie.

Ecclesiastes is generally considered by readers and commentators alike as being primarily a philosophical rather than a theological work.[1]  This approach to the book has often caused many to miss the important dimension of Deity that permeates the message of Qoheleth.  Although it is clear that the author did not intend his work to be a theological treatise, his message can only be rightly understood from within his theological framework.[2]  How one reconstructs Qoheleth’s theology depends very much on how one answers the following fundamental question: is the god of Qoheleth the God of Israel, or not?  Some answer in the affirmative, others the negative.[3]  The following essay will seek to address this question by exploring the ways in which Qoheleth portrays God throughout his work, and will then use this information to answer the questions surrounding the identity of God.

The Picture of God

Like the pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night, the God of Qoheleth is often described as being both present and distant, transcendent and sovereign over the world and all that is in it.[4]  Nowhere does Qoheleth argue for the existence of God; he simply assumes it.  The importance he places on God and His involvement with humanity is made clear by the fact that His name is mentioned explicitly some forty times throughout the book and is implied in numerous other passages.[5]  The present section will organise Qoheleth’s statements about God into four categories.[6]

God is the Source

One of the primary presuppositions of the book of Ecclesiastes is the fact that God is the source of all things.  He is the creator and provider of things both good and bad.  Although God is not explicitly identified as the Creator until 12:1, Choon-Leong Seow points out that the preface (1:2-11) already assumes that there is an ordered universe, inevitably leading the audience to the question of the Creator.[7]  This is further emphasised by the echoes of Genesis 1-3 that resound throughout the book.[8]  Qoheleth declares that God is the one who “makes everything” (11:5; cf. Gen. 1:1-27); that, despite the entry of sin, there is still good to be found in this world (2:24; 3:12-13; 5:18; cf. Gen 1:31); that, because of sin, there is also toil and hard labour (2:18-23; Gen. 3:17-18), and in the end, death (9:5; 12:7; Gen. 3:19).  R. N. Whybray thus observes that “Qoheleth’s picture of God and His dealings with man corresponds remarkably closely to that which we find in Gen. 3.”[9]  God is also seen as the provider of all things.  He is the giver of life (5:18; 8:15; 9:9; 12:7); He provides prosperity and the ability to enjoy it (2:24-26; 3:13; 6:2); He is also seen as being responsible for days of adversity (7:14), the “grievous task” of searching for understanding (1:13; 3:11), and for the incapacity to enjoy the benefits of one’s labour (6:2).[10]  Qoheleth therefore seems to believe quite strongly that “there is nothing except what God gives.”[11]

God is the Judge

Another important attribute of Qoheleth’s God is that He is the one who judges both the righteous and the wicked, though the timing of the judgment is a matter of debate.[12]  The role of God as judge first surfaces in the context of miscarried justice in 3:16-17.  Here, God’s justice is contrasted with the injustice exercised among and experienced by humanity.  Such will be met with divine judgment.  In 11:9, Qoheleth exhorts young men to enjoy the pleasures of life and follow after the impulses of their hearts and the desires of their eyes, but to remember that God will bring them into judgment “for all these things.”  Some have seen this as an editorial gloss to counteract such shocking advice.[13]  A similar approach has been taken regarding the judgment clause in 12:14.  But such a position is uncalled for as the reality of divine judgement has already been unambiguously stated (3:17).   Walter Brueggemann concludes that for Qoheleth, “there is a reckoning and an accountability that cannot be escaped. Moral coherence indeed exists, and conduct counts”[14] because all will stand in judgement before God.

God is to be feared

Fearing God is a theme that appears in a number of different, though not unrelated contexts throughout the book.  In 3:14, the appropriate response to the mystery and perpetuity of God’s work is that men should stand in awe before Him.  A similar idea is found in the liturgical setting of 5:1-7, which once again emphasises both the presence and distance of God.  In this context, fearing God consists of being cautious in speech (v. 2, 6), being faithful regarding vows (v. 4-5), and conducting one’s self in such a way that “does not invite punishment.”[15]  Roland Murphy notes that the imperative to
fear God at the end of this passage reveals that it “is at the heart of his religious attitude.”[16]  The one who fears God in 7:18 is said to “come through,” having successfully carried out the two recommendations of avoiding excessive righteousness and wisdom on the one hand (v. 16), and excessive wickedness and folly on the other (v. 17).[17]  Qoheleth assumes one of the traditional features of wisdom literature in contrasting those who fear God with the wicked in 8:12-13.  Significantly, the book ends with the theme of reverencing God hanging in the air, this time being directly related to commandment keeping (12:13).  The common thread that runs through each these statements seem to indicate that the fear of God flows out of “the mystery and incomprehensibility of God,”[18]  and “the recognition that God is God and people are human.”[19]

God is Beyond Comprehension

A final way in which Qoheleth portrays God is that He is beyond understanding.  This idea is made explicit in three places throughout the book.  In 3:11, it is revealed that God has set eternity in the heart of humanity so that they “will not find out the work which God has done from the beginning even to the end.”  Unravelling the ambiguity of this much debated passage need not be dealt with here,[20] except to note that despite the meaning of העולם, the work of God is incomprehensible.  The next passage in which this attribute of God appears is 8:16-17, where Qoheleth pines that although one may seek wisdom and understanding, even depriving oneself of sleep in the pursuit, it is not possible to discover the work of God under the sun.  He later writes that, “Just as you do not know the path of the wind and how bones are formed in the womb of the pregnant woman, so you do not know the activity of God who makes all things” (11:5).  Most translations see two points of comparison in this verse, but Murphy suggests that “it seems better to recognise only one term of comparison, the action of the רוח, or ‘life-breath,’ in the womb,” seeing it as a reference to the mystery of conception and birth.[21]

The Identity of God

Having now briefly looked at the picture Qoheleth paints of God, we are in a position to address the questions surrounding His identity.  When the four divine characteristics that have been highlighted are compared with the rest of the Old Testament, it becomes clear that they are in complete harmony.  Roy Zuck thus notes that “all these truths about God are consistent with the rest of Scripture.”[22]  God is indeed the creator and provider of all things (e.g. Gen. 1-2; Job 38:1-7; Ps. 104; Pro. 3:19-20); He is the judge (e.g. Ex. 5:21; 1 Chron. 16:33; Ps. 7:8; 98:9); He is to be feared (e.g. Deut. 10:12; 1 Sam. 12:24; Job 1:8; Pro. 1:7); and He is beyond comprehension (e.g. Deut. 29:29; Ps. 92:5-6; Pro. 20:24; Isa. 55:9).[23]  On this basis alone, one may draw the conclusion that the identity of God is obvious.  It is however, not a conclusion that is without question among some interpreters.

It should first be noted that Qoheleth only refers to God as אלהים, the generic name for god(s) in the ancient world,[24] and not by the usual personal name יהוה.  This has sometimes been used as an argument to prove that Ecclesiastes finds its origins outside of Israel.[25]  But this is not an adequate explanation.  After all, the covenant name for God does not appear in the book of Esther or the Song of Solomon either.[26]  It has already been demonstrated that Qoheleth speaks of one God and identifies Him as the creator and provider of all things.  Such obvious creational-monotheism would be a misfit in any other ancient worldview and thus points strongly towards Qoheleth writing from within an Israelite context.  But if this were so, why the absence of the covenantal name?  There are at least two possible explanations.  First, the frustrations and failures of Qoheleth that characterise the book are experienced on more than just a national level; they are universal.  He may have thus been writing vis-à-vis the whole of humanity to God, which would appeal to a wider audience with the more generic name אלהים.  A second possibility is that as the Old Testament canon was drawing to a close, there was a growing reluctance to use the divine name, “hence, when Ecclesiastes reached its final form – even if Solomon had been the author and had used the covenant name – reverence would have required the use of [אלהים].”[27]

Another criticism which brings the identity of Qoheleth’s God into question is the fact that there is no evidence of the covenant or salvation history anywhere in the book.  But the absence of evidence is no  evidence of absence.  That these central  features of Israelite faith are not referred to by Qoheleth is typical of  wisdom literature, which concerns “the individual member of society rather than with the nation as a whole.”[28]  It addresses the events and experiences of daily life, of which these larger national elements form and implicit framework.  Murphy thus points out that “there is no incompatibility between the saving God of history and the God of human experience.”[29]  Therefore, while such central features are missing, “this does not give one the right to play off the God of Qoheleth against the Yahweh of Israel.”[30]  They are, as has been seen, one and the same.

Conclusion

The present paper has briefly examined the God of Qoheleth by observing four ways in which He is presented throughout the book of Ecclesiastes – as creator and provider, as judge, as one to be feared, and one who is beyond comprehension.  These findings were then compared with the picture of God that is revealed in the rest of the Old Testament and it was seen that they were consistent with each other. Two of the major challenges to this understanding were addressed and were seen to be without any substantial foundation. In light of the foregoing evidence, it must therefore be concluded that
the God of Qoheleth is indeed the God of Israel, and it is only within this theological framework that his message can be correctly understood.

Introduction

Recent studies have demonstrated how the beginning of each Gospel performs the role of an overture that introduces the main characters, the major themes, and the world in which the story unfolds.[2]  This initial content shapes the expectations of the audience and sets the stage for all that follows.  In the gospel of Matthew, we find the opening narrative leading up to, and reaching its climax in, the announcement and birth of Jesus in 1:18-25.  In the heart of this passage an angel of the Lord appears to Joseph in a dream and makes three statements: Mary is to give birth to a son, Joseph is to call his name Jesus, and Jesus is to save his people from their sins (v. 21).[3]  The following essay will explore three aspects that this verse reveals about the mission of the one to be born and how they are developed throughout the narrative.

The Messianic Name

In the ancient Jewish world names carried far more significance than they do today.  Names often defined the personality of an individual and contained the hopes and dreams of the parents for their children.[4]  This was especially the case with names that were divinely appointed as they often carried important etymological and prophetic significance.[5]  This is evident in the name Joseph was to give to his son.  The Greek name Ἰησοῦς is a Hellenised rendering of the Hebrew name Yeshua, a shortened form of Joshua, which means “Yahweh is salvation.”[6]  According to John Nolland, there was a common understanding at the time that the etymology of the name was directly related to the Hebrew verb “to save.”[7]  That this word play between the name and the verb was to be understood is made obvious by Matthew’s use of γὰρ and the Greek equivalent σώσει that follows.[8]  Both the significance of the name and the explicit reference to the saving activity of this individual would not have been missed by the first century Jews.  The Old Testament clearly teaches that God alone is Saviour.[9]  But here, it is Jesus who becomes the agent of salvation.  Donald Hagner has pointed out that “the αὐτὸς is emphatic: it is he who will save his people.”[10]  At the very opening of his gospel, Matthew is establishing the fact that the one who is to be born will fulfil the divine role of saviour and liberator, an important messianic expectation in the first century.[11]

In his magisterial work on the infancy narratives, Raymond Brown demonstrates that the story of Moses in Egypt lies behind the announcement and birth of Jesus.[12]  He, along with a number of other recent commentators, points out that the account of Joseph’s dream contains echoes of a popular Jewish tradition regarding the birth of Moses who was also called to be the deliverer of the Hebrew race.[13]   Moses fulfilled his calling of leading Israel out bondage in Egypt, but it was Joshua who led the people into the Promised Land through the conquest of the occupying nations.  As his name suggests, Jesus could also have very well have been understood by the Matthean community as assuming the role of not only a new Moses, but also a new Joshua who would save his people from the occupying enemy nation of Rome.[14]  This messianic name therefore “serves to guide the readers very effectively toward an understanding of Jesus’ life as one of saving activity.”[15]

Although it was common at the time, the importance Matthew attaches to the name Jesus is made evident by the fact that he uses it 80 times.[16]  It would thus be possible that every subsequent mention of the name throughout the narrative would remind the audience of the salvific mission outlined in Matt. 1:21 and cause them to evaluate the words and actions of Jesus in light of it.[17] 

The Messianic Task

According to the angel, the task that Jesus was to achieve would be the salvation of his people from their sins.[18]  On this basis, commentators have traditionally seen the role of Jesus as being a spiritual rather than political liberator.  Warren Carter and others have challenged this view, arguing that Matthew had in mind not only salvation from spiritual bondage, but also social and political bondage.  He states that understanding “the nature or scope of Matthew’s salvation as individual, spiritualized, and moral, is too restrictive.”[19]  The sins from which the people needed saving are not explicitly mentioned in the gospel, but both the wider contexts of Scripture and history provide important hints towards understanding what Matthew was referring to.

N.T. Wright has pointed out that in coming to save the people from their sins there must of necessity be a previous story in which this same people had fallen victim to their sins.[20]  He states that this is the story of Israel, “more specifically the story of exile.”[21]  As the Old Testament prophets writing during the exilic period make abundantly clear, the Babylonian exile was the result of Israel’s unfaithfulness to the covenant through her social, political, and moral sins.[22]  Although by the first century the exile had ended in a geographical sense, the hope of the people was bound up in the
expectation that soon their God would deliver them from political exile and restore to them their inheritance.  It is important to note that this redemption and restoration not only involved the return from exile but also the forgiveness of sin: “The punishment of your iniquity has been completed, O daughter of Zion;  He will exile you no longer.”[23]  The salvation from sin that Jesus came to provide for his people would therefore have been seen as simultaneously signifying the return from exile.[24]  The sins referred to in Matt. 1:21 should thus not only be seen as the moral and religious sins of individuals, but must also include the social and political sins of the nation as a whole which led them into exile.[25]

One thing that is not revealed in the immediate context is exactly how Jesus will save his people.[26]  This could be intentional as it creates an element of expectation that builds throughout the narrative, gaining clarity with each successive reference to sin and salvation.[27]  It has often been pointed out that there was a common understanding in Judaism and early Christianity between sin and sickness.[28]  This connection is evident in the Greek word σῴζω which is used in contexts both of spiritual and physical healing.[29]  Therefore, as Davies and Allison suggest, the healing ministry of Jesus may be seen as an important aspect of saving his people from their sins.[30]  This salvific theme seems to reach its climax in Matt. 26:28 where the atoning death of Jesus comes into full view and becomes the means by which forgiveness is offered and salvation from sin becomes possible.

The Messianic People

The object of this saving activity is τὸν λαὸν αὐτοῦ.  One of the issues that interpreters face at this point is the identity of λαός: does it refer to the historic people of Israel or does it refer to the new people of the Messiah, including both Jews and Gentiles?  The word appears 14 times in Matthew and is used exclusively with reference to Israel.[31]  The surrounding context of the opening chapter lends support to this understanding by establishing the fact that Jesus, as a direct descendant of Abraham and David, is a true Israelite.[32]  Nolland notes that the possessive αὐτοῦ emphasises Jesus’ own embeddedness within this people, “the people to whom he belongs.”[33]  Some commentators have also seen in this verse strong echoes of Ps. 180:8 which specifically speaks of Israel being saved from her iniquities.[34]  Jesus’ own testimony further supports this when He plainly states that He was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.[35]  This understanding makes good sense in light of the fact that the theme of sin and exile, which relates specifically to the people of Israel, is in view.

Matthew therefore seems to use λαός as a technical reference to the people of Israel, the people from whom and to whom Jesus came to save.  This becomes significant as each time the word appears throughout the narrative, there is a mounting tension which finally reveals itself in a tragic twist: the very people Jesus had come to save turn out to be His enemies.  This climax is reached at the close of the gospel when His people cry out for His blood to be on them and on their children.[36]  The irony is that this cry for his crucifixion becomes the means by which salvation is made available.[37]  While there is no question that the scope of salvation expands throughout the narrative,[38] it does not do so with reference to λαός.[39]

Conclusion

The present paper has attempted to demonstrate how the Matthean community would have understood Matt. 1:21 to contain the mission of the one to be born.  It has been seen that the name Jesus evokes strong echoes of deliverance from Israel’s past and contains one of the central expectations of the messiah.  The salvific meaning behind the name is then elaborated on by the announcement that “he will save his people from their sins” which, as has been shown, signified much more than salvation from individual sins, but indeed the salvation of the entire nation from all the sins that had lead them into exile.  Finally, the people to whom he came to save were his own, but they did not receive him.  However, their rejection of him resulted in salvation being opened to all.  The three aspects explored – the name, the task, and people of the one to be born – that are played in the overture of Matthew’s gospel, become louder and clearer with each successive reference throughout the narrative until the symphony reaches its climax at the cross and the messianic mission contained in Matt. 1:21 is finally and fully expressed.

Of all the figures in early Christianity, perhaps none has had such a significant influence on both the world in general, and the church in particular, as that of Augustine.[1]  From his day to the present, the ideas he wrestled with and wrote about have continued to inspire and challenge theologians in areas ranging from Anthropology to Soteriology.  The present essay will explore the development of Augustine’s thought on the latter branch of Christian theology and the influence of his understanding on Christianity in general and Protestantism in particular.

Soteriological Development

Although Augustine spent most of his life within the basic framework of Christian thought, he went through a number of significant changes in his thinking.  His intellectual journey has been described as a series of quests in which he was “perpetually moving on to new concepts or to challenging situations in vocation, residence or thought.”[2]  This constant evolution was largely driven by his quest for understanding and the continual challenge of contemporary controversies.[3]  The development of Augustine’s soteriology will be traced through his reactions to three major conflicts: Manichaeism, Donatism, and Pelagianism.[4]

Following his introduction and conversion to philosophy through the writings of Cicero,[5] Augustine became a follower of Manichaeism, a Gnostic sect that began in Persia.[6]  It was here among the Manichees that Augustine temporarily found a simple solution to a problem he had been wrestling with, namely, evil.  The Manichees taught that human beings are basically spiritual beings who are created by a good God, but are in bondage to a material body created by an evil demiurge.[7]  Salvation was thus obtained by virtue of knowledge and reason, rather than faith.[8]  This understanding provided a rational basis on which Augustine could explain his continual struggle with sin.  He fed upon the teachings they served him with great delight, only to later discover that they were, in his own words, nothing but “empty husks.”[9]

After spending nine years as a “hearer” of Manichaeism, Augustine returned to the Scriptures in search of a more satisfying understanding of the problem of evil and its relation to humanity.  In A.D. 391 Augustine wrote On Two Souls, a work addressed to his Manichaean friends, in which he attacked their idea that the body and soul are at war and argued that evil does not spring from matter but finds its origin in the free will of humanity.  At this stage, Augustine believed that sin was a voluntary act of the will and that man could not be held responsible for that which he does not will to do.[10]

During this time, the Donatist Church was fast becoming a major source of controversy in North Africa.  Earlier in the century, they had broken away from the Catholic Church over issues of leadership, moral slackness, and ecclesiastical purity.[11]  By the time of Augustine, the Donatists outnumbered those in the Catholic Church and were thus seen as a threat that must be dealt with.  The issues did not revolve around doctrinal so much as ecclesiastical differences.[12]  The Donatists held the view that the church must be pure and separate from society, and that the priests who administer the
sacraments must also remain pure and separate from society.  The question they asked was, “How can a bishop give [in the sacraments] what he does not possess [holiness]?”[13]  Augustine responded to the Donatist position in his treatise On Baptsm, Against the Donatists.  In this work he argued that the holiness of the sacraments did not depend on the purity of priest “but defined the sacraments as belonging to, and given by, Christ rather than the priest.”[14]  The Donatist controversy thus caused Augustine to refine his soteriology by developing a more objective view of grace, which meant that despite the corrupt condition of believers, individually and collectively, God’s grace prevails in all and through all that we do.

While Donatism placed an emphasis on the perfection of the church, the resulting controversy Augustine faced placed an emphasis on the perfection of human nature.[15]  Pelagius, a British monk, concerned with the lack of ethical living among the Christians in Rome, began to teach a system of salvation that denied original sin and the need for God’s grace.[16]  In the place of this, he taught that the sin of Adam only affected himself; that every human is born with the same nature as Adam before the fall; and that both the law and the gospel lead to the kingdom.[17]  Salvation for Pelagius thus consisted of human beings pulling themselves up by their own moral bootstraps.  Augustine saw that such a belief would diminish “the impact of sin and therefore the need for, and reality of, Christ’s salvation.”[18]  He responded to Pelagius by arguing that all humanity sinned in Adam and that there is nothing that he can do of himself to gain salvation.  It is only through God’s enabling grace that one is able to use their free-will to choose the salvation offered by Christ.[19]  In answering the teachings of Pelagius, Augustine was moving to an opposite extreme of making salvation a work entirely of God in which humans play practically no role at all.  This sowed the seeds of what would later develop into the doctrine of predestination.[20]

Each of the controversies that have been briefly examined can be seen as important catalysts that caused Augustine to reshape and redefine his soteriology.  Through the Manichean conflict, he identified the origin of sin; in responding to the Donatists, he identified the source of grace and began to develop an objective view of it; and the Pelagian controversy forced Augustine to develop and integrate these ideas even further.  Through each conflict, he placed an increasing emphasis on the solidarity of humanity with the sin of Adam; he no longer considered sin itself to be simply a voluntary act of the will, but began to see it as including that which is done involuntarily and unwillingly; and this understanding led him to develop an understanding of grace, which was both prevenient and concomitant.[21]  His soteriology was thus “God-centered, with salvation totally and causatively effected by God.”[22]

Soteriological Influence

Both Catholics and Protestants alike have found in Augustine’s work support for their various doctrinal beliefs regarding salvation.  His defence of Christianity, particularly that of sin and grace, against the heresies of Manichaeism, Donatism, and Pelagianism have been drawn from again and again in responding to the various reincarnations of these teachings throughout history.

One of the fundamental beliefs that Catholics and the vast majority of Protestant groups have inherited from Augustine is the doctrine of original sin.  Although the belief was taught by various other church fathers prior to him, Bradley Green notes that “Augustine is rightly and properly viewed as that theologian who gave structure and depth to the doctrine.”[23]  The importance of this contribution should not be overlooked.  The understanding of original sin, though nuanced slightly differently by Catholicism and Protestantism, and by many of those within Protestantism itself, has a direct impact on the way in which salvation is understood; the solution must be able to deal sufficiently with the problem.  Thus, the doctrine of original sin, as systematised by Augustine, has become an important pillar upon which an orthodox understanding of soteriology must rest.

The theological torch of Augustine would lead and guide Christianity, for better or for worse, throughout the Middle Ages.[24]  However, by the sixteenth century the soteriological flames had grown strangely dim.  There had been a growing emphasis in the Catholic Church on the requirement of works, particularly the participation in and receiving of the sacraments, as contributing to salvation. Some of the central issues of the Pelagian controversy had subtly crept into the very Church Augustine had once defended it against. [25]  The Protestant Reformation that was sparked in reaction to this, found in the writings of Augustine an emphasis on the doctrine of grace that had all but been lost.  This core component of his soteriological understanding had withered in the sacramentally centred beliefs of Catholicism, but found fertile ground in the Reformation.  Philip Schaff has thus considered Augustine to be the “first forerunner of the Reformation.”[26]

The founder of the Reformation in Germany, Martin Luther, spent some of the formative years of his life as an Augustinian monk, which naturally brought him under the direct influence of the teachings of Augustine.[27]  Luther saw in his writings a spiritual struggle similar to that of his own.  As was also the case with Augustine, his eventual theological breakthrough was found in Paul’s letter to the Romans.[28]  The influence of Paul, through Augustine, is noted by Margaret Miles when she writes that “Luther quoted from Augustine more than 100 times in his Commentary on the
Epistle to the Romans alone.”[29]  Although he did not accept all the aspects of Augustine’s understanding of grace, we can be certain that the soteriology of Luther, and his particular emphasis on sola gratia and sola fide, was shaped and influenced, to a large extent, by Augustine.  Here, in this revival of the centrality of grace that characterised the Reformation, is found a second important pillar that supports the orthodox soteriology of Christianity.  Through the dominance of Lutheran soteriology on the majority of the Protestant world, Augustine continues to exert a profound influence.  Green thus states that “if contemporary Christians want to understand various contemporary debates and discussions about the doctrine of grace, they must understand Augustine.”[30]  Thus, two of the fundamental doctrines of salvation within Christianity that have continued to this day, can ultimately be traced back through history to the writings of Augustine.

Conclusion

The present essay has traced the development of Augustine’s soteriology through the Manichean, Donatist, and Pelagian controversies.  In responding to each of these heresies, Augustine clarified and defended his understanding of sin and of grace, two of the pillar doctrines upon which the Christian understanding of salvation rests.  The influence of his soteriology has been seen on Christianity in general, through his understanding of original sin, and on the beliefs of Protestantism in particular, through a revival of his understanding of God’s grace during the Reformation and so on to contemporary Christianity.  It must therefore be concluded that the soteriological legacy of Augustine has shaped and will continue to shape the way in which Christianity understands the science of salvation.

The Victoria Falls

The Victoria Falls – one of the seven wonders of the natural world. In terms of its volume, being 1,700m wide and 110m high, it is the world’s largest curtain of falling water. Situated in southern Africa on the Zambezi River between the countries of Zambia and Zimbabwe, it has become a popular tourist destination attracting people from all corners of the globe. In fact, during the months of September through December when the river is at a safe level, you can actually swim in a naturally formed pool known as the Devil’s swimming pool right on the edge of the falls.

During the peak season in April, do you know how much water pours over these falls? 10 million litres of water pour over the falls every single second, about 625 million litres a minute! It’s this word pour that brings us to our key text – Romans 5:5 – a thundering cataract of good news for you and me. The Victoria Falls of the love of God.

“Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God” here is comes, are you ready? “…because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.” There it is. The same Greek word you would use to describe the vast volume of water that gushes over the edge of a water fall is used here to describe the Victoria Falls of God’s love. Not just 10 million litres of water, rather every last drop of His love has been poured out into our hearts through the sacrificial death of His Son. Verse 6: “For when we were still without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly. For scarcely for a righteous man will one die; yet perhaps for a good man someone would even dare to die.” Paul is saying maybe, just maybe someone would be willing to die for a good person. But would anyone even consider dying for a bad person? Look at verse 8: “But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Notice that Paul says that it is while we were still without strength (v. 6), while we were still sinners (v. 8), while we were still enemies (v. 10), God poured out all His love in the gift of His Son. What incredible, indescribable, incomprehensible love!

Can I share with you what I consider to be one of the greatest descriptions of this love? It was penned over a hundred years ago:

“All the paternal love which has come down from generation to generation through the channel of human hearts, all the springs of tenderness which have opened in the souls of men, are but as a tiny rill to the boundless ocean when compared with the infinite, exhaustless love of God. Tongue cannot utter it; pen cannot portray it. You may meditate upon it every day of your life; you may search the Scriptures diligently in order to understand it; you may summon every power and capability that God has given you, in the endeavour to comprehend the love and compassion of the heavenly Father; and yet there is an infinity beyond. You may study that love for ages; yet you can never fully comprehend the length and the breadth, the depth and the height, of the love of God in giving His Son to die for the world. Eternity itself can never fully reveal it” (5T, 740).

“Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.” So there it is, the Victoria Falls of God’s love. How deep the Father’s love for us, how vast beyond all measure. That He should give His only Son to make a wretch – you and me – His treasure. May we each contemplate this love – daily, may we each embrace this love – daily, and by doing so, may we each live this love so that others too may desire to experience the transformative power of the love of God being poured out with their hearts.

In light of the recent and on-going discussions concerning the role of women in ministry both inside and outside the Seventh-day Adventist Church, the identity of the person and position of Junia(s) in Rom. 16:7 has become increasingly important.[1] As Paul draws his letter to a close, he sends his greetings to a number of individuals among whom we find Andronicus and Junia, “my relatives, who were in prison with me; they are prominent among the apostles, and they were in Christ before I was” (NRSV).  The issues regarding the interpretation of this passage can be summed up in two primary questions: first, is Junia(s) to be understood as a man or a woman?  Second, was this individual an apostle?  The present paper will seek to answer these questions.

The Person

When reading Rom. 16:7 in a variety of Bible translations, one immediately notices that some translate the name Ἰουνιαν as Junias, a masculine name,[2] while others translate it as Junia, a feminine name.[3] This disparity is due, in part, to the fact that the name, being a first declension noun in the accusative case, declines in the same way for both genders.  The only way to determine the gender in this form is by the way it is accented.[4] However, this does not make the interpretation any easier in this case as there were no accents in the Greek manuscripts until about the ninth century A.D.  So what evidence is there to help in determining the gender of this individual?

First, it is important to note that from the time the accents were added until the early decades of the twentieth century, the Greek New Testaments were printed with an acute accent indicating a feminine understanding,[5] while the Greek texts published since have not all been in agreement.[6] This division has created further confusion for commentators and has proven that the issue cannot be conclusively solved on the basis of the text itself.

Looking for evidence beyond the biblical canon, Peter Lampe has noted some 250 examples of the name Junia in Roman literature.[7] While this clearly indicates that Junia was a common female name, “not a single example of the masculine name Junias has been found.”[8] The absence of this name has caused some commentators to propose the idea that the name Junias must be a contraction of the longer name Junianus.[9] It is true that such abbreviated names were common during this period,[10] but it remains to be seen whether Junianus was ever shortened to Junias.  Thus Richard Cervin states that this idea is “groundless because there is no evidence to confirm the theory.”[11] Based on linguistic evidence, the argument for the masculine name Junias is simply one from silence.[12]

Turning to the historical witness of the Church Fathers, who read the passage prior to the addition of the accents, we find at least sixteen Greek and Latin commentators down to the twelfth century who were unanimous in understanding this person as Junia, a woman.[13] For instance, John Chrysostom (died A.D. 407), who was no supporter of women in church leadership, declared: “Oh how great is the devotion of this woman Junia that she should be even counted worthy of the appellation of apostle!”[14] Thus the Anchor Bible Dictionary states emphatically that “without exception, the Church Fathers in late antiquity identified Andronicus’ partner in Rom. 16:7 as a woman.”[15] So why is it then, that some interpreters maintain that the “evidence is indecisive”[16] and that from a historical perspective both genders are possible?[17] The issue seems to centre on the comments of two patristic interpreters, namely, Origen (died A.D. 254) and Epiphanius (died A.D. 403).

The earliest surviving interpretation of this verse was penned by Origen in his commentary on Romans.  In both his translation of the passage and his commentary on the passage, he clearly understood the name to be the feminine Junia.[18] While it is true that later in the same volume Origen uses the masculine Junias when commenting on Rom. 16:21, it would be wrong to conclude, as some have, that this is a possible indication of masculine understanding.  It would be incongruous to think that Origen changed his mind on the gender of this individual in the space of 14 verses.  This discrepancy should therefore be seen as most likely being a later corruption of the text.[19]

A glimmer of hope for a masculine reading is found by some in the writings of Epiphanius.[20] In his Index Discipulorum 125 we read: ᾿Ιουνιᾶς, οὗ καὶ αὐτοῦ ὁ Παῦλος μέμνηται, ἐπίσκοπος ᾿Απαμείας τῆς Συρίας ἐγένετο, “Junias, whom Paul also mentions, became bishop of Apameia of Syria.”[21] The masculine relative pronoun (οὗ) that follows the name makes it clear that here Junias is to be understood as being a man.  While some have tried to make much of this, it is important to consider the previous sentence in which Epiphanius writes that Aquila became bishop of Heraclea and Priscas (Pricilla), whom he also considers to be a man, became bishop of Colophonman.[22] Linda Belleville states that “both the gender confusion and the disparate locations call into question the overall reliability of the document.”[23] Furthermore, Richard Bauckham has pointed out that the document in which we find these statements was unlikely to have been written by Epiphanius at all since he is only attributed to be the author of it from the ninth century on.[24]

Having now briefly considered both the linguistic and historical issues regarding the gender of this individual, the evidence examined unanimously supports Junia, a woman.  According to C.E.B. Cranfield, the idea that the name is masculine “seems to rest on nothing more solid than conventional prejudice.”[25]

The Position

While in the past the interpretative battle lines over Rom. 16:7 have almost always been drawn along the gender of the name, more recent studies have focused on the phrase ἐπίσημοι ἐν τοῖς ἀποστόλοις, that Andronicus and Junia were “prominent,” “of note,” or “outstanding among the apostles.”[26] Some have claimed that the clause is ambiguous and could be understood as either being inclusive, meaning that they were known as apostles, or exclusive, meaning that they were known by the apostles.[27] Though the vast majority of modern Bible translations and commentators accept the former as being the most natural reading of the text,[28] a small minority still maintain that “we cannot be certain” how to understand this phrase.[29]

The most significant study that has challenged the generally accepted view was done by Michael H. Burer and Daniel B. Wallace in 2001.  Though they demonstrate support for name Junia, they cannot accept the inclusive view that she and Andronicus were prominent or outstanding among the apostles.  Instead they argue that the Greek syntax ἐπίσημος with (ἐν plus) the personal dative when used elsewhere in contemporary literature indicates an exclusive meaning.[30] Their article elicited three independent responses that rigorously examined their hypothesis, methodology, and sources and found them wanting.[31] Eldon Epp has confidently stated that collectively these detailed critiques “should put to rest any notion” that ἐπίσημοι ἐν τοῖς ἀποστόλοις could have been understood in an exclusive sense.[32]

That they were known to be included among the apostles is “almost certain.”[33] The historical witness also lends support to this view.  To quote Chrysostom once again, whose position is representative of the patristic commentators: “Indeed to be apostles at all is a great thing. But to be even amongst these of note, just consider what a great encomium this is!”[34] Cervin has pointed out that this understanding is also confirmed by the way the phrase is translated in the Vulgate.[35]

A further question that is then faced by commentators is what role Andronicus and Junia played as apostles.  Ben Witherington has suggested that the title ἀπόστολος was used in four ways in the NT: it could refer to the Twelve Apostles (Matt. 10:2); it could refer to a person who had been commissioned by the risen Lord Himself in the resurrection appearances (1 Cor. 15:7); it could refer to a messenger or emissary of a particular church (1 Cor. 8:23; Phil. 2:25); and it could also refer to a missionary (Acts 14:4, 14).[36] While there is no consensus among commentators, the second and fourth options are generally favoured which regard Andronicus and Junia as apostles either commissioned by the resurrected Lord,[37] or as itinerant missionaries.[38]

Though it is a matter of debate, I would like to suggest that their role should be seen as including both.  Paul writes that they were ἐν Χριστῷ before he was which indicates that they were early believers and could certainly have been among the apostles mentioned in 1 Cor. 15:7, especially since Paul considered himself the last to have seen the risen Lord.[39] This would mean that Junia was not only included in the same apostolic group as Paul, but that she and Andronicus were likely to have held a similar status.[40] The fact that they were known to be outstanding apostles would also seem to suggest that they had experienced a successful ministry, perhaps in terms of their own missionary endeavours in Rome and further abroad.[41]

Whatever specific function they served as apostles, there is no question that the evidence strongly suggests that they were not simply known by the apostles, but that they were in fact outstanding among the apostles and were known to be leaders of considerable significance among the Roman Christians.

Conclusion

After examining the two issues of interpretation regarding the person and position of Junia(s) in Rom. 16:7, it must be concluded that first, the linguistic and historical evidence overwhelmingly supports a feminine rather than masculine name.  There is no substantial reason why Junia should be considered a man, despite the numerous attempts throughout history to give her such a sex-change.  These attempts seem to have been largely driven by the anxiety of some who cannot support the possibility that a woman could also be an apostle.[42] Second, the phrase ἐπίσημοι ἐν τοῖς ἀποστόλοις should also be understood both linguistically and historically as being inclusive of Andronicus and Junia.  With James Dunn, we must therefore conclude that “one of the foundation apostles of Christianity was a woman.”[43] So here in Rom. 16:7 we have the first example of a female apostle.  If this was so in the first century church, why is it not so in the twenty-first century church?

Despite the hostility of some within the Christian world towards an integration of psychology and religion, an understanding of moral and faith development is “vitally important for anyone who desires to provide soul care.”[1] Indeed, it has been said that in order to reach humanity, we must understand humanity.[2] The following essay will seek to explore how the developmental theories proposed by Lawrence Kohlberg[3] and James Fowler[4] help when ministering to an adult individual within a faith community by providing important insights toward understanding, communicating with, and nurturing them.

Self-Understanding

But before this question is explored further, it is important to briefly note that a pastor must first evaluate their own personal moral and faith development in light of the theories proposed before they can effectively use these theories in ministering to others.  This self-understanding will not only help in identifying with another individual as one’s own journey of development is reflected upon, but should also provide an understanding of the purpose of these theories and thus guard against their potential misuse as ways of categorising individuals as inferior or superior depending on their stages of development.[5] Once the foregoing has been firmly grasped a pastor can then proceed to apply the developmental theories effectively and appropriately in ministering to others.

Understanding

Moral and faith developmental theories provide a context by which one is able to understand an adult individual’s reasoning and behaviour.  Both Kohlberg and Fowler have proposed six stage models of development with each stage associated with approximate ages.[6] While this stage-age association is generally reflected in the development of most individuals, not all develop at the same rate.  Fowler, for instance, has pointed out that varieties in congregational presence can include individuals whose “range of stages of faith and selfhood include at least three or four.”[7] Because of this diversity it is especially important for a pastor to have an awareness of these stages as it will provide an indication of where an individual is at in terms of their development and also of their transition between stages.

In practical terms, identifying the stage an individual is currently at can be achieved through personal interactions with them:  the topics and opinions shared in conversations, the comments made following a sermon, the questions raised during a Sabbath School discussion, even listening to the way they pray will provide subtle indications of their present stage of development.  By observing the ways in which they understand and express their faith, whether it is primarily an external, borrowed faith, or an internalised, personal faith, will indicate earlier or later stages of faith development.  This will also implicitly indicate their stage of moral development by revealing their source of authority, whether it is self-centred, indicating a preconventional level; other-centred, indicating a conventional level; or principle centred, indicating a postconventional level.[8]

Kohlberg and Fowler have argued that disequilibrium[9] or deconstruction and reconstruction[10] is an important part of one’s growth and development as it demonstrates that the individual is questioning the views of their present stage and discovering them to be insufficient they find the solution to their problem by moving to the next stage.  The implications of this are important for pastoral care as such questioning is an indication of growth and not necessarily a sign of hostility towards a particular teaching or practise.  While this kind of struggle is more evident in transitions during childhood and adolescence, it can manifest itself in later adult development.  Indeed, “some of the most interesting and powerful faith stage transitions occur only in adulthood.”[11] The reason for this is largely due to some remaining at the earlier stages of childhood or adolescence and carrying them through into adulthood, where it becomes increasingly difficult to move to the next stage.[12] The developmental theories thus provide an important understanding of what the individual is going through psychologically and will inform the necessary corresponding care that should be demonstrated towards an individual experiencing such transitional struggles.

Communicating

Having ascertained which stage of moral and faith development an adult individual is at will assist in communicating more effectively to them.  As mentioned earlier, it is important to remember while preparing sermons and leading in discussion groups that there are can be a variety of stages of development represented.  Having an awareness of this, a pastor is able to harness a diverse range of language, story, and imagery demonstrating intentional sensitivity in an attempt to reach those at different levels of development.

To be more specific, if an individual is at a preconventional stage of moral development, there is an important need for external boundaries to be articulated.  In a Christian context, this would mean exposing the individual to the commandments of God and the rewards of heaven and the punishment of hell.  Focusing on underlying principles with someone at this stage would not be the most beneficial to them as they are simply seeking to understand and accommodate God’s laws.  Such early stages of moral development are driven primarily by self-interest, and while it is a starting point, believers should not remain at this initial level of development.[13] They must be nurtured and encouraged to progress to higher stages of moral understanding where they are able to distinguish principle from precept.

An individual who is struggling with transitioning between Stage 3 (synthetic-conventional) and Stage 4 (individuating-reflexive) in their faith development, during which time their faith moves from being borrowed to being owned, needs to be reminded of the normality of this experience.  Biblical examples should be cited as encouragement to forming their own identity and independent perspectives.  They need to be taught that their true value and meaning as an individual is found in the sight of God, rather than that of the faith community.  This particular transition involves numerous tensions,[14] including the conflict between their own efforts to move into a more advanced stage in the face of parents or a religious culture that is firmly established at an earlier stage of understanding God and their relationship with Him.[15] Communicating to an individual experiencing this particular transition should be guided by an understanding of these deeper tensions.

Nurturing

One of the primary tasks of the pastor and church family is to lead people to deeper levels of spiritual maturity.  Fowler states that “a faith community that provides for the nurture of ongoing adult development in faith will create a climate of developmental expectation.”[16] Though nurture should be specific for those at various stages, there are general things that can be done to create an environment that will facilitate development and call forth “the gifts and emergent strengths of each stage of faith.”[17] One such way is by helping those within the faith community to become more sensitive to those who are at different stages.[18] This can be done through preaching and teaching by presenting “dynamic images of faith and calling.”[19] The Christian life should be presented as an exciting lifelong journey of growth and development.  Once an ethos of nurturing development has been formed within the community, a pastor can turn his attention to the more specific needs of individuals.

It should be noted in this context that one of the fundamental principles behind the theories of Kohlberg, and Fowler to a lesser extent, is that development follows an invariant sequence.[20] Though this has been questioned by some, it is generally held to be true.  This provides a pastor with a certain amount of predictability which will help in more specific nurturing towards further stages of development.

As mentioned previously, both moral and faith development theories place an important role on disequilibrium as the catalyst for transition.  Though this might be counter-intuitive for most people, not least pastors who are trying to keep their church united, “encouraging disequilibrium through explorative conversations” forces individuals “to thoughtfully examine the framework of their thinking.”[21] This should be done in a caring and constructive way and would require facilitation by someone with an understanding of the stages represented in such discussions.

A further way of achieving this development through nurturing is to encourage mature believers to form close relationships with new believers, who are typically at much earlier stages.  Here they are able to observe higher stages of faith and moral development not only on an intellectual level but also how it is lived out on a practical level.[22] Such a relationship will not only encourage development from a focus on external standards to internalised standards, and transition from having borrowed faith to owned faith, but will provide many other benefits within the community also.

Conclusion

This essay has briefly explored how an understanding of the moral and faith developmental theories proposed by Kohlberg and Fowler help when caring for an adult individual within a faith community.  This is most beneficial when the theories are correctly understood and applied on a personal level before they are applied to others.  These developmental theories provide important ways of understanding how and why an individual thinks and behaves in a particular way; how this understanding guides more appropriate communication with individuals, depending on which stage or stage transition they are experiencing; and how together they merge into forming a nurturing environment in which an individual is able to continue to grow, experience and understand God in more supportive and meaningful ways as they continue their journey of moral and faith development.

In the eschatological discourse found in the gospel of Mark, Jesus makes an interesting statement that has sparked a whole spectrum of various interpretations from both inside and outside the Christian faith: “Truly I say to you, this generation will not pass away until all these things take place” (13:30).[1] The interpretation of this verse hinges on the meaning of two key expressions: “this generation” and “all these things.”[2] Thus, in order to arrive at a correct understanding of this statement of our Lord, these two phrases must be examined.[3]

“This Generation”

Several interpretations have been put forward in an attempt to define what Jesus meant by the phrase “this generation” (genea).  Some have seen it as a reference to “mankind,” “the Jewish race,” “Christians,” or “unbelievers.”[4] While certain of these views have much to recommend them, they each seem to pose certain difficulties when it comes to the exegesis of the text.

It must be kept in mind that whenever Jesus uses the word genea, it always signifies His contemporary generation,[5] but at the same time carries a “qualifying criticism.”[6] The phrase is often used in the context of unbelief and judgment (see Mark 9:19; Matt. 23:36) towards those Jesus was addressing.  Thus the understanding that it is a reference to unbelievers carries some credit, though only in the sense that it is still unbelievers contemporaneous with Jesus.  Mark 13:2 clearly implies that the context for the eschatological discourse is also judgment.  So there are evidently no contextual factors that would require a different definition of genea.[7] It would seem inconsistent to subscribe any other meaning to this phrase.

Furthermore, the context of Mark 13 shows that Jesus was not speaking to an unspecified future generation, either of Jews or Christians or even mankind in general.  Verse 3 makes it clear that He was speaking to His contemporary disciples.[8] The whole discourse speaks of what “they shall see, they shall do, they shall suffer.”[9] It would therefore seem unreasonable to conclude that the disciples to whom Jesus is “privately” (v. 3) addressing would have seen any other reference to their own generation.

Based on the foregoing, it must be concluded that the most natural reading of the phrase would be to see it as a reference to the contemporaries of Jesus.

“All These Things”

This generation is not to pass away until “all these things” (tauta panta) take place.   There have generally been two ways that interpreters have understood this phrase: 1) as a reference to the fall of Jerusalem;[10] and 2) as a reference to the fall of Jerusalem and the Parousia.[11]

In the context of chapter 13, this phrase appears in the question of the disciples in verse 4: “Tell us, when will these things be, and what will be the sign when all these things (tauta panta) are going to be fulfilled?”  Based on Matthew’s rendering of the enquiry, many have seen this question as twofold, referring to the destruction of Jerusalem, “when will these things happen,” and the Parousia, “what will be the sign of Your coming and of the end of the age” (Matt. 24:3).  However, when the parallel accounts in Mark and Luke are considered, it is evident that the disciples only had a single event in mind.[12] For them, the fall of Jerusalem would have been synonymous with the end of the age.

Those who limit the reference of tauta panta to the fall of Jerusalem contend that it must have the same meaning as tauta in verse 29, which clearly relates to the signs and not the Parousia.  George Eldon Ladd states succinctly that if the phrase were to include the Parousia, “it would obviously be pointless to say ‘When you see the Son of Man coming, you know that He is near.’”[13]

While this position appears convincing, it overlooks important evidence to the contrary.  First, tauta in verse 29 does not have to have the same meaning as tauta panta in verse 30.  The former phrase is by implication limited in its reference, while the latter is all inclusive.  It would be rather difficult to exclude any part of the discourse from the phrase “all these things.”  Comparison with Luke’s account also discredits this view by the fact that he omits tauta all together, and simply states “all things” (21:32).

Furthermore, the solemn tone in the following two verses (31-32) clearly indicate that it cannot be referring only to the fall of Jerusalem, but something of a far larger scale.  Also, the parable of the fig tree in verses 28-29 clearly teaches that the signs indicate that the end is near.  So even if tauta panta is only a reference to the signs occurring in that generation, surely it is implied that the Parousia would be included in that period.  Ford states that it would be “incongruous to teach that all the signs of the imminent event would take place, but [that] the event itself tarry for centuries!”[14]

Others such as Barclay have argued on the basis of verse 32 that tauta panta could not include the Parousia as not even the Son knows when that “day or hour” will be.[15] This view however, seems to miss the main point of what Jesus is saying.  His emphasis in this verse and the following (33-37) is not so much about when as it is about watchfulness.

It must be remembered that Mark 13:30 is not a one-off statement by Jesus, but is in harmony with others He made throughout His ministry.  For instance, in Mark 9:1 He declares “Truly I say to you, there are some of those who are standing here who will not taste death until they see the kingdom of God after it has come with power.”  Though an immediate fulfilment of this is generally ascribed to the transfiguration in the following verses, it hardly exhausts the fulfilment of the kingdom of God coming with power.  In Matthew 10:23, Jesus also says to His disciples that they would “not finish going though the cities of Israel until the Son of Man comes,” also indicating that they would potentially live to see the Parousia.

Having now considered the two major views of tauta panta, it seems clear that the reference far more likely includes the fall of Jerusalem and the Parousia.  It is evident from the language, and both the immediate and wider context of the gospels, that the phrase does indeed refer to “the events leading up to and including the coming of the ‘son of man.’”[16]

Conclusion

After having thus examined the two phrases “this generation” and “all these things,” it must be concluded that what Jesus is essentially saying in Mark 13:30 is that all that has been prophesied in the eschatological discourse, including the signs and Parousia, will take place within His contemporary generation.

This leaves us with an important question: was Jesus wrong in His prediction?  It seems to me that the best answer to this question lies in understanding the conditionality of the Parousia.  In Mark 13:10 and Matthew 24:14, Jesus implies that His return is contingent on the finishing of the Great Commission.  Had this happened, Jesus could well have returned within the generation of those He addressed in Mark 13.[17] This notion is further supported by the wider witness of the New Testament writers, who also believed that they were living in the last days and would thus be alive to witness the return of their Lord.[18]

This essay will explore two of the relationships that exist between the Cross and the Second Coming, namely, eschatology and soteriology.[1]

Eschatology

The New Testament (NT) makes it clear that the cross of Christ marked the beginning or inauguration of the eschatological age.   Paul addressed the believers in Corinth as those “upon whom the ends of the ages have come” (1 Cor. 10:11).  The author of Hebrews expresses the same thought, speaking of Christ as our true high priest, since “He has appeared once for all at the end of the age to put away sin by the sacrifice of Himself” (Heb. 9:26).  These verses, and others,[2] are a clear indication that the NT believers were conscious that they were living in the last days.

However, while the NT teaches that the cross ushered in the eschatological age, it also points forward to “the age to come.”  This is presented most distinctly in the gospels.  In Luke, for instance, we read of the blessings of both the present and future age: “Truly I say to you, there is no one who has left house or wife or brothers or parents or children, for the sake of the kingdom of God, who will not receive many times as much at this time and in the age to come, eternal life” (18:29-30; cf. Matt. 12:32).

We therefore see that NT eschatology looks back to the cross and affirms that the last days have arrived.  But it also looks forward to the final consummation yet to come, thus creating a bridge between the first and second advents.[3] This principle is demonstrated most clearly by the NT teaching of the kingdom of God.

The gospels present the message of the kingdom as twofold.  On the one hand, Jesus proclaimed throughout His ministry that the kingdom of God had arrived,[4] while on the other, He also taught that the kingdom is yet to come.[5] The concept of the kingdom is therefore presented to us in the gospels as a present reality in the life of Christ, but also a “future prospect, an experience as well as a hope.”[6] This principle of “now” and “not yet” provides an important link between the Cross and the Second Coming.  It identifies the two phases of the kingdom as distinct, but not separate in terms of God’s purposes.  That which God has initiated, He will complete.[7]

Soteriology

The purpose of the Cross is to put an end to sin in order to save mankind.  The NT begins by declaring that Jesus came to “save His people from their sins” (Matt. 1:21; cf. 1 John 3:8).  The gospel accounts make it clear that His death would forever destroy the curse of sin.[8] However, while it is clear that the power of sin has now been broken (Col. 2:14-15), the presence of sin still remains (Eph. 6:12).  Therefore, in order for the purpose of the Cross to reach its full completion, for God’s people to be entirely saved from sin, something further must take place.  George Eldon Ladd points out that “in his cross and resurrection Christ won a great victory over the powers of evil; by his second coming, he will execute that victory.”[9] Oscar Cullmann states further that “The hope of the final victory is so much the more vivid because of the unshakably firm conviction that the battle that decides the victory has already taken place.”[10] Therefore, the future consummation of God’s plan of salvation is based on Christ’s victory in the past, providing a further demonstration of the relational unity that exists between these two pivotal events in the plan of salvation.

Paul speaks of our salvation as a process which began with the life, death and resurrection of Christ, and will reach its climax at His return.  He thus writes that we have been saved (Eph. 2:8), are being saved (2 Cor. 2:15) and shall be saved (Rom. 5:9), indicating the past, present and future aspects of our salvation.[11] The Christian lives within this matrix of tension that exists between salvation past and salvation future – the “now” and the “not yet” – between the Cross and the Second Coming.[12]

Though the Bible clearly teaches that the atoning sacrifice of Jesus was offered and completed at the cross,[13] Hebrews 9:28 seems to hint at a future aspect of the atonement: “So Christ also, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time for salvation without reference to sin, to those who eagerly await Him.”  William Lane highlights that the imagery in this verse is drawn from the sequence of events that took place on the Day of Atonement.  “The people waited anxiously outside the sanctuary until the high priest emerged from the Most Holy Place… His reappearance provided assurance that the offering he had made had been accepted by God.”[14] It could thus be said that the atonement has been supplied at the cross and will be ratified at the Second Coming, when God’s people will be at one with Him both spiritually and physically once again.[15] We can therefore view the past and future aspects of the atonement creating another strand in the rope that binds the Cross and the Second Coming together.

Conclusion

It has been demonstrated in this essay that eschatology and soteriology provide two relationships between the Cross and the Second Coming.  Though these two pivotal events in God’s plan of redemption are distinct, they are in no wise separate.  The evidence has shown that one cannot exist without the other as the latter is a continuation of the former: inaugurated eschatology must be consummated; salvation from the power of sin must also include salvation from the presence of sin; the sacrificial atonement supplied at the Cross must be ratified at the Second Coming.  We can thus say with certainty that the Cross of Christ is a guarantee of His Second Coming.[16]